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B ENTLEY^S

MISCELLANY.

VOL. XXXIX.

LONDON:
EICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1856.

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• • ••

• ••-#• . • •

> • • , • r • *

•_ - • «

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CONTENTS.

WbatWesesUAtait 1

Tlcmeat Aspect of Affairs in Relation to the War . . .5

Tke Spendthrift. A Tale of the Last Centory. Bt W. Httriscm Ains-

iwath,Esq 10, 117, W, W, 441

ftbehoods and Realities of the War 19

TkB Bock Warrants. A' Tale •of the Tboes. By Dadky Goitc9o SI, 189, 1^36
DlMascQS and its Ndghboorhood . . . .48

Hk Man in the White Hat. A Sketch from Bailway Life. By a Season
Ticket . . • . . . ... .57

Brownings "Men and Wofeen*' . . .64

The Old Year's Death. By Miury C. F. Monck . . .71

How we went to see the Militia Keview . . . i . .74

Adventxires of Benjamin Bobbin the Bagman. By Crawford Wilson 76, 199
How I sprew into an Old Maid . . . . .83

Hie Oidand the New Year. A So^ from the DanisL By Mrs. Bushby . 95

New-Book Notes by Monkshood. Lewes's Life and Works of Goethe . 96

Macaula/s History of England . . . . .206

Milman's Latin Christiani^ ..... 316

The Qaestion of the Day . . . . .111

Sebastopol ......... 122

Mont St. Michel and its " Cachots" 131

Lawrence's Life of Fielding ...... 154

lie Friyate Theatricals at Cheshant . .161

By-ways of History. Wilmer's " De Homine Replegiando" . . 165

The Monmfal Marriage of Sir S. Morland . . . 401, 621

Beaomarchais and his Times . . . • 171, 293

Ooi First Lodgers . . . . . . . .186

The Minehead Tilots 204

' The Differences with the United States . . .221

Bell's Chancer 252

Central America . .260

How we Treat onr Heroes . . . .270

Going to the Shows . . . .273

The En>edition to the Amor . . . .288

A Week in Constantinople. By Lascelles Wraxall . . . 304

Peace and the Lnperiid Dynasty . . . . . .331

llie Joint-Stock Banker. A Tale of the Day. By Dudley Costello

346, 4n, 661

B Medinah and Meccah 366

A Ni£^t or Two in Paris 376

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!▼ COKTENTSU

FAOB
TheNewSimomdes. Bj Captaiii Medwin • • .383

Miseries of a Wet Daj in the Coimtiy. By Materiamilias .384

Baikes's Journal 387

Decorative Art in England •••.... 406

Alison's H&h Yolome 408

Lne^r's Adventure ........ 416

Frosingsby Monkshood about the Essayists and Reviewers :

YU.— Charles Lamb 430

TheGonrt, Aristocracy, and Diplomacy of Austria. . .454

Mother Ford. By Charles WiOiam Jayne . . . . .485

The Bx>yal Academy Exhibition for 1866 • • . • . 487

Summer Days at Tenby ••.•••• 495
A Glimpse of Beanfidd. By John Stebbing . . • .502

Omer Pasha's Campaign ..'.«..• 507

Miss CosteUo's<<I^y of the Stork" 515

Tom Elliof s Prize . . • . . . . .519

Min^Manffle by Monkshood. Qrote's History of Greece . 533,637

Guisot's Bi<mard Cromwell . • . • . .567

Disjointed Gossip from the Other Side of the Big Pond. By the Author of

•^Onr Cousin Veronica" 676

AWinterinKertch 585

The Physician's Home . . .699

Lake I^gami ........ 611

Ardibishop Whatdy : << Thoughts and Apophthegms" .685

The Storyof the Sea Anemone .••.•• 628
Heroine-Worshm ........ 630

Be-opening of Her Majesty's Theatre . .635

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BENTLErS MISCELLANY.

WHAT WE ARE ALL ABOUT.

While the great question of ^^ Peace or War?^ is trembling in
the scales, and tne Thirty-ninth volume of Bendejfs MueeUany is
issuing from Beaufort HousCi a few words as to ^^ what we are all
about," at the b^inning of the year eighteen hundred and fifty-
six, may not be lutogether out of place.

Political a&irs, if not absolutely at a stand-stilly are, at all events,
in a somewhat torpid state, hybemating until the season arrives to
wake up for fresh mischief. There wiU be plenty of work for our
'^Notables" — such as they are — when the time comes for them to
open their ^^ most oracular jaws :" damaged reputations to restore,
oDsolete opinions to recant, all kinds of political tinkering on hand,
a ^reat deal of ^ sound and fury,'' and the most part of it like the
idiot's tale — " signifying nothing."

The wisest amongst the broken-down lot are discreetly silent at
present on the subject of their own demerits. Lord John, who
must always be doing something, merely lectures, with fatal facility,
upon every art and science known, to the inexpressible edification
ot " Christian young men." Mr. Gladstone, to a certain extent,
follows his noble friend's example, discoursing also on ^^ The Un-
attainable," that is to say, ** The Colonies," and choosing for his
audience the colonially-disposed Welsh Mormons, hardy lovers of
truth like himself, oir James, with northern prudence, abstains
from 'Spatter" of any sort, knowing well that all his ingenious
eloquence — that pure, unsophisticated moral gin — will be required
in the approaching conflict with honest, outspoken, brave Sir
Charles, and husbanding his strength accordingly. Equally
cautious not to commit himself— to anything — <* Benjamin the
ruler" voiceless sits apart, resisting all temptation; his own con-
stituents, even, can extract from him nothing but what is bucolical.

The blatant Gemini, however, — there is a yelping couple in
every pack, despite the huntsman's lash — in the incontinence of
speech still howl on. Mr. Cobden havin<j^ no listeners, tries to find
readers, and rushes into print, proclaiming liimself, as usual, the
only true prophet ; but his wordy, windy letters are unheeded, —
J* the hungry sheep look up and are not fed.'* But his fellow-
ioumeyman, Mr. Bright, the holder of the Czar's brief— at how
larffe a fee is best known to himself — appeals to the platform as
well as to the press. Under the guise ot a lecturer to the Me*

VOL. XXXIX. B

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2 WHAT WE ABE ALL ABOUT.

cliamcs' Institution of Marsden, — for Bright, too, must lecture, it is
" the last infirmity," — he finds food for praise in the pilferings
of the penny newspapers, in the shut-up literature of Russia and
the civiiisatioa of her serfe, and in the fflibustering forbearance of
the United States! Under the plea of a friendly cocrespondence
with Mr. Crawshay, of Gateshead, he goes out of his way to insult
the Prime Minister, whom he — fie, Mr. Bright — stigmatises as
" an impostor," to expose whom " does nothing;" and being taken
to task for thia lao^fuAge^ totns round aihd queiruloasly asks if his
correspondent's note is intended to insult himf Mr. Bright's
sensitiY^iesB is the oaly sii^plar part of this «ffidr. What ia to be
tiioiigkt of the meekness and modesty of this "teacher of nations"
who writes as follows: ^' To ezpoae the Mimister is nothing, so
long a8 the people are a prey to the delusions which he practises
upon them. He is the proper ruler of a nation arrogant and
intoxicated, and, so long as the present temper of the public is
maintained^ they have the Government they most deserre." ?
" Arrogant and mtoxicated !" Has Mr. Bright ever heard of the
Pharisee and the Publican ? For our own parts we hope that ^' the
pr^ent temper of the public" may long be maintainea, having no
desire to try the effect of a broad-brimmed Administration.
Before we have done with Mr. Bright, whom we have most un-
wittingly approached, we must ask him another question: Has he
St read the eleventh chapter of Macaulay's History ?" If not,
; him turn to the twenty-fifth page and note the character there
drawn of Jack Howe, the Memb^ of Convention for Cir^OK^ester
at the commencement of the reign of William and Mary. Here
is a passage which we specially commend — vebiii in speculum — to
Mr. Bright's oonsideration.

Of what the literary world is " about," the key-note has been
struck in mentioning the author of the preceding sentence. ^All
are talking of or writing on the recent instalment of fifteen
hundred pages towards the payment of the large self-incurred
debt by Mr. Macaulay. There are very few who wish he bad
made that instalment less bjr a smgle Une, so graphic are his
general pictures, so accurate his individual pcurtraiture, so wide the
scope of his argument, so comprehensive his grasp of subject ; but,
on the other hand, there are fewer still, if any, who can hope to
be alive when Mr. Macaulay's task is ended. We must not, how-
ever, repine, but " take the good the gods provide us," content to
foresee the enjoyment of our remote posterity, for Mr. Macaulay
is too much of a gentleman to die without fulfiUin^ his promise.

Such implied longevity reminds us of one whom many will
miss, less perhaps for cessation of intercourse than for the con-
sciousness that the kst link is broken of the chain which united
the literature of the preient century with that of the past Samuel
Boffers, the Nestor of poets, and something besides, has at last been
galSiered to his fidlieis. '' Mec domus,"— what a pretty house was

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WSAT WB ASE ALL ABOUT. S

Ids,— "aiec^ Bl8oein''-HK>, he had bo wifis, his mm a moi^gMiatio
mtmage toA tfic M«se, — «* neqoe hanun arborumy" — there ^rere
some BiPeetHKented Biacs and golden bhornunu in the garden,-^
Bone of these things will be the bourne of privileged pilgrims now
that their master, whom none oould invoke as *' Te invmn domi-
num," is no more. What heir will tinee the paTement with the
rioh Oeecnban wines fSrom the cellar of Samuel Kogers, who had no
wine so old as himself ? What guest will now linger at the pleasant
breakiast-table, to listen to *' the old man eloauent 7* What coji-
naisseur will suspend the play of his knife and fork to gaze upon
the welUit pictures that surrounded the dining-room? Will
Christie seize and sell what has long been so freely exhibited?
We might put a thousand such questions, all of them regrets for
one, who, Uke the Cerberus of Airs, Malaprop, was " three gentle-
men at once," dear to Apollo, Cytherea, and Plutus, *' the Bard,
the Beau, the Banker*"

But the year which closed yesterday, bids ms mourn over many
of greater mark than Samuel Rogers. Within the last twelve
months what a gap has been made in the memorable roll ! The
sagacious and indefatigable Truro — the earnest and philosophic
Molesworth — the enterprising Pariy — the warm-hearted and up-
right Inglis — the scientific De la Beche — the learned Gaisford —
the reforming Hume — the harmonious Bishop — the financial Her-
ries — the diplomatic Adair — the poetical Strangford, also a diplo-
matist, with EUis and Ponsonby, his fellow-labourers in the last-
named category — the gifted Lockhart — Miss Ferrier, and Adam
Ferguson, connected, too, with Walter Scott — Lord Robertson,
the convivial judge — Lord Rutherford, his acute compeer — Miss
Mitford, and strong-hearted Currer Bell — Colburn, the godfather
to half the novels of the last half-century — Sibthorp, the eccentric
— the travelled Buckiugham — Park, the sculptor — Gumey, the
short-hand writer — O. Smith, the preternatural — the centenarian
Bouth — Black, of the Morning Chronicle — the life-preserving Cap-
tain Manby — Archdeacon Hare — Jessie Lowers, the friend of
Bums — the injured Baron de Bode — and a long file besides of
titled names, and names distinguished in all the pursuits of life.
The War, of course, came in for the lion's share, in sweeping
among those already illustrious; or, had Fate permitted, those
who would have been so: the gentle-liearted, courteous Raglan,
the mirror of modem chivalry — the intrepid Torrens — the amiable
Estcourt — the untiring Markham — the brave Adams — the gallant
Campbell — the honest Boxer, and the unfortunate Christie, are
amongst the most prominent of the heroes whom the bullet or. tho
Crimean fever have forcibly taken from us. Death, too, has been
busy with great people, in the ranks of our allies, in the field, on
the wave, in the cabinet, in the private home : Harisp6 — Bruat—
Mackau — Delia Marmora, who fought so well ; the painter Isa-

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4 WHAT WE ABE ALL ABOUT.

bey — ^the statesman M0I6 — ^the poet Micziewitz — ^the widow of
Lavalette — the wife of Emile de Girardm — the brother of Victor
Hugo — Count Bruhl, the antagonist of Philidor, the King of
Chess — ^Khosrew Pasha, that true type of the old Osmanli — the
chivalrous Duke of Genoa — and Adelaide of Sardinia, the early-
lost wife of our noble Piedmontese ally.

But we are not writing a necrology. Sufficient for us be the
day, with some aspirations for the future !

Great men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding vaiorous and sage.

We have many great people still distinguishing themselves,
almost as much as the valorous Argive, though not, perhaps,
altogether in the same line. To do imto others as you would
not be done to appears to be a rule of conduct rather too gene-
rally followed. If not, why should the effigies of the three

people r Why should the Guards monopolise the game
I win, tails you] lose?" Why should Alice Gray be a -heroine ?
Why should poisoning be the rule of domestic intercourse and not
the exception ? Why should we, all of us, be doing the identical
things against which we are as earnestly warned as Eve was
before she ate the apple ?

Some good things, however, we are about. We are striving,
all of us, to do honour to the foremost woman of her time — to
Florence Nightingale — \vhose' acta have shed an imperishable
lustre on her name. We are gradualhr putting our great metro-
politan house in order, although, to efi^t that object in the best
way, we have not elected John Arthur Roebuck our Chairman —
so hard it is to induce people, the best-intentioned, to go the
proper way to work and put the right man in the ri^ht place.
At last we are building gun-boats of light draught, and plenty of
them, and all that remains is to hope that no Austrian interference
may prevent them from fulfilling their mission beneath the walls of
Cronstadt, creating another "heap of blood-stained ruins,*' and
thoroughly humiliating — the right word to use, pace Lord John
Russell — humiliating to the Czar of Muscovy. In the East the
gallant Codrington — the worthy son of a worthy sire — is steadily
effecting the most beneficial changes in the condition of the large
army entrusted to his care: the moral no less than the physi^
wants of his men claiming his constant care. With discipline
firmly established, with mental activity heightened and bodily
strength restored, the prospects of the next campaign offer every-
thing that is hopeful, nor have we any fear of the result.

There is another campaign, also, in which we look for laurels
bright as any we yet have worn. Our readers are interested in
this question, for the battle-field is Beiitietfs Miscellany for this year,
and with the present number we fire the first shot

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PRESENT ASPECT OF AFFAIRS IN RELATION TO

THE WAR.

Ck>iX>N£L St. Ange argues in the Journal des DibaU that it
would have been nothing short of madness on the part of the Allies
to attack the forts north of Sebastopol, either by tne mouth of the
Balbek or by escaladio^ the heights in front of Mackenzie's Farm.
Effi>rts, according to the French apologist of existing tactics, were
made to turn the position. Strong reconnoissances were pushed
on fiom Baidar to try the possibility of turning the Mackenzie
lines by the upper valley of the Balbek, but it was soon seen that
in advancing by this route the army would have had to carry a
series of strong positions (the nature and character of which, in-
duding as they do Mangup-Kaleh and Tcherkess Kirman, we have
previously described), one behind the other; and in order to turn
the second line it would have been necessary to penetrate into the
mountains as £Eir as the sources of the Katcha, an eccentric and
difficult movement, and of doubtful success.

If, then, according to the admission of the military apologist of
Marshal Pelissier's strategy, it was equally dangerous and diffi-
cult to attack the Russian position in front or to attempt to turn
it, the Russian boast, that their position was as good after the fall
of Sebastopol as before, proves to be sound. The Allies, even
after the fell of Sebastopol, are still placed in a cu/ eiCe $ac^ from
which there is no emancipation save by sea. They are fairly
hemmed in and beleaguered in the Heracleontie Chersonesus, with-
out even the power to avail themselves navally of the harbour of
Sebastopol Those who are fighting on the defensive will always
have the choice of position. It is difficult to imagine that the
Russians could not have been driven from their strong position on
the Mackenzie heights just as they were at Alma. Wnerever they
are to be combated they will select an entrenched position of
natural strength in which to resist the assault. Their present
position will be Just as formidable in spring as it was this autumn;
while the army is likely to lose more men by exposure, privations,
and sickness during a long winter's bivouac, than in one battle^
however severe.

If it was impossible to attack the Russian position or to turn it,
it will naturauy be asked, why not leave the place altogether
and land at Eupatoria, Eertch, or any other available point,
and recommence a campaign upon different principles ? The
answer to that question involves the gist of Marshal Pelissier's
strategy ? It was impossible to move away all the impedimenta
of a long siege in time. The true reason, we are told by the
French apologist, of the marshal's resolve not to force his way
by the Balbek or Katcha, was not so much the strength of the

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6 PRESENT ASPECT OF AFFAIRS

enemy's works, but the danger of extending or dividing the army
in any such operations, during which the Russian general mig[ht
have crossed the valley of tSe Tchernaya, cutting thiou^ the
allied centre, and exposing that portion of the force whidi still
kept the heights above Sebastopol to an unequal contest. Mar-
shal Peliffiier decHned to move, in short, until he could do so with
his whole army — that is, till the plateau of the Chersonese was
cleared of its artillery aiid stores, till Eamieseh was fortified, and
the captured town itself lefb in such a state as to afford no advan-
tage py its reooeupation. Sir George Brown predicted thai the
capture of Sebastopol would set 90,000 allkd ooldiers £ree. It
has kept upwards of 100,000 encumbered and beleaguered around
it, and we cannot for ihe life of us see how their position will be
improved next luring. Whether by that time they will be suffi-
ciently clear of encumbrances to march into the interior and turn
the Russian position, remtuns to be seen. Meantime, ^ aUied
army is, as it has been justly expressed, crystallised in the Crimea.
The number of those bearing great names, not to mention heca-
tombs of imknown, who have already perished there, have made
of the place a terrible, but lasting reputation.^ Between sickness
and the progress of an obscure and unsatisfactory kind of warfare
— of a description such as has never before existed — men who have
earned proud names in the Peninsula, in the Punjaub, at the Cape,
or in Canada, have gone there to die or be slain, without the pos-
sibility of doing anything worthy of themselves or of the renown
they carried with them. Personal genius and personal qualities
have alike found an inglorious toxnb in the Heracleontic Cher-
sonesus. Our own solid infantry, our heavy cavalry, our perfect
artillery, the dashing ZoTiave, the scientific French engineer, the
active Piedmontese, the trained bands of Egypt, and the rough
Turkish troops, have furnished a variety of instruments rarely to
be obtained in modem armies. We have ourselves added to the
variety by the formation of German and Swiss legions and a
Turkish contingent. There are also army-work corps, transport
corps, " navvies," and every conceivable supplementary service by
land or by sea. Tet, with all these auxiliaries, it has been found
impossible to harass the main body of the enemy, to capture Kaffa
or Arabat, to succour Kars, or even interrupt the communication
between Perekop or Chongar and the Russian camp !

Nothing in the history of the war is more annoying than
the jealousy said to exist between the Queen's officers and the
gallant and experienced officers trained in India and those in
command of irregular troops. To this jealousy is attributed the
fact of Beatson's " Ottoman Irregular Horse," which have cost
some 250,000/., being sent away to Schumla — ^in fact, virtually
disbanded. To the same jealousy is attributed the strange conduct

Sursued towards General Vivian and his Turkish Contingent, ban-
ied about from one place to another^ and at last tolerated, rather

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nrSBEATIOirTOTHEWAK. 7

tiMai upiiddy in a remote, exposed, and fon^eleai tlatkm in the
Oimea. To the same feeling many are prone, wiUi too nuioh pro-
babiUly in their favour, to attribute the neglect experienced by the
brave General Williams and his coadjutors at the hands of the
ambassador and the military authorities. After remedying the
diasBters of last year by finrtifying, with the assistance of Colonel
Lake, the two Armenian capitals — Erzeroum and Kars ; after, with
less than a handfiil of Britiidi officers, driving back the Russians
during a ssngninary assault upon the latter city, he and his de-
voted companions in arms were left to surrender from sheer starva-
tion, becanse no real and sincere interest was felt in their success,
and nothing was done in earnest to asast them during the long
sommer that has passed. The existence of such a feelin^^ is a dis-
grace to the prcwession of arms, which has always clam:ied pre-
eminence in honoar. The world will give credit to skill and
bravery, no matter in what service it is found ; and the man who,
to thwart an opponent, or to uphold a custom, impedes the effi*
(Bency of our forces, is unworthy of office or esteem.

Omar Pasha was no sooner released from the extraordinary
incubus that seems to trammel all independent spirit of enterprise
in the Crimea than he set an example of succesBful operations,
which it is much to be wished was more frequently seen at head-
quarters. Without any basis of operations, except that he held
iJie coast at no connderable distance, he pushed nis way through
forests, over mountains and rivers, till he found a Russian army
£teongly entrenched at a pass of the river Ingour. Hese he drove
before him with great slaughter and little loss, and he has since
followed his first victory by a second, which it is to be hoped will
carry him triumphantly into the capital of Imeritia.

It has been argued that Omar Pasha ought to have carried relief
in a less indirect manner to the besieged of Kars ; but there were
only two roads to enable him to do so — one by Trebizond, the
other by Batum ! The first of these is so mountainous and bad
that the troops could not have got even to Eraeroum before the
snow had rendered it impassable. But awpposing they had got
to Erseroum, they could no more than Selim Pasha have forced
the formidable passes of the Soghanli Tagh, which are held by
the Russians, and present the most remarkable natural diffi-
culties, rendered almost insuperable when held by an intelligent
enemy. As to the road from Batum to Kars, the difficulties of
ihe country are very great indeed, the mountain-paths being im-
practicable to artillery. Added to this, there are two fortified towns
on the way — Artvin and Ardahan ; and these the Russians took
care to garrison before they laid siege to Kars. Omar Pasha has,
it is also said, no transport corps or resources for such an expedi-
tion; be this as it may, it is obvious that he oould not have relieved
Kars by way of Eraeroum ttis season, and that by way of Batum
he wovdd have met with greater obstacles in two fortified towns to

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8 PBESENT ASPECT OF AFFAIRS

besiege and capture than were presented by the entrenched pon-
tions of the Russians on the tributaries to the Phasis. Steps for
the relief of Kars ought to have been taken long ago, when
Armenia was still bathed in a summer sun, and the Kussians had
not entrenched themselves in the passes of the So^hanli Tagh.

The position of the Turks in Imeritia, especially if, as there
are some distant grounds of hope, Omar Pasha can obtain posses-
sion of Kutais before MouraviefTs corps can come to its relief, is
such as to render the tenure of Kars by the Russians of no
strategic importance whatsoever. In Imeritia the Turks are almost
in immediate contact with the Circassians; they are advancing to
the heart of the Transcaucasian provinces and their capital Tiflis by
the line pursued from time immemorial — that of the Phasis, with
the mountains and their friendly host to back them ; and the Rus-
sians will not be able to maintain outlying positions in Armenia
while threatened in the very centre of their Asiatic possessions.

Rumours of peace have come this month to gladaen the hearts
of many. The origin and real import of these rumours are some-
what difficult to make out. It seems certain, however, that pro-
positions from Vienna, which were partially admitted by France,
but demurred to in England, have uldmately been adopted by
the Three Powers, and that Count Valentine Esterhazy has borne
them to St. Petersburg. Some wary politicians insinuate that
Russia took the initiative, others as boldly assert that Russia will
listen to no propositions whatever so long as an enemy remains
in arms on its territory. The question as to what Austria will
do in case of any such an exhibition of Muscovite bearishness
is involved in the same obscurity. It is said that she will recal
her ambassador from St. Petersburg, and politely furnish Prince
Gortschakoff with his passports: there is a wide diflference between
such a demonstration and actual war. The reasons assigned for
Austria not declaring war with Russia are, that Russia would
instantly attack her on all her vulnerable and unprotected points.
The state of the Austrian frontier is too tempting to an invader
not to inspire apprehension^ and if she took the initiative it would
leave her without succour from the Grerman States, who are bound
by treaty to defend her only in the event of attack. Neither
could she hope for assistance from her allies, France and Eng-
land, as the present is not a most convenient period to send a
French force sufficiently great to affi^rd efficient service. Austria,
then, would have to face the Russians single-handed, who might
easily march on her unfortified capital and take it We put no
faith in these representations. We do not believe that the Rus-
sians, afler losing 300,000 men, are so strong on the Austrian
frontier as is imagined. As to an effective force, it could always
be raised in Austria itself, if the " sinews of war" were supplied
from withouti and that is probably what Austria is looking to.

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IN RELATION TO THE WAR* 9

France could also send by the existing railways a powerful auxiliary
army at any time of the year into Austria.

As to the part played oy Germany in the same contingency, it
cannot be too strongly impressed upon those temporising states
that thm interests are really more concerned than those of England
and France, and as much so as Austria. Let us suppose for a
moment that peace were concluded on the most advantageous con-
ditions ; that Russia should pay the expenses of the war, and abandon
the Crimea; and that that pemnsula should be restored to the Sultan,
who is alone able to keep it; — suppose that, to strengthen the line of
the Pruth, the Danubian Provinces, united under the rule of a single
hospodar, should remain subject to the Porte, without its authority
being weakened by any sort of protectorate, and that fortified
places and good Turkbh garrisons snould again defend that frontier
— suppose all this, and the Ottoman Empire once more placed in
a position of safety from its formidable neighbour. Would the
danger to Europe be less ? The Russians would only change
their direction. For, if the events which have taken place for
the last two years have exhibited to us Turkey as stronger and
more capable of resistance than was supposed, they have also
proved tne excessive weakness of Grermany, and of most of the
secondary states.

Meantime, if the position of the Allies in the Crimea is much
improved beyond what it was last winter — although all that has
been done in the Chersonesus, at Eupatoria, or at Kertch, is not
equal to what the world had a right to expect — if the surrender of
Kars has come to counterbalance the victorious advance of Omar
Pasha in Imeritia, the position of Russia is becoming almost
deplorable. Experience has shown that in as far as her troops are
concerned, any European soldiers might face with assurance of
success an equal force of the Czar. It is estimated that more
than 300,000 Russians have fallen since the Pruth was passed.
The recruiting for fresh levies becomes every day more difficult.
The nobles are discontented and disloyal. The serfs begin sullenly
to mutter that they were not created to be food for powder in a
cause *in which they have not the most remote interest. Even
religion, appealed to for want of reason or cause, ceases to inspire
them with enthusiasm enough to do away with the necessity for
chains and handcufis. The finances of the empire are wasted ; the
revenues of the Church and the savings of the State are nearly
gone ; national banks, as at Odessa, are br«iking up ; manufac-
tures have ceased for want of material ; agriculture and mining
are at an end, and commerce is only carried on by the surreptitious
aid of neutral ports or railways. Russia may well put lorward
Austria to pave the way for deUberatums !

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THE SPENDTHRIFT.

▲ TALE OF THE LAST CENTUBT.*
Bt W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, Ewi.

XX.

THE TWO PAGES.

Mb. Briscob thought all the guests must have amved, but
he was mistaken. Soon after Gage's disappearance three fresh
masquers presented themselves, cards in hand, at the outer door of
the antechamber. At sight of them the landlord was quite startled^
and the usher and other attendants were equally amaaed. The cause
of this general astonishment was the remarkable resemblance ofiered
by the new comers to three personages who had recently preceded
them^ and who had attracted particular attention on their entrance.
Here was a second Spanish nidalgo and his dame followed by a
dainty little page. Not only was hidalgo number two attired exactly
like hidalgo number one — certain minutiae of costume being care-
fully observed in both cases, — but he appeared to be just the same
height, just as well-proportioned, and just as haughty of carriage
as his predecessor. Like him, too, he wore a colkr of gold with
an order attached to it, and had the cross of Santiago embroidered
on his mantle. The second dona looked quite as bewitching as
the first, and was arrayed in the same style, with a black man-
tilla and basquina — moving with equal grace, and managing her
&n with equal coquetry. 'Ihere was not a pin to choose between
them. Then the page was the very double of the pretty Uttle
coxcomb who had gone before, and might have been his twin-
brother. Blond ringlets, white satin habiliments, limbs of almost
feminine beauty, foppish and forward manners — all were the same.
The flower-girls simpered as he approached them, and pressed
their bouquets upon him, hoping he would treat them as the first
young rogue had done, and they were not disappointed.

Mr. Bnscoe was bewildered. Who were they? What could
it mean? Could they be the original hidalgo and his com-
panions? Impossible! Nevertheless, in his perplexity, the land-
lord went to the open door of the ball-room, ana satisfied himself
that the others were there, amidst the crowd.

But the mystery increased. The tickets were deUvered, and
proved to be marked exactly in the same way the others had been.
Afler all, then, these might be the very persons his honoured
patron expected. Who could tell ?

* {j^ The Author of thit Tale fvtervet the right of tratulation.

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THS dPSNDTHBIFT. II

At the lisk of ^f^pearinff intruaiye, Mr. Briflooe begged the
hidalgo would do him the fayour to step bdiiiid the Boreen £ur a
mctfnent, and take off his mask. But the don deolixked^ and the
senoia, tapping the host playfully with her fan, iaquiied if he was
master of the rerrel, that he presumed to questioa them. At the
same time the page, disengaging himself from the flower-ffirlB^ who
had carawded round him^ came up, and with a wave of niiBlumd
pnshing Biisooe aside, all three passed on and entered the ball-
room.

Here they presently mingled with the crowd^ and nothing was
left the host but to take an early opportunity of informing his
honoured patron of the trick tliat nad been played with the
tickets.

Half the ball-room was in motion when Grage returned to it, and he
cocdd only, now and then, catch a glimpse of the lovely figure of the
first senora as she flew past with her partner — the stat^y hidalgo
— in a gavot. However, he did not give himself much concern.
He had but to wait a few minutes, and th e dance would be over.
She would then be disengaged, and he might, without impro-
priety, daim her hand for a rigadoon or a jig, and so obtain the
mterview he sought

While he was looking on, much amused by the efforts of a
cumbrously^lad Dutchman to keep pace with the brisk strains
from the orchestra, he felt his mantle g^itl;^ plucked, and turning
beheld tbe page. The youth beckoned to him to withdraw a little
from the crowd, and when they were sufficiently removed to be
out of hearing, said archly : " So you are in pursuit of the fair
dame I server Nay, it will be useless to deny it. I know your
design, but am not going to betray it, either to her brother, or a
certain lady, who would be sure to thwart you, if she had the kast
inkling of it I can help you if you choose to confide in me."

" "C^n my word I am greatly indebted to you, young sir,"
Gbige replied. *' But as mistakes are not uncommon at a masked-
ball, let me ask whom you take me for ?"

*' I take you for one who may be better and happier than he is
now, if he does not throw away his preset chance."

" You would have me reform and marry— eh ?" Gage rejoined,
wi& a laufih.

"I womd; and if you will promise to turn over a new leaf,
I will engage to find you a charming wife."

'* Egad, I thought so. But to tell you the truth, my young
Ment(», I have abandoned all idea of matrimony. It is not the
least to my taste. Amusement is all I want, and in seeking an
interview with your captivating mistress I have no farther thought
than to pasahau an hour agreeably."

" I am out of all patience with you," the page cried, " and shall
caution my lady's brother not to let you approach her."

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12 THE SPENDTHBIFT.

" Your lady will not thank vou for your interference. Her chief
motive in coming to this ball, as you must know, was to meet
me, and if you throw any obstacles in" the way you will cause her
infinite disappointment"

*' You are a great coxcomb, and flatter yourself all women are
in love with you."

<< I am vain enough to think some are not altogether indifferent
to my merits, and amongst the number I may count your adorable
mistress."

<^ If my mistress were of my mind and my ^irit, she would die
rather than let you know how much she cares tor you."

^^ Luckily your mistress does not resemble you in all respects.
And now, "before we part, treat me to a glimpse of your face. It
ought to be pretty to match such a figure."

^^ Pretty or not. I don't intend you to behold it. And I beg

SI will reserve all your fine compliments for those who heed them,
ey are quite wasted upon me."

" Then you are not a woman, as I deemed you?"

"You shall find I can draw a sword if you provoke me or insult
my mistress, so don't presume upon my belongmg to the softer sex.
I am more dangerous than you think. Til wa^er you what you
please that I make love to Mrs. Jenyns beK>re the evening's
over ; — ay, and that she listens to me."

" Pshaw I she will laugh at you."

" You are afraid to bet."

"To bet with a stripling like you would be ridiculous."

** You dare not point out Mrs. Jenyns to me."

" I would do so at once, but i' faith I know not the disguise
she has assumed."

"A mere evasion. Never mind! I'll find her out without
your assistance, and if she laughs at me, as you say she will, she
won't laugh at my lady's brother. He shall put her to the proof"

''A saucy young coxcomb!" Gage exclaimed, as the other
left him.

A general promenade now took place, but Monthermer did not
care to quit his position, since it enabled him, without trouble, to
scrutinise the various masks passino; in review, as well as to converse
with those he pleased ; and he felt sure the circling stream would
soon land the fair Spaniard nt his feet. Ere many minutes, he
perceived her slowly approaching, still leaning on the arm of the
stately hidalgo, and he was preparing to step forward and address
her, when Mr. Briscoe, whom he had noticed struggling through
the motley crowd, succeeded in forcing his way up to him. The
corpulent landlord had got terribly squeezed, and his gouty feet
haa been trodden upon, so that between pain and want of breath
he could scarcely make himself understood.

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THE SPENDTHRIFT. 13

** An' please your honour," he commenced, — " the tick — tick —
tickets Mercy on us ! how my poor feet are crushed I"

" If you have anything to tell me, Briscoe — be quick I" Gage
cried, impatiently.

" I beg your honour's pardon," the landlord gasped — " I was
about to say Oh I what an awful twinge !"

"Well, — ^well, — another time. I can^ attend to you now.
I've 'business on hand. Hobble back as fast as you can^ and for
your own sake keep out of the crowd."

" Tour honour is very considerate. I would I had kept out of
it — but the mischiefs done. I shall be lame for a month. My
duty required me to acauaint your honour that the tickets "

<« Deuce take the ticKCts ! Stand aside, my good fellow, or I
shall miss her. I must speak to that Spanish lady."

'^ But I entreat your honour to hear me first."

** Out of my way, sir !"

** Ay, out of the way, huge porpoise !" a youthful voice ex-
claimed behind him.

Glancmg over his shoulder to see who spoke, the landlord beheld
the page.

** Ah 1 are you there, little jackanapes ?' he cried. " Beware
of him, your honour. He is a cheat — an impostor."

** Mend your speech, sirrah host," the page retorted, " or I will
dip off your ears.'

" What ! — ^here again, young saucebox !" Ghige exclaimed.
" Have you discovered her r'

" Discovered whom ?' the page demanded.

" Why, Mrs. Jeuyns, to be sure. Have you forgotten it already?
You were to make love to her, you know — and so was your lady's
brother— ha! ha!"

" Yes, so we were, — I recollect it now," the page replied, after a
moment's hesitation. *' I have a very treacherous memory."

" I should think so," Mr. Briscoe remarked. " Do you chance
to remember where you got your ticket ?"

'^ What means this impertinence ?" the page exclaimed. *' I
received my card of invitation from Mr. Monthermer, of course."

*' Marked, no doubt?" the landlord said.

" It might be marked for aught I know to the contrary; but
what is this to tlie purpose ?'

" A great deal — as his honour will comprehend."

** His honour comprehends that you are a very tiresome fellow,
and wishes you far enough, with all his heart," the page rejoined.
'^ Don't you perceive you are in the way, man?"

** Your honour "

" Not a word nwre," G^ge interrupted. ** She will escape me."

" That for your pains, meddlesome fool," the^age cried, snap-

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14 THI SPXHDIHBIVT.

ping bis fingers derinvely in the landlord's iS^e, and foUowing
Monthermer.

*^ And th]0 is all the thanks I am likelj to sety" J&risooe groaned,
as he hobbled back to the ante-chamber. /' Iwon't interfere again,
whalers happens."

XXL

THE CABD-BOOIC

Gaob aaoeeeded in his object The sefiora ^racioody consented
to dance with him, and contrary to what might nave been expected,
the jealon84ooking hidalgo ofiered no opposition. Indeed, to jndge
ir6m his courteous manner^ he was rather pleased than otherwise.
Our hero would £un have called for the kissing-dance; but his

Sartner objected, as it would compel her to immask, and this she
eclared she would not do at present. She preferred a country-
dance — the liveliest that could be played — and her wishes were
complied with.

As the orchestra struck up, all the couples who chose to join in
the dance ranged themselves in two long lines, extending from top
to bottom of tiie ball-room. Gage and his partner led off with
great spirit. The latter appeared to be endowed with inexhaustible
energy, considering the fatigue of the previous nvot Gage com-

Elimented her upon her powers, but she only laughed, and bade
im order the musicians to play faster. Faster and faster still ! So
light and nimble-footed was she that it required the utmost exertion
on Monthermer's part to keep up with her.

Faster yet I the musicians as well as the dancers had a hard time
of it, bat they resolved not to be outdone, fiddling away furiously,
and nearly cracking their lungs with blowing away at the wind
instruments. Everybody had to be on the suert If Gage con-
templated a fiirtaticm with his partner he must needs postpone
it tul the dance was over. Scarce a word could be uttered in
the midst of such hurrying backward and forward — such rapid
whirling round. Haiids across— change partners — down the
middle— up again! Not an instant's pause. Long before he
reached the bottom Gage began to flag. He was not accustomed
to such violent exercise. But his indefatigable partner urged him
on, — and he would not be the first to give in. Luckily, but little
remained to do. Not more than a dozen couples were left, and he
was wcwkinj^ his way as well as he could through them, when,
to his infinite surprise, a Spanish dame, exactly resembhng his
partner, offered him her hand. As he took it, he experien^ a
very perceptible pressure. At the same time he remarked that
the statdy hidalgo was there— dancing with this second senora.
But no time was allowed for explanation. Seeing he lingered, and
guessing the reason, his partner stamped her little foot impatiently,

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TEDS SPENDTHRIFT^ 15

and htarried liiin on. After a few tarns more, they reached the
bottom^ when the panting dame confessed she was quite exhausted,
and must sit down.

Every sofa was occupied^ so they had to proceed to the card-
room, where they found a seat.

In the centre of this saUe dejeu stood an oval table, around
which a multitude of punters of both sexes was collected. Indeed,
we regret to say the female gamblers preponderated. Brice Ban-
bury officiated as tailleur at the faro-table, and Jack Brassey and
Nat Mist, who had arrived that very evening — quite unexpectedly,
of course — at the Angel, as croupiers. Every opportunity for play
was here afforded. JBesides faro, — hazard, piquet, French ruff,
and gleek were going on at smaller tables placed in each comer.

So fearfully catching is the fever of gaming, that the fair Spaniard
could not escape it. She had not been long exposed to its baneful
influence before she expressed a strong desire to approach the faro-
table ; and once within view of the tapis vert the impulse to try her
luck proved irresistible. She had^ever played in her life before, she
assured Gage in a low, earnest tone — never I — indeed, she scarcely
knew one card from another — but he should instruct her.

Our hero was not the person to baulk her inclinations. Applaud-
ing her resolve, he bade her select a card, and placed a heavy stake
upon it. She lost — and he renewed the stake. Again the senora
was unfortunate, and as Gbtge's purse was now emptied, he had to
apply for more money to Mr.jFairlie, who was standing in the
card-room, distinguishable from the rest of the assemblage from
the circumstance of bein^ in his ordinary attire. But Gage had no
immediate occasion for Vie funds thus obtained. Before he could
join the seiiora, the haughty hidalgo suddenly entered, and march-
ingup to her with an angry gesture, took her away.

Unquestionably Grage would have interfered to prevent this im-
courteous proceeding had he not been withheld by Fairlie.

" Let her go, sir — let her go," the steward said. " There is
some mistake. Are you not aware that two Spaniards and two
Spanish dames have gained admittance to the oall ? Now I feel
quite sure that the don who has just left us has got the wrong dona,
and consequently there will be a diverting scene between them
before long. I recommend you to follow and witness it."

" One word before I go, Fairlie. Have you any idea who this
second couple of Spaniards axe ?**

"Perhaps I have, sir — but it's mere conjecture — ^not worth
mentioning. In fact, I'm scarcely at libertv to tell.''

" Well, I won't press you. But I should like to know* which of
the two is Miss Poynings 7*

** Not the lady you brought here, you may depend^ sir,** Fairlie
rejoined.

"By Heaven! I thought not," Cfege cried, reflecting how

YOJL,:

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16 TBB sranMnmivr.

tendertj his hand had been aqueezed by the second senora. ^ How
oould I be so stupid ! But tell me^ Fairlie, where is Mis. Jenyns?
I have not discovered her yet."

** She was here a few minutes ago, mr."

" What sort of dress does she wear? She declared I should
dance with her without finding her out**

'* Very likelj you have done so already/' the steward lemarked,
with a laugh.

" Why I have only danced with one person. Ha !** Ga^e ex-
claimed; a light suddenly breaking upon him — '^ I see it alL
That Spanish dame was Mrs. Jenyns. t* faith I have been nicely
tricked. But who is the hidalgo r^*

" Since you have made so good a guess, sir, I must needs own
that her companion is Sir Kandal — and the page by whom they
are attended is no other than Mrs. Jenyns's maid, Lucinda. Un-
derstanding that young Poynings and his sister were about to
attend the ball, Mrs. Jenyns resolved to mystify you — and
apparently she has succeeded." *

" ril have my revenge," Gage rejoined ; " but I must first look
after Lucy."

With this, he returned to the ballrroom.

XXII.

KASQUEBAOE FSOUCS.

Bt this time the real business of the evening had commenced,
and the bulk of the masquers began to think it necessary to sup-
port the characters they had assumed — whether successfully or not
mattered little, so that a laugh was raised. Mountebanks jmd
jugglers performed surprising feats. Quack-doctors vaunted the
wonderful merits of their nostrums. One of them, an Italian
charlatan, fantastically attired in a flame-cdoure^ robe, and having
an immense pair of spectacles over his aquiline nose, ran away wi£
all the custom. He nad elixirs of long life, love-potions, and love-
powders ; a collyrium made of the eyes of a black cat, that enabled
you to see in the dark ; an unguent that, rubbed over the lips, would
compel a sleeper to answer all questions, and confess all secrets—
especially useful to jealous husbands ; and, above all, a precious
liquid, a few drops of which in a bath would make an old woman
young again. Tne love-potions were eagerly bought by many a
sighing swain and ineffectually pressed on obaurate fair ones ; but
the efficacy of the elixir of youth was marvellously attested.

A phial was purchased by the antiquated dame in the taU
conical hat, and she had no sooner swallowed its contents than
her cloak and hat fell off as if by magic, and she appeared in the

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THE SPENDTHRIFT. 17

guise of a young and lightsome columbine. Hereupon a roving
narleqtdn, who had witnessed the transformation, bounded towards
her, and bent the knee, placing his hand upon his heart, as if
ravished by her new-bom charms — then pointing his feet and
rolling his head round rapidly, he danced on with her, hotly pur-
sued by a couple of pierrots, screaming out that she belongea to
them, and calling upon the crowd to stop her.

These pierrots, by the way, together with the scaramoudies
and Punchinellos, seemed perfectly ubiquitous, and played all sorts
of mischievous pranks — interrupting many a tenaer (Steatite —
tripping up the heeb of old women and crave and reverend
signors — launching quips and jests, so hardy that they often
brought them a buffet in answer — making love to all the prettiest
masks, and running off with several of them — appropriating
cloaks, swords, and scarves, and then wrangling about them
with the owners — and never to be checked in their practical
joking except by sharp and sounding slaps from the harlequins*
wands, which, it must be owned, were very freely administered.

In addition to all this bufibonery and fun, grotesque dances were
executed, in which Jews, Turks, courtiers, shepherds and shep-
herdesses, gentlemen of the long robe, friars, and even pontiflS took
part, producing a very droll effect. Perhaps the best of these was
a clog^dance, by a couple of peasants, which elicited loud applause.

But it must not be supposed that all the company were engrossed
by such gamesome performances, or cared for tne Doisterous frolics
of the mimes. Many of the young gallants liked the uproar
because it favoured their own designs, and consequently added to
it, encouraging the scaramouches in their tricks ; but tnenr always
contrived to come up in the nick of time to assist a distressed damself
or ease a credulous duenna of her timid charge.

Introductions were imneeded. Everybody asked anybody he
pleased to dance, and rarely met with a refusal. Hitherto, the
harmony of the assemblage had been uninterrupted. If a quarrel
seemed likely to ensue from some practical joke, it was instantly
put down, and the brawlers separated and laughed at.

Flirtations were frequent and desperate. Several couples who
kept aloof from the crowd, or took possession of the sofas and
settees, were evidently far gone in the tender passion ; while others
plunged into the thickest of the motley throng, thinking they were
securest there from observation.

Amid a scene of so much confusion, it was not easy to discover
those you sought, and no wonder many careless husbands and
chaperons, who had trusted their spouses and protegees out of sight,
never found them again during the whole evening. Like diflSculty
might have been experienced by Monthermer m his search for
Lucy Poynings, if the page had not unexpectedly come to his aid
and volunteered to conduct him to his mistress.

0 2

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lljt TBS SPENDTHRIFT.

**Is joor mistress unattended 7" Gage inqaired, in surprise.

^ Slie is in the ante^amber/' the page replied.

^^ Are you sure you are not an ignis-fatuusr' Monthermer said,
regarding the young coxcomb with some distrust

**I don't know what that is," the page rejoined; " but I am not
adupei as some one is whom I could mention/'

"Do you venture to apply that term to me, sirrah?' Gage
cried*

** No, you apply it to yourself, but it is not undeserved. Since
^ve niec, I have ascertained that Mrs. Jenyns has assumed the same
Jre«* as my ktJ y, and my lady's brother has ascertained it too. I
told you Mrs. Jenyns would listen to hihi if he made love to her —
4ind 1 was right. Look there !"

** 'Sdeath I what do I behold ?" Monthermer exclaimed*

Glancing in the direction indicated by the page, he perceived
a couple reclintng on a settee at the opposite side of the room,
evidetitly engaged in amorous converse. To all appearance they
were the senora and hidalgo who had recently quitted the card-
room. The lady's manner left no doubt on Gage's mind that she
was much interested by her companion, and the lively gestures and
the quick movements of her fan, with which she seemed almost to
converse, proclaimed what was passing between them.

*^ Wellj do you now confess yourself a dupe?" the page inquired,
in ft tone of mockery,

*'I must be aatistied that yon pair really are Mrs. Jenyns and
Arthur before I answer," Gage cried, angrily.

**And expose yourself to the ridicule of the whole room by
making a disturbance," the page rejoined, arresting him. ** What
^jod will that do? You are too much a man of the world to care
lor so trifling a natter as the loss of a mistress, and ought to con-
gratulate yourself rather than repine. You are well rid of her."

''On my eouIj I think so!" Grage said, in accents that rather
belied hia words- " Take me to Miss Poynings."

" This way " the page replied, — muttering as he plunged into
the crowd J fallowed by Monthermer. "If we can only keep him
in this humour for an hour, he is won." '

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FALSEHOODS AND EEALITIBS OF THE WAB.

Sebastopol, it is well known, was captured by a Tartar long before
the Allies penetrated within its precincts. The processes of Vauban had,
some were cruel enough to say, been superseded by the pitchers of
Gideon. Jhe '^ Fr-r-ran9ais, yainqueur k perpetuity** to quote a
Franko-MnscoTite writer, *^ and to whom victory would never dare to
play tricks," instead of being astounded at having captured one of the
most fonnidable fortresses in the world in less time than it requires
to make an emperor, took the news quite as a matter of course.

Barbanchu said to Tartempion : " So, old one, we have taken Sebas-
topol, killed eighteen thousand Russians, and taken twenty-two thousand
prisoners." To which Tartempion condescended to reply, " WeU ! if we
attacked it, what else could be expected ?"

Balls and illuminations were extemporised to celebrate the event.
VaxSUmee was made to rhyme with France^ and Frangais with succes,
m transparencies illustrating the fall of the Russian Gibraltar. 0£Bcial
bards proclaimed in their lyrics that the avuncular gloiy was effaced in
Napoleon III., apd the capture of Sebastopol was the most astonishing
feat of arms recorded in history. The Univers announced that the &fi
of Sebastopol was a victory for the Church : '^ The Greek schism, onoe
so arrogant, had received a mortal blow. Russia was not conquered, it
was dissipated. Her courage, like her doctrines and her policy, was a
falsehood." In Dunkerque there arose a triumphal arch, on wnich was
inscribed,

C3aptiire of Sebastopol— France— England— Turkey.

Glory to the Great Nation and to its Immortal Emperors.

Charlemagne — ^Napoleon HI. — Napoleon I.

The nineteenth century, the age of the electric telegraph, of steam,
gas, lucifers, photography, electro*galvanic pens, and turning-tables, has
not, however, been more mystified by a Tartar despatch, than it has been
by Muscovite intrigues and falsifications, all of which have been again sur-
passed by the happy idea of a telegraphic report of a sudden and ** un-
expected" attack to be made upon the Allies, and which important mys-
tification, re-telegraphed to the Crimea, put the last extinguisher upon
the campaign of 1865. These mystifications had not their origin solely
on the Continent. A power that employs agents to excite discord and
rebellion in Ireland by burning Bibles in public, would not fail to assail
England at a variety of weak points. A morning paper having an-
nounced that on the occasion of the investiture of the Emperor Napo-
leon with the order of the Garter, the insignia of the Emperor of Russia
as a member of the same order would be removed from their place, the
philo-Russians declared that an august personage had remarked thereon
to Napoleon III.,

" £h bien, mon petit ! voilii une jarretiero qui t'emp^chera d^sormais
de perdre Th6ba (tes has I)."

The astute punster leaves it undecided in the original whether the
august mother-in-law meant that a garter, by strengthening the allianoe
of France and England, woifld prevent an emperor losing his empressy

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20 FALSEHOODS AND REALITIES OF THE WAR.

or would simply preyent his stocking falling over his shoes. Be that as
it may, he does not fail to remind France that the Order of the Garter
was foooded to commemorate Q^cy, when 30,000 EngBsh baitirent d
plate couture 68,000 French, commanded hy Philippe de Valois.

The little elecdoneerin^ tiff ^th our Transatlantic cousins was puffed
up into enormous proportions by the same party. Mr. Soule had treated
the Duke of Alba and his sister with democratic indifference ; Mr. Mason
had resented Mr. Dronyn de Lhuys's impertinences; if France ^md England
were going to occupy the Crimea, the United States would do the same
with Cuba. But this was not all, the Muscovite duck took a higher
flight.

** War between England and France on the one side, and the United
States on the other," wrote the bird with red carundes, ** would be a
happy event for the constitutional states and the free' countries of the
west. Dominated by its commercial interests, England, in allying itself
with Bonapartised France, has deserted the cause of liberty of thought
and of human dignity, and has sacrificed the security of the smaller
states of the west. Who knows but that America may not take up the
noble and' glorious mission, and put an end to that Anglo-French pre-
ponderance, which is far more threatening to Europe than Russian
preponderance !"

What a grandiose anticipation, clothed in still more grandiose ' and
mystified language ! Who will explain what is meant by deserting
human dignity ?

In the mean time, we are told, waiting for Jonathan's off-hand casti-
gation of France and England, that the Cossacks of the theatres of the
Boulevards were so cruelly whopped every night that no one could be
found to take the part of Russian, except at an increase of salary. The
Parisians could not be brought to see any difference between the Russian
of the boards of the Gaite and the Russian at Sebastopol ; the imperial
lyriflts delighted in picturing to the public a French grenadier surrounding
Uuree hundred Cossacks, and taking them all prisoners. And yet le
peuple le plus sptrkuel du monde hea a little dramatic sarcasm to the
following effect :

" Captain, I have caught a Bedouin !"

" W^ bring him here."

'< Captain I he won't come."

" Well, then, stupid, let him go!"

<' But, Captain, he won't let loose his hold of me !"

The sineerity of the alliance of France and England these professional
embcoikrs of nations proclaim to be a falsehood, and wmt are their
proofs ? Why, that if a Frenchman is heard to speak his native tongue
in the populous quarters of London, he will be called a French dog. The
statement is a falsehood, not the alliance. In the theatres and in the
puppet-shows, say they, the Frenchman is as in the time of KingGeoi^ge,
a barber living upon frog soup, adorned with a frill, but having no shirt !
France, with whom to think otherwise than is ordained by tbs cansigne
de Fempereur, is a journey to Cayenne, fraternises with England as a dog
«r a cat whom we force to receive our caresses, to avoid the stick. To
fire «poB a German or a Russian the Frendi are obliged to pull the
trigger of their gum, but turned upon the'English they would go off by
themselves I

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KAUSBH00D6 AITD SEALITIXS OF THE WAB. 21

The wakH-ynagaaoB luatonanB of tlM war who swana in BniMek — the
modkni Athenf, as far ai aaticMMj, mora!, and political turpitttde aie
taucmmi, — t^ a tide of a eeriain parrot, modi in Cavour with Admiral
Snfficn — a name of renown in the leTenteenth century — ^fbr i|>eak]iig many
JangnageSy but who, aft^ being present at a great naval engagement,
coald repeat nothing b«t ^ Boom, boom, boom." The same diing they
tefl OS MB been the ease ^th a prince of royal Eoglkh Mood, who since
tbe battle of Inhennan has never been able to answer any question pro-
posed to Inm b«t by '^ Boom, pan, pan, ding, dang, krasch /"

Piedmont — the onfy free and constitutional state in Italy, the hope of
all who have the progress of that once happy land at hearty and the oread
of its priest-ridden neighbours — ^is, in the eyes of the same truculent
writers^ " a nest of dupes, who will at the best be found useful to fill up
the ditches of Sebast(»>ol with their bodies." Gennany cannot be made
to nndcistand tiiat its honour is ooneerbed in going forth to die either to
CToteet Englieh manufactures ,or to consolidate the throne of Napo-
lean ULl Nor can it be made to understand that the Danube is a
Ciemian river, fordbl)' and uojustifiahly tak^i possession of by Russia;
thai Poland and Finland were once as independent as Turkey ; and that
without the heroic and generous devotion of France and England the
Crennan and Scandinavian states would have been the first afUr Turkey
to &M prostrate beneath the yoke of the Muscovite. A war to protect
India indeed I If others had the candour and the honesty to avow it — if
thdr princes were not Roseian at heart, while their people are German
byname — they would acknowledge that the^sufierings and the triumphs of
the Alliea cannot bnt ultimatdy tell more for their l»aefit than for that of
ihe parties immediatdy engaged. But such is national and political gra-
tUnde I It has been made one of the boasts of nK>dem times that the
SBonBty o£ private life had found its way into that of politics ; that
dup&fty, Pdnic fiuth, and disloyalty had disappeared for ever £tom the
cabinets of Europe. Never was there a greater mistake; — never was there
a time when the simple political relations of people, and the caases of a
last war, have been more shamefully misrepresented, or that more false-
hoods have been so industriously droulated by those in power oooceming
the acts and motives of the Allies. Of faur aigument there is none.
^ Only dedare," Napoleon IIL asked, in the presence of the enlightened
representatives of the scienoe, art, and industry of Europe assembled at
the Piaris Exhibition, ^* who is in the right and who is in the wrong ?'
Va, it would not suit the political tactics of Russia, or of Austria, or of
ProBBa to answer that question. They supplant fair argument by
afaameless misrepresentations, and distort facts and the sources of hda m
the nurror of thdr own evil and designii^ consdences.

The Ei^^iish army, we are told, is no lon^per aught but a phai^om that
Russia woiJd east into the sea to-nKMrrow if France did not Moteot with
ila aiArd her historical enemy. While two hundred Anglo-Francs deep
every night in the sleep that knows no waking, their mast^^ are dancing
in the pdaces of the Tiuleries and of Windsor I People are still what
tibey ever were, vile and stupid cattle, whom dogs with golden collars
drive to the slaughter-house.;

And ythaA a remoi'se to gontv generals and an incapable aunistry must
tiiat phenlom be 1 To thmk uat the Highland regiments are now corn-

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28 FALSEHOODS AND BEALTTIES OF THE WAB.

posed of Moon and Eg;]mtiaiis ; the Coldstream Guards come from Asia
Hinor; and on the hybria fla^ St. George is seen embracing the|Ph>[^et
of Mecca ! Yet such is the kind of information seriously and soberly pro-
pagated on the Continent by the philo* Russian party. As to the French
armvy the historian of Notre Dame has also set mmself up as its historian.
And what does the veracious Victor Hugo tell us, from those hospitable
shores where the very waves rise up in remonstrance at such unblushing
iaJsity. ** France had an army, the first in the worid, admirable, incom-
parably, teie de colonne du genre humam^ which had only to sound its
Dugles to make all the old sceptres and all the antique chains of the Con-
tinent fall to dust, that army Monsieur Bonaparte (democratic style) took
it, wrapped it in the shroud of the 2nd of December, and then went
about in search of a tomb. He found it in the Crimea." If big words
could blow the monstrous alliance of France and England to the winds-r-
if Munchausen blasts could hurl sceptres in the dust — if prodigious lies
could annihilate two armies, all no doubt would be as those who wish it
Fortunately it is not so : the furious bombast of the dbappointed dema-
go^e, and the more measured and ingenious misrepresentation of the
politi(»d hireling, may have an effect with a few for a day, but it vanishes
swift as fog before the sun. Some must wonder, if with the progress of
events that come to belie the prophecies of evil, and the better knowledge
that sweeps away the cobwebs spun by such unclean hands, there does
not come sometimes a blush to tinde their feces of bronze. Not in the
least ; failure only hardens them ; Tike the of^-convicted, they feel them-
selves to be the self-constituted pariahs of society, they have no other
course lefb open to them but that to which their own ignoble tastes have
elected them, and they go on undaunted, wondering, perchance, if they
could tell the truth once — they know it could only be by chance that
such a consummation could be arrived at — for they never conscientiously
seek for it, they never, for the sake even of the great brotheriiood of
humanity, hope for it.

The French, they tell us, installed at Constantinople, will not withdraw
thence^ even if peace was signed to-morrow. England could not demur;
as a military power she now stands second to Piedmont and Holland.
The Life Guards have already no better chargers than Uncle Toby's
hobby*horse. She is no more than a humble vassal of France, a pasha-
lik in which the mind of the Tuileries dominates every will. She is only
a dead body attached to the car of her enemy. Napoleon is endironea
at Windsor. The nephew of the conquered of Saint Helena has at lus
feet England enervated and humiliated. To gratify the new arbiter of
the destmies of Great Britain, the lord mayor and aldermen (uniformly
believed on the Continent to be only inienor in power to the Queen)
issued their commands that for the future Waterioo Bridge shall be called
the Bridge of the 2nd of December. The Waterloo Column (where
does it stand?) is to be called Colonne de la Foi du Serment Trroalgar-
square is to be called Cayenne-place. The statue of Wellington in Hyde
Park is veiled with crape, and the monuments of Nebon and Pitt are
covered with canopies upon which glitter in golden letters Vive Napo-
UonlUJ

The prophedes for the future are not less amusmg than these veracious
accounts of the past Millions of Mongolian, Tartar, Turkman, and

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FAISEHOODS AND BSAUTISS OF THE WAR. 23

Coisack honemen, we are told, are mooDthig their war-tteeds ai in the
time of Attila. A mysteriouB hand points out to them the West. It is
Tain that we seek for the iEtius who shall hate the power to stay this
flood whidi will sweep away the French Low Empire. They forget that
other countries, in whose imgratefol cause England and France are allied,
He between ihc»e barbarian hordes and the latter people. Is it there that
we are to witness the gigantic battles also prophesied, in which sixteen
hundred thousand corpses shall strew the ground p

Truly the passions engendered by the various political phases through
which France has had to pass during a very brief space of time have
attained a virulence seldom witnessed in the bygone history of any people.
So intense is the hatred of some of the exiles to the existing government,
that they would rather see the Russians in Paris than the dynasty of
Napoleon. They stop at no misrepresentation or falsehood that will
throw distrust l)etween England and France. They are so savagely
inconsistent in their politi(»d hatred, that in one page they speak of
Waterloo as destroying a san&;uinary despotism and assuring the liberties
of the West, and in another they denounce the pilgrimage of the Englbh
to the field of battle as the greatest insult that can be offered to the
empire, and they call upon France to revenge it by the destruction of the
modem Carthage. To bring about this happy state of universal war, and
to make of all mankind a mere race of cut-throats, they show, as we
think we have made manifest by some of our quotations, that they think
so little of human nature and human intelligence as to believe that there
is not a lie so gross that it may not be thrown out as a but to human
folly, and human ignorance and stupidity.

How different are the feelings excited by perusing the realities of war
aa depicted by an English lady — a soldier's wife — Mrs. Henry Duberly.
The meek confidence in what is right, the unaffected sympathy for all
that is good, the pure love of nature, of man and beast, breathine affec-
tion for all around, from the flower of the plain to the kind-eyed horse,
and, above all, to a gallant husband, only tempered by that true English
spirit of piety which is so totally wanting to calm the throbbing temples of
exciters of discord and revolution — the apologists of assasrination. *< God
save my dear husband and me from dying in the midst of the din of life !
The very angels must stand aloof. God is our hope and strength, and
without Him we should utterly fail.'' Such is the beautiful and oathedc
language of an English soldier's wife, death in its most inexorable gripe
at the time carrying off soldiers and sailors alike on the first grand transit
from Varna to the Crimea, and when during one of the officers' death-
struggles his brother-officers were dining in the saloon, only separated
fiom the ghastly wrangle by a screen.

And then, again, when landed at Eupatoria, the first foint news came
of a battle at Alma. " Was awoke from a restless sleep by the entrance
of my maid — a soldier's wife — with her apron over her eyes. I naturally
asked what was the matter. * Oh ! ma'am ! Captain Tatham has sent to
say he has received despatches, which will oblige him to leave Eupatoria
to-day. And there has been a dreadful battle — 500 English killed and
3000 Russians ; and our poor cavalry fellows are all killed ; and the Lord
be good to us, we're all widows.'

** God, and he only, knows how the next hour was passed — ^until the
blessed words, ' O thou of little faith' rang in my heart"

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^ FALSEHOODS ASD SEALITII8 OF THE WAS.

*'The guns wfaidi we had Iieard,'* adds the noUe and generous-bearted
woman, a little further oo, ^ as we were breasting our swift waj firom
Kalamita to Eapatoria, were merely messengeri to ns of the heavy firing
inland, causing wounds, blood, and sadden death — lives, far wfaioh we
would gladly give our own, extineuished in a moment ; hands fiong oat
in agony, faces oalm and s^ll in death ; all onr prayers mMvailing now :
no more speech, no more life, no move love." When di^ after day passed
by without any decisive intdligence, "Captain Fraser,^' she r^ates,
^ caught a magnificent death's-head moth, and gave it to me. I Aivered
as I accepted it. This life of absence and suspense becoaMS at times
intolerable. Oh, when shall I rejoin the army, from which I never ought
to have been separated ! Any hardship, any action, is better than passive
anxiety.''

The wish was not far from its accomplishment. The Pride cf the
Ocean was towed into Balaklava harbour by the Simla on the drd of
October with Mrs. Duberly on board, and the same afternoon she was
joined by her husband. It was, however, impossible for a lady to live in
the camp, so our heroine had to live on board ship, contenttug herself
with almost daily rides to the camp and lines. At this time, says Mrs.
Duberiy, " we uiought Sebastopol was to stand, perhaps, a three days'
siege — ^more likely a sin^ day's ; while some, more arrogant still,
allowed it eight hours to resist the fury of the Allies !"

They were, however, soon '< disillusionised." Time soon showed that
the damage done to the town by the first bombardment had been much
less than was fancied. As to the ships, ^* they were a great deal too
much mauled to be able to go in again for some time." Indeed, they
nevei^ tried it again. Then came the oft-told battle of Balaklava, but it
will bear being viewed in a new light — as pictured forth by a lady
often spoken of in the French correspondence as one who, by the positions
she occupied on the occasion of most of the great encounters, would,
young and £ur as she was, be able to g^ve her own experiences of the
horrors of war.

Wednesday, 25th. — Feeling very far from well, I decided on remaining quietly
on board ship to-dav; but on looking through my stem cabin windows, at eight
o'clock, I saw mj horse saddled aira waiting on the beach, in charee of our
soldieraervant on the pony. A note was put into my hands from Henry, a
■K)ment after. It ran taas : " The battle g[ Balaklava has begnu, and promises
to he a hot one. I send vou the horse. Lose no time, but come up as quickly
as you can : do not wait for breakfast"

Words full of meaning! I dressed in haste, went ashore without delay,
and, mounting my horse " Bob," started as fast as the narrow and crowded
strwts would permit. I was hardly clear of the town, before I met a com-
missariat officer, who told me that the Turks had abandoned all their bat-
teries, and were numing towards the town. He begged me to keep as much
to the ^ as possible, and, of all things, to lose no tune in getting am<mgst onr
own men, as the Russian force was pouring on us ; adding " For God*s sake,
nde fsust^ or you may not reach the camp aHve." Captain d^ward, whom I met
a moment after, assured me that I might proceed; but added, "Lose no time."

Tummff off into a short cut of grass, and stretching into his stride, the old
horse laidhimself out to his work, and soon reachmg the mam road, we clattered
on towards the camp. The road was ahnost blocked up with flying Turks, some
rumung hard, vociferating, " Ship Johnny ! I^p Johnny !" while others came
akmg kdea with pats, kettfes, arms, and pbmder of every descdption* chiefly

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FAISBH00D8 AXD REALITIBS OF THE WAR. 25

dd boiUes, for whidi the Tuka appear to have a grei^ i^PFeeiatioiL The
Biwanift vere bj this tune in possession of three tetteries, from whidi the
Turks had fled.

The 93rd and 42nd were drawn up on an eminence before the village of Bala-
Uava. Oar carahj were all retiring when I arrired, to take up a position in
mr of tbeir own lines.

LookiBiiC on the erest of the nearest hill, I saw it ooyered with rmminrTnrks,
pursued bj mowited Cossacks, who were all making straight for where! stood,
snperintpaiding the striking of our tent and the packing of our valuables. Henry
flung me on tne old horse ; and seizing a pair of laden saddle-bags, a great-coat,
and a few other loose packages, I made the best of mj way over a cUtch into a
vm^an), and awaited the event. For a moment I lost sight of our pony
•| Wnisker,** who was being loaded ; but Hemr joined me just m time to nde a
littie to the kft, to get clear of the shots, which now began to fly towards us.
Preoeatiy came the Russian cavalry chtmi^, over the hfll-side and across the
vaUey, light against the little bne of Highlanders. Ah, what a mom^t !
Chaining and surging onward, what could that little wall of men do against such
numbers and such speed ? There they stood. Sir Colin did not even form th«n
into square. Thev waited until the horsemen were within range, and then
poured a volley whicli for a moment hid everything in smoke. The Scots Greys
and Tnniakillflns then left the ranks of our cavaAy, and charged with all their
wvight aad ibrce upon them, cutting and hewing right and left.

A lew minutes — moments as it seemed to me--and all that occupied that
latdy crowded spot were men and horses, lying strewn upon the ground. One
DOc« horse galloped up to where we stood ; a round shot had taken him in the
hanach, and a gaping wound it made. Another, struck by a shell in the nostrils,
staggered feebly up to "Bob,'' suflbcatiiig from inability to breathe. He soon
£ell down. About this time rcinforcemenU of infantry, French cavalry, and in-
fantry and artillery, came down from the front, and proceeded to form in the
vaU^ on the other side of the hill over which the Russian cavalrv had come.

Now eame the disaster of the dav— our glorious and fatal charge. But so
skk at heart am I that I can barely write of it even now. It has become a
matter oC world-histocy, deeply as at the time it was involved in mysterv. I
oiJy know that I saw Captain Nohui galloping; that presently the Light
Brigade, leaving tlieir position, advanced bv them^ves, altliough in the face of
the wh<^ Rusuan force, and under a fire tnat seemed pouring Irom all sides, as
though every bush was a musket, every stone in the hill-side a gun. Faster and
faster they rode. How we watched them ! They are out of sight ; but pre-
sently eome a few horsemen, stragi^ing, galloping Wk. ''"WMt can those
s^br»ui«r» be doing? See, they form up U^ther agun. Good God ! it is the
Eight Brigade!"

At ^ye o'clock tliat evening Henry and I turned, and rode up to where
these men had formed up in the rear.

I rode iu> trembling, for now the excitement was over. My nerves began to
shake, ana I had been, although ahnost unc(Kisciously, v^*ill myself aU day.
Fast the scene of the morning we rode slowly ; round us were dead and dving
horses, numberless ; and near me lay a Russian soldier, very still, upon his face.
In a vin^ard aiittle to my right a Wkish soldier was also stretched oat dead.
1^ bocsea, moetlv dead, were all unsaddled, and the attitudes of some betokened
extreine pain. One poor creamnQokMir, with a bullet through his flank, lay
djsDg, so patientlv !

CoJooeT Shewell eame up to me, looking flushed, and conscious of having
fought l&e a brave and gaUant soldier, and of having earned his laurels well.
Many had a sad tale to telL All had been struck with the exception of Cokmel
Shewell, either themselves or their horses. Poor Lord Fitzgibbon was dead.
Of Gaptain Lockwood no tidmgs had been heard ; none had seen him faD, and
wme bad seen him since the action. Mr. Clutterbuek was wounded in the foot ;
Mr, Smgfsc in the hand. Coptaift Tomkinson's horse had been shot under him ;

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26 FALSEHOODS AND BEALTTIES OF THE WAR.

Major De Salis's horse wounded. Mr. Mussenden showed me a grape-shot
which had " killed my poor mare.** Mr. Clowes was a prisoner. Poor Captain
Goad, of the 13th, is dead. Ah, what a catalogue !

At the auction that followed upon the disaster at Balaklava, an old
forage-cap fetched 51, 5$. ; an old pair of warm gloves, 1/. Ts. ; a couple
of cotton nightcaps, 1/. Is. ; and a common clasp-knife, II, lOs. !

Of the battle of Inkerman Mrs. Duberlj justly remarks: ^' We fought
as all know Englishmen will fight ; and our loss was in proportion to the
carelessness that permitted the attack rather than to the magnificent
courage that repelled it.** On the lOth of November Mrs. Duberly's
journal places on record that a heary gale of wind made terrible disturb-
ance among the shipping, both inside and outside the harbour, so much
80 that several shins' masters outside protested at not being admitted to
the shelter of the narbour. The protest was, as usual, disregarded, and
then came the irremediable disaster of the 14th, the loss of the Prince,
There was a terrible want of a master-mind in the Crimea in the winter
of 1854 and 1855 :

By ten o'clock we heard that the most fearful wrack was going on outside
amongst the ships at andior, and some of tlie party — Captain Sayer, Mr. Boch-
fort, and Captain Frain — started for the rocks, to try if by any means they could
save life. The next tidings were, that the Prince and the Resolute, the tUp van
Winkle, the Wanderer, the Progress, and a foreign barque, had all gone down,
and, out of the whole, not a dozen people saved. At two o'clock, in spite of
wind and weather, I managed to scramble from ship to ship, and went ashore to
see this most disastrous sight. Ah me ! such a sight, once seen, who can
foreet!

At the moment after my arrival, the devoted and beautiful little clipper ship
Wild Wave was riding to her death. Her captain and crew— aU but thrci
small boys — had deserted her at nine o'clock ; and she was now, with all her
masts standing, and her helpless freight on board, drifting with her graceful
outlines and her heart of oak, straightway to her doom. She is under our feet.
God have mercy on those children now !

Captain Frain, Captain Liddell, and some .seamen heave a rope downwards, at
which one boy springs, but the huge wave is rolling backwards, and he is never
seen again.

A second time they hurl it down to the boy standing on the stem frame, but
the ship surgmg down upon the ruthless rocks, the deck parts beneath his fejt,
and he is torn, mangled, and helpless ; but cluiging still, until a wave springs
towards him eagerly, and claims him for the sea.

The third ana last survivor catches at the friendly rope, and, swooning with
exhaustion and fear, he is laid upon the rock; while in a moment, with one
single bound, the little ship springs upwards, as though she, too, was imploring
aid, and falls back a scattered mass, covering the sea with splinters, masts,
careo, hay, bread, and ropes.

Meantime the Retribution, the Ladif Valiant, the Melbourne, the Pride of the
Ocean, the Medora, the Mereia, and several more, are all more or less damaged,
and most of them entirely dismasted, riding it out as best they may. The
greatest praise is due to the crew of the Avon^s life-boat, who went out fear-
lessly to endeavour to render aid, but were unable, owing to the heavy sea, to
get near the ships. Let me shut up my book, for the more I contemplate it, the
more terrible the disaster appears.

Then came the privations and the sufferings of winter. Facts, which
have been received as inventions at home, are corroborated by Mrs. Du-
berly. For example, we read : << The grey horse 'Job' died this even-

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FALSEHOODS AND REALITIES OF THE WAR. 27

ing of sheer starvation: his tidl had heen gnawed to a stump by hit
hungry neighbours at picket" Then again :

Major Hamilton lent me his white pony. Ob, daintT pony! with black
lostrons qres, and little prancing feet, and lon^ white tail dyed red with henna,
like the miger-tips of tne most delicate lady m Stambool ! We rode home at
dari[, along the rotten, deen, almost impracticable track. The dead horses lying
ri^t across the road, as tney fell, ana the dead and dying bnUocks, filled me
with horror, and the white pony with spasms of fear. Now we trod upon the
mnddy carcase of a horse ; now we passed a fallen mole, and a huge bullock,
flitting up, with long ghastly horns pointing upwards in the moonlight, awaiting
hb doith.

No horse is permitted to be destroyed without a special order from Lord
Lncan, except m case of glanders, and, I belieye, a broken leg. Some horses
in our lines nave been lying steeped in mud, and in their death-agony, for three
days!

Next comes a picture of the embarkation of the wounded, the dignified
indifference of the medical officer, and the roueh and indecent way in
which the poor howling ynretches were hauled along the quay, and
bundled, some with one, and others with both legs amputated, into the
bottom of a boat :

If anybody should eyer wish to erect a "Model Balaklaya*' in England (says
Mrs. Duberly), I will tell him the ingredients necessary. Take a yillage of
ruined houses and hoyels in the extremest state of all imaginable dirt ; allow the
rain to pour into and outside them, until the whole place is a swamp of filth
uikle-deep ; catch about, on an ayera^ one thousand sick Turks with the
plague, and cram them into the houses mdiscriminately ; kill i^ut one hundred
a day, and bury them so as to be scarcely coyered with earth, leaying them to
rot at leisure — taking care to keep up the supply. On to one part of the beach
driye all the exhausted bdf pomes, dyinff bullocks, and worn-out camels, and
leave them to die of stanration. They wifl generally do so in about three days,
when they will soon begin to rot, and smell accordingly. Collect together from
the water of the harbour all the offal of the animals slaughtered for the use of
the occupants of aboye one hundred ships, to say nothing of the inhabitants of
the town, — whidi, together with an occasional floating human body, whole or in
parts, and the driftwood of the wrecks, pretty well covers the water— and stew
them all up together in a narrow harbour, and you will haye a tolerable imitation
of the real essence of Balakhiya. If this is not piquant enough, let some men
be instructed to ^t and smoke on the powder barrels landing on the quay ;
which I mysdf saw two men doing to-day, on the Ordnance Wharf.

On the 15th of January news came that the Times had taken up the
subject of the condition of the army in a way that became the lesiiding
organ of the press. ** By so doing,** Mrs. Duberly says, *' that paper
cheered and refreshed many a heart that was well-nigh tired of

The trouble and the pain of hying."

Alas ! it oould not awake the dead, but there can be no doubt that its
just remonstrances saved many thousands of lives.

Early in March, the transports having been ordered out of Balaklava
harbour, Mrs. Duberly removed to a hut on shore, which Captain Lush-
ingtoQ had been kind enough to have built for her accommodation.
Races now came to enliven the tedium of the siege. The French had
dieir day as well as the Engluh* << The course was crowded, the sun
shone, and French officers were riding full gallop everywhere, and making
tiidr horses go through all the tricks of the mantye. The ' steeple-
diaee' course, avec huU obUaeles^ was delightful ; the hurdles were not

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28 FALSEHOODS AND REALITIES OP THE WAE.

snffictefnily lugh to pnzde sn intelligpent and actiTe poodle ; the difches
were like the trenches of a celery-bed ; and the wall about two fset aad a
half high." The Fnncb arrangemeii4f» lnyweveE ridieidoaa they may
lippear in oar eyes, were decidedly the wisest. A few di^s after, in a
rush at a wall oTer foar feet in height. Captains ShifiGoer and Thomas
were both nearly killed on the spot.

On the occasion of the assault of the Mamelon, to which 25,000
French marched up, as if to a review in the Champ de Mars^ General
Bosquet said to Mrs. Duberly, his eyes fiill of tears, '' Madame^ a Paris
on a toujeurs TExpositioo, les bals, les fStes ; et dans une heure ei demie
la moiti^ de ces brares seront morts !" ^The feeling does honour to the
old general.

What a vehement fire ! and all directed on the one spot. Two rockets in
Guick succession are gone up, and a moment after comes the third. Presently
nie slope of the Mamekm is covered with men, ascending separately and rapidly ;
not marching up in liae, as our infantry would have done, but scattered like a
flock of sheep. Two guns, hitherto masked, in the Mamelon open quiddy upon
them; but tney rush up, and form when they reach the eatreachnient. For a
time we can see nothing but clouds of smoke. The guns are all silent now, —
nothing but the volley and file firing of musketry. The Russians, standing on.
the fort, fire down on the advancing French ; but presently some men are seen
leaving the Mamelon and rushing towards the Mal^off. They are Bassians^
and the Mamelon vert is now in pK)ssession of the French. A momentary silence
which succeeds enables us to distinguish musketry on our left. It is tlic JEng^h,
who are attacking the quarries in front of the Bedan ; and an artilleryman, who
comes up soon after, mforms us that the English have taken the quarries with
but little loss, and, if let, will take the Bedan.

I But the noise in front commences again, and I see men in hundreds ru^iing
from the Mamelon to the Malakoff. Per JHo / they are not Satisfied with wh5
they have gained, but are goinj; to try for the Malakoff, with all its bristling
guns. Under what a storm of fire they advance, supported by that impene-
trable red line, which marks our own .infantry ! The fire from the Malakoff is
tremendous — ^terrible; but all admit that the steadiness of the French under it
is magnificent. On our left the sun is setting in all its glory, but looking lurid
and angry through the smoky atmosphere, that is becoming dense and oppres-
sive from perpetual firing. Presently the twilight deepens, and the light of
rocket, mortar, and shell falls over the beleaguerSl town.

And now for Sehastopol itself as seen a few days aDber its captore, and
we must conclude our notice of this very interesting and delight&l,
although sad record.

Tiursdaw, September 13^A — ^A memorable day of imr life, for on it I rode into
tlie English batteries, into the Bedan, the Malakofl, the Little Bedan, aad all
over our quarter of Sehastopol. Such a day merits a detailed description.

Eight consecutive hours spent in sight-seeing under a blazing sun is no light
and lady-like delassement at anj time, out when the absorbing mterest, the hor-
rible associations and excitement of the whole, is added to the account, I cannot
wonder at my fatigue of last night, or my headache of to-day.

So many descriptions, pictonal and otherwise, have gone home of our own
batteries, that I need not stop to describe them in their present half-dismantled
state ; so, clambering down (how wonderfully the Turkish ponies can dimb !J
the stony front of our advanced parallel, we canter across the open space, vA
ride at a gallq) over the steep parapet of the salient angle of the Kedan. ^ Ixx^
down," said Henry, " into the trench immediately beneath you; Uiere, where it
is partly filled up, our men are buried. I stood by Mr. Wiight> on Sunday
morning, when he read the funeral service over 700 at once."

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FALSEHOODS AKD fiSAUTIBS 0¥ THE WAB. 29

What wondcrfol en^neenn^ ! Wliai ioraraity ia the tluck n»e-VDrk wliiok
is woTen bdbre the guns, leaTinr aolj a liUle hok^ througk wbi£ the maa kv-
ing the ffon cm take his aim, and which is thoroo^j impervious to rifle skot 1
The B4MUU& is a suoeesBioiL of little battedes, each ftftmtAinmg two or three nm,
with tcavenes befaiad each diviskm; and hidden away wader gabion^, saod-Qags,
and earth, are little huts in which the officezs and men used to live. Walking
down, amongst these (for we were obliged to dismount) we found that trades-
men had lived in some of them. Henxy picked up a pair of lady's lasts the pre-
cise size of mj own foot C!oats, caps, bayonets lay about, with black bread
and broken gins.. The centre, the open space between the Redan and the
second line of defence, was completely ploughed by our thirteen- inch shells,
fragments ci which, together with round shot, quite paved the ground. We cd-
lected a lew relics^ such as I could stow away in my habit and saddle-pockets,
and then rode down mto the town.

Actually ia Sebastopol ! No longer looking at it throng a ^ms, or even
ffoin^ down to it, but liding amongst its ruins and through its streets. We had
uncied the town was afanost uninjured — so calm, and white, and f^ did it look
from a dis^pce ; but the ruined walls, the riddled roofa^ the green cupola of the
churdi, split and splintered to ribands, told a very different tale. Here were
wide streets leadine past one or two Ijuge handsome detadied houses built of
stone ; a little furtner on, standing in a handsome open space, are the burracks,
with laige windows, a fine stone facade of great length, several of the lower
windows having carronades run out oi them, pointing their grim muzzles towards
our batteries. Whilst I am gazing at these, a sud&n excUmation from Henry,
and a violent shr from the pony, nearly start me from my saddle. It is two
dead Russians Ijmg, almost in a state of deoompositicm, at an angle of the
building ; while m the comer a man is sitting up, with his hands in ms lap and
eyes open, lookinj^ at us. We turn to see if be is only wcmnded, so life-Uke are
his attitude and moe ; no, he has been dead for days.

A little further on we came to the harbour, and by the manj mast-heads we
oomit the nniaber of ships. Here, too, are fra^pieuts of the bndge which I had
watched the Russians building, and across which I had seen them so often pass
a^ re-pass. There is a kind of terrace, witli a strong wooden railing, overlook-
ing the sea, and underneath us is a level ^prass-plat, going dovm with handsome
stone steps to the water's edge. FoUowmg the wooNden railing, we overlooked
what had evidently been a foimdry, and a wori^hop for the dodcyard; Russian
jackets, tools and wheelbarrows, were lying about, and hunting among the ruins
was a solitaiy dog.

But all this time we are trying to find our way to Brigadier-General Wind-
ham's office near the custom-house. To get there we must ride round to the
head of the dry docks, as the bridges are either broken or unsafe. What is it
that makes the ahr so pestilential at the head of the dry docks f Anything so
putrid, so nauseating, so terrible, never assailed us before. TVsre is nothing
but three or four land transport carts, oovered with tarpaulin, and waiting at
the corner. For Heaven's sake, ride faster, for the stench is intolerable. We
go on towards the custom-house, still followed by this atmosphere : there must
be decaying cattle and horses behind the houses ; and yet they do not smell like
this! Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons and Admiral Bruat are riding by, so we
stop in a tolerably sweet place to congratulate each other on meeting in Sebas-
topoL We then continue our road to the custom-house. What is it P It can-
not surdy be— oh, horror ! — a heap, a piled-up heap, of human bodies in every
stage of mdrid decomposition, flung out into the street, and being carted away
fin* Durfal. As soon as we gained possession oi the town, a homntal was dis-
oovei^ed in the barracks^ to which the attention of our men was first attracted
by screams and cries. Entering, they found a large number of wounded and
^ing; but underneath a heap of dead men, who, as he lay on the floor, fell
over him and died, was an English officer of the 90th Regiment, who being
badly wounded, and taken prisoner, was put into this foul place^ and left, as in

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30 FAI^SEHOODS AND REALITIES OF THE WAB.

the case of the hospital near the custom-hoiue, to perish at his leisure, of
hanger and pain. He had had no food for three days, and the fever of his
wound, together with the ghastly horrors roond him, had driven this poor
Englishman to raving madness ; and so he was found, veiling, and naked. I
think the impression made upon me by the siffht of that foul heap of green and
black, dazed and shrivelled flesh, I never shsll be able to throw entirely away.
At the moment, however, and I think it a wise ordinance, no siffht such as
war produces strikes deeply on the mind. We turned quickly bacK from this
terrible sight, and soon after left the town. Riding up towards the Little
Eedan, we saw where the slaughter of the Russians had principally been. The
ground was covered with patches and half-dried pools of blooo, caps soaked in
blood and brains, broken bayonets, and shbt and shell ; four or five dead horses,
shot as they brought up ammunition for the last defence of the Malakoff. Here
we met Ck)lonel Norcott, of the Rifles, who had been reported a prisoner, riding
the same chesnut pony which has had honourable mention before. Our con-
gratulations on his escape, when we fancied him marching with the retreating
Russians, were neither few nor insincere. The Malakoff lay just before us. I
am told that it is, and it struck me as being, one of the most wonderful examples
of engineering work possible. It is so constructed, that unless a shot fell pre-
cisely on the right spot, it could do no harm. What with gabions, sand-bags,
traverses, counter-traverses, and various other means of defence, it seemed to
me, that a residence in the Malakoff was far safer and more desirable than a
residence in the town. Buried under^und were officers' huts, men's huts, and
a place used as a sort of [mess-room, with glass lamps, and packs of cards. We
are not allowed to carry any outward and visible signs of plunder, but I filled
my habit pockets and saddle pockets with various small items, as reliques of
these famous batteries and the famous town — blasts, buttons, and grape shot
from the Hedan ; cards, a glass salt-cellar, an English fuzee, and the screw of a
gun from the Malakoff; a broken bayonet from the Little Hedan; and rifle
bullets from the workshop in the town. Then, as it was growing late, we rode
back to camp by the Woronzow Road, and down the French heights on to the
Balakliva plain.

The realities of war contrast vividly with tbe falsehoods. In the one
instance we have the dark vapourings of political hatreds through which
no light, no hope for the future can be discerned. In the other, the truth
8tan<JU out in not always agreeable, but still naked and bold relief. ^ Eng-
land, we know, is not in agony. Mistakes have been committed, incapa-
city has been manifested in high quarters, but all will right itself soon.
" After all,** Mrs. Duberly justly remarks, " Englishmen are not so help-
less, so hopeless, and so foolish as they tried hard last year to make
themselves out to be. I think they rested so entirely on the prestige
that attached itself to the name of a Britbh soldier, that they thought
the very stars would come out of their courses to sustain the lustre of their
name. Alas ! their name was very literally dragged through the mud,
during the miry winter months." It has undoubtedly been a severe lesson.
We lost an army from the mere want of the most common-place organisa-
tion— we played a secondary part in the siege of Sebastopol from the want
of men and the absence of sufficient generalship — but the Anglo-jSaxoi^
race is not so easily discouraged as the Franco-Russians — far more inve-
terate in their hostility than the Russians — would imafi^ne it to be. It
will rise purified by trial, resolute in difficulty, nerved for the conflict^
and ultimately triumphant, as becomes the descendants of Ccenr de Lion
and the Black Prince, of Marlborough and Wellington, and of Blake and
Nelson.

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THE DOCK WABEANTS.

A TALB OF THB TDCBB. — DT TWO FABn.
Bt DUBLEf COSTELLO.

PABT THE riEST.

OHAPTEB I*

A 8H0BT CTT TO FOBTDRX.

Of aB ihe firmt in Lcmdoo, tradmg at general merohanti^ metal and
colonial laokeri dongnationg which implj dmoft eyery land of mercantile
operalBan — none did a greater bosiness tlum the house of Graysteel and
Han^^de, of Biasing-lane, Towier-street, and Commercial Chambers,
Ganunonbnrj Buildings.

It was not, to be sure, one of those traditional firms which City men,
when they are thinking of Mammon, involuntarily mutter to themseWes
in Hen of prayers, for it had risen somewhat suddenly-— out of the mud of
London, as it were ; but it was not on that account the less respected,
the great a£Gurs in whidi ** Graysteel and Handyside " were engaged, and
the £u-ge sums that passed through thdr hands beiug, in City estmiation,
the true and only abstergent. That purism which will not recognise a
high position until long years of toil have been devoted to attain it; has
no existence now-a-days : when all are striving to reach the goal by the
shortest cut, there is no time for turning roimd to ask your neighbour
how he guned his jJace. *' Graysteel and Handyside were, conse-
quently, looked up to ; their movements were so regular, their under-
taking's so vast^ and their payments so puoctual, that it could scarcely
have heen otherwise. Indeed, unless they had been ''looked up to" so
universally, it is not very likely that Messrs. Godsend, Stiff, and Soaper,
the great bill-brokers, would have cashed their paper in the way tney
did — almost without looking at it.

Still, although such influences are less avowed, personal character has
its weight. Archibald Graysteel was a man of strictly religious habits ;
so strict, that he was not content with being a worshipper himself, but
devoted all the leisure which his Sabbath opportunities afforded to the
inoculation of others with his own religious views : he not only went to
diurch twice on Sunday, but filled up the interval between morning and
evening service by extemporaneous preaching on the suburban commons,,
greatly — no doubt — to the edification of the crowds assembled there, until
the public-houses opened. To reclaim sinners and set their feet in the
right path, wae an object he had so much at heart, that, had he followed
the bcnit of his own inclinations, it is more than probable he would have
gone about domg the same amount of good on every week-day as well ;
but, as he was heard to say with a sigh, there were woridly duties which
he was compelled to perform, '' being also placed here for that purpose ;"
and, impressed with ttiis conviction, he did not fail to improve each snining

yoi*.xzziz, D ,

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32 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

business-hour. Some people thought that Archibald Grajsteel pushed his
doctriual views too far ; but these were the careless herd, who set little
store by mere formal church attendance, who did not consider Sabbath
recreation sinful, and who could actually afford to be cheerful, and eyen
hospitable, on the Lord's day. They w«re, however, in a decided minority
in tne conclaves where reputation is conferred, and, therefore, it mattered
little to Archibald Graysteel what they chosed to think.

If William Handy side, the second partner in the firm, was a person of
different temperament, it did not necessarily follow that he was less a man
of business than his more sedate oeUeague. City men are fond of
enterprise ; not rashly urged, it is, they say, the g^reat secret of com-
mercial success. Now it was evidaot to the most superficial observer that
William Handyside was bold and enterprising ; but then it was equally
dear that he was keen and shrewd. << You can't take him in," was a
fommen exyroewoo ; '< he knows perfeetty well what he'* ebovt,'' was the
eomownt mvariably made on William Jlaadyeide't fpeeidaitioii; ^In^M
never go too ftir with Archibald Graysteei at hu elbow, was an aBSvoanee
that paflsed like current coin in City circles. People liked Wifltam Han^
side for his buoyancy, his briskness, his readmesa, hb wiftuling spirits
and good humour; they respected, and^ rather feared, Archibald Gray-
steel, fer his austerity, his method, his taoitumity and doseness of dis*
positicm. The moral attributes of the firm were prudeaee and oourage ;
*' Festina lente " was its motto ; and it prospered.

The foundation on which this prosperity was originally based was t^
only thing that the Wise Men of the East never exactly knew. ^ It was
Capital, di coarse," they said ; but none of diem could settle kyw much.
Ah, if ^ey had but known that^ they might— to use a phrase move often

rted than rightly appHed — have " gone and done likewise !" Hext ta
art of m&ng money for tbemsdves, there is no secret wooldrbe
oapiti^ists so earnestly desire to learn as that by which thmr rivak have
become ridi ; it is also an intense satisfaetion to them to be able to say
they know how muck such and sudi fi^ks are worth. Commeroially
speaking, this is wise, because it regulates your own proceedings : you
may be the wealthier and the safer for the knowledge. Yet it is not
always wisdom that prompts the inquiry ; curiosity has, iwry often, quite
as much to do with it, and that sort of self-glorincatton which shines by
die reflexion of odier people's spleDdour. fihat whedier the world that is
oentred between old London-waU and the Thames were carefol or curious,
they gleaned nothtng from the revelations of ^ Graysted and Handyside."
There they were^ turning money in Blasing-'lane, turning money in
Gammonbury Buildines : great houses went down widi a crash, but *^Gcay-
sted and Handyside ' stood firm ; if there were g^uts in the market, they
wore able to wait ; if these was a scardty of produce, they wtee ready
with the supply, if not with the thing itself, at all events with its
eqmvalent.

So widely did their transactionB spread, that it seemed as if the vfaoe-
bosses in the London Docks had been solely built for their oonvenieDee,
to store the multifarious objects in which it was their ^easurt no less
lluMi thdr profit to desl Tkwe was nothing you com name diat tiba
firm of Graysteel and Handyside had not a ^Ksk^vanrant for. £)very
tkiog that liad a price aDywhere and was destined for nkimcte safa^ cspm

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THE DOCK WASBAHTS. tS

within their all-emhr&Gnig grasp. They had wstohad the maama^ no
doubt, when maikets were dull to speculate in yaloes ^t were neglected,
l%ere is always '' a good time oomtng " for holders, piovided yon can
wait fer it ; if not — ^if sales must even be forced — ^having bought with
judgment, yco may consent to a soorifioe which will stUl leave yeu a
gsiiKT. It must hai« been on this principle that ^ Gisa^teei and Handy-
side^ acted, or^iey would hardly htve been willing to part with so many
ineslnaable wamnts to the astute but accommodatiiig house of Godseno,
StiiE, and Soaper, who were never known to give more tiMn money's
vporth for the objeots of thor traffic, UU-brokers, as a gaauial rule, not
be^goptimirtB. That ''GnmtBel and Handyside" were able to ledeem
tbe imrnmis thns pledged, ivnenever it became neoesBary to de so, must
have arisen firom ^e fMt Idiat tbe capiciou wheel of oonaeroe tmaed

veiy oppwtunely in their favour, giving them the duone, just when they
wnted it, of realising in some other of the many oomaoditiee widoh
they made it their praetioe to hold. But however this mi^t be, " Gcsy-
steM and Handysi^'' always floated on die crest of tM wave, and if
diere was one firm more tmm another in which the boose of Godsend,
Stiff, and Soaper placed their bill-brekernig confidenee, it was ^eica.
It is true that circumstances now and then occurred which might, with
simpler folks, have put a stop to this pleasant commercial see-saw — for in
trade as in love, the course does not invariably run smooth ; but Messrs.
Grodsend, StifiP, and Soaper, who were quite as wise as serpents, if not
altogether as harmless as doves, saw their way to their profit, and was not
that enough?

To me these mattera are, and always have been, a mystery ; but dten
how should I know anythhig of the rules by v^faieh the transaetions of
miUioHnaires are regulated ? I, whom the inoone-'tKx just manages to
seize— and sear 1 ScdOicient for me if the milkman, as he is called, does
not clamoHr at xiy gale {(^ ihe sixpemiywor^ of chalk and water that
fbmiahes Ma wedkly supply ! NeverthdeSB, I have an opinion, wludbi I
will eommonioste as privateiy as the cironlation of these pages mil
permit. It is : that the milUonmdre who winks at firaadolent praotioes
so long as they do not injure him, is very nearly as dee^y-dyed a cri-
minal as the^vendor of cmdk-and-waler instead of milk, and perhaps he
does quite as much harm to public morality.

I love drifted somehow into a sort of explanation of the motku ope-
randi by whicii the firm of Graysteel and Hand^^stde contrived to ded
•o eztensivdy and get on so swimnungly ; but in ease I shofdd not have
made my meaning perfectly clear, I msgr as weU m^e a dean Iweast of
it, and confent that the dook-wanvnts wnidi they so fireely circulatod, and
on wlnoh they succeeded in raising such large suaos of money, were, one
and all of them, fictitious. A small capital will do to begin with when
yon «an create as much as you please by a mere stroke of the pen.
*^ Gn^rsteel and Handyside" commenced l£dr original system of opera-
tiooB wtlli Bomeliiing infinitenmally small, and yet it proved quite
enough for ^eirpuipese, for at the end of six years, or theieabouti, they
found themselves the proprietors of a circulating medium, of their own
mamifiwture, whidi repesented a valve of fain a million of money.
Wintt their assets were, in the e^f«nt of being obliged to have neoourse
tocadipiqrineBtSyitiBfloaroeiy worth ^vUletoinquin. They never tooiE

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34 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

the troable to do so, but ^' pushed on," as William Handyside said, trust-
iDg to the chapter oif accidents.

What wouM a great many of the Wise Men of the East have given
for a knowledge of this system, provided it could always have been kept
a secret ? The answer might possibly have a tendency to shake the con-
fidence in CiW men of opulent writers like myself so I refrain from
giving one. It is more to the purpose of this story to show how long die
secret was kept in the case of ** Graysteel and Handyside.** I am in-
clined to think it might have endured for ever — with the concurrence of
Messrs. Godsend, Stiff, and Soaper — if they had not» I must say im-
prudently, resolved to embaik in something real. Perhaps they were,
m a manner, forced into this line of business by the necessity of having
something substantial to show in case of the worst ; periiaps it was only
an extoision of the speculating mania, the Juror ludendi which, when
once you are bitten by it, you can never refrfun from ; but, whatever die
cause, ^* Graysteel and Handyside*' went at it on their usuistl magnificent
scale, gave a couple of hundred thousand pounds, in bills and so forth,
for an overwhelming distillenr on the banks of the Thames, and went on
flourishing in a more flourishing way than ever.

CHAPTER n.

HOW TO DO BUSINB88.'

If I were asked to express any idea of the worst description of punish-
ment reserved for our misdeeds in a future state^ I should define it to
consist in a sense of utter loneliness, with every tie of previous association
severed, with a consciousness only of being disconnected from all living
souls.

Could such isolation exist on earth, it might, in some cases, be the very
reverse of punishment; but it never happens in this world; none are so
absolutely alone as not to have some friend or relative whose heart does
not throb to hear of their success or failure.

Archibald Grraysteel and William Handyside were neither of them ex-
ceptions to this general rule, each having families, to say nothing of
friends.

Archibald Graysteel was a widower, with an only daughter, a beautiful
girl about nineteen years of age, by name Euphemia. William Handy-
side had a vrife and several children, the eldest of whom, Arthur, was a
fine young man of three-and-twenty. The country houses of both the
members of the firm were near each other, some six or seven miles from
town, and intercourse between the families was frequent. It would have
been still more intimate had it depended on Mrs. Handyside, who was
extremely fond of Euphemia Graysteel, but the habits of ner father were
not natiurally social, and he kept his dauehter at home a great deal more
than his friendly n^ghbours wished, ^t enough, however, for the pre-
Tention of that consequence which is almost inevitable when least de-
sirable.

In the eyes of the worid, who saw the well mounted establishment of
Mr. Handyside and the less pretentious but equally comfortable entOH"
rage of Mr. Graysteel, who heard what vast enterprises they conducted.

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THE DOCK WABRAinrS. 35

and who entertained the belief that they were quite as solTent as any of
the ^g;enilemen in << the Bank pariour/' nothing oonld be more natural
than the supposition that a match between Arthur EUmdyside and £u*
phemia Graysteel was the consummation not only to be wished but to be
expected. It would seem that the young people thought so too, for they
feu in love with each other, though, with the reticence wMch belongs to
lorers, they did not communicate the fact to their respective parents.
Gonc^dmeDt, however, was of little use, in one quarter. Mrs. Handy-
ude, with a woman's penetration added to a mother's watchfulness, soon
understood how matters stood, but, for certain reasons, kept her own
counsel

I may as well say what those reasons were.

Mrs. Handyside remembered, what very few, save the house of Ood-
send, Sti£^ and Soaper recollected, that when in a much smaller way
of business, many years before, the firm of Graysteel and Handyside had
stopped pajnnent. She also knew, though of this her cognisance was
special, that the capital with which the ma started affain would barely
have sufficed to funiish the house she now lived in. She had seen some
of the inner workings of her husband's mind at a time when to all iwpear-
ance not a care possessed him, and all these thmgs had taoeht ner to
distrust his actual position. The more sweeping his schemes ror making
a sudden fortune, the more she trembled at the possibility of a sudden
reverse ; and though she was ignorant of the precise nature of the trans-
actions which were passed upon the world as bon&fide affidrs, she doubted
very much — ^nearly as much as the house of Godsend, Stif^ and Soaper
— whether they could fairly stand the light of day. Mrs. Handyside had
always opposed her husband's desire to bring up Arthur to ''the
bunness," and her pertinacity had succeeded. She destined him to the
law, and, after takmg his degree at Cambridge, he ate his commons in
the Inner Temple, and was duly called to the bar, to practise or not, as
fete might determine. At all events, Arthur Handyside had a profession
should it be necessary for him to gun a living by it.

He, conscious of little save the happiness he felt when in the presence
of Euphemia Graysteel, fl;ave every hour he could abstract firom his com-
pelled pursuits to her society; and she, who found no sympathy at home,
gladly responded to the 'kind welcome of his mother, and was not slow to
admit of more than a fleeting interest in himself.

If you ask fer the reason of that lovers' reticence of whidi I have
spoken, seek it of those who instinctively shrink from making the world
the confidai^t of a secret which is all the more delicious for the secreey by
which it is surrounded. If you wish to know why it was advisable on the
part of Arthur and Euphemia not to make a hasty disclosure of their
mutual sentiments, there was, first, the apprehension which they enter-
tained of refusal, and, next, tiie fact that the article of ''settlement'^ —
though the lovers knew nothing of this — would have raised a question
somewhat difficult to settle. Archibald Graysteel and William Handyside
would rather not have been troubled with such a question at that moment
The concerns of the distillery required very careful attention, for it could
not go on without plenty of r^y money, the Excise took care of that^
and plenty of ready money was only attidnable by the absence of what is
called "tightness" in the money market, and the existence of good

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86 THE DOCK WARRAHTS^

secviii7* What ^tighteess'' pzevailed, -v^hick was the ease just then,
sod tlus eoemibj had to be invented, de die m diem, I leave yon. to ju<ige
whether '^Graysteel and fiandjstde" were likeijjr to take any gveat
deliffhb m a proportion which must of neeessitj make a direet appeid to
thebieeches' pockeit.

. By dint, however, of great exertions, the distillery which eventaaDiif
was to make all right, to take out every blot of fortune and stain of cob-
sonenoe, got on at the beginning, in popular phrase, " like a house on
fise." But this simile has sometimes an aafortuaate as well as a hap^
applicaiaon, for the foster it get on, the* heavier grew ^e demands of the
polite individual (all government officials not in the post- office art polite)
who acted on behalf of the Excise department ; while, on the other hand^
there was a conrtantiy yawning gulf in the shape of i^ bills which oon-
stitnted the original pufchaseHuoney, and which wese always arriving at
jB&tantf*

It is not only when adders aee abroad that '^ wary walking," as BButiis
says, is needful ; when acoeptancee are flying about right and left, when
spelter -waaants, wocd- warrants, wine -warrants, tallow -warvaats, all
thinge that comUne wi^ warrants but are tiiems^es mihout a warranty,
deliq;e ibe markets and overflow the counters of the money-soriveners,
^< wary walking^ is net less needful than imperative. They were dBvor
follews, the firm of Gnysteel and Handyside, but all th^ okvemesi
eould not ke^ them out of the trap which themselves had baited. An
Irish nobleman did sovnediing of the same kind lately on his own estate,
which wae only naturaL Hk affidr merely concerned lus own legs, hot
the mistake of ^'Graysteel and Handymde" had moral conseqiienoes
attached to it. They were indiscreet enough to forge their own doo«-
men^ tfiat bs to say, they issued tiiem in duplicate, there beine a prepoa-
■essioii in the City in foivour of produce of a particular desonptioD, and
more than one of these duj^cates foil into the hands of Messra. God-
send, Stiff, and Soaper.

A scene accordingly took place between the head of our firm aad the
managing partner of that house which, briefly as it may be told, offers
matter for more than brief consideration.

It opened with a note in which Archibald Graysteel was requested ^'-to
step down" to the countiiM>«>hoase of Messrs. Godsend, Stiff, imd Soapei^
in St Withold's, '^ to conmr upon a matter of business."

With brow imruffled and cheek unflushed, Archibald Graysteel obeyed
the summons, only delliying hb immediate attendance long enough to
remind his partner that the firm had a good many outstaomng dsJkaia.
▼aridos parts of the Continent, and that it would be j«st as well to get
some passBorts from the Foreign^-office, in case he thought it desirable to
send oonndential messengers to collect what was due on the Bjgnt,
WiUiMi fiandynde gravely readied that he had aheady been thinking of
taking that step, and ike senior member of the firm Ihen prooeeded
to St Wiihold's.

He was shown into the prifcate room of the Manager^ Mr Jabea
fioajper, who^.lflie the odier meosbers of the House, was of the drab per-
suasion. Mr. Soaper was a large, sledc man, wi^out an angle in fass
frame, and gave you the idea of a person vdio bathed every moming^ in
oil, swallowing some of it in the proeess, whidi continued to ooie oat

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"^i

TIE SOOH WAllAim. ^t

slowlf dunng the day. If « eontnifc htd Immu dasiMd^ it oauU not have
jbeaii more atnkkc^ljjiMgented ifaan in the hacd fiMwiMitB asd gaant
£gaT» of Arckibold (M^steel, whow ablutiDi]* might hme been made
mth viB^ar. One thiagv however, Omj hadia coBMion) aad that vat
a perfect oentcol over all exftevnal signs of emotkMu You Mt TihMii;^
the harpoon yery deep to reach the whale through its blubhec, and atafae
hard \o pieiee through the shell of the tovtoiee.
Zi^ men sever waete thw time in eompHmentaiy diseoofee.

^' Friend Graysteel," began Mr. Soaper, talcMig out a p*p«r ficom, a
taUe imweg before him, '^ thee knows due warrant ?*

It represented one, to the value of eighteen thousand pounds, wkadt
wseeddhr dfesertbed.

Archibald Grajsteel quietly replied in the affirmative.

^^ Thee Imewe this, Ukewiie?" continued Mr. Soapee, prodoekig a
aeeond pAP«r, similar in all respeols to the first

*^ I do, was iiiB answer.

'^ Heat thee^ then, two comgnments of ore in the London Docks that
tally in eyexy particular : size, weight, and amount ?"

A rghtbflid Geayoteel held, he said, so much ore just ihea that, unless
he referred to his books, be cenld not immediately aiMwer the question*

''But if thee transfers thy warrants on the same day*' (Mr. Soaper,
as we have seen, had no g^reat revesenoe £ar giammar; few of the
'' Fnends "" hmm), '' thee cans'n't well foarget that \"

The senior member of the firm admitted that his meviory waa not
likely to prove so treacherous.

" We made thee an advance on this,^ pursued the calm Jabea, pinning
down No. 1 on his open ledger with the narefinger of his lasge right hand,
" on the seventh day, sia& month, present year ; at the same date
Spenowhawk and Co., of Bilgenrow, made oiee a like advance, or
peraihientvie one thirty-eixth per oent. higher than u% on this ;'* aad he
nailed down No. 2 with the other forefinger. " Which of these two," he
ajdad^ after a paave, '* ie genuine ?"

Anehibald Ghmysteel fait that the placid Quaker had him in a fix. He
looked hard in his fiaoe, but noting shone then save the glistening oiL
Me^ fek at a lots to wUeh of the predous doeuments to give the prefer-
«noe, and semaiaed silent

^ Thee haat done Imsinese lor a longtiaie with our house, Friend Gray-
steel," resumed Mr. Soapw, ^* aad much—- verji imKh^--^ thy paper has
paaaed through ear hands. I thought tbse an honest man, but now I
find thee art a aegue !"

The expression on Archibald Graysteel's oonntenanoe aeemed to aak if
this discovery were altogether new ? He shrugged his shouldersu

<'The firm," he sai^ in a very bw but distinct yom^ << wanted
money."

Mr. Soaper eoi^hed slightly.

** Thee bait not yet answemd my qaestioM."

^^Nmiher of them are the thing, then, if you will have it."

Mb. floaper removed the two warmato fiom the ledgac, and looked
them up in the drawer.

** Thee hast a large distillery, and a heavy plant?"

Archibald Graysteel nodded.

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38 THE DOCK WABRAMT8.

Mr. Soaper tamed oyer the leaves of hit ledger* *

'< Fourth day, third month, spelter-warrant, eleven thousand ; dgfatb,
tlurd, wool, seven thousand; twenty-fifth, third, tallow, thirty-three
thousand;——" and so he went on for five minutes; ^' total, one
hundred and sixty-three thousand, eighteen and six. What hast thee to
meet all this?"

<< Well," replied Archibald Graysteel, '< it will all come right, if you
only give us tune. WeVe had pretty nearly the same amount outetajid-
ing with your house before."

<< Ah I returned Mr. Soaper, << but then all the warrants were
genuine."

It was Archibald Graysteel's turn to cough now : the cough expressed
doubt

" However that may be," sdd the general merchant, not caring as it
seemed to dwell on the subject too long—*' however that may be, I sup-
pose you don't intend to be hard upon us I That wouldn't do you any
good. Besides, as I said just now, we shall come round if we're not
pressed."

''What other engagements hast thee, besides these?" asked the
Quaker, pointing to the ledger, and, through it, to the drawer.

« Not another, so help—"

Mr. Soaper raised his substantial hands.

** Thee must not swear," he said. " What are the monthly returns of
the ^stiUery ?"

" Month before last, eight thousand — last month, nine five hundred —
keeps rising "

'' And the plant and the duties ?"

" All paid, every shilling ; here are the vouchers !"

From a large pocket-book Archibald Graysteel took a packet of papers.

" I thought," he said, " you'd want to see the receipts, so I lm>ught
them."

Mr. Soaper carefully examined every receipt ; he was apparently <
satisfied with the scrutiny, for, when he had made an end, he 0Dserve<^
in the same level tone that had marked his speech throughout :

" Thee wast riff^ht to suppose, Friend Graysteel, that we meant not to
be over hard with thee. Thee must give us a promissory note at sixtv
days for one hundred and lixty-three thousand, eighteen and six — with
interest : thee shall then have all thy warrants back again."

If I said that Archibald Graysteel was able invariably to repress all
outward tokens of satisfaction, I was wrong. On this occasion a gleam
of pleasure danced in his eyes.

" I may depend on this ?" he said.

" Thee may," still ungrammatically replied the Quaker.

Archibald Graysteel little heeded rriscian's mishap.

" You shall have the note in ten minutes," he rejoined.

This was the way in which " Graysteel and Handyside" got out of
that difficulty.

And in this way a good deal of " business" appears to be transacted
in London.

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THB DOCK WABBAITTS. 39

CHAPTEB in*
SQMXIHDrO ISKM ▲ BRBAXrUT.

With thdr credit thus bolstered up for • time^ ''Grayiteel and
Handjside" resumed operations. But kind and forbeanng as Mr, Soi^per
had been to ikem — (I say nothing about justice to the commercial world,
in ifUch the spurious warrants obtained a fresh and brisk circulation)—
tbey still felt that it would require more than ordinary efforts to meet
the extremely heayy liability which they had incurred towards God-
send, Sti£^ and Soaper. One hundred and sixty-three thousand pounds
—(without the odd shillings and pence, which would be m^ difficulty^—
is a large sum to proride within uie space of a couple of months, when
good buls and b<md fide checks are required in payment ; and the im-
mediate consideration of the Firm was giren to the question. For a few
weeks, while in the first flush of renewed confidence, both Archibald
Graysteel and William Handyside were sanguine of success. It was
known how largely they Aoc^d^t with the Quaker house; it was supposed
that they still continued to do so ; and from this supposition they aeriTed
considerable support But the real source of supply being stopped, for
Godsend, Stiff, and Soaper would take no more warrants, their paper
got looked at, which is not a very favourable symptom in the prosecu-
tion of commercial affairs — and it began to make itself tolerably plain to
the Firm that a crisis was at hand. Unable to prevent the blow, they,
therefore, laboured to avert its heaviest consequences.

Their object now was to raise as much cash as they could, and make
themselves scarce before hfi€U of bankruptcy was issued. It was agreed
upon, for this purpose, that Archibald Graysteel should take the distUlery
in hand, wHle WilUam Handyside made the necessary preparations for
getting off. That they must fly together and keep together was the
main feature of their plan, for, they were necessary to each other.
William Handyude was a very tolerable linguist, and accustomed to con-
tinental life ; Archibald Graysteel knew no language save his own, and
had never been abroad, but, as he was to raise the cash, his partner's
movements must, perforce, be regulated by those of the purse-bearer.
Whatever course might ultimately be decided on, it was also settled that,
in the first instance, their departure should remain a secret even to their
own families.

How they ^ped may be inferred from the following dialogue which
took place m the course of Saturday, the 16th of June last past, in the
private room at the offices of the firm in Blasing*lane :

" The Lord be praised," Archibald Graysteel began

"^ Never mind that now," interrupted William Handyside, — " we're on
humness. What have you done ?"

'<As much as couid be done under the circumstances. You know
that the Excise duty was our great pressure ; until that was paid not a
gallon of spirits could be removed. Well, I had to look out for a party
who would advance upon a certain quantity to be delivered on a certain
day."

'' Yes, I know that Didn't Muffle and Twigg offer to take it?"

" They did, provided it was ready to-day. .filter leaving you yester-

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40 TBE DOCK WABRABTfl.

day afitemoon, I went to the ^ Inland Revenue/ offered to pay 70OO/. ;
they agreed to removal on those temMk At nine this morning MacSpig^ot
came to the distillery for the money; gave him a check, crossed, on
Moonshine and Glitter; he waited to see the stuff removed; at twelve
Muffle and Twigg sen* down ; got ibmr cbeok, uncrossed, for 3000/. ;
cashed it an hovr «£berwavds ; and now we aoe safe titi MondaPi^ moaaag,
as our check can't he pieseMted to-day. Tkat^s what Fve done, and
devilish ghid I 8m,-*-^thaf s to say, the Lord he praisadf-^t's aM OTer !
I hope you've made it all right I"

" Here," said William Handyside, taking out his pocket-hook, ^ here
are six Foi«igniK)ffioe passports ; no desoriptbn of peiaons, nothing hut the
names, different of course in each. Three of them am for you, and that
money we'll divide, fdr fear of accidents. The .Soron Oey leaves at two
to-morrow monuag for Antwei^ ; I've taken tickets and secured bertha.
We mast be on> beard to-night, — not later than ten."

^ What have ywi done down there T^

^' Sent weed to say we're engaged till late — not to sit up for eidier
of us."

""AndtfaeOhambm?"

'< 01^ the clerks will be there on Monday. We'll take the key of this
place with us* Meantime we may as well be seen as usual. I've ordered
dinner at six at the ^ Peacock/ in Limenstreet. Ask for No. 7, first floov,
if you arrive first*"

The worthy partners now separated and betook themsrives to their
customary avocations. Mercantile engagemmits were entered into, pro-
spective arrangements made, and manifold d^diogs transaeted, with an
air so assured as to awaken feesk eonfidenoe in many who had began to
doubt.

^'Graysted and Handyside did a good deal in wools to*day," said
Buddie, of Tumbull Alley.

^' Yes," replied Hxmeyball, of Cateating-street ; <^ sold liiem three hun-
dred bales myself."

<< They're all ririit, now, I fancy," observed Ruddle.

^ Safe as the Baait," letiuned Honeyball ; '' I hvre heard Grsysteel
say that Soapor, of < Godsend, Sti£&,' had offered him 6d. a cwt. above
pnoes at two to*day if he'd sell all Ins tallows and cocoes^ but that he de-
disedy as he expeots a rise on Moaday of one-and-six, at least !"

« Wish I'd known that sooner !" said Ruddle ; '^ wouldn't have parted
with mine ! Graysteel has eood information !"

^* Good as any man on 'Change," rq>tied Honqrball.

On that Saturday afternoon, in foot^ there was quite a ganend desire
in the City to do business vrith *^Gn^8teel and Handyside," and more
than one broad-shouldered bsdcer went back to his turbot and mutton at
Hoxton, discontented at not having had a deal with the entermnng
firm; more thao (»e eomdy "waiter iqion Providenoe" inwardly re-
joioed, during^ the sermon next day, at having parted wilh his <' Gmat
Screw Kug^gets" or his '< West Cockatoos" at something Mke a piemiun
ef ^eyen-niTiesaths to '^ Grapteel and Handy^." On the following
Monday morning, however, the discontented beffan to chuckle and the
smug to look somv when a whisper got abroad that something had gone
wiDBg with ^ the entefprisiog firm ;" and when, abeut noon, it be^une

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THE BOOK WASSAJfTS. 41

generally known that both the partners had disappeared, leaving behind
them an immense amonnt of liabiltttee, yanously estimated at from three
hundred thousand pounds to a million^ every feeling was absorbed in one
universal consternation. Addle-street, Old Jewry, Garlick-hill, Great
St Thomas Apostle, all the lanes and rows, all iihe holes and comers in
the City of London, poured forth their loud-voiced denunciations.
Rums, w^ch had opened lively, straightway became dull, Saltpetre was
neglected, Currants were inanimate, Tallow ceased to be firm, Brown
Jamaicas were depressed. Native Ceylons went down, Great Screw
Nugget^ West Cockatoos, East Elizabeths, Royal South Unities, Chim-
borasos, Purmtorios, every mining share that existed, and every mining
share diat did not exist — ^the latter by &r the most numerous — ^went
down deep as die shafts that led-^or aid not lead — ^lo their treasured
secrets ; nothing looked up, — nodiing could look up in the midst of such
general confusion. To say that the market was merely ^ flat,** was to
utter a phraae without meaning ; the simile of a pancake no longer had
any significance : if you wanted the real type of coUi^se, it was only to
be found in the moral prostration of the house of Godsend, Stiff, and
Soaper, the great bill-brokers in St WitholcTs.

Monday, ^e 18th of June, was the anniversary of Waterloo, the day
of the great fiEulure at Sebastopol. Napoleon's discomfiture, the bitter
£sappointment of the Allies, were terrible things in t^eir way, but they
never came near the state of mind of Mr. Jabez Soaper, when he found
fliat the promisBoryTiote of " Graysteel and Handyside" for one hundred
and sixty-three thousand pounds eighteen and sixpence — with interest —
was on that day dishonoured. The curse might have fallen on Israel
before, but he^ uke S^iylock, never felt it till then. Even the sensaiionB
of Mr. MacSpigot, the exciseman, cauterised as his inner man had long
been, and impersonal as he was in die a£fair, even his sensations, I say,
were scarcely pleasant, when the check cm '* Moonshine and Glitter*
was returned to the *' Inland Revenue*^ ominously labelled with ** No
effecter

But what are the groans of money-bags when weighed in tbe balance
against the tearful silence of an anxious household; what the bill-
brokei^s baffled expectations against the doubt, the dread, the agony of a
fond and trusting wife, of a loving though neglected daughter ; what the
duped peculator's vexation against the diame, the sorrow of honest,
nonle lunds ! Let us regret, as our natures permit, the shock which
commenaal cre£t receives when great defelcations occur ; but fet no
oonmaitton be made between the loss of pelf and the abasement of all we
hold dear. The next time Mr. Honeyball sells his wool he may find a
safer customer; the next time Mr. Jabez Soaper '^accommocbttes" a
doubtful party he may possibly be more successml ; but when tiie heads
of faonlies are branded as fraudulent bankrupts, what remedy can nunister
to the grief of those whose belief in their father^s integrity, whose reve-
xence for their parents' name, is destroyed for ever !

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42 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

CBAPTXR IV.

The mists had all deared away from the waters of the Scheldt^ when
the passengers on board itie Baron Osy came on deck to catch a first
glimpse of the world-£Euned spire of Antwerp Cathedral, as it rose in
mid-air across the broad Polders of Zwyndrecht, dbtincUy visible in the
clear, blue sky, though still many miles distant. Amongst the number
of curious gazers were two Englishmen : one, a brisk, fresh-complexioned,
sandy-hairra person, about five-and-forty, who told the steward of the
vessel, in answer to his inquiry, that his name was Harmer ; the other, a
tall, dark-browed, sallow-fiiced man, apparently some five years older,
who called himself the Reverend Mr. doldine. These two were friends,
and, like the majority of English travellers, cud not seem much disposed
to make acquaintance with any of their compauions, but kept aloof from
the rest in the bows of the steamer, intently watching tne gradually
developing city. Havine once taken up their position, forward, they did
not remove from it untilthe Baron Oty brought up at the landing-place
on the Quay Vandyck ; they were then the first to hasten on shore, Mr.
Harmer leading, closely followed by his reverend friend.

The custom4iouse examination ended, the ordeal of the hotel com-
misuoners had next to be undergone. Thb is a tnal of temper in all
countries, but especially in Belgium, where touting appears to be the
national characteristic. Mr. Harmer and Mr. Goldin^ were, like the
others, assailed on all hands by a cohort of clamorous voices, all speaking
English as fluently and abqut as ele^tly as if they had acquired their
knowledge of the language exclusively at Wapping, which, in many
instances, was the fiact. One little hook-nosed rellow, who represented
the H6tel St Antoine^ ereatly distinguished himself by his noisy activity,
and if he had had to ckal with a milder personage than the Revereud
Mr. Golding, he would undoubtedly have succeeded in his object ; but
his anxiety to effect a capture extending to that gentleman's great-coat^
which hung on his arm, he was saluted by so heavy a blow that he
instantly measured his length in the gutter, amidst die shouts and jeers
of his associate touters. You may abuse a Bel^^ as much as you please
—he cares nothing about that — but, if you stnke him, I woula have you
beware. In Flanders generally, but more particularly in Antwerp, there
is enough of Spanish mood left to account for the revengeful spint which
resents a personal injury, and the little eommi$sumnaire of the Hdtel St.
Antoine snowed that he was not without his share of it. He rose from
the ^und, livid with rage, and fixing his keen bUck eyes on Mr.
Golding, seemed for a moment as if, like a wild cat, he were about to fly
at his throat ; but he either thought better of it or was suddenly in-
fluenced by some new idea, for, remaning from any attack, he seemed to
content himself with closely scanniug the features of his foe, and when
he had gased his fill he shook his h^ and laughed bitterly, as much as
to say, it would take a long time before he forgot either the man or the
blow. Mr. Harmer, who evidently knew the chai«cter of the people and
the customs of the place better than his companion, had, in the mean
time, been good-humouredly elbowing his way through the crowd, whose

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THE DOCK WABRANTa. 43

importtinities be quietly Tensted^ and sncceeded in getting dear of them,
called a tngilatUe from ihe rank on the quay to convey himaelf and friend
direct to the Malines railway station. Tliere was a delay of about ten
minutes before their baggage was brought out from the Custom-house,
and while they were waiting for it the hotel eammisnonnairei dispersed
in Tarious directions with the other travellers, all except ihe one whom
Mr. Gol^g had maltreated. He remained, with folded arms, leaning
against a waQ, interested only in the movements of the person by whom
he had heesD outraged. While there he stood, sufficiently near to hear
what was said, a few words passed between the two Englishmen.

**I wish to Heaven," said Mr. Golding, <<they would make haste with
our things; we can't get away too soon frtnn this place.''

^ Of course not," reolied Mr. Harmer ; <^ it would never do to stay
here ; we might as well be on ComhilL"

<' How fiur is it to Brussels?"

" Only an hour, by the rail."

" You know where to go to there P*

^ Oh, I know the place well. There is a house called the Singe (TOr
in the Fo$sS aux Zaups where you might remain for-^— Oh, here
comes the baggage*"

» Thank God! Get in! Tell him to drive quick."

The vigUanU moved off at a rapid pace, watched till it disappeared
from the quay by the little eammissiannaire. When it had turned the
comer he muttered :

'^ Those are not common travellers ; everybody stops at least a few
hours in Antwerp; theU one^ at any rate, Kas never been here before;
they are only g^ng to Brussels ; why should they be in such a hurry ?
They don't seem to care about money; the commissioner got what he
asked without a word. Not stay to see the cathedral — the museum —
nothing — not even to breakfttf t f Singfular ! Well !"

He then left the position he had taken up against the wall, crossed the
quay, and went on board the Baron Osy, askmg for the steward.

'< Have they no express-trains in this country ?" asked Golding of his
companion, in a discontented tone, when the train drew up at tne first
station outside of Antwerp, and a host of holiday-makers got out to join
in the festivities of a kermesse in the village close by ; *^ do they stop at
all these wretched places ? It seems to me that they travel very slowly !"

'' Railway travelling in Belgium is slow," replied Harmer, carelessly,
" but yon needn't mind ; we're fairly off now."

<< I see they've got the electric wires along the Hue," observed Golding,
after a pause.

" What does that signify ! No one here knows anything about us."

" Who can tell what may happen before we get to Brussels. Ah !
whaf 8 that ? Some one climbiog outside the carriage. Coming in here !
They've caught us !"

^' Nonsense ! it's only the guard collecting the tickets ; they always do
it this way in Belgium ; don't betray yoursdf ! There's not the sligntest
reason to be afraid!"

** Is ibis the Brussels terminus ?"

*<NoI we're at Mechlin — only half-way; we shall be kept here ten
minutes. Thb is the jdace where all the Belgium railways unite."

<< From Ostend,— and Calais ?"

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44 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

'* Suppose t^y hove telegraphed from London !**

** You forget tins is Sunday. Nobody knows we're off yet It o«n't
be known till to-monow, and then they must find out whidi way we'^e
gone.

''Is your money safe?" asked GoMing, when they were agvin in
MOtievi. ** That em^ed feUow at Antwerp wanted to get hoM of my
gieat-ciiat with this pocket-^book in it"

♦'Oh, mine's all right," replied Harmer. "What fellow do yo«
mean?"

" 'nje one I knocked down."

" Oh, it was yon Snd that, was it ? I saw ^ere was a scuffle of some
kind, hut didnH take much notice. It's just «b well he didn't hare you
up for it Our journey might ha^e been stopped altogether !"

" I was angry and hurriea. I'll be more careful another time. I wish
I had g^yen hmi some money. Do you think he was fikeiy to lay a
complaint after we left ? They might stop us on that account !"

" No, not now. These people are passionate, but it's soon oyer."

'' I wish I hadn't struck him. On the Sabbath, too ! I forgot that 1"

"Forget eyerythinfi^ but the fact that we're at our journey's end.
There's Lacken and the AttSe Verie / Fiye minutes more and we shall
be safe in Brussels.'*

^I hope sol" sighed the man of constant apprehensions, he who
neyer yet had quail^ at any eyil doing, had neyer shrunk bade from any
attempt, however daring. But to haye courage before the deed and after
it are two diffsrent things*

Harmer's codnen was justified by the fact that no impediment lay
between them and the Fossi aux Lai^, and they slept that night at the
Singe iTOr.

CHAPTER V.

" Do you think we are far enough off?" in<]uired Golding, as he sat
at breakfast next Boraing, with the partner of his fiight, in the small,
^gy c^/^ <^ the hofkl.

" For the present, yea," re^ed Harmer. ** Besides, I haye one or
two things to do before we set o«t again. We must change one of the
large notes, get up insb passports, and haye a look at to-morrow's Times,
It will be soon enough to start when we know we are adyertised."

<< I dreamt," said Golding, "that we were in Cleikenwell prison; and
when I woke this morning I could hardly get rid of the notion, the
bedroom was bo strange and dreary. What do you mean aboat fresh
pa8q>ort8?"

^ As soon as we get back those which were taken to the Fr6fectare de
Police last night, I must copy the timbre and signatures; type for hasd*
pwiitiag can easily be had ; I brot^;ht traeing-paper and blocks with me ;
and, thanks to my skill in wood-cutting, it won't take long to man]ifiBM>-
ture a stamp with an impression quite as good as thdia. So you see,
Graysteel *"

^Per Ood's sake dan't mralMm ny teal name !" exdanned the false
Goldinff, in aoaeaiti ef terror. ** We cMl he-diaooyBfed ta a certaintj
through your want of caution."

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THE DOCK WAKRiirrS. 45

Hanner — or Handyside — laughed. '^Peoj^'s ears," he smi^ ''are
not qake so quick as your hskcy supposes. Howera*, there's bo harm
in keeping on the sa£d side. Now then, if you're finisfaed your cofiee,
we'U take a turn and look afiker the matters I mentioned."

In the Montague de la Cour they found a noney-ehanger who^ having
sBtisfied himself lliat Ae bank-notes o£Eered him were genuine, asked no
questtont of these who presented them. A few sets of type and some
primtiBg ink were also obtained, and, without troubfing themseknes about
the €wnnwtieiy ef ibe town, the fiigitires returned to the Smg^e d'Or^
^ere ^j found that their passports had been returned with tlM official
sufBStores attadied. Shut up in their douUe-bedded room at the badk
^the hotel, WiHiam Handrside worked diHgendy for three hours, tlm
intanral being eeoupied by Archibald <k«j|rsteel in iUing up, yMi a lon|^
azrajr of figures, eeveral pages of a daspedf memoraadnm-book iduoh was
kd>eW '^Cemmon Prayer." At the ezpiration of the time named the
derer fo^ar had oompleled his task. The Bdgian Hon, wit^i its sov*
roundiBg metto, was fiurly out — ^the vita <^ tlie <' Administration de la
Surety PuUique" was earefully set vq) in type— the half-effitced iraprea-
fliona which figure at the bade of most passports ware ddy stamped, and
when the signature of the Chef dn Bureau was imitated, die fittrioatton
was so neat that there was little danger of detection. Of conrae fi»sh
names appeared within, and instead of requestii^ aU those ii4Kmi it might
ooneein to allow 3ir. Harmer and the Rer. Mr. Golding to pass frwlj
without let or hindrance, and to affi)rd them every assistanoe and protec-
tion ei which thejr migjit stand in need, L(»d Clarendon was xnade to
sotiflb the same kmd offices in favour of two other respectable British
Sttbjeeto, named Geoge and Hooker — the real initials bemg retained for
reasona sufficiently obvious.

Without being so apprehensive as his companion, Handyside thought
it Boi advisable for them to ftppeur too mudi in public togedier. They
therefore avoided the table cTh&te, and dined in a quiet comer at the
famous restaurant of Dubos, in the street where they had put up^ eacpense
being no consideration, and gourmandise having something to do with
the junkr partner's choice. There was a striking contrast between die
two men. With a more various, if not a deeper domestic stake at issue,
and certainly very fimd of his wHe and children, William Handyside was
as gay and free from care as if he were travelKag soidy for pleaaure;
while Archibald Graysteol» who had never manifested any remaricable
affaetioB for his daughter, and whose feeliim never overflowed save at
ocnventiele, kept continually lamen^g the loss of his ^ pleasant, peace-
M borne," which had been anything but pleasant or peocefiil when he
ornamented it. Not to dwell too minutely on the pursuits of each, I may,
however, mention that the first evening in Brussels was devoted by
Ebndyside to the theatre, and that Graysteel, under the pilotage of a
vaiHdeplaeey made the round of all the churches; that the fomer re-
entered his hotel greatly edified by the exertions of the corpi de baMet,
and the latter much snocked at " the vain and idle ceremonies of a
hoBwiiAad and ignorant priesthood."

The Mst eveninr, however, gave them aomething else to tinnk oL To
fii wp the time unfed there was a possibilify ef karmng the news fiaem
ad, the namd auauiawn was made to Watedoo. The summsr^

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46 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

day was dnwing to a dose when they returned, and, having dismissed
the oarrii^fe, ^nd^side, as it was dusk, proposed a walk in the park,
where, amr sauntering ahout for half an hour, they sat down in front of
Velloni*s to eat an ice. While thus agreeably occupied, Graysteel, whose
suspicious watchfulness never slept, caught the sound of his own language.
There would have been nothine extraordinary in this, but for wmit was
spoken. ''You see," said a voice, ''I was all right ; they went to the
Singe d^Ovy as I told you." '< Ah!'' returned another speaker, whose
words were dropped with a pause between them, as if he were smoking^
''ah,— but — what— has— become — of — them — since the morning?**
« How can I tell that ?" replied the first ; " but depend on it they 'aven't
'ooked it j^P "What— makes— you— ^hmk— that?" "Tlieir Img-
gage is still in the *otel!" "A— dodge — ^perhaps. How— did — ^the —
waiter— describe them?" "The oldest, tall, thin, grey; the other,
short, stout, red : the same I saw at Antwerp." " That — answers — ^tbe
—description. You — ^would — ^recognise — ^them — again?" "^itywhere."
" Very— good. Now — just— show — me — ^the— way— to— the^police-
office— and then — keep — a — look-out — in the— Fossy— oh — what-d'ye
call-'em?" "The Foss^ aux Loups; what you call Wolf«I>itch.4treet."
" A— queer — ^name, — and — a — ^fit — pkioe — ^for — them — two."

Here the conversation ceased. At' the moment it began, Graysteel,
whose presence of mind had returned with actual danger — ^hud his hand
upon his partner's arm, and having arrested his attention from him, a
look full of meaning, to ensure silence, they both overheard every word
that was said, for the speakers were only three or four yards behind
them, standing obliquely to thm position, with a large tree between.
As the last words were uttered, Chraysteel, with the slightest motion of
his head, glanced round and saw two men moving off in the direction of
the Place Rayale. One of them, tall and strongly made, was a perfect
stranger to him ; his companion, a little wiry fellow, he identified imme-
diately as tiie commissionnaire of the H6tel St Antoine.

" What's to be done now ?" he whispered.

" Of course we can't go back," replied Handyside, " there again ; the
Wolf s-Ditch would be uie wolfs mouth. What's more, we can't stay
long here either. We must 'ook it, as that vulgar little rascal said."

"What did he mean?" asked Graysteel, who was not so great an
adept in slang as his partner.

" Make another flitting. How shall we manage ? It's a good job
we've kept the money al:^ut us. I never like to trust to portmanteaus.
Let me see ! If they don't find us, they'll fency of course we're off by
the rail. No difficulty in learning that we went to Waterloo and came
hack. A lucky thought — I must get hold of that man before the police
see him. I should like to have got a sight of the Times, to see if we
are advertised ; it's in the reading-room over yonder before now. How-
ever, that can't be helped. We must be off without it. What we know
is quite enough. Come with me. It's lucky I know Brussels pretty
well."

He led the way as he spoke, cautiously amongst the trees, till he came oat
of the park into the Place Roy ale, wnere a number of carriages always
stand mr hire. The first person he saw was the man who had driven
them to Waterloo. Like most Belgians he was fond of /bra, and having

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THE DOCK WARRANTS. 47

receiyed a faandsome " pourbaire^ from Handyside, had druok two op
three chopines with a friend at an estaminet on Uie Place before he
stabled his steeds for the night.

Handynde went straight up to him and put a five-franc piece into hb
hand.

<< Yon reooUeet me ?" he said.

The fellow looked at the money and then at the speaker.
^* Ah 1" he exclaimed, *^ o'est tous, monsieur I Qu'est-ce qu*il y a
poor Totre service ?**

Handyside explained that he wished to hire him again. He wanted
to know if he could talce himself and his friend as &r as Louvain that
mgbtf they wanted to see the H6tel de Yille by moonUffht. The driver
scratc^ied his head and began to make objections. He had had a long
day's work, and his horses were knocked up. When pressed, howeveri
and the promise given of a *' Leopold^ for himself when they got to
Louyuiiy he expressed his readiness to accommodate Monsieur as fiir as
lay m )Aa power. He eoiM get another pair of horses, strong ones, that
would pertorm the journey in three hours, only perhaps Monsieur would
liot mind waiting till he had had his supper ; he should then be quite
ready to set out. This was against the wish oi Handyside, but there was
no remedy, and he feared to be too urgent lest he should awaken suspicion
as to the motive of his departure — strangely enough timid already.
Under the pretext of taking a walk, as the night was fine and the moon
at the frdl, Handyside appmnted to meet him outside the Boulevard, a
short distance beyond the Porte de Louvain, on the high road to that
place. The driver, who did not often get such a chance as an extra
twenty francs, besides the five he had already pocketed, promised faith-
friUy to be on the spot exactly as the clock struck ten. He mentioned
that he would take them up at a ctifd on the left-hand side, called the
Cadran BUu, ** where they sold capital yaro.'*

** Can we trust this fellow ?" said Graysteel, when they left the square
and made for the Porte de Louvain.

^ Provided he keeps sober," returned Handyside.
''AndifhefaUsus?"

*' We must then make &e best use of our legs. Louvain is only
eighteen miles off. We can get there at any rate by daylight."
" And then T*

" Right through b]^ the first train to Aix-la-Chapelle."
They walked on quickly without another word.
All night long Mr. John Woodman, the London Detective (who,
** ham information received" — they always do receive information some-
how— ^had tracked the fugitives to Antwerp, and there fallen in with the
commissiann€ure) — all night long Mr. John Woodman and one of the
Brussels police, attended by the vindictive little fellow, watched in the
JEbssS aux Loups for the two fraudulent bankrupts. But the guei-a-peng
was in vain 5 the frigitives did not return to the Singe dOr, and after a
carefo] search through Brussels next day, Mr. John Woodman came to
the conclusion that '^ the parties he wanted were somewhere else."

Where he went to look for them will most likely appear in the next
chapter.

▼01- Txxa. £

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DAMASCUS AND ITS NEIGHBOUEHOOD.^

Damascus is unquestionably one of the oldest cities in the world, and
in many respects one of the most remarkable. It has been a city from
the time when Abraham left his home ^* between the rivers" to journey
westward to the " Land <£ Promise." It has outlired generations of
cities, and has been a witness of the stirring events of full four thoosand
years. It is oae <^ the few remaining connecting links between the
ptttriazchsl affe and nu>dein days ; and its beauty and richness have ever
been proverbiaL The Arab writers call it one of the foiur paradises ob
eejrth. It has in saccession formed an important part of the most pow^v
ful onpires of the world. The monarehs <^ Ninavelv Babylon^ Persia,
Greece, and Rome have conquered it^ and it has proq>ered under every
dynasty, and outiived them alL It was for a time th* capital of the
vast domiai<ms of the Khalift ; and as the stroa^old of Islanaism it was
(excepting the holy cities Mecca and Medina) the last place that tola-
rated a European hat in its streets ; yet now, Mr. Porter tells us, tl^
Qsmanfa, its present ndera, are finst declining, and ere long it may be
forced to admowledse other masters. This is more thaa is adimttea by
some politiotans of we Osmanlis, even in Europe; but no amount of poU-
tical sagacity will suffice to uphold long a oormpt system or a death-
stridten race except as an allied or vassal power. The decline of the
Osmanlis may be repudiated by partisans^ but the unanimous testixnony of
those who have Uvea long among them, or studied them intimately, as
Mr. Porter has doo^ all go to establish the £ftct.

Few cities possess such advantages in respect to situation as Damascus.
It stimds on a plab^ at the eastern base of AntiUbasu^ ha;ring an
elevation of about 2200 feet above the sea. The area of this plain is
about 236 square geographical nailes. The fine stream of the barada
breaks through thet lowest chain of the anti-Lebanon by a wild ravine, and,
entering the plain, at once watt's the city and its gardens. Aqueducts
intersect every quarter, and fountains sparkle in every dwelfing, while
innumerable caiuds extend their ramifications over the wide expanse,
clothing it with verdure and beauty :

The view that presents itself to the eye of the traveller as he sormoonts the

last ridffe of AntDibanus, after passing the bleak and barren slopes beyond, is

rich and grand almost surpassing conception. IVom the side of the little wely

N above referred to the best prospect is obtained. The elevation is about 500 feet

above the city, which is a mile and a half distant. The peculiar forms of Eastern

\ architecture produce a pleasing effect at this distance. Graceful minarets and

swelling domes, surmounted by gilded crescents, rise up in every direction from

'the comiised mass of terraced roofs, while in some places their glittering tops

just appear above the deep green foliage, like diamonds in the midst of ^nmlos.

In the centre of all stands the noble pile of the neat mode, and near it may be

seen the massive towers and battkmented waUs of the old castle. Away on the

south the eye follows the long narrow suburb of the Medtk, at the extienuty of

which is the " Gate of God," where the great pilgrim caravan, on each returning

* Five Tears in Damascus: including an Account of the Hi8t<M7, Topogrwhy,
and Antiquities of tluit City. By Rev. J. L. Porter, A.M., F.R.S.L. Two "vols.
London: J(^ Murray. 1855.

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DAMASCUS AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 49

jetr, takes leare of the citj. The baildm^ of Damascua are almost all oi
SDOwj whitenesSy and this contrasts well with the surroimding foliage. The
nrdens and ordiards, which haTe been so long and so justly celebrat^ encompAss
the dtj, and extend on both sides of the farada some miles eastward. They
cover an area at least twenty-five miles in circuit, and make the environs an
earthly paradise. The varied tints of the foliage, and of the Mossoms and frnit
in their season, greatly enhance the beauty of the pioture. The sombre hne of
the oMffe said the dem> grden of the wabnit are nnely raiinred br tka lichter
\ of ike apiioot, tne s^efy sheen of the foflkr, and the pvpte tint Uiht
aie; while kfty cone-like^ cypresses wpear at intervaja, aad a kw
\ here and th^re raise up their gxaoefal heads. The variously coloured

, thns surrounding the bright ci^. and the smooth plain beyond, now

bouziaed by naked hills, and now mingling with the sky on the lar-mstani
horizon, and the wavy atmosphere thas makes forest, plain, and mountain
tremble, gfve a softness and an aerial beauty to the wh<^ seene that eaptnmtes
the mind of the beholder.

It has been strppoeed that in tlus age of looontotion, librariee of re-
seardiea, narratives, and journals have exhausted the romance of travel,
and made persons familiar with most objects of interest, especially in the
East^ and with all ihdr aasociatioos, elassic or sacred, ere the eye rests
upon them. Bat this is iK>t the case. There is a magic power in the
liTing^ Toality which nsithsr poet's pen nor paiater's pemsil ean ever
^propciate^ still less exhaust. The descriptions o£ others, however
graphie, and even ihe sketch of the artist, however fidthftil, only plaoe
before the mind's eye an ideal scene, which we can contem|>late, it is
true^ with unmingJed pleasure, and even with satbfaction ; but when the
eve wanders over nlain and moontain, or the foot touches *' holy ground,"
the sapeiiority ot the real over the ideal is at onoe felt and adoiow-

Not that Damaseus, a city tlMro«gfaly Oriental in character, has not
also ali the usual drawbacks of Eastern habits. Its streets are narrow
and tortnoTis, the city irregular, dirty, and half ruinous, the honses like
piles of mud, stone^ and timber, heimed together without order, but in
the same city, also^ all that remains of the romance of the East is likewise
to be met mth. Its beaaais are splendid, and diey are frequented by a
great variety of raMS--Aiah, Turk, Druse, Poniaa, and Kiod— in most
picturesque coetmnes. Most oi the mosqaes ace fine ^leetmens of Sara*
eemo architecture, as are also ihe khans. In both it is in the gateways
that the Saracenic architecture is seen to the greatest advantage.

But the chief glory of Damascus is in the splendour of its private
houses. No contrast could be greater than that between the exterior
and the interior. The irregvdar mud walls and rickety-looking projecting
vpfev diambexs give but poor promise of splendour withia. llie en*
traaoe is by a mean doorwar into a narrow and winding passage or
Bomedmes a plain staUe-yard. Passing this the outer court is gained.
Here is a variegated pavement of black and white stones, intermixed
with pieces of marble tastefully designed. A fountun sparkles in the
midst, shaded by evergreens and flowering shrubs ; and at one side is an
open alcove^ called a liwan, with a lidit wd beautifully ornamented arch
SBfPorting die exterior wall. The ^r is of marble of difibrent colours,
anda raiMd dais^ covered with soft cnsluons of silk, surroonds the three
sides. The chambers and halls in this court are all occupied by the

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60 DAMASCUS AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

master and his men-servants ; here he receives his visitors, and to this
alone are strangers ever admitted. Another winding passage opens from
this to the inner or chief courts called the Harim, whose door is kept by
eanuchs* It is when this court is gained that the splendour of the
mansion first hursts upon the view.

Mr. Porter is enabled to describe this tabooed interior by the privi-
leges obtained through the wife of one Ottoman Effendi. This lady was
the daughter of Ali Aga, secretary to the treasury under Ibrahim Pasha,
and iJthough her father was put to death by the Egyptian chief, under
suspicion of holding a treasonable coirespondence with the Turkisli
government, still the daughter has inherited some of the spirit of the
times, which were eminently progressive, and sets light value on the
absurd laws that make Muslem ladies littie better than prisoners.

The interior court, or karm, is a auadrangle from fifty to sixty yards Sfjuare,
with a tesselated pavement of marble ; a large marble fountain stands in the
centre, and several smaller ones of great beauty sparkle around, and cive a
delicious coolness to the air, even amid the heat of^ summer. Orange, kmon,
and citron trees, di£^ise their fragrant odours; while gigantic flowering shrubs
and rare exotics are disposed in tasteful groups, and cumbing plants are trained
on treUis-wori: overiieaa, affordine grateml shade and pleasing variety. All the
great reception-rooms and chamBers 0]>en on this court ; toe former are upon
the first floor, and the latter above, having in front a narrow corridor dosea in
with glass. On the southern side is the lewan, or open alcove, similar in design
to those found in the exterior courts, but loftier, and far more gorgeously
decorated. The ^rand salon is a noble room. It is divided into two compart-
ments bv a beautiful arch richly ornamented with gilt fretwork. The floor of
the first compartment is of the rarest marbles of everv hue, arranged with
admirable precbion and pleasing variety in mathematical designs. In the centre
is a fountain inlaid with mother-of-pearl and rare stones. The walls to the
height of twentjr feet are covered with mosaic in panels, in the centre of each
of which is a slab of polished granite, porphm, or finely-veined marble, with
the exception of those in the upper tier, wmch are inscribed with sentences
from the Koran, written in letters of gold. Several niches relieve the phiinness
of the walls; in their angles are slender columns of white marble with eilt
capitals, and the arches above are richly sculptured in the Saracenic style. The
upper part of the walls is pamted in the Italian stvle. The ceiling is about
thirtv feet hi^ and delicately painted. The central ornaments ana oomioes
are elaborately carved and gilt, and inlaid with innumerable littie mirrors. The
other and principal part of the room is raised about two feet. The w^ and •
ceiling are similar in design to those described, except that the former are in
part covered with a wainscoting, carved, gilt, and ornamented with mirrors.
Around the three sides run the divans, covert with the richest purple satin,
embroidered with eold, in chaste desijnis of flowers and scroUs, and having a
deep gold frin^ aescending to the floor. Though none of the workmanuiip
mieht bear minute exammation, and some of those accustomed to the chaste
ana subdued style of decoration in Western Europe might pronounce this ^udy
and even vulgar, vet all will admit that the general effect is exceedingly striking.
It resembles, m fact, some scene in fairyhmd; and one feels, on l^oldiug it,
that the glowing descriptions in the " Arabian Nights" were not mere pictures
of the fancy. But it is onlv when the "bright-ey^ houris" of this sunny clime
assemble in such a salon, necked out in their gay and picturesque costumes,
and blazing with gold ana diamonds, and when numerous lamps of every form
and colour pour a rich and variegated flood of light all round, to be reflected
from polished mirrors, and oountiess gems, and flashing eyes, that we can fully

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DAMASCUS AND ITS ITEIGHBOURHOOD. 51

oompreheiid the splendour of Oriental life, and the perfect adaptation of the
{(oigeoiu decorations of the mansions to the brilliant costumes of those that
mhamt tf*^wi.

There are many other apartments in the oonrt, less spacious it is tme than
the grand salott, but no 1ms beautifully finished. The style of decoration in
this mansion may be called the modem Damascene, the painting of the walla
amd ceiling being a recent innovation. In the more ancient houses the ceilings
and mdnsiooted walls are covered with the richest arabesques, encompassing
little panels of deep blue and delicate azure, on whidi are inscribed, in elegantly
interlaced Arabic characters, whole verses and chapters of their law. Vast
sums of money are thus expended, the ornamenting of one chamber often
008tin£^ upwards of 2000/. sterling. A few of the more wealthy Jewish families
hare also large and splendid residences, but they cannot be compared with those
of the Muslems. The Hebrew writing, too, which they universally put upon
the walls, is stiff and formal-looking, uid is infiuitelv inferior, in an ornamental
point of view, to the graceful curves and easy flow of the AxMc,

Travellers have generally represented Damascus as almost wholly
destitute of ancient remains, liir. Porter shows that if ruins do not
stand out here in bold relief from a desert plain as they do at PaknYra,
or hh their proud heads in solitary grandeur hr above the onunbung
ruins around them, as in Baalbek, Busrah, or Jerash, they still abonnc^
oicompasaed by modem mansions or buried in the labjrrinth of bustling
bazaars. Indeed, with the help of a valuable Arabic MS. of Ibn Asaker^s
^'History of the Celebrated Tombs and Mausolea in and around
Damascus," and his own persevering and long-continued researches, we
are presented with such a picture of Damascus as it once was, and
Damascus as it is now, as has never been attempted before, or is likely
to be superseded for detail and accuracy for many a year to come.

Oriental arclueologists, also, owe Mr. Porter a debt of gratitude for
his researches on the plain of Damascus, more particularly his deter-
mination of the Tell es-Salahlyeh as an Assyrian ruin.

The 2^ es-Salahtyeh is one of the most interesting; remnants of antiquity in
the whole plain. It is an artificial mound of an oval form, about 300 yards in
diameter and about 100 feet in height. The whole surface is covered with loose
earth, composed mainly of brickdust and fragments of broken pottery. On the
southern side, next the bank of the river, a portion of the mound has been cut
awav, and here may be seen the regular layers of sunburnt brick of which the
« whole appears to have been constructed, t^m the present form of the mound
it seems tiiat there was originally a large platform built, from twenty to thirty
feet high, and then in the centre of thb stood a lofty conical structure, which
during the course of long centuries has graduaUv crumbled down to its present
form. On the western side of the mound, beside the little village, I found, on
my first visit to this place, a limestone slab, about five feet long t)y three wide,
containing a bas-relief representing an Assyrian priest. The workmanship is
rude and the stone has been defa(^; but still it was sufficiently ptlain to show
^e costume and attitude of the figure. I sketched it at the time, intending on
some future occasion either to ootain a cast or the stone itself; but, unfor-
tunately, it has since disappeared, and I have been igaable to discover what has
been done with it.

There can be no doubt that none of these tells, so numerous in Syria,
but would repay the archaeological explorer more or less. We have
already particularly called attention to the groups of artificial mounds
in North Syria, between Antioch and the Euphrates, and in Northern

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52 DAMASCUS XSD ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

Mesopottmia, betweMi Urfah and Mudin; Mr. Poitcr mlso o«Ut tlM
ftttentimi of ftttare ^zpbren to the teUfl in ike vaUey of the Upper
Orontes, ancient Ccelo Syria, more especially near Hums.

Almost the only objects of hitet^ in an mtiqvariaa point of Tiorii tids
whole rerion are the artificMd meonds ikt^ meet die eye in every part vf the
phtm, bat -which occur in greatest nntabere along the banks of the 'Aay. They
«e regdar in fom, genendly tnmoated cones, and vary in heioht mm 60 to
250 feet. The sides and snmmits are nnivmally oovered with looae vhitiah
gnrel, like the dSbrU of some stmetnre originally composed of bricks and
flsiail stones united with cement. These mounds are also found in the BokA'a
and plidn of Damascus. Villages generally stand either upon or beside thoDB,
and foitntains, or large cisterns, and wells are always found near those that are
situated at a distance from the river's bank. They appear to be in every respect
similar to the mounds on the plains of MesqKHtamia and Assyria described by
Layard and others, and from which monuments and scolptures of such great
interest and beauty have lately been brought to light. It is highly probable that,
were some of the more extensive of these Syrian mounds excavated, sculptured
tablets, like those of Kimroud and Kouyuniik, would be discovered, at least in
sufficient number to reps^ the labour ana expense. The bas-relief already
referred to at the tdl ef-Sahdityeh, on the plain of Damascus, proves tkie
existenoe oCscuMure in some of them, and forms an interesting and important
monnmentid erictenoe of the occupation of this r^non by ^ ancient Aasyriansy
and of the truth of the statements in the Sacred KeoorcL

The mound on which Hums itself stands is of the same character ; so
also is the great mound of Jisr Shogfaer ; as also in part that of Aleppo,
and of most other towns in Syria that have a mound, whether crowned
with a citadel or buildines, or not.

A propos of the plam of Damascus, Mr. Porter makes a strange
attadc upon a traveller whose writings have lately attracted a deal of
attention from certain peculiarities of a very blamable character — we
mean the work of M. de Saulcy. We are the more surprised at these
repeated disclosures, as that gentleman holds a responsible sitoation in
Paris, is much esteemed there as a man and a scholar, and his word is
looked upon as truth itself. We have before adverted to M. van de
Velde's repudiation, from personal examination, of the muoh-talked-of
ruins on the Dead Sea ; we have felt that even if M. de Sauloy was in
the right, and that the seulpturee described as existing on the Nahr ml
Kelb had disappeared by lapse 6f time, or by some protoe band, that he
had no right to charge an honourable man vrith an archssological knpOB*
ture ! Kit on the point on which Mr. Porter attacks him he has to do
with his own countrymen as well as with English travellers.

It has now been well known £ot more than Uiirty years to eveiy student
•f saorod geography, that near the sources of the same river Aat waters
BasMWU lie the rmas of the Ancient Abik of Lysanias, the capital of
thetilandiyofAbUeiM. TheolditinenuitsfixthepantMmoftfaat«iWwilli
Bttflfimnt acenracy to identify it. It was on the gnat road beitween Halio*
polls and Damascus, thirty-two miles from the former city, and cighleett
fromlha ktter. B«i still iMore clear and daeisiravvideBoeiMs hfought
to light when Mr. Banks, nearly lorty yean «ge^ diKOfvired two Latift
insoriptioDS,ooiitainingtfaeDameofCfaeoity. ( See Art Ahik, Oy«bpw of
Bibfioal Ltteratare; Hogg's Damasios, i. 801 ; Qnnt Bef;> xxvL 888;

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I>AMABGUS AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 63

Joom. of Sftered lit, Julj, 1863.) Bir. Porier now giTM flodi a
desoriptkm •£ the fiwiifn of aatiquitir, mod the preeise poeition of Ihe
ratnsy as their importaooe demands, aira he adds to these deseriptioiis the
following ohserrations :

It was with consuierable aporprise that I ktelj read the narrative of M. de
Saulcy's visit to this place, in whioh he poa^Kmslj daims all the honour of
having tUscooered these ruins and inscriptions, and of having identified the site
of the Ancient Abila ! As the woric of this French savatU ha& attained to oon-
aiderahle popularity, and has attracted much notice both in France and Tgnjy^tid,
I may be allowed to call the reader's attention to a few facts connected with his

r tended discoveries at this place. It is to be observed that, from the moment
entoB the village of Suk, he professes total ignorance of all pcevioos
researches, and of eveiythiug that had been written M>at this interesting spot
before his time. It was only when he saw an old mill, constructed, as he
supposes, from the ruins of an ancient tem{)le, that he became convinced of the
fii^ that he was on the site of an ancient city ! After a little farther examina-
tion, he addsy *' Ancient remains are visible everywhere in and around the
villaj^, and it would be evideoitly most interesting, were ii jpouible^ to find $ome
tMscnpUoH from which we might learn the name of the city formeriy ftTkting
here. On my return to France I resolve to make some researches concerning
this locah'ty, and have good hopes that I may succeed in determining the name, (! f^
I UTTLE THOTTGHT at the moment that the very next morning the problem would be
iohedr

Thus writes the member of the French Institute, for the sake of heightoung
the dramatic effect, and exciting the attrition and admiration of his nadera^
whom he su|^poses as profoundljr ignorant as he himself professes to be. Next
morning he sallies forth, notwithstandiog the ** unsatisfactory aspect of the
heavens." md, urged on by antiquarian zeal, he is almost tempted to ''risk life
and limb," by crossing the river on a ladder, in search of the hoped-for inscrip-
tions. DisCTetion was deemed the better part of valour, however, and, leaving
the more venturous abb^ to pursue his researches akme, he returned to the
▼illace ** ratlier ashamed of himself." In due time the abb^ comes bade eon^
tovoa with the disooveiy of the ruins of an "immense city," a '^vast neoco-
poHs," aiyl "splendid inscriptions among the rooks." The enthusiasm c^ M. de
Saolcy \s now excited to the highest pitch, and he is " quite ready to attempt
the dangerous passage of the ladder;" but, fortunately for the cause of science,
there was no occasion to hazard such a valuable Ufe. A bridge was found
farUier up, crossing which, he scaled the mountain-side, and there saw before
him the mscriptions he had longed for. After briefly commentii^ upon them
he concludes as follows:—" The problem of the unknown name of the ancient
eit;^ hiq^pened thus to be immeaiately and perfectly resolved. The eity was

Amhu The reader may thus observe that chance gieatly favouzed me,

by thus supplying in my need a precious document conoenunjo^ the name and
history of the city through the territory of which we were passing."

It IS, indeed, dificalt to understand how oAe so versed m anomt itiaecaries,
and ao dee^ learned in the geography of this land, should have been so long
^noraiit of a faet which every schocuboy can learn from his dictionary of geo-
gtiqphj! It is strange that he, a member ef the French Institute— of wEkdi
nonmUe distuiction he so often reminds his readers — should have Jmoum
nothing of insedptioBS the paxp(»t of whioh was oonoranicated to the world in
1820 m one of the best^mown periodicals of £uiope, the (^jneuierh M$titw;
which were evhlished at large, with a meafeoir hj Letroune, m ikeJommUdes
SmmuhtMrnKk, 1827, and again, in the Callowing year, in the great vxnk of
OrdlnB; and whaoh have since that period been reuorred to and comineBtod on
hj aoooa of tcaveUers and literary men! All this, however, we coM porhaps
faeheve; and, had no other drcumstance come to my loMywledge, I mi^ have

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54 DAMASCUS AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

rested content with civin^ M. de Saulcy full credit for his ignorance, and should
probably have regaroed him as a zealous but unfortunate antiquary, whose dis-
coveries were nuuie some forty years too late. The public will no doubt be
astonished to learn that I now accuse the learned "Member" not merely of
irnoranoe, but of an act of literary dishotiestv unworthy of a fcholar, M. Ant6n
Bul&d, of this city, has informed me that before M. de Saulcy left Damascus, on
his way to B&'albek, he had ^ven him copies of the inscriptions he professes to
have oiscoyered, and had durected his attention to ^e village oi S^-wady-
Barada, as the site of the ancient Abila !

Such is a specimen of the learning and researches of a man whom a re>
cent reviewer represents as "having contributed to our geographical and
historical knbwledge a series of discoveries equal in importance and extent to
any which human intelligence and perseverance have acoompUshed since Columbus
passed the Atlantic Oc^, and aaded a new and boundless field for ^e exercise
of human energy." ! !

The thing is really very absurd, and we must let M. de Saulcy get
out of this new difficulty as well as he can. It is remarkable that it is
not the first, and probably will not be the last.

Mr. Porter by no means confines his researches to the immediate
neighbourhood of Damascus. He visits Palmyra, and experiences, on
crossing the desert, all those annoyances from lawless Bedouins which
are inevitable in tliat part of the country. Mount Hermon and the
sources of the Pharpar and Jordan also come in for his critical and con-
troversial remarks, and he again fiills foul of the unfortunate De Saulcy.
The determination of the site of Helbon, and the description of the site
itself, is a gem of archaeological topography.

But the great points of interest are decidedly associated with the
Hauran, a wild, rocky, desert region, covered with ruins of ancient time,
but now fi^ven up to robber tribes, and rarely visited since the days of
Burkhardt. Here was the kingdom of Bashan, here also the ruins of
Kenath, of Bozrah, of Salcah, and of a hundred other remarkable sites
of antiquity. Mr. Porter grapples with the whole subject like a roan
who has studied it thoroughly, and traces the history of the country
through its various political phases in Biblical and in Roman times. He
makes us more than ever familiar with those peculiar stone houses and
tombs with stone doors of one massive slab, as have also been detected
in modem times at Kohrasar, in Northern Mesopotamia.

To show under what adverse circumstances the ruins of ancient towns
have to be explored in these regions, we extract the following account of
an adventure m Edhra, the ancient Edrei or Adra :

While we stood examining the exterior of this building and trying to decipher
the inscription, we noticed that a crowd of some sixty or seventy people had
collected round us in the court. We paid little attention to this, however, as we
had got accustomed to such evidences of popularity ; and so intent were Mr.
Bamett and myself on our antiquarian worx, that we did not hear the remarks
passed or the threats uttered by them. Nik6k heard these, and felt alarmed;
but, just as he was about to inform us of them, we turned and went into the

interior, while Mr. ;-, Nikdhi, and the sheikh remained without; Miduniid

and our servants were in the house where we had left our luggage and arma.
Shortly after we had entered Mr. Bametif was some ywds in front of me, writing,
and I stood, with my arms folded and my back agamst a column, looking at the
building. Ten or twelve men had followed us into the building. While I was

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DAHASCUS AND ITS NEIGHBOUBHOOD. 55

tJnis standiDg I receiyed a heavy blow on the shoulder from a liurge stick or dab.
I turned round snddenfy, for I was completely taken by 8ar]m8e, as not a word
had been spoken, or a question asked, or a sound heard. The club was again
raised, and I got another stroke on ike arm which had been aimed at my head,
but by starting back I escaped it. Several men, armed with tludr duos, now
attempted to dose upon me, but I leaped back, and demanded what they
wanted ; at the same time, throwing open my huge over-coat, I drew a pisto^
which I had fortunatdy put in my belt at Bust el-Hartry. These things quicldy
attracted Mr. Burnett's attention, and he saw at a glance the danger of our
poeition, and also drew a small pistol from his pocket. The cowarmy ruffians
nad watched their opp<»rtunity, and, as soon as they saw our little party divided,
thejr rushed upon us. They had no doubt thought we were altogether unarmed,
and, having two of us inside the church and two outside it, they felt that it
would be easy to accomplish their purposes. The moment, however, they saw
our pistols they rushed out of the door ; but we, knowing the great number
without, fdt t£&i our position was very criticaL We, consequently, followed
them, but the moment we appeared we received a volley of stones. In the crowd
I could not see our compamons or the sheikh, and I supposed they had either
esciu^ or had been driven off. There was no possibility of my making my way
to the door of the court, and to remain where I was would nave been almost
certain death; so, dashing forward, and pushing those before me to each side, I
leaped over the wall in front to the hollow ground below. Just as I reached the
ground a huge stone struck me on the back, and stunned me. Exerting all my
strength, I ascended a little mound of rubbish, and turned upon my assailants,
who were now attempting to descend the wall. I again drew the pistol, and
threatened to shoot the first who would descend. This checked tnem for a
moment, and I then attempted to reason with them, inquiring what we had done
that thev should thus beat and abuse us like dogs. The only reply was a savage
yell, *' lull him ! kill him !" A perfect shower of stones followed this, and one
of them striking me on the hand carried away the whole flesh of the sides of two

of my fingers. I now observed Mr. and Nik61a, in the midst of the crowd,

going out of the litUe oateway, and Mr. Bamett, I saw, had ffot round to near
where I stood. The whole fury of the attack seemed directecl against me, and,
while I was meditatiiu; what to do, I was struck with a stone on the back of the
neck, but the thick coUar of my coat in part deadened the blow, fifteen or
twenty men came dose to the little mound I occupied; all were afraid, how-
ever, to close upon me, though the stones came thick and fast. I saw that my
only chance was in flight, for, even should I fire, it would not save my own life ;
and if I should kill or wound any of my assailants, I well knew that not one of
OUT party would leave the village alive. I turned, and ran across a field, as I
thought, in the direction of the house where Mahmiid and the servants were.
In my way I met a respectably-dressed man, whom I took for the sheikh of the
village, and I entreatea him to keep back the mob, or they would murder me.
He made no reply, and I continued my course. I now saw an opening in the
range of houses before me, and entered it, but, to my horror, found it shut up
by a lofty wall a few yards in front. I wheeled round on the moment, and ran
to the summit of a mound of rubbish ; here, however, some twenty or thirty men
were close upon me, and flight seemed no longer possible. Before I had time to
consider what I should do, the stroke of a stone on the back and another on the
head brought me to the ground. Those that were before afraid to approach now
rushed on me en mane. Though greatly stunned and exhausted, I was perfectly
conscious, and saw one fellow deliberately aiming a blow at my head with his
dub. I received it on my left arm, and leaped to my feet. A vigorous effort
drove a few of my assailants to some distance, and agam I seized my pistol, and
the crowd began to retreat, but at that moment a man from behind threw his
arms roxuid my body, and entreated me not to attempt to fire. I cast him off,
after a hard struggle, but he still grasped the pistol, and prayed me not to use

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66 DAXASCUS AKD ITS NBIOHBOUBHOOD.

it, or we thfooid all be mudamd. Looking at him, I reoogniaed the respeoiaUv-
draaaed man I liad met a few miantes preTionaly. " WJ^t am I to do, then r'
I demanded. ''Qive me the pistol, and I will saye 700.*" He looked koneat,
and I thoQg^i nj Hfe wonkl oe sacrificed at any rate ; so, with a qniek motion
of my &aifBt, I straok off the onps and gave up the pistcd. This preoaniion I
took lest it should be used against myself. Having got it, he tola me to ran.
'Where P" I as^d. He pointed out the path, and awav I ran, while he re-
strained the mob behind. I soon overtook Mr. ana I^ikAla, who were

likewise mnning; and the old sheikh trying to restrain their pursien. I
inquired for Mr. Bamett, but at that moment he too came up without bat or
shoes, and the blood flowing from his head. We now ran abng, guided by some
men, and soon reached our nouse.

Our appearance, waunded and bleeding, surprised Mahmud and our setranta,
and they quiokhr gathered up the arms and prepared for defenoe. Mahmftd
rushing oat oonnonted the an^ mob, who were coming, as they said, to munder
us alL He succeeded in turning ihem back ; but as uey went awi^ thay were
heard to say we could not leave the village without their knowledge, and that as
soon as we attempted to leave they would finish their work.

We had now leisure to examine our wounds and consider our position. My
bnuses were comparatively slight--I was much stunned, but not deeply cut.
Mr. had received a severe cut in the arm; but Mr. Bamett's ^-^~"^ — ~

by fiur the most serious of all. He had got several blows on the head and Caoe,
and was so much exhansted as to be unable to stand; and we had great doubts
of his being aUe to sit on horseback, even should we manaj^ to^ away. I
discovered that a small leather case, in which I had earned mv note-booiu,
letters, and the oeins and medals I had colleoted, had been lost in tne stmgg^

It was with great difficulty that the party made their escape during^
the darkness of midxught from these bigoted and ruffianly viiUgers. Nor
was the treatment they met with at some of the other vulages of a maeh
leas hostile and inhospitable character. And no wonder, for the Arabs
of the Haoran acknowledge themselves to be thieves by profession, as
may be deduced from the following colloquy :

''What brought you to the Deir when you saw us thereP" I asked hinL—
"To strip youj'^^he cooUy rrolied.— " And why did you not do itP'— "Becauae
Mahm^a was with you.'' — ''But why would you plunder us P we are stxangers.
and not tout enemies." — " It is our custom." — " And do you strip all
strangers r'«->"Tes, all we can get hold of."— "And if they resist, or are too
strong for you?" — "In tiM former case we shoot them from behind trees ; and
m the hitter we run."— '^ How do the people of your tribe liveP Do th^ sow
or feed flocksf"— "We are not MaAm. We keep goats and sheep, hunt
parteUgesand gaseUes, and steal r—" Are you aU thieves r—" Tee, idl !"

Notwiihstanding all these difficulties, Mr. Porter was enabled to accu-
mulate a mass of carious and important details and discovery, whieh wil
render his work one of permanent importance to the student of sacred
tnd classical geography.

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THE MAN IN THE WHITE HAT.

A 8KXZCH nU>M BJJi;VirAT UFB.

By a Season Ticket.

Yob, soTvnii montfat dsring the jmx I «in «n hxMM of one of those
mam artsies which distribute the teeming life of the metropoltt to die
▼aiiow extremities of the kingdom, and in due course of time restore it
to the fooDtun iiead (oonsiderablY purified, let us hope), in aooordance
with those hiws of circulation which ma? be deduced with tolerable aocu-
TWfj hotOL omr railway statistics. The dtFectors on this particolar fine, in
a spirit of aomomy which is poweHvllj sagsettiTe of an increased diri*
dsnd at tlie next half»yearly meetiDg of tlwir ooDstitnente, hare reoeiidy
adbflted a method of enlarging the capacity of thdr first-elass carriages,
at wnb ejLiisam of the paasenffers in the aame, to which I (not bmu' a
shanhdaar), in common wi£ many of my daily fellow*tniveU«n, find it
difioalt to reocneile myself. I remember to ha?e heard in the days of
my infiMey a maxim propoonded by one who was profonodly Ttned in
the imeiiee of domestic eeonomy, that '< what is dinner for one is dinner
for two;^ and tfaongh reomring it at the time with a «}eptioism natmral
eaongk at the age cf jackets and <* flats," to whose preconceived aotioia
of feeding this dootiine stands in startling opposition, i can wdl believe
thnt^ese directors, imbued with the same princ^le, have come to the
eondnsioQ that where there is room for three, there is room for four. It
is, of oonne, unneceisaiy to point out to wiat inconvenient resoils the
ad^tiion «£ this Macioiis maxim, in its fullest extent, mav lead ; I will
Msplj cenfine myself to a description of the means by wkioh our iron
mkm elicit the expansive properties of their ^ plant" A first^ass cai^
xiagn— *>whoB^ oompartments were originally intended to hold no mors
ihMi sia— 4S sHghtiv drawn out at the sideiH-like an aeconliotA— >and a
■Bigle partiticD is then fixed in die centre of each seat, so as to divide
the iateiter into four sectkms. The result is, that as t^ natural modesty
of manldnd, and ik» sharp eyes of the railway efi^aab are Tejniffiiant to
ike entire occupation of a sing^ section by one person, eight individoab
are deposited where the capacity of the vehicle would have been satisfied
by SIX* Now I hale encraachraents. I object to the Caar of Russia
Wlieake lays his rapacious hands upon some thonsaods of sipian nulee of
tantosy, to which he has about as mnch right as my excellent neiffhbQar
Bvmn enn pretend to the hi^f acre of cabbies tbet I henrephmtad under
his he^; and I ei^nally ol^eet to the anthmties of Ais or any odw
iisM'wlMn tlMy deprive me of foor inches of my lawful seat, more eapeei*
nflj as in te latter ease the ambition assnines eoldly a finandali smd
\ morevevolting, nmet So loog^as one is located with a man
^"~ """-tensions the inecmveinence is not gveatly Mt, bat ihodd
t the partner in yenr alkitnMnt--^once myunkap^teet
—an^nnfindnal who might kaTs competed ^with the grsstt Dasuel «t a
' wMieeue nasonabledmaceiof saeoes6,tkevietnnof oppmh

is Anven^nehkj inch from Us gis— d, m epite of «onstaat m
mverUs'foaitiaa, 4md in the end iv pnbaUy «a«^^

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58 THE MAN IK THE WHITE HAT.

whelming masses of the enemy. I have sud that I am not yet recon-
dled to Uie proceeding. When I shall have narrated the little incident
whidi is recorded below, the unprejudiced reader — assuming always that
he is nmther a director nor a shareholder of the line aforesaid — ^will pro-
Jbably be disposed to think that my repugnance is not altogether un-
justifiable.

Not very many months since I was charged with the pleasant duty of
escorting to town two ladies (whom I will christen for the nonce Mrs.
and Miss Smith), who were en route to effect a junction with a party of
their firiends, with the view of creating a diversion in fietvour of the
Crystal Palace. I had deferred the usuiuly early hour of my departure,

and the train by which we prqposed to leave £ -> was one much

affected by the sojourners along the line, being termed by courtesy semi-
express, which, being interpreted, signified that it was scarcely so slow as
the ordinary trains, and made fewer pauses in its transit. The conse-
quence was that when it came up, and we had commenced instituting an
investigation for an empty carriage, we could discover notiiing better
than a moiety of one of those objectionable bisected compartments which
I have attempted to describe, and in which we accordingly proceeded to
take up our quarters, leaving a vacancy between Mrs. Snuth and one of
the carriage windows. Scarcely had tiie ladies concluded that necessary
disposition of their dress which appears to be inseparable from the two
actions of rising up and sitting down, when a man of a somewhat gentie-
manly cast of countenance, but " got up " in a white hat and a loose
tweea overcoat, with general indications of running to seed about his
extremities, and who— judging from his moist appearance — had only just
caught the train, came hurriedly up to our carriage. He paused for a
second on the step, as though pondering whether our compartment was
not too uncomfortably full for him, but at that moment the words '' Take
your places, gents !" ringing sharply in our ears, silenced his doubts, if
any, and he stepped quietly into the vacant seat. Immediately the door
was shut to with a smart bang, that gave a pleasing sensation of being
well shaken up to everybody and everythmg — the porter and guara
executed a rapid concerted movement on their respective instruments,
the bell and whistie — ^the engine once more woke up into life— and we
were off.

It was an undeniably hot day. Such a day as u of rare occurrence
in these degenerate summers of ours (when the sun appears to do piece-
work only, and even then to take up but very small contracts at a time),
with a glorious blue sky overhead, unshadowed scarcely by those fleecy
vapours which are rarefy absent fit>m the most cloudless atmosphere, and
the bright sunlight playing fitfully over the waving corn-fields, whose
ears still green gave but famt indications of the coining harvest The
weather was likely enough to induce drowsiness, and yet 1 could not
help being struck by the rapidity with which my vis^'Vii in the white
hat sank mto a profound slumber. Experience teaches that the afternoon
siesta {AngUce, nan) of southern climates is not altogether unknown to
the more wide-awake inhabitants of the north, and thm are fow placte,
probably, where so many specimens might be collected as in a down-
train on a warm afternoon; but the appearance of this exotic at so early

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THE MAN IN THE WHITE HAT. 59

an hour of the morning wai something ^uite out of the common way.
However, a lively discnasion with the ladies on the respective merits of
the ^^erent points of rendezvous in the Palace at Sydenham entirely
Averted my attention from the sleepy passenger, and we continued to
argoe for our several proUgii with such earnestness as could scarcely
£Btu to have ^storbed die slumbers of any — ^but one of the seven sleepers.
So the time passed pleasantly enoi^h, until our slackening speed eave

notice that we were ^preaching E ^ the last station at which we

were to poll up before reaching London. Laughing and talking, as the
train was running joltinffly in over the ^' points,^ we were suddenly in-
tem^yted by a violent shock, which brought us up— in the expressive
phraseology of the Yankees — ** all of a heap ;" in this case, perhaps,
almost more literally than figuratively. There was a fiBint scream from
the ladiea, an ejaculation of a somewhat more forcible description from
one (^ the other sex, whilst I thrust my head out of the window with
the view of discovering what had happened. A guard was hurrying by,
so I hailed him.

"Wha^s wrong?* I inquired.^

** She's run into some trucks, m** — trains, by the courtesy of guards,
are always feminine — ** and the engine's damaged a Ut — nothing more.
We've td^;raphed to town for another, which will be down under the
half hour."

The delay was annoying, but at any rate it was satiffootory to find
that no human machinery had been put out of order ; so I drew in my
head, and proposed to Mrs. Smith that we should follow the example of
the multitude and leave the train. In doing so, however, my attention
was again attracted to our somnolent friend ; and — marvellous to relate
— there he was, still as sound asleep as ever. Indeed, had another col«
lision of a more violent character at that moment caused the carriage
to collapse and driven us into one anotiier, I could scarcely have felt
greater surprise at seeing him— white hat and all--doubled up in a state
of slumber. If Mr. Montague Tigg, of distinguished memory, had put
to me upon the spot the question which so irritated Mr. Jonas Chuzzle-
wit, <' What is a light sleeper?" — I, following the example of certain
lecturers who always propose to tell you what a thing is not when they
cannot infonn you what it is, was perfectiy prepared to answer, " Cer-
tainly not the man in the white iiat." Indeed, for the instant, I felt
tempted to commit myself to a mild joke with reference to the napless
condition of this particular article of dress (which certainly, so fieur as
could be seen, enjoyed a striking monopoly of hue among the rest of his
toilette — ^linen not excepted), but fortunately the recollection of the age
of the joke, and tiie knowledge that the nerves of my fellow-passenfi^rs
bad already been severelv tried that day, induced me to refrain, and we
stuped tranquilly upon the platform.

It so happens that K is one of the favoured stations upon our

line, where the ubiquitous Mr. W. H. Smith, who with the '' Son" consti-
tutes an entire Society for the IHfiusion of Universal Knowledge, has
pitdbed his wandering tent, and established a dep6t whence the intdlects
of her Majesty's sul^ects in that district are provisioned and supplied
with greater attention and regularity than are their physical wants from
some other stores lliat I could name. A staple artide of consumption

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90 THE MAlir IN THE WHITE HAT.

consists in stacks of men-oorered volomesy whidi ptofessy for a smdii
sum, to supplj yoa with reprints of Ae most resdabls works of those
distiDgiiished anthors whom tho leviathan puUbhers deBght to honoor.
Now it suggested itself to the provident mind of Mrs. Smith (my Mrs.
Smidi*-Dot Mis. W. H.) that one of these yegetdUe4eoking ptodmets
might prove adv«itageo«s in the event of any fiirAer dalay^ and, having
eomsnimioated her iwoposed investment to mey we proeeeded slowly
through the crowded pktfbrm to the, stand. After a diort consoltntioQ
tibe sdeetion was made^ and Mrs. Smith pot her hand into her pocket for
her purse^ when her countenance suddenly chaiqied, and, hs&nre I oooid
speaL^ shecriedy

^ IVe lost my imrser

This is an unpleasaiit anDonncemait to make at any time^ hot when a
crowd of persons all strangers— «re standmg round die bereaved party,
it is anywne bnt ealenlated to crsato a Hvely impression. Aoooram^,
indigmnt gtanoos were exchanged, and those in onr immediate vieimty
began to move away slightly. However, I suggested that it might have
been left at home ; but this solution was met by the &ct that Mrs. Smith
had paid for bsr own and her danghter^s tickets at E ■ ■. I then pro-
posed— ^though hopelesdy, for I felt ccmvineed that it had been abstracted
by some skmnl conveyancer in the crowd-^to search for die missbg
porte'fnonnaie on the platform and in die carriage. In both places alSce
my investigations — as diligent as the condition of the station would
pormit them to be— -were, as I eocpected, imsiiceessfpL Not a trace of
the '* lost one'^ ooidd I find, and I retomsd, sorrowing, to my companions.
They had recovered dieir composure (Mrs. Smith having cdonred at the
time^ as diougfa die had just oeen convicted of laioeny, instead of beinc^
hendf die sufferer), and the porehase had been conqileted, ]&fiss Smito
chancing to hnrve her own purse widi her; so I escOTted diem into the
ladies' room, and dien strolled oot to observe what was goii^ forward, and
to have a fow minutss' conversation with the statkin-master on the suliject
of our loss.

The chief of the staff at BL^ ■ ■ had originally been a London detective,
and having roeeived an appointment upon this line, his superior intelli-
gence— being miMsmiohed by want of principle or a too devoted
attachment to '^ half<pints^ (wnidat so freqnendy stand in the way of a
man's advancement in this rank of life, where his abilities would otherwise
have Ivonght hhn forward) — had raised him to the important position he
now occupied. I had been enahied to do him some shght service, and —
courteotis and obiiginK to a degree nt all tbMS — he was partictdarly so to
me. There was sometoing wondeifnlly fascinating about his reminiscenoes
of detective lifo ; and, when leaving the train at K '■ , I have not un-
fre(]uendy paused at the station to listen to some starring tale of an
ingenious capture by himself or his brother-officers. I found him actively
employed as usual, and, as I approached him, he raised his hat, and
remarked that it was imcommonly warm. There could be but one
onnion on this point, so I endorsed it, and then told him that a friend
of mine had been robbed— as we thought-— of her purse* The station-
master had alrsad]^ heard of it, and had made iaqdnes.

'^TonarenotsaMlar, sb; another loos has sinoe been reported to ms^
ahhoi^'h we do onr best to protect the passsogers." And be pointed^ as

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THE MAN IN THE WHITE HAT. 61

he spoke, to a staring pkeard which, headed ^' NonoB," proceeded to warn
paosengera to look afiter their luggage and thm poekets on tha arriTal
and defmrtore of trains. '^ Will jou oUige me with the pariicnlan ?^

1 related the incident as shortij as I could : ** That infernal aeoident
wsB the canse of it all ; for the thidF, whoever he is, woi&ld never have had
Am chanoe odierwise^"

^ To estabfish that, sir/' he replied, '* we must prove that it could not
Ifeanre been dene dsewhere than on the platferm. Pray maj I ask were
yon alone in the oarriage?"

^Akme enough P I repfied, somewhat hastily, £t>r I thought the
supposition absind, ** in one of your economieal halves. At least,** I
addedl, as the vision of the sound sleeper in the whito hat roee to my
reeoilleetion, ** Aere was amrther man sitting next to Mrs. Smith, but he
WIS asleep the whde time."

The eoD-detective had naturally bright eyes^ hat at thai meoMut they
gleaned with saeh a Iwtre, and yei with a sabdned nMiry twinkle^ that
aivraltaaeously the whole truth flashed upon me. My first impression
-was one of intense disgust at being so effectually done ; my second, a
bumi]^ desire to put our ei^devant friend in tlie whito hat in n^id
commouoBtion with a metropolitan magistrate.

*^ We can at least find him," I said, moving off.

*^ ^ot not the purse. No," returned the stotioa-master, shaking his
head, ^^ I take it tnat he is probably too old a hand not to have disposed
of eveiythii^ hut the cash long belore this."

He mased for a few seconds.

^* There is one chance, slight enough it's true, and vet these old birds
sometimes run it too ^e. You say, sir, the young lady has her parse
intkfaer?"

I nodded.

<' Thej will find it necessary to take fresh tickets ?"

^ I presnme so," I replied, ^' the others having disappeared with the
rest of the contents."

''Good. Then, sir," looking at the dock, <'as the engine will be
here in tfuee minutes, will you be so kind as to see your friends get thi^
tickets, and then take care that the young lady puts then into her purse
— and that yon resume (if possible) your old pkees, the ladies simply
ezchaagmg seats*. If tibe fish bites, let him gorge the bait well, and then

sttika .' And nind — I know these feUows— «tEike sharply. The rest
I leave to you. Good mining, sir."

And beH>re I ooidd repfy, the ex*detective was o£

I made my way back to die ladies qiackly, and foand^ them about
proeeeding to take their tickets ; so we walked at once into tibe office,
Ifiss Smith having her purse in her hand. '' Two return firsts to town"
were ordered, received, paid for, and by my advice deposited in the porte*
momnuiej wUch I also exhorted the younr lady to return to her podpsi^
and then to keep dose to my left hand. As we turned to quit the build-
ing, fnr the moment I fanded I saw the upper portion of a whito hat
and a white hat of winch I knew somednag — receding froaa the window
into obscmrity; hut when we emerged upon the platforaiit was«ertainfy
not visible. At the same instant ib» hardi scream of tha approaching
engine warned those who had not taken their places that it was high

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62 THE MAN m THE WHITE HAT.

time to do so, aod the consequent crowding, and thronging, and hurry-
ing to and fro of porters, with their ^* By yer leave, gents" (which is in-
variahly symbolical of their having been within half an inch of crushing^
your favourite com with some much-enduring truck), were not calcu-
lated to soothe the excited nerves of my companions. However, we were
fortunate enough to find our former half still vacant (the carriage being*
near the head of the train) — and indeed, I believe the inhabitants of the
other moiety had never quitted their position, but, firom a cursory analysis
of some deposits on the floor, which I pronounced to be crumbs, and the
somewhat shiny — ^not to say greasy — appearance of the mouths of several
of the party, I hinted a dark suspicion to Mrs. Smith that they had been
engaged during our absence in the discussion of ham-sandwiches. How-
ever, we got in, and the arrangement suggested by the station-master
was easily effected, without raising the suspicions of my friends ; and
Mrs. Smith had just observed that the sleepy man had changed his
position, when the identical individual in question came forth from the
station, stretching and yawning, as though his appetite for sleep were
still fresh. Scarcely had Miss Smith expressed a wish that he might
find a place elsewhere, when the white hat loomed before the door, and,
apparently unconscious of our presence, glided in with a ghostlike air,
sank down by Miss Smith, and was almost instantaneoudy buried in
slumber. I confess I felt a well-nigh uncontrollable impulse to recom-
mend him to the notice of some of the officials standing about, but the
recollection of the station-master's last words, and my own conviction
that the proceeding would be useless, restrained me, and the heavy snort
of the locomotive announced that we were once more launched on our
iron way.

I was so fearful lest anything in my manner should rouse the suspicions
of the pretended sleeper, and, by putting him on his guard, spoil the neat
contrivance of my ingenious friend, that I had previously resolved, in the
event of the man's appearance, to feign sleep myself, 'f his was the more
feasible, inasmuch as the ladies appeared to have no disposition now to
converse, but were engrossed with their books ; and I accordingly leant
back in my comer and closed my eyes. In the whole course of my life I
do not remember ever to have so utterly despaired of five-and-twenty
minutes comine to an end. I have travelled the same ground hundreds
of times, and the distance has often appeared long — but now it seemed
interminable. Houses, trees, gardens— eveiytbing flew by, but time.
That alone seemed inexorably to stand sUlL The excitement grew
almost insupportable. I felt that I was glaring between my eyelids upon
the man in the white hat un^ I thought the eyeballs would have burst
from their confinement. I could have sworn I saw a hand creeping
stealthily down his side, and gliding, serpent-like, among the folds of his
victim's dress, and yet, when 1 glanced at him for a second only, the
white hat and all belonging to it were so still and motionless, that I
should have fancied we were mistaken, had I not been so firmly persuaded
that he was the thief. To make matters worse, the other passengers had
ceased to talk. So long as there was a distraction of some kmd — no
matter what — ^the suspense was bearable, but now a horrid stillness
reigned in the carriage, brdcen only by the monotonous rattle of the

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THE MAN IN THE WHITE HAT. 63

speeding train* My very breathing began to grow shorty and I felt as
if I must have implored some one to bi«ak the nlenoe, when saddeudy I
became acntely sensible that the pulsadons of the engine were beoommg
appredably more irregolary and that the eamestly*expected moment of
d^yerance was oome.

The train ran slowly in alonffside . the tioket-platform, and the col-
lectors came bnstUng down to their work* I waited until our window
was darkened by an official, and the request of *' Tickets, if you please ?**
liad been made, and then woke up. I simply said ** Season, without
remoyiog my eyes one bur's breadth from those — still dosed— of the
man in we white hat Our fellow-passen^rs were handing thmr paste-
boards across, when Mrs. Smith reminded her daughter that she had
chaige of the tickets. Miss Smith at once put her hand into her
pocket, and I distinctly saw the eyelids under the rim of the white
bat quiTcr ! Then I knew the game was up. Before Iffiss Smith could
discoyer her los% my vii-a-vis made so skilful and swift a moyement with
his left hand, that in another instant the parte-tnannaie^ with its contents,
would haye been flying oyer the dingy roofs of the houses beneath us,
had I not— mindful of the station-master's warning— pulled up the
window sharply, and the plunder fell harmlessly at the coltector's net.
It was all scarcely the worir of a second. -
" I giye this man in charge for stealing this lady's purse !**
There was a lively scene. The thief— and I will do him the justice of
saying that he was a master of his art — looked somewhat disconcerted,
and yet he stepped out with a jaunty air on the invitation of the guard,
who ^eedily consigned him as an object of the most anxious solicitude
to X 999, l^ whom an accurate account of his prisoner was shortiy after-
wards rendered at the proper place and to the prcqper person. I may add,
that be was reoogpused by some of the passengers as having \eh their

carriage at £ ; of course with a view of employing his labour and

skil] in a more profitable field.

The man in the white hat had committed a f&tal error. He had cal-
culated upon the certainty of my takine charge of my companions'
tickets — after the misfortune that had befaUen the others — and so getting
off safely and quietiy with purse number two. And undoubtedly I
should have dene so but for the excellent advice of the &r-seeing ex-
detective. Still it was a mistake, and one that I have every reason to
believe the unfortunate victim u still expiating in one of her Majes^s
houses of correction, where he is generally supposed to perform daily
on the crank, with the view of keepmg his hand m, but shorn of all the
jaunty splendour of his white hat.

TOL. XXXIZ.

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BEOWNING'S "MEW AOT3 UrOMEIT."*

The title of these volumes, " Men and Women,* is not mtidh more
deinMy indieatire €f Hwir contents ^mn tras lihat of '^BeBs and
Pomegraaates* — that cAiokepear to fiteral qmdniinfls. The iitleB of ihe
poems tbemaelves are sometimes eorre8poi»dingly Tsgne, m relation to

Aeir flaUeets : thus we hare ** Befofe/' *• After," « De Gwstibtw "

«One Way of Love," ** Another Way of Love,*' «In Tlirea Days,"
« In a Year,** ** Love in a Life," « Life in a Love," « Any Wife to Any
Hasband,** and so on. Thej all are dedicated to Mrs. browniug' in a
final **One Word Mow :*•

There they are, mv £ffcy men and women
Naming me the fifty poems finished !
Take them, Love, toe book and me together.
Where the heart lies, let the brain lie aJso.

These is Ixti^e observable deviation in Aem feom Mr. Bra«Biag% cfaarac*
teristie " poiali,'' wfaeliier good points or bad; thov^ one aai^ omnll-
ingly fear that of the two classes, posthre good and pasitive bad, it is
rather in the latter than the fenner that advance from Ae posilive to
the II Of Wit i we 4egree is peioeptUile. Perhaps closer study, snob as this

poet foauitos «s a mme qud non to appredaAicMi, will diseo^ar beauties
liiat kux uaaeen duriag a too cursory peraaal ; but the mast cai'sory
petaoal can bardfy eseape « conviction that the poet's /mmcAoii^ fer ellip-
tical dietieii, iateijactiowil dark siblings, wmlhan in parvo (aad, sflina-
tiaaes, aeemingfy mimimum m imdto) '^ debveranoeB," fligfatj Asaoies,
unkempt siaiilitudes, quaintest conceits, sUpsliod femiUantiei, aad gxo-
tesqaa aaaggeratioiia, is unhealthily on tbe inevease. Greattr they
wrong him, nevertheless, who proceed, as some do, to conlbund tlieae
exoresoeat ^' aooideDts" wi^ ^ '* essence'' of his poetical genins, and to
judge him by diese, with a radical perversion of indactiva method, as
tbouffh a pilwUvp «mtet of tbeae by-way blamiAes weee identical litdi
a logical conelusioB that lie is uo poet at alL How much greater a poet
he might be, would be hat anticipate tbe easy every-day work of fauH-
findeta, by eteiking out what dtey so readily find, and by taking upon
himaelf before puUication the duty they |]rompt]y aosumc after it, of
rootbg oat tfa« taves from his wneat, — ^it is pardonably provoking to
think. Nobly endowed is Rdbert Browning wim gifts superior not only
in degree but in kind to more than two or three, among contempQrary
poets, who are read and applauded to the echo by thousands, where he is
read and musingly beloved oy tens. The excellence of his gifts — a rare
union of subjective reflectiveness with objective life and vigour, so that
he can make his personts speak out his thoughts without prejudice to
their own individual beinff,^ralo% moral earnestness, maskea often, and
so unrecognised or repudiated ever by the short-sighted — nay, a per-
vading religious tone, jarred only, not drowned, by mocking-bird discords

* Men and Women. By Robert Brownmg. Two Vols. London : Chi^man
and HaU. 1855.

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iBoawm^Gta ^^ joar akd wonaL" <6

' (nwtnfiliniif by «bUi fonw woaU triaaflwitly
proive Aft nife)» — fldbtfe mtelbel;, daep seuchingt of haarif i *

p«iffi»e, gmai vpinta, sotthfttk esltan, lyncftl eKpranon,- _

I Abmv 'mii^ mors iModes tfaeai, £ar the nukmg o£ a Tir# tn hn wiilri

Float (MOMter MM /^> Yet tme m it pwsai, lOBteMl of andtii^ tiMM
giftatoAecMluBon r-^-^tniMj-in-rTrfmrTr, rnifl rmn nnnilj- mii l—iiji
^adicabk lilwinhM, teeiiM to confirm the mager xa a habit of fntfiig
on bia Mgiag^Tobet aftv to straoj^ a flMhioOy that one^ woadw is Ae
mvent «f ene's xegmtthat 8o few should gather romid him, with amWl
to hemcj md th» mood to imdeFstsiid.

To make aome of the peeafarities that offend or ptrplea jmnr jog^drot
juumUnm raader id the yolamm be&re us. Ez^msions yrerj omnmonly
oorar a£ the load itaiieiied in the fbUowbg bagmsakU : ^^ Aad Im lij,
woaU not memi, wonkt not ooiBe, As if hit might he worBe." ^ It was
roMe, xcBCs, all Ae way. With m)rrUe mixed io my path M« mmtL'' ^fiUU
our fife's zigzags and dodges J* <^ Why you etU a Jigmre at the fint^"
&C. '' Ciphers and stucco-twiddUngs everywhere. ''But these my
triumphs' straw-fire flared tkudjunked.*^

Aaron's asleep-'-shoye hip to haanch.
Or somebody deal kim aaigin ike paunch/
Look at the purse with the tassel and knob.
And the gown with the angel and thingumbob.

What^ «g<aiB9 is to be said o^ or for, suoh lines as ihooOy to diow4iat
when the fight begins within hiras^, a man's worth swething ? —

God stoops o'er his head,
Satan looks up between his feet— both tog-
He's left, himself, in the middle, &o.

Or the descriptioa of a church's '' crypt, one fingers along with a torch,
— its face, set foil for the sun to shave" ? Or this conmtulation of de-
parted worthies — *^ For oh, thb worfd and the wrong it docs ! "Oiey «re
safo m heaven wi& their backs to it*? The name of ^ Hol^-Cross Day"
may tempt Ibvers of the "Baptistery" and the **Christmn Teai'* to
seek acquaintance with a poem whose name somids so w^ ; but we
should like to wateh the pale kfitea fiaees o£ sash iBmiirers as they read
the first verse of << Holy-Orsss Di^ ;" te wit (we had almost written
tu-whit, with its invambie sequent ta-^whoo, infected by the strain) :

Fee, faw, faml bubble and squeak 1
l^lessedest Thursdaj'a the fat of the week.
Eumble and tumhie, sleek and rough.
Stinking and savotuy, smuff and grwL
Take the ohuoh-roaa, fwULo belFs dne otime
Qives us the summons— 'tis sennon-tiffle.

The third verse is stuffed full as it can hold of imagery and bustling
life-like excitement :

Higgledj nig^edy, paoked we lie.
Eats in a namper, swine in a stye,
Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve.
Worms in a carcase, fleas in a sleeve.
Hist ! sipiare shonlden, settle your tbombs
Ami buzz for the bishop — here he comes.
f2

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66 browning's ^^ MEN AND WOMEN.''

In yene-making of this reckless, roUickinff sort, Mr. Browning often
shows remarkable yerre and gusto. But he is i^t to be sloyenljr in
tagging his yerses, which at times are rather too tag-raffgish. When a
rhymester is master of his rhymes, in their freaks and conjunctions of
the kind called Hudibrastic, it b pleasant enouo^h to note tfieir ** wanton
heed and fl^ddy cunning" — ^for one is satisfied ^e while, that the ** heed**
will keep m check the wantonness, and that the wildest iMA of ** giddi-
ness" will not turn the head of that saee supenrisor, ^* cunning.'* But
iHien the rhymester is not master of, out mastered by, his rhymes, all
zest in the spectacle is gone. Unhappily this is frequently the case with
Bir. Browning^s rhymes. He does not mould them at will, and shape
them, as pla^c things, to suit his meaning. On the contrary, they
mould, or rather distort, his thoughts — sometimes wresting his sense into
9toit-sense. Here is a stanza from " Master Hugues of Saze-G^tha," of
which the rhymes and the meaning are alike fitted to ** puzzle the wili^'
to make the best of them :

Now, they ply axes and crowbars —

Now, tney prick pins at a tissue
Fine as a skein of ttie casuist Escobar's

Worked on the bone of a lie. To what issue P
Where is our gain at the Two-bars ?

Well may the two last lines haye a note of interrogation each. One
thinks of Bilfy Black in the farce, with his eternal *'D*ye giye it up ?**
—an eyer-recurring query, impertinent enough in the farce, but highly
pertinent at the end of too many of these rhymes without reason, or most
nnreasonable rhymes. In the yerses hyper-tersely entitied " Before," we
read:

'Tis but decent to profess oneself beneath her.

Still, one must not oe too much in earnest either.

In *^ Old Pictures in Florence," godhead rhymes (de fiicto rhymes, neyer
mind about de jure) with embodied; Theseus with knee/ use; San
Spirito with weary too; SoJTs eye with prophesy; Florence with
£oraine*s ; fFiianagemot with bag *em hot^ Soe. Again :

Thyself shall afford the example, Giotto !—
. . . Done at a stroke (was it notP) "O!"

. . . From these to Ghiberti and Ghirlandajo
... So now to my special grieyance— heign ho !

Not that I expect the great Bigordi

Nor Sandro to hear me» chiiialric, bellicose ;
Nor wronged Lippino — and not a word I

Say of a serapn of Fra Angelioo's.
But are you too fine, Taddeo Gaddi»

To grant me a taste of your mtonaoo—
Some Jerome that seeks the heayen with a sad eye P

No churiish saint, Lorenzo Monaco F

It is by somewhat compulsory measures that ** cock-crow*' has for its
rhyming complement such a phrase as '' rock-row ;" so ^ earth's fiulure**
is the occarional cause of ''Kfe's pale lure," and ^'Sa hundred's soon

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BBOWKING'S ^ MEN AND WOMEN.'' 67

hh*^ thfti <^ <<MiflM0an umV and '< Lightnings tfelooMi6d''of "< Peace
lei the dew fend*" InstaDcet Kke these tempt us to attach a q)edal
sigiuficance to what sounds Kke a confession, in the second stann of
*'Two in tfie Campagna :"

For me, I touched a thought, I know.

Has tantalised me many times,
(Like turns of thread the spiders throw
Mocking across our path) for rhymes

To catch at and let go.

^TiB pity the poet did not ** let go" manj and many which he did ** catch
mf But we too may as well let go tins catching at, and carping at^ Us
demerits^ and pass on, in a less captious mood, to his deserts. Not that
we affisci to enumerate, classify, and duly signalise the latter — mUUfoU
noni But neither are they to be teken for granted, to the extent of
being ignored altogether. A word or two, then, on a RepresentetiTO one
or two of these Men and Women. ** SaaP is a rigorous and highly
granhie sketch of a scene between the first king of Israel and the
gc^den-haired son of Jesse, whose harp had power to sooihe and sober
the moody monarch. It needs more than a sin^e reading, of the rail-
way readme sort^ to follow out ite purport; but there is, on the whole, a
power and beauty in it of a less Jagged outline and misty enyelopment
than belong to the majority ot wis collection. Many of ite linee are
flnent and musical, with a flow and music such as this :

Then I tuned my harp, — took off the lilies we twine round its chords

Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide — ^those sunbeams 1^ swords !

And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as, one after one,

80 docile ihey come to the pen-door, till folding be done.

They are white and untom by the bushes, for lo, they haTC fed

Where the long grasses stifle the water within the stream's bed;

And now one after one seeks ite lodging, as star follows star

Into ere and the blue fiar above us, — so blue and so far !

Numerous passages, too, it contains of that rich picturesque gemre
which marks some of the poet's happiest earlier works ; for example :

Oh, the wild jots of living I the leaping from rock up to rock —
The strong renoing of boughs from the fir-tree, — ^the cool silver shock
Of the plunge in a pool's living water,— the hunt of the bear,
And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.
And the dimI— the rich dfSes— yellowed over with gold dust divine.
And the kxmsf adesh steeped in the piteher ; the full draught of wine.
And the sleep in the dried river-channel where buLrushes tell
That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and welL

Another Scriptural study, and of still sreater interest if not excellence,
is that entitled '' An Epistle," indited in Sie poet's best bbnk verse (which
at ite best b very good indeed), and having for ite subject Lazarus of
Bethany in his resurrection-life, as seen and speculated upon by an Arab
physician, ** Karshish, the mcket up of learning's crumbs, die not in-
curious in God*s handiwonL" The epistle is supposed to be written
about the time <^ die Romans' advance on Jerusalem :

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68 BBOwnsr G^ ^ ves and

Ikt autt— it is sue Luinn ' » Jew,
SiBgiime» proportioned^ fiftj yean o£ age.
The Dod^s habit wholly laudable.
As much, indeed, beyond the common health
As he were made and put aside to show.
Think, could we penetrate by any drug
And bathe the wearied soul and worried flesh.
And bring it dear and fair, by three days' sleep !
Whence has tiie man the balm that brightens all P
This fiTown man eyes the world now like a child.
♦ ° ♦ "^ • ♦ «

DiscoDffse to him of prodigious armaments
Assembled to besiege his ci^ now,
And of tiie passing of a mufe with gourds-—
Tb one ! Then tsdbe il on the other side.
Speak of smn taiiing fact— 4e wiH gice Mpt
Wiihstwor ait its vary littleaess—

S'az as Isoe) aa if in thai indeed
e canght prodigious import, whole results
And so wSL turn to us the bystanders
In ever the same stupor (note this point)
That we too see not with his opened eyes !
Wodler and doubt eorae wrongly into pky,
IVtpuutamuBhf, at opms pvpeees.

WMch of us alT} m leading tBe fourth gospel, has not mused in awfiil
Aeamy wonder on die looks, and ways^ and words of Lazarus rediviyiis 7
and longed to overhear from those lips that Death had kissed as his own,
the secrelt of thai;. pffisoA-hoofle from which he so ttorngtlj had keen
frnd) mwm wmm of that bovnM from whidi no traTdkr lotanw P At
surely as we hurt M. thus mused and leaded, shall we idl bo atlraeted i^
know what a poet of earnest, dioughtfiu, r^gious feeHng hai made of
this conjectural theme. It has a psychological value of an unwonted kindr
There is another long piece in blank verse, of philosophic and religiout
interest, called '' Cleon," which discusses the proUem of fift frtun the
stand-point of an inquiring mind, unenlightened by divine revelation —
gi—i»|^ at trvtis gvopiag in the darinwss afitor ligM» dwvig to imagine
a YMMwmm, '^flomo fnlaro state,'* "^aaAnnttod in capai^% for jtf, at thia
is in desire for joy.**

—But, no!

Zeus has not yet revealed it ; and, aias !

He must have done so— were it possifolo.

In a sort of jpest-acriptam to this loiter from Ckoa the pooi io IV^toi
the tyraoQOi, tfao ptrplextd and finalhr dogpnadjay sadiw it wrh, with
pregnant effect, to allado in eavaher oltiir terms to ** ooo-oaUed BMla%*
to whom Protos had despatched a nMnenger on some errand, toCIeoa
unknown and uacared for ;

Wo haro heard his [FkahMlfino

iadeed,if Christoa he not one with himw—
Thou canst not think a mere hHrbadan. Jei^
As Faulus proves to be, one circumcised^
Hath aoeess to a secret shut from us?
Thou wrongest our philosophv, O king.
In stooping to mcpnre of such an one,
As if his answer could impose at all.

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BBOWHiira'a ^waxsn woMmJ" «9

** deon'' win repay a refleeftm sod Hmm'Mamg penuil. So, on a
coraate topic, or group of topc% bot twSobIYj aB«n in style, will the
polemical nondescript yclept ^ Bishop filoogram^s Apology** — a tissue of
Tiolent contrasts and provokin|^ incbn^mities — fine irony and coarse
abuse, subtle reasoning and haltmg twaMe» the lofty and the low, the
refined and the vulgar, eanaestnesa ajid levi^, oai^ioaredMll-mell by the
bVustering yet ^* pawky" bishop o?«r hit wiQe. Bot what is probably
ihe mostpmsct specimen of even, sustained, and lofty excellence afforded
in this coUection, is the dramatic fragment^ '*In a Balcony" — than
^prhidi there are few better dungs in tiie best of its author's dramas ; and
iJiat is saying moie, by a great deal| than would be supposed by idle
play-goers and railway«bQolrstan-keepei% whose gauge of excellence is
the run of so many aigfaifl^aiid the ran oa so »a&y eepies. Let such as
doubt Mr. Browning's possesnen of a reid dramatie takiat, listen to his
speakers <^ In a Balcony," and note die constnietioB and quietly marked-
out action of the piece ; and they will surely abate their scepticism, or
the avowal of it. We had intended to quote several exoerpts m>m these
scenes, but space is wantine, and the r^ubr wUI of oourse enjoy them
fifty times as much in their proper plaoe; tar to call elegant extracts
horn any drama good fin anytfaittg^ is almost a erne agunst the
dramatist-— or rather, tit wane duHi a cmm, ^ a bknder. Nor will
we drag in disjecta membra from ^ Amfrea dd Sarto,"' painting from
himself and to himself, — from ** A Grammarian^ Funeral," that piquant
elegy on an old scholar who, the ruling passion strong in death, was
hem still, '' through the sattie," settling the busing of 'ore and the
proper basis of 'ovv, and (after her was dead 119 to tlM waist) the true
' doctrine of the endUs: i>e^— «f from ihat jovial confession of '^ Fra

lippo lappi," escaped fr<on a diree weeks* painting job, to overtake, in
the fresh air (past midnig^ dioogii), the ^bui^r he has overiieard
from his open window, of ** feet and Gtde feet, a sweep of lute-strings,
laughs, and whifts of song." But it were unfair to quote no one piece
entire; so here is one more tiMft oommonly fitted fer pofularity:

iVBLra H(^B.

Beaat&l Svelvn Hope is dead

Sit and watch by her side an hour.
This is her bookslielf^ this her bed ;

She plucked that piece of geramnm-flower,
Bmnmnff to die too, in the ^ass.

Little has jet been chanj;ed, I think —
The shatters are shut, no light may pass

Save two long rays thro* the hinge^s chinL

Sixteen years old when she died !

Perhaps she had seweely hsasd my name —
It was not her time to love ; beside,

Her life had many a hope and aim.
Duties enough and little cares.

And now was quiet, now astir —
Till Qod's hand beckoned unawares.

And the sweet white brow is all of her.

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10 BROWKINQ*S " MSN AND WOMEN.**

Is it too late, then, EvelTn Hope P

What, your soul was pure aiid true.
The good stars met in your horoscope.

Made you of spirit, fire, and dew —
And just because I was tlurice as old,

And our paths in the world diverged so wide.
Each was nought to each, must I be told ?

We were feUow-mortals, nought b^de ?

No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant, as mighty to make.
And creates the love to rewara the love, —

I claim you still, for my own love's sake !
Delayed it may be for more lives yet.

Thro' worlds I shall traverse, not a few —
Much is to learn and much to forget

Ere the time be come for taJdng you.

But the time will come,— at last it will.

When, Evelyn Hope, wlutt meant, I shall say.
In the lower earth, in the years long still.

That body and soul so pure and gay ?
Why your mur was amber I shall £vme,

And your mouth of vour own geranium's red*-
And what you would do with me, in fine.

In the new life come in the old one's stead.

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then.
Given up myself so many times,

Gained me the gains of various men,
Bansacked the a^ spoiled the climes ;

Yet one thing^, one, in my soul's full scope,
Either I missed, or itself missed i

And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope !
What is the issue f let us see !

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ;

My heart seemed full as it could hold —
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile

And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold.
So, hush, — ^I will give you this leaf to keep —

See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hana.
There, that is our secret ! go to sleep ;

You will wake, and remember, ana understand.

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THE OLD TBAE'S DEATH.

BT MABT C. F. MONCK.

Thb night was wailing; like a widowed queen.
Her purple garments changed for mourning weeds.
Her orown of stars torn from her dnskj brow.
Yet proud in all her bitter agonj.
Wild bursts of sorrow filled the wintry air.
And died away to moans and sobbing sighs.
Then sunk to silence, but to wake again.
Deeper and sadder, rushing through the pines
That bristled on the dark and distant hiUs,
Whidi like grim sentinels kept watch and ward
Abore the dreary shore of the dark sea,
Where the Old Year had laid him down to die.
The wares had swallowed up the narrow path
By whidi the poor old king had reached the spot
Where life and power should pass from him away :
And still the waters limped with eager tongues
The little space which yet remained to ^im^
Awaiting 1^ last breath, to overwhelm
All trace of him and his, ere they retired
And left a fair untrodden way to greet
The footst^ of a monareh yet unborn.
One grey cbud covered all the brooding sky.
Save where the waning moon lay in the midst—
As lies a dead face in its burial shroud —
Ghastly and wan, and cold and passionless ;
And the dim sea, heaving in long, low waves.
Looked up to her, with a complaining cry
Of torment rising from its writhing depths.

Trom leafless woods, feur off, came shrieks and groans,
As the winds harped upon the naked boughs
A sad and mournful dirge. Across the moor.
Over the Idack reed-bordered pools and tarns.
The blasted waste of brown and rustling heath.
The windy hill-tops, and the desolate shore,
BoUed the wild requiem, and brought with it
The toll of the hr city's minster bell.
Solemnly, faintly sounding through the mist :
A muffled knell which warned the dying king
That but one hour— one shc^, one fleeting hour*
Lay between him and aU eternity.

There was a faithful watcher at his side—
One true to death. Shid held his icy hand.

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72 THE OLD YEASL8 DEATH.

Pillowed his white head on her filial breast.
Dropped her cold tears upon his upturned face,
And watched the passaig of the failing life
With which her own should end.

She was the last
Of all the braye, and bold, and hopeful throng,
The last of all tha hoj^ and beaatiM
WhoBt ill tha. ftaah of pBDud and yi|;Qioii» jiQ«yi
That poor old man had seen around hinL fall.
The daughter of his age, his joajogoti banL
She had come forth tiiia nighi bom mamj a hnne
Where fair young handa had coMmod bes wiihgnen wreaths,
And loving hearta and lipa beaonght her stuy;
And mouQMd for her di^padaure. She had cone
Though great fixes hftaped with led and oradklnig loga:
Had been piled up to warm her fnian laxAa,
Though feasts wese apead^ and nek winea poBsed for her,
And love and mirth and yosth tcgeiher met
In the swift aixoka of tin menj daoMe.
She hadlafi hoaoea whese lonelj noumers wepk
Tor thoaa who. but m liitk jaar befona
Had beea the gi^eat of the g^ and gbd,
And now lay j^eeping thnMigh the long, long nighi^
Which knows no monk qsbl earth. She would not alip
To comfort the afliinted, nor to bnatha
Hope to the hearta whose lored oaee wem awa^
'Idid death and danger. Ho, aha 1^ them all.
To soothe the death*hed o£ her Ming sire,.
And di& with hin.

Ha bloMod her as he k^
And wept foe aA tka {^oeiooa Bumtha and difs
Squandered and fil^ghtgd, lost (at avttmttre.

" My child," he said, ''the midnight hour is near«
And the first gleam of the to-morrow^ dawn
Shall shinfl iqyan onr gnupeai Alaa! alaai
I thought naff annuner daft wonld never enc^
My summor flowen nasec fade mmaf.
I recked not of this laati. tibia ImuM hou^
Or the diMd world beyond tka sea of daail^
When snns wn» bwght„in(il evmy honr that ayad
Brought aaina new j^Kwtl to my diadani
Oh! forthedaysi[^ik^aBa.&c«nrlaBtl
Like argoaiaa laden with jwinahni gani%
Which newr raadktka riiaaa §m vUak Om^ mk,
But ainkin thadani^naeML.

Laail hMtl kail
Oh ! for another grant of life and strength !
Time for repenknoeef ny 1

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THE OLD year's DEATH. 73

'Rmt for amendment— time for better things
Tluoi those whose memoiy hannts me to ny doon !
I have been prodigal of promiaes,
But niggard in fulfilment^ and my sins
Before me rise in terrible array —
At once my crime and pnniahment.

Ah me !
Another hand shall take my sceptre up.
Another head shall wear the crown I leave,
Another fill the throne that onoe was mine.
Like me, perhaps, to reign in thoughtless joy«
Nor dream of the 'to come' till all too late.
I hare rejoioed akove red battk-flelds.
Where thonaanda fell to di& And the loud din
Of thnndenng ^^ft"^*^^' t^i\ of iUahing stee].
The eriflB of those in the death agony.
The maddened nftigfaiiig of the wounded steecb,
Hav« Bade me tremble with a fiecoe ddight.
I have made hd))le88 chiiiken fatherbfls,
Mathe» bereaved, wlYes widows. I have teat
The hsothcc from his ssitar's lingfting ebap^
Ibe lover bom his land and gSKtile love.
And aent thesi f OEtiw to oaam bq mote again.
Tki Uoad of noUfS hescis has dj«d my robes
WhkghmiagmixtKBea, Yet hare I M}oios4
And joniBd my Toios to the kiid laUde-eiy
'Whiok wiloomed victories, won with the cost
Of vbIoU ItPis, and tears but death can diy.
I hsd ao senvw for ^ early dea^
O^liMBe who lifed to mown tittm.

But too late
X know the better from i^e worse, and feel
How deeply I hove sisned. My days are don»—
A daiknesB deeper than the gloomy night
Is dosing round mo— I no longer fed
The gentle pressure of thy duteous hand."

He spoke no more. Then lose s thrilMng orf

Through sQ the realms of air ; tkefe was a rush

Of spirit wings upon the dreary Hast—

A plaint of spirit voices low and sad;

Tlie cbuds dosed round the moon, and darkness Mi,

Vttet andrayless, over aH the earth.

And the waves rose and swept away the dead.

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HOW WE WENT TO SEE THE MILITIA EBVIEW.

This was after the fashion of it. Our coudn, Symthe de Symthe,
having been a g^ood sober country gentleman for the space of at least a
doxen years, got at last wearied of *' improvements on the farmy** in the
shape of lopped, distorted trees, and grounds painfully harrowed up on
the score ot production, and determined that m the present ** erisiB** it
was the duty of every true Briton to serve his country, and therefore he
should take up service in the militia. It was wonderfully becoming to
him, as we all told him, the uniform ; and as for the *' undressy^ with
that dear duck of a foraging-cap, and those lovely moustaches, why we
never knew before how bmdsome he was. Then ne was so deyer about
getting his men into training, and whatever the '* real armv'' (as those
impertinent officers at the barracks called themselves) might choose to
say about " playing at soldiering," it was plain to see our cousin Symthe
de Symthe might nave been used to it all his life. He took such ffreat
delignt in it ttho. He was never wearied of getting up parties of gay
ladies and gentlemen to virit him at his " quarters'* and partake of the
charming (mampagne breakfests he and his ''brother-officers*' were de*
lighted to provide for them. He would take them afterwards down long
duty passages into the " men's quarters," and ezpaUate with deliffht
over boiline messes of dingy potatoes and steaming questionaUe-lookmg
meat. AU the men touched their hats to him, like a real soldier as he
was, and he would say, '' I hope, my men, that you like your fiure^ and
that you have no complaints to make ?" just as if he had always liyed
amonest them. It was astonishing how we got ourselves up wnen we
atten&d these demonstrations of our cousin's. We cased our children in
scarlet doth, or leggings, or comforters, or something that looked mill-
tary, and we put feather streamers in our bonnets, and walked to the
sound of the drum, and looked like the real cousins of a real soldier, as
indeed we were. It was very disgusting, though, when the drafts for the
Crimea called so many of the militia out of England to fill up the dif-
ferent foreign stations left vacant by the Queen's regiments abroad ; and,
worse still, the craven spirit that showed itself amongst the militia when
they were informed that those who had enlisted under the idea they
would not be called out of England, would be allowed to retire before
the new act of foreign service came into force. Half of my cousin's
regiment was cleared in a morning. It was in vain that he apostro-
phised them as ''sons of Enghind, and defenders of her soil," and
spoke of " leading them to glory," and " wreathing their brows with
laurels" — (I do not know where he intended to procure them from in the
£rty foreign quarters in which they were to be billeted)— they were
low and degraded enough to prefer their wives and sweeth^urts to all the
glory he could offer them, and were actually seen drivelling on parade
under a mystical impression they had imbibed from his speech to them,
tfiat the^ were to be torn from the bosoms of their families, and offiired
as bleeding sacrifices on the altar of their country. It was just at this
period that we visited the town in which our cousin's regiment was
quartered, and in an unhappy moment asked him to give us one of his
beantiftd military reviews oefore he left England. Always too gallant
to refuse, he &tbi an eariy day for us^ and Bus. Ddonne, at whose hos-
pitable house we were staybg, insisted upon havbg her beautifiil bays

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HOW WE WENT TO SEE THE BOLITIA REVIEW. 75

put into her new barouchey and driving us all on to the ground. Tlie
morning was dull, foggy, and disagreeable, hut our military enthusiasm
kept us warm, and our difficulty in deciding on the exact spot of ground
dengned for the review made it all the more interesting. Clementina
was certain it was where the reviews had been held before, but Theresa
had private information this ground had been taken away from them,
and that we must go up to the nte of a certain large turnip-field, vividly
impressed on the memory of aU of us by reason of the unpleasant odour
that exhaled therefirom as we passed it the day before, owing to a right
of road that had been opened through it over rotten turnips on a humid
ground. Theresa was right, as she always is. We heard their delightful
guDs popping away through the mist at the very moment the savoury
tumip-steam again assailed our nostrils. It was dear we must go
right through the turnips to get at the ground on which they were
praetising. You might have thought a soup-kitchen, of a very low
description, was ah^kdy established there, such a steam the greens

fave out^-such a warm, moist, pungent atmosphere. We came upon
ymthe de Symthe quite by surprise — <* sunbeams breaking through
the mist" — he called it ; but I thmk privately he was a littk annoyed
as a rusty-looking private was just wiping down his *' charger" with
a wisp of damp-k>oking hay, that noble animal having lost his foot-
ing in the mua, and rather blemished his beauty by the thick coating
with which he had bedaubed himself. It is true we could not see all the
geogn^hv of the field, as there was a laree puddle and a gate feusing us
whidi renised, under any persuasion, to idlow itself to be opened ; but
now the galltuitiT of Mr. Cousin shone forth conspicuously. Raising
himself in his saddle-girths, and pointing in a commanding manner to
two ol the soldiers, he ordered ihem ** to come forward, and make way
for the ladies I" It was well that John had the good sense to get off
and hold the horses' heads, or they and the solmers would inevitably
have come into collision* As we went in floundering knee-de^ in
mud through the remains of the shattered gate, and found ourselves
really on the field for practice, the drafts from the regiment made it look
somewhat ridiculously small, and it struck me that bow the men and their
garments were rather *' seedy;" but, as our cousm said, " it was necessary
to keep up discipline in these storing times, and^rhaps they were rather
^ worn' on the strength of it" Tney vrent throup^ their '^ evolutions,"
however, in a wonderful manner, the swords flashmg, the guns firing'—
the legs all gmng together — and of course we applauded at each new act*
Clementma said, indeed, she did not see what there was in it to bring us
all out of our beds on such a wretched morning ; but I know she was
dis^ipointed because young Robson was not on the ground ; and as for.
Theresa, she did not know whether ihey or Symthe de Symthe were most
to be admired. She told us, af^ leaving the ground, that she thought
she was cut out for a military life, and hoped we did not imbibe the
ibolish prejudices some pe<n>le had against widowers ; but we did not
agree with her at ^e time, all our dresMS having come *' limp," and there
hemg some very unorthodox spots of mud on our new French bonnets.
Of course we told our cousin Symthe de Symthe what beautifol order his
regiment was in, and how mudi we were dianned and edified by all we
had seen ; but to you, dear public, to whom our hearts are opened, we
have no hesitation in confessing that there was base metal in the sounding
gold even in the glorification of a militia review.

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ADYENTTTEEB OF BENJAMIN BOBBINf THE BAOMAW.

Bt 0bA177OBJ> WlLBOSr.

OHAFTSE ZZVI.

THE COUJTTBT CTTBATE.

''SPKAKmQ of ofeigTmen," said Mr. Crippg, in Us imld tonoi, «' FU
tdl you ft fiMt that o£ late yean happeaod wider my own obaerfBtm."
He evidently desbed to dustige light tabjeotB; he eonadeead than nn-
fitted lor the SaUbath eroung^.

Yon are all «ware that I am not the yeungeit infividnal in tl^
iVe ran already nearly tiro-thixds of the raee allotted to men in ih^ pre-
aent genenUion. My hair, like nuoiy of <me woddly firiends, began to
£U1 off from me whcoi I eommenced deeeendiw inte the vale nf ymrn
Bat aa it 18 not of myself but of a dear friend I mean to ipeak, I ahall
not tnapaaB upon yonr patmoce by a lengthened pvefiMe that osk be of
no pomUe intenaat to yon, hoi caaimeaoe ftt onee with the J^^^Ja^ip*
endured by my unoompiiifiing friend.

When at sduol, some tfairfy-fiye yean ago, I had the good fboetune
to gain the eateem o£ the aeniar boy ; he was my ^er by nz years. I
was twelve, he eighteen. He was ef a very ataady east of oharaotei^-
refleotsfe, generoos, amiaUe, aad deeile aknost to a baAt; paasionatoly
fond «£ seading, gifted with moat fiKtraordinanr leteatiae fiumWes,
possesKd of gfMt eonaentmtiva powen, indonutaUe pefseveranoey and

eztreaiA fecfeitiide and uatienee oadar difificaWav He was the oostj eon

of a wUoWy wheae Hide stipend baraly saffioed to give him a good
claswcal edaoation, aad keep aeaelf aad daaghter in a respeetaUa posi-
tion. He was ezoeedingly attached -to hety and kbonred severe^ *o
advaaoe hnasdf (as he knew thi^ that was heriieait's deasest wish), wUk
IAm Cfaarbh for his goal.

As I was ako of a retiiiag nateie be taok giwat nofioe of me, pitwd

and cheerod aay ddaess and afamidity; aided an ia nr^ tadss, aad
JsiighteH in cenveniw with me. I baive sat by his side aad liatoned to
him— boy as I was 'foe ImniB, in a seokided comer of iht ^yground,
wkUstheread orexponndedpassagesfrombastory or Scripture mut tome
were as sealed booloi until 1m siaiplemedaxl of expUning them ma^
•dear to my oompvehension. I oared not Hot ptay wImu he was dis-
engacad, nor tor the niekname ef '' Tom Movton's bervise," widi wUoh
my sdioc^fiBllows branded me. I bved him and his society, looked upon
Um with awe and reverence, and onfyfekfainpy when wa woe togetaor.
Bat ibe time came when be had to leave thesoho^ and with it a aois-
fbrtune to himself and hb frnmly of wfaidi ifliey never dieami. Ifis
moA&t had commissioned her sdieitor to raise a sufficient sum of moaay
upon her slender annuity to pat her eon throi^h his coUegiate exaauaa-
«isns, but the wreteh mortgi^ the luU amount heavily, and decaaspad.
Poor Tom I it^neariy broke his heart. It is a sony omen when a yonag
man, full of hopes, strikes bis legs against sucb an obstacle as ruin at the
first step he takes from his school, in this world of troubla Another aum
would have been oiashsd by tfie calamity, but Tom had others to live fiv

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ADYENTUBES OF HEJUilfBT BOIBIN THE BAGMAN. 7T

aad ilie faope* of «ltiM|ttsl^ Wnr endbled to vstft Us

in ker dififeuhiet kmprei him wi£ «rfour, and game him

He cstond the colWge as a naer, a pettj tufcoahip

m m pwwying a Vff!^ mtunog ; etniggled mta/Mij to keep

abofe irateCy wmd iwbiiitT to the few comfbxti of thewiikHrs

Two fmn paid by — two yeaa of patieBt lahovr, ofineeasaut appfi-
cationo, nudni^t study, and setf^TatioD. Two of those yean Ifiat
oftentames leare ihe wnnklee of twenty on the brow, sear up the hearty
witlier the afieetioM, and metamorphose ^ sphit as well as the appear-
ance of a man. Sn^ had they been to him— -but his datfing object was
attained, the goal reached, his ambition gratified. He was ordained.

A flkoK 'time rabseqaent to his ordination he vras appointed to a
evracy m a eoentry Tulaee, at ihe annual salary of seventy pounds.
He waa a MtfaM steward, to3ed incessantly in his vocation, and was
aoon aohersally beloved. Now, a* greater preacher than the Reverend
Tbonas Morton ever was, has smd, that *^ it is not c^ood for man to
dwell alone;" doubtless he felt the truth of that doctrine, and availed
bimself of the advice given by St. Paal te Timothy in his first epbtle, as
though it had been written egpecially for hiA own guidance, where he
says, ^* Let the deacons be the husbands of one wife, ruling their children
and tbesr own hoases welL** One deacon only to each wife of coarse was
mean^ and one wife took honest Tom Morton to his own bosom and fire-
side. A neighbouring clergyman officiated in my friend's little churdi,
and before its altar knelt its godly curate by the side of as pure and
kyvely a young creature as ever joined in the sacred responses^ or blushed
at the finst wedded kiss.

She was dowerless ; but what of that ? Her heart was a fortune in
itself, and he would not exchapge his confiding Lydia for the wealth of
a thousand Golcondas.

T&or curates who marry dowerless young ladies have, however, an
unhappy knack of fulfilling, too literally, one of the first commands
given to man — viz., " Grow fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the
earth." Be that as it may, my friend regularly, tor some Ji^ears after
marriage, about Christmas time, opened the Church's prayer-book at that
part of its fitnrgy headed " Baptism of Infants,*' an unconscious cherub
requiring the sacred rite at his hands, and as surely, when the ceremony
was concluded, leaving the charch with the curate's surname. It seemed
unaccountable to Tom, yet so he went on, Chriataias after Christmas,
reading in public, *< Blessed is the man who hath his quiver fiill of them,"
and at eacn occasion of the kind, another Morton was added to his
family, and another mouth required a spoon.

Some nine years after his marriage, his aged mother and sister,
having no other resources left, gave up their home in London and went
down to reside with him. The news of their arrival fell upon the occu-
pants of the little cottage like an avalanche. Tom was sorely puzzled:
few of life's necessaries, and not one of its luxuries, were at his disposal.
He knew not how to manage, but his wife was an ang^eL So, leaving the
matter in her hands, he looked upon it as a sacred duty, and never mur-
mured. They mutually resolved to make the widow welcome^ and they
BtKsceeded, for two upright hearts went with the resolution.

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78 ADVENTUBES OF

Five sons and four daughters, in reg^ular gradations, bloomed bedde
the parent trees, depending for the means of existence upon the corate's
beggarly stipend. Another year roUed over, and his sister earned some
tnfle by teaching the children of the working classes, so that her earn-
ings, with his salary as aforestated, was the wnerewithal the poor fellow
luM to feed and clothe thirteen souls. But he had a good heiurt* worked
ever indefatigably in his holy calling, and mth a firmly-rooted troat in
Providence, hoped on, but never repined :

And bless'd are those

Whose blood and jod^ent are so well oomingled

That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger

To souna what stop she please.

Notwithstanding the stnutened circumstances of my friend, and the
desire that his amiable wife had ever shown to reduce expenses, the advent
of a little visitor was proenosticated. The oracle proved faithful to the
letter, for in the autumn following the baptismal service was again read,
and half a score juvenile Mortons were to be found congregated around
hb humble board.

CHAPTBB XXVn.

A FEVER, immediately after the circumstance I have just related, broke
out in the neighbourhood, and many fell victims to that fearful scourge
and desolater. Tom's mother was the first who died of it ; and soon
afterwards three of his little ones slept beside her, beneath the fading
daisies in the churchyard that they baa tended but a week before. Heavy
was the poor curate's heart, but courage was in his soul; and yet — ^noth with-
standing his own private calamities — ^no weather ever hindered him from
mimstering to the stricken amongst his flock, preaching to them the ** glad
tidings of mat joy." Night s^r night, day after day, in sunshine or
in rain, did he leave his mourning family for the chamber of contagion,
bringing comfort to the poor traveller bound for the dark valley of the
shadow of death. His senior in the parish had fled at the outbreak of
the malady» throwing upon the shoulders of the righteous Morton all its
duties and consequent oangers. Still he struggle on manftdly, cheer-
fully, faithfully— -always at his post, like a trusty sentinel, and never
deserting it.

Beside the bed, where parting life was laid,
Where sorrow, grief, and sin, by tarns dismay'd.
The reverend chamiHon stood,
and knelt, and prayed, and comfbrted, until

Menrjr came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And ms last faltering accents whispered — upraise.

The malady slowly abated. Hope once more plumed her ruflSed wings
in the village. Smiles, long cast aside, again bloomed in the cheeks of
youth, and health, and rustic beauty, j^t, alas! the sexton had been
busy.^ Many of the pews in the little church were empty, their owners
sleeping the sleep that knows no wakbg. Many well-known hces ceased
to present themselves ; the damp earth was their pillow, and the green
tuit their covering. Often, often, often had the curate read '* I am the
resurrection and tiie life" over the body of a dear brother or sister just

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BENJAMIN BOBBIN THE BAGMAN. 79

departed. ** Dust to dost, ashes to aslies," with its melancholy accompani-
ment, had daily heen echoed hy the last hard beds, hollowed out from the
breast of earth, as lasting niches in the catacombs of eternity.

The Sunday immediately succeeding the retreat of the fever poor Tom
preached his last sermon. I was present. How striking his deliyery —
bow fervent his prayers — how absorbed his flock. << Work while it is
called to-day, for the night cometh when no man can work,'' was his text.
Sldlfolly he handled it-->abl^, eloquently ; few dry eyes were there. Mine
were like fountains overflowmg.

When he retired to the vestry he compluned of fetigue, and as we re-
turned to his little home he leaned heavily upon my arm, holding the
hand of his dear wife in his own. Many times during our short walk I
felt his hand beat gently upon my arm, as he said again and again,
'< Work while it is called to-day." <' James," he said, addressing himself
to me, ^* I was for some time last week of two minds **

** About what, Thomas ?" I inquired.

<^ About this day's sermon. I was divided between two excellent texts.
I wished to improve the occasion — to show the uncertainty of life — the
certainty of dissolution — the only narrow path to the ladder of life
eternal — and the righteous mercy and long-suffering of our God."

He paused, so I asked :

^ wWt was the other text ?"

<< < Behold, I stand at the door and knock.' I shall preach from that,
God willing, this evening."

But poor Tom did not preach that evening, for he was stricken. That
night the fever parched up his flesh and tortured his active limbs. The
good, the pious, the benevolent Thomas Morton raved, ere long, in all
the frenzy of delirium. He knew no one — ^not even his wife, who never,
even for a moment, during the fourteen days of his distempered reason,
was absent from his chamber. There, like some pure spirit delegated
by Omnipotence to cherish a suffering servant, was she day and night to
be foond, watching his slightest movements with the jealous eyes of
augmented affection — moistening his pallid lips, or bathing his burning
temples, ever praying for his recovery fervently, yet with that perfect
resignation which always characterises the tndy pious, dosing each
heartfelt supplication with <' not my will, but Thine, be done." His face
was as a book to her, wherein she constantiy studied, anticipating every
change it expressed ere the wish connected with it was bom, and shed-
dinga halo of peace and holiness around the sick man's pillow.

When the fever had passed away and he awaked to consciousness,
meeting those dear eyes that had always been bent over his, fondly
searching for returning recognition, the first words that greeted her
ravished ears were *' Goid bless you, m^ darling liddy." He could not
artieokte more, but lus heart went with them ; and then, fer the first
time, she went — ^wept big tears of thankfulness^ and devotion, and love,
kneeling by his bedside, and kissing his wasted hand.

Well, poor Morton recovered slowly horn the disease, but the hard-
ships he nad previously undergone, when in the exerdse of his vocation,
enervated his constitotion. Consumption ensued: a harassfaig cough,
accompanied by the rupture of some vessels in his lungs, brought mm
daily lower and lower, until the bed again became his portion* ffis mind

▼OL. XTXTT. o

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80 ADTENTUXSB OF

WM h^Mllj iuffsMed about the welfiue of his yowag fknul j, whidi soon
must be both widowed and orphooed. But, thank Heaf^n I his £aai« for
its welfare weie soon quieted^ and hb mind was set at ease. The lord of
the manor, who had, when in the ooontry, sat beneath his ministry, and
to whom the ehoDch belonged, hod long been an admirer of his exem-
plary oonduct and e%celknit<iiifiIitieB. He had been informed of his ilhiess,
of ms late indefirtigable seal, and visited him frequently, preasnting, at
one of his friendly oalls, the cottage to his fiEunity, and settling upon the
heart-broken wife an annuity of a hundred pounds a year. The oup of
poor Morton's earthly happineiB was, by thaA genesous gift, o'erflown,
and he lingered but a short time longer. The vanities of me world iiefier
fettered him; his fatnre mansion was already preparsd in ^that house
not made with hands, eternal in the heavens^'' What had he to live for ?
His wife and diildren were provided for— 'his earthly race run^^the prize
in view — the bitter cop that may not pass from any of us already at his
lips — and the sure and certain hope before him*

At sunset, upon his last Sabbath evening on eardi, he lay, as was usual,
in his bed, the latter being placed beside the window which looked to-
wards the west. He was v«ry low, but very calnu His little ones were
standing at his feet, whilst his sister and wife knelt, weeping, by his
bed. He had been dozing ; upon opening his eyes he made on uneasy
movement. The jealous eye of his wife at once detected it*

^' What can I do fer you, my poor sofiSmng Thomas ?" she whispered,
amid her sobs.

** Dry thy teass^ my well-beloved, and let not our short [mrting grieve
thee. Has the sun set ?"

*' Not yet," replied his weepbg sister.

<* Turn my head, my love," hi said, Matty, to his wife, ** and let me
look fer the last time upon the eternal seal of my Creator as it stamps
the western horiaon witti a symbol of tiiat gl^ <^ which tiie profdiet at
Patmos wrote."

They propped him up with pillows, his feoe towards the son, who was
swiftly sinking in tin sky»

'' Do you feel ea^, dear Thmnas ?"

**' Happy ! hapjpy I hi^y I" he said, audibly. ^' Sophy, dear, turn to
the first epistie ot Paul to Timotiiy, the first chapter, and tiie fifteenth
verse. Read slowly-— slowly.''

And his sister read in a brdcMi voice :

**' < This is a frdthfel saving, and wortl^ of all acceptation, tiiat Chntt
Jesus came into the world to save sinners ; of whom I am chief.' "

'< Of whom I am ofaief-Hof whom I am clue^" repeated the dying man;
then slowly, but with great precision : ^ Fight the good fieht of faith-^
lay hold of eternal life, whommto thou art wo called, and nast pn^assed
a good profession befeie many witnesses." After a slight ponse : " Liddy,
my love, let me feel your pure breath again upon my cheek* Kiss me^
my beloved. Place my hand upon your forehead. ' Be ye also feithfrd ;
establish your hearts, ior tiie ooming of the Lord draweth nigh.' "

His breathing became pobfully oppsessifie, and his v(noe less distinct
Yet oahn as a plosid lake, upon whidi the glocies of noontide «ra eost^
was his worn countenance.

<« Where aM Qor ehildm ?"

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BENJAMIN BOBBIH THE BAOMAH. 81

Thfiv went isrjpag aronnd lum b^ ; at lik oail they torromded him
mora cloeely. Me hiesad them one by one, and said :

^* To the Fathei of the £uherlew I bequeath them^— one mighl;^ to
save. God bless you, my children. Remember, that of such la Ifaa
kingdcMa of my Father. Liddy, where are you f "

*' Here^ dear Thomas'* She eeaild soaieeJy spoalri hot his hand was
spangled with her teaaa.

« The chamhor is dark. Tl^ sweet Imso is hidden horn me, btit I &el
ihee. Tfaaok Godfbr that Ueesing. ^ I know thy works — and eharity
— and serYice — and fedth — and thy patience and thy works and the
iMt to be move than the first' "

A TMJent fit cf eougbing easaed. Still fiickeved the lamp of waning life
-^■fiickaaad on the mrge of eternity*

He had prarioasly kept time to the wetds with his attenuated hand
whilst he spoke* It now sank, nerv^ess^ oo. the counterpane.

<'LuidyI^Liddy! Haif e you left me ?""

*^ No, dear — no, dear. I am still beside yon."

«< Wbere^ my tave omi?"

^ My arm is beneath your head, my husband."

" I do not &el it. Place your band in mine, sweet wile-— and yoursy
ray sisiee. God bless yoa both I He will be a hudMUid to tha widow^
9Bd a father to the orphan. Do you weep, my love ?"

« Oh, Thomas ■ bdeyed Thomns I cannot help k," sehbed the ago-
nised wi£»k

** Not ler me — not for me» my love. I go wheve < there shall be no
night, and they need no candles, neither light of the san. For the I^rd
God errefli them Mght» and they shall reign for ever and ever*' "

^^ Aje you m naiiv my dear hnsfaand ?"

^' No^ no— dt peaoe — all peaoe." Then, at intenrals, and daaaer

dian bdfaM^ ^' ^ And the saint and the hride ssgFy Come! and let hun
that henethy my Come, ana lat him that is athirst eonoe; and wheaoarar
will, let him take of Ae water of li& iKely.' "

Poor Tom Morton ob^ed the sommoas. As he finifthed» the neil of
fatality wss lifted ta Utipintnal gaaa— the last links that fiattcMd hie
noUe soid to parishaMc eavth were dissevered— *the flame iiokared na
longer— the simr chofd wae loosed—the goMan bonrl wae faroken, and
hie sfini Bssandnd io the God who gav« it.

When the story of the poor ornate was ended, eaeh man continnad
silently absorbed m his own reflections. Our president was the first to
break it:

<' There is a lesson in the life and death of your Mend, Mr. Cripps,
for the dignitaries of our much-abused Church. I fear that his is not
an isolated case of neglected merit."

<* True, true,*' answered Cri{^ dejectedly. " Would to God it were
an exception ; but, alas ! it is not. Many a holy man carries to the
pulpit, beneath his sacerdotal robes, a heart brinmil of woe— many a
poor curate sitd down amid his funily to^' a meal that a peasant would
almost scorn to share, whilst his bishop and rector loll lazily over their
wines and rich confections. Lazarus and Dives I Lazarus and Dives !
But Lazarus went to Abraham's bosom."

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82 ADVENTURES OF BENJAMIN BOBBIN THE BAGMAN.

And ihus passed our Sabbath eveniog away. I found it a profitable
one, and retired early, to giye an honr to soUtade and my diary. The
last items subjoined, after it had been closed for the day, I shall copy
verbatim:

^' Felt much delighted with the society of Mr. Cripps. Had the
gratification of hearing him express a similar opinion concerning myself,
accompanied by a wish that our newly*formed friendship might oyer be
on the adyance. 47* It shall be no fiiult of mine if it be not so.

^'N.B. Cra}'ford improves rapidly in my opinion — seems a sensible
fellow — a little vain, but his heart is a trump.

"P.S. — 11 P.M. — Has considerably risen in my estimation within the
last ten minutes. Really, to deal justly by him, and ^ nodiing extenuate,
nor set down aught in malice,' he is a yeiy worthy soul. Has just
knocked at my door in his dishabille, to shake nands with me again, and
tell me that he wished he was as manly-looking and sedate as I am..
What an absurdity ! — (Mem.) Sitting too long in Uie sodety of the de-
canters has evidently opened his heart

** ^ Nonsense, Crayford !* said I, as in duty bound (for the reader is
doubtless aware that vanity is not my besetting sin).

** * No, Bobbin, it's not nonsense. Fanny Cooke said that, were I like
you, notwithstanding all your modesty, she'd ask me to marry her at
once.'

** It was very stupid of him to talk such idle stu£P. But men will open
th^ minds and confess truths when they have indulged rather freely
in wine. I felt annoyed, of course — what modest man would not? — but
I gave him the warmest shake of the hand he had ever received from me
as I bade him go. to his bedroom and catch no cold. In fieust, I went as-
far as his door with him, and then he said that she was an angel. I desired
him not to be so monstrously absurd ! but he averred that he could not
help it — ^that he felt perfectly jealous of me wheb he heard her speaking of
noUiing but sea-voyages, and telescopes, and bashful, sensible youths and
mountain scenery, and Benjamin Bobbins, and so forth. I shook hands
with him agam, and have this moment returned from his room. I do
not feel at all sleepy Well! well! how strange! — how per-
fectly preposterous ! Here have I been spoiling a whole pa^ of my dmry
by cfrawing female profiles upon it, and endeavouring to write the initial
F. B. in an angular hand, widiout at all sewatrng the letters or taking*
the pen from the paper. Fanny Bobbin I What an idea ! what a name !
Heigh ho I I'm o£f oy express to the land of Nod."

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HOW I GEEW INTO AN OLD MAID.

Wb were three of as at home — I, Lucj, and little Mary. Mary was,
by maDy yearly the younger, for three, two brothers and a sister, had
4hed between her and Lacy. Only one brother was left to us, and he
was the eldest, two years older than I. My mother's income was suffi-
cient for comfbrty though we had to practise much economy while Alfred
was at ooUesre.

He came home to us to nass the last racation before taking orders, but
not alone. We had walked into the village to meet the stage-coach, Kod
when it came and he jumped down, a gentleman about his own age fol-
lowed him. ^* My Mend, George Archer,** he said ; ^^ you have heurd
me speak of him. And you, George," he added, "have heard of my
aisterB. These are two of them, Hester and Lucy.**

What a hands<»ne man he was, this stranger I Tall, fair, gentlemanly;
with a low, sweet voice, and a winninc^ manner. He is often in my
mind's eye even now as he looked that day, though so many, many yean
have gone by.

We must all of us, I believe, have our romance in life, and mine bad
come for me before those holidays were over. A woman, to love en-
tirely, must be able to look up to the object of her affections, and none
can know with what reverence I regarded him. Had one demanded of
me, Did perfection lie in mortal man ? I should have pointed to George
Archer. The tricks that our fond imaginations play us ! But do not
think I loved him unsought. No, no. He asked for me of my mother,
and we began to talk alwut our plans.

She had no objection to give me to him. He had won all our hearts,
and hers amonest tiie rest He was indeed one of the most attractive of
men. I thought so then, and now that I can judge dispassionately, I
think so still. But she said we might have long to wait I had my five
hundred pounds, but he had nothbg save a prospect of a curacy, and he
was not yet in orders.

Our good old rector, Mr. Coomes, had promised to take my brother as
curate. He was getting feeble and required one, and we were delighted
at the prospect of having Alfred near us. I don't know who first mnted
that tms plan mieht be changed — I did not : but it came to be whis-
pered that instead of Alfred Halliwell's becoming curate of Seaford it
would be George Archer. My mother spoke to me. She did not like
it : she had setner heart on having Alfred settied with us. My brother,
light-hearted, ffood-natured, was ready to sacrifice anything for his friend
and favourite sister. My mother said very little : I believe she thought
she could not, consistently with the courtesv and s^ood manners due to a
guest / might, but I would not I Selfisn ! selnsh !

The time came, and diey were ordained together. The Reverend

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84 HOW I GREW INTO AN OLD MAID.

Alfred Halliwell was appobted to a curacy in a remote district of North
Wales, and the Reverend George Archer to Seaford.

He came. He read himself in on the last Sunday in Lent, the Sun-
day preceding Passion week. Seaford church, standmg midway hetween
the village and the gates of Seaford Park, was a small, unpretending
edifice, with only one monument inside it, and one handsome pew, and
they pertained to the Earls of Seaford. As we walked into church that
morning I could not look up, hut I saw, by intuition, that he was in the
leading-desk, and die rector in his pew. Mr. Comnes, that day, was but
one of the congregation.

He began t^ service, and we stood up. It is one of the i&wmnamut'
bered moments of i^»ttiition in my life: my breadi came fiet, I mew
nothing, and my face was white as the snow outside — for it was a verr
early Easter that year, and snow lay on the ground. Jxi my foolish
£Bm<^, I thought every one must be looking at me— as if -the congrega-
tion, in their curiosity to listen to him, could think of me ! It was a
persooive voioe, low and silvery, and -thoush it did not tremble, I saw,
in the first glance I stole at him, that he was nervous in his new
positbn, for Ins bright oolour went and came.

When I gathered courage to look around, I, for the moment, forgot
him, and everydnng else, in astonishment. Against the wall, under the
one monument, facmg the side of the pulpit, was the pew of the Earls of
Seafoid, with its brass rods and crimson curtains. During Ihe time we
had lived at Seaford (four years it was, then, ever since my fiil^rar's
deadi) ^at pew had always been emptnr, and now it was occupied !
Stan^g at the top was a young lady, just budding into womannood,
very beautiful ; at the end, next us, was a man of fifty, short, hot of
noble presence, with a wrinkled brow and grey hair; and, standing
between these two, were four lads, of various ages, from ien to sixteen
or seventeen. Her eyes were fixed on his face, George Archer's, and I
ooidd not take mine fr^m hers. It was the sweetest face I had ever
seen, with its exquisite features, its deficate bloom, and its daiic, spiritual-
looking eyes : it is the sweetest face that ever rises to my memory. I
glanced round at the large pew at the back, near the door ; it wee filled
with male and fomale servants, some of them in the Seaford livery, and
I knew tiien that that was the Eari of Seaford, his sons, and his
daughter, the Ladv Georgina.

The prayers and communion were over, the clerk gave out iftie psalm,
and Mr. Archer went into the vestir* He came out in his new black
gown, his sermon in his hand. Tall and noble he looked ; but he was
oertainiy nervous, else what made him tread upon his gown, and stambky
as he went up the pulpit steps? I was not superstitions then, in my
careless inexperience, else I might have k>oked upon that stumble as a
bad omen. After he had knelt down and risen up again, he moved die
ooshion before him, a litde to the right, towards l^e earFs pew ; not s»
as to torn even his side to the congregation, but that all pieseut mighty
00 ftur as possible, be brought face to hce with him. ^'Come unto m%
aH ye that labour and are heaVy laden, and I wiD give you rest.*^ Thai
text, his, that first day, stands out, on my memory, dtstioet and atone;
not, I greatly fear, so much from ito divine words of inexpressible eonso*

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HOW I GBEW I17T0 AN OLD MAID* 85

kkioii, a« from ite assooiaftioQ with kim. Ok the need, the need we aU
liore of iMrdoOy for the earthly foUiee and vanities our hearto are wont to
indulge in!

Jdy mother bad invited him to dinner that day, and we thought — I
did — that he would walk home from ohuieh with ug. But we hiS been
in half an hour, and the dinner was waiting to be served, when he came.
Lard Saafordbad detiuned him in the vestry.

<«I was surprised to see them/' remarked my mother. <<I thought
tb^ were not in England."

" They have been abroad three years, the earl told me," said Mr.
Prober. ^ He invited me to the castle, said Lady Sea£ord would be
glad to aee me, but she was a great invalid."

*^A very fine fSeunily," resimied my mother. *' The daughter is beau^
tifoL"

" Is she ?" said Mr. Archer.

« Did you not think so ?"

" Totml you the truth," he said, smiling, << I was thinking more about
myaeli^ and the impression / made, than taking in any impressian likely
to he made upon me. My thoughts were running on whether I pleased
Mr. Coomes and the congregation."

" I only trust Alfired will succeed as weU,** returned my moliiMr, with
teans in her eyee. '' Was it your own sermon ?'*

^ It was indeed," he said, earnestly. '^ I have written many. I used
to write them for practice at college."

Oil those Sundays ! — for my mother often invited him — their peaceful
luppinesB will never be erased from my memory. The intense, ecstatic
sense of joy they reflected on my heart, is a thwg to be remembered in
silence now, as it was borne then.

We went to church that evening, and I attended better than in the
morning : more courage had come to me. The family from the castle
were not there. After service he overtook us in the churchyard, and
drew my am within hia. I think my mother expected him to walk with
her, for she was quite of the old school, and very particular with us.
However, she walked on with Lucy, and we followed, he pressing my
band in the daric p^v^tn

''Hester, dearest," he whispered, << shall I do P"*

*'I>o?" I jepeated, scarcely heeding what he meant, in my^ weight of
happiness. For it was the first time I had waDcad thus fanuliarly with

^'Siall I do for a clergyman, think you ? Shall I read and preach
mil «M>ugfa for them f "

He Imsiw he would, there was conscious triumph in his voice as he
noke:: wliat need to give him my assurance ? Yet I tried to speak a
vmai word of oongvatdation.

He olasped me ckmr to him, he held my band with a dee^ pressure,
be halted, in the narrow patl^ and, raising my £ace to lus, kissed it
lovingly. << Oh Hester, my dearest, how luippv we are in each other f
Jie n—miired, ^^hom bright will be our futo*e !

Aist ikmoy wfy mother oalled out to ua. Perhaps abB misMd the echo
efiSariDQt^ps, perhapa she thought we were lingering too br behind.

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8$ HOW I GREW INTO AN OLD MAID.

** Mr. Archer, are you and Hester not walkbg slowly ? It i« very
ccJd." So he raised his hce from mine^ and we went on, dose to my
mother and Lucy.

Oh, let me helieve that he did indeed love me ! I am an old woman
now, and have struggled through a lonely Ufe, carrying widi me a
hruised heart But let me still believe that my dream was real, that,
during its brief lasting, Creorge Archer's love for me was pure and
tmel

My brother fell ill in June. He had been ailing ever since he went
down to Wales. The weather, when he travelled, was severe, the place
bleak, and he wrote us word that the cold seemed, from the first, to
have struck on his chest, and settled there. In June he grew worse,
and wanted my mother to go down.

'' I shall send you instead, Hester,'' she sud, after considering over
his letter. '* I cannot go and leave you children here alone.**

I looked up to remonstrate, feeling the hot colour flush into my face.
What I send me away from Atm, miles and miles, where I could never
see him, hear his voice, listen for his step i But a better feeling came
over me, and the hasty words died on my lips : how could I refuse to
comfort my sick brother ?

^' Hester is thinking of Mr. Archer," laughed Lucy. *^ Now, Hester,
don't deny it, I can see it in your face. Look at it, mamma. She is
indignant that any one should be so unfeeling as to banish her from
Seaford."

<' Hester must remember that she is, in a remote degree^ the cause of
this illness of Alfred's. Had he been curate here, his indisposition would
have been well attended to at first, and cured before now. It is only
neglect that has suffered it to get ahead."

Her tone was mild, but conscience smote me. Lucy saw my downcast
look.

'* Mamma," she said, << let me go to Alfred instead of Hester."

My mother shook her head. << It is not only that Hester is older
than you, Lucy, but she has a steadiness of character and manner which
you want. I can trust her to travel alone ; you are too giddy."

^* Why you know we always said Hester was cut out for an old maid,
with her starched noUons and sober ways," retorted Lucy, who was
feeling angry. ^* I'm sure it is a mistake ner being married.

^< A very good mistake," said my mother.

George Archer spoke much witli me, of his prospects, before I left.
He was all buoyancy and hope, as youth is sure to be. He was in-
dulging a chimera — thougli neitber of us thought it one, then — ^that the
Earl of Seaford, who had been remarkably mendly with him, during
his fortnight's stay, might perhaps give him a living. The family had
gone to town, after Easter, for the season, and for Lady Georgina's
presentation. And we heard that she bore away the palm of beau^ at
the drawing-room, that George the Fourth, sated though he was with
ladies' charms, had spoken publicly of her exceeding lovehness.

I found Alfred very ilL But it was as my mother thought — what he
chiefly wanted was care — he called it << coddling." It has pleased God,
in His infinite wisdom, to allot to us all some especial talent of usefulnessi

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HOW I GREW INTO AN OLD MAID. 87

and I Uiink that my humble one lies in being a good nurse, in an apt-
ness for soothing and attending on the sick. Alfred lodged with an
oTerseer and his wife (the man had something to do with mines), and
though they were attentive to him, in their rough, free way, they had
no idea of those cares and precautions necessary in illness. There is no
need, however, to linger over this part of my story. With the aid of
warm weather, and the blessing of One, who helps in time of need, I

f»t Alfred round again. By the end of August he was quite weU, and
went hade to Seaford.

It was a long journey for me : travelling in those days was not what
it is now : but I halted at Shrewsbury. We had some very distant
acquaintances living there, of whom we knew little more than the name,
but my mother wrote to them to receive me, which they kindly did for a
night both going and returning. I left Shrewsbury early in the morn-
ing, and reached Seaford about eight in the evening.

I never doubted that George Archer would be waitmg for me, but
when we arrived, and they came flocking round the coach-door, he was
not there. Mamma, Lucy, and Mary, but no Geoige. It was a lovely
summer's night, the harvest moon near the full, but a dark shade seemed
to have fallen on my spirit

When the heart truly loves, it is always timid, and I did not inquire
after him. Yet we talked a great deal during our walk home, and at
supper. Chiefly about Alfred : the situation of his home, the sort of
people with whom he lived, his parish duties, the frtmily at Shrewsbury,
all sorts of things ; it seemed they could never be tired of asking me
questions, one upon another. But when Lucy and I went up to our
bedroom for the night, I put on an indifferent manner, and asked if
they saw much of Mr. Archer.

*< Not so much as when you were at home, of course,** laughed Lucy ;
** his attraction was gone. And, latterly, very little indeed. Since the
Seafonis came, he is often with them. And he is reading with Lord
Sale and Master Harry Seaford. They go to him every day.**

'< Are the Seafords at the castle, then ?'*

^'They came in July. Parliament rose early, the kmg went to
Brighton, and all the erandees followed his example of leaving town ; we
get all the 'foshionable intelligence' here now, Hester.'*

" Did he know I was expected to-nig^t ?"

"Thekinff?"

** Don't joke, Lucy, I am tired. You know I meant Mr. Archer.

^' Yes, he knew it We met him this morning, and Mary told him,
and I wonder he did not go with us to meet the coach. Perhaps he is
dining at the castle ; the earl asks him sometimes. Very dangerous to
throw him into the society of that resplendent Lady Georgina."

"Dangerous?"

*^ Well, it would be, I should say, if he were not cased round with your
armour*

^ How much more nonsense, Lucy ? One so high and beautiful as
Lady Georgina !"

"That's just it, her beauty," laughed Lucy. " I'll defy the lowliest
curate in the diurch to be brought within its radius and not be touched

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88 HO\r I GBEW nfTO as old MiOD.

with it NmraithdeflB, I suppose you'll hftveyour adorer here to-morrow
morning, as constont as ever.

It was the morrow moroiDg when he came. No one was in the
room when he entered, and he strained me to his breast, and kissed me
tendedy. Oh, my two months' absence were amply repaid by his looks
and words of love !

^ I thought to hofe seen you last night," I wUspeBed.

<< So did I, Hester. I had been copying some musio for Lady<jieorgina
Seaford, and went to the castle with it, after dinner; and me countess
ai^ some of them kept me talking till past ten. I was thunderatruck
when I took out my watch, for I did not think I had been there an
hour."

In his coToted piesenoe, widi his tender words, with his looks of love^
how could I conjure up umasy thoughts ? And what grated on my
feelings in this last speech I drove away.

My mother bad made aoqmdntanoe with the housekeeper at the castle,
a Mn. Stannard, a kindly gentlewoman. She had been to tea once or
twice, and it was £eom her Lucy got what she called her <' £uhionable
inteUiffenoe.*' One morning, about a week after I got home^ she oaeie in
and asked if I would like to go to the castle and teach English to the
litde Lady EUen Seaford.

I was electrified — ^frightened— *at the proposal, and she proceeded to
explain to my mother. This little child, the youngest of the finmily, had
a Swiss governess, but just now had no one to teadi her English. Lady
Sea&rd was lamenting this, in the hearing of Mns. Stannard, and w
latter thought of me.

^' I am not competent to be a govemees ; I don't know aoyliiiDg ; I
never learnt a note of music," I breathlessly interrupted.

^ It is only for English, my dear," said Mrs. Stannard ; ^' you are quite
competent to ifcat. They don't want music or any aoooraidishmait.
Your going ip the castle for two or three hours a day would be like
pastime, and you would be paid wdL"

So it was dfecided that I should go, each day, from half-past ijwo to
five^ to ^ve L&dw Ellen Seaford £kiglish lessons, and I entered on my
duties on the folfowing Monday.

I went up to the castle with fear and trembling, wondering what real
lords and ladies were like, in social interoourse, and how they would
accost me, and whatever I should answer ; wondering whether I should
have to sit in a saloon, all gilding and mirrors. The goose I was I The
schoolroom was plmn, almost bare, and the lords and ladiee were just like
othor people; the younger ones free and unceremonious in thdr speech
and manners to each ower, as we children were at home.

The countess was a tall, statefy woman, quiet and reserved. None (£
her children resembled her but Viscount Sale. She was wrapped in a
tUok shand, tkoi^h the day was hot, and looked ilL One di^, in that
first week, I think it was on the Wednesday, Lady Georgina came ii^
tbe room while the lit^e gvA was veadiag to me, and I rose up and
curtseyed.

^ Don't let me ^sturb yon," she said, in a i^eagont, caieless tone.
» Urn HalEwell, I fmmaae. Has my sister nearly finished leadbg ?'

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HOW I GBEW Dm) AN OLD MAID. 89

^ Tes,* mteffupted Lady Ellen, sfaotting the book of her 0¥m aooord.
^' I hvve TBftd a page, ai^ ^t's enough. The words are hard, and I <k>n^
Hkeit."

The el^d had not read half enough, but I doubted whether it was my
place to differ from her; and, at that early stage, did^not presume to db
80. I stood in hesitation.

** IfiM HaBiwell," said Lady Geomna, bringmr forward a huge port*
Mao, ^ do yoQ know how to mount haodscreens r Look at t^ pair I
li&¥e begun. I am not making a good job of them. Can you help me ?
Mademoiselle knows no more about it than this child. Ellen, let my
pamtiiigs akme.**

Ab it happened, I did know something about monatine drawings on
^BXtfiboard, ornamenting screens with giH flowers, and sooli Kke, t^ugh
I did not pretend to dnw, nevet haying been taught. But I must have
liad oome taste for it ; for, when a child, I would spend hours copying
the landscapes on an old china tea-set, and any otner pret^ yiew that
fiell in my way.' 6reorge Archer once found one of my old drawings,
and kept it, saying he should keep it for ever. Ah me !

I toJd Lady Geo^ina I thought I could assist her, but that die little
girl had only just begun her studies.

^ Oh, her stwHes are of no consequence for one day,*' she remariced, in
a peremptory tone. '^ Nelly, dear, go to Mademoiselle : my compli-
ments, and I am monopolising Afiss HalUwell this affceinoon."

The diild went out of the room, glad to be dismissed. She disliked
learning English, and had told me her French was less difficult to her.

*' Do you out ihe gilt paper out on a trencher or mih scissors ?^ asked
Lady Georgina. ** For the flowers, I mean."

Before I could answer, a merry-looking boy of fif^n, or rather more,
looked into Ae room, and then sprang in. It was the Honourable Harry
Seaford.

**! say, Georg^^are you in this place ? I have been all oyer the
house after you. Who was to iiank you had turned schoolgiri again ?
What are you up to here ?**

** Why do you ask?" inquired Lady Georgba, without raising her
bead irom the screens.

^* Papa wants to know if you mean to ride with him this af^moon, and
he sent me to find you."

" Xo,** she replied. ** Tell papa it will be scarcely worth while, for I
must begin to dress in an hour. And I am bunr."

" You can go and tell him yourself. Madam Georgy. There's Wells,
•m&im pointer, and I want to catcb him.''

" Where is papa ?"

" Oh, I don*t know; in tiie library, or somewhere.'*

The ladyamlted from the room and down the stairs as he spoke, and I
68W lum tearinc^ after Wells, the gamekeeper. Truly these yoimg scions
«poke and acted as freety as common people.

Lady Georgina lefl the room, I supposed to find the eari. When she
came m again, die halted before a muror that was let into the panel
between the windows^ and tmmed some of the flowing curls round her
fingers.. She caught my earnest gaae of adrairstioii. Her sylph-like

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90 HOW I GREW INTO AN OLD MAID.

form, her fair neck and arms — ^for it was not the custom then for yoim^
ladies to have these covered — her bright hair, her patrician features,
their damask bloom, and the flash of conscious triumph lighting her eye.
Very conscious of her fascinations was the Lady Georgina Seaford : I
saw it in that moment. She turned sharply round to me :

<* What are you thinking of, Miss Halliwell p"

The question startled me. I was timid and i^orant, and thought I
must confess the truth when a noble lady demanded it. So I stammered
out my thoughts — that until I saw her I had not deemed it posuble for
any one to be so lovely.

<* You must be given to flattery in this part of the world," she said,
with a conscious blush and a laugh of triumph, " Another, here, hsLS
avowed the same to me, and I advised him not to come to the castle too
often if there were a danger that I should turn his head."

Who was that other ? A painful conviction shot over me that it was
Mr. Archer.

She seemed quite a creature of impulse, indulged and wilful. Before
she had sat twenty minutes, she pushed* the drawings together, said it
was stupid, and we would go on with it another day. So the little girl
came back to me.

It was five o'clock, and I was puttmg on my bonnet to leave, when
Lady Georgina came into the room again in full dress. They were
going out to dinner. An India muslin frock, with blue floss trimming,
a blue band round her slender waist, with a pearl buckle, pearl side-
combs in her hair, a pearl necklace, and long white gloves.

*< Nelly," she said to her sister, <* I want you to give a message to the
boys." And she bent down, and whispered the chUd.

'< William or Harry?" asked the little girl, aloud.

" Oh, Harry," replied Lady Georgma. " William would not trouble
himself to remember."

She left the room again. What the purport of her whisper was I of
course never knew. Mademoiselle Berri, the Swiss governess, was with
us then, writing, and when Lady Ellen ran to the window and got upon
a chair to lean but of it, she quitted the table, pulled the child back, and
said something very fast in French, to which the child replied equally
fast I could not understand their language, but it seemed to me they
were disputing.

*' Miss Hamwell will hold me, then," said the little girl, in English,
^^ for I will look. I want to see Georgy get into the carriage. Please
hold me by my frock. Miss Halliwell."

I laid hold of the child by the gathers of her buff gingham dress, and
the governess began to talk to me. I laughed, and shook my head.

« What does Mademoiselle say ?"* I asked of Lady Ellen.

<< Oh, it's about a little girl she knew falling out of a window and
breaking her reins. It is all a conte^ you know ; she says it to frighten
me. What do you call reins in English ? There's Georgy : she's got
on mamma's Indian shawl."

I bent forward over the head of the child. The bright curls of Lady
Creorgma were just flitting into the carriage, and something yellow
gleamed firom her shoulders. It was the Indian shawL The ean stepped

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HOW I GBEW INTO AN OLD MAID. 91

in after her, and fbllowinff him, in his black erening suit and white
cratat, went mt betrothed husband, George Archer. My heart stood
BtilL

'^ I wish dear mamma was well enough to go out again/' sighed the
tittle girl. *' Georgy has all the yisiting now.^

She remained looking after the carriage, and I with her. We saw it
sweep round to gain the broad drive of the park. Lord Seaford was
seated by the nde of his daughter, and he opposite to her.

Autumn and winter passed away, and it became Tery close to the
annirersaiy of the period when Mr. Archer first came as curate. There
was no outward change in our position : to those around, the Reverend
George Archer was ^1 the engaged lover of Miss Halliwell. But a
change had come, and we both Imew it

It seemed that a barrier had been gradually, almost imperceptibly,
growing up between us. He was cold and absent in manner, when with
me, and his visits to our house were not now frequent. He appeared to
be rising above his position, leaving me fiur beneath. Mr. Coomes had
latteriy been ailmg : it was rarely that he oould accept the dinner or
evening invitations sent to him, and smoe the earl's return to Seaford
there had been much visitmg going on. So the county gentlemen would
say, " Then you will come and say grace for us, Mr. Archer," and he
always went. It would sometimes nappen, when they were going a dis-
tance, as on the above day, that Lord Seaford invited him to a seat in
his carriage : and he was often, now, a guest at the castle. I have said
he was a handsome man : he was more ; he was well-informed, elegant
and refined : ^a a clergyman, he was regarded as, in some degree, an
equal, by the society so much above him, and he was courted and
caressed from many sides. Thus it was that he acquired a false estima-
tion of his own position, and ambitious pride obtained rule in his heart.
But not for all tnis was he neglecting me. No, no : there was another
and a deeper cause.

Easter was later this spring than the last^ and, on its turn, the Sea-
fords were to depart for town. My duties at the castle would conclude
on the Thursday in Pasdon week ; and, I may mention, that over and
above the remuneration paid me, which was handsome, her ladyship
the countess pressed upon me a bracelet of enamel, which my mother
said must have cost six or seven pounds. I have it still : but it is not
faslnoned like those that are worn now.

^ Thursday came, the last day of my attendance ; and after our early
dinner I set off to walk to the castle. A rumour was afloat that after-
noon—one had been to our house and said it — that Mr. Archer had
thrown up his curacy. His year had been out three weeks, but he had
then agreed to remain on, waitins^ for something better, at a stipend of
100/. a year. It was impossibk for Mr. Coomes now, in his failins^
heakb, to do the duty unasnsted. I had been looking forward, with
eacer hope, to the departure of the Seafords, thinking uiat perhaps our
old loving, confidential days might return : and now this rumour ! It

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92 HOW I GBEW INTO AN OLD MAID.

seemed as if tlieie was to be no hope for me in tins ctmI worU, and I
sat down to the lessons of little Ellen Seafbrd, like one in a tronUed
maze. Before they were over, Mademoiselle Berri came in, and told
the child to go to lier mamma : some witovs wvre tketey who wished to
see her.

<< You will staj to take de th6 wid me dis aftemoon^'' said Madwnoi-
selle, who had now made progress in English*

<< No, thank yon," I answ^ed. " My head aches, and I want to get
home."

'< You cannot go till madame la comtesse has seen you : she did say so.
Ah mon Dieu, but it is triste in dis campagne I I haye de headache too,
wid it. I shflJ] have de glad heart next we^ to quit it."

'^ You have always fomid it dull, mademoiselle.

" As if anybody was capable to find it anyting else ! ^koept it is de
Lady Georgina. And peniiqM de ead, wid his steward, and his shoot-
ing, and his af-fairs. But, for de Lady Georvina, she does keep haiself
alive wid flirting : as she weold anywhere. Sne is de regular flirt"

^< But then she is so very beautifaL''

<< Eh bien, oui, if she would dress like one Christian. But de Engli^
don't know how ; wid deir base neck% and deir curled hair. Thm is*
no rate in de woild iriio ought to pot on elothes, Miss Halhwell, but de
French women."

<<Lady Greorgina always kK>ks well," I sighed. Was it a ngh of
jealou^r

^* For de fashions heie^ she do," answered Mademoiselle, shruggii^
her dMulders at the ^' fashione here." ** But she has got de vanity I
And not no mercy. She has toxned de head of dat poor young mioister,
and *'

A great spasm took my thxottt ^Do yoo mean Mr. Aroher?" I in-
terrupted.

<^ To be sure. One can see dat hb heart is breakiw for her. And
she leads him on — Pleads him on. I do tink die loves him a little bit —
but I only whisper dis to you, mj dear, for de earl and de comfMse would
eive me chivy if dey heard me. But when she has amosed hsvseif to h«r
&ncy, she will just lau|^ at him, and auirTy. It i« her fiane6 di^ is de
handsome man.

My heart lei^ed into my mondu ^ Is Imif Georghsa Seaford eB>
gaged?" Iburst&cth.

** You do seem surprised^" oried dbe Fieiidi woman. ^ She is to hsu^
Mr. Candour. He is my Lord Cwdmir^s cAdeet son, and is now abroad
wid some of de embassies. Dat is wkj he has never been here. £k is
some years older dan she, but it is de good parti for her, and they will
be rnvried this summer."

Mademoiselle talked on, and dioa^ I listened, but I heard no nxne.
A wei^t was taken from my heart. And yet, with iduit reason ? Fat
to couple a lowly ooate with the Lady Geoi^ina Sesfad, was ridicnbiBly
absurd. I had to wait to see the conntew it was that evening she gwm
me the braceiet---«nd it was near six yAmi I kft die oastb.

The evening b in my memory now. It was stUl and balmy, and 4e
sun was drawing towards its sMing. I took tfaeebrntbg oat tlmogli the

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HOW I QKE,W INTO AK OLD KAID. 98

paiic, k was th« shorteit wi^r, and as I hatteoed aloi^ the narrow path,
over which the treea hm^p thickh^, I came face ta &ee with Mr. Aicher.
He was going there to dinner: I saw it hy hie dsesa* He shook hands,
in a eoBstraiflied manner, and then there was a silenoe hetween ns, as
there ^iten had beoi oflate. Some powwr — ^it wasaorely not my own —
nerved me to speak.

** I wanted to see ^ou: I am g^ad we have met We heard this after-
noon that you had given np your curacy. Is it true ?''

^* Yes," he answered, breaking off a switch from one of the tsees, and
beginning to stiip it, with his hce turned feom me.

<<Tben hai^e you heard of another?"

^ I hspre accepted what may lead to something better than a onzacy,"
he said, tearing away at the stiok. " The post of nsident tutor to ttie
young Seafbrda."

Was it a qpasm now that fell on my heart ? Ay, one of ice. ^ Then
you leave hoe — you go with them ?" I fiidteosd.

<' When the^ leave next wedc, I dial! have to accompany them. We
must temporanly part, Hester."

*^ Temporuily I Calm as is my g^ieral natare, diere are moments
in my K£» when it has been goaded to vdiemence: it was so then. '< Let
us not part to-night without an explanation, Mr. Avcher," I poored forth.
'< Is it me you love, or is it Lady Geei^giiia Seafwd ?"

The red light from the setting sun was upon us, £oSf in talking, we
had moved laetlessly to the opening in the trees, and the landscape lay
full around, but the wann ooloar did not equal the g^ow imon his mce. I
saw he loved her: frar more pasoiomitdy than he had ever loved me. He
stood in hentatioa, like a guilty cowavd, as if no words would arise at his
bidding.

*^ I give you back your freedom," I uttered. ^^ I see we ea& no longer
be anything to each other. I wish, from my heart, we never had been."

** Heater,'' he exclaimed, suddenly tanning, and takiing both my hands,
''you are well quit of me. A man with the unstable heart that mine has
proved, could never bring yea happiness. Curse my memory, in friture,
as yott will : I well deesrve it."

** Bat n^t do you promise yeuia^ to hsue beeeme enikralled with
her, so immeasmblv above yeu?'* wae wrung from me, in my emotion.

" 1 promise myself nothing. I only know that I can live but in her
presence, that shie is to me in the light of an aagel from heaven. God
mrgive my infatuation !"

'< You need forgiveness. To indulge a passion €or one who will soon
be the wife of anraier.''

<' Of whom ?" he fiercely asked. The glow on his Cmo had &ded, and
hia Hps wen so stndned that the taedi were seen— 4ie who never showed
them.

" She is to marry Lord Caudour's son."

<<Ah, that's notnine, if you mean him," he answered, drawing his
breath again. '^ She has told me she dislikes him. And though her
Cither dMirsa the match, he witt not fnce her inclinations."

"^ken you wish jmx freedom back from me?" And my lips, as I
Ind it, weae aa white aa his own. I could £m1 dwf wuse.

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94 HOW I GBEW INTO AN OLD MAID.

*' Pardon my fickleness, Hester! I cannot mttnv you, loving anoih^.''

** Then I give it you," I said, in a sort of wild desperation. ^* May t-fae
wife you choose never cause you to regret me.''

<' Thanks from me would be like a mockezy," he whispered ; ^^ I can
only hope that you will find your reward. Let us shake nands, Hester,
for the last time."

I held out my right hand. And he took it in his, and bent down his
forehead upon it, and kept it there. I saw his lips move. I do believe
he was praying for my welfare. JBJe pray !

We walked away in opposite directions : soon, I stopped and looked
after him. He was stridine on. He never turned ; and as he approached
the bend in the path, whicn would hide him from my sight, he flung the
little switch away, with a sharp, determined gesture. Like he had just
flunfif away my love. Oh the misery that overwhelmed me ! the fea^l
blank that had hllen on me ! I cast myself down on the grass, where no
eye could see me, and sobbed aloud in my storm of despair. That a
sober old woman of fifty should have to confess to anything so un-
seemly I

I did not heed how long I lay. When I got up, the sun had set, it
was dusk, and, as I walked forward, I staggered like one in drink. As
I passed the rectory, a sudden idea came over me, and I went in. Mr.
Coomes was drinking his tea, by firelight

** Why, my dear," he said, " is it you ?"

I sat down with my back to the fire : I did not care that he should
see my face, even by that fieunt light. And I told him what I carae for
— to beg that he would take my brother as his curate.

<< My dear, it is true that Mr. Archer is going to leave me; but who
told you of it?"

** He told me so himsdf."

** He is a changeable fellow, then ! He said he did not wish it imme-
diately known, and requested me not to speak of it. I have been thinking
of your brother."

*< Oh, Mr. Coomes," I said, *< you know it was through me he was
driven away from here to rive place to Mr. Archer. Since his illness,
that thought has rested, l&h a weight, on my conscience. He has been
ill again this winter, the bleak air there tries him. If you would but
receive him as curate now I"

<* We will see about it," said Mr. Coomes. And I rose to go.

<< Hester," he whispered, in a kind voice, as he followed me te the
door, " how is it between you and George Archer ? Serene ?"

" That is over,** I said, striving indifferently. " We have bid each
other adieu for ever."

^' If I did not think this ! He is losing himself like an idiot God's
peace be with you, my child !**

IIL
It all came out to the Earl of Seaford. We heard of it when they
came down to the castle in autumn. But there was a fresh tutor then,
and the Lady Georgioa was not with them, she was just married to the

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THE OLD AND THE NEW TEAR, 95

Honourable Mr. Caudonr. One day, in London, Lord Sale orerheard a
conversation between his sister and Mr. Archer, and had joked her about
it before bis fitther. The earl snapped at the matter, and Mr. Archer
was so infisUiuated as to confess to him that he loved the Lady Georgina.
The earl poohed him down contemptuously, paid him what was due, and
civilly dismissed him from the house that same hour. He saw the Lady
Georgina before he left, and she treated it lightly : said she could not
hdp him, that it was no fault of hers, but she should ever retain a plea-
sant renuniscence of his flattering sentiments towards her. '^ You should
have seen his poor wan face, Miss HalliweU, when he left de house,"
whispered Mademoiselle to me^ confidentially. << I was coming in from
a walk wid de littel girl, and met him in de hall : he held out his hand
to me to say good-by, and I looked up at his &ce— it was one tableau
of miserie. And de Lady Georgma, she went, all gay, to a soirSe at de
Duchess of Gloucester's dat same evening, and I do not tink she did care
one pin for de killed heart of dat poor youne clergyman.**

So my brother became curate of Seaford, an^ in time, our mother
died, and I grew into an old maid. And never more at Seaford did
news come to us of the Reverend George Archer.

THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR.

A BOSQ VBOX TBS DAHIBH.

Br Mrs. Bushbt.

SsE, how the Old Tear sinks, oppressed with days

Beneath Eternity's vast, viewless wave !
A farewell ereetinff, brethren, let us raise

To it, before it drops into the grave !

Already Janus wields his power to bring

Another from the ample stores of Time ;
A welcome to the comin^^ year we*ll sing,

While the weird midrngnt hour its far bells chime.

Soon shall the Horae* ope the ^tes of light,

To usher in the dawn of the New Year,
WhUe from their bowers of bliss and radiance bright

They smile upon the home of Freedom here.

The tree of sorrow other fruit may bear

Than wrinkles or repining — it may give
Peace in the end — so then, away with care,

And let Hope gild our pathway while we live !

Come, brethren, come ! the cheering goblet fill !

Eirst let us drink to all whom we hold dear-
Then, amidst mirth and social joy we will

A brimming bumper quaff^^o the New Year!

* Three sisters, daughters of Jupiter and Themis, who presided over spring,
summer, and winter, and were represented as opening the gates of Heaven and
(^ympuB.

VOL. XXXIX. H

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LEWES'S LIFE AJSD WOKKS OF GOETHE .•

This long-expected work, the result of ten years' preparation,
will not (for what would?) satisfy the demands of thorough-going
Goethe wcHshippers. Almost before it was begun, Madame Mar-
garet Fuller d*Ossoli condemned it peremptorily, unseen, unheard;
and now that it is finished, tranecendentaliBts male and fbmale, and
symbolists of indefinite sex and sect, will scout it as no life of their
AU-sided One, and will pit^ die blindnesB that cannot see what
th^ see in the heart of a mikttone, cannot gra^ and handle and
wei^ yihtit to them is palpable and ponderable m the mystery of
moonbeams. For Mr. Lewes is one who looks before he leaps,
especially in the dark; and declines to afiect raptures over what to
him is unintelligible, or to praise up to the skies what he knows to
be worthless. Honestly he guards mmself, in the personal portrai-
ture of his great subject-object, against any temptation to gloss over
faults, or to conceal short-comings; he assures us that he reproduces
all that testimony warrants — good and evil, as in the mingled yam
of life. Honestly he confesses, in the course of his often elaborate
analyses and critical comments on Goethe's poetry and prose, his
inability, wherever he is conscious of it, to admire, and applaud,
and discover what lon^er^sighted second-sight seers, esoteric and
extravagant exceedingly, px»nounce full of oeauty and over-full of
meaning. Thus, while German critics are in ecstasies with the
^* wit and irony" of that unreadable extravaganEa, the '* Triumph
of Sensibility" (1778), "I confess myself at a loss," quoth Mr.
Lewes, " to conceive clearly what they mean." He allows that the
^^ Tour in Italy" is a ^ disappointing l)ook." Li reviewing Goethe's
*' Doctrine of Colours," he candidfy " shows up" the author's doc-
trinal fallacy, as well as his '* astounding" irritaoifity and *' polemi-
cal bad taste." He criticises the " slow languid movement" of
" Egmont," the "triviality of the machineiy" in " Wilhelm Mei-
ster," the preposterous/Mrversion of ^^ Bomeo and JuUet," the defec-
tive style of the ''Elective Affinities," the inequalities and weak-
nesses of "Meister's Tears of Travel" (a work "feeble, and careless
even to im{)ertinence," with its incongruous little stories, " for the
most part tiresome and somettmes trivial," &c.), and the hopeless
obscurity of the second part of ** Faust** Of the "Natural
Daughter," he finankly and significantly says : " I confess not to
have read ^his work, althou^ I have twice commenced it." And
of the ** Great Copt :" " Onie is really distressed to find such pro-
ductions among the writings of so great a genius, and exasperated

* Tlie Life and Works of Goethe: with l^etofaes of his Age and CantenaK)-
raiies, from Published and Unpublished Sources. By G. H. Lewes. Two
Yob. London: Nutt. 1856.

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LEWES'S LIFE AlTD WORKS OF GOETHE. 97

to find antics laTkh in their praise (^ a work which their supersubtle
ingenintj cannot rescne from univeraal neglect.***

On the other hand, no moderate, no even ferrent admirer and
student of Gk)ethe, can reasonably complain that his present bio-
grapher has not thrown his whole soul and spirit into the task of
proving him one of the greatest among the very great, and (harder
kboor, but real labonr of love) one of the best among the troly
good. Mr. Lewes defends him with warmth of feeling, as well as
dexterity of fencer, a^nst the stereotjrped charges of co1£m«s, selfish-
ness, ^* moral lazi^, irreligion, and political apathy. He contends,
handinj^'in evidence to argue from, that Ooethes was a nature
** exquisite in fitr-ihonghted tenderness," most **tme and human
in its sympaithies with suffering," and eager to ^ alleviate suffering
by sacrifices rarely made to finends, much less to strangers.'*! £
is, indeed, his pervading des^ to convince the world of the truth
of Jung Stilling^s asswtion, that Goethe's heart, which was known
to few, was as great as his intellect, which was known to all.

To investigate the justice and success of the bio^pher's apolo-
getics, whether on the question of his author's egoism, ca want of
patnotiam, or unmoral tendency, or artistic views of life, or petty
^virit of courtiership, — would require space wholly out of propor-
ti<»L to our present object, that of advertising and giving some
roudi notes of a book prominently note-worthy among the books
of the day. It is divided into seven sections, each devoted to some

Soup of cognate events, or the illustration of some cme phase of
e and chamcter, in the poet's life-history. The first book, having
for its motto ** The Child is Father to the Man," relates his boyiat
experiencei^ with ample notice of his family, his native town, the pre-
cocity he unquestionably diowed, the impressions produced upon his
mind by the earthquake at Lisbon, the occupation of Frankfurt by the
French, the French theatre, &c., and leaving him in his sixteenth
year, sbortiv after the exposS of his quasi-intrigue with Grretchen,
miiich his Autobiography dwells on with circumstantial candour.
The second book is occupied with his student days, and exhibits him
in coUe^te life at Leipsic, absorbed now in jurisprudence, now in
eeoentnc dandyism, now in pranks of tfie " cider-cellar" sort, now
in the fresh charms of more decent sodety, and sometimes in the
aestful despatch of certain first-rate fritters, " hot from the pan pre-
cisely at the hour of lecture," and therefore leaving the lecturer a
poor chance, unless of empty benches. It narrates, too, his trip to
i>ie8den, and neglect of taw and logic for art, his illness, and un-
settled TcG^ous state, his return home and disagreement with his
ungenial sure — his freshmanship in the University of Strasburg,

• See Lewfs, vol. I pp. 391-2, 396-7 ; il pp. 63, 66, 119 iqq., 163, 206, 254
SOT., 272, 879 M., 411, 423.

T ''StcsDger8^--li propos of Goethe's singular pensioner, ErafL See the
storj at large, in Lewet, yoL i. pp. 398-408.

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98 LEWES'S LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE.

where he studies the fine arts and mystical metaphysics, learns
dancing and gets into a scrape with his dancing-master's dai^ter^
becomes acquainted with Stilling and Herder, makes love to Frede-
rika, and, having won her, makes off, elides away, evanishes, like a
guilty thing surprised. Book the tnird is concerned with the
Stwrm und Drang ^ storm and stress, period — that period of some .
four years (1771 to 1775) in Goethe's history which is charac-
terised by the preparation, and culminates in the production, of
" Werther." To this section belong also " Clavigo" and ** Gotz
von Berlichingen." One chapter sets forth the author in the aspect
of ** literary hon" — another his affection for Lili — a third gives a
valuable burd's-eye view of German literature previous to Goethe's
rise, no mere bibliographical analysis or catalo^e r&um^, but a
survey distinguished by philosophical investigation and a spirit of
critical sagacity, ably and adroitly employed. Book the fourth
takes up the four years next ensuing, from 1775 to 1779, which
is defined the " geniaHsch period in Weimar" — meaning the period
when every extravagance was excused on the plea of genius. A
capital picture is given of Weimar in the eighteenth century — the
park with its sunny walks, and winding shades, and magnificent
avenue of chesnut-trees, stretching for two miles to the summer
palace of Belvedere — the quiet, simple streets, with their stone-co-
loured, light-brown, and apple-green houses — the rough and homely
manners and habits then and there in vogue — the people, a slow,
heavy, ungraceful, ignorant, but good-natured, happy, honest race,
feeding on black bread and sausages ; the nobility, poor and pom-

Sms; and then the notabilities of the place, including the Dowager-
uchess Amalia^ capricious and frivolous, but spirituelk and even
(in spite of Schiller) strong-minded—quite capable of managing
her kingdom, but defiant of the proprieties and dignities of state ;*
her maid of honour (nicknamed Thusnelda), the *' merry and mali-
cious little humpbacKed Gochhausen," who figured in '* wit combats"
with the duke, and corresponded by the ream with clever people
far and wide ; that ^^ jovial, careless epicurean," Einsiedel, Famz
«""' **f>X»;' — court-chamberlain, privileged madcap, and licensed
featherbrain in ordinary; the gay poet of good society, Wieland;
Musoeus, ^reat in folk-lore and gardening, '* who might be seen
dailv crossing the quiet streets with a cup of coffee in one hand, his

Srden tools m the other, trudging along to his loved Erholung ;"
e musical Seckendorf ; the financial JBertuch, who had to give
up, however reluctantly, his Gartenhatis to Gt>ethe; Bode, who
tianslated *'Don Quixote," and selections from Smollett; — and

* ^'AooordioK to Wieland, she lived sometimes in 'stadent' fashion, especially
at Belvedere, wnere stodenl^son^, not always the most decorous, rang joyously
through the moonlit gardens. Driving once with seven friends in a hay-cart from
Tiefnrt, and overtaken by a storm, she made no more ado, but drew over her
light dothing Wieland's great-coat, and in (kai costume drove on."— Zn^sf,
i. 331.

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LEWES S LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE. 99

lartly, ihe idgning duke and duchess — ^he, Karl August, active,
sensuous, witty, but coarse in his wit, clever, but wanting in tact,
sound and keen in his judgment, '' offending by his rouehnera
and wilfulness, but never estranging his frienas," and, '* with all
his errors, a genuine and admirable character" on the whole — she,
Luise, ^^ so grand a creature that we can a£R>rd to add that she was
of a cold temperament, somewhat ri^d in her enforcement of ed-
quette (in this so unlike the dowager^, and wore to the last the old
costume which had been the fashion m her youth; apt in the early
years of her marriage to be a little querulous with her husband, but
showii^ throughout their lives a real and noble friendship for him."
The finh book carries us on from 1779 to 1793, and traces the
official career of Goethe in Earl August's little court, his journey
to Italy, and his campaign in France ; separate chapters of great
interest being engrossed by criticisms of the masterpieces he pro-
duced during this inter^l — ** Iphigenia," "Egmont," "Tasso,"
&c. — while one of more than average length, ability, and informa-
tion, discusses the poet's position and pretensions as man of science.
Book the sixth is mainly illustrative of his friendship with Schiller,
but also comjjrises a spirited review of " Wilhetn Meister," a
warmly appreciative analysis of ** Hermann and Dorothea," an ela-
borate appraisal of "Faust" and its congeners of an earlier date, a
fervent ^oge of the lyrical poems, together with a shrewd estimate
of Germany's " Romantic School," and a very complete notice of
Goethe's practice and poUcy in his long-sustained character of
theatxical manaeer. Book the seventh, and last, brings us from
1805 to 1832, uie closing scene; and its chapters are severally de-
voted to the battle of Jena, Goethe's relations with Bettina and
with the Emperor Napoleon, a review of the *' Elective Affinities,"
and of the second parts of ** Wilhelm Meister" and " Faust," the
stand Goethe took m respect of politics and religion, the literary
and scientific activity of his old age, and the quiet merging of old
age into the stillness of death.

Mr. Lewes has skill and taste in enhancing the interest of his
narrative, by surrounding it with associations and illustrations,
picturesque and suggestive. Thus, in his mention of Goethe's
iirih-year, 1749, he fails not to remmd us of synchronous
events, which the most "intelligent reader" will gladly be re-
minded of. " In that month of August, Madame du Chfttelet,
the learned and pedantic Uranie of Voltaire, died in childbed,
leaving him without a companion, and without a counseller to
prevent his going to the court of Frederick the Grreat. In that
year Eouaseau was seen in the brilliant circle of Mad. d'Epinay,
discussing with the Encyclopedists, declaiming eloquently on the
sacredness of maternity, and going home to cast his new-bom
infant into the basket of the Foundling Horoital. In that year
Samuel Johnson was toilmg manfully over his English dictionary;
Gibbon was at Westminster, ^% ^^ unsuccessiul diligence to

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100 L£W£S*S LIFE AlH) WORKS OF QOETHE*

mastex the Greek and Latin nKJimente ; Golcbiniih wu deHghtiag
the Tony Lompkiiis of his district, and the 'wanderii^ bear-
leaders of g^Eiteekr sort/ with his talents, and eaajoying that ^oaze-
kssidleness of fireade and easj-chair/ and tiuit * tavern excitement
of the game of cards, to which he looked back so wistfully from his
first hud London struggles.'* In that year Baffon, whose sciemtUic
greatness Goethe was one of the first to perceiTe, and whose infio-
ence has been so profound, produced the first vokune of his .ESftoov
NatureUe. In that year Mirabeau and Alfieri were lyrants in th^
nurseries, and Marat was an innocent boy of five, toddHng about ia
the Yal de Tcavess, untroubled by phantoms of ^ les aristocrats.' " —
In a Uke yon of incidental iUnstrationy Mr. Lewes enEyens his pages
with picturesque details of German court-Ufe in the eighteeutib
century, and summary judgments on the Wiebnds, Herders, Leah
ings, KJop^ocks, Lavaters, Schillers, Jacobis, Mercks, ScUegels^
Kotzebues, &e., who were oontesiporary with the magitus ApoUo,
(XT Jupiter rather, of the Deutsch Olsons. There is a liberal in-
terfusion of those minor *' personalities, to which H^ht readers of
biograi^y attach most importance ; how Goedie looked,t 1k>w he

* Forster^s Life and Adventures of OHvsr Gddsmitli, p. 29L

t ''Long before he was celebrated, he was likened to an Apoillo ; when ha
entered a restaurant the people laid down their kniyes and forks to stare at >iim,
. . . Tlie features were large and liberallj cut, as in the fine sweepmff lines of
Gre^ Art The brow bfW and massive, foom beneath which shoneluge las-
troQS brown eyes of marvellons beauty, tl»Bir pupils being of almost unexampled
size; the slightlj aquiline nose was Lu:ge and finely out ; the mouth fall, with a
short arched upper lip, very expressive; the chin and jaw boldly proportionec^
and the head resting on a fine muscular neck.** — Lewet, i. 93.

Mr. Thadceray, in sn interestii^ letter to the biograj^er, descriptive of Us
academioa] en|>ecieiioes of Weimar, five-and4wenty years ago, and partieularly
of his one interview with Gk>ethe in 1881, Uius limns the dd man eloquent :
"His compl^on was very bright, clear, and rosy. His eyes extraordmari^
daik, piercmg, and brilliant. 1 felt quite afraid before them, and recollect com-
pfurinff them to the eves oi l^e hero of a certain romance called Melmoth the
Fa/i^?r0r, which used, to alarm us boys thirty years ago ; eyes of an individaal
who had made a bargain with a Certam Feraon, and at an extreme old age re-
tained those eyes in all their awful splendoor. 1 fancied Qoethe must have beoi
still more handsome as an old man than even ia the daysof his youth, ^s
vmoe was very rich and sweet."— iWJ. iL 444.

Mr. Lewes striking compares Qoethe's aspect with that of Schilkr : "To
look on these areat rivals was to see at once tiieir profound dissimflan^.
Goethe's beantifal head had the calm victorious grandeur of the Greek ideal;
Schiller's the earnest beauty <^ a Christian loohpg toward the Future. The
massive brow, and large-pupil eyes,— like those given by Raphael to the in&nt
Christ, in tiie matditess luulonna di San Sisto, — ^tiie strong and well propor-
tioDed featnxes, lined indeed fav thoaght and sofferinff, yet showing that uxmght
and snfforing have troubled, bat im£ van^pished, ws stieaff maB»— a cectaia
healthj vigour in the brown skin, and an indesonbal^e aom^iing which shines
fin>m out the face, make Goethe a strikiuj^ contrast to Schiller, with his eager
eye, narrow brow,— tense and intense,— his irregolar fieatmres lined by thou^
and suieriDg, and weakened l^flkkneas. The one AmnI^ the other loob aW.
Both are au^eatiB; but one has the mi^esiy ol r^ose, the ether of eoB^Uet
Goethe's fiameia massive, impoeutf I heseemamnchtaUerthaaheis. SchlUer^s
frame is disproportioned, he seemsiess than he is. Goethe holds himself stifBiy

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LEWIS'S LIFE AND WOBKS OF GOETHlt. 101

dressed,* haw he ddif^iied much ib bathing, more afciU in ekatmg,
not at all in cards, — et^ ccBterm^ efumkm generis. A sketdi is pro-
Tided of hii daily roufeinef firook i^iich we leazn that he rose al
Beren, aomedmeB earUer, aft«r a soimd and prolonged sleep;!
worlced nnintermptedly till eleven — die then intemiptioii being a
cop of chocolate^ oa uie strength (^ which he worsed on again
till one. ** At two he dined. Thia meal was the important one
of the day* Hia appetite was immense. Even on the days when
he oomplained of not being hungry, he ate much more than moat
men. Pnddinga, aweeta, and cakes were always welcome. He sat
a \<mg while over his wine, chatting gaily to some friend or other
(for h^ never dined alone), or to cme of the actors, whom he often
had with faim, after dinner, to read over th^ parts^and to tidce hia
instmctioiia. He was fond of wine, and drank daily his two or
three bottles.''^ ^^ No such thing as dessert was seen upon hia table

erect ; {he long-iiecked Schiller ' walks like a camel/ Goethe's chest is like the
torso of the Thesens ; Schiller's is bent, and has lost a hmg.'*— /M. tL pp.
185^

* "Lnagxae Wol^sasfi^ aged twelye, arrayed in shoes and silfer bnoklea, fine
woollen stockings, dark ser^ breeches, green coat with gold fiicingski awaistcoat
of gold cloth, cat oat of his father's bridegroom-waistcoat, his hair oarled and
powdered, his hat ander his arm, and little sword with nQk sabretaah."— 7i5u^.
1.S8.

As a stideat at Lekm, "he had an ample wardrobe, bat «ahM)pi]7 it was
doablj provinaali it had been manofaotorea at home by one of his lather's ser-
Tants^ smd thus was not only in the Frankfurt style, but grotesquely made in
that style." However, he soon ''got rid of his absurd wardrobe at one feU
swoop, witihoat a murmur at the expense.*'—/^, pp. 55, 55.

In 1774 we have a glimpse of hun, now "in braided coat, from head to foot
in thegalkuitest oostnme,*^now again in "grey beaver ooat, with boota^ and a
brown aOk neckerchief."— 7^V/. pp. 297, 298.

Next year he is seen in the oostume of his own JTertker, then the ideal of
tenderness and romance — "blue coat and brass buttons, top-boots, and leather
breeches, the whole surmounted by powder and pifi^tail."— i^'(/. 841.

He Btaitks father Gleim, inl77(V, by entering "booted and spuned, iaashort
green shooting-iacket thrown open."— /^V^. 350. Evidently he had a sool for
the sstheties oi dress^ and ihns for a soul M4fi above buttons. When Comb^-
fam^s ''West Indian" waa got op at Weimar, Goethe ^lajedJB&kour, and was
" dressed in a white cof^ with silver lace, blue silk vest, and bhie silk knee
breedws, in irhich they say he looked superb.''— /Sm^. 376. When Thadteray
saw him, inlSSl, "he was habited in a lo^ my or drab redingot, with a white
neckidoih and a red ribbon in his buttoo^ioTe. ~rlM. 444.

Bai this sartonal foot-note ia of " a length" as though it had for its maker
thatMTfTulgar fraction, the math part of a man. Hie more so, thai it is pieoe-
mcA ** cabbaged" from Mr. Lewes.

t "Ite, l&Thorwaldsen, he had a ' taknt for sleeping' oaljsupassed by his
talenl for esntinaoas miA.**—Leme»f iL 26$.

X Against coffin €k>ethe waged an onoompromisinff war. He strove to make
every (»e he ld»d and cared f& take apledge of totid abstinence fron the eoffse-
benj, as though 'twne the berry that ban^ on ^ boogh of a yen Upas-tree.

§ 1\> guard against possible (very poss&le) ansoonstnietion, Mr. Lewes re-
minds US!, not only thai it was no anoBoal tiunff to be a "three bottle man* in
those days in Ikigland, bat that whereas in Iki^andtiie bottles oontained port
or Borgondy, "Goethe, aBhindander, aooustoroed from boyhood to win^ dnmk
a wine which his English contemporanes woddhave catted water. The amoimt

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102 LEWES'S LIFE AND WOKKS OF GOETHE.

in those days: not even the customary coffee after dinner. His
mode of living was extremely simple; and even when persons of
very modest circumstances burned wax, two poor tallow candles
were all that could be seen in his rooms. In the evening he went
often to the theatre, and there his customary fflass of punch was
brought at six o'clock. If not at the theatrci he received friends
at home. Between eight and nine a frugal supper was laid, but he
never took anything except a little samd or preserves. By ten
o'clock he was usually in bed." And anon, anon, sir, to sleep — per-
chance to dream. And then (for he wrote *' FsLUst") stick areaims !
Mr. Lewes expatiates con amore on Goethe's contributions to
Science.* He applies to him what Buffon says of Pliny, that he
had cetie facUiti de penser en grand qui muUipUe la science^ while
doughtily opposing the supposition that Qoethe was a mere dabbler,
playing with science as an artist The artistic predilections of
the man, meanwhile, are duly recorded. His interest in Art was
fostered by earliest associations. Frankfurt was itself a picturesque
city. His fiither had lived in Italy, and delighted in its beauties;
the walls of his house were hung with architectural drawings and
views of St Peter's, the Coliseum, and other glories of Kome.
Toung Goethe was petted by several eminent painters, and became
an habitu4 in their ateliers; he was fond, too, of frequenting picture
sales and galleries, insomuch that '^ he could at once tell what his-
torical or biblical subject was represented in every painting he saw."
In riper years he was a recognised authority in Art, and was listened
to with enthusiasm by some of its most illustrious representatives.
But he was an Amateur only — the reiterated efforts he made to
approve himself practically a master, being utterly and mortifyingly
abortive. When at Rome, he learned perspective, drew from %e
model, and took prodigious but fruitless pains to succeed with

he drank never did more than exhilarate him; never made him unfit for work
or for society." — Lewe$, ii. 264.

* Qoethe's two capital achievements in the departments of Anatomy and
Botany are thns dearly indicated : " Place a flower m the hands of the cleverest
man of your acquaintance, providing always he has not read modem works of
science, and assure him that leaf, calyx, carolla, bud, pistil, and stamen, differing
as they do in colour and form, are nevertheless all modified leaves ; assure him
that flower and fruit are but modifications of one typical form, which is the leaf;
and if he has any confidence in your knowledge he may accept the statement,
but assuredly it will seem to him a most incomi>rehen8ible piuraulox. Place him
before a human skeleton, and, calling lus attention to its manifold forms, assure
him that every single bone is either part of a vertebra, or the appendage to a
vertebra, and that tne skull is a congeries of four vertebrse under various modi-
fications; he will, as before, accept your statement, perhi^; but he will, as
before, think it one of the refinements of transcendental speculation to be
arrived at only by philosophers. Yet both of thme astounmng propositions
are first principles m Morphology; and in the History of Saence both of
these propositions are to be traced to Qoethe. Botanists and Anatomists
have, of course, greatly modified the views he promulgated, and have substituted
views nearer and nearer the truth, without yet being quite at one. But he gave
the impulse to their efforts."— 'i^np^t, iL pp. 13940.

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LEWES'S LIFE AND WOBKS OF GOETHE. 103

landscape; the artists complimented him on his eye for art, but the
hand for it was, from first to last, found wanting. Not amateur
excellence even was attained by his most strenuous strokes. Mr.
Lewes shrewdly and suggestively remarks, on this fact : *' To think
of a Goethe thus obstinately cultivating a branch of Art for which
he had no talent, ipakes us look with Idnder appreciation on the
spectacle so frequently presented of really able men obstinately de-
voting themselves to produce poetry which no cultivated mind can
read; men whose culture and msight, considerable though they be,
are insufBcient to make them perceive in themselves the difference
between aspiration and inspiration."

The question of Goethe's religious '^ views" was delicate ground
for his present biographer to tread upon; but it is ground that
could not be left untrod. The motive power in the machinery of
his ^^ dissolving views," or '* phases of faith," began its work nght
early. As a 3iild he was for ever listening, with both ears, to
theological debates in the family circle, never ending still beginning.
At seven, by his own account, he celebrated a symbolical species
of worship by fire, by means of a pastille and burning dasses, alone
in his bedroom. Early in his teens hfi was full of rationalistic ob-
jections to the Bible, and '* posed" his tutors with queries about
Joshua and the sun, and Jonah in the belly of the whale. At
nineteen, however, we find him, though destitute of faith, yet
** terrified at scepticism," and averse from the Deism then so
fashionable and aggressive: "I loved the Bible," he says, "and
valued it, for it was almost the only book to which I owed my
moral culture." His thoughts appear, about this time, to have
moulded themselves into a kind of Neoplatonic Christianity — a
result to the development of which his intercourse with Fraulein
von Klettenburg (tne " Fair Saint" of the " Confessions") perhaps
mainly contribute. Kestner writes of him in 1772 : " He vene-
rates the Christian religion, but not in the form in which it is pre-
sented by our theologians." A little later he is attracted to Lavater
by a sympathy of rdigious sentiment, not creed; as for creed, he
is latitudmanan enough — writing to one of Lavates's friend^ in
1774, ** With my whole soul I throw myself upon the neck of my
brother: Moses, rrophet, Evangelist, Apostle, Spinoza, or Machia-
velli," &c Spinoza now influenced him jjreatly; but along with
Spinozism he affected Moravianism, and is thought to have been
very near joining the United Brethren about this time — a time of
earnest inquiry in religious questions, and of struggle for light and
knowledge as to Ae chief end of man. Such a time did not return ;
once lapsed, its hour and power were slurred over as things that had
been, perhaps must be once, but at all events must not be again.
As in the case of Schiller, Goethe was gradually but palpabljr sun-
dered farther and farther from orthodoxy, and wove lor Umself
*' a system out of Spinoza, Kant, and the Ghrecian sases." In the
various epochs of his long life, says his biographer, he expressed

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104 LEWES'S LIFE AND WOfiKS OF GOETHE.

himself 80 Tationaly that a pietisfe may daim Um, or a Voltoirian
may claim him: both with equal show of justice*

But if theie were *' diversities of operations" in his phases of faith^
what shall we say of his infinitely ^^ various readings" of the Art of
Love, — of his arbitrary transmutation of Amo into an irregular
verb, full of reckless anomahes throughout all its moods and tenses?
Before he was fifiseen, he was smitten with the charms of Grretch^i,
the sister of one of his raffish companions. An affair with the police
broke up the connexion, and Master Wolfgang was cruelly and
effectually snubbed by the way in which Mus Maisaret spdce of
him,'^in lier disposition before the authorities: ^ I willDOt d^y that
I have oft»L seen himi and seen him: with pleasure, but I treated
him as a child, and my affection for him was merely that of a sister."
To be involved with the police at the age of fourteen was an un-
kind cut ; but &u was tiie unkindest cut of alL And the youn^
gentleman felt it poignantly; got off his sleep, lost his appetite, and
S>und that man delisted him not, nor woman neitiier — for a time.
And he loved to have it so; for, '^such pleasures did Melandioly

E've, tiiat he with her would chooee to live." He was eigoyiag
s &r8t sorrow: the luxury of melancholy, the romance of a £»lom
existencoi drove him into solitude. Like Bell^ophcm, he &d upon
his own. heart, away from the haunts of men,

But that sort <^ food is not found nouridiing, or even palatable,
for long, and indeed the supply fails iast when the demand upon
it is fieioe* So Gretdh^a is foigotten in due course, and her
boy-lover, now a fantastic stud^it at Lripsic, is bewitdied by
Kathchen— -or, in more respectiul style, Anna Katharina (the
Annette and Annchen of the Dichtung und Wahrheii)^ ti^ charming
daughter of Herr Schonkopf^ as she hands round the wine at her
father's table d*hdie. '^ Her portrait, still extant, is veiy pleasing.
She was then [1766] nineteen, liveljr, and loving; how could she
be inscmable to the love of this glorious voutii, m all the fervour
of genius, and witii all the attractions of beau^ ? They saw each
other daily, lu^ onbr at dinner but in the evenings, when he accom-
panied the piano of her brother by a feeble parformanoe on the flute.
They also got up private theatricals, in which Goethe and Kath-
chen played the krvers." Goethe subsequendy wrote a play on the
subject of this Kaiion^ called " Die Laime des YerUebten"— -his
earUest surviving work; and, as the name suggest^ it r^»resents
the old story of lovers* quarrels; his love-passages with Fraulein
Schonk(^f beinjg^, infiiet, marked by caprices of tenper and whims
of &ntii^ on his part, which show nim to no kind df advantage.

* '' The secret of this contradiotioE lies in tiie fact that he had deep religious
sentiments with complete scepticism on most religions doctrines." — Lewet^ iL
391. And cnf. vol i. pp. 83, 41, 82-3, 91. 96, 148, 171, 274; il 190, 390496.

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L£W£S'S LIFE AND WOBES OF OOETHE. 105

Li this pastoral drama there k a line expiessive of the ddight he»
confeaiealy, ielt in teazing and trying hia '' beloved" —
Erringea will der MeiiBcli ; er will nidit sioher a^n.
(Moa would tnbdae; jei would not hd seoaze.)

Ur. Lewes observes that, had Kathchen coquetted with *' this some-
what fiintastic youth," so ^* prone to indulge in the most frivolous
pretexts for ' ingeniously tormenting/ " — had she kept him in the
exquisite pain of suspense, indicated in the verse just cited, she
would have been happier; but as he said in his little poem Der
Wahre Grenuse, " she is perfect, and her only fault is — that she
loves me :**

l^e ist Tvllommeii, xmd sie fehlet

Darin alleiii dass m midi liebt.

lEs biographer shows how he teased her with trifles and idle
suspicions; was jealous without cause, convinced without reason;
plagued her with fantastic quarrels, till at last her endurance was
exhausted^ and her love was washed away in tears. '* No sooner
was he aware of this, than he repented, and tried to recover the
jewel which like a prodigal he had cast away. In vain. He was
m desf)air, and tried in d^pation to forget his^ef " ^d dissipa-
tion, aided bv poetry, seems to have answered l£e purpose — among
the verses that were at once the outpouring and the solace of
this oft-broken and of^mended, too easily mended heart, the afore-
raid pastoral occupying a forward place. Four years later we find
him writing thus to &thchen: ^The most lovable heart is that
wbich loves the most readily; but that which easily loves also
easily forgets." It was his case, Mr. Lewes remarks; Goethe
''could not live without some one to love, but his mobile nature
soon dried the tears wrung from him by her loss." Preserve
daughters and sisters of ours from too near contact with such mobile
natures ! Given a father or brother of spirit and feeling, and the
most mobile of them could hardly be too mobile, in gettmg out of
the way.

But ex& Kathchen, and enter Charity Meixner, of "Worms, in
the summer of 1769. This was only a " snght love afiair." Charity
was a merdiant's daughter, and loved the JM:ankfurt burgher's son
not wisely but too well, considering his antecedents, which toe
know, whatever poor Charity (full, no doubt, of Faith, Hope, and
herself) may have done. She learnt quite soon enough, be sure,
what manner of spirit he was of. For, in the words of nis biogra-
pber, ** that heart, which * so readily loves and so easily forgets,*
wandered from Chanty, as it wandered from others; and she buried
his inconstancy in a ' copy of verses' and a rich husband." For it
cannot be said (and no wonder) of our Chariiy, 'H ^Aymnj ^ovberrorw
\annTtij although in all probability she deserved the preceding

eulogy, 'H'Ayainy y^KpoOvim^ ^(firjaTtvmty and even 'ov vapoffwerau

Charity, then, having waxed cold, it is time for Goethe, now
one-and-twenty, to look out for new conquests; Eke previous ones.

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106 LEWES'S LIFE AND WOBKS OF GOETHE.

of the venij mdi, vici (and then» exwi) sort. Mr. Lewes puts us on
the scent of flirtations by the mention of two love poems, written in
1770, in honour of a certain Dorilis and a certain Theresa. Of
these fair uncertain certainties nothing is said in the Autobiography
— but neither is there of Charity'^Meixner. Mr. Lewes observes,
that in ordinary cases a biographer would accept such autobio-
graphical silence, and decline to infer from the poems [any foun-
dation on fact — no one hereafter bein^ likely to tnink of identify-
ing, for instance, the Claribels, Isabels, and Madelines of our to-
day's poetry, with young ladies whom our to-day's poets meet in
society, and who lead captive their inconstant hearts. But '* with
Goethe it is otherwise. All his poems ^row out of occasions: they
are the flowers of which circumstance is the earth. Utterances of
real feelings to real beings, they are unlike all coquettine^s with
imaginary beauties. His poems are evidences. Unhappily, the
bare fact is all we can discover." The unhappiness is quite bear-
able, notwithstanding. We can afibrd to be in the dark about
Dorilis and Theresa, while dazzled by the " excessive bright" of the
galaxy composed of Gretchens, Eathchens, Charities and Christines
by the score.

To the same year belongs the aflair with Lucinda, the French
dancinff-master's daughter, ending with that most melodramatic
curse, designed to seal up for evermore, from kissing purposes, the
lips that in a trice would be whispering sweet things, ana imprint-
ing^sweeter still, on those of Frederika Brion.

Frederika — ^in whose behalf more sympathising interest has been
excited, and more avenging cudgels have b^n taken up, by
'* manly Britons" and others, than for any second name in the long
catalogue of Goethe's heart-conquests. Let us hear Mr. Lewes
" address himself" to the question, the much-vext most-vexatious
question. Why did not Goethe marry Frederika?

*' It is a question often raised, and as often sophistically answered.
He is by one party angrily condemned, and disingenuously ab-
solved by another. But ne himself acknowledged his fault He
himself never put forth any excuse. He does not hint at disparity
of station, he does not say there were objections from his parents.
He makes no excuse, but confesses the wrong, and blames himself
without sophistication. Tet the excuses he would not suggest,

J)artisans have been eager to suggest for him. They have sought
ar and wide in the gutters of scandal for materials of defence."

But although Goethe himself oflers no excuse, and blames himself
without sophistication, Mr. Lewes asks us in all seriousness whether
the self-convicted genius was not, nevertheless, perfectly right to
draw back from an engagement which he felt nis love was not
stronff enough properly to fulfil? It may be answered, with the
knowledge we possess of Goethe's antipathy to marriage, when
did he ever, or indeed could he ever, form an engagement to which
the same obstacle ab intrh would not apply? l^e love that he felt

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LEWES'S LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE. 107

wben he formed the engagement, appears somehow to have always
been liable to strange reverses when the time was coming, and
almost come, to fulfil it Mr. Lewes, however, contends that he
acted a more moral nart in relinquishing Frederika, than if he had
swamped this lesser in a greater wrong, and escaped the wrong of
breach of faith by that still greater breach of £uth — a reluctant,
because unloving, marriage. *^ The thoughtlessness of youth," con-
tinues his apologist — whether Goethe would or could have accepted
the apolo^ is at least doubtful, but let him have the benefit otthe
doubt by its insertion — *' the thoughtlessness of youth, and headlong
impetus of passion, frequently throw people into rash engagements,
and in those cases the formal morality of the world, more careful
of externals than of truth, declares it to be nobler for such rash en-

Sgements to be kept^ even when the rashness is felt by the engaged,
an that a man's honour should be stained by a withdrawal. The
letter thus takes precedence of the spirit. To satisfv this prejudice
a life is sacrificed. A miserable marriage rescues the honour; and
no one throws the burden of that misery upon the prejudice. I am
not forgetting the necessity of being stringent against the common
thoughtlessness of youth in forming such relations; but I say that
this thoughtlessness once having occurred, reprobate it as you wiU,
the pain which a separation may bring had better be endured, than
evaded by an unholy marriage, which cannot come to good."

Mr. Lewes adds, *^ So far I think GK>ethe right;" and intimates
that Frederika herself must have thought so too, for never did a
word of blame escape her, and, eight years afterwards, when Goethe
revidted Sesenheim (1779), he was welcomed by her, his quondam
&n}hia Primrose^ in common with the rest of that *^ Vicar of
Wakefield" &mily, ** in the most friendly manner." The poet has de-
scribed the reunion in a charming bit of narrative, written, h|t7ever,
with all the calm of any other retrospective review. " The second
daughter loved me in those da^s better than I deserved, and more
than others to whom I have given so much passion and faith. I
was forced to leave her at a moment when it nearly cost her her
life; she passed lightly over that episode to tell me what traces still
remained of the old illness, and behaved with such exquisite deli-
cacy and generosity from the moment that I stood before her un-
expected on ihe threshold, that I felt quite relieved. I must do
her the justice to say that she made not the slightest attempt to re-
kindle m my bosom the cinders of love. She led me mto the
arbour, and there we sat down. It was a lovely moonlight, and I
inquired after every one and everything. Neignbours had spoken
of me not a week ago. I found old songs which I had composed,
and a carriage I had painted. We recalled many a pastime of those
happy days, and I found myself as vividly conscious of all, as if I
had been away only six months." This account was written to be
sent to the woman who was to Goethe now, in 1779, what Frede-
rika had been in 1771. There is a complacent egoism about it that

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106 LEWES'S LIFE AHD WORKS OF OOETHE.

will revok some minds— an intenser form only of the egoistic spirit
which, in trnth, repels them from Gk)ethe, whom it seems to per-
TBde and inform throughout. If Mr. Thackeray pleased, he could
make Ooedie's treatment of Frederika amost pr^xiant text for one
of his most pungent homilies on Woman's unselfishness, and Man's
graceless assumption of it as his due, a male perquisite, a guaran-
teed preference diare, an absolute thing of course.

Li that moonlight arbour scene, ^ght long years (long to her,
short enough perhaps to Groethe) after the rudely broken trodi,
Frederika hiows, as mdeed ereiywhere, Mr. Lewes cordially owns,
^' a sweet and noble nature, worthy of a happier fate. Her whole life
was one of sweet self-sacrifice. Lems had fallen in love with her;
others ofiered to marry her, but she refused all offers. ^ The heart
that has once loTed Goethe,' she exclaimed, * can belong to no one
elfic.'"

Nor does Goethe's present biographer think thai his love for
Frederika was only a passing &ncy, such as so often moves the
feelings of youth without ever deepening into serious thoughts of
marriage. Mr. Lewes rejects, too, as mere assumption, the excuse
that ^marriage would have crippled his genius," and, in a passage
worth quoting for its eloquence and feeling, maintains, to the con-
trary, that had Goethe loved her enough to share a life with her,
though his experience of women might have been less extensive, it
would assuredly have gained an element it wanted — ^it would have
been deepened. ^^ He had experienced, and he could paint (no one
better), the exquisite devotion of woman to man; but he had
scarcely ever felt the peculiar tenderness of man for woman, when
that tenderness takes tne form of vigilant protecting fondness. He
knew little, and that not until late in life, of the subUe interweaving
of haUt with affection, whidi makes life saturated with love, and
love itself become dignified through the serious aims of life. He
knew little of the exquisite ccnnpanumskip of two souls striving in
emulous spirit of loving rivalry to become better, to become wiser,
teaching each other to soar. He knew little of this; and the kiss,
FrederS:a ! he feared to press upon thy loving lips — &e Ufe of sym-
pathy he refused to share with thee — are wanting to the greatness
of his works."

But we must hasten on, if we would see how this great artist
soul, devoutly studious of womankind's attractions and of his own
peace of mind,

from Beantj passed to Beavty,

CoBstant to a constant change.

Frederika therefore retires, and her place is filled by Charlotte
Buff, or Lottchen, a " serene, calm, joyous, open-hearted German
maiden, an excellent housewife, and a priceless manager," now
(1772) in her sixteenth year, and betrothed to Kestner, to whom
she was married soon affcr; a worthj couple, who were sufficiently
scandalised by being reproduced, with a oifference, in the pages of

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LEWES'S UFE AND W0KK8 OF GOETHE. 109

<< Werther/' as the Chtrlotte and Albert of that (literally) die-away
tale. The fame year, Goethe is captivated by Mazimiliane La-
rochey the future mother of Bettina: '* they seemed to have looked
into each other's eyes, flirted and sentimentalked, as if no Lotte
had been left in Wetzlar." Nay, more ; Maximiliane marries
Braitano, and Goethe frequents the house, and seems to have urged
on the flirting and sentimentalising, as if no Breatano were extant
in his oirn, Ine said Brentano's house in Frankfurt. That house
smeUs somewhat of oil and cheese, and its master, a middle-aged
'^ merchant" — a widower, too, with five ready-made children— is
disposed to be bearish to his young wife: accordingly the house-
haunts extraordinanr, their feJlow-townsman Goethe, who is ^^ be-
loved" and welcomea by M. Brentano (** quoique asses jalouz pour
un Italien"), is a great acquisition to madame^ and, in Merck's ver-
sion of the story, ^^il a la petite Madame Brentano k consoler sur
I'odeur de lliuile, du fromage, et des mani^res de son mari." (What
the malicious Merck means by Fodeur of the marVs manihre$ is not
quite dear; but his drift is even too much so.) Pasang ftom this
too unctuous, cheesy German atmosphere, — and passing ovar our
vessatile gallant's ^^homa^" to Anna Sy^billa Munch, whom he
seems to have only '' admired" in a dispassionate, or unimpaesioned
sort of way — we come to ^^ Lili," the woman whom, he assured
Eckermann, he loved bcnrond any other. '' Lili" was Anna Eliza-
beth Schonemann, the daughter of a great banker in Frankfurt;
at this tame (1774) a child of sixteen, who, as Mr. Lewes pretty
clearly proves, in spite of Goedie's senile assurances to Ek^kermann,
though die managed, in all the merciless grace of maidenhood,
proudly consoaons of her power, to ensnare his roving heart through
the lures o{ passionate oesire, never really touchra his soul. In
1775 he is settled at Weimar; and here his opening career is '' per-
plexed with love affidrs." Many charmers are named, amongst
whom the biographer mentions Fraulein von Kalb, Corona
Schroter (the actress), and Kotzebue's sister, Amalia; but these
seem to nave been but flirtations, while the tendresse for the
Baroness von Stein (a relation of that magnanimous baron who
parted with his wife, for a consideration, to Warren Hastings) was
'* no tranntoiy flash, but a fire whichbumtfiDir ten years, and wereby
is distinguished from all previous attachments." The baroness was

Ey, coquettish, experienced, and thirty-three. Hith^to Groethe
a tak^ to girls m their teens; this time he was taken by a full-
blown woman, full of tact and knowledge of life. We are pre-
sented with excerpts fiom his letters to her, and very rapturous
and uninteresting they are. Not quite so rapturous, but^ more in-
teresting, is the serious petition one of ihem presses on his beloved
to " send him a sausage." Li 1787 his passion for Charlotte von
Stein has had time to cool down, and we see him caught by a
young Milanese: *' with the rashness of a boy he &lls in love, and
then learns that his mistress is already betrothed." Next year, 1788,

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110 LEW£S*S UFB AND WORKS OF GOETHE.

he is united in all but marriage to Christiane Vulpins — and
eighteen years later actually mskes up his mind, and marries her
outright — ^the story of the huddled-up nuptial ceremony, during
the hurry and riot of French invasion, bein^ a favourite jest with
those who love ainr jest in general for the sake of a laugh, and this
one in particular K>r the sf^e of a laugh at Goethe. Alas, these
eighteen years are no theme for lauffhter, nor is their sequel a jest.
At the first, ^Christiane was a fresh, young, bright-looking girl,
with " ff olden-brown locks, laughing eyes, ruddy cheeks, k^pro-
voking lips, small and gracefully rounded figure"— endowed, too,
with quick " mother-wit, a lively spirit, a loving heart,^and ^reat
aptitude for domestic duties." Goethe certainly appears to have
been completely fascinated by her: '* there are few poems in any
language which approach the passionate gratitude of those in which
he recals the happiness she gave him." Before he married her,
however, Christiane had put an end to her beauty, whatever that
may have originally been, by habits of intoxication, which had
been the ruin of her fiiiher. Mr. Lewes throws no light— except
conjectural and psychological— on the cause of the delay in this mar-
riage ceremony; but he corrects the error which dates it '* during
the cannonade" of the battle of Jena, the actual date being the
19th of October, five days after that battle.

Not even with this very mature wedding terminates the list of
the elderly bridegroom's Undresses, In 1809 he is perilously cap-
tivated by a school-girl, Minna Herzlieb, an adopted child m the
family of Frommann, the Jena bookseller, and the original of Ot-
tihe in the *^ Elective Affinities." And in 1825 (nine years after
his wife's death), Goethe, aged seventy-six, meets at Marienbad
with a Fraulein von Lewezon, for whom he conceives a vehement
passion, and whom he is only withheld from marrying by the re-
monstrances of friends, '* and perhaps the fear of ridicule." All
these love-phases ^o to prove a too close resemblance between
Goethe himself and his own WUhelm Meister^ who, as Mr. Lewes
describes him, passes (with a sad lack of persistency in his emotions)
from love of the passionate Mariana to an inclination for the coquet-
tish Philina; from Philina to the Countess, whom he immediately
forgets for the Amazon; and when about to marry Theresa, he re-
linquishes her as soon as he is accepted, and o£fers himself to
Natalie. Like hero, like author. And what though ** souls femi-
nine" unite ^' as one man" to cry shame on Gt)ethe's choppings and
changings?

That was wrong, perfai^s — ^bnt then

Such things be— and will, again.

Women cannot judge for men.*

But they can judge qfmen, or at any rate they do; and of Goethe,
sharply enough. Nor in his case does their mercy rejoice against
judgment, but is as good as ordered out of court.

• "Bertha in the Lane,"

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THE QUESTION OF THE DAY.

A YfAR of exceeding eeveritj, mariced by the most energetio
perseveranoe on the one hand, and an equally stubborn resistance
on the other, by immense losses from sickness and exposure, as
well as firom tne usual casualties in the field, appears at length about
to be terminated by a compromise.

The proportions emanating from Austria, which have to a certain
extent been adopted by the Auied Powers, are well calculated to meet
the exigencies of those who hold that to arrive at a peaceful solution
of the question nothing must be done to humiliate Russia. In the
propoduons submitted to that {K>wer by Count Esterhazy it can
be truly said, that although certain special conditions were held in
reserve, little appears on the surface that could in any way militate
against the most sensitive nationality; — ^nothing, indeed, when we
consider the a^stem of aggression do long and so successfully carried
on against neighbouring petty states, and which it became the duty
of the great contracting powers to repel as far as possible.

The complete abohtion of the Russian protectorate over the
Danubian Principalities will indeed be a great point, and the re-
organisaticm of tnose states will do more towards insuring perma-
nent peace than even the occupation of the Crimea; but tnere is
nothing in such a concession that militates either asainst the
honour^ or against the true interests of the Russian Empire.

The freedom of the Danube is essentially a European question.
No power but Russia, who has never hesitated to put her foot upon
the neck of any other neighbouring state, would have ventured
upon so selfish and unprincipled an act as to close up the mouth
of the main artery of Central Europe. Russia can lose nothing,
she can only gain in the opinion of the civilised world by ceding
such an invidious position. But for the Allies to make all ihe
strong places and territories occupied by^ their armies a matter of
exchange for a rectification of the frontier on the Danube, is, in
reality, to cast all that has been done by France, England, Sardinia,
and Turkey into the scale for the benefit of Austria.

That the Black Sea should be open to merchant vessels and
closed to war navies presents nothmg that could possibly be
objectionable to any of the belligerent powers. But that no
naval or military arsenals shall be created or maintained there, ap-
pyred to many a stumbling-block to all pacific arrangements.
W ould so ambitious and especially warlike and aggressive a power
as Russia give up the holding of all naval or mmtary arsenals on
the Black Sea? How would France like to disarm on the coast of

VOL. XXXTX. I

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112 THE QUESTION OF THE DAT.

the Mediterranean, or England in the Channel^ at the bidding of a
hostile power ? But if tne proposition is viewed as it has been
accepteci, purely and simply, it will be found to comprise only
arsenals in the Black Sea, and that it does not therefore in-
clude the great naval and militairy arsenals on the Bug, on the
Dnieper, ' in the Sea of Azof, or in the Straits of Kertch : such
do not com^ within the category of the proposed interdiction.
Again, there id no mention of forts or fortresses, and it is there-
fore to be presumed l^t Yeni-Kalah, Kaffii, Einbuniy Otohakof^
Odessa, Akerman, Anapa, Phanagoria, &c., &C., are to remain as
ihey were. There is not even any provision against the permanence
of the fortifications of Sebastopol; it is only stipulated that it shall
not be a naval or military arsenal. The fortress of Gbotym is also
to remain in the hands of Russia^ who will alwa^ threaten from
it the mouths of the Danube and the Principalities. The pro-
position might then be readily accepted by Russia, as in no way
infiinging upon her honour. She semains, in reference to the
points involved in that ffuarantee^ just as she stood befrae the war,
with the ezoe{>tion of the nominal abandonment of Sebastopol as
a naval and military arsenal

The preservation of ihe immunities (^ tiie Christian snlgeets of
the Porte — ^the propositiona say '' Rayah subjects," but Bayah, like
the Indian Ryot, is a term expressive of a race too denised to be
held worthy of being subjects — ^impUes nothing that can be possibly
injurious either to the interests or the honour of the Russian Czar.
On the contrary, if Russia could only for a moment sink h&t ambi-
tion, love of conquest, and aq>iration8 of aggrandisement into a real
desire for the w^&re of the Christians ofwe East, die would fed
that she could not do better than associate herself with Austria,
France, Great Britain, and the Sublime Porte, in assuring to these
persecuted races tiieir religious and political rights.

But there s1^ remained a paragraph which might mean little or
nothing, or mi^ht, on tiie ccmtrary, be made to comprise stipula-
tions that would be fatal to the happy condution of the negotia-
tions. It was to the efiect that the belligerent powers reserved to
themsdves the right of producing in a European interest special
conditions over and above the four guarantees. It is evident that
till these special conditions were known it was impoasiUe to toon
a correct idea of the chances there would be for a favourable ter-
mination of the peace negotiations.

It is no doubt highly ^tifying to find that all the principal
obstacles to peace have disappeared, and that Russia btui so far
given way to the general and pronounced msh of i^ Eurc^ as to
acoe[»t tiie propositions made to her purdy and simply; bat it still
remains to be seen if tiiey comprise, accepted in such a sense,
all tiiat the Allies feel th^ have a right to ask for in indem-
nifiication of the vast sacnnces made by tbem in the interests of

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THE QUI8TI0K OF THE PAT. 113

Europe of Torkej) aad of a penxument peaoe. The ceding bj
Turkey of two porti on the Black Sea— one to Franoe and
another to England — ^not to be used as naral or military arBenab,
bat 80 commercial stations, would be one of the most feasible plana
whereby France and Elngland could be tdtimately in part in-
demnified for the losses, pecuniary and otherwise, sustainect by the
war; and the oommetcial and maritime interests of aU nations
oould be, by the same means, duly, efficiently, and permanentiy
protected* Turkey has no other means of indemnifyii]^ the AlUes^
nor does su^ a cesnon in any way infringe upon iiie independence
cor dignity of the Saltan's crown. The establkhment of such firee
mercantile ports, nnder the immediate protection of foreign states,
conld scared^ be objected to by another power which, w&ther on
the Danube, in its own territory in the Crimea, or in th^ Trana-
oaucasian im>Tinoe8, has ever shown itself more anxious to found
naval and military stations than maritime or commercial emporia— *-
always labouring, in foct, for the woe instead of the weal of xnsxi*^
kind. Two iree commercial ports in the Black Sea, under the
TO'otection of two enterprising commercial nations like Franoe and
England, would restore the same prosperity and renown to ^t
once fiuttous sea that it enjoyed in the times of the first Ghre^
ec^nies, and in those pf the Genoese and Venetians.

The condition in which the Transeaucasian provinces are to
be left is a subject still replete with difficulties. Russia will no
doubt rehnquish Ears, in order to counterbalance conquests in
the Crimea and on th^ Asiatic coast ; as also to retain the pro-
vince of Akhahflikhy the bulwark of Islamism on the norax-
east; 6om which point she could always threaten her weaker
neighbour. But are the fortresses of Anapa, Suckum-Ealafa,
Rednt-Kakhy and Poti, to be given up without stipulation ? It
IS barely possible that Russia may make a bold stroke to obtain
possession of Braenim on one hand, and of Eertoh and Kinbum
on the otfwr, peaading the negotiations, in order to obtain more
fitvouraUe conoitions; but it is obvious that, as it is, the Allies are
in a fiur more favourable condition to dictate terms than the Russians^
and that tike cession of Ears and of the mouths of the Danube,
with the non-foftxfioation of points on ihe coast (as before under-
stood), are by no means equivalent to the abandonment of Eio-
bum, Eamiesch, Balaldava, Eertch, Anapa, and all the forts along
ih% whole line of the Black Sea in the Transeaucasian provinces.
Even the cession of the province of Akhaltsikh would not be an
equivalent to the re-oooupation ol' the whole of that long line of
ooast, with ti^e important opening to the Pbasis, by the Russians.

It haa been supposed that an interdiction to fortify the Aland
Islands would have been introduced into the special conditions to
be prodooed over wad above the four guarantees. The terms of
tiie fifth proposition are, however, general, and do not necessarily

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114 THE QUESTION OF THE DAT.

Include the undertaking not to fortify the Aland Islands any more
than any other' demand the Allies may think fit to make. Tet,
whether Bomarsund was^ or was not, to be intiroduoed into the
clause, it will not be forgotten that from the Aland Ides to Stock*
holm the distance by steam is but eicht hours, and the Allies
have to consider whether, as we have induced Sweden to join our
alliance, and to make what the Swedes themselves regard as in reaH^
Utde less than a hostile declaration, that country ought to be left
defenceless a^nst a {K>wer which seldom pardons or for^ts an
injury or a slight. It is true that Sweden is protected so far as a
treaty with England and France protects her, but should Russia
ever have the opportunity of revenue, treaties would be no more an
obstacle to her than they ever have oeen in the infliction of wrong.
Russia has accustomed us to the term ^^ material guarantees;" —
the non-construction of any military stronghold in parts so close
and so threatening to Sweden would have been negatively looked
upon in ihe same sense, and would have been the best security
against peace being broken in those quarters.

The Turks ^ain securitv by the extinction of Sebastopol as a
great naval military arsenal, by the restraining the navigation of the
Black Sea to merchant vessels, and the establishment of institutions
conformable to international law — if not the foundation of two
free ports under French and English protection, which would
afford still greater security ; but she loses the Principalities — one
step more in the threatened dismemberment of an unnatural
empire — and over which the Sultan has long had nothing but a
nominal control. The religion and social condition, the language,
habits, manners, and dress of the people are European, and not
Turkish. Over such a people the Sultan is still to have his
nominal sovereignty reserved — ^he is to be allowed to sanction the
organisation adopted bv the Allies and the people themselves, ^^ as
if such had emanated from the sovereign initiative T

The difficulty with which the Allies have to contend has never been
to force Russia to accede to the preliminaries of peace ^^ purely and
mmply;" that she has always shown herself as ready to do— and
as htUe scrupulous in so doing— as any fanatic mammon- worshipper
and peace-at-all-price man would be. The difficulty is to obtain
her consent to such general propositions as have been accepted
or acquiiesced in as ^e basis of negotiations, when reduced to a
form so dear and categorical that the Allies can feel themselves
justified in agreeing to a suspension of hostilities, on the fidth that
all substantial difficulties in the way of peace have been removed.

The very vagueness of the fifth proposition leaves it peculiarly
open to distrust. Russia objected to it at once, and demanded its
suppression on account of vagueness, and the discussion on it in a
future congress. The Allies, or Austria as their spokesman, should
have specified what these special conditions were which were le*

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THE QUBSTEOK OF TBB DAT. 116

served over and above tlie four goaraiitees. How can Bima be*
expected.to aoqniesoe in terms the nature of which she was totallj
ij^rant ? Under such peculiar circumstances she can only be
supposed to have accepted ^^ purely and simply the '^reserved
xi^h^ of the jpoweis to make undefined proposiiicaifl^ and not the
proportions themselves^ whatever they may turn out to be* It is
one thing to admit the right to present a certam proposal, and
another to bmd oneself to accept it.

The circumstances under which the present peace proposals have
been accqyted are, it must not be lost sight of, much chimged since
the Vienna conferences. The Allies have been able to hold good
their position in the Crimea; Russia almost eidiausted even her
immense resources in the defence of Sebastopol, yet it fell ; the
mouths of the Dnieper and of the CSmmerian BospluMrus are
in the hands of the Allies. In the first months or 1855, Central
Europe was in a state of hesitation, and hostile rather than
fiiencDy to the policj^ <^ the Western Powers. At the present
moment Russia nnds it, if not entirely arraved against her, at least
seriously divided, and perhaps ready to declare its refusal to persist
in a d^rading neutrahty. It is undeniable that the situation of
the parties respectively has undergone a considerable change once
laqt year. The attitude assumed by Austria, the alliance of
Sweden, the appeal of the Emperor of the French to Europe,
and the dying remorse of old Paskievitch, have all combined,
vrith other considerations of grave import, to awaken in Russia a
new sense of its deep responsibilities.

If the Rusdan government shall really have Qpnsented, in order,
as it pretends, to avoid any delay in the work of conciliation, but in
reality to get rid of inconvenient stipulations, to forego all n^;otiar
tions of detail whatsoever, it is barely possible that the discussion
of some special conditions may be waived by powers that can well
afford to oe magnanimous as well as just. It is even rumoured
that if the present ministry is found to be intractable, another
of more pacific inclinations will take its place before Easter.
France, it is well known, is obliged from financial conaderations
of a very pressing character, and by no means from any abstract
love of peace, to adopt a conciliatory tone, and not only to grasp at
everytlung that presents a chance of a pacific solution, but in its
anxiety to bring about so desirable a result, to reproach its ally
with obstinacy and perversity. No wonder, then, when in this
country we have so many parties opposed to war — the sentimental
school of Bright and Stur^e, the mammon- worshipping followers
of Cobden, the opposition in the House, tiiat small portion of the
anstocracy which dreads democratic innovations in the army, and
the German element in the court — that apprehensions of a com-
promise should be very generally current. There are not also
wanting those who hold, and have held from the commencement.

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116 TWL QUXflmm OF THB PAT.

thftt IIm npport of Tiuki, Anbs, Kurds, and oiher borbftrioni^ and
of MtihftnwwedftTiigw, and all ite profligacy and oomiptioa, wfta not
tha waj to laltb dia Qriantal ouestion; that the battle should hare
bean fovght in faTour of the Ckriftiim Tacet» and an end made with
Oflntnli Busrule at the same time ae with RmBian agigreaeion in
the East Men's mindi, 6Eom ignoranee of the xeal itate of thiiigs
in the East, were not prepared for so great a ohange, or the time
selected for such by Providence had not yet oome.

Tbeca is no reason^ however, eseept from past antecedents, to
Sttppoae that the Emperor of Biissia is not sincece in his aisoeptaiice
of the Austrian propositions. Ihere are no positive grounds for
snppomng that peaoe may not, as a matter of course, flow from
negotiations. Iiieie oannot be an individual who will not be trufy
and iiitensriv delighted at finding preliminaries accepted^ negotia*
tiotts entered upon, guarantees oonceded, conditions sperifted, stipu-
lations aeqniesoed in, and peace concluded as agreeably as any litde
afisir befote a railway board-^^^wishing to make everything ^^ plea-
sant*

Unfortunately we do not believe in such resuhs. We dbaU be bb
gratified as any of the most ardent peace»at-allof)rice4nen if suoh
results sfe naUy brought about, but we must wait and see before
we ean believe m them. The very fact of an attempt being made
to supersede negotiations by a compromise, imd to avoid ue die-
CUBsion of conditions by a pure ana simple acceptance of prelinri*
naries of peace which signify little in themselves, tends to morease
our distrust to an extreme degree.

Peace in itself is always a most desiraUe thing, but a patdied
up peace, composed of parts so heterogeneous that they must ol
neceadty fall to pieces, is a substitute for peac^ not peace itself, as
the aeoeptanoe of the preliminaries of peace in lieu ofits conditions
would be a mere compromise, A peace, affain, which did not de-
fijM the objects sousht to be acquired, would be worse than a com«'
promise: it would De a folly and a stultification. But if all the
conditions sought for are granted, there can be none who will
not waive opinion for public good; but none also ean doubt that
as matters stand, England and France would have been able to
dictate much more satisfiEu^toiy terms before next winter; and there
will always be those who will grieve that the Russian question,
when once taken in hand, was not disposed of in a more C9mpre«
hensive sense, and that ffreatw results did not flow firom a war
carried on bv such an wiance as was never before witnessed^
France, England, Sardinia, and Turkey united to vindicate the
refigions and political rights of the Christians in the East, and to
xepel the encroachments of the most aggressive power on the
globe.

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117
THE SPENDTHEIFT.

A TALE OF THE LAST CENTUBT.*
Bt W. HARRISON AIN8W0BTH, Baq.

XXIIL

Two ladies were seated m ihe ante-cbamber when Monthemer
entered it with the page. One of these was the charming Spanish
seiiora he expected to find there : the other might be tak^« from
her dress, for a^ young Venetian dame of the sixteenth centurj.
She was attired in a robe of rich dark velvet, and looked like a pen:-
trait bj Tintoretto. Both were closely masked. As Montheitner
approached, they rose, and courteousdiy returned his salutation.
Gage turned first to the senora.

^l have been thoroughly mystified this evening," he said, *'and
find that a masked ball has its inconveniences as well as its plea-
sures. Hitherto, ill-luck has attended me. You must have re-
marked that another lady has adopted a Spanish costiune precisely
similar to your own. Ihave been dancing with her for the laab
half hour, under the impression that my partner was Miss Foy-
nings.'*

"Very flattering to Miss Povnings. But how do you know you
are right now?** the sefiora replied.

^^I can scarcely be deceived a second time^" Gage said; ^and
though I cannot pretend to peer through a masky something assures
me tnat I am very familiar with your features, as well as with
those of your companion.^

" Indeed. Whom do you suppose this lady to be ?**

"Anoldfriend.**

" Nay, you must name her.**

" WeU then, I should not be far from the mark, I imagine,, if I
were to call her Clare Fairlie."

Here the two ladies began to laugh, and the page joined hearti^
in their merriment.

" You display great disoemment, I must say," the Venetian re-
marked, in a tone of slight pique. ^^I did not think yon would
find me out so soon."

^< You are both so perfectly ^^sguised that a conjuror would be

Euzded to detect vou,** Gage rei)lied. "Besides, you speak in ao
)w a tone, tiiat tnere is no judging by the voice.'*

* {^ Tke Avihor qf iMi Tale reftrvei ih$ fighi qf ffxmlatUm.

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118 THE SPENDTHRIFr.

^ The curtain of the mask alters the sound,'' the senora said.

^ So much so that your accents seem to resemble those of Clare
Fairli^'' Grage observed.

^^ Mme V* the Venetian exclaimed.

<< £2^d ! your voice is like Lucy's. Well, I suppose it must be
mere imagination. But why should we remain here? Supper
will be served shortly. Let me have the pleasure of conductmg
you to it." So saying, he offered an arm to each of the ladies,
and led them into the ball-room«

But he was soon robbed of one of his charges. Scarcely had
they joined the motley throng when the hidalgo came up, and
whispering a few woros to the senora, carried her off. No time
was allowed for explanation, for at that moment the doors of the
supper-room were thrown open, and the eager crowd rushed in to
ihe long-expected repast Every seat at the magnificently-fur-
nished table, except a few at the upper end, reservea for the giver
of the revel and his particular friends, was instantly filled, and a
general assault made upon the tempting viands. Leading his
partner to a reserved seat, (ra^e pressed her to take some retresh-
ment — ^but she declined, allemng unwillingness to unmask. While
fflancing down either side ofthe board at the long array of his
lancifully-attired guests, and speculating as to who they all were^
Monthermer discovered, as ne supposed, the hidalgo and the
senora seated at the lower end of tne table, and he would have
sent to be^ them to come up to him, but at this juncture. Mr.
Fairlie made his appearance— evidently much disturbed. Almost
rudely addressing Uage's partner, the steward desired her to un-
mask. The lady drew back, positively refusing compliance.

^^ Hold, Fairhe, — this must not be," Oa^ interposed.

"Your pardon, sir," the steward rejomed. **I wish to be
satisfied that this is my daughter."

" Take my assurance that she is so," Grage said.

^^ I have reason to think you are mistaken," Fairlie cried. " I
have just ascertained from the female attendants in the ante-
chamber that the two ladies have changed dresses."

"There is no use for further concealment," Lucy said, removing
her mask.

"MissPoyningsl" Gage exclaimed. "I am doomed to be a
dupe."

"But where is my daughter all this while?" Fairlie demanded.

" You will easily discern her if you will take the trouble to look
down the table," Gage answered.

" That is not Glare," Fairlie said, glancing in the direction Gage
pointed; and he added, with some significance, "that is the lacly
you danced with, and afterwards took to the card-room."

" Ah ! indeed, and the hidal^ next her I presume is ^"

" Not my brother Arthur, I Eope ? " Lucy cri«cl.

"No, it is Sir Randal de Meschines," Fairlie replied. "The

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THE SPENDTHUVT. 119

other couple — that isy my dai^hter and Mr. Arthur Poymngs —
have disappeared.''

^^ You don't sajr so, Falrlie," Gra^e exclaimed, unable to refrain
from laughing. ^^Well, don't make yourself uneasy. I dare say
diey will turn up presently. Sit down to suj^r with us."

^ Pray excuse me, sir. I must go in quest of CSare."

^ Why, jmi don't soiely tunpoae that Arthur has nm away with
lier?" lucmdiermer cried, witn renewed laughter. ^^That would
be a jest indeed."

'^1 dcm't know what to think, sir. Perhaps Miss Poynings can
give me some information on the subject?"

^If she can, depend upon it she won't, so you may spare your-
self the trouble of q^uestioning her," Ga^e returned.

^ So I perceive, sir. Suffer me to retire, and pursue my inquiries
elsewhere."

^ As you will, Fairlie. But I advise you to take the matter
easily. 1 have as much reason to be annoyed as you, and yet I do
not disquiet myself." And as the steward departed, he turned to
Lucy, and saia, ^^ To what am I to attribute tne pleasure of your
company this evening. Miss Poynings?— Mere curiosity to see a
mttkeci Dail;

" Not entirely," she replied. " I had mixed motives for
coming. I shall be blamed by all — even by you — for the bold step
I have taken, but if I am able to serve you I shall not care."

" To serve me— in what way ?"

** By opening your eyes to your danger."

Gage regarded her with a smile.

'^ Clare Fairlie, I see, has been prompting you," he said. ^^ A
propoe of Clare— what has become of her ? Perhaps you will tell
me, though you would not inform her father."

^^I have reason to believe she is gone," Lucy replied, with
some hesitation.

"Gone!" (Jage cried, much startled. "How am I to under-
stand you?"

** Do not question me further. I have already told you more
than I ought to have done."

" If it be as I suspect, I shall be much grieved," Gage returned,
in a serious tone. " It is a rash step — and she will repent it."

" She is not happy with her father."

"Why not ? He is dotingly fond of her."

** That may be — but — I cannot explain now. Oh ! Gage, how
can you place confidence in such a person as Fairlie ?'

"Because I have ever found him trustworthy. But let us
choose some more lively topic."

" This scene does not inspire me with lively thoughts, Ga^e.
On the contrary, it depresses me. Is it possible such entertain-
ment can afford you pleasure ? Look round the room^ — listen
to the sounds that assail our ears. Are these guests worthy of the

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180 TOB SPENBTHBIIT.

miendid banquel jou have ^>re8d before them? Few, if any of
tnem, have real fnendship for you; while there are aome amongst
them who seek your ruitL*-«y) and will acoomplish it> if you con-
tinue blind to their arts/'

^^ I am a bad listener to sermons^ Lucy, and you have chosen a
strange season for yours "

^^ I have taken ^Klvantage of the only opportunity likely to occur
to me of offering you counsel^ which 1 feex must prove distastejuly
but which friendship would not allow me to withhold.^ — I have
now dooid) atid must beg you to take me to the ante-chamber,
where my brother will speedily join me, if he be not there already .*•
<^ Nay, I cannot part with you thus, Lucy. Remain with me a
few minutes longer. I would rather be chided by you than praised
by almost any one else. If you will but adopt the right means,
you may bring about my reformation."
Lucy shook her head.

^^ How must I b^n the ffood work?" Grage asked.
^^ Abandon this society altogether."
^^ Bather a difficult commencement. What next ? "
" You must give up play."

^^ But how am I to exist without it ? I have no other excite-
ment* If I were to make the attempt I fear I should &iL You
must aid me."

^^ I must first see some symptoms of amendment But I can bear
this riotous scene no longer. The noise stuns me. Pray conduct
me to my brother."

By this time, the champagne and other wines, quaffed in flowing
bumpenf, had begun to do uieir duty, and set loose the tongues of
the guests. Great was the clamour — loud the laughter that ensued*
No wonder Lucy was anxious to escape from such a scene of uprocu:
and confusion. But at the very moment she had prevailed upon
Grage to lend her his escort to the ante-chamber, Beau Frek%
who personated an Ottoman prince, and was very gorgeously
arrayed, rose, and enjoining silence on the noisy revellers, pro-
posed their hosfs health. It is needless to say how the. toast
was received — nor that it was drunk with frantic enthusiasm.
After the tumultuous applause had subsided, Qage was about
to return thanks for the honour done him, when the attention
of the whole assembWe was turned to the door of the supper-
room, where a stru^gte was taking place between the lacqueys
there stationed and two persons who were bent upon obtain-
ing forcible admission. After a while the strenuous cd^rts of the
intruders prevailed, and Six Hugh Poynines and Faraipn Ghed-
"v^rth burst into the room. Amid a storm of oaths andiilcoh^rent
qaculaldons, Sir Hugh niade it understood that he was i^ search
<» his daughter. His appeanmce as well as that of the\ parsoo
occasioned general memmen^ and the shouts of derisive Uiughtec
with which both were greeted did not tend to allay the oId\ baro*

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THE SPRNBTHBIFT. 121

net's displeasure. Sir Hugh was without coat, cravat, or wig,
and had an exceedingly taU nightcap on his head. Mr. Briscoe
followed dose at his heels, yainiy enaeavouring to restrain him.

"Where Me you, Loo? — where are you?" he roared. "Why
don't you show your fsice^ hussy?''

"Moderate yourself. Sir Hugh, I implore of you," the landlord
cried. " You'll frighten all the ladies out of their senses."

"Find my daughter for me without delay, Briscoe — or by
Heavens.^ ** ^

"There she sits, Sir Hugh," the host replied, pointing to thd
sefiora.

^What! in that black dress, all bedizened with laoe? Are
yon sure, Briscoe? Don't deceive me, or I'll make minoed-meat
of yon."

" I am qoite sue, your worflhip."

Whereupon the old baronet seized the kicklaK sefiont's hand,
floid dn^iged her, notwithstanding her cries and lesistuice, out of
her ebair.

" Pretty doings T he cried. " Come to your mother. Loo. How
dared you attend this ball without leaver But you shall answer
for your conduct bjr-and-by."

"Will nobody free me from this tipsy old fool, and turn him
out of the room r the senora cried. " You deserve h(»sewhipping
for your rudeness, sir, and should be horsewhipped if I were a
man. I ^cmk my stars I am no daughter of yours."

"Letfs see your face then, since you disown me," the old baronet
rejoined.

And, as he spoke, he plucked off her ma&, and disclosed
the pi£tty features of Mrs. Jenyns.

"Whew!" he ejaculated ; "a charming face, i' faith, but cer*
tainly not Loo's. Madam, I most apolc^ise for my violence."

Mfeanwhile, as may be supposed, tne r^ delinquent had watched
her fether's proceedings witn no Kttle dinnav.

" How shall I escape without attracting his observation ?" she
said to Gage. " Oh I if I could only regam my own room."

"rU manage it," the youne man r^Ued. "Come with me."
And taking her under his arm lie made nis way towards the door,
keeping on the other side of the table.

They mi^ht have got off without notice, if Mrs. Jenyns had not
called the old baronet's attention to them.

"Look there," she said, maliciously.

" Ay, there she goes," Sir Hugh roared ; " that^s my Loo— I'll
swear to her. Stop I stop 1 I say."

But the more he idioiited, the less tibe fugitivef seemed inelined
to obey. Quickening their steps, they presently ffained the door,
and disappeared long before Sir Hugh could reach it, his progress
being barred by the servants, while Briscoe helped to puU bade
Parson Chedworth.

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122

SBBASTOPOL*

The prospects of peace have come treading so quickly on the reaUties
of war, that Sebastopol itself is threatened with obliyion. No sooo^,
thank Heaven, that the trenches no longer existed, than '* Inside Sebas-
topoP* was the focos of all interest — that inside is now made &miliar to
lis ; it is even mapped in the work before us — and then come proposals of
peace, oiF-hand acceptance of terms, with a noble disregard of all incon-
renieht detaib, suspension of arms, and Sebastc^l itself is a thing of
bjgone times. '' We live too fast," said the Two Brothers, propheticallj,
** in this century to devote much time to the Past The Present and
Future engross all our attention."

Before^ however, we, in company with the retiring heroes of an ever-
glorious siege, bid fiirewell perhaps for ever to what was but a few days
ago an all-engrossing theme, we must place on record some of the feel-
ings and sensations experienced, and the objects seen by one or two com-
petent observers on first visiting the long and bravely-defended precincts
of the ever-renowned fortress. And first for the Brothers, who had'
arrived in time to witness the repulse of the Russians at Traktir, and the
successive steps that led ultimately to the fidl of the place. It may be
imagined with what feelings they listened to explosion after explosion
heralding the great fact that the Russians had abandoned, and were
destroying, their once-formidable stronghold.

Perfectly unable to sleep, I was up and off at five. Not a Russian in Sevasto-
pol ! I rpde with two officers down the Woronzow Ravine, directly to the top
of the Southern Harbour. Stranj^ were our sensations on readung the chevtrnv"
de-fme thrown across the ravine. It had been our very foremost point of
approach, a little in advance of the extreme paralleb of both our left and right
attacks, and of course joining the two. Twenty-four hours before, our appear-
ance in front of this fiUe would have been haUed by a shower of Mini^
bullets. There to our left, was our foremost battery, pknted ready to sweep any
troops advancing up the ravine, but now idle and unguarded. Directly in our
front, was the oblong Russian building, which formed their outpost up the
ravine. On the top of the slope to our right, was the Redan, and the Curtain
running from it towards the town, and connecting it with the Barrack battery.
The latter battery lay between us and the town. The sight of all these guns,
now 80 silent and deserted, combined with the idea that, except a few stragglers,
we were the first Englishmen who had approached them so dose, produced a
feeling; of awe in my mind, fully equal to what I had felt when, on different
occasions of my visiting the trenches, the same guns had been engaged in
Douring forth their cont^ts ajgainst the poor fellows who surrounded me. I
felt a wish to go up and examme each separate gun, which now looked so peace-
fully down upon us, as if unconsdous of all the harm it had wrought. But my
companions were eager for the town itself, and we hurried on down the ravine.

Scarcely, however, had they advanced fifty yards, when they came
upon a ha spedmen of Russian wile. A number of holes were dug as
evenly as if by machinery, each hole being about four feet across and
seven or eight feet deep, mth intervening spaces of a foot or two. All

* Sevastopol. Our Tent in the Crimea; and Wanderings in Sevastopol ^y
Two Brothers. London: Richard Bentley. 1856.

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ssBAaropoL. 12S

bad been eu«(iilly oovered with boughs, and tbete agam •praad with
earth and toUy corregponding exactly with the beaten soil of all that part
fd the fdaio. They were absolateiy impassable for cavalry; and even
in&ntry diarging must have been laid low by an agency fiir more efiec-
ixve than either shot or shell.

We had to go a long way round with onr horses to escape these holes, and
ultimately reaoied the oomer of the Creek Battery. Here we dismounted, and
tied oar norses to a shrub. We in Tain sought for a soldier to attend to them ;
no amount of bribe would stay the few that were yisibie from higher game ; so,
in de&ult of anything better, we commended our steeds to tte care of each
other and the shrub, scrambled through the embrasure of a gun in the Creek
Bi^teiy, and stood inside Sevastopol I

Whither go first? The town lay before us, apparently all barren, and all
deaerted. nouses that had looked entire at a dbtanoe, were shattered and in
ndns. Fragments of every conceivable thipg lay around— all broken, and aU
worthless. Not a living being was in sight, except a few English and French
soldiers, impelled, like ourselves, by curiosity—or, perhaps, by hopes of plunder
— and just visible through the grey dawn. They were the first new occupants
of the town, but they came unarmed, and without any military order. We were
euided in our route oy considerations of prudence and safety. The Frendi, on
Sieir extreme left, were still violently bombarding the part of tiie town nearest
to than. Shot, shell, and rocket were careering over the Bastion du M&t and
the Garden Batterv, and were falling in numbers in what was afterwards called
the French part of the town. Many of these implements of death passed up
the course of the Southern Harbour; and the shells bursting in their passage,
rendered even the English side far from a secure position at that cany hour.
StiD, it was clearly the less daneerous of the two, and explosions w«e not so
likely to occur in it. Accordin^y, we wended our way up to the right, follow-
ing the road which lies with one side open to the Harbour, and were far too
excited to attend to the many warnings we received in the shi^ of iron falling
all around, and the crash and thunder that almost deafened us.

We were struck with wonder at the first sight that presented itself to us
on ascending this hilL Between the base of the slope on which we stood, and
the water of the Southern Harbour, were nmffed, in long and close lines, a
positively incredible number of new guns! Inere they were, without car-
riages, but lying in piles — some of Iwge calibre, some of siaall— but ranoed
up, one above another, in absolute masses, and in p^ect order. Further
on was an equal amount of new shot! (hie would nave thought the place
had been taken on the Slst of September, 1854. An Arabian genius, who had
produced nightly all that was needed for the defence of the town, seemed the
only expknation of such a superfluity of maUrieL The strength of the Creek
Battery and the Barrack Battery was immense. They contained very large
guns, and the most iegular and p^ect embrasures. In the latter battery were
found the sunken guns which had sent up the " campers.'*

Passing alon^ to the rear of these, we continued the ascent of the sbpe by
the same winding road, which, always keeping one side open to the Creek, re-
minded me of similar roads in English cities, for instance Bath and Chelten-
ham. In fact, Sevastopol had much the appearance of some parts of Chel-
tenham, and still more, of what some parts of Bath would be, if the latter city
were built of equally white stone.

The English side, where we now were, was dearly not the fashionable quarter.
It was the business side of the town. The smidl houses that were ranged on
the light of the winding road, wore evidently the huts either of artisans and
mechimics, or of the poorer classes. From the circumstance of their being so
directly under the hill, tiiese houses is4>peared to have escaped much damage
from our fire, but their interior and contents were completely demolished. Some,
a little better than the rest, hadsmaUoourt-yards, andveranaahs round the first-

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134 0EBAOTOFOL.

floor windows. N<me wbm iMm thn two---few more that one stoiy b^ 1
went into sereral of time dwellmgs. They were tlie T«nr tone of ooaftiBioa, of
dirty disorder, tnd spoliation. TEe plai^ of tb« ioMt had been tom nsp, ao^
in many casesL removed; the walls were shattered, the fragmmts forming a heap
of stone, brick, and plaster on the ground. The ceiling and, in many case^
the roofs had been pulled down, so that the sky was visible : not an article of
fninitiire, save the ligi of taUes or chair»— the verandahs demolished and hang-
ing in shrocb— the very ereepen th«t had entwined them, tc»n up by the toots—
not a pane of oiass— not a window-frame— not a shutter, nor a door-^not evm
a solitfvy plank jpreserved. The vciy otjijects and purposes of the sepanrte rooms
were totally unmstinginshable. At the rear of some of these houses, we found
occavations, oaves in the live rod:, now tenanted by lifeless forms, the bodies of
poor fellows who had crawled there to die^ and were lyinr in every posture oC
agony and death, many fax advanced in deoompo^tion. Tne for&going is but an
inadequate deseriptioft of the minority of the soldier houses on HSb English side
of the town. No one om imagine the eAovia that emanated fwm mem ; no
nnnd can mctoie the sadness and desolation of the soene.

Proeeemng upwards^ the first large building was tiie main hofintal, and imme-
diateiy beyond ui» were two immense piles of stone, originally barradcs. AH
three had onos beoi s^endid building ; the former enclosed a kfge op^ space
laid oat in gardens and walks, mid evidently at one time ridi in flowers. Amn^
taht had a£ned the middle of the ooofi. The whole of this buildiiig had been
nmch exposed to the Are of the Alhes, and its state of otter demdiition was pro*
baUy owing to that dnnmstanoe. The two immense ranges of barrack buiM-
ingB were stiH simding at right angles to each other, with an extensive and
open souflie shout them. The exterior of both had suflSneddreadMyliroA oar
not; oat the interior seemed to h«ve escaped well enough. . The one mhak
stood in an ofaloBg dbedion, as seen from the Malskoff, was divided into (^rse
stories, with astanrease ot stone, now neariy destroyed. The upper stories were
bare, and entirBly desc^ate. The grooad floor, extending the whole length of
the building, seemed to have served as a reeeptade, up to tiie last moment, for
the clothes, muskets^ and aeooutrements of the soldiers— probably of those who,
for the time being; performed the serviee of the RedBoi. lliere was a long table
down the middle, aid large bins were ranged akmg the walls on eadi side. The
table and floor were covered, and the bins were full of the commonest articles
and implements of war. Bat even here the prineiple oi destruction had ben
carried oat. The dothes were in shreds ; the muskets, and swords, and soab-
bards broken in two; thehehMils smashed; the ornaments torn iVom them— "the
whole a shapeless mass of doth, wood, leather, and brass, mixed up with a great
abundance of the omnipresent Uadt and oily bread. In this room we found aH
those idio had preceded OS into the Englbh part of the town. Sometwelve or
flfleen soldiers were tossing the ^mgs about one over another, and making con-
fusion worse confounded. The dust and doseness of the room were almost un-
bearaUe. The valtie and nature of the i^under were evidenced bv a soldier who
met us at the door, and showed us what he had rescued after an hour's diligent
seardi, oonsistinff of three-ooarten of a musket, half a hehnet, a sword, a brass
ornament, three buttons, acnarm wtnrth about a farthii^, a leather tobaccojDouch,
half a dosen leaves of a Russhm book, a leaden spoon, and a large piece ofbread.
Tkere was phmder, on the takmg of a town by assault !

The general hosptal, within whose walls no fewer tbaa two thousand
bodies were foond, the greater iraniber dying or dead, was not^ strange
to say, discovered till a uiort time before twdv# o^dodk on the Sondi^.
Oar author much regretted that he should have been in the dry docks on
Simday morning at seven o^dock, wt^in a stone's throw of tlus diamel-
house, and yet not have chanced to hit it

It is possihle Aai, if, on Soadsy monring, that hospital had been known to be

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SEBASTOPOL. 125

in existence, many liyes miriit have been saved. An English officer in the 90th
Reigiinent, as well as two others, who had been wonndea and left in the Eedan
dunng onr assault, were found there. So severely wounded were thev, that they
could not move. Poor fellows ! how they must have suffered ! Ine officer in
the 90th was dmost sinking Arom loss of olood, and want of nourishment. His
state allowed of his removal to our camp, but he lingered there for only a day or
two, and his death was caused chiefly bv the fact of the hospital not having been
disoovered earlier. It would be painfiu^to dwell upon the sickening sights that
were visible in this large building. The Russians sent over a flag of touoe, to
ask for their own wounded. The entire building had to be ransacked for those
wounded men. In many cases, men were found alive, lying helpless under a
heap of dead bodies. Dragged horn these masses of decaying numan flesh,
they were handed over to the Russian soldiers, who, so far as I could judge,
seemed to be gentle in the handling and treatment of their wounded. The great
minority of the dead were buried by the Allies. Probably, this charnel-house
represented as great an amount of suffering, and comprised within its walls as
large an extent of misery, as was ever seen m a single view. It was the cUmax
of the horrors of the bombardment — ^the caput mortuum of the crucible of human
woe. It formed a fitting background to the spectacle of the blood-stained ruins,
which the Russian general vauntingly bej^ueathed to us, and was a worthy close
to all tiie suffering, misery, and destruction of that fearful siege.

We wish we could extract, as a rdief to this most appallmg record of
the whole siege, a little romantic episode of love and romance, in which
the actors were an English colonel and a French vivandi^ie, and the
climax of which was the Frenchwoman throwing herself into the gallant
ccdonel's arms in the face of his entire brigade, and, what was more, in die
face (ji the whole French regiment I But we must content ourselves
with a graphic pencillmg of the feelings of two observers on the occasion
of the disastrous attack on the Redan, -the more especially as we shall
have to return to the subject af)»rwards. It must be premised that the
two observers are one of the brothers and a Frenchman, whom, afber
parting with Mr. Russell in the Woronzof Ravine, he finds seated be-
hind a heap of stones on Stony Hill :

The wind was perfectly blinding ; and, unprotected as my face was (for I had
no spectacles, as many had), it was absolutely painful; but I imitated the
Frenchman, and crouched down during the severe bursts, only raising my head
at the intervals of cessation. From tms point I could see much better : but the
want of a continuous view was very disheartening. The Frenchman told me that
he had seen our gallant fellows get into the Redan, out he said he had only seen one
attacking party enter, and that they had suffered most severely in the approach.

** But you are sure they are inside ?" I asked.

*' Oh ! certain,^^ he said ; '* and at the first pause of the wind, you will see the
musketry fire in the Redan."

The roU of musketry pealed incessantly. It was Uke one continuous fire
caused by machineiy . When, after a few minutes, I caught a sight of the Redan,
I distinctly observed that there were two fires opposed to each other inside the
work; dnd, as far as I could judge, ours was most stoutly maintained.

At the same time, though the corpses lay thick about the abattis and ditch,
and I could occasionally distinguish some of our men on the parapet, or in small
and straggling numb^ in t&s open, the space between the abattis and the
Redan was j^rfectly bare of moving masses, and the Frenchman got into
a violent passion.

" My God !" said he, " where are your supports ? Where are your reserves P
Do they expect that handful of men whom I saw enter to mamtain that place ?
Why look — ^look," he said,* " they are only in a narrow space round the angle—
they have not advanced into the interior. Poor devils ! how can they do it P"

VOL. XZXIX. K

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126 SEBA8T0P0L.

I tried to assme Inm that sapportrng parties luid entered dniiig tiie inieryals
wiwn we could not see ; but he w too well understood the bosmess, and sfleaoed
me hv eTerr remark he made.

**u any lar^ numbers had supported," he said, ^joawoidd see their fire
adranoe. It is, even now, onlj at the point where it was at first Depeod
on it yon will lose the day, unless reserves are sent np— «id that qnkUjr."

The poor fellow mattered his imprecations in the most audible, and, to me, the
most painful manner. The soeie — the thou^ of all that was taking plaee— the
glimpses yfhidi showed that our blood was bSng spilt like imter — worked a mar-
▼ellous effect upon the mind, and my eidtOTient rose to a nitdi that was almost un-
bearable. I rdhaed to believe that, onoe mside IJie Beoan, our troops would be
allowed to racate it aeaio, and we both directed earnest, searehing locks to-
wards the open space for the faintest sign of adranoing troops. We saw that
space perfec^y ploughed with living shot. They swept across it in one conti-
nuous stream, sufficient, as I thought, to daunt any soloiers oilier than French or
Ei^lish frotai advancing through such a raimng fire; but at every moment we
foniily hoped to see masses of men emeige from the-trenches andadvanee to the
help of their biethren in distress.

"If we lo(^ for them so anxiously," said the Frenchman, "what must those
poor fellows in the Eedan do ?"

But they come not — and they never came !

The author of *' Inside Sebastopol"* professes to tell the tme story of
the repulse at the Redan on the 8th of September. It is known, he
says, to every one, except the ordinary English pubhe« It is espectany
well known to the French, and the Sardinians, and the Germans, and
even to the Turks. There can foe no use in dressing up the event in the
trappings of fiction. It is better to recognise a disagreeable reality than
to exhibit ourselves as living in a fool's paradise, obstmately ignorant of
what evevy passer-by knows to be true. If that shrewd and fortunate
man, Napoleon III., should suooeed in makmg peace without another
act of war&re— if the 8th of September is to be the date of the last
eooflict of this war — then the Emperor of the French has added another
to his many surprising achievements — he has revenged Waterloo t

Such a flourish of trumpets wiU arouse the most lively impatienee for
die promised revelation. For our own part, we have heard of so many
f0v«nges having been taken since the present Emperor assumed tiie
^-spangled purple, that we fear there is no universal fiedth in any one
of them. First, there was the revenge obtained by an allianoe cemented
over the tomb of the Hero ; then there was the revenge obtained by
throwing the Wellington monument over Waterloo-bridge ; now we have
a tlurd revenge propounded in face of the Redan. Our author, it must
be premised, is visiting the fatal spot with a little bevy of attendant
Crimean heroes, who, in indulgence of a curiosity natural to a civilian,
did not refuse to talk upon subjects rather rococo to them. They have
arrived at the last point from whence the British emerged from the
trenches to advance to the assault, when an anonymous rnilitary cicerone
expounds the progress of events as follows :

" Sere was where we had to miearth and ran forward to the assault See
what a deaoe of a wav it is ; all swept by tiiose guns. It was here ihe raeonids

of the stood still and wouldn't come on, though the Ninetj-soventh -were

eiying out to them, ' Come alcmg, you cowards, thore's nobody h«re.' lliough

* Inside Sobastopol, and Kxperienoes in Camp. London: CbapoW aad Hall.
1856.

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SEBASTOPOL. 127

Wb no wonder the «ii8eiid)le boys wouldn't fight in the c^pen. Ther were raw
reeroits, who had spent the few days they btd been in oamp in ustoimg to
long^ yams about what a frightful place the Bedan was, all undermined, and

stuffed full of powder. When the landed from Malta, kst aoiumn, they

were eleyen hundred strong, and they behaved as well as any regimeat in the
aerriee; but they got so cut up with fiie, famine, and fever, that at one time
they had only fifteen men on parade. All sorts of trash came over from the
depot, and they never ought to have been set at the Bedan.''

*• But why aid you not push your sap nearer, as the French did ?"

"It eost the French fifty men for every yard of the latter part of their sap,
and we could not afford a loss of five hunored men a day upon this work. It was
cheaper, in matter of human life, to assault as we did assault ; but it should have
been done with ten thousand men, and with the Highlanders and the Marines,
both of whom volunteered, and were refused ; or else with General Eyre's third
division, who would have carried the place in ten minutes, and held it for a
coitury."

" Then it was not the difficulty of getting into the Bedan which caused the
failure r

" All that was over. Where Wyndham had got in, ten thousand others
might have followed. The simple aud disgraceful met, which all Europe knows,
is this : The supports would not move up, and the men in the Bedan dodged
about, and would not form and charge. When Wyndham cried, ' Now, men,
form round me and chai^,' none came round him but the commissioned and
non-oommissioned officers.

"John Bull will never believe this : he will rather lap himself in a fool's para-
dise and abuse any one who ventures to tell him the truth.''

"Of eourse the ^nends cannot tell him so. There is no form or precedent
for a despatdi bennning, ' Sir, I have the honour to inform you that I attacked
the Redan with au my raw recruits and least trustworthy soldiers, and found to
mj astonishmeait that they would not fight.' Such a despatch could not be
written.**

Whether we hekmg to the '< onBnftry £ogiieh paUk" or not, we do
not know, but there is oertnnly notiim^ so very new to os in this vemon
of the asiaoit upon the Redan as the author supposes. Nay, we should
deem him a very *' extra-ordinsry" beii^ who was not in possession, from
the most common of all sources — the daily papers— of the leading hcts
contained in these much-vaunted revelations. The only peculiarity we
oan peioeive in them is that the aathor is so anxious to establish the fiftct
of his eountry men's disgrace, that he goes oot of his way to undserate the
enemy's power of resistance. He is not satisfied yritn a Frenoh, Sar-
dinian, and G^man view of the matter, hut he must needs also ^ve it
a very strong Russian colouring. An officer, whose long heard testified
to his having passed the winter in the tiendieiy alone ventured to vindi-
cate his compatriots :

" When this tale is told in England, as sooner or later it must be told, let it
nevex be forgotten that it was not the British soldier of the Crimean army who
qaaikd before the Russian fort. I have seen those soldiers worn out with sleep-
less labour, pale with fiunine, stageerin^ wkh fever and cholera, but never heard
M word of famtJieaitedness or of deepau: from them. The only oomplaiBt I ever
heard from them was, in their coarse swearing way, ' I shouldn't care if they

would only let us go in at the Russians.' The British soldier is as good a

man now as ever he was ; and woe be to the man of any nation that presumes
upon this accident, or this blunder, to cross bayonets with him."

"What svfs the public opinion of the camp about the responsibility of the dis-
grace?'*

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128 SEBASTOFOL.

'' It is divided. Some say it is entirely Simpson's fault for sending Codring--
ton's division to the assault ; others, that Codiington is to blame for the manner
m which he made his arrangements."

" And what do you think P"

" I think the man who had twenty thousand veterans, and who yet elected to
play the came stroke of the whole campaign with two thousand raw recruits,
and two thousand fellows who had jibbed at the very same spot before— deserves^
to be criticised by civilians."

And what, admittiDg the worst possible colouring that can be riven to
the case, has the disaster to do with the revenge of Waterloo ? We must
gather this from our author's own words :

I looked lonff at this Eedan, which will henceforth be so unhappily oonsni-
cuous in our nmitary history. We ma^r shut ourj eyes to it in EnffiancC and the
Erench may courteously ignore the fact in their public despatches ; out the three
Crimean armies weU know how the reputation of our country suffered on that
unhappy 8th of September. It is true that Alma and Inkerman are unforgotten,
but we have descended from our great position. In a camp people count from
the last great event. Our last great event was one of a verv chequered character.
Part of our troops stormed a most difficult position with some loss and great
bravery; but, having got inside, were struck with panic, and were driven out
aj^ain; another part of our troops displayed an emotion of which John Bull in-
sists upon believing his soldiers mcapable.

This is the simpte fact, and not to know this at home, or to attempt to ignore
it, or to pretend to beUcve that the attack upon the Redan was a feints or to
talk nonsense about that whidi was actually taken being utterly impregnable, is
merely to provoke the sneers of the world.

I mi^t add to this, however, that if Inkerman was a soldiers* victory, the
Eedan was the touclistone of the valour of the British officer. There was a
story mysteriously current in the camp, that one man, who bore the Queen'ift
commission— his name was never mentioned in my hearing— was kicked out of
the trenches, having refused to march out. With this single exception (if the
rumour had any foundation), every officer behaved like a hero.

Since we had this long talk (which I have attempted to condense from
memory) among the charred fragments, and burst earthworks, and broken guns,
and riven rock-work, and infinite confusions of this wild war-seared spot, I iiave
spoken with at least twenty Frenchmen upon the same subject. They will sub-
scribe to any theory, and join in any compliment to the English arms ; they will
even politelv deplore the freedom with wnich our ^nends are criticised by our
press ; but they are always faithful to two impressions. The first is, that " there
were great faults committed on the 8th of September ;" the second, that "if the
Kedan had been taken simultaneously with the Malakoff, the Russian army must
have capitulated or been destroyed."

And the reported words of an English officer, ** By no fault of ours —
by no fault of the veterans of the army — by the ignorance of the com*
mander in not knowing the instruments with which he had to work, we
have been dishonoured as an army in the opinion of the world. We
cannot look a Frenchman in the face without blushing ; and they know
it, and overwhelm us with their condescending compliments."

As if our gallant allies did not &il also, on the same day, in the attack
upon the Little Redan, as also on the Central Bastion, which, if taken,
would have commanded the bridge of boats. As if the Zouaves — the
first solcUers in the world — did not ful in the attack on the Inkerman
Battery in February, and the French storming party did not fail in the
attack on the Malakhof on the 18th of June I

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8EBAST0P0L. 129

Trae it is that ike general who elected to play the game stroke of
tlie whole campaign with two thousand raw recruits, and two thousand
fellows who had jibbed at the very same spot before, deserves not simply
criticism — the responsibility of the great disaster lies upon his shoulders,
and will din^ to his memory. According to the statements of our
author himself whom no one will suspect to be guilty of taking a favour-
able view of matters in as far as his countrymen are concerned, there is
not an officer in the British army who doubts that if the Highlanders
and the Marines, or if General Eyre's division had stormed the Redan,
it would have been carried and held. That General Simpson did not
doubt it was evident from the fact that he had the Highlanders alone
io the trenches ready to assault it when it was abandoned by the Rus-
nans. If our assault had been succ^ful, not a man of the Russian
army, it is argued, could have reached the north side. Pelissier is said
to have felt this, and, soon after the attack had fidled, to have sent word
to Simpson that the Russians were retreating across the harbour. Every
one who heard this message felt that it was an invitation to renew
Hie assault; but '* to-morrow** was the watchword of indecision. It is
obvious to any one conversant with the topography of Sebastopol, that
the Russian retreat could only have been cut off by a successful advance
on the extreme right or le^ both of which attacks were made by the
French. A message of a similar character was, we must suppose, then
fiansmitted at the same time, by so intelligent a general as Pelissier, to
the assailants of the Central Bastion, which commanded the bridge of
hoats. But our author will not even allow the subject to be discussed.
All the misadventures that befel the French, he says, do not help us out
of our disg^race. They rather show how real and disastrous it was, in
that it provokes the discussion of such topics. Pity that a T. G.,
with so much miBtary ardour, was not at once pressed into the body
militant; and sHll more is it to be regretted that a premature peaoe
should come in the way of his revenging the disaster of the Redan !

Our traveller does not say how long it w^ after the fall of Sebastopol
that he visited the interior of the captured place, but it must, from his
description, have been but shortly ; indeed, he arrived at the time the
ci^ was still burning. He then seems to have stayed in the Crimea
only about a week. And all he had to say of the city would only make
an ordinary magazine article ; the rest of the volume is, with almost
unusual bookmaking ingenuity, filled up with the log of the Lindsay,
Malta, Constantinople, Naples, Rome, Florence, &c, '^Inside Sebas-
topol" merely serves as a tide— some people would think a deceptive one
— but our bellicose T. G. seems to have no compunctions of the kind.
Indeed, had it not been for a hint from the publisher, he woidd have
added two more volumes, he tells us, which were necessary to describe
Paris ; all, we suppose, under the same title !

After all we read of the bravery, the endurance, and the self-devotion
of the noblest and the most glorious army which ever poured forth its
Uood in defence of the liberties and the honour of England, there is
nothing like pictorial representation to impart true ideas and to correct
^Toneous impressions. However graphic and able — however eloquent
and spirited — however gifted and brilliant the pen of the describer of

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130 SEBASTOPOL.

eteata may be, he must always be surpassed by the limnw. In this
respect Messrs. Paul and Dominic Colnaghi's work, '' The Camp in the
Crimea," stands unrivalled,^ and at the head of its class. It presents ua
-with a series of sketches made on the spot by Mr. William Simpson,
which will be as invaluable to the future historian as they are now to the
reader of Mr. Brackenbury*8 slight sketch of the war which accompanies
them, of Mr. Russell's admiteble letters, or of any mere recondite history
that may hereafter appear. Their authenticity does not constitute their
only value ; their variety and fidelity are unsurpassable, and their beauty
and spirit are beyond praise. They give us animated and correct repre-
sentations not only of the great incidents of the war but of those minor,
bat espeeially interesting, details — those life and death subjects — to which
only an artist can do justice. Sudh a work is an indispensable comple-
ment to all letters and narratives whatsover ; without it, no true idea can
be formed of the kind of personages who took part in the stirring events
of the war ; of the peculiarity of landscape and the appearance of the
country at di£ferent seasons of the year ; of tEe fearful additions which
art made to the natural means of defence, presented by the loeality ; of
the turmoil <^ battle, succeeded by the quiet repose of the tent ; of the
individual objects of sympathy presented by long trial, long sufferings
and long endurance ; or of the hardships undergone in life, and the bust
dbonmy rdief in death ! These are scenes over which many will long^
ponder with ne^'er-flagging, never-ending interest.

While upon ^ theme of the war, we cannot also allow the oppor-
tunity to pass of caUing our readers' attention to a work of great interest
recently published by Mr. Bentley, being the *' Memoirs of British
Generals distinguished during the Peninsular War, by lieutenant J. .
W. Cole."

A work of this kind plaees examples before the ofiboers of the Briiish
army whidi cannot but excite in them an honourable spirit of enra*
]ation> at the same time that the names are historical treasures, faith*
fully guarded in every domestic circle, j/^ho is there who will not feel
an mterest in perusing the heroic achievements of Sir John Moore, the
Marquis of Anglesea, and Lord Beresfcsd? — of Fioton, Lynedooh, and
Hill?

Mr. Cole's work does not comprise the whole list of Peninsular heroes ;
but it contains an honourable cohort from the disting^uished band^ and it
is iUustrated by portraits of heroes whose features are familiar to many,
and whose memories are dear not only to thdbr friends^ bat to the country,
al large.

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ISl

MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS.'*

Le Meat St. Michel peul passer k bon dndct ooniYne une des mefreilles dn
iBfinded — DoM HmmBs.

There are few travellers in these days of locomotion who have not
visited one of the most interesting portions of France, the department of
La Manche, and enjoyed the delightful promenades of the picturesque
town of Ayranches, a name familiar to all readers of Norman history,
and especially renowned as the place where Henry II. did penance for
the murder of Becket. Many have no doubt been struck with the beau-
tiful prospects which meet the eye in every direction. The town winds
round the hill in gentle descent ; below, the river serpentines through
many branches, until it falls into a large arm of the sea, and the mixture
of woodland and water scenery affords peculiar attractions to the artist
and the lover of nature. From the Jardin des Plantes especially, a fine
view is obtained of the majestic Mont St. Michel, one of the most
remarkable places in the world, which rises four hundred feet above thet
sur&oe of the sea, at a distance of about ten miles firom Avranches.
After enjoying the magnificent coup dceil which such an object presents^
the eye rests upon a smaller rock near, called the Tombelaine, while
in the distant and blue horizon appears the long and extended land of
Brittany.

A^ the rocky prison of St Michel is the present subject of our remarks,
we will beg the reader to accompany us thither, merely premising that
the few notes collected during a visit last year related cmefiy to its con-
dition as one of the principal maisons de detention of France. To record
even the chief events that have transpired within its ancient walls would
require volumes of certainly not uninteresting detuls. The elements of
its history will be found in the lives of the abbots, which have been
copiously related by ancient authors.

The earliest account of the Mont is involved in obscurity. Among
the Gauls, a college of Druidesses is said to have occupied its site ; after^
wards, the Romans erected there an altar to Jupiter, and styled it Mons
Jovis. A miraculous interposition, according to other writers, originated
its dedication to the Archangel St. Michael.

In the reign of Childebert H., a Bishop of Avranches, ^' the godly St
Aubert,'' say the monkish chronicles,, had a vision. The Archangel St.
Michael appeared one night, and ordered him to go to a rock, then called
Mont Tombe, where he was accustomed to ofifer his prayers and medita-
tions, and erect there an oratory to the honour of St Michael. Auber^
somewhat incredulous, took no notice of the amgelic coomiand, nor of a
second intimation to the same efifect ; hut a ihird manifestation, of a more
tangible character, left no doubt upon his mind, for, irritated at the oh-
stina^ of the worthy Aubert, and as a punishment for his incredulity,
8t JkGchacI made a hole in his skull by touching it with his thumk. No
longer hesitaling, Anbert laid the first stone of a momaitifr boUdbg, and
worired with sitth zeal, that in a year, notwithstanding i^e Afficnlty ot
raising the materials to such a height, the foundations were laid, and a
noble church raised to the honour of the Archangel Michael.

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132 MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS.'*

Snob is the monkish tradition of the origin of this celebrated fortreas.
History enlightens ns nvith^more certainty on the subject It is stated
that at the commencement of the eighth century St. Aubert caused a
small church to be erected on the mountain. In 966, Richard II.,
Duke of Normandy, commenced the erection of the Abbey, which was
completed about the year 1070, imder William the Conqueror. In sue-
ceedmg ages additions were made to the strength and beauty of the
structure ; its isolated position, and the treasures that were poured into
the coffers of the Abbey, requiring strong defences against invasion, and
thus giving the Mont St. Michel the appearance it wears at present, both
military and ecclesiastical. Attempts, however, were frequently made
to take it, especially by the English, who were as often repulsed. A
signal failure occurred in 1434, when our countrymen appeared before
the place with an army of 20,000 men. But to prove the remarkable
solimty of the fortress, it is recorded, to the honour of its 119 defenders,
that the English were driven back with the loss of 2000 soldiers.

In the sixteenth century the Huguenots endeavoured several times to
make themselves masters of the Mont St. Michel. One of these attempts,
in 1591, by Gabriel Montgommeri, is worth recor^ng.

Desirous to surprise the inmates of the Mont, he bribed a soldier of
the garrison, whom he had made prisoner, to introduce at midnight a
body of Protestants into the monastery, by means of the machine used
to convey water and provisions into the fortress. Remorse induced the
soldier to reveal the plot to the governor, who concerted measures for a
signal revenge upon bis enemies. The night fixed for the accomplish-
ment of the surprise arrived, and the cord of the machine conveyed
ninety-eifipht of the Protestants into the precincts of the Abbey. Aston-
ished at tne silence which accompanied the entrance of his men— for
ihey had been put to death as they arrived, Montgommeri conceived sus-
picions of treachery, and retracing his steps, succeeded in escaping with
the remainder of ms troop.

The gloomy and lonely position of the fortress on the Mont St.
Michel rendered it a congeniid abode to Louis XI., in whose re^n it
first became a state prison; and here the cruel predilections of the
monarch found ample scope for the exercise, upon his unfortunate vic-
tims, of the most ingenious tortures. On this lofty rock, seated amidst
shifting sands, which are its safeguard, with none to terrify his guilty
conscience, and obecUent priests ready to sanction his most infamous
deeds, Louis, with his favourite Tristan, revelled in crime. Cells were
excavated in the rock where no light could penetrate, oublietUs, where
the miserable prisoners were left to perish of hunger ; and here the too
famous cage was made under the direction of the monarch himself
similar to one constructed by the Cardinal La Balue, who was, by a
most righteous retribution, the first victim of his own infernal inven-
tion.*

* The history of the Mont St. Michel cage is curious. Wraxall, in his '^Tour,"
in 1777, thus describes it: — ^ We pasted into a long passage, on one side of wlddi
the Swiss ppened a door, and through a narrow entrance, perfectlj dark, he led
me, by a second floor, into an apartment or dungeon — ^for it rather merited the
latt er than the former appellation — ^in the middle of which stood a cage. It was
composed of prodigious wooden bars, and the wicket which admitted into it was

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MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS" 133

It was here also that this worthless prince instituted' the Order of St.
Midiaet, in 1469 — " To the reverence of my Lord St Michael, Arch-
angel, the first knight who, for the quarrel of God, battled victoriously
against the andent enemy of man.** One of the statutes enjoins that
ike proceedings of the Order should take place at the Mont, and that
the knights should have stalls in the choir. What strange contrasts are
presented by time ! A few years past, and before solitary confinement
was practised, the prisoners of the Mont had established a masonic
lodge, under the name of the << ELnights of St. Michael !"

In the middle ag^s the Mont St. Michel was the resort of pilgpnms
from all parts of the worid. Here it was that the Kings of France and
the Dukes of Brittany performed penance, and the celebrity of the place

ten or twelve indies in thickness. I went into the inside ; the space it comprised
was about twelve feet square, or fourteen, and it might be nearly twenty in
height. It was the abode of many eminent victims in formw ages, whose names
and miaeries are now obliterated and forgotten.

'' *" There was,' said my conductor, ' towards the latter end of the last century,
a certain newswriter in Holland who had presumed to print some very severe
and sarcastic reflections on Madame de Maintenon and Louis XIV. Some months
after be was induced, bj a person sent expressly for that purpose, to make a tour
in French Flanders. The instant he had quitted the Dutch territories he was
put under arrest, and immediately, by his miyesty*s express command, conducted
to this place. Tliey shut him up in this cage. Here he lived upwards of three-
and-twenty years ; and here he at length expired. During the long nights of
winter no candle or fire was allowed him. He was not permitted to have any
book. He saw no human face except the gaoler, who came once every day to
present him, through a hole in the wicket, Ms little portion of bread and wine.
No instrument was given him with which he could destroy himsdf, but he found
means at length to curaw a nail out of the wood, with whidi he cu^ or engraved,
on the bars of his cage certain fieurs-deMs and armorial bearings, which formed
his only employment and recreation.' These I saw, and, indeed, they are very
curiously performed with so rude a tooL"

The demolition of this cage was owing to a visit to the fortress, in 1776, from
the Count d'Artois, who ordered it to be cut up. This, however, had not been
done when, shortly afterwards, the children of the Duke of Orleans, accompanied
by their governess, Madame de Genlis, came to inspect the fortress. This lady
has described the scene that occurred : ^ I questioned the monks about the
famous iron cage. They informed me that it was not made of iron, but of wood,
in enormous blocks, with an opening of three or four inches, at intervals, to
admit the light. About fifteen years had elapsed since any prisoners had been
confined thm for any length ; but frequently intractable captives were placed
there for t#enty-four hours or two days, although the cage was terribly damp
and unwholesome. At this, Mademoiselle and her brothers exclaimed that they
would be ddig^ted to see it destroyed. At these words the prior told us it was
in his power to have it done, as he had received such orders from the Count
d'Artois some days before to that effect. To reach the place where the cage
stood we were obliged to traverse subterranean passages so dark that torches
were required; and after descending several flights of stairs, we reached a
firightfhl cave in which was the cage. I approached it shuddering. Hie Duke
de Chartres (afterwards Louis Philippe) gave the first blow with a hatchet to
the cage. I never beheld anything more touching than the transports and
acclamations of the prisoners during this ceremony. It was, without doubt, the
first time that cries of joy had echoed in this quarter. In the midst of the
tumult I was struck with the air of consternation and regret visible on the
oountoianoe of ^e attendant belonging to the place ; and on my remarking this
circumstance to the prior, he told me that this man would lose the money he
usually received for showing the cage to strangers. Upon this the Duke de
Chartres gave him ten louis, telling him, that instead of showing an instrument
of torture to traveOers, he had better point out the place where it had stood."

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134 MQNT ST. MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS"

gave rise to the cotmnon sajing, "'Un poids plus grand que si je portais
le Mont St Mich^" Previous to the revolution of 17^1, the Bumher
of pilgrims who came annually to pay th^ vows to St. Michael were
hetween eight and ten thousand. These were mostly peasants^ but men
of wealth and of noble rank undertook this journey also. Wiaacally io his
'< Tour through France," in 1777, describes these pilgrims: <' Their hato
were covered with cockle-diells, laeed round the edges, and on the crown
was a giltf coronet, above which was the cross. A ribbon in the same
form was tied across their hreaet ; and all over their clothes were placed
little images of St. Michael vanquishing the deviL" After the dii^rsion
of the monks at the commencement of the Revolution, the abbey-fortress
became a state-prison, and, since the Restoration, it has been a place of
detention for poUtical offenders.

More than a dozen times this vast edifice has experienced the vicisst-
tades of time and disaster : l^htaing, war, and nre, have, at various
epochs, destroyed the work of ages ; but every misfortune has been sur-
moonted, and the walls have risen more solid and gigantic than ever.
It was towards the end of the fiAieenth century that tin grand reeuHs
were obtained that render the edifice what it now appears, a mirade of
human skill and patience. But that which is spared by time, man
frequently destroys, and the tendency of this is obvieus in the uses to
which ihe magnifieent edifice of the Mont is applied. The ehnrck is a
refectory ; the cloister^ — a wonderful production of art— is neglected; the
Hall of the Knights, where the heroes of chivalry were wont to assemble
on grand occasions, is now a workshop for weavers. In fact, the abbey,
upon the deeoration of which such vast sums have been ecLpmkAed, is lefi^
to the merciless care of janitors.

On dit que dc ce mont rarcbange tut^laire

Laissa tomber ces mots dti cSeste s^oor :
'' Mont que j'avais pard d'un rayon de ma ^loire,
Sur ton somiaet ingrat mon culte est de Thistoire.
Adieu ! Taage decha aar toi rdgne k son tour."

It would be a dreary task to enumerate the unfortunate persons who
have been confined here. Sad, indeed, are the prison annals of the
Mont St. Mi^ell At the period of the Revolution of 1791, three
hundred priests belonging to the neighbourhood were incarcerated for
refusing to take the civic oath, but they were restored to freedom by the
Vendeans. Napoleon L sent several of his refractory officers to this
place ; a son of General Cartaux was also confined here^ and prisonere of
war, amongst others three Russian generals. During the Cent Joure
several royalist chiefs became the inmates of the Mont, among whom were
Cbartenay, La Houssaye, and Le Moine. In 1818 the prison was oonsti*
tuted a general place of detentk)a for prisoners, five oat six hundred being-
sent here. Babeeuf and other political writers were imprisoned here, also
Le Carpentier, one of the Convention, who had swayeid with dictatorial
power in the department of La Manchey and who died after a captivity
of ten yeam The sabotier^ who pretended ta be Loub XVII., expiated
his deeeptbn in this gloomy abode ; and Mathurin Brunos celebrated in
the songs of B^ranger, was an inmate.

Having recalled dius hx aome of the historical associations of the
Monty before msoming anr notioe of its '^ oaekots" we will take a brief
survey of the place itself.

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MO»T ST, MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS." 135

The Mottt St Miehel is a league in cireumference^ and is flooded
entirely ai high water, bat when ^e tide if out the rock may be ap-
proacbed by die aanda ; aome danger, however, attends the passage to
Aoee w1k> are not perfectly well acquainted with the track, as the sands,
windt are of great extent, and intersected by arms of the sea, are con-
stantW shifting, and the tide comes in with a rapidity which leaves no
time lor retreat. Dense fogs firequentiy set in with a suddenness which
is appalfing to those unacquainted with the locality, and many instances
have oceuired of persons being drowned on these occasions W walking
inlo the sea. Nature has completely fortified the northern side of the
rock by its craggy and precipitous descent. The other portions are sur-
rounded by walls^ witn strong towers at intervals, aating from the
fifteenth century. At the foot of the Mont, on the south side, begins the
narrow and sinuous street, rising to a considerable height, and affording
the only practicable route to the fortress and the dwellings of those wi^
hare charge of it. On the summit is the abbey, occupying a large extent
of ffcoiondy and of a solidity equal to its enormous size.

The entrance to the Mont is by the Tour Gabrielle, or, as it is aome-
times called, the Wmdmill Tower, fi^m one erected upon it in 1637, a
stracture of remarkable strength, but damaged by time. The street whi^
oonduota to the abbey is almost as curious as the Mont. Many of the
houees bear traces of extreme age. The inhabitants, numbering in all
from three to four hundred, consist chiefly of fishermen ; the women also
duuxng their perilous employment ^h equal hardihood and patience.
Abofve the small, rickety awellings of these poor people rise the enor-
mous rocks, strongly fortified. One of these atv^)^[>dDus masses, called
Gfire or Gilles, is the object of special regard by the villagers, who declare
that those who do not salute the rock on leaving the island will never
return t& it. Dem Huynes, in his acoount of the Mont, describes these
fiirtifications as ^' de bonnes et fortes murailles munies de bastions, re-
doutea, demi-hmes, flanqu^es de tours inexpugnables."

MkKn^ in the street is the parish church, a.small, unpretending build-
ing, containing a large figure of St. Michael, carved by a prisoner in the
fortress. From hence a magnificent view is obtained of the surrounding
countiy, as, indeed, from every part of the Mont. A flight of steps leads
near the spot where Duguesdm erected a dwelling, in 1366, for his wife
Tipfaaine, the " Fairy," to the entrance gateway cl the monastic fortress,
flanked by two embattled roimd towers of massive and grand appearance,
conducting to the g^ard-house, where the stranger begins to feel the
painful emotions that a prison, especially one like this, must produce.
Here begins a labyrinth of chambers which seem to have no end. Indeed,
so vast «nd numerous are the rooms that, independent of the hundreds of
prisoners in ooi^nement, it is said that several tiiousand soldiers could be
lodged there. A passage opening from tiie guard-house conducts to the
door of the first lone of the Merveille, die wall of whkfa, two hundred
and tiiirfy feet long, and upwards of a hundred in height, and at an de-
vatiea of two hunted feet mm the sea, is so striking an object from m'lihr
out The same passage leads to the Montgomnaen, a vast subtenanean
chamber so called, formerly the stables, difided in two by a partition wall.
These avenues are formed by twenty pillars, which support abeve the
andttii dormatory, the refectory, and the cloister on the SaHe des Cheva-
Hera. A lasge portion of this lkulding,nmarkaUa£»r its aiaa and seHdity,

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136 MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS."

dates from the commencemeDt of the twelfth ceutury. The refectory has
heen considered one of the finest specimens of Gothic architecture in
France. This apartment, where our Henry II. feasted in great splendour^
is now a workshop for the prisoners, who are engaged in different occu-
pations ; wood-carving especially, of which specimens are found in various
parts of France, is carried to great perfection. The Salle des Chevaliers
is a large apartment, with four ranges of gothic pillars, the roof heing
richly ornamented. Here, where Louis XI. held his chapter of knights,
^^ portant des capuchons cramoisis," is now a factory, where the sound of
husy industry prevails. A staircase conducts from this apartment to the
cloister, or aire-de-plomh; a magnificent conception of ancient art, placed
upwards of three hundred feet ahove the level of the sea, and constituting
the chief glory of the ahbey. The cloister now serves as a place of exer-
cise for the prisoners, who must often regard, with longing glance, the
heautifiil panorama of the surrounding country. At a short distance is
seen the Tombelaine, and beyond the mouth of the Bay of Cancale, name
dear to the lovers of crustacean dainties, while westward is the coast of
Brittany, presenting many a lovely and picturesque scene.

From the cloister a sturcase in the declivitv of the rock, pasrinr on
the right the chamber in which the cage was formerly kept, is called the
descent to the " cachots." It is the entrance to this terrible region of
punbhment, where the wind sounds in hollow murmurs, and the cries of
the sea-bird mingle with the curses or the plaint of the prisoners : a place
fearfully sad and gloomy, which almost denes description. It is difficult
to give a date to these cachots, but they are the most ancient buildings
of the Mont' St Michel, perhaps the work of the monks of St Aubert,
or, at least, those of the period of Richard I. The walls of the dungeons
are bare and rough, and apparently incrusted by time with the rock itself.
The conspirators of 1832 were incarcerated here. Among ihem were
Barb^ and Blanqui. The former had been condemned to death, but
Loub Philippe, who, let it be said, was no lover of bloodshed, oonunuted
the capital punishment. Victor Hugo's lines to the king on behalf of
Barb^ and in support of the petition of the prisoner's sister, are well
known:

Far votre ange envoMe ainsi qn'one oolombe.

Par oe royal enfant, doux et U^e rosean,

Grace encore une fois, grace an nom de la tombe !

Grace au nom du berceau !

The muse of poetry has not disdained to visit a spot certainly not
consecrated to many genial moments. A political prisoner, Mathieu
d'Epinal, composed a volume of poems entitled " Mes Nuits au Mont. St
Michel." Nor has love been always absent firom this prison^rhold, for Elie,
a discomfited republican, succeeded, despite of bars and locks, in gaining
the heart of a pretty maiden of the rock, and obtained permission to
marry her. Freedom, as may be supposed, came soon after.

In 1839, another band of republicans arrived in close custody at Mont
St Michel. Among them were Martin Bernard, Barb^ — l^e inde-
£Bitigable agitator, Blanqui, Delsade, Quignot, Charles, Godard, Flotte,
Petremann, Austen, and Hubert

A diary kept by Bernard furnishes some curious revelations respecting
the interior of the prison. In consequence of some dispute with the
guard respectbg the dosmg of the air-holes in the cell of Barbia and

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MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS " CACHOTS.** 137

that in which he himself was confined^ they were condemned to the
" Cachets Noirs."

** The order arrived to conduct me to the Cachets Noirs, where Barhes
had ahead J heen sent. Surrounded by my escort I descended the stair-
case of the Loges, at the foot of which was a kind of floor extending by
one of the equilateral fronts of the cloister, and from which, on the south-
west, another staircase conducted to the church. At the west end was
the entrance to the cloister, and on the south that leacUng to an im-
mense wearing factoir, while farther in the same direction was the great
staircase of the Conciergerie. Proceeding by this latter route I crossed
the Vestibule des Voiites, a long, subterranean gallery, which receives
but a feeble gleam of light fsom the Salle des Chevaliers, which it com-
mands, and from hence I descended to the vaults. This gloomy place,
lighted onlv by a small opening in the wall, is certainlythe most l>eautiful
vault in point of architecture that can be conceived. Here stood formerly
an altar, consecrated to the dead. ^ Anne Raddyfie and Dr. Mathurin,'
says Maximilien Raotd (an historian of the place), ' should have passed
their days writing here by the glimmer of a lamp.' I had still to de-
scend lower. Casting a glance on the left I saw another long, dark gal-
lery at least thirty feet high. This was the entrance to the biuial-vaidts
of the olden abbey. I could not conceal my emotion as I thought that
Uiere also^ behind immense masses of firewood (for this magnificent sub-
terranean cemetery has been transformed into a magazine for fuel),
would be found the ouhUeUes or vade in pace in which so many human
victims, offered as a sacrifice to superstition or fiuiaticism, have gasped,
without hope, their long and horrible agony. Still going deeper and
deeper into the recesses of the mountain fortress, I found myself in the
cave where the cage was formerly placed, the fastenings of which are still
seen in front of the stone vault. I arrived at length in a dark and damp
circular cavern, at ihe sides of which were the cachots noirs. Suddenly a
voices which I recognised to be that of Barb^, indicated the spot in
which his dungeoh was situated.

^' At the same moment my conductors ordered me to undress. Upon
my refusal to conform to this degrading command, eight powerful arms
encircled me, and in a few moments, I found myself, as Barbes had been
served before me, naked, exposed to the piercing cold and damp of the
vaults. I was clothed in another dress, and shut up in one of the dun-
geons adjoining that of Barbes. In these places it was scarcely possible
to extend the body, and one could not stand upright. Nothing was
wanting to give them ideal horror: the darkness, the blight, the stream-
ing humidity, the poisonous and suffocating atmosphere. One thing
on^ seemed to stand out from the traditions of the middle ages, and this
was, that the bread which was given as our only food was not literally
black

'^ It was in the central cave, around which, as I have stated, were placed
our dungeons, that the ordinary prisoners of the fortress were chained, a
ceremony preceded by the same toilet to which we had been subjected.
Every day we heard sobs or imprecations echo beneath the granite
vaults. The recollection of these frightful days are particularly virid
wiUi regard to the man who was compelled to handcuff or oUierwise bind
these unfortunate prisoners, and who was himself one of their comrades*
He was called Marteau, but whether this was his real name, or that it
had been given to him on account of his ofiice, I do not know.**

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136 MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS ^* CACHOTS "

After a short detention in these fearfal ^^caehots," the political
prisoners were allowed to return to their former quarters, whei^ soon
afterwards a plan of escape was formed. By means of the bed^eorerings
a cord was made, and a descent of forty feet effected from the window of
the odl in which Barb^ Bernard, and another prisonex^ Constant Hu-
bert, had contrived to meet. It was ietbout three o*doek in the morning
when they found themselves upon the platform of Sunt-Gauthier. The
weather was &v(mrabfe to liieir project. A thick fog concealed every-
thing aronnd, and by a fortunate ctrcorastanoe, a chevre, or machine to
raise heavy goods, stood upon the platform. The cord was attached to
this, and bsjrb^s, seiang it, launched himself into obscurity. Already
some moments had ekmeed since he had descended, when suddenly there
was a formidable shaking of the cord. The anxiety of those on the
platform may be imagined. They feared that the cord was broken, or
that it was too ^ort, when the cry of the sentinel-— who wis merely
twenty-five paoes from the rock whence the descent was to have been
made — burst forth *^ A la garde r repeated with all the strength he
could command. All was lost. Below, 'frT>m die caserne, about sixty
paces frt)m the sentinel's post, issued a file of soldiers, and at the same
moment, cbse to the platform Saint-Grauthier, appeared a doaen gardiens
of the prison, lantern in hand, bringing with them Barb^, brmsed, and
his clothes torn to shreds, but otherwise uninjizred. In descending he
had lost his equilibrium, and, foiling suddenly, the cord had escaped
from his grasp.*

Neither the system nor Ae hygiene of the prison of the Mont St.
Michel appear to have been effectuaL Some frightfol cases of mental
alienation had ocemred there. A prisoner named Steuhie had, in a fit of
despair, committed suicide some months pevious to die arrival of the
insurrectionists of 1839. One of these, Austen, a Pc^ was transferred
to a mauon de $anti at Pontorson, and some similar oases occurred after-
wards. Baib^ was reduced by illness to sooh weakness that he was
obliged to be transferred to Nismes, and others were removed for the
same reason. Blanqui was sent to the hospital at Tours.

After five years and eleven days of captivity, the republican pnsoneiB
who had remained at the Mont SL Michel were,' in consequenoe of the
decree, in 1844, for the suppression of the cellular system, allowed to
mingle together. The first meeting was afiecUng. Some were martyrs
to rheumatism, others were suffering from various diseases brought on by
a long confinement and humidity. Several who had entered 'uie prison
with flowing locks had become bald, (» the hair had changed to white.
On the proclamation of the Bepublic in 1848, the political prisoners who
had been detained in captivity at the Mont St. Michel were restored to
freedom.

* Several attempts have been made by prisoners to escape from this formidable
fortress, some of which have succeeded, and others have failed, and in a few in-
stances a teniUe death has awaited the hardy adventurer. A poUlkaal prisoner,
Colombat^ having made a hole in the floor df his chamber by means of a nail
picked up during a Are in the building in 1634, after a thousand perils succeeded
in gaining the ramparts, and descended to the shore by the Basse Tour. The
meacns he employed to effect this was attaching a cord* to the pulley by which
goods were oonrejed into the fortress. He succeeded in reaching Avsaoohes, and
at length found a lef uge in Ji^«g<#"4^

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199

THE DOCK WABBANTS.

A TAT-K OF THE TUCEB.
Bt DUDLKr COBTELLO.

OHAFTSB VI.

AIX-UL-CHAPELLE.

Tbbse are few pleasanter hotek on the contiiieDt thaa the " Gastbof
zur Kaiaerlicheu Arone," kept by Herr Giutav Hoyer, at the ancient
German capital of imperial Charlonagneu An eiceUeat table, well-
fmnkked room^ a beautiful garden, and admirable attendance, are all
placed at the traveller's service on terras as moderate as caa reasonably
be deoired. If your object be to take the waters, enj^ the scenery near
the old city, or share in the amusements which it o£reis, I know of no
more agreeable hoase to stop at than the aforesaid *^ Crown ImperiaL"

Mr. Hooker appeared to think so too, for at the end of diree days —
a long time in this age of rapid locomotion — he showed no desire to shift
his quarters. To a speculator of his stamp the MedotUe offered the
greatest possible attraiotion, and a second bank-note for five hundred
pounds having been changed into rauleattx — one for the same amount
nad been cashed in Brussels — it was likely enough, had his inclination
alone been consulted, that he would have stayed at Aiz«la-ChapeUe till
every Napoleon had been raked up by the crmtpiers. But the anxiety
o£ Mr. Googe was a complete set-off to the carelessness and desire for
enjoyment of Mr. Hooker. To the former all places seemed dangerous,
the present always more so than the one juflt left behind, a perpetu^
goad ever urging him to fly.

To satisfy his '^ unrest," Mr. Googe's first object had been to examine
the English newspapers in the reading-room of the Bedauie. He had
not £sr to search before he found what he expected. The *' city articles"
.<m the day after the explosion of the firm of '' Gmysteel and Handyside,"
gave ftdl particulars of the enormous swindle, accompanied by conunents
of the least flattering nature. But this was not alL An advertiseiBent
in the most conspicuous part of each morning paper described the
" Fraudulent Banlorupts" with all the accuracy of a ciedit^'a memory,
and it was farther announced that any genueman — or otherwise — m
want of ^' One Thousand Pounds," who would give such inlormation as
should lead to their conviction, might receive that siun at the offices of
Messrs. Godsend, Stifi^ and Soaper, of St Withold's, in the City of
Liondon.

Although he took the matter much easier than his partner, Mr« Hooker
was by no means incurious as to the position in which he stood at home,
and his desire to see the Times before they left Brussels had already
made this apparent. His quick ^e c»;^t the advertisement quite as

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140 THE DOCK WABRANTS-

soon as it fell beneath the nervous glance of Mr. Googe. Rapidly he
read his own description :

'< * Red whbkersy sandy hair, bald on the crown of the head, height

about five feet seven, stout, speaks with a hasty utterance, had on '

Ah !" said he, interrupting himself,^'' whiskers gone, flaxen wig, no bald-
ness visible now, there are plenty of people of my height and size, and
since I've begun to talk German the deuce is in it if I don't speak slow
enough. As to Graysteel," he continued, scanning the appearance of
his partner, who was silently devouring the columns of virtuous indigna-
tion thundered against him, — '< as to Graysteel, he can't get rid of that
cursed methodbdcal look of his, but what with blue spectacles, high shirt
collar, and long hair dangling over his sboulders, he may pass well
enough for a Heidelberg professor ! What fools people are to advertise
dress, as if that wasn't tne very first thing oue altered. ^ Supposed to
have gone on the Continent.' A tolerably good gues8,^or we shouldn't
have left Brussels in such a hurry. * A thousand pounds reward.' They
think us worth catcbing, at all events. Graysteel, now, would like to go
to some lonely place for safety ; give me a crowd. I shall stay here as
long as I can."

And he did stay — much longer than his companion liked; longer,
indeed, than was altogether prudent, for on the fourth morning the value
of Mr. Hooker's reliance on a crowd was unexpectedly tested.

'' Does the high-bom count," asked the fair-haired, pale-eyed waiter
of the " Crown Imperial," in his German-English, as he arranged the
breakfast-table in tne private apartment of the Firm — <' does the high-
bom count a drosky to-day in order the wonder-beautiful^ garden of
Kaisers-ruhe to see require r'

The biffh-bora count, represented on this occasion by Mr. Hooker, had
not thought about it, but as the drive was proposed, and combined amuse-
ment with expense, he replied that he thought he should. The waiter
delivered himself of the customary '* So !" but he had another speech to
make.

" There is," he observed, " this momin^, by the-first-out-of-Belgium-
departing-and-here-arriving-train, at the notel descended another £ng^
lish high-bom count who the misfortune his toilet necessaries behind him
to leave has had. A some-days' beard he desires to shave. If any
English high-bom counts in the hotel remaining were, there might he a
beard-knife succeed to borrow " In other words, not to continue the
wuter's translation of his ovm perplexed horse-language, ^'the new-
comer would be very much obliffea if either of the gentlemen could favour
him with the loan of an English razor."

The request was simple enough under ordinary circumstances, but not
just then. In their hurried &ght from Bmssels Messrs. Googe and
Hooker had lefb their dressing-cases behind them also. It is tme they
had replaced them, on their arrival at Aix la Chapelle, at the *^ Rani-
lung " in the Comphausbad-Strasse of Jacob Schwindelmann, a Hamburg
merchant who dcuGtlt in everything, and who swore by the unsullied
integrity of his class that every article he sold was manufactured at the
place it professed to come from ; but, notwithstanding his assurance, they
woidd not have declared — meaning to be believed — that his SheflSela-
marked goods were really genuine. Not that such a trifle as this would

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THE DOCK WAKRANTS. 141

lutre wagfaed for an instant on the minds of either of the partners, but
when yon are snddenlj asked for *^ an English razor " on the Continent,
and are not quite sure yon have got one, you begin to think about it.
His own large practice in contraband of all sorts had heightened the
naturaUy suspicious temper of Archibald Graysteel to its most susceptible
ecmdition, and led him at once to the worst conclusions. In this instance
he immediately suspected a trap, though if anybody could have looked
unlike a trapper, that fair-haired, pale-eyed German waiter was the man.
Preventing Handyside, who was about to speak, Graysteel'replied that it
would, of course, give either of them great pleasure to accommodate the
gfentlcman, but— ;^r parenthhe — wlmt sort of person was the stranger,
it bemg just possible, as he was from England, that he might know
him?

The waiter, with that lucidity which distinguishes his countrymen,
gave the following descriptive sketch :

<* He is an even-so-tall but as the high-bom count a much stronger-
with-bonee-erected-man ; shoulder-wide as the elephant, with an eye-
twinkle of needle sharpness, all-sighted, every-sided ; he has himself no
German, but with him an out-speaker travels.

'* I do not think I know him,^ said Graysteel, quietly ; '' but— what is
his companion like P'

'* Ah, my God I what for a difference between the two ! Short is he
and small, ea^e-nosed, dark-featured, quick-talking, restless as an ape.**

"No! It is nobody we are acquainted with. Give Mr. Googe's
compfiments to the English gentleman, and — ^you can take what he wants
when you have brought break&st''

As soon as the waiter was gone, Graysteel said to Handyside : ^' Tou
see, now 1 If we liad started yesterday, as I wanted, this would not have
happened."

<* What do you mean ?" asked his companion : *^ I don't quite take."

^' Don't you perceive that they are dote on our trail ? This Englishman
and his rasor I Nothing but a dodge to find us out, depend upon it. It's
plain enough, dirongh all that cloud of German gibberish, that the very
men are in this house whom we saw in the park at Brussels ; there's no
jniataking that little Antwerp fellow ! We left our things behind, and
they know it. Jjucky that Hamburg merchant pretends to deal in Eng-
lish cutlery !"

'^ I aee !" exclaimed Handyside. " He shall have mine."

He went into his bedroom and fetched a pair of razors and a shaving-
brush.

« They look very new," he said, " but Fll cure that in a moment !"

The " Crown Imperial" is a first-rate German hotel, but yet the
carpet was a dirty one. Handyside laid the razors on the floor and turned
them over with his foot, scraping them well with the sole of his boot.
He then picked them up and rubbed them clean, but still the handles
were scratched, as if they had been a g^ood deal used. He treated his
shaving-brush in the same way, laughing heartily all the time. Nothing,
however, disturbed Graysteel's gravity : the danger he feared was too
close at hand, but now that it was near he seemed better prepared to
meet it.

A complimentary message was despatched to the stranger, and then

VOL. XXXIX. L

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142 THE DOGS WABKAHTS.

il» parftncn took cooofd togvthsr how best to effect ibmt iepartar* ham
the Mel without beiog^ seen by the new comen, for wheth« Grajete^'e
aknii were well er m fovudody it was not worth while to n» an^ iiii>-
iwocawgy risk, and even Handjaide waa alive to the neeesaity of moving^
vieir cpiarten nura^ off* They nnat now, howevoi^ adopt a mode q£
ftooeeding^ diffbrent from the laat : ^e bill must be regnhmr paid, the
reiito whidi dMy piopoeed to take carefully aKneuaeed^ and taisnr ^mprnt"
tmm made as opeuy as waa ooneiaten* widi their idtiariate atieij»

The first thing to be ascertained was» whether theie puvnera were
veaily^OQ. ihe spetu On this point they did not long rsauuB in donbt^
£ar while' ^ question was being discussed, {yraystseV tuwiDg hts e]f«s in
the directioa of die hotel-garden, saw there the identical rale Be%iaa
whom he had so much reason to dread, walking up and down smoJaw
a eigar, and every now and then stopping to cast a curious gfauace, wim
his sharp, black eyes, at the windows whidi opened towards lim. Gray^
stael hastily diew bade to acvoid the posMfaility of being seen, aad in a
^Rdiiq>er communieated the reason to his eon&derate, who also removed
OHt of aght. Hcndyside^ oAer & abort sUencs^ imm t&e firai to speak.
' We must dispose of thai chap somehow," he said, peiatiag t» the
dsn ; ^ until her » out of the way the dumes are fewe to one against
more than that, indeed, for I fancy from his sppearaaee hem' thiA
^thtt ofieer^ hiknsdf ie not aUe to meogniseus^ tiBttpk by the dsscnption,
wfaidr doemf t alliigether apply."

tter paused to consider, andrthettqaokeagaiat

^1 think we can awnago it, but what we db must be deosat onee*
It's very lUcdy that little Hook-nose, tbem, don't reosttact me at dl^ but
yoKt may i^ npon it he remembers yom &st enotmfa. The thing will be
ht you to get away while he is in die garden r i can see the top of Ue
■ Put --..-... ...

hat still. Put on your cloak and be off to the railway station, at <
in Ae refreshment-ioom, — the Coaditorei, as they oall it, — and wait tiU
I come. Yon must adc for sooaediing to eat, — Butterbrot naiigi'S —
stent— everything you see on the coontsv — ^you've had but a peer breaks
iast^ so eat as mx^ as you can ;^ — the more you eat the more diey^H take
yoD £or a native. Now cat ; in leas than an hour Fll be widi you.**

This advice, as fiir as Graysteel was ooaoemed) was eisdentty good,
and he took it, leaving Haachrstda to fight out ike battle.

Mr. Hooker — we resume his travelling name — after wdtmg abeot five
minutes to let his companion gdb clear off, rang the b^ It was an-
sweasd, as he ejected, by the Imr-haired, pole^ed woiter, whose mune
was Adolph.

^'What do you call that place you mentioned jot now?'' he in-
qmred%

" His name is Die Kaisers-rube — the Emperor's-rest"

'^ Well, then, the Emperor may rest by himsdf, we are not gdag there
to-day.**

"Sor

** But I diaU want the carriage all the same, — to take am to die
railwi^ station. I have had letters which oblige me to go on to Berlin
to-day. Bring die bill directly, order the carriage to the door, and don't
forget to ask that English nobleman for my razors."

These orders, given with great rapidity, qmte astomshed Adolph.
'* Meant he the high-bom count that ne was going away to say ? Ah^

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1^ DOCK WARRANTfik 14A

Va God, tbat was unpkaBaat news I A so splendid toroh-musk as fae
should if he that night remamed have heard ! And the oihes high4>oin
cooDt he travelling alsa was ?"

Ms. Hooker observed that his firiend would aooom^anj him; he had
gpoae to the poet-oflfioey where he shovld pick him up*. If Adolph made
baste, he — Mr. Hooker — would five him a Prussian doUai! for ^inlso1f
And when he came heck with me bill he had somedung else to say*
Perhaps it nught be^ worth another dollar to Adolph— or morei — if he
eaeeuted hie conunissinn zightlyr

The pro^>ect of money wil quicken even thsl movememts of a Germaik
"Mb^ Hooker had hardly finished packing iq^ when the waiter rttumed. He
brought the shaving materials with a speedi which was luckily cut short at
the threshold, or he might haive been delivering it at this moment;, he also
brought the '' Rechnung," glitterine with silver-sand which had been
hastiljF otrewik over the ftesh ink» TIk higb-bom. count did not attempt
to sead the long lines ef hieroglyphics,^— it would have taken him a week
ta make them out — but merely glaneed at the word <' Summay** saw what
vras the smount, paid it, — wiui the promised extra dollar^ and thea^
pcveeiving firom the place where he stood that tbe little Bdgian corn*-
OBisnoDer had not ^oite finished his csgar, heakomed Adolpk to*eome doie

'^ Yon see that person ia the garden ?^ hs^ said,, ia an undes tene.

" Ah, yes ! it is the eagle-nosed, ape-like, newly-arriving stmnger."

" Wdl, I have seen Um before, though my friend haanet Do you
koewwhatheisT

"^ That can I not say."

'' I will tell you then. Were you ever in a madhouse ?^ •

'<Gott bewahsel God forbid I" ezolumed Adolph. << What for
then?"

""Thatmaaismad."

"Soiir
. But the exckmatioa this time was not a mere word of acqpipeconoe :
it eapressed a considerable amount of. undisguised firijB^t

*^ Liri»%" continued Mr. Hooker* " I suspect trat the stnong, stoat
man who came with him is his keeper. Do you understand ?"

" Ja wohl. Sein Yerwahrer. Mein Gott I"

*' That is the reason he travels vitheut xazors. He is afraid the other
should get at them. Tou see he sent him out of the way while he
shaved. Now then, Adolph, I will tell you a secret. All madmen have
seme cme they hate. ThttI Mttle follow hates me,< — ^weiild kill me if he
met me,-~or you, if you tried to ppevent him. But he is dangereus to
society in general ; he ought not to be allowed to go loose. Don't you
thmkso?"

" Ah, my God, yes ! Altogether r

*' In the interests of society then, — for my sake, yours, everybody's, he
ought to be shut up. K I were not hurried away on business^ I should lay
an. iiiformation i^ainst him myself. But you will do so instead At
OBee,. privately, the moment I am gone. Here is a golden Frederick !
Keep your eye upon him. Don't let him out of your engbt while I'm
here.''

'' That will I not,'' said Adolph, his eyes cpiite wild between pleasure
and fear, one hardly knew which predominated. ^'Atthe garden^of-

L 2

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144 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

the-hotel-openiog-door the house-cook with his long knife before me until
you are gone shall stand !"

'< That's right ! Send up a porter for the baggage.**

The porter came, a man accustomed to carry any conceivable weight
or any number of packages. He threw a portmanteau over each
shoulder, sustiuned a carpet-bag under each arm, held a hat-box or two
with his teeth, and compacting the whole mass with cloaks and railway-
wrappers in a pile over his head, moved steadily off with his load. Mr.
Hooker followed him. At the foot of the stairs he encountered a tall,
stout, keen-eyed man, with unmistakable British features, who looked
very hard at him. Mr. Hooker, in German fashion, lifted his hat, and
passed on.

Presently he heard a deep voice. '^ Jack ! where are you !'' it said.
" I want you here !**

This invocation was answered by some one in a high state of excite-
ment English and Flemish oaths were mingled together, and a row
seemed to be going on at the end of the passage that led into the garden.
It was eiddent to Mr. Hooker that a new phase was opening in the
career of Monsieur Jacques, the individual wanted. This was no affair
of his. He stepped into the carriage, and, while the landlord and a
dozen of his waiters were bowing bareheaded, gave the word, *^ Fahr'
su Kutcher T in choicest German to the driver, and drove out of the
court-yard.

In half an hour from that time, while the Polizei of Aix-la-Chapelle
were taking measures with the supposed madman — a lock-up in the
Ge&ngniss being the initiatory proceeding — while Mr. Woodman, who
unfortunately only spoke English, was endeavouring to explain and in-
teijectionally venting maledictions on everybody's eyes for their stupidity
— while Adolph was honourably keeping his word and accusing the
little Belgian commissioner of the wildest insanity — while these things^
I say, were passing at Aix-la-Chapelle, Messrs. Graysteel and Handvnde
were going at the rail's best pace to Cologne — not to stop there, how-
ever, nor to go stnught on, but with the intention of turning off to
Bonn, and taking the first steamer that called on its way up the Rhine.

CHAPTER VII.
THE CHASE.

Oppose two different temperaments, set frantic pasrion in one scale
and stolid phlegm in the other, and it takes some time before you can get
the balance even. Jacques Mordant, the Antwerp commissioner, was in
such a state of excitement at being made a prisoner for he knew not
what, that it was physically impossible for him in the first instance to
satisfy even less imaginative people than the German Polizei that he was
not to all intents and purposes as sane as themselves. Well paid by his
employer for doing artful work in the quietest wa}*, his Acuities nicely
attuned to what he had in hand by the soothing influence of tobacco, and
only one little heat-spot smouldering in his bosom till his hate was fully
gratified, it was harcl indeed that the tables should suddenly be turned
upon him, and that, instead of an avenger, he should become a victim.

Mr. Woodman, although pretty well accustomed to '* scenes" in his

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THE DOCK WARRANTS. 145

own land, and sufRclently well acquainted with the general mystery of
*' dodgeSy" was at fault in this instance, on account of his inability to
speak what he called <' the devilish lingo of this here country/' It came
to his remembrance, however, after conndering the subject for a while,
that the most active of the accusing party, the loudest in crying out
** Ein zoUer Mensch !" (" whatever that was I") when the Be^ian was
hurried into confinement, was the fur-haired, pale-eyed Adolph. As soon,
therefore, as " the shindy" — ^to use his own classical expression — had in
a deg^ree 'subsided, he sought out the individual just named, and began to
question him about *^ the reason why."

'^ I want to know what's up, here,*' he said ; ^' I mean, why have they
grabbed, that is, carried off littie Jack?"

The emphatic plamness of Mr. Woodman compelled Adolph to muster
his best English in reply.

" What for, my lord ? Surely to you the cause is not unknown."

*^ Don't my-lord me, but answer my question. What has littie Jack
doner

'^AU things has he, which a rightly-minded man conmuts not,
done."

"What, here?"

" If in this town, not, then must he strangeness in many other places
have shown !"

*^ I'm blest if I can understand this," said Mr. Woodman, puzzled.
" Has he robbed or murdered ? Speak out !"

<^ Of robbing that know I not, of murdering not more also; but **

"But what?"

"Still a madman is he?"

" Mad I Littie Jatk mad! Devil a bit. What makes you think so?**

" So good an information have I had, that to doubt not possible is."

"Who told you?"

Adolph hetitated, and in his reluctance to speak the sharp-witted
Detective saw at once that some underhand work had been going on.

" Come," he said ; '^ you've been paid for this job."

The boldness and suddenness of the attack completely upset Adolph ;
he tried to say something, but could not

Mr. Woodman smiled contemptuously.

" Why I see him a giving of you the money I"

This was said metaphorically, to illustrate the shallowness of the
German ; but it was taken literally.

" No ! that could you not ! Alone were we at the time I"

Mr, Woodman laughed outright. ^* What a fiat !" he said to Iumsel£
Then, aloud: "Youve been imposed upon, young feller. Now tell
me who it was that give you the money, and how much. I'll make it
double."

Without being venal — that never enters into the soul of a waiter,
German or English — Adolph could Tiot resist the temptation of a double
fee. Besides, a virtuous indignation came to his aid : he had been made
a tool of. So " on this hint he spake."

" Six thalers had I, the believed madman to denounce. At once
parted the high-bom count (Adolph could not divest him of his rank),
onward to Berlin directiy going. Him, perhaps, saw you in a waggon
drive away I"

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146 THE DOC^ WAKRAKTS.

** i^loat, jaDdj'COHiplexioDed,'" mused Bir. Woodnun. ^ it stnick me
kis head loolKd very viggy— -^flgfnteed, of coune. That moat have
l>eeii Handjrnde! I didn't ihnik Pd been fuiu so mgh. But tke
«tiier," lie pmued, addiMsing^ Adelph ; '^ whaet's beeome -of him ?*'

" Before dien to the peet-^offiee gone was he, to the hotei n«t agazA

*^ I see I^ wd If r. Woedman. ^ We\e been 4oDe. Cleverly eooiigli.
it was tomh aood go, ihevgh. But I must get litt^ Jaok oat tff ifvod.**
He fsrt his hand hi his po^et and drew forth a quantity of ralver. ** Ski
of these * taylors,' you say ? WeB, thereat twiee as many ! Now this
matter must be explained to jFOor police— -Fm in that line myself— -and
then I must be off afiter them two bigb-^born ooimts as yon oaU *«ni*
filess your omple lieart^ l^/re two runaway baidcruptB ; swindled the
British public out of millions.^

'< Gott in Himmel !" ^adaimed Adolph, in liis native language. ^ Dies
set nnbdaumt! MiHione ! leb erstaune mieh 1 UngeheuerT

But Mr. Woodman had no time to waste in listening to his new aNy^e
Jnmneddous ^expletives. Tbey went at onee to the pelioe-office, wher^
through the medium of Adolph's interpretation — sinking all mention,
however, of the bribes — the matter was fully explained, and Jacques
Mordant was released firom durance. The pale-e^^ liur-^aired waiter
now underwent a twofold interrogatory, and to the infinite &giift of the
£ttle Belgian he learnt that the man against whom he had recorded a
solemn vow of vengeance had again escaped him. There oould be no
doubt, ^m ^e description which Adolph gave, tliat the individuals
'^ wanted" by Mr. Woodman were those who had so hastily taken their
departure. But the scent was hot, and they nmst be quieidy fbUewed.
The only ^^oestioa was as to t^ ronte tney had taken. Berlin was
evideivtly a blind. So said ^' little Jack," and Mr. Woo^bnan, when he
heard that Adolph was a Prussian and came from the banks of the Spree,
^qnile i^aeed with him. ** it wasn't likely," he condnded, <* that two
knowing hancb fike Graysteel and Handyside would trust themselveB
a^ain among such a nafeien of arafiB.*' Besides, tbere were so many
fileasaBt pkoes to step at the oilier way, and the range was so much
wider. No I the fugitives must h«ve taken to the Rhine, and up llwt im^
famed river Mr. Woodman resolved to pnrsne then. Little Jack, who
in all probability had not left m, sorrowing bride or a boieaved Ihmily
behina Jmn at Antwerp, and who, doubtless, found Mr. Woodman's
liberal pay more than an equivalent for his wages at the Hdtel St. Aotoine,
was agiun at 'Us service, entirely so tn fact, until the chase was ended,
Soar he had personal fedkigs to gratify besides the profits <]f die journey.

If the astote Detective and his eager comparaon eould have got wwsnr
at onoe Aey migliithave run Messrs. Graysteel and Handyside very hafi;
but, at the railway station they found there was no train to Oology until
iate in the avssung, and i^ speoial one (^ Gesdtwiadiekeit-Aus^brangs-
Begleitnng"-Hfincy sndi a name lor anything qni^) was <miy io be
idhtbsined hysMgotiations as prstraoted as if the qnestion had beoR peaee
and its proposer the Emperor of Aastna; so they were obfiged to wait
^ several hoars, and were not housed llwt night at the ^ Rbeinisclher-
H^" in the perfumed city, nntil ondnight had pealed firom tfaetraneotei
itower of the M, fliarer-4o4>e^fiMBhed caliMdrai. Unyligfat saw ^bem
on board " the Damp^" as little Jack called the steamer, her paddle*

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THE DOCK WASRA5TS. 147

^vlneb went rovad, and laoAofaed on the botom of *' the «uifaaog and
ahovB^Dg riTer" the chaee now £mAy begsa.

At fiist k was al] hap-hazard, Am*, oot having thought of the fasaodi
nulway* «U lAae aiqairies made at Cologne failed to elicit any in£ormattoii
respecting the fugitives, who, by taking the nie^ht-boat at Bonn, had
aacurad £e adisantage of a twelve-hous' sftart The season, however, was
in £a««ur of the puxvners, the annual migratioa of tourists haviQg eottc^
oomoMooBd; a eouple of moiiths later, and even Mr. Woodauia 'a sagacity
might have &Uod to guide him through the crowds that swarm up Che
Rbiae when onee the long vaesftion sets everybody ^-ee. Mr, Woodman
was not a.gettdemaQ who caffed much for the pictaresque, and the riv^r-
aoeoery was, to a great extent, thrown away upon him. fie gaive it as
Jas opkiion to littHe Jaok that the towns '^was mostly ramshadded,
tumble-down old places, and the names of 'em about the ytascest he e«vr
heard." As to the eastles, *' if they was meant for pnsons, he*d back the
Model at Ckrhenwell, for Jceeptng a feller in when ooee you'd got htm,
agen the whole lot.'' lie admitted that *< Iron4iright-8teiM ** looked
^flt^fifish," but ^ there was too many comers about k, and no^n' as he
aaw to Inadar a chap as was at all gaaoe from gettin' out of ihe
wuKkMra," meaning, proftMkbly, the casemates. For the ruins he •ex-
proiscid ^ moet nndtsguised contempt : ^ What use was they of? — thrt
was what he wanted to know? Ton call that building Wiy-^ieek
(Bhflineok?) do 3rou? Well, so yon jnay« It's the crookedest hit of
maeon'a wmlc I ewr set eyes oa. S^ge-wig (Sinaig ?) — I suppose the
owner was hkiwn up with gunpowder ! Ober- weasel I just "fit far weasels
•ad poleoati and sneh werman. The long and the short of it is, Jack,
that ndns as aU nonsense^ When ooee a house — you may cafi it a castle
if yon hka, it's all one— is rickety and going to tumhle down, what I say
ia, down nHih it, and build up somethin' jquare and substantial, wildi a
Mod shte voof and dnmbleys as won't smoke. The Gennan Barons
owed in 'em, hey ? Likely enough I I've seen a few German Barons m
eor poliee-oourts, all swindhBg cases, and these serubW holes is jost
ft^Bgphieesfer'emr

T^ae, however, were sight incidental eemacka : observations which
€bI1 irom him idien net engaged in scannii^ the passengecs -on honid, or
watching the hoat-loads 4iiat eaane to or left the steamer.

At CMemtM Aey pot up at <* The Giant,*' and little Jack went the
ammd mi the other hotels to learn if any persons answering the desenption
e£ Gn^steel and Handystde had made tdieir appeaniace there ^ hnt
CoUenfca was a blank; it had aSbided them no shelter. Were they on
t^ right tmek then? That was etill pure coigectare, but it was most
likely to be the case. Mr. Woodman took out his ^ Foreign Bradshaw,"
and eiaminuti the course of the nver« There was a line of raikra^-, he
ttw; wheae^did that begin? It was at Biebericb, he found, hnt he gave
up Ab proeanontian and called it plam ^ a" Did little Jaok kaaw
anything of those parts ? Oh, yes ; but not since the line was opened. A
few yean ago be had been a waiter £ar the sununer iA ihe *^ Hotel des
Qoatre Saaaoas," at Wiesbaden ; a noce {dace, plenty of play gving on
at the Kunaal ; iaek had won a good deal of money there : he ftcgntta
add dnit he had kat it all again and his wages into the bargain. Miw
Woodman canght at the word '« play.*' Btifon he left Am-hrChanMB,
he had ^ stropped ia*'--en hnnaess-iat the Beionte, and diiaovered that

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148 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

Handjside had been a frequent visitor there. It was just possible that
the table at Wiesbaden might have lured him again. Mr. Woodmaa
resolved to chance it : the delay was only an hour in the event of its not
being *^ a find," so, accompanied by little Jack, he left the steamer at
Bieberich.

To get to Wiesbaden from thence you must take the rail to Castel and
change carriages there. Mr. Woodman and his companion had aocom*

Slished this feat, and the train was slowly moving o£F on the Wiesbaden
ne, when the convoi from the latter place as slowly came in.

*^ Sacre nom de Dien !" profanely shouted the Belgian ; " les yoiliL'^

** What are you sackering at. Jack ?" asked Mr, Woodman,

^< Och ! verdoem de Duyvel V* he went on in his native Flembh*
" What ? why those two swindlers, — there they are I Stop the train,^
arrStez, — stohen-sie ! — ^halt — ^halt !*

But no language that he was master of was of any avful : the speed
increased, Mr. Woodman and Jacques Mordant were whirled one way,
Messrs. Graysteel and Handymde the other.

The Detective, with professional sagaci^, had made a riffht cast.
When the partners arrived at Mayence, William Handyside had insisted
on making a detour to Wiesbaden ; he had still two laree notes to get
rid of, and he preferred changing them at the gaming-table, where their
amounts would pass almost unnoticed ; the telegraph had, in all probabi*
lity, stopped the numbers with the Geldwechselrei at Frankfort, and, be-
sides, he longed to try his luck ag^in, though he kept this last reason a
secret from Archibald Graysteel. It was a narrow escape in more ways
than one, for there was a moment when almost every farthing in ms
possession depended on the turn of the card. '' Red*' had won repeatedly,
and Handyside continued to back <' the colour." If the fortune of the
hank had not changed the fugitives must have been beggared ; but Fate
withheld the blow, and Handyside got back nearly all the money he
had ventured. Something like prudence restrained, him from playing
any more that night, — though he was sorely tempted, — and on the
foUowine morning Graysteel, whose fears had returned, would not think
of remaining. They were never safe, he said, amidst such a throng of
people ; the extraditional treaty was in force all through Germany ; they
must push on to Switzerland, and then they should nave time to look
about them. It was while they were returning to Frankfort that the
rencontre took place. The fugitives might never have known that their
pursuers were again so close to them, had it not been for the noisy exda*
mations of little Jack. At the sound of hb voice they both turned their
heads, glances of recognition were exchanged with tne excited oommis*
sioner, and that, for the time being, was all.

'* Yon are quite right, Graysteel," said Handyside, *^ Germany is no
place for us to stay in. We must take the first train to Basle, and if
they don't stop us by telegraph along the line before we get there, we
shall be all right." ^

It was a nervous jouimey for both the partners, — for Graysteel espe-
cially, who at every fresh demand for '* Billeten" in unknown, hanh-
sounding Deutsche fancied he heard the signal for arrest ; but they
accomplished it without stoppage, owing to a ruse of Handyside's*
Instead of keeping on the Baden line right on, he sacrificed the tickets
he bad taken all through, got out at Carlsruhe, bought fresh tickets

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THE DOCK WARRANTS. 149

there for Strasbourg, croesed the Rhine at Kehl into the French territory,
wkh passportf freshly devised, — slept in the old capital of Alsace, while
Tain perquisitions were being made at the principal German stations,
and by mid-day on the morning after their aepartore from Wiesbaden
were safely ensconced at the sign of *< the Stork in Basle."

Perhaps yon will say that it was not very clever management on the
part of two such knowing personages as the Detective and little Jack, to
suffer their prey to escape when they had them almost within their grasp;
but yoa must toke into consideration the hct, that although the telegra-
phic messages were duly sent, the interpretation of them rested with
German officials ; and when this is the case you may fairly state the
dances of misinterpretation at the mild figure of twenty to one.

Yet the huntsmen and their quarry were not so far apart as you may
suppose. Mr. Woodman, who had the law of extradition at his fingers •
ends, lost no time in booking himself and follower for Basle, the point, he
felt certain, for which the fugitives would make, and while the fraudulent
bankrupts were comfortably suppmo^ at the *' Maison Rouge'' at Stras-
bourg, the Detective and little Jack were doing the same thing at the
*^ Fortuna" at Ofieuburg, that place being the utmost limit of me same
daj^s journey. They might even have entered Basle about the, same
boor with Messrs. Gray steel and Handyside, — though by different
entrances, but for a slight accident which befel Mr. Woodman. Whoever
bas su|^>ed at the ** Fortuna" must remember a certain sparkling vrine
very much recommended there as something incomparably superior to
champagne. Without saying that Mr. Phaeler's <' Klingelberger" does
not deserve to be so highly rated, I may mention one fact in connexion
with it : it did not agree with Mr. Woodman, whose habitual beverage,
whenever he oould get it, was stout ; — and the consequence was he did
not feel sufficiently robust to pursue his journey the next morning by the
earliest trmin.

CHAFTXB yiii.

WHAT HAPPKirED ON MEUTBAL OBOUKD.

Although they were now in one sense " free soiiers," it formed no
part of the plan of the run-a-ways to linger on the threshold of safety*
They might, Graysteel said, be hustled into a boat, carted over the
bridge, or inveigled in some way beyond the inviolable limit, and thus
fell into the hands of the enemy ; while if they put space between them-
selves and the frontier, it would take something more than accident or
gentle persuasion to put in peril what they had won at the cost of so
much anxiety and fatigue.

The point to direct themselves upon, as the most convenient for their
purpose, was now the question; and this, Handyside, with his con*
tinental experience, undertook to decide. There is no such thing in
Switzerland as remaming concealed : the cities are all *' uetites villes,"
where a stranger who settles becomes, in a few days, as well known as if
he were a hippopotamus ; and Uie lonely valleys and inaccessible heights
are no longer either lonely or ipaccessible to guides and tourists, the
latter bent on seeing everything, and the former only too glad, when
properly paid, to hunt up the newest novelty.

This being the case, neither of the capitals, Berne or Geneva, seemed

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150 THE BOCK WASiBLAXTS*

Boitahle plaoes: beadesY they weve ixith in the highivaj to ereiywhm.
Omy6ta^ \«ho, rat-like, was aU for holes and oocaera, would lihe
Rousseau, to whose euspioious (^SBraoter his own bore a strong resenblaiMM
—have shut himself up in the Val de Travers, «r— '^^oing beyond die es-
citable philosopher — ^have buried himself in lihe CSmix de Vemt, m that
he migbb ueimr a^n aee the detested &cas of Mn Weodman or the
Belgiaa oeaimissioBer. Bat, Iemt iht reaaon just assigned, aod, jsonaowet^
beciuise the dhain e£ the Jura had no atteaotioiis £at Handy tadfi (how
cauld It, w(hen there is nothing there to spend money upon but doubtfid
obeese?}— ^this idea was n^gatmd at once; As a coinpronifle, bowever,
between sooietif and solitude^ Handyside came to tbe oonohisioB tbai
Neufchatel was, pecbapq, as good a plaoe to go to aa any i goad mmt^ a
thii^ he muoh afl^ted^ drinkiDg being one of his vioas, was te be
faad^ the oaoiootMrnarf — if yon can ataad that aort of thing «t mmf
time— is firat-rate ; tbe complexion of tbe honees — if yiau have an eye
for oolouc, and pieler bright yellow ochre to any other — isattraetifB;
and Geoeya watdies — snppoong you to be curuMB abont their oonatsso-
tion — are manufactured there in any quantity yon pkase. As to the
fact of the town being alow and tame, Handyside «aw no grea£ bavoi in
that while tbe puvsuit was still hot, for even a London DeteotivB likes a
plaoe that has '*some stir in it," and would not go to Neufchatel iar
choice unless upon '* good infiormation." But if the -want t£ a buw of
'^reddition*' protected the fraadident bankrupts, it may be asked, ad^ did
either Graysteel 'Or Haadysids trouble tbemselTes to think twice en ikm
Bubject P Simply because, when men have weighing upon them a aenae
of crime committed, they cannot bring tbemsd^w to beliewre tiiat any
laws — or tbe want of them— can create immanitj. *^ The tfatsf dodi iear
each bush an officer^" tbougfa reason imdsceinpes bim at e¥eEy ate^a. It m
a case c^ conscience: that's all

Comfort in traTelliog being a thing that Handyside especially "wnt
in for, he hired a voiturier at Basle for the journey, laying in plenty of
comestibles and liquid consolation to make up for the ver^r great pos-
sibility of bad fare at the Swiss inns. He hired the carriage to take
himself and partner to Schaffhausen, giving out that they were bound
fisr the Lake of Constanoe and the Tyrol, and actually left Basle by the
Lucerne gate ; bat at Liestbal Mr. Handyside changed bis nnnd, and
informed the driver that his destination was Nettfcbatel. Unless tbe
jommey be shortened by altered plans, a voUurier, whose life is paasad on
tbe faigh^ffoad, cares little wlnoh way be travels ; and as in this instance
the dktanoe was increased, and there was an opportunity for makiag an
additional charge for an extra horse (which was not wanted) for crossing
the pass of the Ober-Hauenstein, the '< young man"— ^as he called Inmseli^
though he iooked, and very lyieely was, sixir — made not the slightest
abjection, but immediately turned his horses^ neads due soulh.

Nothing very remaikable ocoorred on the journey. Arcihibald Gray-
steel was as nervous as nsnal while bis flight was in promas, and when-
arer he got oat to walk constantly emulated the wife of Lot by k>clting
backwaids, fearing tbe pursuers. *^ Post eqnttem sedet atra Gbra** waa
the spell under which be laboured. William Handyside, more thoroogfalj
ntisbed, not only that he was <m nenfand ground, trat that nobody was
likely at that moment to be on his track, walked up the monntatn-'roai
Imanpsly, qvietiy am^ckig hw cigar. So they paasad die Ober-

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IHE DOCSi WUSUlSTSB. 15

fiansDitein, fusnd &e oU rum oF FtUrenston, detceDded into the
BdMud, ^ueaded the jlniiig« anl narrow ^bfle of -0^ hmace Kbs,
and ia •due time armed it tbe aneieBt ^ity of Soleuve, whan lH^j slept.
31be flseoBd day'e journey oeodncded them by the haBe 4xf ^m Wei«en«
stein to Bienne, and skirtings tbe lake of that naio they andiFed with*
cmt atecnpdon at Neerfbhstel, vheve £ar the peeeent i shalL leave
tbeoa.

TlMXHigh the haae ef <G&ennan deeeriptbeaese Mr. Woodman dieeoyerod,
wiien he was able to Bseame his route, that tlie pemons he was in leaireh
of had aot pasted heyowl the Ofienbnrg atation, and a hnlinot^oiinded
ofioial saggetled, with tdie alUxpreisire "< Vielleioht T that << pe^
adrentene'" they had cremed the French frontier at Kehl and prooo^kd
by that iina to JBaale. It was, wt^HNit doaht, « vory hfl|)py ear-
gcetioa, hot to lutTe made it of any value it ought to have issued wm the
ciffieud Imdn on the evening he£m, Wioa the same iaqoiries were tmade,
and whesi these might hawe been some chaaoe of nabbing the peeoaat
indmlosfb in their slnmbetB. Mr. Woodman saw at onoe that they had
dodged hsm for the l^ird ttaM snioe the paraQit began, «ad though he
had lilde er no expectation of comiog up with thm before lliey got
toto Switaeiland, he, too, crossed over to Strasboorg, and falling in wiiii

ose «f the Freoeh poHoe— a diffeaeot style of men £rom the German
Poiiaoi obtained foU confirmation of his doohti : ahhough lihe fagitifoe
trvreied «nder aamee of the latest invention, and had Foreign-^ffiee
pasqnrts to all appearanee perfectly em r^g/hj the Deteotvve had no dtfli-
eahy in eapvessing to litde Jadk his firm eoovietion that Messrs. Godfiwy
and Hqgo were the game he had been trying to run down.

*' W^ll,"* he said, ^' I s'poae by this thne they've got to iMs here
Bawi •€? Bamle, or whatever they calls it, and done as so far^ but for all
timtt am must ftid oat where they 4tre. There^s ways and means, Jade,
<yf aMdmig their Itvee quite the rewerse of pleasant, let 'em he where diey

To Basie, then, Mr. Woodman and his 'hsnohman aoeordingly £d1*
lowed, and after a whole day of industrious perquisition the rea^ tsack
was 'disoovered. It was now Mr. Woodman's tarn to keep oat of sight,
duit the Firm might he lulled into the h^ef that the emissaries ot
Measrs. 'Oodsend, Stil^ *and Soaper had either gone^a-head on « iabe
sooDt, sr had debated from punuft.

*' We anoat heap oianelveB dark, Jack," aaid l^e Deteotare; ^«t all
events tin we has ov orders from faead-^fuarters."

To do this was an easy matter for Mr. Woodman, who was aoouatcned
to all kinds of travesties, and under the disguise of botasnsing toariats,
srith hloaasB, Frea^h gaitered-ahoes, cmsgrnMes of the kepi order, tin-
easea Amg over thehr shoulders for apociiuuns, and a kind of pastoni
sroAa to aasiat their reaeai^es, Mr. Woodnum and Jaoquas Mordant esta-
Uished tbemaelvea at Neofbhatel, and reeonn<ntred their prey at leiaare.

Aa soon aa ikB Boteotive had ascertained that Meaars. Graysteel and
Handle (still calttng themselves Oodfrey and Hugo) had *' settled
down,*^ he aet the deotiie telegraph to work, and «a liie twelfth day after
his departure from London, a messenger from ^*ihe iMNiiariBe'^^made
hia appearanee in St. Withold^s and delivered a despatch to Mr. Soaper,
who, on opening it^ found it to be thus worded :

^lie«£AHBlai,Bwitae]tead. Tbe two com (G. and IE.) u domisiled

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152 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

io this here nootral citty. Not to be ffot at accordin* to law. On which
account they keeps thmr pecker up ana walks ibout free. Please to send
further orders. Liyin' right oppersite in a first pair front. Persons a

rdeal transmoggryfide. Spends their money like lords. Leastways
T'other one goes every day to chappie."

Mr. Soaper^s countenance became more tallowy than ever, and the oil
oozed freely through his pores as^ with feelings in which disgust and dis-
appointment were mingled, he read this communication. He immediately
summoned his partners, to take counsel upon the course to be adopted.
The conclaye very speedily came to the conclusion that the only way to
reach *' the evil-doers" (so Soaper, the upright man, very justly called
them) was by making over the claim of the house to a Swiss subject ; but
as it was perfectly ridiculous to suppose that any manufacturer in Switser*
land— or any hslf dozen for that matter— could give them security ibr
the whole debt (which, it may be remembered, amounted to one hundred
and sixty-three thousand pounds, eighteen shillings and sixpence — with*
out interest), they resolved to transfer to a correspondent at Greneva an
overdue bill for 4900/.-— one of a good many of Graysteel and Handy-
side*s which had come into their hands since the great transaction, with
special instructions to sue at once upon it. This Genevese correspondent
was Monsieur Cliquet, the great watchmaker in the Rue Basse, whose
emporium attracts so many travellers. This individual undertook the
job for a moderate commission (what Swiss would not?); but as the
evil-doing parties were not in Geneva, recourse was had by him to hi$
correspondent at Neufchatel, a certain Monsieur Pigeon, who would —
very moderately — parUdpate in the profits which arose out of the process.
The arrangement was well planned, and circumstances favoured it, for it
so happened that William Handyside being in want of an expensive
watdi---(he always yearned afier what was most expensive) — had paid
more than one visit to the shop of Monsieur Pignon, who had pronused
lum the very best article that could be made for money. To oblige any
English gentleman (who was rich) Monsieur Pignon declared uiat he
would work night and day.

*' Ah ! he would execute a tour de force — ^he would surprise Milord
Hugo! A beautiful golden bird, with purple enamelled wings and
diamond eyes, should issue from the watch when he touched a certain
spring, and sing the Ranz des Vaches in the most wonderful manner*
The cost — to milord — would be a mere hagcUelle compared with the
splendour and ingenuity of the device ; only three thousand francs ! Ah I
— milord did not know what resources there were in the minds of the
Swiss watchmakers."

Apparently not ; for, going as usual one fine morning to see how the
work was getting on, he was shown into the burectu — not the aieUer *
of Monsieur Pignon. The artist was alone, and an open letter was lying
on his desk, the perusal of which he had just finished. Whether by
instinct or accident it is not easy to say, but Mr. Handyside's eyes fell
on the lettei^ the moment he entered the little room, and his range of
vision being remarkable, he instantly caught sight of his own name and
that of his partner, Graysteel.

*'Ah, milord— c'est-i-dire, monsieur, c'est vous! Diable! je suis
seul. Que faire V

To this half-muttered salutation, Handyside, who guessed mischief

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THE DOCK WABEANTS, 153

xepKed in an off-hand way, asking what progress Monsieur Pignon was
making with the watch, which he wanted io pay for and take away. At
the same time he produced his pocket-book.

If ever there were an undeciaed person on the face of the earth, that
person was Monsieur Pignon. The letter from Monsieur Cliquet, of
Genera, informed him that he would get one-sixteenth per cent, on the
amount of the transferred bill for his trouble in effecting the arrest of
hia customer. He calculated what that was in a moment : it came to
about seventy-six francs. But he was about to sell a watch to the same
party, by winch he should make a profit of at least a thousand. Be-
tween we two sums there could not, of course, be any hesitation ; but
another question arose. How should he satisfy Monsieur Cliquet, if he
failed to carry out his instructions? To connive at the escape of Milord
Hugo might, moreover, entail very serious consequ«3ces. Monsieur
Pignon's tongue remained silent while these considerations occupied him,
but something spoke in his working brow which tended to increase the
wariness of Wilham Handyside* At last the jeweller came to a oonclu-
non : he would say nothing about the process ull he eot his own money;
lie coold finish the watch in a few hours ; he would tfuce it home himself
neeeiTe the amount, have a huimer ready, perform his duty, and satisfy
his Swiss conscience; so he looked up with a smile, and made answer as
follows:

** I beg your pardon, milord ! I was calculating die time it would
take me to complete that superb masterpiece. For forty-eight hours my
eyes have never closed upon it. Only ten minutes i^ I left it in my
woriuhop. Milord is impatient to have that noble specimen of art?
Milord remembers the price ?"

" Perfectly," replied Handyside. " Three thousand francs. Here are
the notes of the Bank of France.'' He showed them to the jeweller,
whose hand trembled with delight, and replaced them in his pocket-book.
*^ I will pay you the instant the watch is ready."

Monsieur Pignon gulped down his disappointment : he had expected
to touch the cash, then and there — ^in whidi case he would have done
** his duty" so much the sooner.

*^Tr^8 bien, milord; 9a ne presse pas. Quand, milord, voudra!
A quelle heure, milord, sera-t-il chez lui r*

His lordship said he should be at home all day.

^ Dans ce cas," returned the jeweller, " milord aura sa montre cet apr^s-
midL A trois heures precises j'aurai I'honneur de Papporter moi-mlme."

" And at three o'clock, you infernal scoundrel," said William Handy-
side to himself, *' you will not catch me in the canton of Neufchatel.*^

He went back to his hotel, where he found Graysteel busy with his
prayef-book — the commercial one.

" We must hook it again," he said.

His partner understood him now without further explanation. He
merely asked why?* The reason was soon ti^iven. He had read the
words "fiure arr^ter," as well as the names of himself and partner.

" It must be Brussels over again," he continued ; " we must take
French leave. The lake-steamer is lying at the wharf just beyond the
garden-gate. Put your dirk and revolvers into your cloak-pocket, and
^llow me."

Handyside leisurely strolled down stairs. He met the landlord of the

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154 lawbskce'9 ufz op fielding.

boteV and was very pr«oM» in h» orders £(>r dmaec He partiiwhriy
wanted to taste seane Vis d'Yverne whidi be saw on the oorHr. A teip
on the lake would brin^ him back with a famoas a|yetitfe,r- anH| bif-ibe-
by, coTefs m«st be laid for ^ree, as Moasieur Pigpnoa was inviled! to
due. What a dever penen Moasieor Pignon waal He bad jnat paid
bim three thoasand francs for the laoet heaatifiilr watch that a¥ar was
seen. Monsieuv Pigoon was to btbg it at three o'clock. He bad aenFOs
enjoyed aay plaoe so muA aa Nenfchatel. Be sheuld reiaain all the

If the flexiUlifiy c£ the landlord's backbone oonkt h«f e been incraaead
by bewiagy that was the momeat for ascertaining the foot* Ha begged
permissum to be attowed to show the w«jk.

^' Ah!" bf eaelsimedy with fttmssMMn^ *< qaal temps d^Ucfoml
Yeas avrez, messienis, vne proewnadfr saperhe."

So they didy — and a superb drire sAerwavda^^ — aa fost as thnee pastr
horses from Yverdun eould }»j ImgB to ther gioond in liiedirastiDii a£ ihm
lake ef Croieva. He had taken &t road as the nearestto the Ssrdintatt
frontiet. Hia leiaare while at Neu&hatel had bean asefoUir eocnpiad
in piepasing *^ Goveranaent despatches" from the British Miniabar at
Bania to tbs BritUi Afiniater at Turing and in sinmlatan^ pasipeste
whirii. iai tha capacky o£ masseageia daaeribed tha faeanaa.

But while this I^odus was taking place what was Mr. Woodnuat
aftont? Ha was< waiting for the aiders for wbioh he had.tekgiaphad to
St. WithoUTs* By an^ oyeraigfat an? the past of Mr. Soaj^ he fattd
foagotten. to put tha Detectire en. v&ppart wtdii MonaiattD Cliquat^ w4ft»
bad replied to '< Godsends" that the affinir waa ^ en tMin»" and he only
awoke from his Fools' Paradise on the receipt of a second tdegnifduc
massage from Mr. Woodman, which simply said :
^< 6. and H. off again ! Nobody knows where."

While thb message was bmg telegaaphed) ^ G. and H." were eroas'
ing the lake of Geneva in aa open boat to leaeh the mountains of Sairoy;

LAWKENCFS LIHB Of FIBLDINa*

This is a yolome which in subject and treatment belongs to the class
headed — iongo intervdUo between the head and shoulders, however— 4)y
Mr. Forster^s Lifo of Goldsmith. To the narrative art and dramatic
power so memorably and exceptionally shown in the latter work, Mr,
Lawrence may have no great chum, and indeed makes littk enough pre-
tension— his book being an unpretending but all the more mentorious
resumS of the life and times of Henry Fielding. He is well '< up" witb
hie subject, and illustrates it with a larse yet lively mass of anecdotage,
extracts fix)m by-gone magazines, and bits of by-wajf books. From first
to last a good deal of instructive and amusing matt^ is compressed within
his pages, which answer to the promise of the tiUe, in containing pleasant
and plenteous notices of, not only the writings of Fielding, but of his
times and his contemporaries.

Of the last, for example, there are sketches of Boyse, the shivering,

* The Life of Bmry Fielding i with Notices of his Writings, his Times, and
his Contemporaries, iy Frederick Lawrence. Hall, Virtue, and Co. 1855.

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ULWBXinCE'S UFE OW TTKLOmG. 155

mdodie^ dmnerlets autbor of ^* The Deity" — a mfra on equallj fcmiliar
tenw with po<v«rtj and the pawnbroker—and fer whom Johaaon once
eollBCtted a eonaidmible Bom ** m sixpences) at a time** (the doctor after-
waida said)^ <*^when to me nxpence was a sevioas consideration,'^ all to
ledeem Boyse's clothes fixnn pawn, and so enable him to leare his bed
(Ti bed that can be called where sheets were none) — within ibHy-eight
havn o€ wfaidi release^ the clol^ies were pledged once more ; — of Kitty
Ovve, whov stage qneea of giggling, plotting chambermaids, hoydens and
lomfs^ '^pleased by ]n£ng all attempts to please ;** of Colky Cibher, the
Gwumnd'hHf of Fielding^s "^ Historical Register ;** of Ma^in, that most
enfiertainii^ of self-complaoent men; of Grarriok, never so efficiently
cffiticised as by Fielding^s Fttriridffe ; of the kind, nrodent, and honour-
afafe George Lilk>; of the ex-linendraper Edward Moore, who wrote
'^-Tbe Gamester," and edited tliat fMnonable periodical « The World,"
on^bvted to by Lords Chesterfield and Orrery, Sir C. H. WilKams,
Horaee WalpoK Soame Jenyns, Aks.; of Dr. (9ir John) HiH, who is
said to have shared with Orator Henl^ the dubious honour of being the
Dtodoys man of his age, and whose transition from an apothecary's
k tilt stag* of the Haymaapket, whwe be acted in his own abortive
seeaaienad Garrnsk^ epigram :

For physic and farces
His equal there scarce is;
His farces are physio,
His physio a fme is.

Lk relatk>ii to flelduiff himself, Mr. Lawrence seons to have mads
diluent use of all available information* His occasional remarks on his
auger's writings, if not vei^ nov^ or searching, axe at least in good
taste and feelmg; he admires heartily, but not indiscriminately, and
backs his ehge ay well-chosen excerpts from such critics as Seott and
Coleridge,. Forster and Thackeray. There is an interesting bibliogra-
phical appendix^ supplied by Mr. Watts of the British Museum, which
^fnxjTt^^r^iitM the vaiioos European* translations of *' T%m Jones^" Another
maikworthy feature is the illustcation of manaecs and the state of society,
esemplified in chapters like those which treat of Fielding's doings as a
Justice of the Peace, the case of Elizabeth Canning, &c Mr. Lawrence
ia well read» moreover, in the annals of the stage,, and uses his reading
to puipase in both text and notes.

He draws Fielding in the best light, alike as man and as author. One
of the best of *' good fellows" was Fielding, in the convivial sense of the
Wh^er as Eton boy — the popuUup chum of LyUleton and Pitt

* The British Museum contains a Polish translation of *' Tom Jones," which
was purchased in fulfilment of a since interrupted plan— that, namely, of pro-
coaiag the n^iole set of f(»eign translat^ns of our British classics. The Germans
appear to be rich in versions of Mr. Jones. Sweden has translated him too^ and
so have Holland and Spain, hut neither Denmark nor Italy seems to have natu*
ralised him. Bussia enjoys translations of nearly all his works — but none of
them firom the original, which, as the compiler of this Appendix remarks, <4s
somewhat surprising, as the Russians are remarkably fond of Engliflh novels.**
As aa example of this, be adds: ^I see by a new number of one of their periodic
call (the OUchettoennuiifa ZapUkiy for June, 1855), that in the midst of the
desperate struggle before Sebastopol, the public of St. Petersburg was being
amused with translations, given at tail length in that magazine, of Lever^s 'Dodd
WvBB&j Abroad,' and Ainsworth's * Flitch of Dunmow.' "

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156} Lawrence's LIFE OF FIELDING.

(both sickly lads, and more conversant with their " Dame's parlour" than
the hearty Somersetshire boy), and of Henry Fox and Charles Hanbuiy
Williams — whether as fast young* man about town, with an empty purse
and a full heart—or as country squire, banqueting Salbbury Shallows and
Simples to their astonishment and his own ruin— or as Templar and
briefless barrister, making merry on the Western Circuit with another
briefless barrister, Charles Pratt (briefless for some nine years to come,
and then working hb way to a Camden peerage),-— or as political jour-
nalist and anti- Jacobite satirist, in the stirring times of the '45 — or as
Bow-street justice, poor-law reformer, and " putter down" estraordinanr
of wholesale street ruffianism, — ^at every stage of his journey of lire
Fielding was a favourite, and with all sorts of men. He had a taking way
with him ; and in spite of his *' inked ruffles and claret stains on his tar-
nished lace coat," as Thackeray sketches him, '^ stuned as you see him,
and worn by care and dissipation, that man retains some of the moat
precious human qualities and endowments"— -to the value of which his
present biographer has done ample justice.

Though from the time he was of age, and before it, Fielding had to
look to his pen as his bread-winner, it was long ere he made more dum
a plaything of it— or at best, a thing to win the necessary bread by,
without looking further. '* Since I was bom,'' writes his bnlliant kins-
woman, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, "no original has appeared
except Congreve and Fielding, who [Fielding] would, I believe^ hare
approached nearer to his [Congreve'sj excellences, if not forced by ne«
cessity to publish without correction, and throw many productions into
the world he would have thrown into the fire, if meat could have been
got without money, or money without scribbling." Arthur Murphy telk
us that Fielding, after having contracted to bring on a play or a &rce,
would go home rather late from a tavern, and would the next morning
deliver a scene to the players, written upon the papers in which he had
wrapped the tobacco he so much delighted in. When his farce or
interiiide of " £ur](dice," produced at Druir Lane in 1737, was un-
equivocally and not unjustifiably " damned,** Fielding took an oppor-
tunity of parading his careless facility of composition, by endeavouring
to show, in a subsequent piece (at the Hay market) called '* Eurydice
Hissed," that the condemned farce had been — not hastily and inconsi*
derately condemned by the public (for he did not arraign the judgment
of the public), but — -nastily and inconsiderately composed by himself —

The trifling offspring of an idle hoar : —

an excuse which, as Mr. Lawrence observes, possessed, no doubt, the
merit of truth, although there was more vanity than policy in urging it
with such vehemence on the attention of the public. Fielding's com-
parative indifference to fame, while engaged in nurrying on an essay for
'* The Champion," or a comedy for Drury Lane Theatre, is one of the
many characteristics which distinguish him so completely from his great
rival, Richardson. " The breath of adulation was pleasant to Richard-
son, but Fielding estimated it at its true worth. Tne one was childishly
covetous of praise, and g^reedy of the applause of partial friends ; the
other was as reckless of his reputation as of his purse. If the proceeds
from an essay or a pamphlet were sufficient to buy out an execution, or
to satisfy a relentiess tax-gatherer, Fielding was a happier man than if

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LAWRENCE'S LIFE OF FISLDINQ. 157

the whole Societjr of Wits at WilPs, or all the crittos of the prew, had
eomhined to trampet forth hU exoeUenoee."

For, Hany meldiDg, who mores muUorum kominum tfidii, had per*
lonal ezperioDce of &e morew of bum-hailiflBy and other rough-and-
readj mwameDS of m-humanity, in the course of his nps and downs in
fife, ana donhtless could have wished these gentry hotter moresy hy means
of a hotter acquaintance (Jideltter didicme) with those ''ingenuous
arts^ whidi, a good authority declares, have an '* emollient** influence on
*' manners." Better manners to ve 1 might once and again have heen
)u8 hene&tion on sponging-householders, duns, and tax-collectors, wIkmc
only interest in hooks (and hookmen) was confined to those in which they
kq)t their accounts — a proTince of literature by which a man's mores are
but imperceptibly softened, so that to say nee sinit esseferos were to say
the thing that is not : witness Dick Steele, Harry Fielding, and a whole
noble (or ignoble) army of martyrs to impecuniosity. Between the ages
of twenty and twenty-two, a life about town had initiated fielding ^' into
all the mysteries of Bohemianism." If he was familiar with the bois-
terous . jomty and reckless unthrift of tavern life, so was he widi chill
penury in some of its dreariest aspects. Almost his only means of
sui^Mnrt he derived from the playhouse treasury : supplementary aid, to
make both ends meet, came sometimes in the ** questionable shape** of a
'^ tip" perhaps firom his old fellow-Etonian, George Lyttleton, or from
some honoured patron, such as the Dukes of Richmond and Arcnrle. It
is no imaginary picture, therefore, that Mr. Lawrence draws of 3ie jovial
aothor in hit early days of alternate light and shade— one day, femiliar
with the BOT^d haunts of poverty ; the next, gay in velvet, ruffles, and
embroidery ; now, dining at the tables of the great, and quaffing cham-
pagne in ducal banquet-Ealls; and now seeking out the cheapest ordinary;
or, if dinner was impossible^ solacing himself with a' pipe of tobacco.
A satire entitled *' Seasonable Reproof," published anonymously in 1735,
thus describes his '^ sudden transformations from the grub to tkie butterfly
condition :**

F-- — g, who ^resterdav appeared so rougb,

Clad in coarse frieze, and plastered down with snuff,

See how his instant gaady trappings shine !

What playhouse bard was ever seen so fine?

But this not from his humoor flows, you'll say.

But mere necessity — for last night lay

In pawn the velvet which he wears to-day.

Colley Gibber, defined by Ralph *' a bottle of as pert small beer as
ever wluzzed in any man's face," called Fielding, in one of these effer-
vescent ebullitions of small beer sourness, *' a broken wit.** Old Colley
was right though. In circumstances, the man who had ridiculed him in
" Pasquin" and the '^ Renter,** was a broken and battered bankrupt.
In intellectuals, he was as undeniably a wit. And Gibber knew to his
cost that the ** chill penury," at which he indirectly sneered, availed not
to '^ repress the noble rage" of a wit of Fielding's inches. Care killed a
cat, the^ say; and a cat has (according to the same on dU authority) lives
thiee times three ; Fielding had only one life, but Care killed not him.
If, amid straits and embarrassments the most irksome, he did not exactly
laugh and grow fat, at least he laughed and grew — thin. He breathed

TOL. XXXIX. K

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158 ulwrsnge's life of fixldikg.

a heaTjT aimofpher*, but himself was buoranty air^, liriii aa a feaAher.
He was joyous in the fiftce of duns^'and had the l^t neart to torn hia
indigenee into jeux d^etprit. At three and^twenty be thus addneaed
the prime minister — ralj comparing notes with Sir Bobert Walpole^
on their fespectire positions in life :

He faniilj that dines the latest
Is in onr street esteemed the ffreatest ;
But latest hours must surely rail
'fore him who nerer dines ik alL

Your taste as architect^ you know,
Hath been admired by fnend and foe ;
But can jour earthly domes compare
With all Mf castles— in the air P

We're often taught it doth bdiove us
To thii^ those greater who're above us ;
Another instance of my gloiy,
Who live above you twice two story ;
And from my garret can look down
On the whole street of Arlington.

Greatness by poets still is pjainted
With many followers acquainted;
1^ too <£)th in my favour speak ;
Tow \sv6t is but once a week ;
Fnnn mine 1 can exclude but one day —
My door is quiet of a Sunday.

One grave consequence, however, this garret life producefl, damaging
to Fielmng's character as a man of letters, — ^the pandering to low tastes
in his contributions to the stage. In the prologue to his first eomedj,
'^ Love in several Masques" (1728), he had the assurance, indeed, to
claim credit for die moral tone of his scenes, and their freedom from
aught that could offend the fiur ;* yet it were hard to say wherein this
piece differs for the better from contemporary comedies — and, given the
year 1728, we know what sort of things, in a moral point of view, t^ley
were. Mr. Lawrence straightforwardly protests that, '' the truth is, Field-
ing could not affbrd to be dull ; and decorum was in that age considered
83rnonymous with dulness. Had his play been less piquant and more
moral, he might have wanted occupation for some years to come.'' Let
the apology, or plea, go for what it is worth ; the fact upon which it is
framed seems to oe mortify ingly correct. But worse than this; Fielding^
in his eagerness [prohpudor!) to keep up with his patrons' depraved
taste, actmdly outran it— went lengths that the playo^ing public really
could not go — took liberties that a by no means '* nice*' pt and boxes
eould not tolerate. ''The Coffee-House Politician" was a Kttle Dm)
strong ; and however entertaining the colloquies of Dabble and JMitick
(whose political geog^phy is about on a par with that of Fieldinr's
subsequent patron, his Grace of Newcastle), and however potent me
hit at London justices of the peace, in Uie person of Mr. Juttke
Squeezum (acte^ too, d merveiUe^ by Hyppesly, the original PMehum)^
pidilic decency had some character snll to maintam, or perhaps redeem,

* Nought shall offtad the flOroM's mn to-day,
Which she might Uush to hear, or blash to si^, &e.

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U.WBSMGE'8 Lm OF FIELPINGU 159

aod tlw play was erMituallyy thoi^h aot at fini, put down. Of lut next
fire-act oomadv, '« The Modem Htuband" (1732), Mr. Lawxence, erer
diipoeed to palUate his author's traaagressioiis, literary and monl^ fairly
owB«» that it Menu imposoible at thii time of day to believe in the tolera-
tion of such a piece by any decent audience. '^ No doubt the morals of
the upper classes were oad enough in the reien of George IL,**-— '' but
that such a state of morals as Fielding has depicted in ' The Modem
Husband' was common in any class or circle is an incredible and mon^-
atrous suppondon." Such a couple as Mr. and Mr*. Modern^ the author
adds, might have been found, perhaps, in probing the lowest depths of
profligacy ; but to repesent such persons as the ordinary products of the
social system then in vogue, was a libel on the age, and exceeded the
limits of the comedian's licence. Nevertheless, Fielding complacently
takes credit to himself, in the prologue^ for his adherence to *' nature
and truth," and his <^ defence of virtue." Next year (1732) he << came
oat with" a burlesque (^ propos of namby-pamby Phillips's '* Distressed
Mother," sciL Raciae's **An(bomaqtte" done into namby-pamby English),
eadtled ** The Covent Garden Tragedy," which introduces the lowest of
the low London characters of that time and that place (Covent Garden
being then notmous for the evil communications that corrupt good
mannersX and goes hx to confirm the beMe^ that want of deoenoy is
want of a&oae* This burlesque was speedily followed by ^ The De-
bauchee^" a eomedy flung at the head of the Jesuits, whose odour of
sanctity just at thi^ time stank in the nostrils of the town, thanks in
espeoal to the recent expo$4 of Catherine Cadi^ and Father Girard.
It is but poor comfort to know that both these last pieces were ^' fireely
censured at the time for their flagrant indecency," and to have the autho-
rity of the Grub Sir§ei Journal (July, 1732), that they both << met with
the universal detestation of the town :" Gmb-street journalists sometimes
observing cmly the first clause of the oommandment to

Nothing extemiate, nor set down aught in malice.

Of Hhe Universal Gallant," >«^> & comedy acted (by Qnin, Cibber, &c,
mUr aKo$) at Dmry-Lane Theatre, in 1735, Mr. Lawrence says : ** It
proved a most undoubted fiulure, and not undeservedly so.** The audi-
ence, it is said, sat quietly till the third act was almost over, expectine
the play to mend ; but finding it grow worse and worse, they lost idl
patience. Fielding was bitter (for him, who had so little gall in his
composition) at the fate of thb comedy ; imputed it to '' some young
genueroen of the town who make a jest of damning plays ;"* and urged
the pubKe at lare^ to reverse the judgment of a packed and partisan few.
He urged in vam ; and font miettx : for, whatever the motive of those
wlio had condemned him, the condemnation itself will grieve or surprise
no nineteenth century reader. No wcmder, on the whole, if Fielding
t a bad name with playgoers who had a conscience, and came to be
trusted by them as one whose next play it would not be " safe" to go

got
dast

Whence the aUnsion in the (paalo post) prologue :

^Csn then another's aoffoish give you joy?
Or is it such a triumph to destroy?
We, like the fabled frogs, consider thuss
This may he sport to you, but it is death to us.*
h2

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160 lawrence'8 life of fielding.

and lee acted. Tlias in 1748, when hit rehabilitated juvenile comedy,
*'The Wedding Day," was announced as ^in preparation/' rumour eon»
demned it beforehand, on the score of its indecency ; a chai^ from
which Fielding endeavoured to defend it, by statmg that the report
arose entirely from the objection of the licenser to certain passages,
which were at once expunged. But this defence, Mr. Lawrence objects,
is untenable: ** In the plot of the comedy, with which the licenser's pen
could not interfere, there is an ingrained deformity ; and portions of the
dialogue remind us of the age of Wprcherley and Congreve.** That
ladies of quality, in the year 1743, it is with justice remarked, should
refuse to sanction* such an entertainment with their presence, is a proof
that an improvement in public morals was gradually taking place.

Fielding's plays, however, are now fidrly shelved ; and probably the
higher the shelf the better. His novels, on the other hand, have tne vi*
tality involved in his appellation. Father of the English Novel The coarse-
ness and indelicacy by which they too are blotted, are lamentable draw-
backs to the delight they otherwise afibrd. Sir John Hawkins was bilious
(as usual— or possibly a little extra) when he called '^ Tom Jones^ a book
«< seenungly intended to sap the foundation of that morality which it is
the duty of parents," &c ; and Richardson was a jealous rival and a blind
critic when he said, ^^ Tom Jones is a dissolute lx>ok. Its run is overj**
Ac.', and France was inconsistent, and had something like a beam in her
eye, when she^ dietioe on Cr6billon /?&, refused to license Master Tom,
because of his immonuity ; neverthdess it is well to give proper weight
to the weighty objections, on this ground, to which Fieldii^s novels are
one and idl liable, and which only their extraordinary merit in other
respects could have struggled against with success. The degree of this
merit enhances the vexation one feels at offences to taste and morab so
firequent and so mtuitous ; indeed, superlative as it is, it is in no way
superfluous, mere^ as a disinfectant — as a counter-agent against that
tendency to decay which. Heaven be praised, is an innate tendency
in all corrupt matter. There needed a goodly array of sterling qua-
lities to maintain ''Tom Jones" in life and vigour, to an age wnen
novel readers are used to the innocuous pages of Scott, and Dickens,
and Thackeray. Not that we forget the progressive refinement of taste,
or the conventional freedom of a period m which Dr. Doddridge could
read the Wife of Bath's Tale, with infinite relish, to the maiden (not yet
old maiden) Hannah More. But is it not possible that, in their well-
grounded strictures on the moral character of most moral Richardson's
novels — " Pamela,** at least, the head and front of his offending, — Cole-
ridge, and others who have caught up his cry, may have too indiscri-
minately admired the healthy, bracing atmosphere in which Fielding
breathes so very freely ? Healthy and bracing it may be by comparison
with Richardson's '' close and relaxing clime" — but a relative virtue is
not a virtue absolute, and Harry the heedless might be better than
Samuel the serious, and yet be no better than he should be. For all
^hat, the world could have better spared a better man.

* Moreover, Mrs. Clive " refused a part in the comedy which she considered
particularlv objectionable: a circumstance which gave rise to a copy of verses
by Sir C. Banbury Williams."

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161

THE PBIVATE THEATEIOALS AT OHESHANT,

I ALWAYS used to think that Uncle John of Cheshant was just the
Idndesty best-hearted, dearest old duck in Christendom, and now Fm sure
of it ; he nerer seemed to have a care in the world. Poor Aunt Sophia
died erer so long ago, and left him with neither chick nor child ; and he
used to come up to us in this terrible Bedford-square of ours, from the
eountiy, h'ke an angel of light and love. His own house is not such an
enormously huge one as everybody makes out their uncle's place to be
when they go out of town to spend Christmas at it, but it is a very good
size indeed; with a double drawing-room (remember that), and a
dining-room of course, a library, an awful magistrate's room, a charming
housekeeper's snuggery, where pickles, and jams, and those pineapple
preserves are kept, and such a love of a boudoir ! looking out upon the
l^rand old <^urch firom which the wedding-bells — I mean the Christmas-
Sells — ^were pealing all day long and half the night We two sisters-
Lilly and I — slept over the library, and Carry and Anne— our cousins-
over the drawing-room, and the boudoir was between us and our com-
mon room. These were all of ns girls at Cheshant, in general. Papa
and mamma were there too, natimdly ; and Captain L'Estrange, the
Punjaub man ; and Mr. Stokes, the squire, from Fellaton ; and — and
Leonard — that is, Mr. Leonani Hughes, of Watlington — and that^s
all. But last Christmas it was another matter. Lilly did it. She had
been to some ** Tableaux Vivants" at the Williamses, in October, where
Colonel Montmorenci of the Guards (on urgent private affairs from the
Crimea), had played Tamerlane in her Indian shawl, and she could
never get it out of her mind. So, " Uncle, dear," she whispered, one
night, when Uncle John had got his handkerchief over his eyes after
dinner, and was '* going off,*' ^* don't you think we could have some
tableaux, or charades, or private theatricals, here^ now ?"

<*Some what?" said the dear old gentleman, rather snappishly.
*' * Private theatricals ?*— Private fiddlesticks !"

*^ Yes, dear Uncle John, of course," she answered (for when Lilly
^^ goes in for a thing," as Leonard says, there's nothing like her in this
world) — '* of course we must have private fiddlesticks, and, if possible, a
drum. But whether the hall or the back drawinfl;*room is the best place
to act in, that is the question." And because that was the last wing
Uncle John had heard before he went off to sleep, he kept on repeating
** Bade drawing-room — back drawing-room,'' for half an hour — wlucK
was a promise.

Uncle John, he was to be manager (that was settled at once), but he
would not act ; papa and mamma were in doubt for a long time, but one
bad to be painted in yellow-ochre, we said, and the other to have her
hair powdered, so they both threw up their engagements ; the captun he
had nis uniform with him, and was therefore of course an acquisition;
Mr. Stokes was half a Frenchman — he had been so long abroad, re-
Crenching— and was consequently ready to act anything ; and Mr. Hughes
said, very rudely, on my asking him what he was fit for, ** The husband,
the loving husband, miss," and threw himself upon his ridiculous knees,

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162 THE PRIVATE THEATMCALS AT CHESHANT.

in which attitude he was caught by the under-housemaid. There were
we four girls, then, and but three gentlemen, which was absurd ; so we
sent for a friend of ihe captwn'a — a Mr. Harris, from Oxford — a remark-
ably clever and amusing person, he said, and who had been plucked
nineteen times for his *^ smalls," to make it right

Then we chose two " screaming" hxces, and a dress-play in one act,
*' for the ladies," it was said, but I don't believe we cared for onr hoops
and head-dresses one bit more than the men did for their bag- wigs and
diamond-buckles. All of us began rehearsing as soon as posable ; but
Mr. Harris, who was about to try his twentieth chance, could not join
the company till term was over.

Now, if Mr. Stokes, who will treat everything "with such breadth <^
colouring, informs you that we got our moveable theatre from Thespis
and Son, and all our dresses, new, ^m the costumist of the Lyceum, one
of us two has been misinformed, as I understood from Leonud that he
went to Levi's, the theatrical man, and got all the gentlemen's things on
hire, except the wigs ; and, for us, we made our own habiliments, nnder
the direction of a distinguished artiste— mamma. The village carpenter
put up the stage and the footlights ; and the all-accomplished Mr. Stokes
painted the side-scenes and the curtain. " For a ten-pound note, and
■with the destrucdon of the back drawing-room," as Uncle John com-
placently observed, ^* we did it all." It was a pTKud sight to see him
managing the rehearsals. Mamma and papa, and a servant or two, were
spectators at every one, until they began to think comedy, tragedy, and
the dress-piece positively fuuereal. Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper, was
in the prompter's box, where there was no room to wag a fing^, and,
being encumbered with the book, and the bell, and the candle, set her*
self on fire on four distinct occasions.

*^ Fm a-light again, if yon please, sir," she used to scream. ^ Never
yon mind," holloed Uncle John. '* What's after * hand and heart,' Mrs.
Potts ? Captain L' Estrange, this is the second time you've stuck in this
marriage oflFer, and Miss Lilly Trevor don't know what to say to you. . . .
Wiil you fall into Mr. Stokes's arms, Carry, or will you not ? Is he to be
kept waiting there, at R. D. F., until the afterpiece? ... Where is he,
Anne ? Where is he ?" '* Why he is probably being plucked again in
the schools ; but you need not ask after him twice, because it's not in
the book." " Deuce take you, Hughes, why don't you let that yom^
woman go ? It says, ' Starts away after embrace,' distinctly.' . . .
Pooh, pooh, the direction is, * Kisses him.' You must do as the di-
lection says, certainly ; don't interrupt the course of the drama by foolish
sonij^es."

Nor were these the worst difficulties Uncle John had to deal mib ; the .
captain wanted to wear his uniform in all three pieces, even the one in
which he played a Blacksmith in the Tyrol. No human power, we
understood from mamma, could get Mr. Stokes into knee-brcMhes ; and
if it was for the same reason that made Anne decline to be a Buy-»-
Broom girl, I know why. He produced an original play of his own
composition within five days of our performance, and because it was written
'expressly for the company, we had to get that up too. It seemed to
me to have been written expressly for Cany L' Estrange and him, and
nobody else, and all the '* hits," and the '* salutations," and the ^ sitiui-

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THE PBIYATE THEATBICALS AT CHESHANT. 163

tiODS* to hare been reserved for themselves ; bat it wm played. Invita-
tioae for half the county had been sent oat, and nearly ail the people
irere ooming : the wick^ old lord from the Park, ipi^io has twelve wives
aKve already they say, and is looking out for a thirteenth ; and both the
borongh members ; and the man that keeps the hounds. I saw ** Mem. —
EHgiUe," opposite to his name in mamma's private list ; but that is no
oonoem of mine, I can tell her. Then there was the archdeacon, and a
heap of High Church curates, and the officers of the troop at Cheshant
besides. Bat we girls didn't fear any of these as we did our own sex.
It positively made me cold to think of Lady Blowdale and the four
Miss Blowiiales, and of those abominable Miss Kimples, and of the gay
widow of Wormwood Hall, and of that rector's wife. How they will
praise and oompliment us all night long, thought I, and pick us to pieces
evoelly for the next six months to come. Lilly will be "affected,**
and Cany "foolish;" Anne will be " lack-a-daisical," and I shall be
" bold ;** and " I never saw you, my dear, with such a colour before,"
die Bev. Mrs. Snapdragon will say— a pohteness I shall not be able to
lepay, for I have seen her many times with just the same ; but it was
too lake to think of such things then. Moreover, at the last moment
afanoet, Mr. Harris wrote to say his gprandpapa had had a fit, and was
men over. I thought Uncle John would have had another when that
dEeadfol letter arriv^

" Why couldn't his grandpapa have waited till next week ? Why
hadn't L'flstran^ said that his friend's g^ndpapa was subject to fits ?
Woold Annie— nlearest Annie— object to let the footman make love to
iier in the unavoidable absence of the strange gentleman V*

Annie, however, who had retired to the prompter's box in tears, de-
daro^ Ae wooldn't submit to it ; the Captain whistled " Pop goes the
WeaseP to the measure of the " Dead March in Saul f Mr. Stokes was
osrog the most awfol words his French could suggest, and Uncle John
translating them into English, when in rushed Mr. Hughes from the rail-
way stetion, with news that he had telegraphed for a friend of his— one
Mr. Rooke — ^firom London, and that he would be down by the next

" My son, my long lost sonT' ejaculated Uncle John, from the dress-
pieoe, as he threw himself into Leonard's arms.

*' There's sixty thousand pounds upon the mantelshelf, and it's
yoors,*' said Mr. Stokes, from the first farce.

*^ If the thanks of a lonely maiden are worthy of your acceptance, sir,
taire them, oh, take them for Mr. Rooke," misquoted Annie from the
aeoond. We were Kfted from the lowest depths at once to comparative
independenee. We were certain the new actor would do capitally-^how
abfford not to have thought of him before ! It was decreed that he was to
be locked up over the stables immediately after his arrival, and denied all
other nutriment until he had finished his rdfes; we ourselves had been at
them for three weeks, and were only just perfected. Our copies of
'' Lacy's Acting Edition" were a disgraceful sight, tumbled, and thumbed,
and torn beyond belief ; we had found them in our pockets in the most
sacred places, and had caught ourselves respouding from them on the
most unfit occasions. Some of them had been distributed over the
village by mistake for tracts^ and had been even read and digested as

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164 THE PRIVATE THEATRICALS AT CHESHAMT.

works of an edifying nature. We had been also made to walk out, two
and two, for mutual interrogation and the perfection of our characters.
Indeed, no lessons in the world were ever learnt so well and so pleasantly
as at Uncle John*s academy for both sexes down at Cheshant.

We all drove down to the station to hidl our deliverer. He was a
fresh-coloured young man, of nervous temperament, and didn't seem to
understand us all quite at first. I suppose our stage names — under which
the manager insisted upon introducing us — rather confused him. *^ Now
Annie, you get next to him in the rumble, and tell him what he's got to
say and do ; for," said my uncle, in quotation, <* this is no time for Mae
delicacy, Jemima Anne.

And how soon we did get acquainted, and how pleased we all were
with him immediately ! And this, indeed, is one of the pleasantest attri-
butes of private theatricals, that there is no preliminary ci^dness and
ceremony, but we either like one another or not, at once. Three nights
from that very day Mr. Rooke was in our boudoir, and Carry and 1 were
putting vermilion on his nose. All besides the captain, too, we had to
furnish with moustachios of burnt cork, and very often to wash them off
again for them between the pieces. What channing occupation on wet
days was that constructing of play-bills with medieval characters and
modem jokes. Mr. Pugin himself could not have done it better than
Mr. Stokes; but the captain wasted more than an acre of gold in the ilia*
mination^— '' enough," Leonard said, severely, " to cover all his brass.**
On fine days we ravs^^ed the conservatory, and stripped the laurels and
the holly trees to deck the supper-room ; Annie and Mr. Rooke brought
home a prise of mistletoe between them from some out-of-the-way place,
which occasioned immense scandal, and heightened their colour very
agreeably; we spent an enormous time on the scenery, and Uncle John
took an hour and a half in getting through a very small window-frame,
which, in opposition to the genend opinion, he wished to demonstrate
was *^ practicable." It was indeed a merry, merry Christmas time.

However, we had one horror, and that was peeping between the
curtains, and seeing the audience getting larger and laiger. This was
something awful. We wished ourselves far enough from Cheshant then,
and forgot at once and simultaneously the whole of our parts ; but in
frx>nt of the footlights self-possesrion and memory as suddenly returned
to us, and applause, and lx>uquets, and sherry-negus at the side-scenes,
seemed almost the three things on earth that were most worth our living
for.

Our only misadventure was the temporary absence of the captain, who
did not appear during the dress-piece at lus proper time ; but he was
found, in about five minutes^ in uncle's magistrate's room, revolving
slowly, in full uniform, upon a music-stool in front of the looking-glass.

F.S. — The modesty that declines to describe a performance which was
a success, will, I trust, be appreciated.

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165

BT-WATS OP mSTOET.
wilmzr's "db homine rspleoiando.**

Men who journey over the great high-roads^ conDecting one d^ital,
€ity, or emporium of commerce with another, as they roll or whirl on
their way, are seldom aware, and as seldom care to be told, that down
the green lanes or by-roads which branch ofF from the main line may lie
objects of interest or beauty, such as the ivied ruin — ^the primitive parish
church, with its rich architecture or quaint epitaph — the Henrician or
Elisabethan manor-house of the olden time, containing probably its small
modest nllerv of select pictures, collected by *' The Squire" of other
days, before picture-dealing had become a refinement of rascality, or the
mann£acture of originals a handicraft of modem art — ^in short, such a
trareller must often pass by many of those places or objects which make
travel a pleasure instead of a toil, and diversify the note-book of the
tourist with sometlung better than dates, hotel bills, or those statistics of
commerce and crime, too often the correlatives of each other. The
inatter-of-&ct man of business, who lives and toils but to ** get through
his commissions^'' and '* have done with it," would deem it lost labour to
turn aside or pause a moment for the examination of these by-way ob-
jects of interest ; but the man who travels to store his mind, and imprint
** sun-pictures" upon his memory for the fireside evenings of life, will often
xecal such deiours and divergences horn the monotonous main road, as
the i^easantest, and by no means the least profitable part of his travelting
expenditure, whether of time or money.

These remarks will apply as well to the great trunk-lines of history as
of travel. No doubt there are men of firm purpose, ostrich difi;estion,
and small imaginative power, who can plod through, and as uiey go,
digest, a standard history from cover to cover, who can grapple with and
master the main fiicts (the capital cities of the volume); inform them-
sdves of all that need be known of the stirring past to remove them
out of the category of historical ignoramus;" and yet these men may
miss completely those illustrative incidents and characteristic traits, with
which others find it feasant and useful to relieve the tedium of solemn
historic narrative. Heretofore the historian proper has too generally
thought it beneath the dignity of his calling to garnish his heavy narra-
tive with trivial tale or contemporary occurrence, though these would, in
few words, have given more of the life and reality of events than whole
sections of platitudes could convey. It seems to have been reserved for
our times to produce a species of writins^ which proves that history may
be lively without being incorrect, and that an episode drawn from
^'Memoires pour Servir'' may throw more light upon the events of its
date than a volume of after-drawn elaborate specidations.

Baphael painted ^* flat heresy" against the recognised and established
Madonna type when he first put forth his Madonnas of flesh and blood,
and we have no doubt that Carlyle's "French Revolution" (telling its
story by striking episodes) and Macaulay's England, enlivened and
embeUished as it is by everything of contemporary and wayside
illustration which the wnter^s felicitous style and omnifiurious reading
could introduce, will in time revolutionise historic writing. These
'^mere essayists," as Aej are slightingly called, may be deemed by

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1 66 WILMER'S " DE HOMINE REPLEGIANDO.''

some to degrade the old hbtoric epic, as it used to be constructed by-
authors who <' drew men as they ought to be, not as they are f who de-
signed heroes and demi-gods, and not men and women. But we feel
persuaded that this latter essay style will supersede that against which it
rebek, and will go down to posterity as chiefly admirable in tiiis*-4hat
while others '' £ew pictures, and did no more," it shows the ^^ very age
and body of the time" of wluch it is treating.

I am not going to write history — far from it — ^but with the editor's
kind leave I do propose now and agab, after having driven down some
of the *< by-ways of history,** and peered into odd out-of'-the-way nooks and
comers, to come back again and tell his readers what I have round there.
To repeat to i^m anythinc^ which others have said before would argue a
presumption of a better style than I pretend to, but if I can now and
again light upon some quaint or Curious incident, either forg^otten, <Mr
fran its very minuteness passed over by those looking for more iraportant
information, and if I can produce this in a readable form, my object wiH
be answered, and the reader, I hope, nether unamused nor disimpn^ed
by the perusal.

Turning over the pages, or (to carry out my original illustration)
plodding along the main line of a heavy folio of *' Revolution Tracte,"
the other day, I was attracted by the odd title with which I have headed
this paper, and at once turned aside to investigate it.

Mr. Wiimer's " De Homine ReplegiandoJ" " Who on earth, when
he VHU on earth," said I to myself, ^' was Mr. Wilmer ?" What is this
oaae, ** De Homine Replegiando T* We are not, in our dwr, unfamiliar
with the process of ** replevying a diattel or a cow!" but the '' replevin
cfa manT is something out of the common. I immediately turned to
Burnet^ to try if this Wilmer oould have been an intimate of *' P. P.,
dark of this parish,'* but could find no trace of him in the Revolutioii
Bishop's Minutia of Gossip. I then referred to Macaulay's ante-rev<da-
tkm narrative, to see whether he had been down this '' by-way* before
me. Very probably he had ; but, with the greater objects of that stirring
day before his mind's eye, he had overlooked this solitary unit of illustra-
tive fact, so I determined to follow the path on which I had stumbled, and
lU length arrived at what I think an exemplification of the state of thii^
firom which ^ He of tlie glorious Memory" delivered these kingdoms, the
more remarkable, that history has fEuled to hold it up among those ndmUMt
of persecution by which it was sought to torment, where it oould not
bend, ^ resolute Saxon will into submission to tiie absolute rule of that
doomed Stuart dynasty, of whom, as of their Bourbon cousins, it might
have been written, ^ us n*ant rien apprtSy rien oubliSJ*

Halifax's p<Nlrait of Charles II. is a master^neoe, but perhaps the
** counterfeit presentment of the two Stuart Brothers," the second James
and Charles, was never better drawn or contrasted in miniature tiiaa
in the antithesis of his ** buxom Once of Bucks " to Burnet. *' The
KiHO otmid see things if he would " — ^ the Dukb wouid see things if he
could,** They had bodi at heart the same objects, which Charles had
tfie ability to carry through, but not the resolved will; while his
brother's infinitely smaller mind held and advanced what it did hold —
his religion and his prerogative — with a remarkable tenaoi^ of grasp
snd purpose. James set all upon the hazard of aceomplishing his
ends ; Charles would have been veiy glad to attun the same andi^ but

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WILBIEB'S " DE HOMINE REPLEGIANBO." 16f

wonid risk nothing to do so. As Scott well puts it, '< he had sworn to
himself never to kiss die pillow his father slept his last sleep upon.^ Bat
if he could have cheated England into Popery by those picaroon arts which
he bad learned dming his prince-errantiy abroad, or have worried sturdy
oppontion to death by petty persecutions, which, disarming the nation in
detaiQ, would not endanger a national convulsion, there is reason to
know, from modem revelations of his private intrigues, that the elder
brother was just as willing an agent of the designs of France and Rome
as ever the youngs was — as willing, but not as "thorough-going.*
Itoaoe it was that the aeencies, put in actioD by these brothers, were
highly characteristic. Charles met and counterplotted " Titus Gates,"
with the " Rye House" and " Meal-tub" plots, and " did the noble Russel
to death by slanderous tongues." James, on the contrary, with high hand
and shallow policy, sent his musqueteers to eject the " Fellows of Magde-
lene," and shipped the seven bishops for the Tower \ in sight of a city and
nation boiling up to l^e last point of endurance. Their ends were con-
formable. '* Charles II.," iays Junius, " lived and died a hypocrite ;**
and James departed, a sullen exile, to end his days in impotent attempts
at carrying out plans, to which he seemed to cling the more fondly as
thc^r became daily less practicable.

As with the prince so with the people. Sovereigns will ever find
eomrtierB adi^tiog their service to the personal character of the master
whose fayoor they court ; and as headlong James found his agencies in the
tvbulenee of Tyrconnel, the rashness of Petre, the fury of Jeffreys, so
ChaxieB oaorried out his purposes through the teazing, wonyine chicaoery,
and yexatiouB prosecutions of his subtle and pliant men of the law — his
Jenkinses, his Joneses, his Norths I — men who ran as breast-high for
prerogatiye as they were ruthless in pursuing " peevish " opposers to
death or banishment. To complete the antithesis : as James sat in
sullen, Ibrmal state at the head of his council-table to discuss with his
headlong advisers the courses which led him to ruin, so Charles used to
end his stroll in the park by sidling into the snuggeiy of his pander
Chiffindi, there to ^' earwig a Scroggs" as to the issue to which he wished
a tiial to be brought, or to consult with his *' cabal " whether it were
better to take awa^ the licenses '* from the coffee-houses !" or to leave them
open and send spies there to countermine the << trepanners of the day."

This is a long by-way. We are slow in arriWng at " Mr, WUmer "
and his ** repkgwm /" We must be a little longer yet, and go back
and forward a little before we can take up his case by the right clue.

Anong die marks of pride which went before James's destruction, was
the iSBoinff from the press, in the very last year of his reign, in all the
pomp of hne-eng^ving and large type, the narrative of ^ Castlemain's
Embassy of Reconciliatimi and Submission to the Pope." This volume
has now fallen low in the lists of curious books ; when it is to be had, it
may be bongfat for a trifle, and yet for more than its worth. It was out of
date and out of fi&shion before the dose of the very year in which it was
printed ; and probably those very flatterers, who made their^ court by
iiam haste to buy it, were equally hasty in destroying and getting rid of
tfie vamitmg, vain-glorious volume, which, compiled and composed by the
house-stewud of the embassy, is minute to tediousness and gossip in de-
scribing and delineating not merely the laving out of Castlemain's state
banqttet at RcMDe, but also the very carvmg of the wheels of his state

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168 WILMER'S " DE HOMINE BEPLEGIANDO.*'

chariot, and of the emhlematic designs with which this wretched minioa
of a wretched king celebrated his abgect prostration of his master, and his
master^s kingdom, at the foot and to the slipper of the pontiff.

Among these emblematic omamentings is one which, while it brings
us to our subject, also illustrates the '* bconceivably small mind" of the
second James, and the mode in which his flatterers knew how they coold
best propitiate it.

When Castlemain opened his mission at Rome, his first act was to
blazon the hotel of the Embassy escutcheon-wise with the arms of Ens^-
land and Rome. This is an usual ambassadorial act, but was scarcdy
done on the usual scale by this ambassador extraordinary, if we may
judge from the dimensions and other statistics of the two pieces of
ponderous framework which bore the armorial and other devices. These
were, we are told, twenty-four feet hi^h by sixteen broad ! braced to-
gether by great beams, and fiutened witn eiffht hundred-weight of iron,
and being hoisted with great labour to the nont of the first story of the
house, told all Rome that, as far as the Kiqg^s will could accomplish it,
the Pope was once more to adorn his tiara with a long-lost and most
valued jewel.

The design of the royal emblem of England was to represent James
as supreme in power at home, as he was willing to show himself abject in
submission abroad ; all the devices were intended to siniify that rebellion
was crushed, resistance vain ; that James could do with England accord*
ing to his pleasure, and that his pleasure was to ddiver it, bound hand
and foot, to the Papal jurisdiction. Mr. Macaulay's keen eye did not fiedl
to notice among these " absurd and gigantic devices" St. George display-
ing his prowess in " spearing" Doctor Titus Gates, while JIercule$/ was
using his giant strength to ** depress" " Stephen College, the Protestant
joiner," " the inventor of the Protestant fl^l" — a bold but " inconnder-
able" man, whom the legal persecutions of the last reign having ^* done
to death by a most foul legal murder/' had thereby exalted into a mar^
and a hero, who jet fills a niche in the history of the time.

We are now within a step of Mr. Wilmer. College, as we have said,
was done to death by such foul pracUcet of <' court" and *' counsel,*
^' gaoler" and ** witnesses'* alike, as would now sound monstrous even to teU,
if we bad time to tell them, though Chief Justice North's brother and bio-
grapher does not hesitate to admit and justify them ; they were such that
poor College might well exclaim, at he didj " This is a horrid conspiracy
to take away my life." As well might his bold solicitor, '^ Aaron Smith/*
mutter, " Our lives and estates are beset here !" a muttering which that
watchful and cool courtier. Chief Justice North, instantiy took down as
grounds for a "judgment (without even trial!) for a misdemeanour T*
The solicitor was browbeaten and silenced, his client out-argued and
executed, though he showed in his trial an ability, and in his death a con-
stancy, which deserved a better fate. Having hunted tiheir victim to death,
his persecutors, apparently anxious that the memory of his foul trial should
ffain as little publicity as mi^t be, offraed him, as a boon^ that after
he was hung! he should not to quartered! nndgibbetedl bat this was a
kbdnessl which the resolute man slighted, saying, <*He cared little
whether he should give a feast to the flies or the worms."

These things were done at Oxford, but not until a London grand jury
had, to use the quaint language of the time, '< spewed out a previous bill

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WILMEB'S ^^ D£ HOMINE REPLEGIANDO.'^ 169

ol indictment with an ignoramus.*' *' Wilhxr vxufortman^ says my
anthimty. CoUege escaped for the time, hut '* WUmer was afterwards
finreed to fly his country.

This is the first mention we find of this individual, whose case, lost in
the crowd of thick-coming events which issued in Revolution^ seems
as remarkable as any; and as the relater of it justly sajrs, though
he escaped the doom of those victims prosecuted criminally, though uie
engine of persecution put in action against him was at the civil and not
at the crimmal side of Westminster Hall, yet did it '^ do as much mis-
chief," *' strike as great terror,** and neutralise all resistauoe to the court
measures as effectually as the halter which hanged College or Cornish,
or the axe which struck off the head of the noble Russel. And this
engine was the writ ^De Momine Replegiando^ issued out against him.

Mr. Wilmer's position as foreman of a grand jury at a time when
leading Londoners did not think civic honours and offices beneath them, is
proof that he must have been a substantial and respected citizen of London.
It was a time to try men's calibre and firmness ; the city of London was
the chief battle-field in which the contest between power and public
spirit was raging. The court had entered on a course of legal persecu-
tion ; the City met them by appointing steady sheriffs, these returned as
steadfast juries, and then the battle between " prerogative" and "passive
resistance" began ; the biUs against College were '* ignored ;" the bills
asainst Shaftesbunr were ^ ignored f* the evidence which suited the court
did not satisfy the juries ; even though the Kin^s counsel would sometimes
intrude themselves into the jury^room to enlighten them ! and, in fact,
this determination of juries not to find bills of indictment at court bidding,
which North's servile brother and biographer personifies into " a certain
monster that raffed in the years 1680-1-2, styled * Ignoramus^** became
to Charles and his subtle men of law a *' Mordecai in the gate," which
must be got out of the way somehow — anyhow* With this view Mr.
Wilmer's persecution commenced, and Nordi's brother, Sir Dudley, was
thrust into the shrievalty, and crammed down the throats of the livery
of London ^* aeainst the stomach of their sense T'

Wilmer, as became a topping London merchant, was a " man of ar-
gosies," foreign ventures, " nir-off correspondents." In furtherance of his
commerce, he had sent abroad a young man in his employ, just as any man
of business would despatch a confidential managing clerk. How the court
slot-hounds got hold of this fact is not known. (Uould it be that North
wormed it out of his brother Dudley, the Turkey merchant ?) Be this
as it may, upon this fact measures were taken to *< lay the ignoramus
foreman" by the heels, by means of a writ " De Homine Replegiando,"
and to mew him up from ever again thwarting the court measures. In-
deed, North, in his curious " Examen" (p. 580), unblushingly says that it
was done in terrorem, " to show Mr. Wilmer, and others of his boldusur-
paOon, that they must look to their hits, for if they may, they will be
caught napping." Well might Burnet suggest, that with all his trained
caution, " if North had lived to attract the notice of an impeaching par-
liament, he would have felt the ill-effects of his unblushing subserviency."
If he was cautious and moderate, as his biographer boasts him to have
been, what may we think of the thorough-going court agents?

Poor Mr. Wilmer, who doubtiesss thought himself "wide awake"
when he sent his man to look after his interests abroad, was unaware of

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1 70 WILM£B*S ^^ D£ HOMmB B£PIE6IANIX>."

the lengAs to which court veDgeaiice go to opproBS him at hoBM. He
was caued upon hj a writ of " Uepleg^are Faciaa" to perforin the pbytical
impossibilitv of bringing in the body of a man beyond 8ea8,*-*Qr ebe to
" look to his hits."

To *' unlegal minds" nothing might seem easier thaa for Mr. Wilmer
to furnish the sherififs with a return to the effect that the man had gone
away of hb own free will to look afUr his master^s buaiaeea. Bat
Charles and his beagles were not to be put off the scent by snefa a foil
as that. In the palmy prerogative days before the Revolution^ this com-
mon-sense answer was no legal answer at alL

The king, by his trusty counsel learned in the law, told the sbenffii to
<'go about their business," to ''^ their business^" and ^* amend thor
return." In short, according to that celebrated triple «m*i*¥ii^fM^ whidi
fflnoe formed so large a part of the late Sir Robert Peel's logio, the
sheriff were given th^ choice of three courses :

1. Either to bring the man replevined into court ; or,

2. To return that Mr. Wibner had '' eiloigned'* (abdaoted) him; or
else,

3. To be themselves <' laid by the heels."

Of these three courses, the sheriffs found the first imposeible ; the kst
unpleasant! And so there renudned but the second; whioh wai what
the court lawyers wanted from the beginning, as a groond whereon to
issue a '^ Withernam" against the devoted ^VHlmer.

'* I suppose" (says honest David, in the play, to his ma«tM% fichtiaff
Bob Acres) <' there lun't so merciless a beast in the world as yanrXMided
pistol." Heaven help the simplicity of the man —

As little as asaint he knew
AU a lawyer's cnft oaa do.

There lay more neril in that black-letter word ^* ^SSH^tVCiVm^^ ^
than in all the *' double-barrelled swords, and cut-and-thrust pistols^"
of bloodthirsty Sir Lucias CTrigger.

If this Withernam had caught Wilmer ''napping," it would have kept
him in gaol, body for body, until he produced the boy from beyond seas.
This, in £Eu:t, might be a sentence of perpetual incarceration ; for it is
no libel to say, that those who were capable of putting such an enfi^ne of
torture into action against the object of their hate, would think httle of
keeping the youth out of the way, or spriting him away somewhere never
to oe heard of again ; and so unfortunate WiAemam*d Wihner might
have lain in fi;aol until he rotted.

"Wilmer, however, wisely ^^ esloigned^ himself; in other words,
" made himself^ scarce," and fled the country. Whether he lived, or
returned to enjoy the fruits of England's deliverance from " Popeiy,
slavery, arbitrary power, legal chicane, and wooden shoes," I know not;
but I trust the reader will not regret having accompanied me in this pur
first stroll down one of the " by-ways of history."

* ** WrrHBBiTAif .''-<k>wel tells us that this myiterioos-IookiDg process, cooi-
pounded <^ two Saxon words, signifying ^'aitera capHo," authorised the sberi/T
(breaking all hairien with ''posse oomitatus**) to take an equivalent for re-
plevined goods not fiirtboomiag.— y. Cowxl, Jm Vtrk

Sir Thomas Smith, «* De Bespub. Anglor.,'' lUx iiL c 10, teUs us that WiOumam
is equivalent to "xeprisaL"— " Repretsauonm €t WiAirnami^ jus idem non est,
sednatura plane eadem; eademque ntriusque verbi pn^a signiflcatia''

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171

BEAIJMASCHAIS AND HIS TIMBS.

? PiXBBX AuGUSTiK Cabon, who when twenty-fiye years of age took
the name of Beaumarchais, was bom the 24th of January, 1732, in a
watehmaker^s shop in the Roe Saint Denis. The quarter of Saint Denis
enjoys in Pbris a somewhat similar reputation to what Bceotia did in
Greece; yet not only did the author of the ^^ Barber of Seville^ a&d of
the *' Marrii^ <^ Figaro'' first see the Ught there, but Regnard, after
Moli^rey eoasidered to be the first comic poet oi France, as also Scribe
and B^ranger, were bom in the same quarter — Scribe at a silk-mercer's
and B^nnger at a tailor's.

The parents ofBeaumarchais had been Protestants. Persecuted for their
religion, the family, numerous and poor, had abjured their finth, but the
memory of the religion of his ancestors appears never to have been eztin-
giaslied in Beaumarchais : he was alwajrs xealous in the cause of die Pro-
teetant party. The only boy in a fiunily numbering fire fpiUy he
was the pet of the house, not Less on that account than for an mhmnt
spirit and gaiety of heart which never abandoned him through life, and
which led eren Voltaire to say, when he was charged with poisoning
three wives, he who had then only been twice married, ^ Beaamarchais
cannot be a poisoner, he is too full of fun." At thirteen — the age oi
Ch^rubin, Count Almaviva's page* — he was taken from sohod to be ap-
prendeed to his father^s business. He learat — as he used afterwards to
express it — to measure time. It can be easily imanned that the Ch^rubin
of the Rue St. Denis was by no means a mcSel i^prwitiee. To a
pasoonate taste for mumc he added other incHnations of a less innocent
character, and these he carried to such an excess as to accuse himself of
having entertained boyish projects of suicide, when barely fourteen, for
unrequited love. At eighteen, his fsither was obliged to banish him
from the house ; but after a reconciliation, efieeted by the intervention of
friends, Beaumarchais behaved better, and set to work vrith so much
earnestness to master his business, that he discovered the secret of a
new piece of mechanism. This led to his first public discussion. A
iTval watdmiaker claimed precedence; the matter was referred to a
committee of the Academy, whose verdict was given in &vour of
^ Caron fils." Only one year afterwards, such was the notoriety brought
about by this controversy, that he was enabled to describe himself
" Caron fils, horloger du roi." Beaumarchais, in fact, obtained his fint
efilr^ at Yersulles not, as has been often said, as a musician, but as a
watch and ctockmaker. In 1754 he wrote to a cousin engaged in the
same business in £ngland, intimating that through his kindness ^' il ose
esp^rer rhcmneur d'etre agreg6 k la Soci6t4 de Londres I"

A new career now opened itsdf to the young watchmaker. Beaumar-

" M. Genin, in a little work entitled " Des Variatioos duLsngage Fran^ais de-
puis le Xn* Si^le," argues that the idea of Ch^nibin was borrowed from a
medisval romance— *'Le Petit Jehan de Saintrd" M. Louis de Lom6iie calls
Beanmardiais himself Ch^rubin, which is the most likely.

Beaamarchais et son Temps: Etudes sur la Soddttf en France an XVIII*
Siede^ d'apr^ dss Documents laedits. Far Loois de Lcmi^iie.

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172 BEAUICABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

chaia, at that time twenty-four yean of age, uras tall, handsome, well-
made ; his talent, quickness, and gaiety of heart, added to his personal
advantages, made him an especial favourite with the &ir sex, and he
was not the man upon whom any signs of favour were likely to be
thrown away. He was naturally enterprisiug, ambitious, cunning, liti-
gious, obstinate, and vain. His inordinate vanity, indeed, became in
after-life the source of the deepest hatreds that were entertained against
him. He did not deny the weakness, but he appealed in his memoirs
of the Goesman afiair against the persecution entailed by it when he
said : " Mais si j'^tus un ftit, s'ensuit-il oue j'^tais un ogre ?" ^

The manner in which BcAumarchais became a member of the house-
hold at Versailles, is at once characteristic of the individual and of the
times he lived in. The wife of the conirdleur de la boucke at court, who
had seen him at Versailles went to him one day in his shop under the pre-
text of having a watch mended. The young artist was invited to return
the watch in person. The conirdleur de la bouche was old and infirm.
A few mondis after this new intimacy had sprune up, M. Francquet, as the
controller was called, was induced, by the kind dispositions of his wife to-
wards the young watchmaker, to give up his lucrative appointment^ tP the
&vourite, who entered upon his new vocation on the 9th of November, 1 75o.
What was more singular was, that two months afterwards tiie old controller
died of i^plexy, and after the lapse of decent time of mourning, the
young Caron wedded his widow. This was followed by his assumption
of the name of Beaumarchais — it is said from a very little fief fxt manor
belonging to his wife, but where it was situated, or whether a fief ser*
vantf or 9k fief dt hauberij or simply AfiefdefoHtame^ his biographer
cannot un^itake to say.

But although thus established at court as Sieur de Beaumarchais, it
was not till 1761, that is, five ^ears afterwards, when the young controller
was enabled to purchase the situation of secretar}' to the king for 85,000
firancs, that he acquired the legal right to his assumed name. In less
than a year after his marriage came also another strange event — ^the
sudden demise of his wife; and it was the combination of events — the
peculiar manner in which Beaumarchus became one of the royal house-
hold, the sudden death of the old man whose place he took, and whose
wife he married shortly afterwards, and the death of the lady herself,
when she seemed to be no longer necessary to his advance in life — that
first gave rise to those rumours of poisoning — a practice not at all un-
common at the period — ^which were afterwards destined to assume a
consistency that imparted a tone to his whole career.

Watchmaking, one of the passions of the court, had been an intro-
duction to Beaumarchais ; his proficiency in music cemented the con-
nexion. He soon became teacher of the harp — an instrument at tiiat
time littie known in France — to the amiable and pious daughters of Louis
XV., whom their royal parent took delight, in the worst possible taste, to
designate as Coche, Loque, Graille, and Chifie. From teacher he soon
became the manager of a family concert which the princesses gave once
a week.

Suddenly raised to a sphere of so much importance at court, no
wonder that young Beaumarchais became the object of intense jealousy
among other aspirants to fiivour. He was, in consequence, exposed to

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BEAUMARCHAIS A2n> HIS TIMES. 173

an ineeamit small fire of ejngrams and insolting remarks, which his great
natnral abilities generally enabled him to turn to the discomfiture of his
enemies.

To giro an example. A courtier who had boasted that he would
faumUe the pride of the protigS of Mesdames de France, accosted
him at a moment when he was leaving the apartment of the princesses^
and said to him^ as he held out a 'valuable watch, ^' Sir, you are ac-
qoainted wi^ watchmaking, will you do me the favour to examine
my watch. It is out of oraer.** ** Sir,** Beaumarchais quietly replied,
^* since I have ceased to occupy myself with that art, I have become very
awkward." ^ Ah ! sir, do not refuse me this favour." << Well, be it so ;
but rem^nber that I told you that I am very awkward." Then taking
the watch, he opened it, held it up as if to examine it, and let it foil on
ihe groond. Whereupon, turning round to his interlocutor, he said, with
a low bow, '* I had warned you of my exceeding awkwardness ;*' and left
him to eather up the fragments.

Anouer time Beaumarchais heard that the princesses had been told
that he was upon the worst possible terms with his fother, and that this
had given oriffin to strong feelings against him. Instead of endeavour-
ing to refute 3ie calumny, he ha^n^ to Paris, and, under the pretence
of showing Versailles to his fother, he took him back with him, conducted
him over the pahee, and took care to place him several times in the way
of Mesdames. In the evening he waited as usual on the prinoesseS}
leaving his fother in the ante-chamber. His reception was very cool,
bat one of the princesses condescended to inquire who was the person
widi whom he nad been walking all day. ^* With my fother," replied
the young man. The princesses were astonbhed. An explanation
eosoed ; Beaumardiais solicited the honour of presenting his father to
Mesdames ; the fovour was granted, and the old watchmaker had himself
the pleasure of dearing his son from all imputation of want of filial love
yrwl respect.

All tne insulting observations to which the fovourite was exposed were
not lehufied so pMceably. He killed a certain Chevalier de C in a

duel fought witnout witnesses. In dread of the consequences he is said
to have acknowledged the duel to Mesdames de France, but the dying
man, alAongh he survived his wound for a short time, never betrayea the
name of his antagonist. The whole of the story would have a very apocry-
phal character, if M. de Lom^nie's research had not enabled him to detect
a verification, and this in reference to another afiair that he was very
nearly being engaged in only a week afterwards, notwithstanding his
biognfdiar would Imve us beheve that Beaumarchais regretted the cir-
cnmetance very deeply.

The fovours which Beaumarchius enjoyed from the princesses were,
in a pecuniary point of view, rather disadvantageous than otherwise to
the young musical preceptor. One day it was a tambourine, another
a morooco-bound book of munc that he had to obtain, and all the
fovourite could do was to send in occasionally an account, most humbly
worded, to Madame d'Hoppen. At this period of his life Beaumarchais
had made no literary attempts beyond a few poetic flights of very me-
diocre pretensions. He appears to have held literature as a pro&snon
in a rather contemptiMe light. Voltaire had said that, in France, a man

VOL. XXXTX. N '

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174 BEAUHABGHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

most either be anTil or lutinmer^ A wealthy contractor, Paris Da Veraey,
made Voltaire's hammer, and the same man was destined to p«Te toe
way for Beamnarchais making his fortmie.

I^aris Da Vemey had greaSy at heart the succen of the military school
in the Champ de Mars, foonoed through the instrnmentality of himself
and Madame de Pompadour, but allowed by Loins XV. to fiedl into
decay. He sought to win over the new favourite to his cause. Beaumar-
chais did not allow the opportunity of being useful to one of the leading
financiers in France to escape him. He prevailed upon the princesses to
pay a visit to the military school. As was anticipated, toey, by ihm
reports, excited the curiosity of the king, and he was also induced to Tisit
the institution, and take it under his immediate patronage.

The contractor repaid this service by giving Beaumarcfaab an interest
of ten per cent, upon 60,000 francs, and associating him in certain suc-
cessful financial operations. This it was that enabled him to purchase^
in 1761, the situation of king's secretary — a situation which contributed
vastly to increase the number of his enemies. He soon after coveted
the situation of grand-master of the forests and waters, and Du Vemey
offered to advance the necessary funds — 500,000 firancs. But die other
grand-masters, although Beaumarohais proved in his usual pointed and
epigrammatic manner that their origin was no better than his own, that
one was son of a barber, the other of a wocd-oomber, and anothw o£ a
button-maker, and that all had dumged their names, declared themselves
so hurt at the idea of admitting a parvenu into their ranks, that if he
received the nomination they must give in their dismissaL It was in
vain that the princesses supported we application ; the yovith of the
&vourite, his rapid advancement, and, more than all, his tuoe^ de
saloUf were unpardonable in the eyes of those in authority, and he was
unable to obtain the appointment.

To console and to revenue himself for this fiiilure, he purchased, a few
months afterwards, the position of Lieutenant-G^n^ral des Chasses anz
Bailliage et Capitainerie de la Varenne du Louvre. This situation of a
8emi«feudal character was less lucrative than that of grand-master, but
more aristocratic. Beaumarchais had imder him the Comtes de Rodie-
chouart and de Marcouville as lieutenants ; his functions were more or less
of a judicial character ; and although it is difficult, his biographer re-
marks, to think of the author of the *' Marriage of Figaro" actmg as a
magistrate without smiling, he hdd the situation for twenty-two years,
andfulfilled all its duties with scrupulous exactness.

Beaumarchais' adventure with Clavijo, in 1 764, is known by the dramatic
narrative published by himself concerning it in his fourth Memoir against
Goezman. Gavijo having been an author of some distinction, Beaumar-
chais' narrative has been by some characterised as a romance^ by others as a
calumny. It appears that two of Beaumarchais' sisters, one of whom had
married an arcmtect, had gone to settie at Madrid, where the other had
formed an engagement with Clavijo, who was to marry her the moment
he obtained a situation that had been promised to him. When, however,
the Spaniard obtained the appcHntment, he refused to fulfil his engage-
ment. The reputation of Beaumarchais' sister was thus placed in jeo-
pardy, and he set off at once for Madrid, where he obliged Clavijo to
make a declaration clearing the honour of the young woman. Clavijo even

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ISAUKABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES. 175

tookitopftoefiectareooiioifiatkm, but at thoTerjiame that Beasmaidiais
tbooght that ike intemqvted marriage was likely to be broaght about,
he leamt that CJanjo had obtuoed an order for ius arrest and expukton
fiom Madrid. Irritated bj tvtch an act of treachery, he hastened to the
miiiister^s and to the king, exposed the disloyal machinations of his enemy,
and proeored tfie dismissal from his sttuation of keeper of the arohms.

Beaamarchais had gone to Madrid to rindicate the outrage done to his
sister's reputation, hot he did not oare to travd so fu and not to ac-
complish something more. He appears to haiv spent a year in Madrid,
engaged in stock-jobbing and other speculations, and in the porsoit of
{ileasnre. In Spcun he was, in fiust, in his tme element — in a land c£
intngaej masic, and song, ^e was thirty-two years of age, and his bio*
grapher says he was then the embodiment of the Figaro and Almanya
of tbe <" Barber of Sefille," with a dash of the GrancBsoo.

The letters written at this epoch by Beamnarchais edjbit him in a
greater Tariety of character, and give more minnte shades of mind and
inteltigence than those written, periiaps, at any other period of Ius histoiy .
Hia biographer sa^ howerer, that he has been only able totraoe*one slight
indication of the influence of die Spanish theatre on this impgessiontSje
yoong Proteus. It oooorsin a letter to the Due de la Valli^ in which,
after some lengthy obswations upon politks and manners, he remarics
thai the Spanish theatre is two centuries behind that of France, while the
»«ie is in adyanoe. ** The warmth," he writes, ^' die gaiety ot ibd in*
teilndes, always musical, with whidi they divide ^ tiresome acts of their
ineipid dramas, often indemnify one for the weariness experienced in hear-
ukf; them. They call them tonadillas, or sayn^t^" Certain it is that
when Beaumarraais leffc Madrid, he broaght back in his mind the first
faint outlines of those original and strongly developed figores ot Figaro,
of Rosina, of Almayiva, of Bartolo^ and of Basile, which were one £ty to
crown his i^potsrioo.

Beavmaidiais did notcommeoce his literary career before he was durty-
fiye years of age, and previous to that an episode occurred in his career,
in which, unlike that of Clavijo, he was no longer a second party, but a
principal. It appears, that if possible for such a diaracter to be in love,
beaumarAais was once so with a certain Pauline-*-a young, pretty, well-
mannered, well-educated, musical and intelligent Creole a giri bom at
St. Domingo, with large colonial possessions, but neglected and encum-
bered, and wiiile reputed rich, in reality poor. M. de Lom^nie admits
that this young lady enjoyed for a time a great influence over Beaumar-
cAaiB, vi^ certainly contemplated marrying her, but he says he must also
adknowledge, with regret, that in reading his love-letters, though they
are T&rj far from possessiog the simj^ and affecting interest of Pau-
line's, he has never been aUe to detect any proofs of his having been
seriously enamoured.

There had been intimate relations between the aunt of Pauline and
the fimiily of Caron ever since 1760 ; and whenever Beamnarchais could,
after his widowhood, leave Versailles to jcMU the £unily cirde, he generally,
also, met there Pauline, then eighteen or nineteen years of age. Wb
I^y called '< Les Deux Amis," in which Pauline plays on the piano,
wlulst Melac accompanies her on the violin, is a reminisoence ik this
epoch. Beaumarchais also interested himself seriously in settmg to

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176 BEAUMABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

rights ibe embarrassed state of the young lady's afiairs at St. Donuiiffo-*
a place to which he even once seriously contemplated retiring with his
intended wife. With this object in view, he wrote a long letter, in which
the calculations of the future are so mixed up with projects of marriage,
that, as his biographer justly remarks, disembarrassed of all oratorical
artifices, it says very rimply, *^ I love you very much, but I cannot marry
you till I know what to believe as to the real value of your property, or
that your uncle will bind himself to leave you his fortune !" The young
lady's answer, on the other hand, was charming. It breathes, M. de Lo-
m^kie justly remarks, *^ the amis^le abandon oif a young heart, ineeouous
and really loving." Pauline had gone at once' to her uncle, by what
she calls a coup de teUy had opened her heart to him, and had pleaded
her lover^s cause ; and although the undo would not bind himself by any
formal engagements, the marriage <^ Beaumarchais and Pauline was not
the less agroed upon. Stranee to say, after matters had gone so fiur,
another person, a Chevalier de 8 » also a native of St. Dominffo,
and who emoyed admission into the family circle of the Carons, suceee£Nl
— as the admirer <^ Julie, the most talented of Beaumarchais* sisters-*
in winning from him the affections of his intended.

The /i§F0re^— the inconstancies — of Beaumarchais are admitted
by hb biographer to have partly led to such a result ; as they were also
laid to his charge by PanUne herself But it is strange to reaa in so short
a time of one who used to finish her epistles with ^ Adieu, amour !— Adieu,
mon ftme ! —Adieu tout ! — Quand tu reviendras, oe sera pour moi le soleil
d'un beau jour. Adieu V* — almost as suddenly turning over to another,
acknowled^g the change in her sentiments with all the coobess and
indiffiorenoe of a true daughter of Eve, and marrying the rival
whilst she was still largely in debt to her first^accepted, not to
mention debts of fidelity, vows, promises, and engagements. Such
seem, indeed, at that epoch, to have been held as trifles. Pauline's
husband only surrived the marriage one year, and the widow never
trouUed herself to pay her debt to Beaumarchais. '* Did Pauline think
by chance," De Lommiie ingeniously inquires, '< that her love was, after
ail, worth 24,444 livres 4 sous 4 deniers?" Or was it the continual^
embarrassed state of the West Indian property that caused her to act in
BO doubly a dishonourable manner to the lover she had so slightingly
disMirdea ? Let us, at least, charitably suppose the latter, as incbed it is
most reasonable to da It is not to be supposed that a woman who had
once loved would add injury to injustice.

Beaumarchais, af^ baring seen a little of life in almost all its phases,
entered the lists as a dramatist, with his first essay '^ Eugenie,** in 1767.
This play, like most of its author's productions, << is opposed to social
privil^es," in other words, has a more or less immoral and licentious
tendency, and was much altered by the censorship. The scene origi-
nally laid in France was transported to England. The ftu^ts being not
a little scandalous, and equally improbable, M. de Lom^nie remarks,
naively enough, the censorship rendered a senrioe to the drama by
obligmg the author to transport the scene into England ! The plot
mainly depends upon a false marriage; the gay Lothario, in the original,
was the Marquis de Rosempr^ but he b^me, by the magic of the
censor's fiat» Lord Clarendon ! The original heroine was the virtuous

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BEAUMASCHAIS AND HIS TIMES. 177

dmngbter d the Baron de Kerbelac, a noUeman in Brittany ; under the
eensOTship she became a fair Welsh giri.

Beaamarchais was at this period of his life unknown as an author ; he
iras a mere homme d* affaires et de plauir^ who had pushed his fortunes
at court, with a very indifferent reputation, and he was looked upon
hy literary men as a parvenu and intruder. This obliged him to take
some steps to be listened to, and it will be readily understood that
lie did not allow modesty to stand in his way. He wrote to Mesdames
de France, recommending hb work to dieir protection as '' the child of
his sensibility, breathing nothing but the love of virtue, and having for
its mAe object the purification of the drama and the rendering it a school
of good manners r In a different vein, but always with the same in-
stinctive knowledge of the human hesxt, he addressed the Duke of
Orieans, the Due de Noailles, the Comtesse de Tess^, the Due de Niver-
nois, and others ; writing to the one as a modest pretender in the world
of letters ; to the second as a statesman who has mistaken his avocation ;
to the third as a romantic gallant, who can be not a little impertment ;
and to the fourth with the assumed humility due to a veteran critic.
The Duo de Nivemois did not, indeed, fiedl to point out those defects in
the piece which were afterwards so signally proclaimed by Grimm.
« Eugenie" was played for the first dme on the 29th of January, 1767.
The last two acts compromised for a time the success of the three first.
Beaumarchais, by dint of retrenchment and revision, ensured to it, how-
ever, a temporary success, in which he was not a little assisted by the
talents of Mademoiselle Doligny, the subsequent creator of the part of
Bosinainthe '' Barber of Seville;'' but the critics were unsparing. They
would not allow a redeeming point in the drama, or a creditable
feature in the character of the author. Yet, under the title of ^' The
School for Rakes," which Garrick, however, terms an imitation rather
than a translation of ^' Eugenie," the play met with great success on
the British sta^.

Beaumarchais* second essay, <' Les Deux Amis," inspired by an idea
of Diderot, that on the sta^ we must substitute the portraiture of social
conditions for the delineation of character, was a signal failure. The
veteran Grimm exposed the baseless fabric on which it rested in a single
stanxa:

J'ai vu de Beaamarchais le drame ridionle,
£t je vais en un mot vous dire ce qae o'est :
C*est on change oik i'argent oircole
Sans produire auctm int^dt.

lo January, 1770, Beaumarchais found consolation for the failure of a
drama. He had become wealthy, and ought to have been happy. Between
^ Eugenie" and '' Les Deux Amis" he had won the affections of the
widow of a garde^ghih^l dee Menus-Plaisirsj who bestowed her person
and large fortune on the dramatist He had also purchased, with Du
Vemey's assistance, a large portion of the forest of Cninon ; and he was
&r more busy in reality in selling wood than in inditing plays. Three
years afterwards Beaumarchab lost his second wife ; she is said to have
died in childbed, but his enemies did not fail to assert that the death was
very strange and that it corroborated the rumours already existing with
regard to the death of the first. Yet Beaumarchais had only a Hfe-in-

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178 BEAUMABCHAIS AKD HIS TIMES.

terest in at least half of her fortune, and La Harpe justly remaiks, that
when his only son died two years after its mother, no one dreamt of
insionating that he had also poisoned his child.

Whilst the asthor of the ^' Barber of Seville'' was still so unsoecessfol
a dramatist that his portrait, as sketched ' by Palissot, in a satire of the
day—

Beaumarchais, trop obscur pour 6tre ini^ressant,
De son dieu Diderot est le singe impoissant —

was considered as at once just and truthful, the first of the great law-
suits began, which, gained, lost, and regained, lasted for seyen yean,
involved him in a w^rlpool of implacable hatreds and letter struggles,
and gave, indeed, an entirely new direction to his life and career. Tbe
cause was the death of Paris Du Vemey, with whom Beaumarehais had
been so long associated in various speculations, and who left as his
lesiduary legatee and executor a nephew — the Comte de la Blache— a
man who used to say of Beaumarehais, " I hate that roan, as a lover
loves his mistress." Before the financier's decease, Beaumarehais had
had tbe good sense to settle accounts with him, and the result had been,
that Du Vemey ackpowledged himself indebted to Beaumarehais in
the sum of 15,000 francs. The Comte de la Blache not only refused to
admit the claim, declaring the deed a forgery, but by questioning the
authenticity of the settlement made between Beaumarehais and Da
Vemey, previous to the decease of the latter, made Beaumarehais a
debtOT in the sum of 139,100 francs. The unfortunate dramatist, upon
whom the tables were thus so effectually turned, after having gained
his cause in the first instance, lost it in the second upon an appeal, and
finally obtained a total repeal and a definitive verdict from tbe Parlemeni
de Provence on the 2l8t of July, 1778. The legatee was condemned
by this final judgment not only to all expenses, but to 12,000 francs
damages j90Kr raison de calomnie ; but still the mischief of so scandalous
an imputation weighing on the character of a man for seven long yeaxs
was with difficulty effaced, notwithstanding the aeal, the perseverance,
and the ability shown by Beaumarehais in his pleadings and the general
conduct of his case.

But even this serious lawsuit was by no means his only trouble. The
love of intrigue, which involved him in perpetual disasters, was at length
the cause of his being confined within the walls of a prison at the very
moment when his first celebrated drama — the ** Barber of Seville" — ^was
preparing for its first representation. The circumstances, related at great
length by M. de Lom4nie, horn the depositions of the chief parties made
before the commissanr of police, are sufficiently curious.

The Due de Chaulnes, the last of his name, a man of talent^ and a
traveller, but of dissipated habits and violent pasdcms, protected a young
actress, Mademoiselle Menard. Unfortunately for the duke, he intro-
duoed Beaumarehais, who was at that time on terms <^ great intimacy
with him, to his prekegeey and only a few months elapsed before the fair
and faithless one made it evident that she preferred the attractive pew
to the jealous, overbearing, haughty aristocrat The consequences wefe,
that niadenu^selle withdrew to a convait (at that time a convenient
place of refuge), in order to effect a separation from her titled protector^

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BEAUMABCHIIS AND HIS TIMES. 179

aad wlien, in the words of De Lom^ue, " she had regained her liberty by
« d^nke rupture, she returned to her domicile, inyiting, at the eame
time, Beauinaiehais to come and see her there."

The latter, with characteristic &tui^, seised the occasion of sup-
planting a friend in the favour of his mistress, adding insult to injury.
fie wrote to the duke a long letter, in which he upbraided him with
rudeness towards the lady, and jealousy towards himself, with borrowing
money £com him (Beaumarchais) and M. de Genlis to give to his mistress,
while before her he called him a son of a watchmal^r; and he finished
with this cool proposition — ^' Au lieu d'une vie d'enfer que nous lui fai-
8QII0 raener, jcHgnons-nous tons pour lui procurer une socidt^ douoe et
sn vie agr^ble."

However annoyed the duke may have been at such extraordinary pre-
smnption, he restrained himself for the time being, and did not answer
the letter. The expbaon took place on the 11th of Felmianr, 1773,
onder the following circumstances : Grudin de la Brenellerie, a iriend of
Beaumarehais, was visiting Mademoiselle Menard, when the duke came
ia. The lady was in tears : she had been complaining of the violence of
the duke, and of the harsh things he said of Beaumarchais. An expla-
natidn took place, naturally not very agreeable to the latter. ** What
need is there," saod the duke, *' to justify a scamp like Beaumarchais?^
<< fie is a very good man," replied the actress, with more tears. ^' Ah,
yon love him!" exclaimed the duke; "he shall fight me— I will kill
him." This threat nrodueed a scene. There were in the room, besides
the duke, Gudin, and Mademoiselle Menard, Wkfemme de chambre and a
young girl, daughter of the Due de Chaulnes. They all befl;an to cry.
G«din made c^ to warn hk friend, fie met him in his carnage going
to hold his court of Capitainerie. "The duke means to kul you!**
exdaimed Godin. Beaumarchais laughed at the menace. As Gudin
was hurrying home, he felt himself suddenly pulled by the coat-tails,
and almost as suddenly thrust by the duke into a public carriage.

When Godin had somewhat recovered firom the shock of diis rather
violent proceeding, he inquired by what right he was thus made
prisoner. " Du droit da plus fort," was the .answer, and the duke insisted
upon being conducted into the presence of Beaumarchais. Passion
luid for the time gained complete ascendancy over him. " He was bent,"
he kept exclaiming, "upon driving his sword through his body, and
tearing out his heurt with his teeth !" Gudin declining compliance, the
duke began to box his ears and pull his hair. " But," says Gudin, in
his deposition, ^ I wear a wig, which consequently passed into the hands
of the duke, and this rendered the scene very comical, to judge by the
roars of laughter that came from the populace assembled before the
open doors of the coach." At length (he parties drove off to Beau-
marchais' house, and on thmr arrival there Gudin took the procautioo,
as the dnke went out by one door of the carriage, to make his exit by the
other, and ran home as fast as he could par de$ chemins dStoumis,

At Beaumarchab' house the duke learnt that his rival was at the court
of the Ci4[4tainerie at the Louvre, and thither he at once repaired,
furious, and thirsting for his Uood. Beaumarchais, who was seated in
the judicial chair, surrounded by officers and guards, was naturally

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180 BEAUMABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

somewhat taken aback by this inopportune visit. The duke, with a
manner so excited as to be manifest to all, announced to the judge that
he wished to speak with him» and that he must communicate with him
at once. In vun our judicial Figaro urged that the business of the
public should be first decently concluded,, and begged the duke to be
seated; the latter insisted, till Beaumarchais consented to pass into
another room with him. According to Beaumarchais* depoeitions^ the
duke said to him there that it was his intention to kill him at once, that
he would tear out his heart and drink his blood. ^< Oh I if that is all,
Monsieur le Due, permettes; que les affaires aillent arant lea plaisirs."
When Beaumarchais wished, however, to return to his duties, the duke
threatened to tear out his eyes, but he succeeded at lengdi in imposing
a little patience on hb excited rival, and induced him to take a seat till
ihe audience should be terminated. It is almost needless to say that
Beaumarchais, with his exquisite sense of the ridiculous, while he pro*
longed the audience to an unusual extent, calmly seated in his chair of
justice, contemplated with no small pleasure the furious duke sitting on
thorns, telling those within reach that he had come to fight, and per-
petually exclaiming, '< En avez-vous encore pour longtemps P"

There is, however, an end to everything, and so with this strange
scene. Beaumarchais was obliged to enter into explanations. The duke
would hear none. '< Let us go out and fight at once," was all that could
be got firom him. " At least you will let me go home for a sword,"
said Beaumarchais, who may be excused if suspected of temporising a
ntUe, for his enemy was strong, skilful, and furious. ** We will go to
the Comte de Turpin's," replied the duke; " he will lend you one.** On
the way they nearly came to blows. M. de Turpin, perceiving the
almost frenzied state of the duke, feigned an urgent engagement, and
requested that the affair mi^ht be delayed till four o'clock in the evening.
The duke wished Beaumaruiais to go to his house till four o'clock came.
He was so anxious for his blood, that he said he could not let him go out of
his sight Beaumarchais insisted, on his side, that they should eo to his
house. '< If you get down at your door I will stab you on we spot,**
said the duke. To Beaumarchais' they went, however; and, what is
more, with a dinner in perspective, which, but for the duke's violence,
might have brought about an amicable arrangement According to Beau-
marchais' statement, nothing could subdue the duke's passion to even
decency of conduct A letter came, the duke tore it £rom his hands ; he
wished to write^ the duke dashed the pen from his fingers ; he wanted to
leave the room, <<Je te defends de sortir," said the duke, "ou je t'assommel"
At last, proceeding from threats to action, he drew Beaumarchais' own
sword fh>m its scabbard, and, grinding his teeth, pointed it at his breast
Beaumarchais rushed upon him to disarm him, the duke tore a handful
of hair from his foreheaa and covered his face with scratches. Beaumar-
chais, who seems somewhere or other to have witnessed the system adopted
under similar circumstances /Mir des matehts Anglais^ replied with a blow
from his clenched fist

The old father and the domestics of the house hastened up to inter-
fere. The duke was tumbled down the stairs. At the very moment, the
inopportune Gudin opened the outer door, and came in for the disturb-
ance. The duke had drawn kis sword, and dealt his blows indiscrimi-

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BEAUHABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES. 181

naidy. Ghidin was soon put hors de combat^ the falet got a cat on the
heady the coachman had his nose slit, the cook was run tlm>u^ the hand,
the women were calling ont murder from the window, the crowd roshmg
into the house, alamr and disorder had reached its heig^t^ when the
eommissaiy of police luckily made his appearance.

What is most curious is that the diuce then sat down quietly to the
diimer-taU^ and discussed his soup and cutlets as if nothing had hap«
pened. It is but £ur to add that the duke, in his depositions, a£Euins that
ne wmt to dine at Beaumarchais', and that the latter brought about
the row that ensued, by using, when in his house, the most insulting
lawisffe towards him.

Be this as it may, Beanmarohais was placed in arrest the next day by
the Duke de la Vrilli^, minister of the king's household, and both
parties were summoned before the Court of Uie Marshals of France.
Beanmardiais pleaded that all his misfortunes arose from his being pre-
ferred by a lady to a duke and peer of the realm, which was not a capital
crime, and the Due de Chaulnes was sent, on the 19th of February, oy a
leHre de eaeket, to the Chftteau de Vincennes. Nor was Beaumaichais
allowed to enjoy his temporary triumph over his adversary for any length
of time, for, on the 24th of the same month, after bdng acquitted
by court-martial, he was, according to De Lom^nie, by the Due de la
Yrilli^'s order-— the duke being annoyed that such a coart should lay
aside an order of arrest made by hims^f— committed to prison at For
r£v^ue.

MadenKnseUe Menard, by the aid of one of those convenient abb^s not
uncommon in the eighteenth century, resolved to avoid further annoyance
£rom the Due de CfaAulnes by a conventual retreat^ which, however, did not
last lon^ than a fortnifi^fat. Upon returning once more into public life,
the lady exerted herself to procure the liberation of Beaumarchais ; but
her influence was rendered useless by the haughty and, as it was termed
by many, the insolent tone whicn the latter assumed towards the
minister. The Due de la VriUi^ contented himself with letting the
prisoner know that the adoption of such a tone would lead to no good ;
and, at last, Beaumarchais was obliged to humble himself before an
absolnte and irresponsible power. This was on the 21st of March, when
he asked pardon of the minister, and he then received permission to quit
his prison by day, accompanied by a police-agent, but he was bound
to return to his meals and night^s rest The same degree of liberty
was accorded to the Due de Chaulnes at the same time ; but with the
additional conditions attached, that he should leave his rival in peace, and
not force his sodety upon Mademoiselle Menard. At length, after two
months and a half's detention, Beaumarchais was set free.

Liberty, however, was only regamed by the restless Beaumarchais to
enter upon a new lawsuit — more dangerous than any that had gone
before^ and which threatened him with utter ruin — but from which
he rose triumphant over the parliament, and became the favourite of a
nation. Never was his credit so low as at this moment. The Comte de
la Blache took pleasure in designating him as a " monstre achev^ une
esp^ce venimeose dont on doit purger la soci^t^.** And the veteran
Grimm remarked : " He was only a year ago the dread of all Paris ;
every one believed him to be capaole of the greatest crimes ; now people

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182 BEAUICABCHAIS Ain> HIS TIMES.

cannot make too much of him." This suit, which kid the iboiidatioa of
Beaumarchais' fbrtune, had its origin in certain hrifaes administered to a
judge and a coonsellor^s wifie, in accordance with die accepted praetioe
of that conropt age. Beanmanjiaia had, in &c't, given to the wife of
the Counsellor Goezman 100 louis, a watdi worth the same sum, and
15 louis besides, which he handed over personally to the secretaiy.
When the suit was lost, the 100 louis and watch were restored, as tiity
were only to be kept if the suit should be gaii^ ; but as to me
15 louis, Madame Goeaman not only denied its receipt, but declared
that presents having been offered to her by Beaomarchais to gain
over the 8u£frages of her husband, she had rejected the criminal offer
with indignation. Groeaman followed up his wife's denial of the traos-
action by denouncing Beaumarchais to i^e padiament aa guilty of
calumniating the wife of a judge after having, in vain attempted to
corrupt her.

It appears that Gotanan had, be£Dre taking this step, tried to remore
thb troublesome pleader by means of a U^e de cachet; but failing,
he resolved to call down the vengeance of parliament oa the head of a
* man over whom he expected to win an easv triumph. Le Parlement
MaupeoH, as it was called, was at that time the object of general distrust
and suspicion. It would not fail to strike, therefore, with its utmost
vengeance one who perilled its dignity. Its proceedinga-^this beinff a
criminal case — were secret^ and Beuwiarchais had in perspective the last
penalty of the law, if not something worse — omnia cilra mortem. In
such an emergency he appealed to a power long ignored and scarcely be-
lieved to exist — to public ofunion. To win t&s, Beauman^iaiB was
obliged to plead his own cause, for no advocate could be found inde*
pendent emmgh to brave the anger of parliament Sudi an altemativs,
enough to paralyse an ordinary mind, became on the contrary a stimubiB
to B^umardiais, and he set about his task yrith almost febrile energy.

On reading these celebrated pleadings, by which Beaumudiais
gained so much renown, his own biographer admks that it is im-
possible not to be shocked with what there is that is disreputable in
their tone of irony and invective. Villemain himsdf^ who admires the
lively eloquence of these addresses, exclaims against some, which, he
justly remarics, revolt against all sentiments of decency and of truth.
The public excused the excesses at the time, in consideration of tiie ali^
powerful body to which he was opposed. <' Peoj^," says La Harpe,
<< laughed to see them skinned, because they knew that they heU daggers
in th^ hands."

The Memoirs, by means (tf whidi Beaumarchais conducted his defence,
and which first rendered his name £unous, are generally considered to be
four in number; but M. de Lom^nie says, counting the supplement to the
first, there are really five. He was aided in their comjnlation by several
friends; amongst others by Gudin m the historical portions, by Fal-
oonnet in tiie questions of law, by Miron in the satirical line, ana evsn
by his aged father and his clever sister Julie. The answers were indited
W a small coterie^ at the head of whkh were M. and Madame Goesman,
Bertrand, Amaud, Baculard, and Marin. These Memoirs are avowed^
amone the most remarkable productions of tiieir author ; the finer quah-
ties of the writer are, in tiiem, less disfigured by defects. The effect
produced by them was immense. Voltaire, Horace Walpole, and Goethe

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BEAUKABCHAIS AND HIS TIMSB. 183

. hare all reeonkd the impression they produced apoQ ibeiii. Louis XV.
was so far interested as to have them read to him, and Madame da Barry
bad the more striking passages played as prorerbs.

The Terdict of the parliam^it put an end to this paper warfare. On
the 26th of February, 1774, Bwumarcbais was condemned au blame^
wiiieh comprised at that time civic degradation. M. and Madame Goee>-
man £d not eet off more eanly: the husband was suspended from his
j«tdie>al functions, the wife was also condemned au bldme^ and to the
restihition of the fifteen louis. The Porlemeni Maupeau did not itself
long snnriTe its vindietiTe sentence. *' In striking with a civil death a
man whom public opinion bore in triumph," his biographer says, ^it
inflieM a death-blow to its own existence." One of the first acts of
Louis XVL was to dissolve the existing, and to re-establish the ancient
parliament.

As to Beanmardiais, the court had Kttle power to carry out its verdict
against htm. He was not summoned to ^e bar, as was enjoined by
the law. All Pkris called to condole with him ; the Prince de Conti and
the Due de Chartres gave brilliant /eie$ in Ims honour, and the king
himself sent for him to employ him on a secret mission ; but this was
not till he had made an acquaintance, brought about by the renown <^
his writings, with Marie Th^^ Emilie Willmnawlaz, a woman of great
intellectual endowments as well as personal charms, and who was destined
to become, at a later period, his third wife.

The history of the secret missions of Beanmarchais are instructive, if
merdy to show what importance matters ofUn trifling and contemptible in
themadves obtained unaer absolute govemmmits. We have seen lately
nrach of the weak side of free constitutions, how much they may ble
abused by one nation, how little vnth another they answer for efiectively
ensuring the progress of the greatest human undertaking — a successful
war ; the reverse of the medail is not, then, without its use at the present
moment. It is in the secret proceedings of bygone absolutism, as it
would be in those of existing absolutisms if they could only be made
known, that the glaring inconvenience of such are most made manifest.

There lived at this epoch an adventurer — Th^veneau de Moraade
— ^who, having taken refuge in England from criminal pursuit in
his own country, sought a livelihood there by publishing a tissue of
scandals and calumnies in a paper justly called Le Gaz^ier CtdnusS.
The system he pursued was to send demands across the Channel for sums
of money to ol^in exemption from the personal outrages in which he
found a profit. To a person of this description Madame du Bany was a
real California. He wrote a letter to that lady, in which he requested
the transmission of a lai^e sum of money, or in case of refusal, he should
immediately proceed with the publication of a veiy interesting work, the
subject of winch was her life, with a title admirably adapted to tell with
persons of a cynical disposition. Alarmed and furious, Madame du Barry
appealed to the king. The king a^ed of the Rin|^ of England that Mo-
rande should be sent out of the country. The British government replied
that it could not expatriate the man, but tiiat it would not oppose his
being removed, so long as that removal could be secreUy effected. A
whole brigade of offices of police was accordingly sent to this country to
effect his capture, but Morande got scent of the mission, denounced it to
the people-^always ready to side with the oppressed, wfaeiiher virtuous or

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184 BEAUMABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

ignoble — and they exhibited aoch unmistakable ngns of oommittbg the
French polioe to die Thames that they were glad to hide themselTes
and get back to their own conntry as fast as they could*

Protected in this manner by the English public, Morande proceeded
with his publication. Louis XV. endeavoured, all other means failing,
to come to terms with him, but Morande had reasons to doubt the cha-
racter of his emissaries, and would not let them come near him. It was
in this emergency that Beaumarehab was engaged to go to London, to
put himself in communication with the GazeHer Cmrcas^ and to pur-
diase his silence and the suppression of the Memoirs of Madame da
Barry.

It was not, his biographer jusdy remarks, une mimon d^vn ordri bien
reUviy but it must be kept in mind that, at that moment, Beaumardiais
was suffering from the loss of two lawsuits, one of which had deprived
him of all his worldly goods, and the other of his civil existence. He was
glad to do anything that promised an opening to the recovery of all that
he had thus lost The distinguished pleader started then for London,
in March, 1774, under the name of Ronac, the anagram of Caron. In a
few days he won the confidence of the libeller, mastered a negotiation
that had now lasted eighteen months, and reappeared at Versailles with
a copy of the formidable Memoirs, and the additional manuscript of an-
other projected libel, to recdve the king's instructions in respect to a
definite arrangement. Louis XV. was delighted with the stall and
promptitude of his emissary, and he referred him to the Due d' Aiguillon.
The latter was more desirous of discovering Morande's aooompUces in
France than of destroying the libels, and it is upon record, to Beaumar-
chais' credit, that he would not lend himself to any inquiries of the kind.
The king was obliged to send him back, in opposition to the counsels o£
his mimster. The MSS. and three thousand copies of the Memoirs were
burnt in a lime-kiln in the neighbouriiood of London, but to preserve the
reputation of Madame du Barry from the pen of an adventurer cost the
French government 20,000 francs down, and an annuity of 4000 francs!
The French government, under Louis XVI., subsequently bought vp
hdlf of the annuity for a further sum of 20,000 francs. <' (^ doit
avouer," says De Lom^nie, '' que I'honneur de Madame du Barry 6toit
estim^ ici fort au del& de sa valeur." At a later period of his histoxy
Mirabeau publicly reproached Beaumarchais with his relations with a
man of sucn bad reputation. It was, however, in a pecuniary point of
view, of far less advantage to the emissary than the libellist, for while
the latter became so wealthy as to die a juge de paix at Amay-le-Dac,
Beaumarchais only received the thanks of the old king, who died a few
days after his return. ^< I admire," he wrote upon tins occasion, ** the
oddity of fate that pursues me. If the king had only enjoyed his health
for eight days longer, I should have been restored to that condition
which iniquity has robbed me of. I had his royal word to that effect,
and the unjust aversion which had been inspired in him towards me was
changed into a kindness even to predilection."

It was not to be expected that Louis XVI., attaching less importance
to the reputation of Madame du Barry than his predecessor, should view
the diplomatic labours of the author of the << Barber of Seville" in quite
so favourable a light as Louis XV. But fortune here favoured Beaumar*
chais. The manufacture of libeb at London had turned out too profit-

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BEAUMARCHAIS AND Hid TIMES. 185

able a speculation to be dropped in a moment. No sooner had the king
moanted the throne with his voong wife, than the most abominable
scandals began to be whispered abr^. Oatrages of this description,
which have gone bj under the influence of free governments and a free
press, were state matters under the rSgime of silence. The success of
Beacunarchais* mission under Louis XV. caused his services to be again
sought for. On the present occasion he accepted gladly ; and he sttuted
full of zeal, arriving in London in June, 1774. The libel he had now
time to quell was entitled <^ Advice to the Spanish Branch as to its
Rights to the Crown of France in case of Default of Heirs.'' Its author
was an Italian Jew, Angeludci, but known in England by the name of
Atkinson.

This dme Beaumarchais insisted upon an order written in the king's
hand, and having with great difficulbr obtained it, he enclosed it in a gold
box, which he kept always susftended to his neqk by a chain of the same
material. Thus provided with a royal talisman he set to work, and sue*
ceeded in obtainmg the destruction of the libel, at an expense to the
Frendi government of 1400/. sterling. He then started for Amsterdam
with Ai^;elncci, to superint^d the destruction of the Dutch edition ; but
no sooner was this accomplished, than he found that the astute Jew had
absconded to Nuremberg, carrying with him a copy that had escaped his
researches, and which was to be printed in French and Itelian. Beau*
marehais, irritoted beyond measure at being thus duped, started in pursuit
of his treadierous companion, and actually overtook him at the entrance
of the forest of Neustadt, near Nuremberg, trotting along on horseback.
Angelucci, seeing the man he had so grosuy deceived on his traces, made
fat the forest. Beaumarchais, on his side, followed him on foot, pistol
in hand, and the Jew's horse not being able to make its way among the
trees, he soon overtook him, seized him by his boot, tumbled him off,
and, exp]<Ming his pockets and his bags, found the copy that had escaped
his vigilance.

This feat accomplished, he was returning through the forest to his
diaise, when he was in his turn attecked by two robbers. The talisman
of Louis XVI. proved on this occasion to be really that which its owner
had only dreamed of in his imagination. His pistol missing fire, he re-
ceived a blow from the dagger of one of his assailants in his br^ut, but
it foil on the golden box, which turned it aside. After a severe struggle,
Beanmarchais even succeeded in disarming his anti^nist, but the ouier
robber, who had fled at first, returning with a reinforcement of bandits,
it would have been all up with the secret agent of Louis had not his
valet and the postilion come at the same moment to his assistenoe.

The whole story is so romantic as to be scarcely credible, were it not
attested by documents drawn up by the burgomaster of Nuremberg, by
order of Maria Theresa, in consequence of what happened to Beaumar-
chais when, wounded in his struggle with the robbers, and excited almost
to temporary alienation of mind by his seal for his sovereign and his
queen, he proceeded to Vienna to obtain from Maria Theresa herself the
order for the extradition of the Jew, and for hb bemg conducted for
safety's sake into France. The histoiy of thb adventure, which we shall
nve in our next, is derived from an unpublished memoir addressed by
Beaumarchais to Louis XVI. on his return to France, and bearing date
October 16, 1774.

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186

OXTB FIB9T LODOEBS.

I HAVE always held an opinion that yoang women in a respectabb
sphere of life, wben left unprovided for by the death of parents, reauire
more sympathy than any other class. It may be they hare a little
money : it is to be hoped that daughters, so left, generally have. This
they proceed to embark in various ways, according to their capacities, and
the notions ^ey have imbibed in their station of society. Some try to
establish a school, some sink their capital in setting-up a business, a
Berlin-wool shop, a stationer's and library, or the like, some put their litde
bit of money out, and rely on the interest for clothes, whilst tney sedk to go
out as nursery-governess or companion. And thus, in various ways, all
try to obtain an honest livelihood. But 4et the reader be very sure that
there are few of these unprotected women but have a crushing weight of
struggle and sorrow. Anxious perplexity, pinching want, heart-br^ikiBg
care, these are often theirs : and for many there is no turn, no worldly
rest, till they find it in the grave.

I can feel for them, for did I not» for several years, I and my sbter,
struggle on, fighting our way with disappobtment and non-suooeis?
Tet we never were so badly off as many, and in time God saw fit to
crown our efiforts with plenty. It was in 1836, and I was about thirty-
one^ that we had to turn our attention to getdng our own living. Part of
our mother's inoome had died with her, and all we had was 500/. each.
And that is more than falls to many orphans. One sister, much younga
than ourselv^ had married a me^al gentleman, and gone to settle in a
distant part of ihe kingdom, and I and Lucy oastabout in our minds what
we should turn to. A ladies' boarding-school I4>peared to us the most
congenial, and we were, I think, though I'm sure I say it in all modesty,
more suitable for the charge than are some who undertake it. My learning
was but little, and of the plainest sort, but I was (I hope) land, just, imd
considerate ; of calm, steady character and manners. Lucy was meiiitf
than I, and she excelled in grand learning, such as astronomy, the use of
the globes, degant composition, with music, and other accomplishments,
suiti3>le to tefush to little gentlewomen. We both felt that we had the
qualifications and the will essential to do our full duty to those diildren
who might be confided to our care : so we determined on our plan.

The first step was to find a suitable house and neiffhboumood. We
had hitherto, at least for the last many years, lived in Uie country, where
there was no scope for such an undei^aking, and several friends advised
us to turn our tnoughts to the vicinity of London, which we did. Bat
the trouble we had ! though the metropolis abounds in suburbs. Some
we found overstocked with schools, some localities were not deemed lughly
healthy, and some had no suitaUe house that we could rent. We did
fix ourselves at last, after spending a purse of money over those whiiling
omnibuses. I will not name the exact situation, for we are in the same
house still, and I do not care that all the world should read these strue;gles,
and know that they i^^y to us. It was a capital house, large and con-
venient ; enclosed from the idA road by a wall, with a pretty garden in
firoQt and a playground behind. We pud 80/. a year for it — a rent that

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OUB FIBST LODGBRS. 187

firighttned us ; and if it looked fonnkkUe in p6npectiye» what was it
when it came near ? I can safely say that quarterly for many years
nerer drew near hat it brought to as a heart-sickening. And there were
the taxes in addition. Af^er taking the house, the next step was to furnish
it. We had most of the furniture from our old home, but it was the
worse for wear, and the little which had filled a small bouse was lost in
our ku^ one. So we bought new for the drawing*room, and for the
dukiren's bedroom that was to be, with desks and forms for the school-
room, disposing the old about the house as we best could; and occasionally
baying, as time went on, some next to indispensable article, as we thought
we could spare the money.

Of course we had sent out cards and adrertised, and dien we sat down
in our house and waited for pupils. The first quarter we receired some
demands for circulars, but nothing came of it : the next we had three
day-seholars, two sisters and another. I then took the resolution to call
at the prineipai houses in the neighbourhood, and urge our hope of their
patronage. Whether they liked my appearance I do not know, but soon
afW that we had deren day-scholars and five boarders, so we thoueht
success was coming all at once, and I belie?e had certain Tisions of retinng
with a fortune. But the years went on, and we found success was not so
certain.

It could not be strictly said we did not succeed; but we did not succeed
sufficiently to pay our expenses and live, and our little stock of capital
was often drawn upon. And that heary rent! Our numbers fluctuated
much : one half year we should have a large school, the next it would be
a small ooe» Many anianxious conversation did I and Lucy hare ; many
an hour of more anxious thought, many a sleepless night. To sink into
debt and difficulty ; to spend Sie last shilling of our capital in striving to
avert it ; to find our effi>rts fruitless, our money gone, and we turned from
oar present shelter, from our poor means of Hving, without any definite
prospect of finding another ! — these visions disturbed our rest continually.
Oh, God pity all who are struggling as we were to keep up appearances
and earn a respectable livings and who find their hopes and their means
grow less day by day !

** I have a scheme running in my head," Lucy said to me, one evening ;
^' suppose we let lodgings ?"

^' Let lodgings !" I ejaculated.

^^ Our drawing-room and one or two bedrooms* We can give up our
own and go up-stairs, and there's the one we had fitted up for diat
padoor-boaider. Why not?"

'' But it will not do to let lodgings in a ladies' school, one of our
das*," I returned. '' Such a thing was never heard of. All the parents
would object to it''

^ Most of them would never know it," answered Lucy. ^^ It cannot
be any possible detriment to the pupils — make no diffiBrenoe to them what-
ever. We might easily get thirty shillins^ a week for the three rooms,
be at no outlay, and, if we had the la(£ oi quiet pec^le, very little
trouble."

Thirty shillings a week ! It would go hr towards the rent << I will
sleep upon it," I said to Lucy.

I dicL And the next day we got some cards vnitten in text-haod^

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188 OTJB FIRST LODGERS.

** Genteel Apartments,'' and gave them to our greengrocer and atationtr
to display in their shops ; for, of course, we dared not have such an inti-
mation stuck on our own g^te or hanging up outside the wall.

The cards were out three weeks and not a soul came. We were in
despair. But one day Sarah, our senrant, came to the door of the school*
room and heckoned me out

^' It's some folks after the rooms, ma'am," she whispered. *^ They look
likely people." Sarah was more anxious on the point, I think, than we
were.

I went up to ^e drawing-room, and two ladies rose at mj^ entrance.
Agreeable m person they were, and neatly dressed in monrning. The
elder was about three or fbur^and-thirty, a rosy-cheeked woman, widi
qvlkk dark eyes; the other, who was more delicate-looking, and a little
younger, was her sister.

<< You have apartments to let, we hear," said the former, han^g me
a card, '* and we are in search of some." I glanced down at it— -^^ Mrs.
Archer."

'< I beg pardon, ma'am," I said, ^' are you a widow ?**

<' No," she replied. '' My husband is abroad."

** Because we should decline to take a gentleman : it woald not be
deemed suitable for a school. Only ladies."

*^ Well, he is abroad," she repeated ; '^ it is only for ourselves* Can
we see the rooms ?"

^* This is the sitting-room," I said, <' and one bedroom opens from it
The other "

^* We only require one bedroom," she interrupted, as she rose to go
with me into it.

Our bargun was soon concluded. They took Ae two rooms at twenty-
five shillings per week, and promised to come in on the morrow.

^What extras will there be?" inquired the younger lady, Wss
Graves.

'< Extras !" I r^»eated, ** not any. Except — I believe it is customary
— some little gratuity to the servant" I had not been in the habit of
letting lodgings.

^^ What abmit the linen ; are we to find it?" asked Lucy, when I told
her of our success.

<' The linen !" I exclaimed, dubiously, ** I forgot it completely. I
never said a word about it"

<<Norihekdies?"

'< Nor the ladies. I remember they said they had their own spoons."

<< Then they take it for granted we find it, no doubt Well, it will
not much matter, either way. Did you ask'for references, Hester?"

I really had not; I was obliged to confess it ; and Lucy laughed, l,
who was generally over-cautious !

These ladies came, and for several weeks things went on with satis-
fftction, they paving their money regularly. Then they began to grow
behindhand, ana made excuses firom time to time, which seemed to us veiy
plausible. But when the weeks went on, and on, and there was no money
at all coming forth, I and Lucy grew uneasy. The debt amounted to
nearly 9L, and we had looked to it to help out our coming quarter's
^rent

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OUB FIRST LODGSRS. 189

. I was In the Idtehen one mornings makiDg some apple-damplings for
dinner, when Sarah, who stood by me paring apples, began to talk.

" I think them are queer customers we have got hold of, ma'am," Ae
said.

" What do 70a mean?" I asked.

^' Well, for one thing, I fancy they have come to the end of their
tether, and haven't got neither cross nor coin to bless themselves with.
They are living now upon a'most nothing. And where are their spoona
gone to?"

«' Their qpoons!"

^* The £pm table-spoons put on their taUe every day for dinner. It's
a good month since the two first disappeared — ^that handsome silver
cream*jug vanished about the same time^-and now the two last is gone.
When I wps a laying the doth yesterday for dinner — them precious
herrings they bought — I went on, a hunting for the spoons, and Miss
Graves said, ^ Oh, I have got them. Til put them on the table myself
presently, Sarah!' But none came down to be washed."

'' Good gracious, Sarah ! where do you think they have ffone to ?"
'^ Well," said Sarah, who was worth her weight in gold for an honesty
hard-working servant, though a firee, rough-speaking one, '^ I should say
they have gone to my uncle's."

"Dear, dear!" I ejaculated, for I did not a£Eeot to nusundostand her,
*' are ibey reduced to such straits as that ?"

" Law, ma'am ! let 'em hope they may never be reduced to worse,"
retorted Sarah. *'You don't know the schemes and contrivances for
getting along in London, when one's hard up. If s a mercy there'la such
Uiings as undes to go to. Since the baker would not leave the bread on
credit, oar t^o ladies don't take in half enough to fSsed 'em. They have
not had meat, neither, for three days, nor nouiing to substitute for it but
them six herrings yesterday; which was anything but of the freshest, as
my nose told me m deamng 'em. Miss Graves — it's she as generally
neaks — is always ready with excuses ; they've got colds, and can't eat, or
ihey've got this, or got that"

** Do they owe much to the baker?"

'' Five shillings, odd. He's a cautious man is our baker, and says he
never trusts no lodgers. And now," added Sarah, stopping in her paring,
and looking at me, '* they don't take in no milk."

I went on, mixing my crust, and ruminating. I fdt much sorrow for
them, for I was sure they were not systematic deceivers, and I cannot
but say I felt for my own pocket. I now looked upon the money as
being as good as lost, and we wanted it badly.

« I should like to know what they mean to do for coals," resumed
Sarah ; *< there un't above a couple of scuttlefuk left. The3r'll be want*
ing us to lend 'em some, but if we do, we may whistle for 'em back again^
Haven't I pared enough yet, missis ?"

I dedare I had been paying no attention to the apples, and Sarah had

done too many. So, to prevent waste, I thought I would make a pie and

use them np. Popping my dumpHngs, when they were ready, into the

ironjpot, I got down the flour-jar again.

What with this, and dicing and salting red cabbages for pickling,

VOL. 3CXTIT. o

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190 OUS fIBST LODems.

which I wai cloiB|; Aai rnoromg^ k ttnidc one hrfora I had weU fiaUitd.
I told Sarah to dish up Ae diimcr.

It waf Iriih stew we had that daj, and the fftrl got tiie great hadi-
dish and put it on the tahle, and then, taking the large saucepan froia
the fire^ turned the greater portion of its contents into Uie diA. I went
iaside tiie pantry, to pat away some of the tUngs I had been vsing^ when
Miss Grayes eane into the kitchen^ nearij niniang agamat Suah sod
Imht hasb-dkdiy who was jmat gong out of it.

Miss Graves came up to the fire, not seeing me. And oh ! &iB pineh-
ing look of care and want that her face wore ! I wondered Lhad ae?er
noticed it belbre. 9ie looked, with eager eyes, iBto tke sanaepaa whkh
Sarah hsd k)dged, withoat ite lid, oil the fisBder, and then tvoed away,
as if die woaldsho* out its sight. On the table these hj a little heapof
stew, qplaAed then h^ Sarah when pomii^ it out, and she stole to the
taUe aadoai^^ this up gieedihr wkh her finger, and ate it. Ihesid
Sarak coming back again, and bad to come ont of my hidipy-plaos
Uiough indeed I had aot gone ia for hidiiig. She started when she sair
me, and her &ee taraed oriasaoB. I laade beliafe not to hate aseo her
ttUthea.

«<bityoii,i9a'am?' laaid* <^What aceUdaj! Pia j take am sf
your deeve against the table : something seesss to faava bassi spilt oa it
I hope it has not tooehed it"

<< Oh no^** she said, brushing awaj at her i^h^hand eiiff, with a

^'SomacftlMni yanngBBisBea jumped aboatwhea Aey sa^r andsmsk
aeIiislistew,'*ob6enredSavah,wheo she entered. '^ItTs a rare isvoaDte
disboftfaeinu''

^'I doD't wonder at Aat^ viMa itsuMflaaasaToury aayoun^'' lemaskad
IfissGraTesL

'*IlookedaKtdetoitaijP8dftO'^,aDdpatinabit€£thyme: thaftfs
a giaat improeement,'' I aaid. ^ Don't yo« thidk so^ ma'am ?"

'< I don't know,'* she anawered. ^Idoattyakw^eferpatthyswia
ours.

<< Then if you'll allow me, I'll send yo« op a little plate of this to
taste," I said tohsr. F<v I could not bear to think that we were gomg
ti>eat our fii of this niee &h, and they dumld only smell and Isag
for it

*Oh, tiumk yon," she shrninsared, her £see going criaison i^gain, ''but

««DoB't asea^ioa it, pray," I intempted; ''ita no tvoriik. SaasK
bring me in that little dish."

I took my place at the head of the sehodroem^tabte, and Sarak, look-
iB|^ as deaotve as if she andwrstood nathiqg, brought ia tbe dish. I
heaped it with the stew^ and sent it «p^

But of course I could not do thia ercry daj^ and I foar eircttmstaafles
grew stiaiter with <Mr lodgersL Saiah was fiosquently opeoiw her ba^g^t
el wonders as to what dhqr did, bat I paid little heed to her, for thsy
were not, just nevr, in her gaod giacas^ not haiing, for a Vmg whil^

given her any gratuity — a negleot sare taoMte the ireof a aevyant Oae

' Br we had I "

^ a daj oa two after we had broken iq[» for the CfaristaM hoUav^
she came bounding into the room, with eager, wild word& Laqr *>^ ^

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OUB IQtST L(H>6B88» 191

were mMmg hj firdwiii, fiir it was the desk hour be&ve teft» and Am
reell J ataided ot botE, thoogb she spoke in a wUsper*

^^ JkCssis ! I£bs Luej 1 as sore as yon aie both alirey ihem two bar e
go^ a man in-stam!

'< Who is be? What* s he eome for ? Money, I safypose.**

<' Not that sort of a mas,'' retorted San^ an indefinite aaotmt o£
oontempt in her toae for my nnpHcity — *^ not folks as ealL A man
locked up with *ein ; concealed in their bedroom."

" Hew can yo« assert such a thing, Sarah ?^ ezekimed Loey, sharply.
^ If thsy hwsil yoMy they might b«re yo« up before a polke-oowrt"

«'aho«lda'tcareifthsydU»"ieianiedtheml. "^ Fd stand up for the
troth there, as well as here. If eyer I heard a man talk, I heard one i^
in their room jost now."

** Then yon did Bot see him," obesrred Luey, sareastisally^

*^ Nor didn't want to, Miss Lney, if yon msan for the comnoing of
eyesi 111 tell ye«, ma'am, mm il was,** she added, toning to me.

!lieir candles be all out — ^the last pound hare kated 'em three wedts,
if ii hmFe lasted sms so it's pUun they hare mostty sa* m dw dmrfc. In
getting the candlesticks oat just now, I reaaembered there was nothing
to pnt in 'em, so up I went into the drawing-room to say so. The doer
was locked when I got these and they hare kepi it so for the last fow
days, whidi is another odd thing. Iwasn't in a sonny hnmenr— kdnng
op rooa^ like that» indeed !— and I ga^ the latch a tvist and a sharp
p«h, and enen it flew. In I went : there wasn't a kit of fise in the
grate, bat they have it now in their bedroom instead — I shoaH Kkn ta
know why. Ii was neat to pitch dadc, sate a dimmer ef ii|^ diat
came through the bedroom aoor, which was on, uie jar» and as I stM>od
Ifcere, a shaa^fi vmee, a man's voiee> called euA» * I am so thirsty ! If
there's netUag dse^ yen mnst gi?e ma water: My lipo and tongue am
parched.'"

<« Sank, how ean yen be so foolish rnttssed my iMler. '<Min Aidier
speaks gruffly."

"^ A man's Tosee it waa. Ill tdke my BiUe eath on it," persisted
Sarah. * I ran against the taUe then, smd eansed a noise : nei for die

"The

I was a steppiag softly fosrardtopeepin,andcoBieincontraci
teneefitalsgs. Oat fiew Jfiss Gnms^ jnsi as if Id been a lehbcr,
and bamd-to the doer behind her.

'< ' mo's there ?' she called ont : for, now dw does was shut, we
couldn't see the ghost of one aaethec

«<It'seafymeymsM,'Ianenered. « These ain't ne eddies lefL'

<(( Ol^—wdl— I— m see abont it^' d»e said; < we don't want them yei ;
we are sitdng by fise-B^ Hew did you get in, Sarah? I thonght I
s&msd the kdi: for whsn we are sitting by onssaWes op hef% and yen
all down stain» we foel timid.'

** * Too couldn't have slipped it Tery for, miss,' I said; 'I gate die door
aaaaafftpaih, aad it opened. Of coarse I shonldn't have doneitifl
had known you'd fostened me ont, buithis is an awk'ard ktdi, and need
tehamatndLofcatehiag, Mid I thought no more bni that ii was ai it
again.' 80^ with duMt, I came aw^ down stairs^ and she came acrom the
room, aad belted the door again."

""Toor earn heard denbk^" cried Lacy. '<Yen do faasy linage

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192 OUR FIBST LODOEBS.

thmgs sometimes, Sarah. Recollect the evening yoa came to us, last
summer, and protested Miss Brown was talking out of the front window.
And she fast asleep in her bed, all the while, at the back of the house !"

" That Miss Brown had as many ruses as a fox," uttered Sarah, '^ and
I shall never believe but what she was a talking out at the front winder ;
and to somebody over the wall too ! However, she's gone, so it don't
matter, but whether or no, I ain't mistaken now, and I'U lay my life
there is a man up ^ere.**

Lucy took the poker and raised the fire into a blaie, which lighted up
the amused, incredulous smile on her &ce. But I confess I was stag-
gered. The girl was so very earnest, and she had her share of strong
common sense.

<< It was a gentleman's voice," she resumed, " and he spoke as if he
was tired, or else in pain. Suppose I so and borrow the next door
ladder, and climb up to their winder, and have a look in ?"

'^ Tee," cried Lucy, laughine^ heartily, as she flung down the poker,
'^ do Sanh. Never mind rails."

<' What can I say we want with it ? They'll think dark night's a
fimny time to borrow a garden ladder. Suppose I go with a tale, that
an obstinate fit has took our curtains, these here, and they wont drajv,
and I want to get up to the rings ? It is ^"

<< Do not run on so, Sarah," I interrupted ; ^* you know I should per-
mit nothing of the sort. And if the bund is down, as it is almost <sure
to be, 3rou could not look into the room, if you did get up to the
window*''

** I'll go and see," was Sarah's answer, darting out into the hall, and
thence to the garden.

** It is down," she said, returning in again. ** But you just oome and
look here, Miss Lucy. If there ain't the shadow of a man s hat on the
blind, I never saw a hat yet"

They went out into the cold night, and I followed ihem. There really
was the shadow of a man's hat cast on the blind. It seemed as if w
little bamboo table had been drawn from the comer of the room — to get
to the cupboard, probably — and was placed in front of the window. On
it stood the hat, and the fire-liffht, being opposite, threw its shadow on
the blind. As we looked, the form of one ot the ladies passed before the
window, and lifted the table back to its place, out of sight, and we went
shivering into the house again.

'^ Now, ma'am, what do you think?" asked Sarah, triumphantly.

<^ Why, I think that some one has called," I resolutely replied* << The
ladies are most respectable in their conduct — ^perfectly so ; it is impos-
sible to think them otherwise. You may have been out oi the way when
he— whoever it is — came to the door, and one of them must have come
down and let him in. As to his being in the bedroom, it is natural they^
should be where the fire is, this cold night."

''Not a soul has been to the door this afternoon," persisted Sarah*
'' I have been ironing, and have never stirred out of the kitchen. But
now, ma'am, to prove the thing, I'll just turn the key of the front door
and put it in my pocket. If it is a visitor, he must ask to be let out; if
it's not "

Sarah said no more* For who should have entered, after a tap at the
door, but ,Miss Graves. She held a teacup in her hand*

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OUR FIRST LODGERS. i9S

^* I am very sony to trouble you, Miss HaUiwell," she said, hesitatiufflj
— sbe was a bad beggar — ** but would you oblige us with the loan of a
little tea to-night ? We are out of it, and it is late to go and pur*
chase.^

<' Certainly," I answered, unlocking my old sideboard drawer, where
we kept the tea-caddy. '* There's noUiing so refreshing as a cup of tea."

*< We don't, in general, care for it,'' observed Mbs Uraves, ** but my
sister is very poorly to-night, and complains of thirst. Thank you
^Tea%," she added, as she took the cup from me.

*' Don't you want water for it, miss?" called out Sarah. ^'Our
Icettle's on the bile."

** Yes, if you please," she answered. '^ 111 come in the kitchen and
make it now."

She did so, having a contest with Sarah afterwards. The latter
wanted to carry up the tray with the cups and saucers, but Miss Graves
insisted on doing it herself.

'' To keep me out of the room," muttered Sarah, when she was gone.
'< For fear I should see what I should see."

However, in about half an hour the bell rang, and up bounded Sarah.
It was to take away the tray ; and when she had put it in the kitchen,
she came into the parlour again, where I and Lucy were now at our tea.

" WeD, what did you see ?" inquired Lucy.

<* Nothing, and didn't expect to," was Sarah's sulky reply. "They
took care of that, before they called me up."

" Did you go into the bedroom ?"

" Yes. Miss Graves was a sitting at the table, as if she'd been a
making tea, and Mrs. Archer was by the fire, looking well enough, as
jar as I saw by the fire-light They had stiired the blaze up just beifore
I went in, as an excuse for having no candles."

" And what about the gentleman ?" laughed Lucy.

** I expect he was in the bed, or on it, for the curtains was all drawed
«1oee round it, as tight as wax, like I have never seen 'em afore. I'm
sure, ma'am, this aSair's as good as a plav.''

<^Not to me," I sighed, " if there snould be anything in it."

''And the hat?" continued my sister.

'' Well, I was a stupid there. I was so stnick with them curtains —
picturing what was inside 'em, and peering if there wam't a slit as big as
a needle to look through, that I never thought of the hat or the table.
But don't you Batter yourself it was there, Miss Lucy: they'd take
precious good care to put it away, afore they rang for me. I've a notion
the man must be sick."

"Why so?"

" Because I heard him say he was parched, as I told you, ma'am.
And then, their having the tea! That wam't for Mrs. Archer: therefs
BO more the matter with her than there is with me. Besides, who's the
ioast-and-water for? They told me to make a quart jug full, and Miss
Graves said she'd come down and fetch it."

We heard no more that night of the strange visitor. If he was there
he stopped in, for Sarah carried out her threat and put the key of the
street-doOT in her pocket. The next morning I went into the kitchen to
give some orders to Sarah.

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194 OUB FUtST LOBGBSS.

** Look bere,'' she cried, ezhibitiog tome meat opoa a phte, ^' Mia
Gntvet has beoi out mud browfat in this bit of sera^ of aiattoii, and
tilem two tarn^s, and she said she supposed jou'd obleege 'em yniAi %
bit of parsley out of the garden. It's to make some broth for her sister,
she said, and they'll stew it vp-stairs, and I*m to take it up With the
saaoepan of waterl Not waofe thxa sixpeDoe, she couldn't ha^ gave kt
it," e(mchided Sarah, taking np the meat, with an aetian e€ contempt,
and flapping it down on the plate again.

<< Sarah, you are unfeeling,'* I said. ^ The poor ladies ase much to
be pitied."

'' Pitied, indeed ! What business hare they in a bowse like ours, with
no money to cany 'em on in it ?" retorted Sarah, irho was in one of
her worst humow^. ^' And the man they have got np there— perhaps
he is to be pitied too 1"

" I most forbid fiirthar allnsion to diat absurdity, Sandi. l^ere's no
man up there : the very idea is preposterous."

^^ Very well, ma'am. If aayoiii^ bad turns up ont of this, don't say
I did not give warning of it. One on 'em slept wpon the sofis in the
ilrawinr-foom last n^t, for I see the bedclothes thane this morning. I
think noat proves something,*

The ffirl tossed her hea^ and vrent oat of tlie kitehen ; and I cannot
say I fdt easy all that day — far firom it. Bat uothis^ fresh arose.
Night came, and Lucy, who had a bad cold (caught thioagh iying out,
the previous night, to stare at dieir window), went to bed at nine o'ciodc.
At ten I sent Sarah, sitting up myself to Snish some sewing, which I
remember was the taming of a sheet. After that I sat warming my
fcet, and it was upon the strokeof eleven when I went up to bed.

<I had got the candle in one hand and my packet of work in the othsi^
and was going softly up the stairs, mh%n the dfawing^room doer was
flung violently open, and oat dashed Mis. Aidier, netfly knocking me
and my load down togethei.

''Oh! Hiss HalHweU, wheie's Sank ?" she exclaimed, in nervoas
excitement '* For the love of pty let her run for a doctor 1'*

'< WhatTs the matter?" I asked. "^ Who is ill ?"

'< Oh, come and see ! It is of no use trying for coaeealmeDt now."
And she seised my arm, and palled me tbroogb the dravring-room.
Kiss Graves was getting up foom the sofii, where die had retired to rei^
and I set down my bniMle and went with my candle into the bedroom.
On the bed, his head nused high apon a pilkyw, lay a gentfeman, his

r dosed, and his foee still and white^ whilst drops of blood were
ly issuing from his mouth.

'' Is he dead ?" I uttered, in the first shock of surprise.

«< Where's Sarah ? whero's Sarah ?" was all Oie answer of Mrs. Archer.
« We muii have a doctor."

<< Sarah is in bed. HI step and call her."

<<In bed! Then 111 go myself." And, throwing on a Aswland
bonnet, Mrs. Archer darted down the stairs, buA stopped eve she reached
the bottom, and looked up at am, who was lighting her. ^< Hie nearest
aorgeon — where ?"

^ About ten doors higher an the road. Tonll see tlie kmn over the
door." --^ -r

<' Ah, yes, I forgot ;" and she flew on. I followed her, for I remem-

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OCB FIBST LODQBBflU - I9S

bomd ikttt tke kqr of Ae gtie wm kuigia^ op in die IdtdMn, mud the
cooU Boi gH out without it Then I celled «p Serah, and want bedc
hsto dm voem.

«" Who ■§ tfau geDtlenHn?" I whisMod to Ifias GiEvei.

''.Mr. Araher, n^ aiator't husbend,'* wes her reply; and, jwt tfaeoy
tke isvmfid opened hie ejes ead looked at w.

Never ihali I finget that moment. The ezpieafioa of tbofe eyes
flashed on the chords of my memory like a ray of Hght, and gcadoally I
geeogniied the fiMtmns, though tfaiey were worn aira wasted. Archer?
Ardier ? Yes, although the name had never strook me before as in eosH
nexioB with ^m^ iken conld be no doubt. I was gaang on one who
hmi been yeiy diear to me in early li£»— too dear, for the ending that

'* He is a clergyman — the Reverend George Anior V I whiqiered to
Mils Grwrea.

Tes,' she nodded. '< How did yon know ?"

I did not anewer. Those okl days were eommg back to me as m a
drmrn I resMmbered my mother^s home i^ Sealbrdy where we all lived
eo teanqmlly ; I lemembered the first day that ke oame to it with my
Imther, both of them frcshfirom college; I renembered, abslalas! the
Joie wUeh i^irang ap between os, and the solemn engagement iliat en-
sned. I rememSered his next visit, when he came to be installed as
em a til of Sealord, and the tmneient weeks of bliss that Ibliowed. I re-
aenbeved, with a pang of the heart even then, that high-born gnl,
who had appealed emongat « as a vision of brightnesB, and how they
vene thrown toeether, and he grew to love her to inftktnatioB. I remem-
bered onr wretdMd parting, when he left Senferd to follow her, and the
■nhosqwnt aoeonnt that reached as of her marriage with one in her own
enheee, and his disgrace : for when the Eail of Seaford eame to know
ttat his sobs' totor bad dared to love their sister, he thrast hun foem his
honee in civil seom. And I had never seen or heard of him sinee, till
this night, when I beheld him lying on n bed in my own house, and not
long for ^M wnrkL

fiis wifo returned with the doctor. He said the ease was not so
serious as we imagined. That the blood came from a small vessel rup-
twed on thtt.44iert, not the lungs. I remsined with Mrs. Areher that
night. iSarah nnde a fire in the drawiag-roood, and we sat by it, whik
he doaed. She told me a good deal of her troubles, and sobbed bitterly.

^^ Has he been long here?" I asked, wondering how in the wmU he
got emaggied in.

*'It was the day yonr pnpk were going away,** replied Mrs. Areher.
^I was standing at the window, watehing the carriage which had come
tofeteh asme of them, when I saw my hiuband eoning down the road,
evidently looking out for the house. He appeared ill and thin, stooped,
and walked as if his strength were gone, but I knew hnn, and iew down
to the gate, whieh was open, as well as the house-door. As it happened,
no one was in the hall when we came up-stairs : I heard Sarah*s yeico
en iktb upper fiigbt; ehe was briaging down bggage, bat she did not
see us.''

^ Bnt yon os^ to have told me,'' I urged.

** I know that,^ she v^oined, ''aad each a thing as tokiag him in
clandestinely never entered my thoughts. It arose with < '

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196 OUR FIRST LODGERS.

Look at our portion : yon positiyely refused to receive a gentleman here,
but he had come, and how were we to remove to other lodgings, owin^
you what we do, bereft of means, next to bereft of food? So there he lay,
ill, on that bed. Reproach me as much as you will. Miss Halliwell ; turn
us out into the road, if you must do it : it seems that little can add to
my trouble and perplexity now. There have been moments lately when I
have not known how to refridn froUi — horn — ^running away — and——"

« And what?" I asked.

^' Why, I have thought the calm bed of a river would be to me as rest
after toil."

<^ Croodness me, Mrs. Archer !" I exclaimed, half in surprise, half in a
shock of indignation, *^ a Christian must never use such language as that,
while there's a Heaven to supplicate for refuge. All who ask for strength
to bear, find it there."

'< I have had no happiness in my married life," she went on to say.
'< It is — ^let me see — six years since, now. Mr. Ardier was a working
curate in London : a weary life he led of it, in that large parish of po<X'«
Soon after we married his health began to fedl: he used to seem dis-
pirited, and the duties were too much for him. I took it into my head
that some sorrow was upon him, that he had never really loved me. I
don't know. Once I taxed him with it, with both, but he seemed sur-
prised, said he thought he had been always kind, as indeed he had, and I
let the idea drop. His health grew worse, change of scene and air were
essential to him, and he got an appointment as for^gn chaplain, army
chaplain I think it was, and went out with that Spanish legion. Later,
I and my sister lost our money. My brother, with whom it was placed
fiedled, uid we were deprived of our income. Latterly we have been
living by-*it is of no use to mince the matter — ^by pledging things, aad
now my husband is come home without, his pay, and cannot get the
arrears which are due to him. He says they have all been put off, officeons
and soldiers — not one of them has received a farthing. The Spanish
government ought to be prosecuted."

Here was a pretty state of things I This sick clergyman in our house,
and all three of them without means. Lucy was up in arms wheix I
told her.

^' They must go out of the house, they must, Hester, even if we pay
for lodgings for uiem. If he dies, and has to be buried from here, it ydU
be the ruin of ihe schooL Dear— dear I to think of its being George
Archer! How things do come about, in this world V*

Mrs. Archer wrote to her brother, doubting, however, his power to
assist them, and at the end of a week there came a ten-pound note. Mr.
Archer was better then. << Now I will not take any of it," I said to Mrs.
Archer; *' you shall keep it to start afresh with in new lodgings, but you
must leave these."

So that same afUmoon she and her sister went out to seek some, and
I took my work and went to sit with Mr. Archer, according to their
request

He was sitting up in the easy-chair, the one which had been my dear
mother's : many a time had she sat in it, in the old days, talking to him.
A queerish sort of feeling came over me, as I took my place o{^K)rite to
him, for it was the first time we had been alone together; but I made
myself very busy over my sewing.

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OUR FIBST L0DGBB8. 197

We talked about indiflfereot eubiects, the weather, his mediciDe, and
soeh like, when all at once he wheded that chair closer to mine, and bunt
forth, in a low, deep tone :

** Hester, have you ever forgiven me ?**

** Indeed yes, long ago."

^ Then it is more thfui I have done by myself," he groaned. ** But I
was rightly served."

I looked up at him, and then down at my work again.

*' Tea heard, perhaps, how she jilted me. Hester, as true as that yon
are sittbg there working, she drew me on ; drew me on, from the first, to
flirt with and admire her !"

** You are faking of " I stopped.

^^ J9er. Lady Georgina. Who else ? And when she saw, as I^know
she did «ee, to what a passionate height my love was reaching, she fooled
xne more and more. I did not see my foDy at the time, I was too infatu-
ated, but I have cursed it ever since : as I dare say you have."

'< Hush! hush!" I interrupted.

^' And when it was betrayed to the earl, and he droye me away, to
part with me^ as she did, without a sigh, without a regret 1" he went on,
not deigning to notice my words. -^'Hester, you were well avenged."

*^ Do not exdte yourself Mr. Archer."

*^ How I got' over those first few weeks I don't know, and shudder to
reotember. Then came her marriage : I read it in the papers. Heartless,
vridted ^1 ! and she had solemnly protested to me she did not care for
Mr. Candour. Well, well, troubles and mad gprief do come to an end ;
and, thank God ! so does Ufe."

" What was your career afterwards ?"

^* My career, for a time, was perfect idleness. I could do nothing.
R^norse for my wild in&tuation had taken heayy hold upon me, and a
vast amount of misery was mixed up with it. Then when I came to
myself a littl^ I sought employment, and obtained the curacy of a parish
in London, where the pay was little and the work great Next, I
married : Uie lady had money, and I had need of many luxuries— -or
necessities, call them which you will-— which my stipend would not obtain,
for my health was failing. It grew worse. I think, if I had remuned in
London, I should have died there, and I went out to Spain."

^' From whence you have now returned ?"

'' Yes. Penniless. Done out of the money coining to me. And now
the sooner I die the better, for I am only a burden to others. I am
closme a life that has been rendered useless by my own infatuated folly ;
my tuents have been buried in a napkin, my heart turned into gall and
wormwood. Oh, Hester ! again I say it, you are richly avenged."

" Have you ever met since ?"

** Her? Neyer. Her husband is Lord Candour now. I saw the old
baron's death in a stray newspaper that came out to Spain."

** Here come your wife and Miss Graves," I sud, for, having heard the
garden-gate open, I rose and looked from the window. ** How soon they
are ib again !'

<^ Hester," he murmured, in an impassioned tone, as he seised my
hand when I was about to pass him, intending to open the drawing-room
door, ** say you forgive me,'

I leaned down to him and spoke soothingly. ^ George, believe me, I

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198 OUB msT LODcass.

lisve perfectly focgWm jom. : I §orgtkwe yoa kmg ngo. TbtSt^tw trial to
me WM one of lengdi aad bitteniiese, it wovM. be a&etaJtioB to deny, but
I have outUyed it Let me go. They are coming np the Bturs."

He pressed my hand between botfi o£ his, and tnen beirt down bis lips
upon it, and kissed it as fervently as he had kissed my own lips that night,
Tears, yean before, when we were walkii]^ home from divroh together,
Dehind my mother and Lncy. I drew it hurriedly from huB, for diey
were already in the drawing-rooni, and a feeling, long buried, werj like
thftt fetgottea love^ east a atotnentary sunshine on my hesrt: and I
laughed at myeelf for beiagan old simpleton.

They had found lodgings, and he was transported to theoa, I oamot
say but I was thankful when they left the house. I fear they did not get
on very welL We of^n sent them a good plate of eomethiiig, under
pretenoe of tenoptiBg his appetite, sone sfieet of roast beef, or a tureen of
nourishing broth wmi the n»at IB. Lacy woiU say we «o«M not aflM
to do it, and Sarah loudly enelaiawd against '^eooking for edaer people;"
but they were fellow-creatures, and in need— oiNf he tvas George Archer,
The eunuaer pot an end to leM weary Kfe.

It haraeoed, that same ^ring, it was in May, I had biuiiieH at (he
house of one of our pupils, whoae felher was a tradesman in Bond-etreet.
When very dose to it, I found myself in the midst of a atring of car-
rii^pas, indde wUeh weve ladies in full eveniag dress, though it was only
one o'doek in the day. Fnli of surprise, I adced a poKeemaa what it

^ The Qneen's Drawing^TOom.''

To be sure. I wondered, then, I had not thoaght of it (at aiyeelf. It
happened to be the first time I had ever eeea the ngfat, and I stood
ganng at the rich dresses, the snow-white feathers, and the lovely, lovely
foees. The carriages had been stationary, but now time was a nove^
and then they wen staUonary again. More beaidifoi tiliati any goae
before was the inmate of the cbanot now opposite to me ; m feir, degant
woman, with a bright sasile and haif^rhty eye. Sorely I knew the
featum I I did, alas for me! Though I hftd never seen them since she
ctepped, widi her sinfol feeeinations, between aoe and my betrothed hus-
band, I feH sure it was the Lady Georgina Seaford.

" Do yoU loww who this lady is ?" I said to the polieeaoan, in a
whisper.

He looked at her, at the oorooet oa the carriage, and then at the
•ervanta, at their win^ coats and crimson velvet breeches. ** I think^"
he answered, ''it is the Lady Caadour,"

T^me had passed lightly over her : her coonteoance was as amooth, as
smiling, as me from can as it had been in her girlhood. / was
struggling through life with a lonely heart, and he was dyinr in his
obscure fodginss, afiter a short cai«w of veeret and sonow, mnlst she
who had caused afi, who had sacrificed us bo& to her aettsfa vaaitj, was
revdhng in all the good that could make life happy.

^O Father! Father!" I waikd forth, in the anguish of the retresneot
which then pressed sharply upon me, '' Thy blessings appear to be dealt
oat with an unequal hand, ^(evcrthdess, may we still, and always, say,
Thy will be done: for Thy ways ace not as oar ways, aad Thou know«t
what is best for us."

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109

ADVB5fTTJEB3 OP BENJAMIN BOBBIN THE BAGMAN.
By Cbawfobd Wilson.

CHAPTEB ZXVni.
A PIGTUBX AKD A 80X*IL0QUT^

McmDAT MoBimra — Began the week weU by hwtkhMmf hearti!^,
and tbea tamed my atteBtion to bonness. Saoceeded eom&itaUy m
both. 80 at two o'dook I strolled down Princes-street with a gentle-
vpon whem I had called in a profeesional way, and who had Idndly

~ loildinfi: in whicn their natkmal ezhibi-

[ to siM>w me orer the boilding
tioo of jMintiags was set forth. It was, indeed^ a treat to me. * "Hie
4Ute of Ediabutyh were there, and I most say that many of the pictures,
as well at their admiren, were possessed of considerable beanties. Having
spent about aa hour in sonreyingthe roost worthy pieces, we retraced our
atepa alswly tiiroiigk the rooms, turning our sttentioa to the animated
and speoidng objects, and contrasting them with those that were silent
aad inanimate. As we drew near the door, my companion, whose aim
was iinfced in mine, suddenly stopped me, and mreeted my attention to a
eoriMV of the apartment. There I saw an old white-headed gentleman
of laige proportions, with Imig flaxen hair and a barbarous hat, engaged
in «ontem^ating an oil paintinp.

^ Look there,'' said my friend ; ^thai is a sight not to be seen every
day — and, when seen, that should never be forgotten.''

T ooqU eee nothing in it ; so asked him, ^ Do yon allude to some
dagger in &e air, the picture, or the man p"

" That old gentleman," he said ; << observe him well.''

How was I to observe Um ; his baek was turned to aie I

" Have you done as I requested !" he adoed, after a dight pause.

** Y-e^s— I have."

" Then what impressions have you formed ?*

«Oh! sevwal.*'

" Be good enough to let me hear them."

'^ The first is, that I would doubtless see him better were his face
tnmed in this direction. The leeond, that his hair nnght be riiortened,
by cutting. The tiard, that his hat must have looked newer when he
purchased it The fourth, that his tailor would never make a fortune
hj taking him lor a model, mid boas^g of the fit of his coat. The

*^ No nmre of that, my dear Mbw," he broke in, somewhat testily,
<* but be naarmaUe for a moment, and tdtt me indial is your opinion of
that painting."

I then notaced it for the first time. It was die seated figain of an
elderly man.

<«What a head," I exdanned, ''for an An^^o! What a brow!
What a piofimdi^ of thought has the limner depicted ia dM (^ ' —
«fthaface! For whem is it intended ?"

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200 ADVENTUBES OF

'< You've beard, of course, of the great Professor Wilson — the Christo-
pher North?"

" Heard of him ! Who ha6 not ? The greatest ornament your oni-
versity boasts, the purest writer of our language, and the most power-
ful "

" Well, that is his likeness."

'^ Then, as you say, it is & sight not easily to be forgotten. I must
look at it more closely/' So saying, I left him and approached it.
There were the deep lines wrought out by experience, age, and reflec-
tion, in the foreheaa ; the bright, searching eyes, that ever give earnest
of an aspiring soul ; the lips compressed — expressive of firmness, self-
«ecurity, and decision. The whole countenance fraught with intelligence,
animation, and the nobility of nature. I was in raptures. Proud most
the artist have been of his work, if it were indeed a likeness ; one amidat
a million must be the professor, if the canvas represented him truthfully.
With such thoughts in my mind I turned to my conductor, who was
standing, as I believed, at my back. Amazement! Could it be? Had
the picture walked forth from its frame ? The old gentleman, and not
xny friend, was there. We were face to face. I glanced from him to the
painting ; the same lineaments, the same serenity, the same prc^undity
of mind were mapped out on his countenance. I stared at him, I feftr,
jraiher rudely ; then checked myself, and uncovered my head. He smiled
placidly, and removed his shabby hat. I murmured an apology for my
want of thought, and, with a low bow, joined my euide.

'* You have this day seen what you need never blush to boast of," said
my friend, with a smile — '* the great professor looking at his own like-
ness."

*^ More than that— I have been honoured with a salute from himf** I
returned.

** You see, Mr. Bobbin," he continued, ^ that it is not by die bat
we should always judge, but the sense that lies beneath it. The tailor
makes the coat, but the Almighty makes the man."

" True," said I, musingly. ** That painting is a new one, I presume P*

« Yes— one of the latest date."

" And the original is in one of the last stages that end life's ^strange
eventful history ?' "

" True again," was Ins pithy reply.

" I should like to know what his thoughts were as he gaxed upon that
senseless canvas," 1 said, looking earnestly at my friend.

« Why so ?"

'* They must have been of such a singular nature. I can almost hney
myself in his position. The world at my back, the grave drawing
nearer with every beating pulse, the yanity of vanities receding at the
steady approach of the worm— death's busy, silent chambermaid. When
years have passed away, that picture may still be in bloom, but where
shall men search for the original ? Must the eyes that have pored over so
many classic pages — the tongue that has spoken so ably — tne hand that
has written so powerfully — the brain that has laboured so energetically-—
the heart that has so long advocated philanthropy, moulder in the dust,
and be for ever forgotten ? Has oblivion no respect for worth, or the

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BENJAMIN BOBBIN THE BAGMAN. 201

grave £ar what thousands have reverenoed ? Has time no regeneratiDg
balm for honotirable age^ or the enemy of nature no shame in annihilating'
glcwry ? Oh life f oh death ! what dark paradoxes are ye I''

We emerged from the building, where, with many thanks, I parted
£rom my kind conductor. I retraced my steps towards my hotel, humi-
liated and downcast. The littleness of fame — the ranity of ambition — the
insignificance of pride— the absurdity of power — the emptiness of glory,
passed in review before me. And yet fi&me, and ambition, and pride, and
power, and glory — diose short-Hved, air-blown bubbles — look cbwn upon
U8 from every pmnade, meet us at every turning, blend with our every
hope, or mo^ us from every tomb.

^ Where,*^ thought I, '^ are the great and the noUe of earlier
days 1 where the lon^-lived antediluvians — the hoary patriarchs —
the puissant tyrants— ^e kings — the conquerors — ^the sages—and the
beauties of ine past? Where the dainty Sybarites — the voluptuous
Athenians— ^the hardy Romans — the polished Ureeks— where are they ?
Where the builders of E^^^s pyramids ? — the architects of our own
yenerable cathedrals ? Wbere tne reformers of our faith— the projectors
of our andent laws — ^the lone line of Peter's apostolic successors, those
thimderers of the Vatican — ^ere, where are they ? Go ask the shroud,
the chamel, the vulture, and the worm. And yet men live as though the
woM were their own, time their plaything, death a stranger, and eternity
a frkble* Toung sings, and truly,

AU men think all men mortal but themselves ;

and so, indeed, it is, although every hour is pregnant vrith the fates o f
millions, and the preacher cry untiringly ' All is vanity.'

<' What is the beauty we admire, with its smiles, its sighs, and its love-
glances ? What but a painted mask, enshrouding a hideous skeleton,
that to-day looks fair and comely, but to-morrow must by death be dis-
robed— the lovely, the captivating of the past, lived, reispsed, and en-
thralled in their little span of brief and fleeting time. Around them danced
their satellites — at their feet sighed love-lorn suitors — at their smiles
hearts bounded in ecstasy — ^for their favours smtors languished ; yet a
day arrived when the coquetry, the pride, the petty wiles, and the msci*
nating spells were ended, like dreams of the morning, — when the rich
and costly robes were put off without a murmur for the unpretendmg
winding-sheet — ^when the freshness of ripe lips and the roses of blushing
cheeks, once so chary of their charms, shrank not from the kiss of ^ cold
obstruction,* and wnen the memories of their owners were, like their
forms^ forgotten. Such is life, and such is the body and the soul —

One aspires to heaven.

Pants lor its sempiternal heritage.

And ever changing, ever rising still.

Wantons in endless being.

The other, for a time th* unwilling sport

Of circumstance and passion, struggles on;

Fleets through its sad duration rapidly !

Then, like an useless and worn-out macbine,

Eots, perishes, and passes.''

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202 jkBYZHTUBBS OP

Boijuaia Bobbin lov«i to moralue. He oumoi heln it It is pari of
hia natve. Howofmr, the resder need not secattarifj anompai^ Um
where the ground has a wmpauma appearance — where the trotfaa axe too
appatenfe— whaie hetB are uaUnduDgly set down as fadt. When
he turns ande for a il^;ht digreBaion, tb reader can ik^ over the pages,
and lestfe dvir dry moraKty fSor the digestion d aioie eongenial quits.
Some folk there are who will doubtless be better pleased widL these
digresnoBS. Thej speak of the woild asitiSy and not as look paiaft it;
iji nnn as thejr reallr are, widisoch refiectioas as nMj lead them te aak
tiiemselresy ^ Are we ezaetly what we eogfa* to be ?^ As at Ae fasato
of the andents a skeleton was ever pfesent, so as he transeribes the
I &om his diaxy he ever and anon places a Mteimuto wnmri in die

maigin. It is a wise pteeavtios — a safety-rahe— a neesssasj amonnt of
nnpleMsnt battsst* The Egyptians did b; they wcve not ail £do1&
Benjamm may he one — still he dares to feBow their r *

COHCLUSIOH.

Iif the e!?ening I accompanied Mr. Cripps to Leith Walk. It was
afterdinner. The sanshine was del^htfiil, fant the dait waa not; at least
I thought so ; it made too firee with my eyes. I tmned aiy back upon
it seyeral times, hoping to get rid of it, but that was of no advanti^
to me ; so I walked steadily forward^ with my risiott unimpaired for
two or three minutes at a time, and then, as the dust eommenced its
game, I let fall mv eyelids, presdng them tightly together, until I saw
stars, and semioircm, and fishy scales, and other things too numerous to
mention, and too shadowy to obtain belief. Mr. Cripps leaned upon my
arm like afriend, advised me like a brother, and talked to me like a fathec.
His exordium was wine — his dimax, its abuses. His advice was wdl
meant, ju£cious, and wholesome. I saw plainly that he feared I had
enjoyed myself rather freely after the Sunday's dinn^. I felt that he
was right, so continued silent, and was a patient listener.

^' Now, Bobbin, my dear boy,*^ he said, when his subject was nearly ex-
hausted— '^ you must excuse me for callinr you boy, but you are little
more — age brings its honours, but it ever kx>ks with a species of envy
upon youth. I am not an old man, yet have I seen as many years^ per-
haps, as your father. There was a time when I was your age ; when I
attempt to grive you any advice, I feel how useful it would have been
to me had I received it when I was a young maa, and whilst you per-
mit my tongue to run on, I almost images that I am living those sunny
days over again. You must not be offended at anything I may have
said.**

« Offended ! I really fed tn^ grateful toyoo, Mc Cripps, for the ad-
vice you so generously have tendered ne. I appreciate fully the kind
spirit that actuates yoo, and I tfoAj wish to know how I can sufficiently
thank you."

'* 111 tell yoa» my lad. By admitting common sease into all your
counsels, and taking advantage of the suggestioas I have thrown out.

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BENJAMIN BOBBIN THB BAOMAN. 208

NeT« be wkiMmfe a certain aaioiidt of prid»— I mMQ the piriie thai ele-
rates man in the social scale, not that iMstardised cooater&it begotten oC
airoganee and ignoiaaee. Be choice iik the sdection of jknit companions, ^
affiiMe with all, open to £iw. Never let a weU-eot ooat^ or a nieelj*
rounded speech, entirely win yoar confidence, nor a shabby suit and a
{daia meeamee prgndiee yonr judgmeot. Worthless pebbles often boast
a gilded setdng, whilst priedess pearls may lie imnoted in an oyster*
ahelL Never look upon a man as a friend merely because he has nodded
to yon OTer a g^bsaof wine> prepoaed yoarbealth, or applauded your soiie;
nor eoDsidsr him perfectly disinterested because he speaks Aai^ to the
wsdter for bringing yon mutton at dinner when there is TeniaoD vepott the
table. Disinterested friends, as the words ought to be construed, are a people
that exist only where such travellers as Giuliver have been. We hear of
them and read of them ; so, also, we may of the Liliputians, and the
sphinx, and the phoenix ; we meet with the effigies of all such fabulous
creatures, and tlunk that they look like life and reality. But where are
the originals ? — ^what we see are impositions. The tangibility of the one
in mortal flesh is as mytholopcal as the history of the others; and, so
far as existence is concerned, I am sorry to inform you that they are
coeqoaL

** Nerer dnnk a glass of any Ikpor over year guatUum merdy finr the
sake of appearing social, and assisting another in emptying the decanters.
Better leave it for the consumptbn df the wiuter than take it to engender
consumption in yourselL During my life I have known many a fine
promismg 'young fellow, who sat every bottle out upon one journey,
drinking cod-liver oil on Ae next, and looking as diovgh he wme booked
for a destination where lefceshments are not requued. Be advised
by me, and never eateed yonr pint of sherry, or port, or whatever it may
be. Remembw that incontinence in youth overtakes helpless M age
before life's half-way house has been reached. The steaoy pace keeps
longest on the course. Practised runners husband their energies ; im-
petuous amateurs expsnd theirs before the race has well commenced^ I
augur good things of you. Yoo brook censure patiently, and do not
despise the cautions of an elder. Continue ever to act upon the same
principle. Many roses He in your path ; never trample upon the smallest,
it will bud in time. Huck them all if you will, but do not lacerate your
fingers with tiieir prickly stems. When the experience of o^rs is o&red
to you gratuitously} accept it tiiankfally. It costs those a high price who
have been eomyeikd to purchase it. Ani now that I have eoncSuded my
lecture, I hope you are not annoyed.'*

** My dear sir^ on the eentrary, every word you have spoken is already
gravcB in my memosy. This evening the better part of it shall orna-
ment my diary.*'

" Do you generally keep one ?*

" I do,** I repHed.

** I honour you for it, nry boy," he cried, enthusiasticall^r, grasping my
hand warmly. " When the gkanings of every day are sifbd toad con-
veyed to paper, you build for yourself the privilege of living younger
moments over again when in after years you peruse the pages. Mr.
Bobbin, I honour you lor it.**

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204

THE MINEHEAD PILOTS.

I was not a little Tain of hit good opinion, for I felt that it was worth
the holding, to I said,

<< Since I have heen ao fortunate as to have raned^ a position in yonr
esteem, Mr. Cripps, suffer me to express one semsh wish/*

"Well, what IS it?'*

" That you will never permit me to forfat your respect until I have
proved either a thankless listener or an incorrigible pupil."

" Rest assured of it I shall not, my lad.**

We had previously retraced our st^, and were then at the door of
the hotel. He again gave me his hand as though he wished to convince
me of his determination, and with a hearty <' G^ bless you T we parted.

The belief is still current at Minebead that the Phantom Ship occastonaHy ap-
pears to lure pilots to their doom, and, when her olject is acoom^ished, disap-
pears.

If at all you regfid
The Roman bara,

And true the Roman spoke.
You'll find how he showed.
In a beautiful ode.

That triple brass and oak
Were tightly comprest
Around the oreast

Of all the sailor folk.

If Horace spnoke right
Of the coasting wight,

Who sailed m days gone by.
That he also spoke
Of our hearts of oak

None better know than I^
Who see the crew
Their sails unclew.

When winds and waves run bigh,-
The gallant crew.
Who fade from view

With cheer and melody.

But yet I think
There b a chink

In the oak and triple brass ;
Indeed I am sure
Of an aperture,

Thro^ which a shaft may pass:
No gusty gale,
But Pity's tale,

Or the glance of some Naiad lass.

But most of all
Their armour's thrall

A certain pomt will fray
The tale that tells
Of potent spells

That parted sprites obey.
Of fleshless men.
Who float again

Upon the sea*s highway.

The storm-mew calls.
The wind in squalls

Harries the seething sea»
Whirlwind and wave
In grotto and cave

Howl for the mastery ;
If thou canst leap.
Climb on the steep,

And keep a look out with me.

Yon speck that braves
The wilderness waves.

That break about it in crowds.
Bears it a flag,
Or is it a crsff,

Or only a bank of clouds ?
Thro' the vista'd storm
*Tis a vessel's form.

With hull, and masts, and shrouds.

No time to debate
Her possible freight,
So deadly is her bane ;

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THE MINEHEAD PILOTS.

205

If she brinffs teas
From the Uhina seas.

Or gems from the Spanish main ;
If she fills her hold
With Aastral gold.

Or pith of the sugar-cane*

Her flag of distress
8he tries to impress

By the brass from the porthole run-
A shot, and a 8h6t,
Oh, name it not !

The dial hand marks one,
With lapse I guess
No more nor less,

ThsLt fatal minute-gun !

Now on the deck
C^ that poor wreck

They light their last i^peal.
The beacon blue,
Whose livid hue

Seems Death's iqpparent seal ;
Boots not to use.
But to refuse.

Would task a heart of steel.

Now, Miaeheadmen*
Within your ken

Shall these poor sailors die?
Now, Minehead crew.
Your sails undew,

Thouffh winds and ware run high.
Farewell, brare crew !
They fade from view.

With cheer and melody.

Oh 1 sweetheart Cedr,
Tour soul is there.

Hid in the trough of sea !
OhI pallidwife.
Your other life

There labours heavily !

OhI mother dear.
Drop, drop the tear,
For sons who sailors be !

Once more they breast
The billows' crest,

Up to the light of day;
Down, down again !
Like hours of pain.

The moments pass away.
They rise no more.
Their race is o'er

For ever and for aye.

And she, the bark,
With aspect dark.

Sad flaff^ and cannon's boom —
Is she notgone ?
No ! she noes on.

In those poor sailors' room ;
Yes, she shall ride
The racing tide.

Until the crack of doom !

A phantom ship.
On phantom tnp.

Ail fading into air !
When lower the skies.
And billows rise^

Again that ship is there ;
In Ocean's throes
Agun she shows

Her signab of despair !

Yet no ship's needs.
For her misdeeds.

Brave Minehead hearts deny.
Still the brave crew
Their sails unclew.

When winds and waves run high ;
Nor faint nor few,
Th^ fade from view,

with cheer and melody.

VOL. ZXZIX.

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206

MACATJLAT'S HISTOEY OF ENGLAND .•

It is a little unreasonable to assume that Mr. Macanla/s next
and subsequent volumes must needs, for form and consistency's
sake, take the same time to appear, and occupy an equal space
in the narrative of events «cor' '€vtavroV, as these portly twain, the
third and fourth. It is rather too matter-of-fisu^t and mechanical a
mode of calculation, to infer from the number of pages absorbed
by the years 1689 and 1690, the inevitable quantum of any other
given year in the hundred following. A year crowded with
events^ or pregnant with the germs of events, is not identical in.
philosophic eyes with a year of inaction and repose, tiiough bo1&
have an equal tale of months and weeks and &ys, and fill a pretty
equal space in the chronicles of a mere Annual Roister. The
seven years from 1691 to 1697 are disposed of in one of dieee two
volumes, and an accelerated rate of movement may be expected
in certain advanced stages of the history. Were it otherwise,
there were small hope indeed of an even approximate fulfilment of
the historian's ded^. To reach even half-way to his proposed
termimis ad mtem^ he would, in that case, need to be as immortiEJ
in a physical, as an admiring public already proclaims him in a
literary, sense. Nevertheless, making the fullest allowance for the
difference between year and year, and between the time required
for collecting historical matter and that for writing history, there
is overmuch reason for misgivings that Mr. Macaulay has overshot
his mark in dating so far onwards the finis which is to " crown"
his " work" — his optLs magnum. Happy we shall think him if he
live to write, happy we shall think ourselves if we live to read, his
History of England down to that epoch which forms the final
" catastrophe" in the great drama of the Revolution — down to that
year which shattered the last hopes of the Stuarts and made
doubly sure the assurance of safety to constitutional power — down
to the '45 which rehabilitated, re-affirmed, and gave the approving
** last word" to the grand experiment of the '89.

The present instahnent, if it does not increase, at least keeps up,
the interest of the opening volumes. There is little change per-
ceptible in the characteristic quaUties of the author. He does not
become more of the historian and less of the essayist as he goes on.
Indeed, the twelve chapters read like twelve essays, such as made
his fortune in the Edinburgh Review ; and a more indolent man
might be tempted to* insert in the body of his work, as it

* The History of England from the Accession of James the Second. By
T. B. Macaulay. YoK ui.^ iv. Longman.

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IfAfiATTTJtT'a HESTORT OF EN6LANB. 207

pETC^xeBses, GBch as a ofaapter complete ia itself^ those bsilUant
** pa|>er9" on Sir WiUiam Temple^ and the War of Succession in
Spein, and Walpole^ and Chatham, which we all know and esteem
zi^fat weU. He has not m«ch altered his pace or his gait in
acnraneing from Review (once a quarter) to History Tonce in seven
years), &t less mounted on stilts^ or stiffened into tne traditional
*^ digmty^ of History. He is as rich in enlivening details^ piquant
asideflji and pleasant, personal talk, as when his theme was Moore's
Life of Bjn»i or Boswdl's Life oif Johnson. He &ils not to put
on record any bit of gosnp that will amuse, any choice ana tnat
will telL How William, when the Princess Anne dined wilji him,
and when the first green peas of the year were put on the table,
devoured the whole dish without offenng a spoonful to her Boyal
Hx^hness; how a certain Jacobite derOTman, a£t^ performing
divnte service on a teeb day ' appointed by William and Mary^
dined on a pigeon pie, and while ne cut it up, uttared a widi that
it was tite usurper^s heart ; how Sherlock was henpecked out of
non-juror principles by a high-spirited Xantippe who cared much
more about her house and carriage, the plaity of her table and the
prospects of her childr^i^ than about the patriarchal origin of
government at the meaning of the word Abdication ; how Wil-
nam was Sometimes provoked into hovsewhipping his coachmen,
footmen, and cooks out of the trenches before Namur, when he
caught them skulking there to get a pe^ at the fighting; — ^no
illustration of this kind, be it fiction or fact, is refused if it can be
turned to account. The liberal drafts Mr. Macaulay makes on
capital of this coinage, go far to explain the popularity he com-
mands at drculatinglibraries. Novel-readers vow that his History
reads like a nov^ He would not thank them for the compliment
— (they suppose it to be one). But he may thank his knowledge
of popular tastes, and his ability to suit them by an unstinted
seasomng of the " savoury" and the " spicy,'* for much of the
demand which justifies Mudie's order of 2750 copies of the History,
for a siDgle library. How can that History be other than read-
able, and in request, which is so cunningly interspersed with tid-
bits about the 7at Man of Londonderry, and the tossing in a
blanket of the Mayor of Scarborough, and the hole-and-corner tactics
of the Jacobite press; and the account of the Imperial noble who
swallowed so many bumpers, in honour of William's visit to the
Hague, that he tumbled mto the turf fire, and was not pulled out
till his fine velvet suit had been burned; and of the multitude of
do^ that came to feast on the carnage of the battle-field of A^hrim,
and that '^ became so fierce, and acquired such a taste for human
fiesh, that it was long dangerous for men to travel this road other-
wise than in companies ;" and of the feud betwe^oi the New and
Old East India Companies, which was sometimes as serious an im-
pediment to the course of true love in London as the feud of the

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MACAUUIY S HISTORY OF ENGLAKB-

Capulets and Montagues had been in Verona; and of the fashion
among^the beauties of Paris, after the battle of Steinkirk (when
every rarisian jeweller devised Steinkirk buckles, and every per-
fumer kept Steinkirk scent)^ to wear round their necks kerc^eis of
the finest lace studiously disarranged, in imitation of the disordered
cravats of the fine gentlemen who won that battle, and which ker-
chiefs were thenceforth known in every salon, street, and shop, as
*' Steinkirks ;" and of the lucky hackney-cowman in London
who; at the time of the great rewards ofiered after the Assassina-
tion Plot (1696), caught his traitor, received his thousand pounds,
and set up as a gentleman. What can be more diverting, in its way,
than Mr. Macaulay's description of the Congress of Ryswick, and
the ludicrous formalities, petty jealousies, peddling feuds, and
solemn mummeries of the diplomatic grandees ? how days were
spent in settling how many carriages, horses, lacquejs, and pages
each minister should be entitled to bring to Rjrswick — ^whewer
the serving-men should carry canes and wear swords — whether the
Austrian ambassadors had a right to sit the two together at the
head of the table, and to resist the Spanish ambassacbr, who tried
to thrust himself in between them. ^^ The chief business of Harlay
[the French plenipotentiary] and Kaunitz [the head of the Im-
perial lection] was to watch each other's ^gs. Neither of them
thought it consistent with the dignity of we Crown which he
serv^ to advance towards the other faster than the other advanced
towards him. If therefore one of them perceived that he had
inadvertently stepped forward too quick, he went back to die door,
and the stately minuet began again. The ministers of Lewis drew
up a paper in their own langui^. The German statesmen pro-
tested against this innovation, this insult to the dignity of the
Holy Roman Empire, this encroachment on the rights of indepen-
dent nations, and would not know anything about the paper tdl it
had been translated from good French into bad Latin. In the
middle of April it was known to everybody at the Hague that
Charles the Eleventh, Kin^ of Sweden, was dead, and had been
succeeded by his son: but it was contrary to etiquette that any of
the assembled envoys should appear to be acquainted with this fact
till Lilienroth [the Swedish minister] had made a formal announce-
ment: it was not less contrary to etiquette that LiUenroth should
make such an announcement till his equipages and his household had
been put into mourning; and some weeks elapsed before his coach-
makers and his tailors had completed their task. At length, on the
twelfth of June, he came to Ryswick in a carriage lined with black
and attended by servants in black liveries, and these, in full con-
gress, proclaimed that it had pleased God to take to himself the
most puissant King Charles the Eleventh. All the ambassadors
then condoled with him on the sad and unexpected news, and
went home to put off their embroideiy and to dress themselves jn

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XAGAULAY'S HISTOBT of ENGLAND. 209

the ^b of sorrow. In such solemn trifling week after week
passM away. No reid progress was made. Lilienroth had no
^wi^ to accelerate matters. W hile that congress lasted, his position
"was one of great dignity. He would willingly have gone on
mediating for eyer ; and ne could not go on mediating, unless the

Krties on his right and on his left went on wrangling.'' Mr.
acaulay is too fond of antitheses, of all sorts, not to draw a
sketch (in relief!) of the very contrary proceedings of the two
Mrarriors who r«Jly settled the Treaty of Ryswick, while the
Syswick red-tapists and routinists were talking about it and about
it — showing us how Boufflers and Portland walked up and down
the walks of a roadside orchard, for a couple of hours, and, in that
time, did much more business than the plenipotentaries* at Rys-
wick were able to despatch in as many months. Great was the
indignation of the Ryswick Congress, when its august members
learned that Boufflers and Portland were negotiating in this ^^ most

* Were the historian a Frcoiohman, and that Frenchman a Yillemain or a
Goizot, one may suppose that in this fling at the solemn nothing of the Rjs-
wick Congress^ as well as in scores of instances besides, some satirical aUosion
was meant to current or recent events in our politics of to-day. It would be
assumed as certain, for example, that Mr. Macaulay must have had in view a
noble ex-Minister of War Twiiose title also begins with N^, when he tells us that
"Nottingham, honest, inanstrious, versed in civil busmess, and eloquent in
parliamentary debate, was deficient in the qualities of a war mnitter, and was not
at all aware of hie d^icieneies"

Or, a^ain, that he was unquestionably thinking of Sir James Graham and Sir
Charles r^apier when he describes the return home of Admiral Eussell in 1692 :
"The armament returned to Saint Helens, to the astonishment and disgust of
the whole nation. The ministers blamed the commanders: the commanders
blamed the ministers. Hie recriminations exchanged between Nottingham and
Russell were loud and angry."

Or, again, that he was giving his sentence on the results of a divided com-
mand in the Black Sea, when he wrote about the superiority that Lewis's navy,
"moved by one will," enjoyed over the allied navies of England and Holland,
as "subject to different authorities," &c. And that he was assailing the
Peelites in his exposS of an opinion g;rowing Q693) among the Tories, " that
the poHoy of England ought to be stnctly insular," and " that England ought
never to attempt great military operations on the Continent." And that he
was undeniably thinking of Mr. Disraeli when sketching a certain orator of
1693 : " No speaker of that time seems to have had, in such large measure,
both the power and the inclination to give pain." And — as a final instance —
that he was incontestably standing up for himself when standing up for Charles
Montague : " people are very loth to adnut that the same roan can unite very
different kinds of excellence. It is soothing to envy to believe that what is
splendid cannot be solid, that what is dear cannot be profound. Very slowly
was the public brought to acknowledge that Mansfield was a great jurist, and that
Burke was a great master of political science. Montague was a brilliant
rhetorician, and, therefore, thougn he had ten times Harley's capacity for the
driest parts of business, was represented by detractors as a supemciaf prating
pretender."

In fact, the number of similar mares-nests a commentator of mares-nesting
habits mi^ht discover in these volumes, is past reckoning. For in maies-nesting
in perticmar, as in Ufe in general, where there*s a will there's a way.

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210 MACAITLAT S HISTOBT OF ENGLAND-

irregular and indecorous mienner, without credaotials, or mediation,
or notes^ or protocols, -without counting each other's flteps, and
without calling each other Excellency. So barbarously ignorant
were they of the rudiments of the noble science of diplomacy that
they had very nearly accomplished the woork of Metoring peace to
Ohristendom while walking up and down azi alley xinder some
apple-trees."

Occasionally, it must be owned by all " sober-judging" men, the
historian's introduction of extras, to set off his narrative^ is a little
gratuitous. Most of us could spare, it is likely, digressions (espe-
cially if the time and space they consume go to' swell the chances
against the Histo^ ever being finished) about the present aspect
and statistics of ibel&st^-— or that passage which tells us where
'<now stands^ on a verdant bank, amidst noble woodsy Slane
Castle, the mansion of the Marquess of Oonyngham," — or of the
present appearance of Limerick, *' those smooth and broad paye-
ments, those neat gardens, those stately shops flaming^ with red
brick, and gay with shawls and china," and of Cork with its now
'^ stately houses of banking companies, railway companies, and
insurance companies/' &c. It is highly characteristic of the author^
that, in his examination of Dalrymple*s guilt in the Massacre of
Glencoe, he should represent him as being too well-read in history
not to know how great rulers had, in Scotland and elsewhere,
dealt with such banfitti as Mac Ian and his clan — suggesting that
he, the wily Master of Stair, doubtless knew with miat enei^
and what severity James the Fifth had put down the mosstrooperB
of the border; how the chief of Henderland had been hung over
the gate of the castle in which he had prepared a banquet tor the
king; how John Armstrong and his thirty-six horsemen, whea
they came forth to welcome their sovereign, had soarcely been
allowed time to say a single prayer before they wotc all tied up
and turned off Nor probably, Mr. Macaulay goes on to surmise
more mo^ was the Master of Stair ignorant of tne means by which
Sixtus the Fifth had cleared the ecclesiastical state of outlaws-
how that pontiff, finding there was one formidable gang which
could not DC dislodged rrom a stronghold among the Apennines^
sent beasts of burden loaded with poisoned food and wme, by a
road which ran close to the fastness — and how the robber duly
sallied forth, seized the prey, feasted and died — and l^ow the pious
old Pope exulted ffreatly when he heard that tiie corpses of thirty
ruffians, till now the terror of many peaceful villages, had heen
found lying among the mules and packages. No wonder if tiiis
History of England be very voluminous, and unrivalled in attraction
to miscellaneous readers, when tiie Historian can so pleasantly hale in
by the pontifical head and shoulders, his Holiness^ Sixtus the FiAh
— to say notiiing of Johnny Armstrong and his merry, merry men
— all to surest a possible train of thought in the hard head of the
Scottish Secretary, m ri Glencoe.

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UAQAUUkYlB BJ&TOKX OF ENQLAND. 211

The iioriible tale of the Massacre is told with gveat fbrce and
dramatic effect. William's complicity in the tragedy is denied
outright, if not dieproved outright ; and upon die Master of Stair
is made to nest the burden of the sin. Whether in writing up
"William, through evil report and good report, or in writing down
Marlborough and others, systematically and with somethii^ very
like malice prepense, -Mr. Macaulay shows far more of the a<^ocate
tlian the judge, and sometimes has all the outward and visible signs
of a spedal peader.

When discussing the order directed to the Commander of the
Porces in Scotland^ which nms thus : *' As for Mac Ian of Glencoe
and that tribe, if they can be well distingui^ed from the other
Highlanders, it will be proper, for the vindication of public justice,
to extirpate that set of thieves," — ^it is asserted by Mr. Macaulay
that these words '* naturally bear a sense perfectly innocent," and
that they would, but for the horrible event which foUowed, have
been universally understood in that sense. But when it is a
Jacobite Form of Prayer and Humiliation that he is analysing, he
is less apt to see a *' perfectly innocenT' sense in the clauses of
supplicatum. *^ Give the King the necks of his enemies," he inter-
prets to be a prayer for another Bloody Circuit. '* Rajse him up
friends abroad," — to be a prayer for a Trench invasion. And,
" Do some great thing for him, which we in particular know not
how to pray for," — ^to be a prayer the best comment on which was
af);erward8 fumiiBhed by the A^sination Plot.

His summing up of the character of his hero, William of Orange,
is yet to come ; but the length and breadth and depth and hei^t
of its panegyrics can be iaidy conjectured, from the eulogies that
already abound wherever opportunity occurs, or can be made,
l^e £bg's figure is made to stand out in all the brighter relief by
contrast with the statesmen, en Tuasae^ of his adopted country*
The Whigs of the Bevolution, as well as the Tones, are sadly
mauled, as many of them thoroughly deserve. William ^' in ge-
neral was indu%ent, nay, wilfully blind to the baseness of tne
English statesmen whom he employed." ^^He knew them too
weU to complain because he did not find in them veracity, fidelity,
consistency, disinterestedness." Hence his slowness to share in the
irritation that broke out, now and then, against this or that better
or worser ffpecimen of a bad lot : on occasion of the outcry against
Sunderland^ for example, in 1697, William's feeling was, that
Sunderland was able, was useful, — was imprincipled indeed, but
then so were all English politicians of that breea which the Be-
storation had formed and had bequeathed to the Revolution.
Sunderland, he felt, was a fair specimen of his class : ^' a little
worse, perhaps, than Leeds or Godolphin, and about as bad as
Russell or Marlborough. Why he was to be himted firom the
herd the King cotdd not imagine." Mr. Macaulay's artistic studies

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212 HAGAULAT'S HI8T0BT OF ENGLAKD.

of this breed of statesmen are one most attractive part of a most
attractive whole. .

His gallery of historical portraits lengthens apace. Thej are all
welcome, whole-length, three-quarter, kit-kats, miniatures, or what
not ; they all catch the eye at once, and they often dwell in the
mind for ever. Not Uiat they are to be accepted en masse as faith-
ful likenesses ; but, in one though i^ot the sense, they are all striking
ones. Exceeding like we may not allow them to be ; but we must
allow them to be exceeding lively. There is Shrewsbury, that
almost idol of the Whigs, who, wim all his talents and engamng
qualities, had such faulte of head and of heart as made tlie middle
and end of a life which had opened so brightly, " burdensome to
himself and almost useless to his country." There is the Tory
Godolphin — taciturn, clear-minded, laborious, inofiensive, asealoixs
for no government and useful to every government ; a churchman,
yet prosperous in a court governed by Jesuits ; the advocate for a
Kc^ency, yet the real head of a treasury filled with Whigs. There
is Halifax, peerless in wit and eloquence, in amplitude of compre-
hension and subtlety of disquisition, but imfit, because rather than
in spite of these gifls, for the demands and exigencies of pracdcal
life. There is Nottingham, wealthy, noble, experienced, eloquent,
upright, orthodox in creed and exemplary in life. There is the
elder Dairy mple, the *' founder of a family eminently distinguished
at the bar, on the bench, in the senate, in diplomacy, in arms, and
in letters, but distinguished also by misfortunes and misdeeds which
have Aimished poets and novelists with materials for the darkest
and most heartrending tales."* There is the younger Dalrymple,
inferior to his father in depth and extent of legal learning, but a
man of great and various knowledge, of lively parts, of singularly
ready and graceful eloquence. There is Crawford, pronounced a
saint by those who take him au pied de la lettre, in his ** exceeding
savoury" letters, but more probably, and judging by deeds not
words, a '^ selfish, cruel politician, who was not at all the dupe of his
own cant, and whose zeal against episcopal government was not a
little whetted by his desire to obtain a grant of episcopal domains."

* Already, years before the horrors of Glencoe, had brooding darkness spread
his jealous win^ over the house of the Dabymples. " Alreatfy Sir James had
been in mourning for more than one strange and terrible death. One of his
sons had died by poison. One of his daughters had poniarded her bridegroom
ou the wedding-mght. One of his grandsons had in boyish sport been slam
by another. Savage libellers asserted, and some of the superstitious yolgar
believed, that calamities so portentous were the con8e<{uences of some con-
nexion between the unhappy race and the powers of darkness. Sir James had
a wry neck ; and he was reproached with this misfortune as if it had been a
crime, and was told that it marked him out as a man doomed to the gallows.
His wife, a woman of great ability, art, and spirit, was popularly nicknamed the
. Witch of Endor. It was gravely said that she had cast fearful spells on those
whom she hated, and that she had been seen in the likeness of a cat seated on
tlie cloth of state by the side of the Lord High Commissioner." — ^YoL L 2G4.

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XAOAULAT'S mSTOBT OF ENOLAKD. 213

CantaiFB, nieknamed the Oardinal, lesemblinff Burnet in courage
and fidelity, but contrasting with honest blundering ''Gilbert
Sarom" in the plus quantities of judgment, self-command, and a
rangolar power of keeping secrets: ''He united great scholastic
attainments with great aptitude for civil business, and the firm
£dth and ardent zeal of a martyr with the shrewdness and supple-
ness of a consummate politician." There is Cameron of Lochiel^
liiG faeik princes of Celtic chieftains — ^gracious as a master, trusty
as an ally, terrible as a foe— -eminently wise in council, eloquent in
debate, ready in devising expedients, and skilful in managing the
minds of men — ranking with the magnificent Dorset as a patron
of literature — ^respected at St. James's as well as in Argyleshire —
" the Ulysses of the Highlands."* There is Torrinffton, alternately
voluptuary and hero, tiU at last a most imheroic voluptuary and no
more, diverting himself in London when he ought to have been
scouring the seas; his nature suffering a land-change, and his
name a sea-change into Lord Tarry-in-Town, for so his tars pun-
ningly styled their now hydro- (or rather halm^-) phobic admiral.
There is Sir John Lowther, formal but courteous, a moderate Tory,
a heavy speaker, a plodding man of business, a zealous gardener,
and altogether a very honest country gentleman. There is Jeffreys'
boon companion, Sir John Trevor, who in a scolding match with
his foul-tongued compotator, could give as good as he took — whose
" grotesque features" and " hideous squint were " far beyond the
reach of caricature," and whose quick parts had early mastered the
whole " science of chicane." There is Russell, Admiral of the
Fleet, a man of undaunted courage and considerable public spirit,
able in war and in council, yet " emphatically a bad man, insolent,
mali^fnant, greedy, faithless." There is that John of Breadalbane,
in wnom were united two different sets of vices — ^who in his castle
among the hills had learned the barbarian pride and ferocity of a
Highland chief, and in the Council-Chamber at Edinburgh had
contracted the deep taint of treachery and corruption. Tnere is
his cousin Argyle, who, though the grandson of one of the ablest

* Lochiel deserved some notice on the score of bodilv as well as intellectual
prowess^ and at Mr. Macaolay's hands he has met with his deserts, which, it
will be seen, are pre-eminent. " His countenance and bearing were singularly
noble. Some persons who had been at Versailles, and among them the snrewd
and observant Simon Lord Lovat, said that there was, in person and manner, a
most striking resemblance between Lewis the Fourteenth and Lochiel; and
whoever compares the portraits of the two will perceive that there really was
some likeness. In stature the difference was great. Lewis, in spite of high-
heeled shoes and a towering wig, hardly reached the middle size. Lochiel was
taU and stronglv built. Li ajrility and skill at his weapons he had few equals
ODKmg the inhabitants of the hills. He had repeatedly been victorious in single
combat. He made vigorous war on the wolves which, down to his time, preyed
on the red deer of the Grampians ; and by his hand perished the last of the
ferocious breed which is known to have wandered at large in our island.'' —
Vol i. 320.

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214 2£ACAULiLT*8 HISTOBT OF EKOLAND.

of Scottish politicians,* and the son of one of thiS bravest and m^st
truehearted of Scottish patriots,! was himself jnediocre (or less) in
talent, and loose (or more) in principle ; his *' greatness'' being,
not a thing achieved, but "bom to, or indeed "thrust upon"
him, both a parte ante^ in the case of sire and ^raadsiie, and
h parte post, in the caae of his two sons (to say nothing of a nine-
teenth century postmaster-general, of whom Lord Eglint<Min4
makes so much, and Lord Eslintoun's party so very little) ; foo:
this intermediary peer was " me &ther of one Mac Galium More,
renowned as a warrior and as an orator, as the model of every
courtly grace, and as the judicious patron of arts and letters, ana
of another TAslc Galium More, distinguished by talents for business
and command, and by skill in the exact sciences." There is
Somers, " in some respects the greatest mftn of that age" — " equally
eminent as a jurist and as a politician, as an orator and as a writer"
— uniting all th^ qualities of a great judge, an intellect at once
comprehensive and acute, diligence, integrity, patience, suavity ;
acquiring by his calm wisdom in council the authority of an
oracle ; charming his acquaintances in private by his conversational
power, the frankness widi which he poured out his thou^ts, and
the un&iling benignity of his every tone and gesture.§ There is

* The grim Marquis, Grumach.

\ Earl Archibald—the subject of Mr. Ward's impressive painting.

t See his lordship*s speech at a recent Glasgow reunion, where national
nobly overtopped political prepossessions.

§ The liOTd Keeper stands very high indeed in Mr. MacaalaVs list of
honoured names. What there was of eood and great in Somers is dwelt upon
with pressing force 5 what there was of bad and weak is very gingerly handled.
Meet and ri^t it is, that the pride of the Whig party of these times should
deal kindly with the pride of the "W^ party of all times, John Lord Somers.
It is no sneaking kindness the Whig historian has for the Whig chancellor, but
a kindness of tne heartiest demonstrative corpt d^esprit sort. Somers's most
acoomplished contemporaries are cited to show that there was scarcely any
subject on which Somers was not competent to instruct and to delight--4hat,
untsravelled though he was, his taste in painting and sculpture was exquisite—
that in philolo^ he vrns aufait'^hai he had traversed the whole vast range
of polite literature, ancient and modem — and that in him alone, among the
notables of that age, briUiant cdoquenoe and wit were to be found associated
with the quiet and steady prudenoe which ensures sncoass in life. " Sis good
temper and his good breeding never failed. His gesture^ his look, his tones
were expressive of benevolence. TTia humanity was the more remarkable, be-
cause he had received from nature a body sudi as is generally found united with
a peevish apd irritable mind. His life was one long malady : his nerves were
weak : his complexion was Hvid : his face was prematurely wrinkled. let his
eneinies could not pretend that he had ever onoe, during a lonf and troubled
public Ufe, been g^ed, even by sudden provocation, mto vehemence incon-
sistent with the mild di^ty of his character. ALL that was l^t for them was
to assert that his disposition was very far from being so gentle as the world
believed, that he was reaUy prone to the angiy passions, and that sometime^
while his voice was soft, and his words kind imd courteous, his delicate frame
was almost convulsed by suppressed emotion." TMs reproach, Mr. Macauli^
has reason to claim as the hignest of idl.eulogies. He thus deab with the well-

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icacaulay's ms^ostY of englakd. 21^

DanJby, tke hatd-wockiiig, muoh-endimngy fiU-daring Lord Presi-
dent— whoee energy in meetiiig aad nuMSlermg tke toik of office so
amMed all who saw his ghastly couatenance and tottering gpait ;
*^f<»: his digestive organs bad some mosbid peculiarities iraioh
pxtzaled the whole GoUege of Physicians : his complexion was
livid: his frame wsa meagre ; and his iacct handsome and intel*
lectual as it was, had a haggard look which indicated the restless-
ness of pain as well as uie restlessness of . ambition.'' There is
Charl^ Montague, tbe quick and versatile disciple of Newton —
for yfiars eking out by his wits an income of barely fifty pounds,
and afterwards zevellmg in tokay from the Imperial cellar, and in
** soups made out of birds' nests brought from the Indian Ocean,
and coding three guineas apiece" — ^at firat a needy scholar, hesi-
tating between politics and divinity, eager even at thirty to barter
all his prospects in life for a comfortable vicarage and a diaplain's
scarf, and at last enjoying hk twelve thousand a year in his peer's
(bat peerless) villa on the Thames, whither congregated crowds to
admire and &wn on one whcm no hyperbole of admiration could
now satiate, no extravagance of fawning disgust. There is Whar-
ton, that illimitalde sensualist, diat obs^nest of scoffers, that most
shamelesB of liars, yet wonderfully popular, impregnable in his
good4ium0ured nonchalance^ the wiliest of intriguers but the
Btaondieet of party politicians, Whig to the backbone, Whig all
over. Whig inade and out, from the crown of his head to the sole
of his foot, and therefore, in spite of all his flagrant sins and
blatant enormities, countenanced if not caressed by decorous
Whigs — prottounced by Swift " the most universal villain that
ever I knew," but by owifb's sometime poUtical friends accepted

ges, trickeries and all) as ''Honest Tom."* There is Rooert
arley — " of all men the least interesting" — small and slow of
intellect — a tedious, hesitating and confused speaker to the last,
but an oracle on questions of form and privilege^ and considered
by many a deep-i^ead, deep-tiiinldng gentleman, not a fine talker,

accredited cktage agamst Somers of libertinism and sensiial excess : " The pri-
vate life of this great statesman and magistrate was malignantly scrutinised ;
and tales were told about his libertinism whidi went on growing till they
became too absurd for the credulity even of party spirit." Tms is dexterously
put. But it will not avail to clear the accused of some charges, because there
were other and absurdly exaggerated ones which not even credulous faction
could swallow. Indeed the present counsel for Somers has the grace and the
candour to add: ''There is, nowever| reason to believe that there was a small
nucleus of truth round which this great mass of fiction ^thered, and that the
wisdom and self-command which ^mers never wanted m the senate, on the
judgment-fleat, at the council board, or in tJie society of wits, sdiolars, and
philosophers, were not always iffoof against female attracticms." — Yd. iL
W— 50.

* ''Some pious mm, Burnet, for example, and Addison, averted their eyes
from the scandal which he gave, and spoke of him, not indeed with esteem, yet
with goodwilL''— YoL iv. 459.

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216 MACAULAT'S HISTORT of ENGLAND.

but fitter to direct affidrs of state than all the fine talkers in the
world. And then a^n there are that consummate fine gentleman
and incompetent soldier, the Duke of Villeroy ; and £e feeble,
sickly, stunted hunchback, Marshal Luxemburg, worthy represen-
tative of that noble house of Montmorency, which had, since the
eleventh century, given to France a long and splendid succession
of constables and marshals; and the Uand, handsome, vi^lant,
adroit Count of Avaux ; and that courteous cosmopolite and nardy
octogenarian, Frederic of Schomberg. And numbers more.

Marlborough, of course, figures largely in these volumes, and
blacker than ever. He is the historian's Mte noire of the first
magnitude and the deepest dye. Colonel Esmond abused him well
enough, but the colonel's abuse was mild compared with the
loathm^ Churchill meets with here. Mr. Macaulajr fiiirly (or
should It be unfidrly ?) abominates the man. In Coleridge's sense,
aJhhomiiiates him; makes a white devil of him; so that to say,
'' Aut Churchill aut Diabolus" is to make, in e£fect, a distinction
without a difference. The vulgar hope will charitably intrude,
nevertheless, — especially as the historian rather strains his evidence
to make out his damning case — ^that this incarnate Vice is not so
black as he is painted. Other recognised victims of Mr. Macaulay's
are again brought upon the scene, and pilloried anew. Mr. Robert
Bell's good word for Dryden, has nought availed Glorious John.
Mr. Hepworth Dixon's taking up of the cudgels in defence of
Penn, has in no wise tended to mollify Penn's scornful assailant.
Mr. Macaulay snaps his fingers at the AlheTUBtan and the People
called Friends ; and only points the more insultingly that particular
one which, however indefinite, is definitely articled as the finger
of scorn, at the " scandalous" conduct of Penn — Penn the " con-
spirator," who in 1690 " did everything in his power to bring a
foreign army into tiie heart of his own country,' and was among
the most busy of the ^*old traitors" who mustered at their '* old
haunts," to draw firom their pockets " libels on the Court of Ken-
sington, and letters in milk and lemon-juice from the Court of
Saint Germains." But perhaps the best abused person in the book,
is Churchill's domineering dame. Hard words Mr. Macaulay gives
lier of his best —

Eor when a lady^s in the case.

You know all other things give place—

and if Sarah had been living this century instead of last, and had
suspected the sort of handling her Grace was like to get in this
history of England, she might well have " come down" with some-
thing handsome in the shape of hush-money, to bid for the silence
that she paid for but did not buy at the hands of Pope.

Among the more novel features that distinguish the present
from other Histories of that era, are the admirabyr clear, complete,
and animated accounts the Historian gives us of the rise ana pro-

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MACAULAY's mSTORT OF ENGLAND. 217

grefls of the Bank of England^ the settlement of the Cconage diffi-
cully, the withdrawal of the censorship, and the in&ncy of that
Foiurth Estate, the English newspaper. We commend, too, '' in
eq>ecial," to the readers attention, Mr. Macaulay's confutation of
the fidlacious assertion that the Presbyterians were not, before the
RcTolntion, the majority of the people of Scotland*— his inquiry
into the justice of our ascribing to the Gaelic tribes the feelings of
English cavaliers^ ^^ profound reverence for the royal office, and enthu-
siastic attachment to the royal family," on the ground that, during
the century which commenced with the campaign of Montrose^ and
terminated with that of Charles Edward, every great military exploit
which was achieved on British ground in the cause of the Stuarts
was achieved by Scottish Highlanders f — and his remarks, equally
positive and pungent, on the national debt and its critics from one
generation to another.} There needs no indication of such topics,
so treated as he treats them, as the narrative of the war in Ireland
and in the Low Coimtries ; the records of Jacobite plots one after
another, and sometimes one within another ; the disfranchisement
of Alsatia, that ^^ labyrinth of squalid, tottering houses, close
packed, every one, from cellar to cockloft, with outcasts whose life
was one long war with society" — *^ debtors who were in fear of
bailiffi," ^^ attorneys struck off the roU, witnesses who carri^
straw in their shoes as a sign to inform the public where a fiEJse
oath might be procured for half-a-crown, sharpers, receivers of
stolen goods, clippers of coin, forgers of bank-notes, and tawdry
women, blooming with paint and brandy, who, in their anger^
made free use of their naus and their scissors, vet whose anger was
less to be dreaded than their kindness." The pen that wrote on
Milton, in the quadrangle atTrinit]^, and that burnt into the desk-
paper at the War Office those glowing ballads of ancient Rome, is
as vigorous and as graphic as ever of old.

Giunpees of scenery are caught at intervals as he speeds us
onward — now from flat, damp

Holland, that scarce deserres the name of land,
As bat th' offiBcouriDg of the British sand,

and now of our rugged northern " land of brown heath and shaggj'
wood, land of the mountain and the flood." The scene of the
murder of the Mac lans — ^* murder most foul, as in the best it is ;
but this most foul, strange, and unnatural " — is painted with stem
and vivid power. ^^In the Gaelic tongue Glencoe signifies the
Glen of Weeping ; and in truth that pass is the most dreary and
melancholy of all the Scottish passes, the very Valley of the Shadow
of Death. Mists and storms brood over it through the greater part
of the finest summer ; and even on those rare days when the sun is

Vol. ill pp. 261 sqq. + Vol. iii. pp. 813-339.

^. VoL iv.

X VoL iv. pp. 326 sqq.

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218 magaulay'0 Hiffrosr of mmJLjsro:

bright^ and when dieie is no doad in the dty^ l^e impveasion
made by the landscape is sad aend awful. The path lies along a
stream which issaefr uom the most suUen and glootaij of monntab
pools. Huge precipices of naked stone frown on both sides.
JEven in July the streaks of snow may ofl^n be dieeemed in the
rifts near we summits. All down the sides of tiie crags heaps of
ruins mark the headlong paths of the torrents. Mile afber mile
the traveller looks in vain for the smoke of one hut, for one
human form wrapped in a plaid, and listens in yain for the bark
of a i^pheid's dog or the bleat of a lamb. Mile afi;er mile tlie
only sound that indicates life is the faint <^ of a bird of prqr
from some storm-beaten pimMicle of rock. The progress of civi-
lisation, which has turned so many wastes into fields yellow with
harvests or gay with apjde-blossoms, has cmlj made Gienooe more
desolate/' As a companion picture to this scene of massacre &ere
is that scene o£ battle, the once ^^ fearsome" glen of Killiecrankie,
which now boasts (?) a highway as smooth as any road in Middle-
sex, ascending gently from the low country to the summit of the
defile — white vSlas peeping from Ihe birch forest, while, on a fine
summer day, lha?e is scarcely a turn of the pass at which may not
be seen some angler castmg his fly on the foam of the river, some
artist sketching a pinnack of rock, or some party of pleasure
banqueting on the turf in the fretwork of shade and sunshine :
whereas, " in the days of William the Third, Eilliecrankie was
mentioned with horror by the peaceful and industrious inhabitants
of the Perthshire lowlands. It was deemed the most perilous
of all those dark mvines through which the marauders of the hilb
were wont to sally forth. The sound, so musical to modern ears,
of the river brawling round the mossy rocks and among the
smooth pebbles, the £urk masses of crag and verdure worSiy of
the pencil of Wilson, the fantastic peaks bathed, at sunrise and
sunset, with light rich as that which glows on the canvas of
Claude, suggested to our ancestors thoughts of murderous am-
buscades and of bodies stripped, gashed, and abandoned to the
birds of prey. The only pata was narrow and rugged : two men
could hardly walk abreast ; and, in some places, the way ran so
dose by the pecipice that the traveller had great need of a steady
eye and foot. * There are numerous sketches, too, taken in passing,
as only the -artist eye and artist hand can take them, of sucn
scenery as that between Cambridge and the Wash, vast and de-
solate fens, ^ saturated with all the moisture of thirteen counties,
and overhung during the greater part of the vear by a low grey
mist, hiffh aoove wmch rose, visible many miles, the magnificent
tower of Ely ;" or of that in the south-western part of Kerry,
with its mountains, and ^lens, and capes stretching far into the
Atlantic, and crags on which the] eagles build, and lakes overhung

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]CA€AULAT*S mSTOET OF ENOLAIO)* 219

by groves in whidi the wild deer find corert-— whose soil the
myrae lores^, and wh^?e better than even on the sunny shore of
Cfuabria the myrtle thiires — ^the turf showing a livelier hue than
elsewhere, Ae mils Rowing with a ridier purple, the holly and
ivy shining with a glossi^ varnish, and berries of a brighter red
peeping through foliage of a brighter green.* Hampton C6urt is
described, as William "improved" it — seeking to create there an-
otb^ Loo, that paradise on a sandy heath in Guelders, the admira-
tion of all Holland and Westphalia,' for its fish-ponds and orangeries^
its easeades and grottoes ; and nearly every place of note the historian
touches at, he adorns- ("nil tetiffit quod non omavit^^) with colour-
ing a^r bis own heart, and in his own "Canaletti" style.

These volunoes contain about the average ^uantit^ of the author's
characteristic mannerisms, tricks of composition, similes, and sar-
casms. We have the usual recurrence of the phrases, " It was
long remembered," ^^-there were old men living who could re-
member," Ac. ; the usual interfusion of very short sentences ; the
usual plenitude of historical parallels, f and of argumentative
ilhistmtions.t Perhaps there is more than the average proportion
of high colouring and ex parte pleading — of a fonobtiess lor up-
setting standard opinions, and flooring established reputations, and
making new readings of authorised texts, and shedding a new and
strong (sometimes a too strong) light on what the world took to be
dear as daylight before.

* Macaolay : iv. 191; iiL 41, 135, 352 sq.

+ See, for instance, vol. iii. pp. 62, 95 ; vol. iv. pp. 115, 163, 409.

% Mr. Macanlay's knack of Evening and elucidating his abstract argmnent
by concrete iUnstiationB, is psrhaps nniqae, and certainly very noticeable among
tbe ad eaptanda of his style. Where an ordinary historian would content him-
self with saying, for instance, in defence of the separate establishment of the
English and Scottish churches, at the Union, that had there been an amalgama-
tion of the hierarchies, there never would have been an amalgamation of the
iiation8,-^Mr. Macaulay farthermore teaches philosophy by example : '' Suooes-
sive Id^hells would have fired at successive Sharps. Eive generations of
Glaverhouses would have butchered ^^^ generations of Gamerons." So, where
another historian would confine himself to recording the Tory complaint (when
the Wh^ sought to alter tJie law regulating triab for political offences) that
the Whigs seemed to reserve all their compassion for those crimes which sub-
tEcrt government, and dissolve the whole frame of human society, — he supposes
tJiem to object^ that "Guy Faux was to be treated with an indulgence which
was not to be extended to a shoplifter," and Bradshaw to have '' privileges
which were refused to a boy who nad robbed a hen-roost." So, agam, where
another would end with the reflection that party and sectarian spint lead men
to do what they woxdd not do for personal and private ends, — he adds : ''There
is no reason to believe that Dominic would, for the best archbishopric in
Christendom, have incited ferocious marauders to plunder and slaughter a
peaceful and industrious population, that Everard Bigby would for a dukedom
nave blown a large assembly of people into the air, or that Hobespierre would
have murdered for hire one of the thousands whom he murdered from phi-
lanthropy .^-^iii. 257 ; iv. 150, 199. See also, for examples of the same kind,
varying m form, vol. iii pp. 256, 611, 620; vol. iv. pp. lO, 307, 458, 626.

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220 MAGAULAT'S HISTOBT of ENGLAND.

As for the ^^ subjects" Mr. Macaulay has read up, to bear upon
and furnish pabulum for his History, the number or the names of
them who shall rehearse ? They are omnigenous, for he is omni-
vorous. He abstains in many instances (some vrill think too many)
from citing authorities, simply because, in his own words, " my
authorities are too numerous to cite." He tells us that his notions of
the temper and relativeposition of political and religious parties in the
reign ot William the Tnird, have been derived, not from any single
work, but from thousands of forgotten tracts, sermons, and satires;
in fact, from a whole literature which is mouldering in old libraries.
Broadsides, pamphlets, pasquinades of every description and party,
he has used with liberal hand and to capital purpose. Of graver
authorities, among his principal documents ana mimoires pmr
servir may be named the Leven and Melville Papers, to which
^^ most valuable collection " he is largely indebted, — ^the much
neglected Archives of the House of Lords, the CarstidrB and Naime
Papers, the Commons' Journals, the Scottish Parliament's Acts,
Minutes, &c., that curious relic the ^^ Macaris Excidium," the
despatches of Avaux, the correspondence of William, L'Hennitage,
Meifort, Narcissus Luttrell's Diary, old maps by the mile measure
and old coins by the hundred-weight. The memoir-vmters have
been duly put under contribution, — Berwick, and St. Simon, and
Ruvignjr, and Evelyn, and a goodly company besides, consulted in
manuscript or in type, for tne first time or for the thousandth.
In a foot-note to his twenty-first chapter Mr. Macaulay writes (not
in italics: they are our doing): " There is a noble, and, I suppose,
imique Collection of the newspapers of William's reign m the
British Museum. I have turned aver every page of that GoUedion!*
Very, very few are the Historians, of any land or any generation,
who could have done that^ and write a History that never tires,
never flaffs, never shows trace of dry-as-dust researches, or inherited
taint of dead-and-gone dulness. Mr. Macaulay embodies in fact
the ideal somewhere sketched by Duclos : ^^ L'historien dwt
chercher k s'instruire des moindres details, parce (ju'ils peuvent
servir k Teclairer, et qu'il doit examiner tout ce qui a rapport i
son sujet ; mais il doit les ^pargner au lecteur. Ce sont dcs mstru-
ments n^cessaires a celui qui construit Tedifice, inutiles a oelui qui
rhabite. L'historien doit tout lire, et ne doit 6crire que ce qui
mdrite d'etre lu."

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THE DIFFERENCES WITH THE UNITED STATES.

It is yeiy much to be regretted that any differences should have
arisen to embitter the feelings of the people of the United States
a^inst this country. Any war that might arise fix>m the ob-
stmacy or imprudence of either party would be alike scandalous
and unnatunL The very interests of the two nations are identical.
Nor can this fact be better shown than in the excitement which
manifested itself at New York, and the general rise which took
plaoe of all speculative securities, when the unexpected news arrived
of the acceptance by Russia of the propositions of the Allies as
the basis of peace negotiations*

These unfortunate differences have had their origin in a long*
standing grievance — the contested claims of Nicaraguans and
Mosquitos. of English and Americans, for the possession of Gkev-
town, or San Juan de Nicaragua, on the river of same name. The
claims of Great Britain date from a period anterior to that of the
declaration of independence by the Spanish colonies, and are there-
fore of greater antiquity than the existing governments in Central
America. The place wa^ indeed, first captured in 1779 by a force
under Sir John jDalling, in retaliation for Spain having abetted the
revolt of the British colonies in North America. A small garrison
was at that time left in the fort After the declaration of inde-
pendence the Nicaraguans took forcible possession of the place,
and held it till an expedition was sent, in 1848, to dispossess them.
After some further prosecution of hostilities the Nicaraguans con-
sented to a treatV) which provided that they should not disturb
the English in tneir possession, or attempt to re-occupy the port.
Tlie place was then odled Greytown, and a regular government
was established. Steamers began next to plv between the port and
the United States, and a considerable number of Americans esta-
blished themselves there, and they gradually succeeded, in the
words of one of their countryinen, ^^in suffocating British in-
fluaice.'' They took the direction of affiurs in their own hands,
adopted a constitution, and orjranised a government of their own.
This led to recriminations on we part of the English and Nicara-
guans alike, and under circumstances which we have elsewhere
aUnded to^ and which are described by andther American writer,
and one who is violentlv hostile to this country, in the very
strongest possible terms oi animadversion, the place was bombardea
and totally destroyed by a United States flotilla. The error, how-
ever, havmg been acknowledged, the toii^ rose up fix>m its ashes^
and was, it was supposed, protected from further odamities by the

VOL. XXXIX. Q

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222 THE DIFFERENCES WITH THE UNITED STATES.

Claytoii-Bulwer conventioB^ by which it was agreed that neither
of the two contracting powers " will ever obtain or maintain for
itself any exclusive control over" the proposed and now abandoned
ship canal ; ^^ agreeing that neither will ever erect or maintain any
fortifications •ommanding the same, or in the vicimty theieof.''
The manner in which this convention has been carried out by our
eousine across the Atlantic has been to send a filibustering ex-
pedition^ under a Colonel Walker^ to take possession of, hold, and
K>rtiff themselves in the place! It is true that Mr, Secretary
Maroy disavows the transaction as one recognised by the XJmtM
States government, and even repudiates it as a violent nsurpatioa
of power ; but he adds, ^^ Should the mass of the people of Niea-
n^a (that is, the Mot^uitos, Sambos, Nican^mans, and English
and American settlers in Greytown) be unwiUing or unable to
repel this inroad, or riiake off this usurpation, and ultimately submit
to its rule, then it may become a defae^ government.'*

Well may the govemm^it of Gnmada ask q£ die United States
government how she is to distinguish filibusters firom b(md Me
troops. The answer must be — ^According to their success. If toey
£eu1, they are filibusters : if they suooeed, they become h(ma fide
tix>ope — ^the difference between a traitor and a hero.

The connexion between Great Britain and the Mosquitos, and
the possession of Belize, or British Honduras, and of the Bay
Islands, date from the same remote times as that of Grreytown,
diat is to say, from the time of the Spanish rule^ and before the
declaraticai of independence and the adoption of the existine

governments in Central America. Hence the force of Lord
larendon's statement, that if the Glayton-Bulwer convention was
intended to interfere with the state of things existing at the time
of its conclusion, and to compel Great Britain to withdraw
from portions of territory occupied by it, a similar obligation
would be contracted by other states acceding to the convention,
uid the governments of the Central American states would, by
the mere act of accession, sign away their rights to the territories
in which they are situated.

But Mr. Clayton, co-contractor in the treaty, has distinctly
stated, by memorandum and by letter, that he understood that
British Honduras was not embraced in the treaty, and that it was
not understood by either of the n^otiators to include the British
settlement in Honduras, nor the small islands in the neighbourhood
of that settlement, and that the chairman of the committee on
Foreign Relations of the Senate, the Hon. William R. King, in*
formed him that ^^the Senate perfectly understood that the treaty
did not include British Honduras.^

Tet, in the face of such declarations, Mr. James Buchanan in-
timates to the British government, in the name of that of the

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THB DIFfESBKCE3 WITH THS UKITBI^ STAIXS. 223

Umtod Stately ^ ^t while the Umled States htA no oooupancj
to abandon under the cooTention, €hreat Britain luid extensiye
pceseBaons to reetoie to the states of Guatemala, Honduras^ and
Nicsragaa." In other words. Great Britam had to restore posses-
noosy which she held befbce tiiose states were in ezistence, to stateii
which never had possession of them* Great Britain might hand
oYer her possessions in Central America, but if she restored Belize
and the Bay Islands it must be to Spain. As to the Mosquitos^
thej weie nev^ conquered hj Spain or by the states aUuoed to.
It is true that the treaty provides that neither the United States
nor Great Britain ^^ wiu occupy, or fortify, or colonise, or assume,
or exorcise any dominion over, Nicaragua, CSosta Rica, the Mos-
quito coast, or ai^ part of Central America;" but the protection
affi>rded to the King of Mosquito implies none of these, nor does
Grreat Britain wish it to do so; while, as to Britidi Honduras and
the islands, they were, by the acknowledgment of the co-contractor
Mr. Ciayt^ and of the Hon. Mr. King, understood not to be in-
cluded in the convention.

We have ^iven elsewhere the historv of our posseesions in
Central America, and of our relations witn the Mosquito Indians*
If any one will be at the trouble of perusing those details they
will be filled with astonishment on finding that a member of
the United States Congress^ Mr. Foote^ should declare that the
daiins of England over C^tral America and the Bay Islands^
b^g fimnded upon no right of discovery, conquest, purchase, or
treaty, her occupation of the territory is consequently a clear case
of forcible entry and detainer, and her right the same that a high-
wayman has to pursue an unarmed traveller ! Such denunciations
apply to the American occupation of Greytown, not to that of
Bdize by the Britiidi. Secretary Marcy himsdf acknowledges to
the fact Mr. Seward, on the other hand, proposes that a direct
congressional declaration be made of the senatorial construction of
the Clayton-Bulwer treaty, and of their purpose to enforce the
oblintioBS resulting from that constrocdon. If this prove un-
avamng, c^cia] and formal notice must be |[iven to England that
die must withdraw from her Central Amancan occupations by a

S'ven day. If then she holds out and disregards sucui summons^
e most be removed by force of arms !

It has been justly remarked that it is not the love of Mosquitos,
nor an abstract delight in the pestiferous isthmtts of Centnu
America, nor an opimon that the possession of Ruatan added any
perceptible lustre to tlie diadem of the Queen of Grc^tt Britain and
Canada, of India and Australia, that makes us vindicate our right
in these miseraUe r^ons. It is simply that no man Ukes to be
tricked or buIHed out of anjrthing, however contemptible in itself.
The American version of the Clayton-Bulwer treaty is, without

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224 THE DIFFEBENOES WITH THE tJKlTED STATBg.

doab^ the most extraordinaij instance of Yankee smartness ever
exhibited. No trick of Barnum's comes within a hundred miles
of it. Imagine Grreat Britain having given by treaty all her
possessions in Central America, merely to induce the Yankees,
who have nothing to ^ve up in return, not to establish themselyes
on the same territory. The thing is preposterous.*

In respect to the threats held out, we are not yet arrived at sucli
a point of decadence as to be ready to follow Mr. Briffht's advice
and give up Central America merely because our Transatlantic
cousins covet that land. Mr. Bright does not deny that the words
of the treaty might be shown to be more in favour of the view-
taken by the English government than by the American govern-
ment, yet he— one of the champions of arbitration as opposed to
war'---aeclares that this is not a case for arbitration, and tiiat
whether we go to war or not, our children would find that the
whole of these countries were either in the actual possession or
under the dominant influence of the United States of America^
and nothing we could ever do could prevent it.

It is impossible to conceive a more humiliating manner of dis-
posing of a serious question than that which is here propounded
by a pseudo-British statesman. Two powerful nations make a
treaty. At a subse€|uent period, one of the parties in the treaty
chooses to put a different construction upon that conv^ilioii.
The other upholds the original version, and offers to refer the
matter to the arbitration of a third power. Such an arbitration^

* Upon this point the Boston JngUhSaxon remarks : " Had it been intended
that Euatan and other islands should be surrendered, wouhi not such intention
have been covenanted for in the instrument P In all suits at law, in all dinlo-
matic discussions and treaties, ^ere territory is concerned, possession is held to
be of panunount importance. This being known to everybody, we have a right
to know why such a usage was dispensed with in the present case. Can it
really be contended for that a transfer or surrender of real property, or what is
of higher value, national territory, is made obligatory by uuplication and in-
ference ? Certainly not. No surrender in such cases can be demanded, unless
provided for and expressly stipulated in the piqpers signed.'' It is truly giati^ring
to find that there is one organ of publicity which takes up a moderate «ma
pacific view of the " differences" on the other side of the Atlantic The Bostm
Anglo-Saxon points out that were the plans of settling the Mosquito question
proposed by Messrs. Crampton and Webster, and adopt^ by Lord John Kossel],
accepted, such protectorate would have been sent to the tomb of the Capul^
long ago. Agam, as to the question of the Bay Islands, the same paper justly
lemarEs that Great Britain has here also made a concession. She has offered to
abandon all argument, she will not insist upon adhering to the letter of the
treaty, if a third party decide against her. " She is willing to put this question
to any honourable and neutral power, and to abide bv the answer. What is the
real intent and meaning of the treaty, and what the fair and honest construction
to put on its words? Can anything be fairer than this^ or can England or any
independent nation offer more P^' If all parties in the United States entertained
the same moderate and wise views, these " differences" would soon be things of
the past.

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THE DIFFBBSNGS8 WITH THE UNITED STATES. 22&

according to Mr. Bright, is of no use, because, if the view taken
by the tergiyeisatmg party is not adopted, that party will abuidon
the treaty altogether ! Is this politiatl morality ? ^ First of all to
znake a convention, and then if a new version, which never could
have been entertained for a moment by one of the parties, be not
conceded, to repudiate the convention altoeether I And to find an
Englishman expounding such intemationiu turpitude I

As to the aigument, that the United States being on the spot
ihey would be pushing some way or other, and must ultimatolv
obtain possession of the country, apart from the licence which
would be connived at by allowmg such proceedings to progress
vvithout even a protest, it is of some importance to remanoer that
this is not merely an Anglo-United States quesdon. There are
other governments in occu^tion besides Grreat Britain and the
XJnitea States. Ail the civilised nations of the world have also
taken a deep interest in the question of the transit across the
isthmus of Central' America. The Prussian Humboldt was one of
its most eloquent expounders. The French savants have long since
interested themselves deeply in the feasibility of the undertaking.
The present Emperor of tne French, a learned and intelligent man,
has studied the question thoroughly, and made himself master of
all its bearincs, as is shown by the work which he published when
reading in this country — ^^ Canal of Nicara^a," &c., bv N. L. B,
London, 1846. It is impossible that the civilised world can per-
mit the United States to assume command of these territories, first
by filibustering expeditions, secondly by repudiating a convention,
and thirdly by forcibly expelling the English from their ancient
pcMseadons in the neighbourhood. Mr. Bright and his United
States firiends may be quite sure that whatever may be the results
of the version given to the treaty, still the basis of the convention,
that there shall be no monopoly of the transit of the isthmui^ will
be upheld at every risk, and by more than one European nation.

The vexed question of enhstm^t of Germans ought never to
bave heea allowed to obtain the importance it has been made
to assume. When tiie British government was first led to believe
that the American government might take umbrage at such pro-
eeedings, they ordered their discontinuance. When an official
representation was made by the government of America, com-
plaining of the enlistment, the answer given was, that the British
Sovemment expressed regret for anything which might have been
one in violation of American laws, though they were disposed to
think that no such violation had occurred; and they referred, as a
proof of their sincerity, to tiie fact that they had of their own accord
stopped the proceedings of which the American government com-
plamed.

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226 rOK DUFEBEftCBS WITH THK UNITBD 8TA1VS.

Ordinarily/ when an apolo^ is made for an umntentianal
error, there is an end of tne dupnte: but not so with the United
States. The govennnent of that country does not deem the
apology of the British govemment soffioieiit atonement (of die
fault committed. It also demands that the English ambassador
and consul should be recalled. If this is acceded to, what next ?
We long ago, on the occasion of the pusillanimous abandonment
of the Oregon, made to American damour, pronounced that any
such concession would only entail further dmianda This has now
shown itself in the threatened expulsion of the English firom their
possessions in Central America. If the cession is peacefully made
to the same reiterated clamour, our evacuation of Canada will
be next insisted upon. It will only be carrying out the national
conviction that ^^ America exists for the Americans.'*

Luckily, although thieats have been held out hj some of the
more violent memoers of Congress^ which have met with no echo in
this country, and war has been s^ken of by all parties as a remote
contii^ncy, there is at present no posmble chance of such an un-
toward result. The most bellicose of our enemies only propose
such an alternative after all negotiation shall have been eiduiusted.
It would argue little wisdom on the part of the existing gorem-
ments of Gmat Britain and of the United States if those dHiffi-
culties cannot be smoothed over. There is nothing in die {M!oteo-
torate of Mosquito that implies a breach of treaty. There are no
possessions or fortifications there. Belize is declaredly widiout the
convention. The Bay Islands may be made a matter of arbitni-
tion. The occupation of Greytown by the Americans can be
compromised by a joint protectorate. If the Americans inost upon
the recal of our ambassador bein^ superadded to an apology, let
the sacrifice be made to the American spirit of exaction. Thie in-
delicacy shown on insistine^ upon such a concession will not
redound to the credit of the united States govemment throughout
the civilised world.

In this country there is but one feeling entertained thzou^oot
the length and breadth of the land, and that is a sense of the
calamities which would arise from a conflict between this country
and the United States. Every one is prepared to make any extent
of sacrifice short of national humiliation to ensure a continuance
of friendly feeling and peace.

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227

THE SPENDTHRIFT.

▲ TALE OF TH£ LAST CKHTUKY.*

By W. HARBISON AINSWOETH. Esq.

XXIV.

HOW MR. TIBBITS SOtJGHT KEVENfflB TJPOH AETHUE POTKINGS.

Ahd now, in order to afford eome needful explanatioi^ we
must reyert to that period of the evening when we left Sir Huffh
Pojnings and his chaplain faat asleep in their chairs, complet^y
overcome by the potent pnnch brewed for them by tibe wily Mr.
Briscoe.

As soon as the landlord perceived that his guests were in this
bdpless conditicm, feeling satisfied that the sleeping draught he
had administered would last till morning, he caused them to be
transported to the coach-house where Sir Hughes travelling-carriage
had been placed, and deposited at full length on the seats of the
roomy vemcle. The removal was accomplished without the slightest
difficulty, for the pair of topers were too far gone to offer any re-
RStance; and their wigs, cravats, and upper vestments being re-
moved, and nightcaps, pillows, and blankets provided, they were
left to their repose. Aa the cunning landlord locked the coach-
house door, and put the key in his pocket, he chuckled at the
success of his scheme.

But his precautions were defeated, as we shaU now proceed to
rdate. About midnight, a man wrapped in a cloak, beneath which
fae concealed a Ughted horn lantern, made his way to the coach-
house,, unlocked the door, and went in. This personage was no
other than Mr. libbits, who, having r^stered avow of vengeance
against Arthur Poynings, to be fulfilled before the morrow^ took
the present opportunity of executing his threat. The mischievous
valet had passed part of the evening in the sodety of his newly-
ne^oreA wife, ana learnt from her that her young lady and Mr.
Arthur were about to disobev Sir Hughes orders, and clandestinely
attend the ball. Mrs. Pinchbeck wouldn't for worlds the old gen-
deraan should know it. He would never forgive Mr. Arthur or
her youns lady the deception practised upon mm — ^never, she was
convinced I This was just what Tibbits wanted. Revenge was
now in his power, and he inwardly rejoiced. With affected in-
diflbrence he asked what costumes the young folk? meant to wear^

* ^ Tie Author of iki$ Tale mervei the right of tramlatum.

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228 THE SPENDTHRIFT.

and soon obtained from his communicative spouse all particulars
likely to be serviceable to his design.

Later on^ when the revel be^n^ Tibbits hovered about the
entrance-hall and passages until he had seen with his own eyes
the Spanish hidal^ and his companions enter the ball-room.
While he lingered for a few minutes, gazing at the motley
assemblage inside, and envying the merriment he could not
share, the second hidalgo and his companions arrived, filling
him with astonishment at their exact resemblance to the previous
party. Who could these be ? — ^It would be vain to inquire. Nor
did it much matter. Either the first Spaniard or the second must
be Arthur. Both were in the ball-room. Of that he was assured ;
and though some confusion might arise, still young Poynincs
could not escape detection. He would now wake up Sir Hu^
and communicate the pleasing intelligence to him.
A keen-witted fellow like Tibbits does not do business by halves.
Thus we may be quite sure the knowing valet had made himself
acquainted with the strange quarters in which the old baronet
was lodged; and though Mr. Briscoe had secured the key of the
coach-house, the clever rascal had found means of opening the
lock. A crown piece bestowed on the ostler placed another
key, as well as a lantern, at his disposal. But he was inter-
rupted just as he was going forth on his errand. Mrs. Pinch-
beck had been engagea for the last two hours in attiring her
young lady for the ball, and being now at liberty, was on
the look-out for him to take her to supper. Not to arouse her
suspicions, Tibbits was forced to comply, and v^ry reluctantly
sat down with her in a back room appropriated to the servants,
meaning to make a speedy escape. But he starred longer than he
expected, for Mrs. Pmchbeck excited his curiosity by repeating a
conversation she had overheard between her young mistress and
Clare Fairlie, from which it appeared that the latter had deter-
mined upon leaving her father that very ni^ht

^^ Ana Pm sure I can't blame her," Mrs. Pmchbeck said, in con*
elusion, " if all I hear of Mr. Fairlie be true. Poor thing, she*s
dreadfuUy imhappy."

^^ I can't see any g^eat cause for her affliction," Tibbits rejoined;
^^ and as to Mr. Fairlie, he seems a very good kind of father, as
fathers go. However, that's the young lady's afiair, not mine.
If she chooses to elope, I shan't hinder her. But I suppose she
don't mean to go on alone. There's a lover in the case, I'll be
sworn."

^^ No— -no— she's half distracted, I tell jou."

^^ She must be entirely so, to commit such folly," Tibbits re-
joined, with a sneer. ^^ I can't say I commiserate her. But I am
rather concerned for old Fairlie, as I fancy he won't like it."

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THE SPENDTHKIFT, 22^

^^ Yoar compasnon is thrown away upon such a rasoaL I feel
no pity for him whatever, and should hke to see him han^red at
Tyburn."

" Hash I not so loud, my dear," Tibbits cried, looking round in
alarm. **It*s very well nobody heard you. You mustn't sp^ in
such disrespectful terms of Mr. Fairlie. He^s no worse than every
other wealtny gentleman's steward, whose master is foolidi enough
to trust him," he added, lowering his tone.

** Perhaps not," Mrs. Pinchbeck rejoined ; " but that's no
excuse for his knavery. Why, he is domg his best to ruin Mr.
Monthermer."

^ I must again impress upon you the necessity of caution, my
love. This is not the place where private matters can be discussed.
Luckily all the household are absent just now. Listen to me,"
he added, sinking his voice to a whisper: ^^Mr. Monthermer is
bom to be a dupe-HSome men are so. Old Fairlie will profit most
by him no 'doubt — but there are others I could mention who will
conne in for a share of the spoil. My own master, Mr. Freke, and
Sir Randal will be lai^e gaineis — to say nothing of Mrs. Jenyns."
^ Don't mention tfeit horrid creature to me, Tibbits," Mrs.
Pinchbeck cried, with a look of virtuous indignation. ^* Fm per^
fectly scandalised at such proceedings. I don't wonder at Miss
Fairue's determination to fly. I should fly too, if I were so cir-
cumstanced. My young hay approves of her design, and so does
Mr. Arthur.'*

** Ohl Mr. Arthur approves of it, does he?" Mr. Tibbifcs cried.
^^ Soh ! — sohl I begin to see more clearly into the matter. Per-
haps he will assist in the flight — eh ?"

Mrs. Pinchbeck gave a shght nod in token of assent.
** Now if s out. I knew there must be a lover in the case,"
Tibbits cried. ^ When are they to meet ? — and where ?"

"Oh! I know nothing more than I've told you. But how's
this? — surely, you're not going to leave me?" she said, with a look
of tender reproach as her husband rose to depart.

^ I must tear myself away, sweetheart," he replied. ** I am
obliged to wait on my master during supper. As soon as he sets
me at liberty I'll return."

" You know where to find me, Tibbits," she said.
The valet replied that he cUd, and hurried away, fearful of
further detention.

On gaining the inn-yard, he stood still to reflect, and after a
moments consideration, decided upon seeing Mr. Fairlie in the
first instance, and acquainting him with his daughter's intended
flight. With this purpose he shaped his course towards the ball-
room, and having stated to Mr. ibriscoe that he had a message
of pressing importance to deliver to Mr. Fairlie, the landlord
directed hmi to proceed to the card-room, where he would find

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230 THE BPENDTHBirr.

the object of hk aeacch. Mr. Faidie chanced to be esgflged^
and some litde time elapeed before the valet could obtaia
speech with him. Greatly astounded by the communicatioii, Mr.
Fairlie took Tibbits aside^ and questioned him sharply aa to how
he had gained his information. At first the steward seemed
incredulous^ but ere long his tmeasiness became manifest. Pro-
mi^g the valet a reward proporttonato to the service he IumI
rendered, he enjoined silence^ and dismissed him. Fairlie then
commenced his investigations, which speedily resulted in the dia-
coveiT that his dai^hter had disappeared — at all events^ he ascer-
tained that a Spanish senora and don had recently quitted the
baU-roota with so much haste as to attract att^tion. Further
inquiry showed him that two ladies, whom he could not doubt to
be Cl^e and Lucy, had changed dresses behind one o£ the screens
in the ante-chamber. We have already seen what occurred to
him in the supper-room^ and shall leave him for the present to
follow Mr. Tibbits.

Having succeeded in alarming Mr. FairUe^ the valet next
betook himisdf to the coach-house^ in order to go through a
like process with Sir Hugh. On opening the door of the eanii^
he found its two occupants comfortablY wrapped up in their
blankets, and snoring away as if in emulation of each other. Hold-
ing the lantern to the old baronet's face, he cave him so vigorous
a woke that he soon wakened him. Alarmed by the li^^ end
not comprehending where he was, Sir Hugh roared out, ^^ Thieves !
thieves I" and at tne same time endeavouring to spring from the
seat) and becomii^ entangled in the blanket, he fell upon the still
slumbering chaplain, whose outcries were instantly added to his
own. Half suffocated by the weight imposed upon him, and
fencying he was about to be murdered, Parson Chedworth,
seized Sir Hugh by the ears, and buffeted him soundly. The
old baronet replied in the same style, and the conflict might have
been of some duratiosi if the valet had not interposed, and bj
thrusting forward the lantern, enabled the combatants to difr-
tin^uidi each other's features. Great was the chaplain's surprise
and dismay to find whom he had been cuffing so heartily; while
Sir Hugh was no less amazed. However, the old baronet^s wrath
was speedily turned into another channel when he learnt from
Tibbits that his son and daughter were actually present at the
masked ball. The chaplain strove to pour oil on the trouUed waters^
but in vain. Sit Hugh got out of the coach, and without stopping
to put on his coat, or remove his nightcap, went in search of some
of his own servants^ and proceeding to the inn-kitchen as the moat
likely place to hear of them, found his coachman there, {daying at
cribbage with T<mi Maddocks^ the head ostler, and a ooupte of
gro(»i8. Beccks stared at seeing his master in such a strange
guise, and thought he must have Mcome suddenly demented; uid

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THE gPBKDnaRIFT. 23^

he wna oon&med in the notion wboi he reoeiTed peremptory
oxden to bring out the carriage and put to the horsea without a
moment^s delay.

^ What i at this time of niffht^ 8ir Hugh?" he remonstrated.

'^ Do as I bid you, Beedes, Sir Hugh rejoined, in an authorita*
tiire tone. ^Be ready to start in half an hour's time, or you lose
yourj^ace."

** WeQ, PU do ray best,** the coachman replied, getting up
sulkily. And followed ^by Tom Haddocks and the grooms, he
vepaixed to the stables.

XXV.

UJI1>1B WHAT CIKCUMSTAHCIS SIB HtJGR TOtSlHWf^ TRATZtIJV&-CASBXA.dE

WAS nsivnf oif.

Shottflt afterwards another extraordinary incident occurred,
whieh led Beccles to conclude that his old master was not the onty
one o£ihQ family touched in the upper story. , '

Scarcely had the coachman and ms assistants got out the carriage,'
and cleared it of the blankets and other things left inside it by its'
hrte occupants, when a tall Spaniard, with a lady under his arm of a
noble presence, but rather singukirly dressea as it appeared to
Beocles, and whose features were concealed by a mask, came
quickly up to him, and ordered him to open the door of the
vehicle without an instant's delay. G^reatly amazed, but recog-
nising Arthur^s yoice, ihough the young gentleman's masquerade
attire had puzzled him at first, Beccles complied^ and the lady in-
stantly sprang into the carriage, and redrea to its furthest comer,
as if anxious for concealment. Arthur bent forward for a mome^^
addressed a few words to her in an under tone, and then closing
the door, took Beccles out of hearing of the ostler and the grooms,
and told him to keep careful watch over the young lady, and see
that die was not molested in any way.

" I have promised her protection, Beccles, and I put her under
your charge, as I know I can rely on you. Search may possibly
be made for her, but let no one look into the carriage — above idL
Mr. Fairlie. Take your own way of inducing those tellows to hola
their tongues,** he added, pointing to Tom Maddocks and the
grooms.

**But Sir Hurfi has ordered me to put to the horses directly.
Muster Arthur," Beccles remarked. '* Must I do it ? **

**0f course. Gret ready for starting as quickly as you can, but
on no account allow Sir Hugh to enter the carriage till you see
me.''

" Oons, Muster Arthur, that's easily said. But suppose he wttl
get in, how am I to hinder him ?"

** Oh ! you'll find out a way of doing it. Make any excuse to
gain time."

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832 THE 8PSNDTHBIFT.

^Lord loree^ Muster Arthur, Td go through fire and wttieac
to serve jou^ but I daren't offend Sir Hugh. It*8 as mudi as
my place be worth."

^ Kest quite easy, Becdes. I'll hold you harmless, and reward
you handsomely into the bargain. Attend to my orders."

^^ Very welL Muster Arthur, I suppose you must have your way.
£ut it be sorely against my inclination to disobey Sir Hugh."

^^ m make it ail right, I tell you,^ Arthur rejoined, walking
quickly away.

^I^ng me if I can understand what he'd be at I" Becdes
thought. ^^ It^s my opinion both father and son be cracked. Well,
I suppose I must side wi' ]^oung master."

With this self-communion he returned to the ostler and the
grooms, and in pursuance of his instructions bound them over to
secrecy in r^ard to the lady inside the carriage ; and while the
horses were put to, debated with himself what liad best be done
under the circumstances, the result of his cogitations being an order
to Tom Maddocks to mount the boz« and hold himself in readiness
to drive off, when he, Becdes, should give him the hint Mad-
docks had just got up, and taken the whip in hand, when Mr.
Fairlie, accompanied by Bellairs, Chassemouche, and a lii^-boy,
bearing a flambeau, suddenly burst into the inn-yard. The unusual
spectacle at sudi an hour of a travelling-carriage, with horses attached
to it, naturally attracted the stewara's attention, and, addreraing
Beccles, he as^ed what was the meaning of his master^s sudden
departure. Receiving no very satisfactory answer to the inquiry,
he ordered the coachman to open the carnage door.

<< What for, sir ?" Beccles demanded, suUrily.

'^ Because I suspect some one is concealed within. That^s enough
for you."

^No, it isn't Fm sure Sir Hu^h would never allow you to
set foot in hb carriage, and while I can raise a hand to prevent
it you never shall"

^^Ah, ma foil dere is a lady in de coche — ^I see her auite
plain," Chassemouche exclaimed. He had snatched the flamoeau
uom the link-boy and run to the other side of the carriage.

^' It's only Mrs. Pinchbeck," Beccles shouted. ^ I won't have
her disturbed."

^ You be oSj you meddling hound," Maddocks cried, cutting
at the Frenchman with his whip.

^^ Ah I sacrebleu I do you dare strike me ! " ChlBissemouche cried.
And he hurled the flambeau at the ostler, who luckily avoided the
dangerous missile, and retaliated with a further apphcation of the
whip to the Frenchman's shoulders. The torch was extinguished
in its fall, leaving all in darkness as before.

<<Come, simhl" Fairlie cried, ^^ I will be trifled with no longer.

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THE SPINDTHBI?T« 238

I km sore my daughter is in the carriage. Yoa had better be
reasonable. I have we means of enforcing obedience to my orders,
and rely upon it I will use ihem."

^^ Once more I tell you. Muster Fairlie, you shall sever set foot
in my master's carriage — and now you're answered, sir."

At this juncture, a slight diversion was oocanoned by the ap-
pearance of two other actors on the scene, the foremost of whom
was Sir Hugh Poynings. The old baronet suddenly issued from
the side-door of the hotel, and was followed by his chaplain.

" Whafs all this P** exclaimed Sir Hugh. " Oddslife I are you
goin^ to take my carriage by storm ?^

^ It may put an end to this unseemly altercation. Sir Huj^h/'
Mr. Fairhe said, ^^ if I inform you tliat I am in search of my
daughter.''

^ r^recisely my own case, sir — I am in search of mine. I saw
her quit the ball just now wiih ihat young prodigal — (rage Mon-
thenner, and Tve lost all traces of her."

<< I diall be happy to aid you in your quest. Sir Hugh, if
you will first oblige me by a mght of the lady inside 3rour
carriage/'

^^ I didn't know there was a lady inside it," the old baronet
rejoined. " Who is she, Becdes ? ^

^^ Fve already told Muster Fairlie it be Mrs. Pinchbeck, but he
won't believe me, and wants to get in and satisfy himself. I
know your honour won't permit it."

" Well, I don't know what to say," Sir Hugh rejoined. " If it
be lirlrs. Pinchbeck, there can be no harm in her getting out."

"Oons, your honour." Becdes exclaimed, "I didn't expect
you to knock under to tne like of Muster Fairlie."

^^ Knock under I rascal — fd have you to know that a Poyning
never yet knocked imder."

^ So Pve always heard say. Sir Hugh; but this looks woundy
like it."

^^ Really, Sir Hugh, the impertinence of this fellow is past all
endurance, and I wonder you can tolerate it," Mr. Fairlie remarked,
in a bland tone. ^'I am sorry to put you to any trouble, but I
am sure you will excuse me under the circumstances. If you will
get into the carriage, and assure me from your own observation
that the person inside is not my daughter, I shall be perfectly
satisfied. I think I may venture to ask thus much of your polite-
ness."

. ^^Well, I see no objection to that, ar," the old baronet re-
plied.

And he approached the carriage, but Becdes planted himsdf
sturdily before the door.
. ^^ Your honour doo^t do it," he said, doggedly.

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234 THE SHCMmURDT;

'^ Don't do wliaty rascal ? Zomidsl will tou dare oppom me ?^

'^Your honour filian't demean yomBeU* bj obeying Mnaler
Fairlie. Fm too trusty a servant to let my master be cajoled by
bis flummery. Let him and me settle it."

<^You must be drunk, fellow, to act in Ads way/' the old
baronet roared.

'^ Your pardon, Sir Hugh," Fairlie interposed — ^ the man is
sober enough, but is evidently bent on thwarting me^ and takes
this cunninff means of doin^ so. But it shall not sucoeed. I am
now satisfi^ that my suspicions are oonect. Allow me to deal
with him?"

" Hum I — I don't know exactly what to say to that."

^^ Will you listen to reascm, sirrah?" FairHe donanded, in a
stem tone, of Beccles. " I ask you for the last time."

^^My answet^s the same as befiire/' &e coachman rejoined.
^^ Now, Tom," be roared to Maddocks, ^ drive on."

The whip resounded, and in another instant the lumbering
vehicle was in motion. As Mr. Faidie saw it move off he utter^
an exclamation of rage, and felt inclined to knock down his
audacious opponent, but some fears of the consequences perhaps
restrained him. As to Sir Hugh, in spite of his anger he could
not help laughing at this unexpected termination of the dispute.
No one doubted Siat ihe carriage would be speedily stopped, and
most of the party followed it as it rolled out of the mn-yard.

Bjr this time, a large portion of the assemblage which we have
described as congregatea in front of the Angel had dispersed.
Still, there was a considerable crowd near ihe door of the hotd,
while numerous carriages were drawn up on the opposite side of
the square. Besides these, there were sedan-chairs m abundance,
and around ihe latt^ were collected groups of footmen, chaiimen,
and link-boys, smoking, drinking, and otherwise amunng them-
selves. As Sir Hughes enormous travelling-carriage came rum-
bling into the square it astonished aU beholders. No one could
conceive what had brought it out at that time of night The
shouts raised by Mr. J^drlie and the oihers of ^^Stop it! —
stop it I" were echoed by a hundred voices, and even if Maddocks
had int^ded going further, he could not have got beyond the
portal of the hotel.

Just as he pulled up, half a dozen lacqueys, in the gorgeous
Monthermer livery, rushed down ihe steps, and posted themsdves
on either side of the door of the vehicle. Mr. Briscoe followed
them almost immediately, and ordered Maddocks to descend from
the box. While Mr. Fairlie was struggling with the crowd, try-
ing to get 1^ to the cbrriage, and wondennff what was about to
happen, to his infinite astonishment he bdbdd Gage issue forth
from the hotel, wi^ a lady unider his arm, masked and enveloped

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THE SPENDTHRIFT. 235

in a black domino. Behind them came a smart little page, whose
white satin habiliments were partially concealed by a cloak. Un-
like the other two^ Monthermer wore no vizard^ and his features
were therefore fully distinguishable by the torchlight A large
roquelaure was thrown over his shoulders.

As Gage hastily descended the steps with his fair companion^
the coach door was opened by the lacquey nearest it, and in another
moment the lady and her page were inside, and the door closed
upon them. All this was the work of a few seconds, but brief as
was the space, it sufficed to show Fairlie that the coach was
tenanted by another lady — ^most likely, his daughter. He re-
doubled his efforts to press through the throng, but in vain. As
a last resource, he shouted to Oage, but the young gentleman
took no notice of him, bein^ otherwise occupied.

Mounting with unwontea activity to the seat lately vacated by
Maddocks, Oage snatched up the reins and applied the whip to
the horses with such good will, that they instantly started off at a
gallop. Free course was now made for the raiding vehicle by the
assemblage, who were greatly entertained, and amidst general
laughter and cheering, it speedily disappeared. Sir Hugh came
up just as the coach had star tea, and laughed as heartuy as the
rest of the bystanders, till Fairlie made him alter his tone.

" Are you aware that your daughter is gone, Sir Hugh? " Fairlie
said. ^^ ohe is inside the carriage — and so is mine."

" My daughter I What ! has he dared to carry her off? 'Sblood !
I must give chase instantly. A coach I — a coach I" But though
there were plenty of vehides at hand, not one stirred at the call

^It's my fault that this has happened, sir," Arthur cried,
coming up. ^^ But Til repair the error. As soon as my horse
is saddled PU follow them.^'

" You shan't go alone," Mr. Fairlie swd. "A horse instantly,
Briscoe.'*

« And another for me," Sir Hugh roared. « We'll all start in
pursuit. But zounds I I must put on my coat, and ^et myself a
Httle in order for the chase. If Gage should break his neck in
going down that infernal hill without a drag, it would serve him
light — ^but then what would become of poor Lucy,?"

VOL.ZXXIX*

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THE DOCJL WAJtSANTS.

A TAUt OF THX CDllt.

CHAPTBB TT-

It wm to LftUBBDiw, the nesrest point oa 1^ lake of Geae^ tbst Ike
fdgitiwies diieoled tfieir etepe, aad ^Mre fiandyude diflmined the poitilioii
with a *^pour boire^* m huge as actually to leave Yam latigfied-^* fait
which ao traveller had ever before perfonaed. But the capitd df the
Cantoa de Vaud oaly detained them long eaoogh to me Haadyado
tiaie to write and poet a letter to a very pacfcioukr firiend at Neafrhital
— you may be sum it was aot Hoasieor Pignoa — to eoatch a hasty owal,
and lay in eome cnnu*8 and a few bottles of La Cote for their voyi^
across the lake. They then got into one of the omnibuses that run be-
tween Lausanne and the port of Ouchy, and there a boatman was
leadOy found, on the usual exorbitant tenas, to convejr £hem to Svian in
Savoy.

It was a ndssnce, they both agreed, to be turned out of their new
quarters, where they were just begunun^ to make themsdves comfortable,
and where, moreover, they had intended to pass a veiy pleasant aummer,
aach as tourists with vastiiined ooasciences and foU puives usoallj^ do pats
amidst the Bu>antaias and vallm of Swkaerlaad. The short time wy
had remained at Nenfch&td had not been altocedier thrown away, far in
the courie of their sojourn — 00 quiddy do maids congenial underrtaad
each other — they had made some very profitaUe acquaintances, ia the
penoas of two ladies, naitives of the place, whom I may desigaate as
Madame Foumachon and her daughter Ida, the former, onfyoi ^a
certain age," ike latter, young ami handsome, and both suffictently
agreeable to o£fer them additional inducements for prolonging their stax*
'Hie confidence of Graysteel and Haadyside in these ladies was, indeei,
80 great, that already a laree part of their most valuable effects had been
privately removed to die house of Madame Foamachon, about a mfle
from the town, and diere, in all probability, they would have taken up
their residence altogether, but for the well-grounded alarm which once
more sent them on their travels.

However hard for them to resign their Swiss Capua, there was no help
for it : the mot dordre was too imperative, and a fresh flight their only
security. The main point with gentlemen whose code of morality was so
easy was the fiact of naving money enough to carry them anywhere, and
enable them, as they said, " to eojoy life wherever they went, regretting
only that their new friends were left behind. But this, perhaps, was only a
temporary regret, for the ladies had proved so accommodating, and had
shown themselves so warmly attached to the interests of the fraudulent
bankruptay that a ttunion of the whole party in some charming spot in

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THE DOCK WASRAJTTB. 237

wmnj iMaif might not hentt&Bt be impoagibia. Then wess, at all-aveotf,
iMDj reMonn fer Jceqping li^ the oouieKion, and this will aoooimt hit the
letter whkdi Haoiljctiae dUipatehed from Lamanpe, Mqnesting Madame
FowmaohoB to wnte to him at Genoa, whiter they now were booad,
jafonning him of evsiythiiig that had ecoooed after the hasty departure
o£ himeetf and partner ham J^eufbhUteL

Had Gcayeteel no thoiwfat for hit only ohild* had Handynde aeae £at
hoB fimaken wife and fiumjic, at they enoned the tranquil lake with the
bright ms of Heaven flhiung down upon them ? If eubh leeolleetions
obtnidea they Ibund at least no yeioey for their discourse was of them-
eelras akme. Having soon asoertained that the boatman spoke only his
own jfmtoisj they discassod their plans without rsetraint

*' And how are we to raack Italy?" asked GraysteeL

*^ We must oroas the mountains the best way we can," replied Handy-
side. ^ Theee ave bo many travelers at this season that we may easily
get akmg without much obsenration, provided we keep dear of the prin-
cipal towns.''

** What passports have you got ?"

^* Two sets. That little Idtk is a very clever giri. She altered a
Preach one for me, which her unde Bohme had brought £rom Paris last
month ; and the other, which I reserve for Italy, I raannfartured myself.
In the first, we are described as Hardy and Gray; in the others you
igan as my servant and I oall mysdf Hoddiqg, a government mee-
eenger.''

*' If the worst comes to the worst," said Graysteel, with a gloomy air,
taking out his Mvohrsr from under fab cloak, <^ I'll make some use of this
before I give ap the mnaey.''

^' You msy dcfwnd vpon it I won't be backward for that matter,^' re-
turned Han^side, exhibiting a kmg dirk, the Uade of which gleamed
brightiy in me moonlight. ^ I'm afraid, though, we shan't be able to
negotiate the bills, and those railway shaMS are in the boa at Madame
Fawnadion's."

Tm sorry we Isit anything behind," said GraysteeL

^ That ooalda't be bejped," replied his companion ; '* we had to cut it
BO uncommon qui<^ Besides, everything wiU be tak«i care of by Ida
and ber mother: there's no mistake about them 1 They are to write to
me at Geooa."

" What address did you give ?"

" Mr. Hoddiog, Poste Restanta."

" Well ; I wish we were there."

"You're out of spirits, Graysteel; try some La Cdte; it's deuced
good — only I wiA it was brandy."

The wine answered its purpose ; a couple of bottles were emptied,
smd, in saaoking, drinking and talkmg, the rest of die iraject was oon^-

''Cbst un tr61e de chens que ces Andais," said the boatman to him-
self, after pocketing his fare, and pushmg off again from ihe shore.
^ C^ n'aime pas oootaire tes foyacheurs qui font frisques afec poignards
et bistolets comm' 9a !"

The travellers, howwar, wave careful enough to make no display d£
' * 'wsi^aB at Bvioa. They arrived at a fortunate moment, just as

R 2

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238 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

the diligence from Martigny to Geneva was on the jpoint of settiog out ;
and there were places vacant It was a question of saving time on the
one hand, and running some risk on the other ; but, considering the
hour at which they should reach Geneva, and the uncertainty which
must exist at Neufchfttel about their route, they decided upon taldng the
diligence in preference to crossing the mountains to Bonneville, which
was their immediate destination, and for which town they straightway
booked their places. There they arrived without molestation about the
middle of the next day, glad enough to rest at the Couranne and refresh
themselves, which both of them did to such an extent that if dranken
men were not proverbially lucky their capture might have been easily
effected. But with sobriety, after a night's sound sleep, came renewed
vigilance and expedition, and again they set forward, taking the diligence
to Annecy. To pursue the high road without a break, Handyside felt
was imprudent, and at Annecy they turned off in the direction of F&ver-
geSy at which dirt}', scrubby, goitrous collection of hovels they bade
adieu to public tx)nveyances, and consigned their precious persons for the
next two days to char-a-bancs, mules, and the care of Savoyard guides.
Across the Col de Tamie, where Handyside, having put his travelling-
flask to his lips too often, was within an ace of breaking lus neck ; down
the steep path that leads to Conflans ; through the beautiful valley of
the Isere to Montien-Tarentaise ; onward by La Perri^re and BomI over
the Col de Yanoise, and thence descending to Termignon, the fugitives
performed as picturesque a journey as any summer tourist could poatibly
desire.

But little heed did Graysteel or Handyside give to rocks and chalets
and glaciers, save to rejoice when they were lefk behind. Yet it was
with fear and trembling that they again entered a public carriage at
Lanslebourg, to carry them over Mont Cenis, for at that point they woe
once more within tne mesh of the electric wires, more Bsital to evil-
doers than avalanche or crevasse. But these mute conveyancers of
justice throbbed with no present danger for the two outcasts, who arrived
at Susa without let or hindrance, and the Strada Ferraia carried them
safely, in the first instance, to Turin, and, after a couple of days, which
they coolly gave to the sights of the capital of Piedmont, to the proud
city of Genoa, where for a short time I leave them to return to their in*
dejatigable pursuers.

CHAFTER Z.
ANOTHBB BUN FOB IT.

When Messrs. Godsend, Stiff, and Soaper found that *' the men of
Belial'' (as the House now called its former discountees) had been *< too
many" for them, and all through their own neglect, they transmitted the
most formal instructions to Mr. Woodman, desiring him, after making
what arrangements he could with their correspondents, to follow the de-
linquents to the verge of civilisation, or further, if he thought fit.

Mr. Woodman was one of those energetic characters to whom such a
commission was ''nuts:" he was always most in his element when
^' afW anybody, and hated nothing so much as having no fox to run to
earth. To recover the scent was the difficulty just now, but armed with

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THE DOCK WABBANTS. 239

full power to act he did not despair of success. The way he went to
wolrk, and what he did, may, perhaps, be best exemplified by occa-
sional extracts from a Diary widen he kept of his long and adventurous
chase.

I open it at Neufch&tel, three days after the sudden flitting of Gray*
steel and Handyside.

"•/im«29, 1854. — Went with little Jack (by reason of the lang-
widge) to see the chief of the police, at what they call < the castle,'
that's to say, the head-station. Interdoooed myself (by means of Jack),
and put him up to who I was. Chief jabbered a good deal in his
tongue, a sig^t more than any dozen of our fellers would have done, and
said that G. and H. was not far off. Promised to tellygraft to all parts
of Swisserland. What did he do as soon as my back was turned ? Went
soDMwheres into the country to wisit his friends, and did nothin' at all ;
BO got no information in that quarter. Found out in the course of the
day by conwersin' with other parties that G. and H. had been on worry
friendly terms with this here police : always a dining of 'em at a cabbery
oatdde the town. Saw the inspector, and told htm what I'd heuxl.
' Ah,' sajf he, quite unconcerned, ' the highest has their prices.'

** dOtn, — Heard from Mr. Pig-non, a watchmaker, the only chap I've
met that 8e€|ms in earnest, that G. and H. was exceeding tnick with a
Madann Funnysong (or some such name), who lives in a shatto about a
mile off. Got an order, after some trouble, frt)m the Tri-bu-nal of Com-
merce to search Madam's house. Went with little Jack and three officers
to eflfect this. Madam shammed ill as soon as she saw us, and went off
in a frunt. Finding that was no go she come to, and at it she went like
a clapper in a cherry-tree ; never heard a woman talk so &st in all my
life 1 Searched about notwithstanding. Found two portmantoes full of
gents' Hnning and dothes, and a French dixonary and grammer with
Handyside's name in it. While the Swiss officers was taking a inven*
tory of the things, I made a move to go up-stairs, when out bounced a
tall, handsome gal from a side room, where she was setting, and caught
me by the coat-tails. ' Non monty dong my chamber,' says she ; as
much as to say I wasn't to go there ; and Jack he spoke to one of the
officers, and ne said the law was against me, and somethin' about the
sanity of feemale apartments and they being defended ; and all the while
Madam's daughter, that was what they said she was, kept hold of my
tails with a face like scarlet, and her tongue going nineteen to the dozen,
so I come down. It turned out. Jack told me, that Madam owned to
knowing G. and H., but said they was gone some days before back to
Germany, and had took all their valluables with 'em. It's true enough
they hadn't left any at the hotel, for the police had rummaged there
before we went to Madam's. ' And they haven't left no papers ?' says*
one of die Swiss officers. ' Oh, papers ! says Madam, ' that's another
thing; I'll give you them and welcome.' And then she opens a boofly
and takes out a parcel of English newspapers, and busts out a larfin' in
the officers' faces. But for all her impendence I could see by the twitch-
ing of her mouth that she wasn't quite easy when the papers was first
mentioned, and says I to the principal officer — (by means of Jack) —
' We must eo through with this here ; she's a hiding somethink ;' and I
was right In a cupboard as she kept standing in front of he fou^d

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24fy THR DOCK WAXRAirrS^

anoAer pturcel, not newspspers tlii» Ime, hat cpHe a fUlferent 801% z
< acti<yn V wkieh means ^ sfaarea^^- m » ProMban manmninffdefbr or niB-
RNid, irortli about & thomand pounder ^ How oorae tbese hero ?* says the
officer to Madam ; ' they ain't yours/ ' Yes,' says she, quite hfM^
'they are. The^ gents wae in want of ready mon^ to trarel witk ; I
lent them all I had and they gave me these actioiis ae a security.*
^ Wi&er r says I, when KttJe Jade translated tiiis ; ' ti^a abates ia me
property of ray employers.' So && officer be grabbed 'em and away we aO
went to ^•^^rejf'as thej call it, a sort of a publie office, where the cap*
tore wa»k>dged.

• <* fhtfy l«t — little Jmk come to my room before i was xsp to say be-
had just fallen m witii a postUion from a plaoe caled ' EVerdoae^ at tiie
odier end of this here hke^, wbo drove G. and H. in a carriage ta Lsw^
sann, but Sio^t know notbnsg fiirther. I wanted to be off at onee^ bai^
bad to watt to make over ^b» property seaaed^ and c«utdn*t get tbe^
businesa done beeanse it was our lawyer^s birthday. He garfo m diaoMor,
and inwiled me and Mttle Jack, which Fm bovmd to adtasit it was oboosb^
mon good, but ebedne tantiismg on accotmt of time lost.

** 2nd. — lam papers not sigMd till afternoon ; then started wNii Jsidr
by steamer lor fiTeidone. Slept there.

^Zrd, — BaAneA making to Lawsann. 'AUe to travel on k nasi*
sBmnMr,*^ says waiter at hotel, thinking, perhaps, we waagebgto watt tUi
then. Dillygence fbli Started^ for Lawsann by extra-post, which meaa^
a craay cab^ with a r^ of a horse that no Ijondon pebeoman worid ibait
up IB the gieen»yard. €toi to Lawsann notwithstaadiBg.''

At LaosMme Mr. Woodman was foitaoate enei^k to- ffnd a iwy in*
tdfigent and acnre pouce magistrate^ wbo lent bhn every assistUMS^ and
by ms moans be at last dtseovered tile boatman ^o bad: takan Graystad
and HawdysiA) across the lake to EWan, and wbo described, with no
small amount of exaggeratien, the formidable appearance wbicb tim kmi
tires made with their ^rksaad revolvers^ The route whidi they bad sw»
seqiWBtly taken was ascertain ed by sending an agent of tk» pobee ta £via%
and then M\ Woodman and las tros^ follower departed by die steaai*
boat for Geneva, and made- the best oip theii way to BonnetiUe. Bbna:
diey eneeuntered the landlord ef the CdwroMMS, whose heart Mr. Woo^
man opened hr a bottle of the best wine in his own cdar, and this indr*
yidUal r^ated how two ^yeyagevrs Anglaisy** falling Amsehres Haidy
and Gnjy bad passed a day ai^ n^t there ^ bow be had beeo gtmilj
scandalised by neir drinkiBg so mi^ wine (not icaadalised, howmiB^ a*
his bamg made ^m pay doable for it) ; bow Monsiear Hardy bad m
paMpeit signed in fhris, and the other Monsiear also^ dated from the
samepbiss^ thoiwh heceold not swear to it, as be had net seen it ; bear
ifasy ati^ pwpsoewiod to Aanecy^ exactly eight days before ; and bo*^
fioaSy, he did not think it irii aU Mkaly that Mr. WoednHm weald ew^
catch theok

The Detecinre^ howerer, was of a diffiuent opinioi^ for he now aniTed
at Ike- coadosion that Italy, aad Tsry Ittbtly me reaMtest part of it, mm
theobiect of ^ the parties," bat before be agan set off in pwsoit^ be se^
served to put the wires in motion. To do mts it was aecsawaji to ratom
to €pene¥% and tdegrapUngH&om thence to fvm and Genoa, he leant
ffOBt the firmer plaoe that two pessons anoweriag* to the dascri|MMs oi

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frt«Ja«iH>Ddyaa#Wd«m»*Aef»iaA» M of Mr, had « de«
IttdPalA^HotdSbckr, Mid kft aguo on tbe 4«li» their deftinitioQ
BlmowB. Boi it was nmtlhmg^ to kwir that ther had pMMd
L Torin, aod, teUng^ two [>lae«» in th« dUigtaee ftr that ei^, the
i> and Jbcqaea pihui thair jommej. I dp noi find aajtldDg ia
WooAbhw^ fiiamU Ab tHw lofi— atlrnKloAao aa entvy to tha
; Aat ha ahtaioad <^bo iaforaiatioii'' at Tmia, and that Ae bmad in
~ »ki tha ahapa o£ ^waUdny-stidD^*' aUiidiB|^, I rappata^
te tiie ^patta gminav'' which aeitainfy hem that raaanbhuMa^ Ha ap»
|iM0% haiiaier» ta have had gaad leaean for aappaainff that ChnyeM
* BKoijmiB had poJiid an isr Genaa, whera tha #odbIa adwnitaga
lad o£amia»h7 aaa aodf land.
At Gem%lfr.WoadflaHila«nd that ha had Mda alight aaat. StiU
kaefn^- aavan or eighl daya io aduaaae, ha kaiat tha^ the petsoiia he
mm m qaast of had pot up at the- Hotel Feder (a braaeh oS Aa Tana
aatiilJiiliBiiatX iateaaiagy aa i* aeaaied, to staj VMPa eaaaa thae^ their
fiaafc mqakf. betag^ fer a teacher dF ItaKaa to learn Ae huiguag»; Aaj,
boapwver^ oply took one h won» and for eetaa aaknoem eaaea sacBealy h»ft
OBL tfaa aeooad albraooB> statbc* that th^ wera gain^ dbaat to Mika.
'^ ' hafcthia waa a rqaa waa evideBl, a,>baeAtii» cf tha natal ha^iiy aaea
two dafa afterwaide^ aa they^ eateaed Ae Cioaa di Malta in aaother
laitha^cUjiynaiforfiKMn Aepart Hara i> aaother eaUaai horn the

' Ja^ 14l4.--^Theie^ ktaliane eal Aair eooMMiiioaer oC poHea 'the

' Saw Una and the head ol the paeepat-aaea— aaother

'the Qaestarj.' Sopposmr G. aad H. to he etiM here,

ktha lagiatoTa d all Ae hotrfs aad todgiag^hoaiea a»amkiad> He

mmL Jmek waat about diegaised. I apoitad baniaelee» and wave a fobe
Uack haaid mA aiooetarshef o ahoidAn't have hnowa aaye^ iroai a
Fwrhaena Tefi jgfaftad to aU parte. Seaiehad the lagieteta oT aH
tha itonaa liewhi aad dilljrgaiiaee. No- good came of it. Found ant a
reading laiiBi at laet where G. and H. need to go to; pre-pnatoi'^ a^ne
Ganunonioy or eaBaethaagt like it. Coulda't wet aotiung out of hnn^
waa plain he was wkthaeacietL Had Mr. Gammoaio ap hefore
eaty Bij taoahle for my paini. No newa of anj sort

fca Aaao dassi

^ 19e&.— Want with Jbck to the pos^-office^ He told »e of «i a».
nsMiiii aaod dodge^ In Ais heee Ittal^ thsfo ain't aae of the ckarks
•BD aeadlhigMih aaases^ and ther giipe ^ a handle of lattsM to aide
aadahooaafoaak Qmw one wiiA Ae Londoa postmark, aJdreeeed to

Qmf. Mid for aad took it. Writer^ a lawyer in the &tj;
folvy kaawhim wA He sajs: ^Get ooaasers opiMen; ae nse at*
twailina to cama laek ; a h>ng voyage Ae onlr nfo Ahig; go to
Naalea hyatt aieaas, or aa mach forther m joa l&e; aerer send yaar
adima fcrwarf at any pkw^ but give iastiiajtiona for att letters to he

mtto ^'aMaaiagaderkiahia own otteew Whea I'd read this

Inter 1 had it sealed up and pat in the peat agem, kaving Jadk to waldi

^dMk*.€»ot aequaiated at Ae tmki^ dbto wiA a iPesy pleasant gcat,
a Aerralaar whe spoke qake good EngiA. Told him att ahoatthe
^ aad how I was afoer 'em. He preaented bm^ aa ho eattad it, to

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242 THE DOCK WASRAISrrS.

the top-sawyer of the messages — ^the coach-office that is— who and tfaftt
G. and H. had been there ever so many times asking for a package from
Koochatde — but he hadn't seen 'em now for five or six days. Tiro
letters had since come for Mr. Hardy. I persuaded him to let me have
'em. One was from the young lady that got hold of my coat-tails at
Madam's, telHng him of the search we made there, and describing little
Jack as a Jew, which he's not unlike one. Unde Tomm and Uncle John
was the names she gave to G. and H., and said how the trunks had been
sealed up and the shammingdefer shares taken, and a good deal more that
ins very sweet, and showed pretty clearly how matters stood in that
quarter. This letter was ugned * Cristine Idalette ' — a dodge for her
own name. The other letter was from Madam, and said what a lot of
crying they had had since their friends had been forced to cut."

By dint of further inquiry a more direct due to the movements of
<'the Firm" was obtained. From the Croce di Malta they had le-
moved to the Hotel dltalie^ where they had entered themselves on the
books as '' Jones, of Canada," and '^ Brown, of Scotland ;" and, as the
landlord remarked, the Signori Jones and Brown drank ^ molto, molto,
eocessivamente I" From him also Mr. Woodman gathered that five
days previously they had left the hotel, carrying their own luggage,
reniang to have a porter, and saying that they were going to Tunii.
Another search was then made of afi the diUgences and steam-boats
leaving on the day adverted to above, but no likely names appeased.
The only English inscribed were " Henry "William Hodding and servant,"
on the boat for Leghorn. As a last resort, the boatmen at the port wece
tried, and one was discovered who had conveyed two strangers on board.
The same steamer happened, luckily, to be in port on her return voyage,
and the steward having his price, like the " great men " at Neufisb&tel
and elsewhere, Mr. Woodman was informed that the two firiends had
embarked as a gentleman and his valet, but that when the boat was at sea
the latter had given him a five-franc piece to be allowed the same aooom-
modation as his master. "Per Baccol" exclaimed the maritime fbnc-
tionary, " erano galantuomini ! Bev^rono sempre il rhum !"

The track of '< The Firm" bemg so far revealed, their only chance of
escape consisted now in the celerity of their movements and the profit
they made of the time gained. Any further change of passports in Italy
was impossible, as each step on the route was sure to be manced. Away
then Mr. Woodman and Jacques steamed for Leghorn. Graysted and
Handyside, as '' Mr. Hodding and servant," had slept there two nights,
employed the interim in a trip by the rail to Florence, and returning to
Inborn had taken the boat to Civita Yecchia, whither the Detective and
his henchman followed. Combining as much pleasure as the exigencies
of their flight allowed, " The Firm" had visited Rome ; so bx they were
traced, but in the Eternal City they had not taken up their rest, ndther
had they resumed their progress by sea. By the employment of a hand-
some fee, it was ascertidned from the police that a travellings-carriage, in
which were an '* Eccellenza Inglese e su servo," had passed out at the
Porta di San Giovanni, on the hip^h road to Naples, and from the descrip-
tion given, the Detective entertamed no doubt that these were Graysteel
and Handyside. As ^' little Jack" was terribly afraid of brigands, and
Mr. Woodman himself had no particular desire to M into the hands of

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THE DOCK WARRANTS. 243

Aoee gentry, the pursnit was renewed in the steamer, and four-and-
twentr hoars after leavine Civita Vecchia the indefatigahle pair were
landed on the Chiaja at Naples. But here I must let Mr. Woodman
apeak for himself in a letter which he addressed to Messrs. Godsend,
StifT, and Soaper.

^ Hotel de Russia, Naples.

'' Honoured Sirs, — Me and my companion got here on the 28th.
Hired a Sesillian Comissioner and went right off to the Brittish £m-bass-y .
Saw one of the Attashies, who stood me out that 6. and H. couldn*t be
here because they hadn't waited on the Brittish Plenipo, Sir Willum
Ne?erstir; and what was more, he refused to send a messenger with me
to the passpot-oflBce to inquire after the parties. When we left the
Attashy my Sesillian told me that He knowd they'd been here four days.
And so they had, and where was they staying do you think ? Why at
the Ho-tel de Bome, right oppersite to this very house ! I went at once
and took and hired two lazseroneys to watch 'em, and then set off again
to the Em-bass-y. I arst to see Sir Willum Neverstir, and a porter six
foot his^h, drest like a Lord Mare's footman, swore he wasn't at home. I
slipt what they call a Scoodo, wuth about four bob, into his hand, and
th«i Sir WDlum was at home di-rectly. Well, I saw his Hiness and
arst him to arest the two coves, which he sidd there was many difficulties.
I told him I knew that, and hadn't come all this way for iniormation on
that pint, but what I wanted was for him to help me to set over the
difficulties; whereupon his Hiness turned short round and said he couldn't
do it. It was amost dark when I come out of the £m-bass-y, and my
Serillian he says that he knowd where G. and H. used to take a walk
every evening on a piece of wast grownd near the bay, and he took me
and my companion there, and we see 'em both a walkin' up and down
smokin' quite comfortable. I told the Sesillian to stand still with little
Jack — that's my companion — while I took a close look at 'em, but the
Sedllian he said I should be murdered if I went any nigher, as they always
carried dmks and pisdes ; howsever I did get a good squint, and re*
cognised the parties. Watched 'em to the ho-tel, put the two lazzeroneys
on gard all nite, and bribed the wMter and boots to give me any m-
formation if they tried to escape.

" I hadn't been romins^ abroad so long without finding out that nothin's
to be done without a bnbe, so I made up a good 'un next day for the
head of the passpot-shop. I give him a matter of fifty pee-asters, pretty
much the same as a ten-pun' note, and he set to work at once like a
reglar brick. The fust thmg as he did was to send for G. and H., and
anted 'em why they hadn't taken up their cart de soger, a sort of a
ticket-of-leave, and then he wanted to see their passpots, which he said
they was to take 'em to the Em-bass-y to get veesied. Then I went with
my Sesillian to the chief of police to have G. and H. arested, but he was
afeard to hact without the authority of Sir Willum Neverstir, and he
couldn't be got to do nothin'. Adwised them to go before our consol and
take an affidavy that ' W. H. Hodding and servant' was G. and H.,
leastways H. and G., and that their passpots was false. Did so, and
served the affidavy at the Em-bass-y. Passpots stopped. Hodding
applied for 'em; was refused ; went and complained at passpot-office ;

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944 IBB MWX WAKKAIflS.

iwM atrst wbak Wd Wen » dmng^ of as was wrong ; he saicl ^ Nofcfamy^
j«rt as if he-waa sfeM- a Loxidb& Beak, and saM his name waa HcmIAd^.
Iha €hief h» saU, m his lio^ ^that waral eorrect^ for his real naie
«aa HandyflUa/ and mr SMdlian, who was by al lio* tkne,^8aid h&
thought H. would have ntinted ; and when he come to big self 1» efiiwad
any mouey for another passpot, which they refused it him.

** StiH Aere they was at large, nobody aresting of 'em, nothin' doing,
oaly th» two laneroneys feKowin^ of 'em tkov^ and <me daj Gipayeteel
he tams rouad and showing of his rewoher swore he'd hkm, on* thm
hiaaaaif Aey didkrt walk Aeir ehafta They eoaw t^ ne ami aompUne^
and I thought I had 'em thk time hr ^ against Ae- law m Naples fto
cnry fire-arau^ and subjects them as does it to mr^risoniBeut, bufr wneti
the pc^ico waa told, they said ^bey couldB^ talse the word of hmeraseys^
so Mat eock wootdtet me.

^^I was amast mad witii iFeiiaAioii by lihs tnie-, and in^ag that Sir
¥^^us Nerentir eeatf nued to object to hare 6. and H. look up, I rata
hoaaa to^ the Fsrrih Office and begged f6r orders to that efieet. Whiie
this was a donig o^ infbrmation was give me that G. and H. was tryng
to get away is a Yankee ship, and tiien I went to Sir WHhnn, and Sir
'W&aBs^ saya 1^ now or never, and he seed I was in earnest^ and spoke
te the avKthorilies, and Aey put; G. and H. under sore-villains, tiiat^ to
say, sat two* p<^emen over 'em to keep 'em in vew day and nite, j«si
Ike my kmseroneys^ only ^ey was wuss looking. It was a queer game
altegetlker. There was G. and H. walking about seeing all the sites, and
me and liMle Juk doong ii» same thing and meetiBgof 'em eferywhere,
and he redd)r to bust with rage whenever he set eyes on G., which he
owes him an ofi grudge. Youl) hardly beleeve it, but a hole mrotil
went by in this hero ftmun. At last I gottired out, and I told Str Wti-
lum 1 must so back to En^and and get mj lord's orders at home fbr
doing of the job^ rite out of hand. Sir Willum didn*% much ^:e this, and
said n better watt a bit^ and i told him Fd give him diree days longer.
Wether he'd eet 1^ order in his pocket at that very time^ or wetiier it
was true ae I heerd that it had been sent rocmd to M^ter by way of
nfeortnes^ I don't pretend to say^; as all 1 know is that next m^ the
Attadky come to me and said ^ Wiyam ment to do Ins dooty like
a man, which he did it this afternoon, and G. and H. was quodded at last,
and tomorrow m» and my companion takes 'em in the steamer to be

CVAPTBR XI.
AX BAT.

trtad at Maltar.*

Tarmn bom. Kaphs ta Makn, bnnaath a ■iimaair siy and ovar anaaa
saa^kadeligktful auMsion in itMli hot under Ae pMHar eircwt-
staaaas of the veynge ncitk^ Asohihidd Gsn^sierf nor WiUia» &«df*
side particuhd^ enjoyed it Having neaarnma a> wmmf dittcuttiaeastt

skid udmt gaamsd s» oscaae a hnnan, it wan inaiawMihty vsanrtana ta

find that Shr Wdliam Naveasiir, wittsa pro«erb«d iaMeaea hftl btani the
sheai-andkor of thair hope and ane af tba prme^al indnoBmanta t» tdba
upillHirabodfriK Kacdaa^ skould haan bean rawed atlai4. Theji adb»
>toitkNfffigitewklfeaageodngEafieaidie3raoni4 naiiljn

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THE IM)CJL WikBB4KT&U 24^

tluifc ilMy wght be united << mWUt ;'' aa^
too expmenoed an (rfBctr^ aM had m«vW too nwtth ift k%b
emndling^— to ib kis spiriftiBg oiharwise than ganlaely. If
' Bttla Ja^ had had the orckriDg of ^e nwtta^ tka aaao wouU have
baeiL AfiareBty he being aE for violent (WrwmnfaratioiM, hie "great
revenge'^ hanring stomadi for iaflictiag tmy amoont of mdignify, to com-
pooeate him In: ^ aenee of n^ary whieh he still felt ao keenly. Aa ik
waa, he wae obliged to conlaat himself w^ shakioff' his fist at the
pnscman whonerer their backs were tuned— and ioddgiag^ soHo «as«^
m all the maledictions of his polygbi vocabulary.

The^'iaiimssMmsdeYoyage'^ of Mi. WoodmMi wane not mndfc moc»
to tha poipoae than other <«DMries" in ICediteaEaMaft wateie whisk
haevalat^isnsdfieDm tihe paia^ but aa he had g«4 lalo the hMk o£
jottaag dowB. thaaj^ii aa they oasufted» I ma^r aa isell gu*a a bdef sotinat.
finm faiafeg:

«^.^ia9«a^25.— 0« hoard the CiyMto4 ateamar. Not a bad lame for
it^ M the state cnbip was onkw % trifle daaner; but somehow swabs and
dnatpHadon'tssMmaUfttedo thdr dBtyintfamaparta. Qneersoitef
aplaeaAis.Bay eCKaples^ evasythiag aa VBCommoai bine; lookwhaob
w^ you wiH^ vp or dsiwa^ ifs ak the same. G. aai H. is blae eaaagh
HhawiMu ; not qaita at home yet. Keeps my eye on 'eas^ and ao daea
fittk Jao&. No Isaiv however, of tkmr jamywig orarboard. Captsi of
^km wsnml and officcm French^ evew s awatiare FsenA> Maitees».aBid
Eagiisk— that's to aay^ eagiaeer aad stakeni them's a eoaple of muaks,.
tea, hath. Sarilliana, dreat in bedgowna nmda of old blaakets^ with bald
heads, bare feet, and ropes round their wabtes ; raytiMr adwiaable to keep
to wiBdaad of ^esa hem i

One of *em spoka to ma jast now.
^TSoBkcapisoB^' says I, whick that's good IttAuk tornot undentandiBg :
them's the best two woids for any fofnner to lassn, kt hka go whom ha
wiil ; saves him a deal of tmoUa. Had somooonwersatioa nath an Eng*
Ssh geai^ s pansangcw fea Mahcr liko omaelves. He'd been tbia wair
afarey and teld me the names of aH di» pkoea we eome in sight JL
limt theeewmth* moantaneoaa htde island of Capesy^ so eaUed becaase
QBoa iafaabited by goatSi— now fiuaoas fi>r qaaila and cadK^shoetia' ; it
most take ti^ wind oat irf a feUar ta get up to 'en. Thsn dbere waa
Mo— I Wesomooa oa the ether aday ahmys a smokint' ; aobo^ aas put
hi$ pipe out. No end to wolcannoes in this here sea: first qsm^ item
aaottier breaks o«t; if it ain't Wesavioaa iti^s Stronghowlia^ and if
Strangbewfag ain't at it^ wlqF thaa itfs Hetosr, dm biggeat aaaoBg 'em*
BatMr, they say^ ii whsae Aal>— ▼— 1 liasa whaaha wisite dieea pavto;
kastways it waa up and down that BMnntiBg he waa seen a iaggin' of
Old Booty, dmstiJl in UadL Kha wm totiy Uahattdapmi G.Mid £L
IshouUn^tmindhaidiagof 'em fiv a Mttia of the haiercisa ; 'Iwoidda't
do 'eaa say harm. Th^w begaa to piek ap a hit; they're a tidki^'
together, and fi. ma lasfin', aad thme aatehtftle Jaaka watshift' of 'em
iwth^eahkefire-spala; he ie oneamspqa fiiaaas for his higth. Meakm
pleasant times ew beaad of ship. The aaaril of the cookia\ the sea haii^
aad nothing ^ do*— euapt miadin' of my piisaars amkfa eatin' and
di^Di^ weny arneUa 6. aad H. thidls so teo,. pei^ekeily GL Ha
takes amsdy to bfaadMMd^watev;. sayther daqpased la maha up to mt
after dinner, which I declines the honner.

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246 THE DOCK WABBANTS.

^* August 26. — On deck at six ; pritDen quite safe Mow ; little Jade
just turned in, by reason of standing sentry at their cabbing door all
nite. Passes through the Strates of Myseener; English gent informs
me that we're goin' between the rock of Silly and the weripool oF
Cribdice ; don't see much in 'em to talk about Comes full in sight of
Mount Hetner. Sees nothin' of Old Harry nor Old Booty neither. G.
and H. seems quite cumfertaUe. Wond^ what dodge they're up to
now ! Arsts the English gent about Malter. Werry glarey sort of a
place, he says; sun always a shinin' on it — like Brighton— only ten
times hotter ; enuff to scotch your eyes out of your head. I arsts him
how about the police, which he tells me they're all Maltee, but there's in-
terpreters. Not sorry to hear that, 'for Maltee wasn't taught at mj
school. Non capisco, as we say at Naples. Day got through pretty
moch like the first. TM little Jack he'd no need to watch asain at nite.

** August 27. — Everybody turned out early, Malter beinfl^ m sight. A
hill right in front, somebody said was Mount Bemamin : if there's Jews
in Malter suppose they lives there. Speaks to G. and H. for the first
time. Says it's my dooty to conway them to the lock*up, but wishes not
to hurt their feelins, and hopes they bears no mallioe. 6. makes no
amser, but H. speaks out, and says, ^ Not at all, Mr. Woodman ; mwh,
oUeeged ; wherever you likes to take us to we're affreeble.' ^ Well,' says
I, * Mr. H., it's a good deal better than if you kicked up a bobbeiT :
them as does that is always sure to come to g^ef.' Ana then H. ne
smiles in a rum sort of manner, and so, for a wunder, does 6., and so do
I ; we all of us smiles, except little Jack ; he still looks widced, bat we
all lands quite pleasant"

The preliminaries of a criminal process present no greater difficulty in
Malta than in any other civilised place. To give a prisoner in custody
is ^' as easy as lying," and the accommodating landlord of ** Donsford's
Hotel," to whicn £e fogitives were in the firat instance conducted, pat
Mr. Woodman at once in the way of accomplishing his purpose. As
the streets of Valetta are very steep and the scirocco wind was blowing,
Mr. Woodman might very well say that the walk to the police-court was
** warmish," and perhaps no redder-fiEU)ed individual than he ever i^peaied
before the seat of justice. The presiding maratrate, though a native,
understood English very well, and listened to ue Detective's statement
with great attention.

The prisoners, he said, as soon as he had well mopped his face, were
two Englishmen, merchants of London, formerly in a very large way of
business, whom he charged with fraudulent evasion af^r a Jiai of bank-
ruptcy had gone forth against them, and also with having secreted for
their own purposes large sums of money which rightfully belonged to
their creditors. He recounted the stops he had taken to secure their
persons ; how he had tracked them all the way from Antwerp to Naf^ea ;
what obstacles he had encountered ; how he had finally e£&cted a cap-
ture ; and how he now appeared before *^ his worship" to demand that
Messrs. Graysteel and Handyside be forthwith committed.

All this was very plain-SMling, and nothing i^peared wanting to com*
plete the case but the magistrate's assent to Mr. Woodman's proposition,
but of course^ before he gave it, he asked the prisoners if they had any-
thing to say in their defence?

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THE DOCK WABBANTS. 247

<* Anything?'' replied Handyside, who, in the position whidi he had
last occupied, undertook to speak for hoth. ^* Anything?" he repeated,
and then, with the same sort of smile which Mr. Woodman had noticed
sliorUy before, added : '* Everything."

*^]^xplain yourself, sir, at greafto length," sud the magistrate,
gravely.

^ In the first place," observed Handyside, ** I object altogether to the
circumstances of the arrest''

^No doubt on it," muttered Mr. Woodman; ^'prisners always
does."

<< For what reason ?" asked the magistrate.

'< Because neither I, nor my servant" — pointing to Graysteel— •'' are
the individuals of whom he is in search."

Mr. Woodman whistled, very gently, twittering to himself like some
extremely small bird.

** Can you give me any proof of that ?"

'' It will be quite sufficient, I presume, if I produce my passport?"

The magbtrate paused for a moment. He then said :

" If properly signed and visS it will be important evidence in your
favour. Be so good as to let me see it."

Handyside put his hand in his breast-pocket and drew forth a red-
morocco case, profusely gilt and made up in the form of a pocket-book,
with the cyphers ^* H. W. H." and a coat-of-arms stamped on it in gold,
and the wora '' Passe-port" across the tongue-strap. He handed it with
a bow to the magistrate, who opened it and began to read.

" This passport," he said, aRer a close examination, " has been de-
fivered from the Foreign Office to a gentleman named Hodding and
his servant, whose name is not stated, and bears the signature of Lord
Clarendon, with which I am myself sufficiently familiar. But it purports
to have been issued fifteen months back" — ^Mr. Woodman opened his
eyes — "and bears on it several viscuy none of which, except two or three
of the latest, correspond in any degree with places where you*^ — ad-
dressing Mr. Woodman — '' allege these persons to have recently been.
It begins, I perceive, at Ostend, in May last year" — Mr. Woodman imi-
tated the small bird rather more audibly uian before — *^ in June, the
bearers seem to have left Brussels "

*' Last June I" said Mr. Woodman, steadily.

*'No,— the year before," observed the magistrate. " Then I find it
visS at Yerviers^-at Spa — where two months appear to have been
passed ; next comes Berlin, quite late in the year, Dresden in February,
Vienna in April, Venice in June, and Grenoa in July — the only point at
which your statement and these particulars assimilate."

Mr. Woodman's face was by this time the colour of beetroot A
Frenchman seeing him at that moment would have cut him up few a
salad.

he can swear he seed 'em at Antwerp and Axleychapel only two months
ago. We both on us seed 'em at Nooshattle, when they give us the slip.
I've heerd of 'em in dozens of places only just a week a head| and lastly

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d48 TBS DOCK WABftAJRTS.

we oonei right dowa vfoa 'eminNiipfeSy and bnags 'em temiSteiA-stilL
fie never ihongbt €i4eajing of it menr /^

<< Permit bm^** Mid Handyade, calmly, '< to Temind you dnt I«Bterad
a protest agunst fidse imprisonment. I did not oljeot to make ike ^mijmgB

to Jidta, beoanse at was my intention to proceed to Egyft ;
another reason for acquiescing; namely, that I felt sure of leoeMng
jnstice at tbe enHghtened tribnal before wfanh I hAvethe honour— faow-
erer unpleasantly — ^to stand. I have no deshae to be hand on this fWiMiu,

wAo doubtlen believei he is doing hk duty, but I o«pe it to mywd^
well as to my ^edthful servant, to observe that it is altogether a case— «Bd

a very extraordinary one-— of inirtahen

«" Werry indeed T ejamikted Jfr . Woodmanl

^'Whatr interposed the Belgian oonanisaoner, who had -finrAe Inst
ten minotes been bmrstii^ with supprcescd mge — ^ ufait ! wfll that wAeltn
there deny that he knocked me into the mud on the Quay Vandjkn at
Antwerp, because I wanted to onry his gfeat-oaat to tin hotel St. An-
toine ! Myn God, what for a liar ae must in! Ah, do jon Aink, sir, I
could forget so hently « nwn ?"

The magistfate wai evidently perphaaed. There wai the etendfast
assertion of Mr. Woodman, and the ^ry aoougatkm af his companion, on
^ one hand, and on the oiher, the reeolute denial of the Engieh gentle-
man, snpforted by the evidenoe of his paeipati, whidi had e^ery acj^ear-
anoe of being q[uite eatfeet. He had aoticed, however, timt tna aeooad
prisoner, who was caUad the othar's serrant, had bitten liis lip «nd siani*
fested considerable confosioB when the Be%ian aoddenly ipohe — ne if
aome forgotten eecnuenee had suddenly ^ashw across his mind— nnd the
thoi^^ht moneover eacnned that the paaspairt, genaine enough in itself
might have been stolen, fiat these anspicians, the magistrate Mt, were
not ttroag enongh -to waiTanl him in pronouncing egainat the aoonaed.
StiH, he was calbd npon i^ decide. Mr. Woodman pnned lor a fermal
oommittal, the order vom the Foreign OBfee being only one of detention^
until an examination of a atrictiy legal character eonid he gone into. In
his difficulty, he took a middle eovrse.

Addressing the pseude Mr. Hodding, he said :

^' You deny, then, altogether, sir, Utat your naaie is Handyside, and
that you are quite unacquainted with Ihe transactions in which, it is stated,
yourself and your attendant are implicated ^

'' If I had the oppoitnnity," replied Handyside, withidie greatest ease,
'^ I ooukl fomish you widi a thousand ea^sfsctory preoiii Aat I am
Henry William Hodding, cf Hodding HaU, in the county of Norfolk ;
and that my servant here— Aaron Gratwieke, whom I admit to he my
own foster-brother— 4b the son of one of my late reared ^ther^s ohfeet
tenants."

" What opportunity do you desire ?"

** The presence of friends who have known me from infency."

*^ Do you happen to have any aoquaintanoee in Malta ?"

** I beliere — in OmA, I am pretty sure — I iiave not."

** Where then are they to he -found ?"

^^ At home and in London there are hundreds who "

But before Handyside oould finish the aeatenee, Gfayated, who gucMod
the magistreto'sdzififc, pot his hand before his pwtner's month. ^lask

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TSE BOCK WAMMAMW. MB

your pardon, dr/' he said, haMy^ *^ hni my master is subject to fits : he
cant bear any excitement — and I see an attack coming on. I'll answer
anything else you may please to want to Icnow.''

*'Yery gM^'^md^ magktn^ ^but I think I shall not ha^ occa-
MAta^VDiMeyoo. I see my w«^ pretty dearly BCfw. Ifr. Hodding,*'
^3 ^ ^^ ^ Haadynde, w^o^ tatdngOn^ste^ hint, had

flliigg«redto«aest and^dlen hea;v^i»leit aa if about to swoon— ^Hr,
Hi^ding** — the Magistvate iaisod tm Tmo»— ^as yon latfive ao wmay
£nendi in London, and at I am p<rfao% mmm iimt the honour of an
'Etk^Uk gontfemaa is dearar ^lum Aaii «Djr sKiier earUyconsidenEtioa^
imy mjiy course w to direc* Aat you nmna&l% proceed ta Enghaidby
^Aeifirst ataaflMT, «nd at once ascii^te ymrsdr froM the giwra -chaii^as
which have here been brought against you."

Ifr, Saddng ivmed at tiwse words as if by «leotrioily.

^W)»rt,ar!" he ezekined, «Ms aiy w<ord tihen to be wvMed inAe
balance against that of a common police agent — ^if rally he does bekag
tetiiepolioeF This is a eoMpiroey, and an <nitritt;e tm the liberty of the
OTdjeet ! T iMi appeal io the govaraor ef the isiaad.*'

**ifl bekn^ to die policed wd Mr. Woodaaa; ««ome, that^ n
^good Han. Tou knows what I b^agi to fint enoogh. Net eo ^oamwm
»eidM9r! Them as is €uniiiar wMi John Woodman conaiden him

^ IN^tii Tespect to the appeal of whieh yon epeaJk/ aaid Ae magistele,
calmly, '' vou are perfectly at liberty to make it if you thabik prG^per. I
apprehend, however, that the govamor -will oonte to lihe same conclusion
as aiyaelf, and his adviee will be — obaev^e, there is no ooeioion mtended
■ Aat you fnmi return to England."

fiandyside «ad Giayvteel were bodi «lent fer a Ii9w vioinents ; dny
loolEed round them lavagely, as if dray coald giadly Ware amnhilated ife

magistrate, the Detective, little Jack, and every one present; thgr^

fully at bay ; driven to their last shift ; noting, indeed, remaioed but
to pot die best face on the matter ; and at last Handyside spoke.

♦* Well, sir," he said, **if you trfte aprni youraelf, in violation of siQ
light, to impede my joom^ eastward, the oonsequenoeB will rest on your
h«td, for you may depend upon it, as svre as you are sittbig there, that
foruiHEaid-4wenty hours will not have passed after I arrive in London wf&-
•oat n^ bringing the subject before w British House of Commons.'*

'^As you please," said the magistrate, quicftly.

^Bef<Mre the 'Ouse o' Commons!" moulated Mr. Woodman. <<Id
less time than ihat you'll be before the Beak."

^ I hope, sir," resumed Handyside, ^that I dntU experienoe no fiudier
molestation while I remain in Malta."

^ Certooly not," replied the magistral ; ** but your stay in the island
will be brie^— for I perceive that the Indue steamer leaf«sfor Soifth-
amplon this evening."

Back again to Dansford's Hotel the whole paity accovdingiy woat, and
I Shodkl say iint Mr. Woodman and Htde Jack ate a ftr better dinner
that day Aan Archibald Grayateel and Wittiaoa Handyside.

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250 THE DOCK WARRANTS.

CHAFTEB XU.
IV AT THB DEATH.

The Indu9 left Malta with her freight, homeward-hound. What a
home for the fraudulent bankrupts ! Waa it possible even yet, they asked
each other, to avoid their fate ? Only one opportunity of evasion pre-
sented itself: the steamer would touch at Gibraltar, and then — ^if they
oould reach terra firma — all Spain lay open before them.

It was worth while, at all events, to make the attempt ; and when the
Indui had blown off her steam and lowered her boats, Graysteel and
Handyside stepped into the first that pushed off for shore. In the second
boat, however, were Mr. Woodman and little Jack, and both parties
landed at the same time.

The Detective, who had entirely recovered his temper, which had been
slightly ruffled in the police-court at Valetta, saluted the Fugitives with
the utmost politeness.

^^ Morning, gents," he said : *^ euros to have a look at ' the Rock' and
give your baggage a hairing ? Well, me and my companion is euros
too I I'm told the munkeys is wonderfrd. Extremely like conwicts. I
suppose, gents, as you're acquainted with the fact that nobody as onoe
enters this here bristly-fied fortification ever leaves it without a pass from
the governor ? Well, Fm a g^ing to call upon his lordship, andpeihi^
it may be a convenience if I arsts for passes for you two ! What's to be
the names this time ?"

<< Infernal luck !" exclaimed Graysteel, ^' foiled again !"

As he spoke, he drew a revolver from beneath his cloak and levelled it
at Mr. Woodman's head. But little Jack, whose eyes had never quitted
Graysteel rinoe he left the steamer, sprang forward at the same moment
like a wild cat, and dashed the pistol out of his hand : it fell harmlessly
into the water.

« Much obleeged to you. Jack,** said the Detective ; then, turning to
Grraysteel : '< I suppose, Mr. G., that this here's about your last do^^ !
It am't a handsum way of doing business, yours «nt ; and if we was any*
wheres else, perhaps the darbies might have come into play. But Fm
above rewenge ! And now, gents/ he added, in a sharper tone, ** the
long and the short of it is thb : you're known here ; the capten of the
Indus signalled you, and got an answer before you left the wessel ; if you
walk in that direction," pointing to the town, <* you'll find yourselves in
ten minutes in the common ffaol — for the governor of this town don't
stand no nonsense. So my adwice is, that you just hand your traps into
the boat again and go back to the steamer along of me and little Jack —
your werry perticler friend, Mr. G."

Stdlenly the Fugitives turned away and seated themselves in the boat ;
discontentedly the porters threw in the baggage they had seized ; and
most methodically, as if all cott/?« de theatre were alike to him, Mr. Wood-
man followed wi& the inseparable Jacques.

But desperate as the case now appeared, all hope had not abandoned
Handyside: there was still the last resource of the law. With money in
his possession, with unscrupulous solicitors and clever counsel, oonse-
qnently, at his command, much might still be done on the day of trial {
and tms view of their situation he at last succeeded in impresans^ on
Graystedi who, naturally of a gloomy habit> had meditated a briefer

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THE DOCK WABRANTS. 251

tolutioQ of the difficulty — a plunge overboard and an end of all ! With
th^ minds thus finally made up to abide the issue, no further effort was
made by either to escape from it.

Though baffled in his immediate purpose at Malta, Mr. Woodman's
professional fore^ght never abandonea him. On the same day that he
left Valetta, a French steamer took her departure for Marseilles, and by
her the Detective wrote to his employers, informmg them of all that had
occurred, and advising them to be on the look-out for the arrival of the
Indu9 at Southampton. The advice was too good to be neglected.
Armed with a warrant of indefeasible authority, two fellow-labourers in
the vineyard which Mr. Woodman tilled so successfully boarded the
vessel before she had well taken up her berth in the harbour, and took
Messrs. Gray steel and Handyside mto custody.

The shifting game of flight and pursuit was at an end. More specious
wiles — the advocacy of acknowledged wrong, the quirks and subtleties of
tortuous ingenuity — ^were the means now to be employed, and none of
diem were spared. The indictments agiunst the prisoners were nume-
rous: misdemeanour, embeizlement, mid, felony, were severally ar-
rayed hj those engaged in the prosecution, but, owin^ to a flaw here,
a technicality there, defective evidence in thb case, and a point reserved
in that for the Judicial wisdom of the whole Bench, it was a moot ques-
tion for several months whether any conviction would ensue. It was a
dirty buaness altogether, and the respectable house of Godsend, Stifi^ and
Soaper, who, as they stated in court, had remained *^ passive" after
being aware that die Dock Warrants in circulation were forged, did not
come out of it altogetiier with flying colours ; the drab in their escutcheo n
was a litde soiled.

In die city of London, in the absence of *' briskness** in the money
market, bets are laid upon everythmg that wears, in die slightest decree,
a commercial complexion. Our old acquaintances. Ruddle, of Turmbull-
alley, and Honeyball, of Cateating-street, were always foremost in this
sort of transaction. Ruddle ofiereoi Honeyball a thousand guineas down
to receive back ten per diem until Gray steel and Handyside were con-
victed. A hundred days went by, and Ruddle pocketed his principal; a
hundred more, and Honeyball had been mulcted in die original sum.
What was almost worse to Honeyball than the loss of the money, was
die insufferable chuckle of Ruddle as he held out his palm for die daily
payment surrounded by a circle of grinnine stockbrokers, who had all
heard of the bargiun. At last, Honeyball began to fear diat he never
should see the end of hb unlucky speculation ; but one day the tide
turned, and the long-withheld^blow fell : it was bruited on 'Change, and
soon known to be true, that Graysteel and Handyside were '* in fmr it
mtkst''

The judgment recorded against diem was :

*<PXH1L aXBYITUDS VOB VOUB TEABS."

• •••••

^* They've been let off easy," said Mr. Woodman to litde Jack, as he
banded him a twenty-pound note to take back to Antwerp ; '* I've known
the day when Mr. daleraft would have had something to do with this
bereasair: hot times is wtrry oonsideraUy changed—and I don't inuoh
fhmk for the bettef;"

VOImZZZIX. 8

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352

BELL'S CHAUCBB.*

Let OS bope the reader will 08 readily agree with ui^ that to aum up
in a compreheDslTe Sloae all the merits of Geoffrey Chaucer would take
up pages on pages, as he will excuse our not attempting any^ing of the
kmd, And vet Aere are those,-*Englisbmen, too, and of taste, ai^ of mi-
doubted gemus, and themselves poets, acknowledged to be such by acclama-
tion all the world over, who have limited the merits of Chaucer to a nngle
one. This one merit is, the equivocal one of being a very old fellow. He was
an antique. Therein, they say, lies, and thereto is confined, the sum and
substance of his renown. As he did not himself fix his time of birth, or
decide on hi9 incarnation taking place no later on any account than the
fburteeutb century, even Ais merit is very open to quesaon, and in £act will
not stand two minutes' investigation. Besides that, allowing it to 5e a
merit, it is one in which Dan Chaucer is beaten hollow hj o&er less
known but fi&r older f<^ows, who had the start of him by lustres, and
decades, and centuries, — which nobody can deny.

Lord Byron, fqr instance, says of bim : ** Obauoer, notwi^iatandlng
the praises bestowed on him> I think obscene and contemptible : he owes
his celebrity merely to his antiquity, which he does not deserve so well
as Pierce Howman, or Thomas of Ereildoune.''f After tiiis, one reads
with relative comfort what else is read with absolute conlnsion, his lord-
ship's opinion of Shakspeare : " What," he asked Thomas Moore — " what

do you think of Shakspeare, Moore P / think him a d d hambiig.''f

The said Thomas Moore, whatever he may have thought of Shakspeare,
seems to have approximated scandalously close to his noble friend in the
matter of Chaucer. ^ Chaucer, for instance," he writes, in his Diaiy
(1819\ ** in what terms some speak of him ! while I confess I find him
unreauable. Lord Lansdowne said he was so glad to hear me say so, as
he had always in silence felt the same.''§

The " Canterbury Tales" are, says Berington^H •* in every one's hands ;
but I would willingly learn by how many they have been read, and par-
ticularly by how many with the feeling of delight" The Reverend
Joseph is certain, not only that Chaucer has been immoderately extolled
by writers of old time, who '* were satbfied to pronounce an undiscrimi-
nating panegyric," but that, at the present time, if we would speak the
truth, he is read (with the exception of some passages) not as a poe^ who
delights by the richness of his imagery, or the harmony of his numbers,
but simply as a writer who has portrayed with truth the manners, customs,
and habits of the age.^ Berington does, however, idlow Chancer to

* Poetical Works of Geof&ey Chaucer. Edited by Robert Bell. Elsbl Vo*
lumes. John W. Parker and Son« 1855-6. (AnnotaJlod Edition of the EncUsh
Poets.)

L Moore's Life of .Byron.
Lord John Bosselrs Memoirs of Thomas Moore, voL iii. Mr. Bogers cor-
rates the report of Byron's heresy hereanent.
J Ibid. vol. U.
Berinston's Literary History of the Middle Affes, book vi
** Sadh, I reooUecl was my own judgment at leak, when, some years ago, I
pre^raiMi^on to peraae Mm.^'^ML "^F^ievaltod upoa,* i|iia&af Cte*
•tnteei I7 ooivaid pnifiii% by IfliietMilt Mttda ar wbal noli to te

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JOJAIb GHAUOIS. 253

take tbe fimt nmk among #ar early Eoglkh poets. Thb is aoiaediiog.
Chaooer'a admiren umat take wbtt they oan get in big &Toar, from
Cbaneer'a deteaetcn, wibo faaTe ears bat hear not aught inspiied or heaTeo-
bom IB the Btmins ao

longMo

Simg bj tbe Momiug Star of soi^ who made
ms musio heard below :

Daa Ghaneer^ the first warbler, whose sweet breath
Prc^lnded those melodioiis barsts, that fill *

The spacious times of sreat Eliaabeth
With sounds that echo still.*

Gladly we suppose with Charles Knight that Shdcspeare was the papil
of Chanoer, and that the "fine bri^t fofio of 1542/' as he ealls it,
whose bold black letter seems ihe proper drees for the rich antique
ihoa^xtj was his closest companion. Infallibly, with him^ we believe,
tfiat the Warwickshire boy would delight in Chaucer's romance, and
woidd kam what stores lay hidden of old traditions and fables — legends
tiiat had tntveHed ^m one nation to another, gadiering new circum-
stances as ihey became clothed with a new language, the property of
erery people, related in the peasant's cabin, stuped in the scholar's cell,
— «nd that Chaucer would teach him to select these as the best materials
for a poet to work upon, their universality proving them akin to man's
inmost nature and reelings. ^* The time would arrive when, in his soK-
tary walks, unbidden tears would come into his eyes as he recollected
some passage of matchless pathos ; or irresistible laughter arise at those
touches of genial humour which glance like sunbeams over tiie P^^**^
And as with Shakspeare, so with many and many another poet, Eliza-
bethan, prse-Elizabethan, and post-Elizabethan, — own children of the
Sire of EngCsh verse.

Wb daim to that title— ^ the Father of English Poetry"— has been
reoognised far and wide. Mr. Bell, his latest, and not least aocomphshed
and genial editor, asserts his risht to it, not only because he was our
eaifiest true poet, but because the foundations he laid stiU support the
fiabrie of our poetical literature, and will outlast the vicissitudes of taste
and language. And as witnesses to this rieht are summoned such au-
thorities as Lydgate, who calls him tbe ^* chief poete of Bretayne ;" and
the '* lode-sterre" of our language, and says that he was the first to distil
and rain the gold dewdrops of speech and eloqoeDee into our tongue, —
and Occleve, who styles him "the fynder of our fayre langage," — and
Roger Ascbam, who dubs him the ** English Homer," and attributes to
** his sayinges" as much " authority as eyther Sophocles or Euripides in
Greke,'*-*-a(nd Spenser, who speaks of him as the *^ pure well-head of
poetry," '' the well of English undefiled," and who is bimsa&f ranked by

fill toil of^perasiBg^ that noDTAiLUMFonl The BevefeadJessph it evidently
ashaaMdofhiflu^&rbavinf readQtfiiicer: bat lie indivectlj pteis, m mitiga-
tkm,.thathewaiaB*good ai killiad iato it. and, seeondly, that it was ''years
aga" imflyiDg that he had never r^eated theoffenea, and eoiUL therefore be
s^lBd an eld cflBodcr m an faklalgsnt soise oaly.

^ Toiarafti •* A Diasai of Fair Wonea."

t Knight's ** William Shakspere: a Biography," book i. chap. iz.

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254 bell's chauceb.

Denham* next in chronological order to this Sire of national song, in
the succesrion of poets great and glorious. But has there come at last a
new generation which knows not Chaucer, and votes himobsdiete ? We
trow not. But at any rate the edition now before us, and the measure
of its acceptance by the public, will go far to settle that point. For here
we have him, not mf modernised gear^ but in his habit as he lived. Mr.
Bell has well and wisely done in allowing him the use of his own tongue,
while furnishing the reader with every means of making him thoroughly
intelligible. It is, courteous reader, we must discourteously say, emi-
nentiy and exclusively thine own fault, if, with this edition before thee,
thou failest to scan with ease the meanings as well as metres, of Dan
Chaucer. ^ Mr. Bell declares his paramount aim throughouLto have been
to render this edition popular in a legitimate sense ; while he has not
overlooked any of the projects, or experiments, which have been sug-
gested from time to time to facilitate the convenience of the general
reader. He reviews the attempts to popularise Chaucer, by modernising
his ortiiography, made by Dryden and Pope, whose versions, however,
are, in fact, *' very elaborate paraphrases, in which the idiomatic fbrms
and colours of tiie old writer vanish in tiie process of adaptation ;'' and
which ^ bear no closer resemblance, in spirit or expression, to Chancer,
than Pope's translation bears to Homer." The experiment made in our
own time by R. H. Home, Wordsworth, Leigh Hunt, and otiiers, —
amongst them, Mr. Bell himself, — was a failure, its purpose considered.
Mr. Bell's present report on the subject is, that the result was satisfaotory,
as finally determining all doubts thereupon ; for while some of these
versions are distinguished by as much fidelity as it ib, perhaps, possible
to attun in the trtuisfusion of an ancient author into modem language^
and are otherwise admirable specimens of skilful treatment, they are^
nevertheless, as unlike Chaucer as they are unlike each other. *^ In pro-
portion as they preserve strictiy his exact phraseology, they become formal
and cumbrous; for that which is perfectly easy and natural in its antique
garb and associations, acquires an obsolete and heavy air when it is trans-
planted amongst more familiar forms. When they deviate, on the other
hand, which the necessities of stmcture and metret frequently render

* Old Chaucer, like the morning star,

To us discovers day from fkr.
His light those mists and doods dissolved
Which our dark mttion long involved ;
But he descending to the shades,
Darkness again the age invades;
Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose,
Whose purple blush the day foreshows, &c

Dbhham's Elegy on CowUj^.

f For, as Wilson remarked, ten syllables must be kept, and rhyme must be
kept; and in the experiment it results, generallv, that whilst the rehabitlng of
Chauoor is undsrtaken under a necessity which lies wholly in the obscurity or his
dialect— 4he proposed ground or motive of modernisation— £Kr the greater part of
the actual changes are made ibr the sake of that which beforehand yon might not
think oC namely, the verse. This it is that puts the translOors to the strangest
shifts and fttches, and besets the versioD, in spite of their best skill, with anti-
Chaoeerisms as thick as blackberries.— Nobth's Speeimein of Ifts BrtCuA Cniie$.
PartVL

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BBLL*S GHAUCEB* 255

muKToidaUey it is always at a loas of some subtle trait of expression, or
some eomf^exional peculiarity essen^l to the truthful presentation of
Ab originaL Between the new and the old styles which, notwithstanding
the utmost care, thus become insensibly mingled, the sjHrit of Chaucer
escapes, and nothing remains, so to speak, but the letter of his work."*
Mr. Bell also refers to another danger inseparable from all such ezpe-
linnents, — proved to be inseparable by the best of these versions,—-
namely, the colouring inoparted to each version by the special manner of
each modern versifier. Wordsworth's Chaucer Wordsworthises. Leigh
Himt's Chaucer is Lagh Huntish. Mrs. Browning's Chaucer indul^
ID Elizabeth Banettisms. A reader acquainted with the Lyrical Balliras,
with the Story of Rimini, and with the Vision of Poets, bias little diffi-
culty, when conning these several versions of the old bard, to discriminate
between this and that '* eminent hand,'' and distribute unhesitatingly suum

Mr. Bell's hope and essay, then, it is, in the present most welcome and
meritorious edition, to maLe Chaucer's language and metre easy to the
million without tampering with its forms. He has Coleridge's opinbn
in his &vour that this is practicable. *' I cannot in the least allow," said
Coleridge, <* any necessity for Chaucer's poetry, especially the ' Canter-
bury Tales,' bemg considered obsolete. Let a plain rule be given for
sounding the finu e of syllables, and for expressmg the terminations of
sudi words as ocean^ nation^ &c., as dissyllables ; or let the syllables to
be sounded in such cases be marked by a competent metrist f '^^
ample expedient, he was convinced, would, with a very few trifling ex-
ceptions, where the errors are inveterate, enable any reader to feel the
pcafect smoothness and harmony of Chaucer's verse. As for the latter
suggestion, the accentuating system, it is justly objected that, in order to
cany out a thoroughly effective system of the kind, it would he necessary
to employ two or three distinctive signs to intimate the varieties of
accent) and that the unavoidable frequency of their recurrence, and the
obligation thus created of scanning the lines, would so sensibly interrt^)^
the pleasure of the reader, that, it may be taken for granted, a book
scarred over by such scholastic marks would never find its way into gene-
ral circulation.^ The present editor's conclusion on the whole matter
was, that the best plan would be the supplying the reader with a few
pliun rules for pronunciation, which should embrace the principal struc-
tural peculiarities, leaving him to apply them for himself. His metrical
analysis of the opening lines of the Canterbury Tales, will of itself suffice
to enable his readers to understand most of the peculiarities of inflexion
and aoc^ituation. Here is the manner of it :

• Bell's Chaucer, I. 65.

f Coleridge's TaUe-Talk.

J, For the purpose of testing the experiment praoticallx, Mr. Bell actoallx ac-
cented ^e whole of the Canterbury Tales in the first instance fm this edition,
nor relinquished the design of printing them in that manner till the labour had
been comj^eted. But relinquish it he did, because of the necessity these accents
imposed, in a vast number of instances, of deciding doubtftil questions afi'ecting
the resolntkm of quantities, and the difi^srenoes of opinion they would inevitaUy
generate on points for which no arbitraiy biws can possil^y be laid down.— See
Bbll'b CkamceTf I. 69.

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3S6 bill's chaucek.

Here, as Mr. Bell pom ts out, the final e in ApnUe, twete, halfr^ yonge.^
smalej is pronounced; while in Marchcy veyne, nature^ it is quiescent,
because in these cases it is followed by a word beginning with a vowei, or
with the letter A, according to the rule in French poetry. ^ The final
es is pronounced in croppes, fowles, as in German. The French words
licour, nature^ corages, are accented on the last syllable of the root, as
in French. The reader will also remark the old forms of hem and here,
for them and their; and slepen, maken, the Anglo-Saxon inflexion of
the infinitive and plural verb ; i-^ronne is also the pret. part of renneHf
to run, as in German, gelobt, from hhen.** With ordinary attention to
this analysis at the beginning, and to the ample glossary at the end, of
Mr. BelTs edition, no one' with a care to be thought compos mentis
will henceforth complain of Chaucer's metre or matter as past finding
out

After all, there exists a great delusion, as Mr. de Quincey years ago
observed,* as to the character of Chaucer's diction : some ninety or oae
hundred words that are now obsolete, certainly not many more, he main-
tains, vein the whole surface of Chaucer ; and thus a prima fauie im-
pression is conveyed that Chaucer is difficult to understand; whereas a
very slight practice familiarises his language. And one half the diffi-
culties, it has been urged by another critic, f are local, for thepeople
north of the Humber and south of the Tay, would understand Chauoer
without much labour, speaking as they do a language still rich in Saxon
words, and using to this day many of his expressions, for the meaning of
which Surrey and Middlesex turn to a glossary.

Having mastered, with such slight expenditure of time and trouble,
these preliminary " difficulties,^ — having cracked the " rough shell that
encloses the sweet kernel," — what a reward awaits the novice in the
freshness, freedom, narrative liveliness, dramatic energy, picturesque
description, practical philosophy, tender pathos, and racy humour of the
Sire of English Verse I

Breezes are blowing in old Chaucer's vene,

savs Akizander Smith — and every wader who has a wdmd (we My it
advisedly, though perhaps arabigtKMnly) may verify tfua for hiwaaif.
'' And look at dear old Chaucer," exclaims a thoughtful essayvt of our
day, '^ how the fresh air of the Kentish hills, over which he rode four
hundred yean ago, breathes in his verses stilL They haire a psrfaae

» " Homer and the HomcriclBe.'* Part IIL
t See Athoioswhy^fi, 693 (1841).

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bell's CHAT7CEK. 257

Iflce £m M hay, tlMtt will not lose itt iweetneM, hftvkw been emt tad
carried lo finth."* W« are reimnded of Camden's ridkiue of the ^ soMt^
iermg poetoatera»" wbom, trjiDg to keep up with him, Chaucer left by
nany leagoet behmd him,

Jam mooie potitns
Bidet auhelaiitem dura ad fastigia turbam—

which being Eng^hed by old Camden himself, rignifleth that

When onoe himself the steep-top hill had won.
At all the sort of them he laugh d anon.
To see how they, the pitch thereof to gain.
Puffing and blowing do climbe up in vain.

80 sotmd wai Master Geoffrey of wind and limb, so blithe his song, and
io springy his step on hill-sioes and hill-tops, whither ankelan$ im^
a paotang throng, toiled affcer him in rain.

'< Ceet Feffist de toat sWle vieilli de paraitre naif et enfant," says a
comneotator on the good Bishop Amyot. But Chancer is na^ $t et^
fami afW a& exceptional kind, and in an exceptk>nal degree. In Mrs.
Browning's procession of bards he is characterised as

Chaucer, with his infantine
Familiar ohsp of things dirine—
(That mark upon his Ops is wine).t

He had a nsEtore ^' embrowdid" like the complexion of his own ^< yong
Squyer^"

as it were a mede

Al ful of fresshe floures, white and reede.
Syngynge he was, or flowtynge, al the day :
Me was as &essh as is the moneth of May.]:

**l take onoeasbg delight in Chaucer," said Colmdgs, when aoed,
laogutshing, and dying oat: ^*his manly cheerfolness is espedally deli-
oioas to me in my old age. How exquisitely tender he is, and yet how
perfectly free from the feast touch of sickly melancholy or morbid droop^
^g I"§ 'I'h^ lonely inratid, confined to one narrow chamber, finds it
p^pM by Chancer with the moring, speaking, acting forms of muiv-
eoloorad fife. Forms how distinct, definite, indWidualised ! Well might
Dryden declare he could see the pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales, their
humoars, their features, and their very dress, as distinctly as if he had
supped with them at the Tabard, in Southwark. And well has glorious
Jonn notedn how clearly all the pilgrims are severally disdngalshed
from each oiner—- not oaly^ in their incUnalions, but in Uieir Y«fy nhy-
Aognomiee and persons,^ insomuch that ** Baptista Porta could not hate

♦ ^ Euphranor." t "Vision of Poets.**

X Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. \ Coleridge's TaUe Talk.

B Dnrden's Preflice to the tables.

% Chaucer, says Mr. Leigh Hunt, is " as studious of physiognomy as Lavater,
and far truer. Observe, too, the poetry that accompanies it— the imaginatlYe
sympathy in the matter of fact. His yeoman, who is a forester, has a head like a
nut. His miller is as brisk and healthy as the ahr of the hill on which he Iltes,
and as hardy and cross-grained as his conscience. We know, as weU as if we
had ridden with them, Us oilr-lacsd monk ; his lisping firiar (who was to make
confession easy to the ladies); his carbunded summoner or church-baHiilS the

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956 bell's chaugeb.

deicribed their natures better, than by the marks wbicb the poet giYM
them" — each pilgrim's tale» and manner of telhnff it, being so aptlyi
suited to their several educations, humours, and callings, that it woukl
be improper in any other mouth — the grave and serious charactecs beio^
distinguished* eadb by his own specific gravity, and the ribaldry of the
low characters di£Ferine according to their natures, — ^the Reeve being aa
sharply discriminated nom the Miller, and the Miller from the Cook, aa
either of them from the mincing Lady Prioress, and the broad-speaking
gap-toothed Wife of Bath. No age, it has been siud, has been so
variously or so minutely depicted in any author, either in prose or in
rhyme, as that of Edward the Third, and hb successor, in the works of
Cnaucer. For, if in the orations of Thucydides, or of Demosthenes, we
have the Knights of Athens, — if, in the comedies of Aristophanes, we
have their opponents, the Churls ; if, in the Latinised versions of Me-
nander, and others, Terence and Plautus show up the follies and vices o£
ihe middle classes ; if, in the characters of Theophrastos, mixed up with
much general satire, we have many traits of manners peculiarly Ath^
nian ; and if, in Ben Jonson, we see every possible varie^ of the black-
ffuard of his day ; in Chaucer, we have all these, and more^ fix>m the
hand of the same master. <* As portraying the habits, and as partici-
pating in the sentiments of the middle classes of his day, Chaucer affords
a manced contrast to his contemporary, Froissart. Froissart, throughout
his whole life, wrote only for princes. In his poems and romances, he
treats of the favourite courtly topic, the all-engrossing subject, of lovet
In his Chronicles, as in the Iliad, we have but a variety of the Knight ;
and that, rather the hero of poetical chivalry, than iae true historical
Knieht of Chaucer."f Chaucer's Knight is ** true historical," cap-a-pie,
inside and out. But the same verisimilitude belongs to the lowest of his
associates in that Canterbury pilgrimage : it marks as well the Cook, so
knowioe in the matter of London ale, as the Prioress, Madame Englen*
tyne, who could intone the service so divinely (albeit with a naaal{
accent); the Shipman from Dartmouth, of the bark JUagdakn^ em^
browned by summer suns off Carthage and Cape Finisterre, as well as
the young Squire, that accomplished horseman, dancer, verse-maker,
draughtsman, carver, and lusty bachelor ; the Ploughman in his smock-
frock upon his mare, as well as the Merchant clad in motley and mounted

grossest form of eccleoastScal sensuality; and his irritable money-getting Beve^
or steward, with his cropped head and calfless legs, who shaves bis beard as
closely as he reckons with his master's tenants."— Leigh Huht's Wii and
Humour.

* Flrom Chaucer, says Mr. Charles Knight, the ** matured judgment" of Shak^
sfNeare would learn the " possibility of delineatmg individual character with the
minutest accuracv, without separating the individual from the permanent and
the universal.**— baoHT's ShakMpere: a Biography.

t ** In Chaucer we find depicted the rural dwelling of the Beve, and the lonely
cottage of the * poure widowe,* who is described as a * maner dej,' the lowest claas
of labourers : * ml sooty was hire hall, and eke hire bower.* But Froissart never
condescends to smok^ rafters ; he dwells always in the tapestried halls of princes,
and delights to descnbe their unlimited power and their costly magnificence.**—
HiPFiSLBT*s Chapter$ <m Early EnMh Literature,

% 8peght reads vcice for note (** Entnned in hire nose fhl semyly;*^— but the
bitter is surely not un-Chaucer-like, nor out of keeping with the general de-
scription (veined with gentle irony) of the Lady Prioress.

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bell's chauceb. 259

HA on hone ; ihe stout Miller, brawny and big-boned, broad-shouldered,
red-bearded, with that bristly wart on his nose, and that mouth as wide
as a great furnace, as well as the Oxford Clerk, lean of person and
threadbare of garb, slow of speech till called upon, and rapid of speech
then ; the Summoner, with ms fire-red phiz, and narrow eyes, and olack
brows, and his passion for leeks and garlic and strong drink, as well as
the poor parish priest, rich in good works and holy thoughts, true sue*
oessor to the apostles in life and doctrine ; the studious money-making
Doctor of Physic, and the jovial, ambler-mounted, sharp-spurred, gaily-
shawled, smart-shoed, scarlet-hosed Wife of Bath.

Next to the ** Canterbury Tales,** ** Troylus and Ciyseyde** appears
to have been for three or four centuries the most popular of Chau-
cer's works. It is indeed demonstrably a free rersion of Boccaccio's
'^ Filostrato," from which, however, it differs sufficiently to be ac-
counted **in a great measure an original work ;** the conclusion which
forces itself upon the mind on comparing the two poems being, Mr. Bell
says, that while Boccaccio excels in elegance of diction and ornament,
Chancer is immeasurably superior in depth of feeling and delineation of
the passions ; while his characters are painted with more vigour and in-
£viaaality, and he everywhere displays a closer knowledge of life.*
These excellences are fewer and farther between in the allegorical poems
'' The Boke of the Duchesse," ** Chaucere's Dreme,** and <' The House
of Fame," though the last is considered to outdo all the poef s other
writings as a display of extensive knowledge and diverrified imagery : his
present editor refers to the Arabic system of numeration, then lately
mtrodnced into Europe, and the theory of sound, as examples of the
topics so largely introduced, — and alli^des also to the intimate acquaint-
ance with classical authors, exhibited in Chaucer's felicitous judraents on
th^ w<»ks. '' For instance^ what can be more happy than tne distinc-
tion he indicates between Homer and Virgil, by placmg each on a pillar
of iron, characteristic of their warlike themes, but at the same time cover-
ing Virgil's iron with tin."t

The seventh volume of this edition contiuns *^ The Romaunt of the
Rose," Chaucer's translation, and a pretty close one, as far as it goes, of
the funotts poem begun by the skilful, inventive, and pictorial William
de Lorris, aqd completea by the less imaginative, more satirical and
pugnacious John de Meun, that democrat and communist of the
thirteenth century. The present text b printed, not ^m Speght, as all
previous editions have been, but from a ** probably unique MS. in the
ubrary of the Hunterian Museum at Glasgow, the existence of which was
not loiown until recently. Speght's "corrupt and half-modernised"
text has necessarily been had recourse to, when, as is now and then the
case, a leaf is missing in the MS. Mr. Bell's industry and diligence in
editing the poet deserve public recognition. In his notes, scattered
through eight volumes, we might occasionally find something to suggest
'* Notes and Queries " of our own ; but taking the edition as a whole, it
enhances our interest in, and speeds our best wbhes for, the admirable
series in which it occupies so conspicuous a place.

^ Bell's Chaucer, voL y. t Ibid. voL vi.

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260

.NOEXED CENTEAL AMEBICA.*

CsNTRAL America, a distiDguislied statesman has lately remarked,
IS a term of modem inventioa, and can only i^pix>pTiately apply to those
states at «one time united under the name of the Central American
Repuhlic, and now existing as five separate republics. Others hare
opined that the term must be taken rather in a geographical than a
political sense; but such a view of the subject would be very objection-
able, for then Central Ameriea would comprise several proionces of
Mexico, as also Panama and Darien, beloneing to the RepubUc of New
Granada. Guatemala, or the Federal Repuolic of Central America, as it
was called in its constitutional acts, was formerly a division of the vice-
royalty of Mexico. It raised the standard of independence on the 24th of
June, 1823; and the union formed under that title embraced the five
now independent states of Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua,
and San Salvador.

It is difficult, however, to state the precise relations which the Central
American States bear to each other at the present time, on account of
the frequent revolutions which occur. Yucatan formed part of the
Mexican States till 1841, when it revolted, and constituted a new re-
public. The tract of territory known as British Honduras was ceded to
its present possessors long before the declaration of Independence of any
of die states, and the claim of Great Britain to such territory is therefore
of greater antiquity and repute than even that of any of the governments
of Central America. Spanish Honduras, southward of Belize^ first de-
tached itself from the other republics, against some of which it has lately
waged war. The Mosquito and Poyuse territories were never conquered
by Spain. The former is now governed by native kings, under the pro-
tection of Great Britain. Lastly, within Central America itself the
native Indians have been enabled, within the last few years, to raise the
standard of revolt, and to claim independence in that beautiful country,
dotted with the mysterious remains of a by-eone civilisation which gave
them birth, and over which they once enjoyed undisputed sway.

The Toltec, or Tulteca Indians, the most powerfid and civilised of all
the nations of Central America, came originidly from the neighbourhood
of Tula, in the kingdom of Mexico. This emigration took place by
direction of an oracle, in consequence of the great increase of tne popu-
lation, in the reign of Nimaquiche, the fifth king of the Tultecas. In
performing this journey, they expended many years, suffered extraor^-
nary hardships, and wandered over an immense tract of country, until

* lloUs on Central Amsrica; partkmlaijhr the 8tatea of Hcnduni* and Ban
Salvador: tbdr Geography, Topography, (jUmate, Popoktion, Besoorceay Pto*
ductioDs, &C., &a ; and the proposed Honduras Inter-Oceanic Bailway. By £. Ck
Squier, formerly Charge d^Aflfaires of the United States to the Kepubiioa of
Central America. Harper and Brothers, New Tort.

Iwsiaaats of Travel in Centnd America, Chiapas^ Md Tvoalan. By tbe Iaft%
John Lloyd Stephens. Revised ftom the latest Ameriean Edition with AddilioM^
By Frederick Catherwood. Arthur Hall, Virtue, and Co.

The Clajton and Bolwer Convention of the 19th April, 1S6<V between the
British and American Governments concerning Central America. Triibner
and Co.

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CESTTRAL AXEBSCJL 261

Aey dneavered « laxf^ kke (the bko of Atitea), w1mi« t&eynsolTed to
fix tbcir babitatiom) and whnk thej cadM Quicbe, in commanofAlmi of
their king, Nimaquiche (Quiche the Great), who died during their p6f»«
grinatioiu The tnne of this eaigmtion it ii o£ coarse iaapoaiibfe to
aMertaia with preeuion. Nima^idie waa succeeded "by hie son AczopiV
£rmii wbom Kicab Tannh, the coulempofiy of MonleBiima IL, was the
fovleeBth in suoeessuxi who reigaed in Utatfam, the capkal of Qnicbe*
The prin^>al part o€ Guatemala was conquered in 1524 by Pedro de
Alwmtmio. It is snd that no Spanish colony was establidied with hsa
effoBioii of Uood than that of Goatemala, and die praise of this is doe to
the celebrated Dominicai^ Las CasaSy who aceompanied tbe cooqueion in
their expedition against this oonntry. Most of the Indian tnbes weire
nkiaiat^ persuaded to embrace t^e profession of Cbristiaaity; but the
MoeqnitoB and Foyers, or Poyaise, adhered to the religion of their fore*
fiahers. In the 16th md 17th centuries, Crnatemaia was grfady harassed
by English and Dutch privateers, and by the inroads of the Mosqintos
and Poyane. These fieree aborighials maintaiaed an unr^enting stmgffle
with their Spanish neighbours, while they ft^y peraaitted the Eaghsh
to form aettlenaents «pon their coast. The present condition of the Moe*
qoito territory has been described ^sewhere; it was wi& the object of
eoBtnoliiBg the inroads of the natives, thai^ after the fiEkU of Itorbide and
the dedwiAion of Guatenndan independence, the English assumed the
protectorate of the Mosqnilo terntory. The celebrated Poyaise scheme
e£ the peeodo-eaeiqae MacGregoc^ and its mdancholy lesolts^ are yet
fresh in die memory of many*

The new pditksl aspect of the eonntry, and ita radtifiunooi aad
rahnible prodbetions^ fint invited the attention of trvreUees and of die
commercial world. To such we are indebted ior die ev«r-importCBt
trvrels of HnmboMt and Bonpknd m these conntiies. The dnoovery
made in the iieighbonriiood of Palenqne, of the mhis of a town nearly
eighteen milea in circumfewuoe, wim innumerable monuments of •
by-gone civilisation, served very much to exalt the interest felt in these
ltttie«4iiown regions. ProbaUy the best, certainly the most acoessible and
' " illustrated, woik on die andquities of Central America, is tint of
^ gens and Cadierwood. In eonteoplating these memorials of Toltec
Aztee civilisation, although we find abandant indications of einstiiiy
or pro-eiisting reladons with die known nadons of antiquity, more ospo'
ciaJly the Egyptian, stfll do we also find traces of a social and poiitioal
raten, and of tefigious and phika^phical dieories, and of an art per-
feetW original, and enveloped m the same mysterions obsoortty as is die
engin and descent oi the alMMrigines themsehws.

Tbe projected establishment of an iater-ooeaiac oommunioation between
tlie Atlantic and die PaciCe has attadwd in modem tines still gieater
interert and higher importance to diese r^^ns, and has been the soniee
of some rivalnr and no inconsiderable jealonsy between the United States
and Et^and* The eentral dn» of CKiatemala ferms the division
.the great basina of the Carrftean 3ea and the Facifie^ and

sodi a woric, as cuttings through that barrier, executed on an adequate
to the whole s ommemel wed

aeale, die benefit to the whole eoaMneraal weiU wmdd be immenee } not
enhr ifould the coast navigatkm of the Ansriean eoatiaeBt be prodigioasly
facilitated, but a new line of transit, attended with so many advantages

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262 CENTRAL AMERICA.

as woaU give it a decided saperiority cyver the present line (but not orer
the projected new overlaad roate)^ would be opened betwixt Europe and
India.

As fiir back as in 1779, Spain having joined France in abetting the
revolt of the British oobnies in North America, jneasnres of retaliadoa
were adopted against the colonies of that nation. An expedition was
sent in the first place to the Bay of Honduras, and military possession
was taken of Fort Omao and of the island of Ruatan. After tins the ex-
pedition directed itself upon the river San Juan, the object proposed
being to ascend that river to the lake of Nicaragua. It was upon this
occasbn that Captain, afterwards Lord, Nelson carried the battery of San
Bartolomeo, sword in hand. In two days more they came in sight of the
castle of San Juan, sixty-nine miles from the harbour. This place sur-
rendered to the English, but the climate proved so unhealthy that they
got no further, but returned thence to Jamaica, leaving a small garrison
in the fort

Lieut.-General Dirom, who accompanied the expedition, afterwards
published some ^' Remarks on Free Trade," in which he clearly pro-
pounded the difficulties which were presented to the establishment of a
ship canal in this direction, and which have been found to be insuperable
in our own times. He however felt disinclined to abandon altogether a
project of so much importance to the commercial world, and proposed
tiiat it should be supplanted by the more feasible establishment of thre^
great lines of road for carriages. One of these he proposed to open
across tiie isthmus of Darien, between Chagres and Panama^-the site of
the existing Hne brought into operation by the discovery of gold in Cali*
fornia ; a second from the Gulf of Dulee to Guatemala ; and a third fronr
tiie Gulf of Mexico to that of Tehuan-tepec.

A subject of so much interest and importance naturally commanded
the attention of a physical geographer like De Humboldt, and that emi-
nent traveller has enumerated no fewer than nine different places at
which the attempt might be made of establishing a communication be-
tween the two oceans, and five of these have been considered praetioaUe
by Mr, Pitman in his ** Succinct View," published in 1825. A joint-
stock company was formed in New York in 1827, for the purpose of
exeeutine a grand junction canal by Nicaragua, with the consent of the
Guatemda government, but the scheme was given up on account of the
immense expense attendant upon it. Colonel Lloyo, who surveyed the
isthmus of Panama in the years 1826 to 1829, has hud down, in his map
of the survey, two lines for a railroad across the isthmus, hoth oom-
mencmg at a point near the junctbn of the Trinidad river with the
Chagre, and running across the intervening plain in opponte directions,
the one to Cherrera on the Atlantic side, and the other to Ptoama on-
the Pacific, «o that by means of these two lines of railroad a communication
may be effected witn perfect ease across the isthmus.

Mr. Stephens, although a zealous explorer of the antiquities of Central
America, was by no means inaccessiUe to subjects of a political or
oommerrial nature. He was United States minister to the Kepublic <d
Guatemala, and, as Mr. Cathervrood quaintiy remarks, he contrived *'to
eombine the chase af^ a government with a successftd hunt for rained

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CENTRAL AMXBICA. 263

joties ;" which would iq[^)ear to mdioate that a goverament was diffiotilt
io £iid. Mr. Stephens also explored thecountiy with an eye to its prac*
ticabiliW for inter-oceanic communication, and the result of his researdies
irare or a sound, practical diaracter, for he subsequently became the
president of the company, which obtained a concession from the gorem-
ment of New Granada for a line of railway across the isthmus of Panama.
The works were begun in 1850, and Mr. Stephens lost his life in for*
-warding the interests of the company in 1852^

In 1852-53 great interest was excited by the ^scorery of a new line
in the isthmus of Darien, between the Gulf of San Miffuel and the almost
claisical locality formerly named by Paterson (who founded the Sootch
c^Joi^ oa the isthmus and the bank of England)^ Caledonian Harbour;
Captain Fitaoy, who had adyooated before the Royal Greographieal
Somty in 1850 a line between Atrato and Cupica, gaye in his adhesion
to the new project, and a company was formed to carry out the project,
which included Sir Charles Fox, Messrs. Henderson and Brassey, and
the original explorers, Messrs. Cullen and Gisbome.

We next come to the project of Mr. Squier. This sentleman, while
occupying the podtion of diplomatic representatiye of the United States
in Central America in 1850-52, conceiyed the project of an inter-oceanic
railway from the port of Caballos in the Bay of Honduras on the one
side, to the Bay of Fonseca on the other. Mr. Squier waa assisted in
his explorations of the intenrening country by the officers of an expedi*
tion which sailed from the United States in the month of Februan'j
1853. A line of barometrical admeasurements was carried completely
across the condnent by yeut Jeffers, U.S.N. A similar line was carried
from Leon de Nicaragua to the city of Comayagua, in Honduras, by Dr.
Woodhouse ; and another by Mr. Squier, from Comayagua to the town
ef Santa Rosa, in the extreme western border of Honduras, thence to the
city of Son Salyador, in the state of the same name, and afterwards
through the leng^ of that state, from Sousouate to the port of La
Union, the point of departure. The result of these explorations has
been tiie production of a yery interesting and important statistical report
upon the top<^^phy and resources of the regions through which uiey
were carried ; and if no other results flowed from these suryeys, that
r^ort would fully repay the expenses and the labour incurred in carrying
them out.

As the question of Belize or Balixe, or British Honduras, and the Bay
Islands, is of the greatest interest (far exceeding in importance that of
the Mosquito territory) at the present moment, we shall confine ourselyes
to its consideration. A succinct account of the progress of the settlement
of the British on the coast of Honduras will be found in the ^' History of
the Discoyeries and Settlements made by the English in different parts
of America, from the reign of Henry VII. to the close of that of Queen
EHzabeth" (Harris, ii. 189; and Pinkerton, xii. 156). This history, if it
does not comprise the progress made in modem times, senres at least to
establish the antiauity of the possession^

At the time wlien the English priyateers and logwood cutters first
settled at Cape Catoohe in Yucatan, the Spanisj^ possessed only the
town of Campedie) or Campeachj, and two more smaU places in all 4hat

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pari of Aoieiioa. la 1667 ft tmtty of petde vat etNKhidad

Grtftt Brilam and Spftiii» ftnd tluirettpcMi tae primteezsB of Jamaica, ivl

need to distiuA the Spanish trade, bamg obliged to tpnt that way of Ml

beeaaie logwood oniten, aad satlled wkh otken of their couutiynif m^

Tmk and oa the ihofea of ika Ijiguoa de TenaiiMt, ta the Bay of

Canpeachj.

Sir Thomas Lyneh, goveiaor of Jaaiaica in the year 1671, gm^ iuB
Majesty King Charies 11. aatatement, embodjriog the variooa reaaooa ibr
eneoimging this trade* Sir Thonaa Mody&rd, his sooceisor, iafbraaed
the lorda of the pnTj ooandl ia the year 1672 that the EngUili logvood
oatters had uaed that trade for three yeara, and that diey had |Surted
com aad buiU hoaeea for their conyenicnoy ; and though they freqaentiy
huated deer in the country, they had nerer seen a sin^ Spanuwd^ or
any oAer maa ia that part of the eountry, in all the time they had haan
thwe { and oonnlndea, that thear jGriling of wood, building of hoasea, and
clearing and planting die ground, was aacfa a possession as in the West
Indies ga?e them an undoubted right to the eoaatries they ^os oeoapiad.

Ia 1680 the Spaaoards, jealous of the idea of the En^ish obtaining a
foetiag' oa the eoatiaent of Central America, although diey themaelvaa
did not ooonpj the territory in question, proceeded to diriodge the lag^
wood cutters from Triat, and eren from the Island of Prorideaee, a
British plantation, which was not on the mainland, and to whidi they
could set up no pretence. But the Ekiglish soon repossessed themsel^aD
of these settlements, and the logwood trade kept increasing in extent ;
the settlnrs removing to other pomts of the coast as the trees began to
fJEul, and more particularly in the direction of the territory of Beliae;,
between Yucatan and Honduras. The Spaniards, alarmed at this rapid
spreadiog of ecdonisatioa, endeayoured to prevent the English from ob-
taining further footing in that part of the American continent by nego-
tiation, and to that effiaet set forth tiie treaty of Utrecht, in 1713, by
which it was stipulated that such plaess dblould be restored to thfe
Spaaiards as had been taken during the preceding war in the reign of
Queen Anne ; among which Trist ttod Beliie could not be redconed,
because the English were in possession of those setUements many years
before that war commenced. The Spaniards continued, neverthdess^ to
prosecmte hostiUtias agaiast the English ; hut, after struggling in vaia for
more than a century, the disasters of an unsuccessful war extorted, in
1768, a i^uctant oonsent from theoonrtof Madrid to tolerate the settle-
ment of foreigners on the continent of Central America. This privik^
waa farther CQufirmed by the definitive treaty of 1783 ; by whic^ how- .
ever, it was stipulated, among other duars, tnat the Eng^iw diould con-
ine themselves within a certain distiiot lying between the rivers Wallia
or Behae aad Rio Hond% taking the course of the two rivers for
boundaries. But by a convention signed in 1786 these limits were ese*
taided » the Engli^ line, beginaia|^ from the sea, was to take the oeatm
of the river Sibim, or Jaben, and continue up to die soaiee of the said
river ; thence to 'cross, in a straiffht Ene^ tiie intermediate kad, till ift
intarsaetod the river WalUs, and by the centre of the same river the aaid
line was to dasesad to the wAak where it weald meet th^ Una already
isttW in J78a, tW iki^wwa bf the same. titMt^ likewise fen.

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1 to ooenpy the unall idiad ciUad Catinay wiiera Fatt O«oiig» faaa
Wa« flboe ertaMirfied, pfmoipally from tfie bdlaat firom shippiag, ansry
ye— el being obliged to Iohyo a portion, thai affiordinff the aettlen an
OMortvaity of boAstiog that the first is not oalj aBritiM powoision, Imt
ikU h aetooUy ttendt on British soil In 1790 an aot of paiiiaoont
ctmdear^ all the privilegos of a Britidk eriooy to Bofise, or British
Honduras.

Tho cUef place in the eoleny, BeUie or Bali&B itself has since then
f^teadj knpfOTad in appeaeanoe. The town, which eontains a populatioii
of between three and four thousand souls, is immediatelj open to the sea,
~ » on a low flat shore, guarded bj numerous small islands, which

ase dsoifliy oofered with trees and durubs, and so Tory similar as to render
ikm nari^itton extremely difficult. It is further divided into two parts
hj Am Rver, wiuoh is crossed br a substantial wooden bridge of two
hai^died and twenty feet span and twenty feet in width. The streets are
mugwlir, aad intwseot each other at right angles. Many of the houses
mse eoBvenisnt, wdl built, spactoos, and evsn elegant, but they are eon-
stnwted entirely of wood, and raised eight or ten &e4 from the ground
cm yiUais of mahogany. The miblie bmldings oosMist of a go^remment-
hosMti a church, an hospital, and barracks. Ssliie is attached to the See
of Jamaica. There are also Wede^an and Baptist establishments. ThM
groups of krfby cocoa-nut trees, mterq>ersed with the foliage of the
tnmnrTiilj give a pleasing and picturesque appearance to the dwellings,
iadoyendent of the agreeable shade they affoid.

Tne islands of the Bay of Honduras, of which Ruatan and Guanaja,
now called Bonacea, are the largest, were first taken possession of by the
yVig^HA as far bade as 1642. These islands have safe and excellent
havbenrs and a fine dUmate. Roatan is from forty to fifty miles in length,
Inr from six to ten in breadth. Gmmaja derives some interest from hmng
the point from whence Columbus first saw the mainland of America.
There is jbwd doubt that these islands were thus taken possession of by
btaooaneers or priv^eers ; and Mr. Squier indulges, upon soeh a retro*
spaet» in querulous disappointment that these freebooters were English-
matt, not Malays or Bornese^ and that there was no fleet, or self-^oon*
stitirted neighfeMmng n^ ready, with British (^oers and seamen, to
inlliel a terrible diastisement i^nm them by wholesale butcheries, as in
tha case of the Saribas Dyaks. On the contrary, he admowledges that
they wen openly aided by the English o{ Jaaiaica, who, with scarcely an
aueplion, were either pirates or the aeoessories of pirates I

Sucii Ytrtuow indignation at the occupation of the islands in the Bay
of Honduras by Britidh boooaiieers, when ther were not held by m
Spmuards, although discorered by them, and which did not belong to the
maMiland which was clmmed by Spain, comet with bad grace from those
wba wphM boecanceriny, priirataering, and freebooting to tfie present
dqr nndcr its new Amermam desi^;nation of filibustering, ^^^jj"^ *^^
ill disemmon regarding fitlifansteriBg expeditwns in Gd& and CaKfemia,
let us turn to tlmt directed against the British settlemsnt at Gieytown.

^ Wis it not enough that*^— toqnofee the wovdaofim American writer,

Ifav Bard^^^vnder a misrepresentation of frels^ and the grossest V^ff^f^
liM of troth, uHpUed I9 asM0rup«k«i psff^

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CENTRiLL AMERICA.

government was induced to issne such orders in respect to that s^de-
ment, to a naval officer of more zeal and ambition of notoriety than eitb«r
wisdom or discretion, as resulted in its bombardment and total deatme-
tion?" No, it was not enough. After such an act — than which a votae
flagrant violation of the common laws of humanity does not exist upon
record — after the formal promulgation of the Convention of Washington
of July 4, 1850 (known as the Clayton and Bulwer Trea^), a so-
called filibustering expedition, under Colonel Walker, made a descent
upon the place and entered into possession, and that with the tacit and
secret connivance of the government of the United States ! What aays
the letter of Mr. Secretary Marcy addressed to Mr. Wheeler, and bear-
ing date the 8th of November, 1 8o5 ? It says that << th^ overthrow <»f
the previously existing government appears to be no more than a violent
usurpation of power brought about by an irregular, self-oiganiaed miiitaty
force, as yet unsanctioned by the will or acquiescence of the people oC
Nicaragua ;*' that ^^ it has more the appearance of a successful maraudiiig
expedition than a change of government rulers ;" but it also insinoatea, in
a manner and language not to be misunderstood, that <^ should the maas
of the people of Nicaragua be unwilling or unable to repel this inroad^
or shake o£F this usurpation, and ultimately submit to its rule, Aea it
may become de/acio a government." So that which in the eyes of the
pohtical economists and moralists of the United States gives right to
robbeiy, is the incapability of the inhabitants to repel the inroad or shake
off the usurpation! Mr. Squier should really have hesitated a momeot
before he designated the buccaneers of the eighteenth century as ** cat-
throat rovers.^ Are there no buccaneers in the nineteenth oentury ?

The fortunes of the Bay Islands have been most chequered, but stilly
amid all kinds of disasters and reverses, the star of Great Britain ve*
mained in the ascendant A first expedition, under Francisco Yiliaivm
y Toledo, failed in an attempt to surprise the possessors, but, having
subsequentiy returned with ronforcements, he succeeded, in Maidi,
1660, in establishing the supremacy of Spain. The Spaniards, however,
did not retain possession ot the islands ; on the contrary, they induced
what few inhabitants there were in them to emigrate to the mainland^
where they allotted them lands. The islands thus abandoned remained
deserted until 1742, when the English again took possession of- them,
and fortified Ruatan. Upon the occasion of the expedition against Sen
Juan de Nicaragua, in 1779, in which Nelson, tnen captain of the
Minchinbrook, co-operated, a corps was formed of the British settlers
in the Bay Islands, and a p^r^ of Indians was collected, with thdr
craf^ on the Mosquito shore. This proceeding, however, had the effieet
of leaving the islands at the mercy of the first comer, and tlie Quatemahma
took advantage of it to gain possession, which they retained till the
war of 1796, when the English once more occupied tLem. The tenure
was, however, destined to be of brief duration, for in May> 1797) tlie
inhabitants were compelled to surrender to an expedition sent under I>on
Joa6 Rosn y Bubia.

Af^r the declaration of Central American independence all ohuma of
Spain upon the Central Islands ceased; but they do not appear to have
beenthoogfatworthyofnotioeby the new Federal BepubHo all, in ISSSy

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CtirntAL AMfcKIGA. 287

iim jMrmifnon to seide diere hating been refilled by one Don Joan
Loiiitrelet, at tbat time commandant of Port Royal^ to a party of
fib^raled riavee from Ao Ghrand Cayman Islands, Colonel Alexander
Maodonald sent the British Aoof RtHter to tHp-ostablish anthority in the
|Jaoe. The Cayman idanders who settled in the Bay Idan^ bebg
Brttiah soljeets, Hved nnder the proteet&on of the superintendents of
Bdi[6; bat haying in the oonrse of a few years, by increase and emi-
graetion, got to number some thousand, they organised a kind of coancil,
and elected its members among themsehes. Disorganisation in their
system hating, howeter, been brought about by the interference of a Mr.
Filsgibbott, a natiye of the United States, the now prosperous islanders
appealed to Colonel Fancourt, at that time superintendent of Bdise,
to establish a regular form of goyemment in the island. ** How fiur,"
says Mr. Sqpner, ** this application was brought about by the English
agea^ it is not necessary to inquire; it was certably a yery adroit and
pbnsible way of eonsmnmating the yiolence of Macdonald.**

Be this as it ma^, certain it is that the inhabitants of the Bay Islands,
who had at that tune increased to some 1600 or 2000 in number, were
in 1860 espeoiaUy taken under Queen Yiotoria^s nrotection. For a time
liiey appdnted their own magistrates, but tins also not answering, the
inluiliitants drew up a petition, soliciting the appointment of a stipendiary
magistvate; aad at last 8ir Charles C^y, colonial secretary^ agreed to
appoint such an officer, if the inhabitants would consent to pay a land*
tax of a eUDiag an acre to llie BritiA crown.

The Cli^tovi and Bulwer Convention of the 19th of April, 1850, hayine
determned that,* for die future, neither the ffovemment of the United
States nor of Great Britain diall occupy, fortify, or colonise, or assume or
eaarcise any dominion over Nicaragua (where a party of filibusters are
estftUitbed at this very moment), Costa Rica, the Mosmiito coast, or aar
part of Central America, or make use of any proteeHan which either affoiJa
to aoay state or people, for the purpose of erecting or maintaining any
sosh nvtifieations, it became necessary to confirm the past by establishing
the same upon a legal and regular footing. The protectorate of the
Mosquito territory having been virtually acknowledged by impBcation in
ilie oonvention, it was sc»rcely necessary to show Uiat her Majesty has
never held possessions or fortifications in that country, mr. James
Boehaiian, in his ** Btatement for the Earl of Clarendon,** having, how-
erttv deckred that the government of the United States, not satisfied
with tiie terms of the convention, whidi concerns occupation, fortification,
aad ooionisation, also contest and resist, and have always contested and
rensted, the right of Chreat Britain to the protectorate, it became incum-
bsat upon the Britirii minister to show that this protectorate has existed
for a great number of years, that its esistence is not only implied by the
ooayeation, but that it is especially provided that such protectorate shall
not be made the ground of occupation ; and tiiat forther, supposing that
tiiat were not tbe case^ the United States government could scarcely
expect that Great Britun should enter into any explanation or defence
of ncnr conduct with respect to acts committed by bar nearly forty years
ago^ in a matter in which no right or possession of the United States was
iwolved. The government of the United States would, it is conceived,

yOL* XTXTX« T

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968 GBH1SAL AldttlCUU

be mnoh and )vady noprifecLif the goyemmeni of Gnat J
210W to question the pvopriety of aav of its long past acts, by iriueh no
temtoiiid right of Grei^ Britain nad been attected; nor woald Am
Amerioan people consider any jnatification or teplaaation of sndi acts ta
foreign states consistent witn the dignity and independent position of
the United States. The goyemment of the United States, therafoi^
will not be surprised if the goyenunent of Grreat Britain abstains oa tfaie
oocasioa from enterinff into anythmg whii^ mig^ imear.an orpUnatiom
or defenoe of its ocndiiot with regard to ita long-establishod proieotetato
of the Mosquitos.

In that whieh regards the qnestion of British Hondiira% the town of
Belixe, and the ookoij of the bay Islands, Mr. Clayton, the oo^xmtcaaiQr
of the Clayton- Bnlwer Conyention, with Mr* Henry L. Bnlwer^ i& Ua
Memorandum of July 5^ 1850, in reply to a deelaraticHi made faj tlia
latter to the e£Feet that he bad^ receiyed her Ms^jesty's instraotioBa to
declare that her Mi^esiy does not undentand the engaeemeBte of that
<Kinyention to apply to her Mi^jestyV aettlemeni ai HmwuraSf. or to its
d^pendeneiesi states distmetly, << I. understood British Honduras waa
not embraeed in the tieaty of the 19th of April kst? And in a
further ooaunonieation, dated July 4, I860, Mr. Clayton states of the
treaty, that *' it was neither understood by them nor by either of as
<the negotiatota) to include the Br^sh setuement in Hondnms ner the
email islands in the neighbanrhood of that settlemast, whidi may. be
known as its dependencies. To this oattlsasent and these islandt the
twaty we negotiated was not intended by dtber of us to mtiyJ*

Proceeding then upon the good finth ofthe -conyention. thus onnottidaJ>
Colonel P« E. Wodehousoi the superintendtot of BeUae (who qnalifiad
himself Mr. Sqnier says,, for his position as the aooorapliee dT Torring^
ten in Ceylon), called a genend menring oi the inhabitaats of the Bag^
IsbMDds on the 10th day of Augttrt, and SoormaUy deebuDed that bar Ma*
jesty had been pleasea to oonstitoto and make the islands of Rnatan,
Bonaeea, Utilla, Barfaaretta, Helen% aad^Morat^ to be a cdeny, to be
known and designated as the colony of the Bay Islands.

This aot retoals to Mr^ Sqnier's fiery yision *< a system of ag^^tessiea
on the ricbts and sayereigiity of Honduras nnnaralleled foritspersMtettey»
and tennmatiog in a ssries of frands wfaioii' approaeh the suhHma of
effir^itenr. The brutal force oi MaodonakL was oonsmnmated by the
fraods of Wodehouse ; and these splendid islands are at this day held 1^
Great Britrin in disregard of treaty obligations, and on pretests so badd
and follaoious^ that uiey senre cmlv to render conqaeuous the orinaao
whioh they wsre designed to oonoeaL''

Mr^ Buchanan, muk more diplomatic courteonsness, expresses his wmt^
prise, in the fiM^e of Mr. Clayton's ei^lanatoiy letter and memmanduB,
tiiat Great Britain has not retired from the island of Buatan in obedianoa
to the o(my«ition ! And further^ in allusion to the odoi^ of the Bag^
Islands, he intimates that '' pdbtie sentiment is ^uite unanimous in tlia
United States that the establitbment of this colony IS a palpable yjdationof
both the letter and the spirit of the Clayton and fkdwer Conyention*
To this Lord Clarendon relied by an appeal to Mr. Clayton's own me*
moeanda» by pmnting out taat wbeneyer Raatan had been permanently

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OENTRiX AMBBICA. 269

occupied^ m&et in remote or in reoent times, hy anyihii^ more than a
miHtaiy guard or a flag-8ta£^ the ocenpation lutd been by British subjects
suid as island dependencies of Beliie, and that if the United States
goyemment did not consider them as such, it behoved her to have made
such an exception. Bfr. Buchanan retorted, that by the small islands in
the nmghbouihood of Beliae was meant the Cavo dasina and other coral
Teeh immediately oflf that coast I The British goremment, perceiving
mk oBseAat a diseossion canied on upon saA a ralem could come to no
•atisfiMtoiy oondosioD, declined proeesutbig snon aay furdier, and cob*
tented itaelf wiA a statement to the effect tiiat, looking to the otjecl
wtitk the eontfaoting parties had in view at the comAsmm of die con*
fMrtiosH-HURndhr, ti^ seeority of the proposed and new dbndoned diip'
<naial— 4iie Biitwi government considers toat the design of the contract*
ing pavtnaww not to distmh any state of things then existing, bnt^ to
ffiMua against the foline craatioB of a stateof things which might by possi*
wEty inlcilMW whh Ae security erf the pg<yosed cimaL That such was the
true dsMgn of the eomv«ntion is obvious from the provision in the sisdt
avtide, by which the coatmcting parties engaged to invite every sMo'to
ester into stipolatiens with them similar to those contained in the coni*
VB^oa^ Bttt if the pesilkai of the United States government were
socnd, mi the convention was intended to interfere with the state of
things easting at tfaetime of its condusien, and to impose upon Qreat
Britain ie withdmw ftom portions of territory occupied by it, a similar
obligatfcoH wwM IweoiilMKted by other states acceding to the coaven*
ttooy and the guvermaeitt of the Cefftnd American States would, by die
nrare a«tof useesshn, s^ aw^f their righte to the territories in which
tbey aiealas*id!

Notwithstssriiag this co&dasive war of patting die qoestion, the
Amaciean govewmeat persists in vievmig the convention as havii^ a
Betiospestiie operation, and, wlial is more invidieos, a relraspective ope*
nUioB aAttlnig Great BritSHi oaly. Indieinterestof the twocountnee}
sbmI die desire to maintain existing friendly relations, which ought alike
to inspise each party widi a conciliatory spirit, die British government,
hsmng neither die vrish to extend die hmits of its possessions or the^
sphere of ite intnence in that quarter, but not being prepared to
mahe coneessions in pursuance of the interpretetion of a convention, to
winch iuterpfstotion it cannot snbscrii>e, has offered to refer the msK
ter to adard party, and the solution of the difficult^to an arbitrator. It
ia manifest that to dediae such a mode of froondrng woidd be, on the
part of tii» United Statse government^ to aeknowlsdge tiut it is in

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270

HOW WE TEEAT 0I7S HEEOES.

(BSCfO Alt JXrtB&CEtTBD lATtEB FROM KITTY CLOYBB TO HBB LOYIMO AB1>

oonrtiHiansAL fbiehd subah fuulins.)

I FBOMISED9 you know, my dear Sumh* to tend you all pwtipiilaw o£
the Tisit of our great man aod naval hero to tbis *^ the oowity of his.
birth and the town of his boyish reminiaoeaees." I find, howerer, that
the DariMre Ckr&niele has ^tiidy supeneded me. Theie, set Ibrtli
in ci^tal letters, and flaontioK a lengthy snpplemant fiir that ezpnaa
parpose» we read how the "giulaot gentleman' was met and weleemed
by the inhabitants ; how they took the horses oat of his eanaage ; and
how a whole set of jolly tars drew him op the High-street. ^ Abnoek
too much honour," as Miss Prim whispered me^ eonikUntiaft|r» *^ to be
shown to one man." How, when arrived there at a platform erected for
that purpose, and already crowded with blue and pink bcmnets, he was
met uid.escorted up the steps by our great man, the HononrabW Curaoa
de Cunon ; and how, when amved there, he was instantly attacked aad
made to stand and listen for the better part of an hour to a loi^ addreaa
got up for him by the citisens, and which, begUming at the tuaae thai ha.
wras a very small boy, enumerated all his shining gsaoes and aets of
valour up to the very present monient I need not mcapitulate aaj
fnirther, however, after this fashion, for of course you have seen tlia
DarJuhire Ckromcle^ which went through two edinons, suppkaieBta
and all, and is now labouring under some elaborate sketches of this
^^interesting eveat," which it threatens to brioff forth daring the next
week* Pernaps^ dear Susan, you would rather hear how I fiumdnii^
this exdting pmod« Having always been of opinion that disofstioo as.
the best part of valour, and wat it wa9 not impossible we might be nm
over in uie crowd, to say nothing of the indebcaqy of two unprotected-
females obtruding themselves without a male escort on the platform^*
I persuaded my friend Miss Bell to avail herself with me of Mra..
Mitten's obliging oflfer of se^ng the <* show" from the top of her house ;.
and so^ like tdl as^Hrants, we obtained our object after a good deal of di^:
ficulty. It is true it was rather a trial getting out on the roo( as the
hole we had to squeeie through for that purpose was about time feet
from the top of tne landing, and so small that, though our heads and
waists struggled through with some exertion, yet our skirts and Sootek
petticoats were not nearly so obliging, and, indeed, without h^ from.
Dehind, I do not think we should ever have accomplished it. 'When we
returned, I adopted the plan of coming back heaa-foremost^ which was
hx better, though the position was on the whole precarious^ as well as
peculiar, and I am afraid Miss Bell has not yet recovered it To tell
jovL all that we saw from the top of that roof would be quite impoo-
sible. What with the tiles that slanted so much that we were always
dipping down in spite of the ousluons stuffed under us ; and tluit
wretched cold-water gutter in the leads at our feet ; and the two cats
that Were scramUmg and making love on the top of the tiles ; and that

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wratobed young journeyman piinter who wovld try to climb up OTer our
heads, ana was alwayi falling down back upon us ; and die little blacks
fiom tbe cbimneyi tbat came drifting into onr taceB^ — we got onr aonaea
aomewbat confused to begin witb. Tbere was a teirible little eirl tbere,
too, wboy.wbenever sbe was not eating gingerbread-nuts, wouM Ic^n so
fiyr over tbe narrow stone balustrade, whicb was our only support to look
down into tbe street below, tbat Miss Bell and I fiillv expected every
xaoment would be ber last. Indeed, I secretly got bold of b^ skirts be-
liiad, tbe only return for wbiob kindness was, that sbe ** stiekied'' all my
beet Frendi riores in ber yigorous efforts to get tbem out of my bands.
Then the noase and fiurrabing from below was very deafening and con-
fnaing ; and as for hearing a word of tbe long address, of course tbat was
ouite out of tbe question. It was thickly buttered, we knew, witb the
flowers of rhetoric— such as *< admiration of the nation,'' ^'sympathy of
Ae people^" **yoar heroic actions, which will ever live in our hearts^''
'' honoured b^ your visit,'' kc. — for of course we had been in the secret
of tbe committee tbat was held beforehand, and we knew all about it,
•vea to tbe imval band diat was invited down to do our hero honour ;
oidy, unfortunately, some one in their seal asked the band for their
■ervices, and forgot to adc the leave of the band's captain, for which they
got an answer tmit was perhaps more short than pleasant. These flowers
of rbetorie were, however, quite thrown away upon us in our elevated
Bosition, though it was {dain to see when they took place, as tbe q>eaker
hekl tbe roll in bis hand, and from the distance where we were, appeared
to be either threatening or expounding the law to the gallant officer who
stood neact him. Whenever his gestures grew most energetic, then we
knew tbat be was delivered of one of his most flowery sentences ; and
whenever he stopped for breath, and glanced round him on the sea of
heads beneath, that we found was the signal for caps thrown in the air,
▼oioes shoutiofi^ out '' Three cheers for tbe red, white, and blue," and
other popular demonstrations of the mob's approval. When tbe roll was
fifpshed, the speaker stiU went on with some dumb pantomime, which we
todk to be his own peculiar and original rhetoric^ and finished by pre-
aeoting the roll to tbe gallant officer and solemnly shaking bandi with
him, whidi sign of manual approbation was followed up again by tbe
HooouraUe Curaon de Curson, who then spoke for himself and in a loud,
clear, commanding voice, so as to be heard even where we stood, gave ua
» short summary of the gallant officer's life, and all the good services be
had rendered to queen and country. After this they all shook hands
again, as tfaouffh they had ngned a treaty of peace ; and then the hero
of the day stood forward and thanked Ae people m a few feeling, kind,
and appropriate words. He seemed really touched by the honour they
had shown him ; and there was something very afiecting in seeing that
grey head bared before the populace that bd pushed on so nobly within
range of the bristline shots mm Sebastopol, and had now come to enjor
ioB triumphs in Engbmd in the hard-won glory tbat bad bowed the hcMi^
of 80 many good and brave, amongst the noblest of whom his own son
mifffat be reckoned. There was a hush for one expressive moment afUr
he had done speaking, and then an unhappy-looking baby set-up a shridc;
which was the rignal for loud and reputed cheers that burst yet and

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272 HOW WE TREAT OUR HEROES.

sgaki from tiie ranks of the people. The jony-loolang^ tan might b^
seen fbrcmg their way again tlmmgh the crowd; the carriage was
Aragged forward ; once more they yoked themselves to it ; and so, home
lorward almost on the shoulders oi the people, standing op in the carriage^
bowing right and left to the waving of handkerchieb and die tomahnoos
flupplause, with his kindly smile and his well-eamed laurels, the gallant
c»a man was escorted to the door of the hotel, where a lai^ and sump-
toons Inndieon had been provided for his entertainment. We hanned on
with the rest, but the descent from the honse-top had been too migfa^
fer ns, and we only came in for another sight of oar loyal linen*
dnmer^s ^ree children still seated on their stools in &e shop-window,
with their little grave Sunday feces and Sunday dresses, all of the
deanest and newest, in red, white, and blue. But I am forgetting, we
came in also for the ragged finbh of a large assemhly — men some*
what the worse for liquor — women with screaming, slobbenng babies, and
children draggmg aner them by the skirts of their dresses— 4xyys wiA
cradcers that they were sportively letting off at people's feet — and
donkey and bakerr carts that were trying, all in -vain, to fbroe a passage
tfurough the crowd. There were groups of diildrcni, too, in die yet
opened windows, pickine the berries and flowers from off the laurel deco*
rations in that true spirit of mischief which is inherent in all-idiildren,
and pitching them down slyly on people's heads and noses as they passed
by ; but the hero of the day had himself vanished from us. We neard^
indeed, of tlie speech ^t he afterwards made at the lundieon, whera
everybody complimented everybody, and all were accordingly in tibe
highest possible good humour. There was, too, a ball got up in flie town in
(be evening, at which he was felly expected to lead off with the prettiest
girl, only be was suddenly end hastily recalled to London, wfamh was^
perhaps, af^ all, just as well, as the excitement there readied even te
vie very height of spirits ; indeed, we were credibly informed of one
lodging-house, where a stranger begging for asnstance about eleven in
the evening to be put across the usual ferry, was told it was quite im-

Kible, as ALL the inmates had come home drunk, and were gone to
** And now, my dear Susan, bavinr fevoured you with my personal
leminiseenees of this eventfel day, for allother frdl and particular descrip-
lions I must refer you to the Darkshire Ckrrmiele (with plates), wbidi
I bope to send you next wedc, and will only remain your almkionala
friend, Xtttt Clover.

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GOING TO THE SHOWS.

UomasjfT need •nyjr me, or anybody else that keeps a school. What
witii die wearing h^ionr of instnieting so many hours daily, the din of
II10 •dhodroom, the crosses and yezations snre to arise with the pupils or
ihe psnrvntSy and the wony sometimes caused by the teadiers, it is any-
ihiBg but an easy life. I must tell you about one teacher we had, «
Ifin PSewis, who was Tsoommended to us as being particularly likely to
Bait. A younger sister of hers was at the school as day sdiofer, the
fmxentB living near in a small cottage. They had mored in a Tery re-
spsilnbleaphqre of life, but had been unfoiiunate, and the ficitfaer had ob-
tained aome employment in the City, to and from which he walked eveiy
wioming and erening. Miss Powis, when she came to us, was about
'kwo-md^tweoty, an accomplished, handsome ghrl, but somewhat wiM
and Tsmdom, leading the pupils into mischief, instead of keeping them out
•f it. Thou|^ I cannot but say I liked her, for she had a &aA heart,
and was ever ready to do a good turn for others. Once, when the finir was
bang hM in theneighbeurheod— ^ gvcat nuisance it was, every fummer,
^Ae noise of the drnwand fifes of the show-people reaching even into
omr •ahoolroom, to ouraunoyaujee and the school^ delight, d>Uffing lUi
to ait with die windows closed. No good was ever done while uat fisir
kited ; lessons were not karat, and copies were blotted ; die usual dose
attention being entireW abstracted by these sounds in the fields at the
haek. Well, during the holding ofnhis iUr, Miss Powis— it was the
asaond ihdf-year she had been with us-^wcnt out one evening afber
tea to take tne pupils fcr dieir wdk. I hope nobody will think that it
ma CMff custom to entrust them out >with a youngteaoher. I or mjsistsr
abrays went with them, but this 'evening, as iU-rack would have it, Luoy
was m bed with a sick headache, and a lady dropped in uneacpectedly to
diiidctea widi us, having come down by one of the City enmibtves. Of
•eosie'Iaould not go out and leave her, so Itdd Mns Powu she should
taloedie^young Iddies that evening. '^ Go up the Plover-road opposite,''
I SMd to her, when they were Midy, ^as mr as Hiugfenee-fieid, whidi
willibea^pleasQBt, quiet, rural walk; but be sure don't go within right or
healing of that disreputable fair."

<" Oh no^ mate,^ die replied, "« not fi^riheworid;'' and awi^ibey filed,
"oot^tthegate.

Now wbit did that Miss Powis do? As soon as tbey bad flot beyond
viowof tbe he«se she turned round— for she waswaUdng mat, in her
place, mine and Lucy's being at the rear — and said, oomiag to si stand-
^liD, ^GMs, soppcee we go down Dogfigfat^ane" (a narrow place
kwKng to the finr; dirty oottaffes on one side, tuses and a ditch on the
cdier), ^'jost a little iray, and have a neep from the distenee at the {no-
tares ootnfe the shows ? Can you all undertake to keep the semret in-
doors? 'Pm sure there's no hum in looking at riiows Iwlf a mile off:
and in ihat Plover^road we shan't aee a soul but the yellow cow in
Binfffenoet^field and our own shadows." Of course ^le sdioolgirls woiU
nast have been sdioolgbk had they said ^'No" to any miscUef^whero a
> led, and thty w«nt half fhoitic with deKght, vowhq^, one and an,

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S74 GOIMO TO THE SHOWS.

^tthe tortures of the Inquintion fbould not wring the aeeratfrom them
—the Mud tortures having been the subject of their moming^s theme.

Half-way down Dofffight-bae thej came m view of i& still distant
shows, and could have halted there and admired the painted scenes. Biifty
goodness me! this did notsatisfythem— one bite of an apple rarely doesi
anybody — and on they went down the lane^ and burst rifht into toe oon-
Aision of the £ur. They visited the selUng-stalls first, where some. bought
ffiogerbtead, some unripe plums and rotten cherries, some— iiow I did
fret when I heard of it! — raffled for cakes and shot.at pincushions, some
drank down bottles of trash and fiss, called eingsr^beer, and some bought
fortune-tellin^ cards ; indeed, it is imposs^e to say what they did not
buy. Then&ey went round to the shows to stare at the pictmes. Ugfy
booths decorated with play-acting scenery; dandy men in tigfafe-fitting
white garments, with red-paint eyebrows ; harlequins turning 'sunuBet*-
sets, and laughmg at their own coarse jokes ; young women in a mere-
tricious costnme cl glased calico and spangles, reaching no lower than thsir
kneesy who walked about with thdr arms a-kimbo, and waltsed with die
harlequins— good Heavens, that a ladies* boarding-s^ool should have been
seen m front of anything so low-lived and demoralising I

It was seysn o'dock, and the performances were about to commenec,
drums were beatbg, fifos were piping, the companies wero danebg, and
the cries ^* Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, we are just going. to begin/*
were edb/Ang above the din. The young ladies.stood gasing on all tfau,
loiMBg to see further ; for if the outside was so attractive mat most the
inside be 7 and — well, well, I. must not reflect too harshly on them : it
ii hard^ especially for the young and liffhi-hearted, to resist temptalioo.
They went in — Uiey really did : some mto the ** wax-work,'' and the net
into tins theatre affiiir where the harlequins were. . When thej came
to dub their numey together it was found deficient, but the showmen look
them for what they could muster. Very considerate of them I All par-
ticulars came out to me afterwards— else how could I have related this
*-««nd I was ready to go out of my mind with vexation. But it was not
their foult, it was BCss Powis's ; and I have scarcely, I fear, exoosed her
'in my hesrt for her imprudence that night But I do beUere there is
no act of deliberate disobedience but brings its own punishment sooner or
later. I have remarked it many times in the course of my life : and this
did with her.

Meanwhile^ when my visitor departed and I had been iq^-ftairs to see
if Lucy wanted anything, I sat on, at the parlour window, begnming to
think the giris late^ b^ oondudii^ that the beauty of the summer's
night made them linger, when Sarah, our servant, came in, and said Mis.
.Nadi wanted me.

Mrs. Nash was our lodger, a very grand lady in pinse and dress. Hset
hnsband had made a mint of money at something in London, a retail
shop I heard, and lately he had given it up and bought mines, and they
had now taken a villa in our ndghbourhood. Mr. Nash was in Corn-
wall, and his wife had engaged our drawing-room and bedroom for a
month, that she might be on the qpot to superintend the fitting^up of
her new house. 8he was certainly not a gentlewoman — thoofffa I do not
say It in any ill-natured spirit, or because I heard that theur shop had
. l^im a leceptode fer rusty irdkL and old rope^ and such like ; but I judged

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tnm hat ■peeA ani nmiHti So I weirt tip-ttein, wban Sarah said
Mfs. Naah wmied to leo me.

^'^▼e the goodnen to shot the door bduod vooy'' she said, when I
anteredy without rising from her own seat, which I thought not very
polite. She always did speak as if we were her inferiors, though I am
ama^ in birth and ediii»tion--4>ut that has nodung to do with the matt^
juatnow.

*< I thought you might haTe liked the door open this warm eVentng,^
I tkinBtj answeced, aftor tummg back to diut it

** So I mightyforit's dose enowh in this room," she rejoined* ^'But
VwB ffot to sav something that I £n't want ereiybody to hear. Won't
joantdownr*

I drew a chabr fiwwaid and sat down near h«r, waiting for her to con-

u ^Hi^ ienrant of yours," she abruptly began — ^I want to ask a fow
ipnatioos about her. Is she honest?"

** Honest ? Sarah ?" For I was too much surmsed to say more.

** The question's plain enough," repeated Mrs. ITash, in an impatoit
toBflu *< HaTC you ne?er had no cause to doubt her honesty?"

«« She is as honesl as the day," I replied, warm]|y. <<She has been
with us two years, and is abore susjneion. I coidd trust the girl wifb
ttotiMgold."

^ Ifs Tery odd," continued Mrs. Nash, '^t was this day w^— tUs
isFnday, amH it ?-4oame in from the willa, tired to death; for I had
beea a standing o?er them painters and p^perers, and telling 'em a bit of
mj ntind about their lanness. I wasas hnmgry as a hunter besides, and
after I had took off my dungs I went down to the kitchen to see if
Sarah was a setting forward with my dinner. She had got the steak on
the fire, and I went Up and looked at the taters, for Mr she should be
dob^ 'em too much, for young ones is good for nothing when diey are
soft. That I had my no^et-h^idkeichi^ in my handibiBn I'llswear to,
for I lifted the lid of the saucepan with it, and Sarah saw me^ but when
Igfotback to the drawing-room here, it was gone."

^ Ton may haye put it on the kitchen table, and f<»gotten it," I
replied.

^Thafs just my own opinion, that I did leave it ihere. I came
straight up-stairs, and as I was a coming in at this door I put my hand
in my pocket for my handkerchief, for ine cunent of air hud made me
sneen, but no handkerchief was there. That teacher of yours was
a standing here, waitbg forme s you had sent her up with a book. Biit
she couldn't have touched it"

«' Miss Powis ? Oh dear, no."

«' Don't I say she couldn't ? She was at the end ihere^ by the win-
dow, and I missed my handkerchief coming in at the door. I took the
book from her, and she went down, and I after her."

<«IKd you go back to the kitdben ? Did you ask Sarah ?" I in-

** I went back at once, I tell you, followbg on lifiss Powis's steps,
and of course I asked Sarah; and what first raiwd my suspidons against
her was, her saying she saw me put tiie handkerdueJFin my pocket as I
left the Idtdien. Now this dould not hare been the case, for if I had put

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378 €HtMHf& TO MB SHOWfi.

it in my podeet at the bottom of ibe tMn, ikait it mmM hme

when I got to the top, as I told her. Bat Ae was at oSMtbtate-af a little
o?er it, and peraisiea to my fate tiiat I had put it in.^
** I hopeyou will find it,*" I said; <^it cannot he lost.**
*< I shan't find it now,** riie answered. *^ But it was aniee new cbba-
brie handkerchief, a large sise, none of your trumpeny things only fit for
dolls. I gave four-and-sizpence £or it : twenty-seven shDlingB the half

^ Ma'am," I suggested, *^ could yon hare intended to put it into jonr
pocket and let it sup beside, on to the ground P'

<^ I don^ let things Slip beside m;^poe]iet,'' dw tartly ausiwiiid; '^ Imt
if I had, there it would have been, in the hall or on the staaa. ^bodjr *
had been there to pidc it up in that minute, and both your leadier and
myself can certify that it was not there. No, that servant has got it.**

*^ Indeed die has not, Mrs. Nish, I will be answerable for ker. But
why did you not tell me this at the ttme?^

'* Why the notion came into my mind that Fd make no fuss, but laj
a'tiap lor 6aMh. So I have left handkerchiefs about ihese rooms sinee;^
and other things. I put a brooch in a comer of the floor on Bfondaf,
and last night I clapped a sixpence under the hearAhViig, knowing she
toek it up evap^ morning to shake."

^' And the results?" I cried, feeling that I should blush to hiy wath
*« traps."

*'l like my tights," responded 'Mrs. l^ash, ^'-and nobady wiU stead mp
in defenee of their own stouter than I will ; but to accuse a^peivon widi-
ont nasmi ainft in my nature. So I am fi^se to confess that the baits i
harfe kdd aboat'have been left untouohed. The giri found and bnwigiii
meithebroooh, eayingshe supposed it had &llen mm my drsss ; and mm
monning the sixpence was laid on the mantelpiece.*'

'^ Yes, Sarah is strictly honest," I afSrmed, *^and wheiHSfer the kaad*
kenM^ can have gene to, she has not got it. Will you allow me to
mention it to her i^

" Oh law yes, if you Hke. And Fm sure if between you my ptopeaiy
can be brought to Hght, I shall be glad, and rejoice over it"

*' Fidgety^ pompous old cat!" uttered Surah, irreverently, wkan I
want down and spoke to her. ''She put the handkerdier into her
pocket as rile lefline kitehen; I saw her a cramming of it'tn, wilh these
two blessed eyes. Sha's been and nnslaid it somewhere ; in hat bedroom,
ni be bound, for *^ things lie about there at sixes and sevens. HSbe'fl
find it, ma'am, when she's not looking for it, never- fear."

'' Sarah, what in the worid can have become of the yonag ktties V*

''The young ladies!" echoed Sarah, "aren't they come in?" For
tfie girl had bm ont onan errand for Mrs. Narii, a»i did not know to
the eeotrary^

" Indeed they are not"

"Tm sure I tfK)i]^fat w^thing^ but what they -were in, and in bed.
Why, ma'am, it's twenty minutes past nine !"

" Where cm they be? What is Miss Pewis thinking of?"

" There's that noise again !" uttered Sarah, banging down her Htehen
window, as die sound of die dmme and trumpets broke forth suddenly
from the hsr. ''They are a leMnig-the iMks out of the shows."

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«0DroT0«rHE8B0W«. ^ 27t

*^-Why, tihbh •lily to gife »rer.^

*^ €■!«• ovorl Lair Uess jfon, ma^am. Thore^ anoAer repetition rf
the porloTmaoee about to begin now : them tambonrinea and non» u to
'tice folks up. It won't be over till just upon eleTon o-'oloek ; as you'd
hmnm, if yoa slept baek."

It may faave been ten minutes after that, wl^n we beard the side-door
open sfteatthily, and the yoang ladies come crequng in. I sprang
to^^ards them.

^ynaAeimt has been the matter ? .Where hare you been ?" I re-

^ We missed oor war, and wallrad too fiir," trttered a Toiee from
■BHiiiignt them, thoagfa whose it was I did not reoognise then, and nobody
will own to it since.

^Vvry caoEoless indeed. Miss Powis/' I uttered — ** yery wrone. The
— : ladies must be tiled to^deatii, walking all tins time, eq^eoially the
le ones."

Nobody gate me ax^ aaswer, and they all made for the staircase and
fcauriitsd up it, Dfiss Powis after them, oeiiainly not as if they were tired,
■■aaro as*if they wasted to get out of ny sight. Young len are indeed
alanfiff, I ssid-to mys^, HtUe dreaming that those legs had been at rest
for the last two or three hours, the knees cramped between hard benches,
sill the fret boned in sawdust.

Seyeral days passed on, and nothing occurred to arouse my suspicions
ahMi««tkiS^yr essanade. On the We£esday afternoon, our half«holiday,
Mrs. Nadi (some nt of comleseensimi most have come orer her) sent
iamvi an in^ttation for an, my -sister, and Miss Powis to drink tea with
her. As we could not all leave the young ladies, and we thought it
miglit amear sdfirii if we went up ouieelves and exriuded Miss rowis^
Luey saia sbewould be the <Mie-to reaMm with the duldren.

A very good cup of tea she gave us, with water-cresses and shrimps
adueh teah had bought from the paople who went by, crying them.
fWfailst we were eating, Mrs. Nash entertuned us with visions of her
fulMse crestness. The handsome fitttngs-up of her new villa, the ser-
awBta^uey intesKled to keep, the new open carriage about ^to bepuiv
fSwaed, andfthe eottensive warcbobe she both had and meant to have.
c^-What do yen think I ga/fe for tlnsr she said, suddenly h«idmg out
her pocket-nandkerchiet '* Aint it krely, and IVe got four of tiiem.''

'^vt^ in trad), a bsaiitifiJ haadkerohie^'' I said, examining its fine
amhiaiihaw, and its trinnung (rf bvead YaiiiswwnBi lace. '<Itis unfit
for eosBDion use.

'<Tes it is," answered Mrs. Nash. '' But I used it at thehostetoBltswfl
show yesterday, so tiMught Fd finish it up to^inr. I gave eiwht-and-
twenty ahilfing far^iat,^at Swan and Edgar^s, vritfaeut tiie hmr

After tea we got out our woric. I proceeded to dam a lace eoUar,
which was th^ginning to drop into hc^ and Miss Fd wis to ao- on with
her bead posse. Bbs* Nash said she eodd alford to put wonc oat, and
never did any. It happened that this collar had belonged to my mother,
and we weveeemparing its lace, which was <Ai p<nnt, with the Valen-
cssHMS round the han&erchief, when at that moment the sate -beU rang,
and Baiah came up and said a lady wanted me. 'fio I laiamy collar oa
'tile taUe and went down intothe parlour.

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978 Boma TO TBESBffmL

It was Mn. Watldmoiit who caAie to unr iho oMotot^ Hbifl fbrhflr
^- neUye

niece's achooling. She sat talkh^ some httls tfaiie» and !irhea ahe kft I
returned up-stairs again, meetiog, on my wajTy Vim Powi% who wai
mnninf down ihem,

** I nave worked up all my beads,'' she remarked to me, in paisiagy
<« and am going to fetch some more." Making seme trifline aoiwer, I
entered the drawing-room. J^. Nash was standiag at the wiodvw,
watching two omnibuses which were galloping past.

** How them omnibuses do n|ce, one i^^ another !" she ^aehiwued.
*^ If I was a magistrate I'd have eveiy omnibus driver in London befae
me, and put 'em into gaol in. a body, endangeiiiig people^a livea as thejr
do ! As soon as I have got a trap of my own, I shan't want to trodw
'em much, thank the stars !"

I stood for a moment by her side, looking at the douds of dnst tiie
flying omnibuses raised behind them, and Itrs. Nash retamed to her
seat.

<^ Where's my handkeiddef gone ?" she suddenly ezdaimed.

I looked round. She was staiuiing by the taUe^ twnng ahootall tM
was lying upon it, newspapers, my work. Miss VomUt .work-hox, aal
other thmgs. No handjcerehief was there, and then she hmhed abovit the
room. '< Where can it be?"

" Are you speaking of the handkerehief you had in vse, dmi hwaiitifal
oner Imquired.

<' Yes I am. It was on the taUebr me, by jour work, Fm lore of that
That makes two gone. What an odd thing r

I quite laugh^ at hear. *<It cannot be goDe," I said, ''it as im^
possiUe."

''Well, where is it, then ? It can't have sunk through the fleor^**

That was dear. " Perhi^ you have left it in the bedroom," I sug-
gested.

" I have not been in the bedroom," retamed Mrs. Nash, all in a Iwme.
" I have never stirred from my seat since tea, till I got op to look at
them wicked omnibuses. As I turned firom the window I putsqr haB4
inmy pocket for my handkerchief and couldn't feel it, then I remembered
I had left it on the taUe^ and I kmked, and it wasn^ there, and it wmbH
on my diair, and it isn't anywhere as you see, Ifiss EUliwelL Om
would say you had got fiuries in the house."

Just then Miss Powis returned. "What «aii I have done with 117
paper <rf beads ?" she exclaimed, going op to her work-boat, and eiamiiiiiig
Its contents. ""Why here they are, after all! How oooU I have over-
looked them ?"

"I have h)st something worse than beads," interposed Mia. NasK
^ my beautiful worked handkerduef. It's qiirited away somewiiere"

Miss Powis laughed. " It was lying <m the taUe for ever so hmg,"
she said to Mrs. Nash. " Tou took it up, ma'am, and mressed it oa year
moudi, saymg one of your lipe was sove. After that I thmk yoa put it
in your pocket"

<' Are yon sure it is not in your pocket now?" I eagsriy inqmred.

" Goo^bess me, do you think I should say I had not got the handks^
chiefiflhad?" uttered Mis. Nash, in a passion. <' Look for yoorsdvus."
She whipped up her gown — a handsome green satin enOy wbkk she

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CKOHe TO THB SHOWS. S79^

^MBtlT woie ■•■ iIm qpoke, and Aspkyed a white jean pocket resting
mk a eomid petticoat Andl^ the fame token, I may mention that that
was the first eorded petticoat I had seen, for they had jnst come up.
Bapidly emptying her pocket of its contents, she turned it inside out

it oertainly was not in her pocket, and she proceeded to shake her
pettiooats as if she were shaUng for a wager. ** It's not ahout me, I
inah H was. Do yon think either of yon lames can haye put it into your
pockets b^ mistake P*

^ It is mumariUe that I can have done so,^ I answered, << becatue I
was not in toe room.''

<« And e^[iiaUy iamossttile for me," added Miss Powfa, «'for I was
not on that side of toe table, and could onhr have taken it by purposely
reaching over for it" Nerertheless, we both, following the example of
Mmb, Kash, proceeded to turn out our pockets — my mat sensible one,
foD of a oofions medley ei things, and Miss Powis's oaby affair, made in
her diesa. No signs oi the ha^UEcrchief.

A reg^nlar hunt ensned* I begged Mrs. Nash to At still, called up
flaiah, and we aroeeeded to the s^tfoh, even taking ui| the carpet round
the boedan ; though had it got underneath them, in defiance of the
naiky ii would hare been nodnng short of a mbacle. Mrs. Nash's
bedioem was also submitted to Ae ordeal, but she nrotested that if found
tfaeia^ it most httve flown through the keyhc^e. She offsred the keys of
her dbawen, and of the cupboard — if we uked to look, she said — and was
eiMcsitly wtty mooh pat oot, and as mudi punled as we were. Later in

the enramng jmss Powis retired to take toe children to bed, and Lucy
came in.

** Now, what is your opinion of this litde tnt €i mystery ?" asked
Mrs. Nadi, keking at me.

^* I cannot giye one," I said; << I am unable to fothom it Itistome
perfsjcdy anaffttrwitaMo."

/^ Tour suspicions don't yet point to the thief r

^ The dnef ! Ob, Mrs. Nash, pray do not distress me by talking in
that way. The handkerchief will come to light, it must come to light :
I assnre you Sarah is no thiet"

**GbjI don't soqpect Sarah now," returned the lady. ** It's a motal
impossibility that she could haye had anything to do with the business
due eyemng, and I am sorry to haye accused her to you before. Ton
aM on the wrong scent, Miss Halliwell."

I folt my bee flush all oyer. Did she suspect MB ?

•^ Ah, I see, light is dawning upon you," she added.

^ Indeedr-4ndeed, it is not," I retorted, warmly. *^ We haye no thief
in^tUs house : we neyer haye had one yet."

" Well, yon are certainly as unsuspieionB as a child," she said. ^ Who
has got i4 do yon suppose got both — but Miss Powis ?"

<«Miss Powis!" I and Lucy uttered together. *< Impossible 1"

^" We haye none of us got it— haye we? and the room has not got it
•—has it ? it can't haye yanished into the earth or soared up to the skies,
and I •oppose none of us eat it Then who can haye got it, but Miss
Powis ? The tlung is as plain as a pikestaE What made her rush out
of the room on a sudden, pretending to go for her beads, when they wbre
here all the while r

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S80 GOIKe TO THB 8B0WB.

*^ Jffiai Fowis IB quite a gttitlewoma& ; the (anOj an 00 Jtrf ]
able, only reduoed^" broke in Lneyi indignantly. ^' She imdd be ■#
more capable of it than we should be."

'' Oh, bodier to family gentility," retorted Mrs. Nadi, '^ that doeoa't
fill yonnff girls' pockets with pocket-money. I suppose she w«b hsod
up, and uought my handksidiiefs would help hsr to some***

I felt too vexed to speak. Luoy began a wutt reply, bnt^was infag
rupted by Mrs. Nash.

*' I should like to know how she disposed of the fiirtc TU rtop her
disposing of the last, for Fll have her up before the Lord Mkyor to*
morrow momiog^ This'coines of her gmng gatiivaating^ aa-ahe did^ to
them shows at the fair^"

'' What a di«adful calumny !" uttored Lucy.

<< She didn't only go herss^ but she took all the sehoel^'' oeol^ pci«»
qisted Mrs. Nash, *' a^ they neyer got home till half-past nineat nigfat
Tou two ladies, for schoolmistresses^ are rather innoeeiit to whalfa going
on around you."

A sharp reecdleoticm, bringing its own paB% flashed aofoas me^ ef
the night when the young ladies terrified me by remaintng out so late.
Cauid they have been to the fair ? I wae unable to oflbr a word»

*^ Have some of the gtrb in, and ask 'em^ if you don't beliera nae^*^
oontinued Mirs. Nash. << Not Miss Powis^ she'll deny it"

Luoy, full oi indiffnant disbeli^, flew up^stws and brought downaoaie
ot the dder giris : they .had begun to undress, and had to reappai^ that
selves again. I addressed thcni kindly, aad begged them to spedr the
truth fearlessly : Did they go to the shows at the £Eur, or not ?

A dead silence, and then a very long-drawn-oot ^* Tea" from a- faint
voice. Lucy clapped her hands to her &ce : she was- ummto exdtaUa
thanL

<< That's right, children," cried Mrs. Nash ; ** never speak nothings bat
the truth, and then you^ nbt get into trooUe. And i£— ^goodness safe
us, Aey are beginning to cry i Why, you have got nothing to be
finghtened at There's no great harm in going to shows: I hwte gom
to 'em myself, hundreds of times."

'< And what did you see?" groaned Lucy. ** Speakup» linsistupoa
knowing. Everything^"

<<Lady Jane Grey, in wax-work, gdng to execution, in a-hkMk
shroud, and Protestant Prayer-book; and Henry the Eighth and hit
six wives, in white veils^ and silver fringe^ one of them imh a baiby in
three ostrich feathers; and the younsp Queen Victoria being crowned,
with her hair let down» and ilie Aidibidhop'of Canteribnry, in a grey
mitre and green whiskers, pouring oil on her— no^ the mitre was green
and the vmdcers were grey ; and Earl Rochester with a sword and an
eye-glass, looking through it at Nell Gwynne; and Kai^ William in a
pilot-coat drinking coffee wHh lus aueen ; and Jane Sbore in a white
sheets and — di, dear! we can*t< recollect all,** was the answer Lsey re-
ceived, with a bunt of sobs between eveiy sentence^

** Ohf you unhappy children!" responded Luey. "And did all of yo«
go into this wax-^€ck?"

« N— — o. Some went into the theatre."

" The theatre! What did you see there?"

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QOHf a TO THB 8B0W8. a»l

*^ A fivf^^i^ betnitifaL About a piiiiQess who wEBted to ntsny
someboajt <^ her Aither wMited her to many aomebody da% andahe
died right off on the stage for love, amonest the wax-li^^ts.''

«< Wax-lights!" uttttred Mis. Nadi, mth a hearty hsagh. << Why,
yoa innocents 1 they'd be nothing but hal^ienny d^s^ Was fhtie
plenty of dancing aid singmg?**

<< Y— «es, ma'anu The dancers ware from the Opera in London, they
said ; stars, condescendingly oome there beoanse the season was over.
And Mrs. Nash laughed agaio, but Lucy looked all the sianrer.

« Young ladies,** I interposed, ^* I beliere yon have told me the truth :
tell me a little more. Mow came you to go ? Who ptoposed it, or
induced you ?'*

" It was Miss Powis. Oh indeed, ma'am" — ^widi a very gsaninn burst
ot soba — *' we should never hare gone of ourselves*"

*' I told you so," cried Mrs. Nash, triumj^aatly ; and Lwoj leffc the
room with the children. *' I heard of it the next day from one of the
wwkmen at my willa, who was there and/ saw dnai. But.of course it
was no business of min^-till now."

The scene in our house the following morning was beyond every-
tjiing. Mrs. Nash called in a policeman and gave Miss Fowis into
eostody £ot stealing her two handkerchiefe. The htter, in tears and d^
extreme of agitation, protarted that she had never toadied eidier. There
was an a^ of indignant tn^ about bei^ impossible^ I thought^ to
be assumed. I am a great reader of countonances and manner^ haire
simie penetrationy and thought, then, that I could have staked my life
upon the gaVs innocence. The policeman a little disenchanted me«
** When you have had the experienee we have, ma'am," he said, '^ you'll
let assertions of innoeenoe and aspects of truth go for what th^ aie
worth, and that's moonshin&'' ACss PoiriS'Oflfared the keys of her boxes^
and insisted on their being searched, and that her dothes should be ex-
amined* I thouffht she wouM have gone out of her senses^ such was her
excntoment, especudly after her father came.

'^ Confess where the property is, and then I'll let you off," said' Mrs.
Nash, in answer to her impassioned appeals.

^ I have not got it — ^I never had it. I swear it, before Heaven."

** Policeman, set a fly. We'll go up to the poliee^oourt"^

<«^Be ye meromd, even as your Father which is in Heaven is merciful,"
broke in the pleading voice of Mr. Powis, a quiet, gentlemanly man, with
a sad amount of care in his pale face. <' I am sure, madam, my daugh-
ter is innocent : subject her not to this dreadful, disgrace. The property
may yet be foimd to have bean mislaid."

"Moonshine, sir I as that policeman have just said about looks.
Where can it have been mislaid to, up the chimUeyi^ or into the fire-^
when there was mme in the grate ?"

<< I beseech you show a little mercy. Give time. Think what your
" be if a <

foelings would be if a child of your own. waa aecosedl"

<< I never had no child, but one, and that died before it came to life,!'
reqionded Mrs. Nash. " The foot i% oiv when young women get a
propensity for dandng off to &irHdiows and donkey-raeinffy i^« no wondev
if th^ help themselves to thingst.not th^ own, to pay for it"

<< But CasoHne has not been to such piaee%" uttesed the astonished
Mr. Fowis.

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S8& QOSMC TO THE 8HOW8.

^ Hasn't she tboQgh ! PoBoomaiiy what wr% yoo rtandmg tbore for,
dobgnothing ? If 70a don't ciioote to geta fly, Fll call b some otfier
officer*

The sijg^t we muft hare made, driving away fixxn our gate and op to
London in that fly ! Mrs. Nash, myseff, Mr. Powis and hk dangfater
inside, the latter sobbme hjrsterically, and the poHoeman oft the bor, .
beside die diiTer. Mr. Powis had akeady oflbred to pay ihe Tahro of die
handkerdiieft^ for wbkh the magistrate, afterwards^ accused Min of ■• '
wish to componnd a felony ; and I am sure I woold haye paid it twm
over, ratherthan have had such a scandal emanating from nr^ house.
Bat Mrs. Nash woold not listen : she said she did not want tne Taloe,
she wanted the property.

It appeared to me that the sitting magistrate was & g^t bmte, or
else that he was, that monun^, in a dreaml temper. He is no longer
a magistrate now, at least in this world, so it is <» no ooaseqnence my
reooraing my opinion. I haye no dear recoUeetion of the scene now,
and never dud have, I was too moch bewildered and annoyed. I know
that the court M^Mared to me a Babel of staring eyes and confanon^ and
I felt thorongfafy ashamed at bung inside it.

<< What's your name f^ growled the magistrate^ when the ease was
called on.

<« Caroline Frances Powis, sir," said her fether.

" Can't she answer for hrnel^ or T was the surly rejoinder. << Eyer
here before, officer i''

^ No^ your worship. Not unfavourably known. In feet, not known

atalL"

I need not give the particulars of ihe examination, the reader being
• . J^ - ^^

already in possession of the feets. I know I was cdled as evidence, 1
the gracious goodness knows how I gave it. I daresay the eourttiioiqite
I was a bomr natoraL

^ Now, jToung woman,'' snapped the magistrate, << what have yon got
to say to thb ?"

She was a deal too hysterical to uj anything : and I must remark
that his manner was onoofi;h to terrify the most innocent prisoner into
an appearance of guilt. T^e old — I was goinr to write fool, but I'll pot
magistrate — committed her for trial. I tnought I should have gone off
in a fit when I heard it And to have witnessed die gracdess crowd,
assembled there, burstmg into a titter, when it came out that our young
ladies had gone to the show4x>oths on the sly 1 My cheeks are tingling
viith the rMoUection now.

He said he would admit her to bail ; and while Mr. Powis went on*
to get it, we were put into a dark, dir^ room of the court locked in, I
daresay. After ihatr-it was a long while ■ we rode home again, but Mil.
Nash was not with us then. People may ask why I remamed when the
examination was over, but I could not find in my heart to kavo the poor
thing alone : I shouU never afterwards have recmdled it to my <

*^ She must go to your house^ Mr. Powis," I whispered to him, as tiie
fly was nearing home. ^' I maynot take her again to mine."
^^ You do not believe her guilty ?" he rejoined.
I was puided what tonmswer* That morning I would have heartily

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QOtSB TO THE SHOWS. 28*

Btai No ; but the thooght had'beea imperceptibly in^uating itself into
mj mind in the atmosphere of that police-court — if she did not take the
handkerchiefs, where were they? That going to the fiair bad its bias
on my judgment : it had weighed heayily with the magistrate, and I
saw iiwas beginning to do so with her father. Disobedience, as I told
you. is sure to bring its own punishment. '

Now it was a strange thing, but, some days afterwards, she was at-
tadced witli measles. Perhaps she caught the disease in the court, for
we were brought in contact with sundry poverty-stricken, ghastly-looking
people^ and there was not a single case of it in our neighbourhood. She
had never had the disorder, and was extremely ill, the doctor, at one time,
giving no hopes of her. But she grew better, and when all danger of
my canying the infection back to the school was past, I went to see her.
She was lying in bed, looking thin and white, but a hectic flush soon
spread orer her cheeks.

** I^am aorry tosee youhere, my dear," I said. " I hoped you were up,
long^ since."

- ** I hope I shall never get up again,** she eagerly answered; '^I do hot
wish to. All the world belieyes me guilty.** '

^' Not 1^1 the world," I said, sooUiingly. Poor thing! whether ed-
ible or not, I was grieyed to see her lying there, so lonely and woe-
begone.

** Yes, they do. My father, my brothers and sisters, even my mother,
all believe it now. I am sure you do. Miss Halliwell. They harp so
anw&npon my having gene to the shows, and say if I did the one I might
have done the other. I hope I shall never get up from here again/
And the thought of the trial terrifies me night and oay. It comes over
ttie as a dreadful nightmare, from which I try to escape and cannot, and
Chen I scream with terror."

** That is true,** Mrs. Powis said to me, when* we went down stairs.
** If she suddenly wakes up in the night, her terror is so great that I have
to run firom my room to hold and soothe her. She asserts that she shall
never get up from her bed again, and I do not think she will. The dread
of this disgrace, of her standing in public to be tried as a common cri-^
minal, seems to be literally killing her by inches. Caroline was alway3
io aenntive.'*

My recollection is not clear upon one point : whether she ought to
bave been tried before the long vacation, or whether the trial was origi-'
nally fixed for af^r the assembling of the courts in November. I think
Uie former, and that it was postponed on account of her illness. At any
rate, November came in and she had not been tried. Oh, those long,
weary months to her ! Poor girl !

The week of the trial came ; it was to be on a Thursday, and on the
Monday evening previously Mrs. Powis called at our house. It was quite
late^ had struck eight o*clock, and Lucy and I were just sitting down to
ear sapper of bread and cheese. I pressed her to take some. She would
not, but drank a drop of beer.

*^ Poor Caroline wants to see you, Miss HalUweH,** she said to me.
^ She has been harping upon it these many days, but more than ever this
afternoon.''

'' Bow is 4ie ?** I and Lacy eageriy asked.

TOL. xxzix. u

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984 QGBm WQ fHS 8BffW§*

be alive oa Tburedaj — the day ihe hfim m nuudi dieaded. Of oomm
the tiial will be put off again, for she could noi he mowed froa hm bed
to attend it"

The words shocked me gieatf j, and Imqj let &11 bar knife 9pm Am
cheese-plate in her lap, and chi[^ped a niece out of it.

<< To tell jou the truth," continued poor Mrs. Powis, banting into
tears, '* I hare held back from asking you to oome, but hat neg&stcj fthia
eyenang has been so great I could refuse no longer. I do ao fear," dia
hesitatedi dn^pbg her yoioe to a whi^ter, ^* th2i she may be goin§^ to
cotlfesB to you, as she thinks she is about to die ; and to know thai ike
has acknowledged her guilt would almost kill me. Though her fetfaer
has been inclined to ju^e her harahly, I have nnconaoiousy ofang witk
hope to her assertions of innocence."

« t>o you wish me to come to-night ?"

<< Oh no. I had a minutes leisure this ereoiiig^ and ao ran aot
Come to-morrow, if that will suit you.'^

*< But to be dying," interposed Lacy, '* it aeema ao atrai^ 1 mat
complaint has she ? What is she dying of ?"

** A gaUopiag consumption, as the doctor sam and as I balieTe,"
xiptumed Mrs. rowis. <* My father went off in me same way, and my
only sister. They were both well, and ill, and dead in two months, and
— unlike her — ^had no grief to cypress them. Caioline might not have
lired even if this unhappy business had never occurred, the moasln
seemed to take such hold upon her constitution. Then I may tell her^
J^DsB Halliwell, you will come P"

<< Tes, indeed. I will come as soon as I can after morning sdiooL"

. Mrs. Powis left, and I and Lucj sat over the fire, talking. " I would

nve something," she said, in a musing manner, *' to know whether Caro-

Une Powis was ret^ly guiltrr. I fear ^e was : but if it had not been for

that show-going, my belief in it would have been more difficult."

" Lucy, she was certainly guilty. What else could have beoome of the
pocket-luuidkerolue& ? And her conduct since, dns excessive praatratioii
and grief, is scarcely consistent with consdous innocence."

May the blessed angels, who heard that uncharitable opinion of minai
blot out its record ! Cause of repentance, for having uttered it, came to
me very shortly, proving how chary we ought to be in condemning
others, even when af^pearaooes and report are against them. *' W^Jko 4iri
thou that presumest to judge another T*

After twelve the next momiog I put on my bonnet and shawl, and
was going out at the door, when Lucy ran after me, calling out ;

'^ Hester, you may as well step in to the dressmaker's, as you will paas
her door. Ask her whether she means to let us have oar aew drasecj
home or not, and when?" Upon what trifling circumstances great
events turn 2

I went into the dressmaker's on my way. Her asttstant and the two
apprentices were in the workroom, but not herself.

''MIm Smith won't be two minutes, ma'am," said one of them; ^ahe
is only up-stairs trying on a mantle. Or shall we give her any mes-
sage r

No, I determined to wait and see h^r. myself fet I had sent her

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eeim TO THB aaowi. 285

I wUMrat end, and the hai had tiMM ifemm of ooff nMrly a
moDtfil So I sat down. One of the yoong women was busy over a
grean satui dress, wnpMring the linii^ from &e skirt I knew it at

«< b notikai Mis. Mash'sri asked.

^ Tes, ma'am,'' aMweied the asnstant '' She has got the bottom of
the skirt jagged out and dirlnr, and in a regular mess, so we are goinr to
kt it down from the top and take the bad in. Thoe'a plentr tamed in
at ihe top, a good thiee inohes. She sajs she always has W gowns
made so. It's not a bad pkn.''

Jfiss Smith came in, and I was talking to her, when the young
peiaoo who was unfMoldng the dress suddenly exclaimed, '^My stars!
what's this I^

Wef both turned round. She was drawing something from between
die fining and the satin sldrt, and we all prcSsed round to look. li w<u

^ As sure ai fate it is the one the rumpus was aboutT uttered Miss
Smiifa, Jnenattement; ^* the one poor Miss Powis was aecused of stealing.
What a providential omnoidenQB that you stepped in, ma'am, and were
hare to witness itr

<^Look if diere's another," I said to the TOunff|;iri; ^ there were two
lost." And she bent down her face, and looked m between the fining
aadthedrtas.

^ How^s something ebe," she siud. '< Tes, sure enoi^;fa, it is another
handkerchief. But una is a plain one."

It was e? en so. After months of agitation to many, and of more than
agitation to Caroline Powis, the two fest handkerohien were brought to
fight in this mysterious manner. It af^peared that the sewing of the
poeket-hol^ the thread whidi attached the lining to the satin, had come
undone, and when Mrs. Nash had put, as she thought and intended, the
handkardiiefr into her pocket, each had sUpped down between the lining
and the dress. The truth might have been detected eariier, but iiie
had soaroely had the gown on nnoe learing my house : in its present
f* jagged" state it was deemed too shabby for tiie q^leodours of the new

When I went out of Miss Smith's door, I stopped and hesitated.
Should i go to Caroline Powis, or should I go to Mrs. Nash ? That I
would Tisit both, I fUIy determined on. Better ease her mind first

I was diK)cked at the alteration in her appearance when I entered her
chamber : the attenuated features, thmr hectic flush, and the wandering
eye. She struggled up in bed when she saw me.

*' Oh, Miss Halliwell," she eageriy exdumed, ^* I thought you were
never coming. I am g^oing to die — even the doctor admits that there is
no hope. I have wanted to tell you, once again, that I am innocent of
tbstt oraadfttl thing — and yon wiU not think I would utter anything but
tnth in dying."

^' Dear chad," I said, *^ I have news for you. Your innocence is
proved to me, to your motbe]>— fSor I hare just told her, there she stands,
Ibbttng with joy— and it will soon be proved to all the neighbourhood.
The handkerchiefs are found, and yon are exculpated. Providence, vrho

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286 oonra to the shows.

is ever merciful, has brought the truth to light in his own ndystmotis
way."

It affected her so much less than I had anticipated ! There was no
burst of excitement, no fainting, very little increase of the hectic colour.
She sank back upon her pillow, and clasped her hands upon her bosom.
It may be that she was too near the portals of another world for the
joys or sorrows of this one violently to affect her.

" I have had but one prayer since I lay here," she whispered, at length :
^< that God would make manifest my innocence ; if not before my death,
after it. Dear mamma" — holding out her hand — *' my father will not
be ashamed of me now. And for the going to the shows — that surely
may b^ forgiven me, for I have suffered deeply for it. Tell the truth to
all the schoolgirls, Miss Halliwell."

When I went to Mrs. Nash's, which I did at once, that lady was
seated in great state in her dining-room, eating her luncheon, for she
had taken to fashionable hours, now. It was served on an elegant senrioe
of Worcester china, and consisted of pork chops and pickles, mashed
potatoes, apple tart and cheese, with wine and ate. She did not invite
me to partake of it, which compliment I thought would have been bot
polite, as there was great plenty. Not that I should have done so.
cut, in her new g^ndeur, we schoolmistresses were deemed very far
beneath her.

** Well," she said, ^* have you come about this bothering trial? Take
a seat; ther^, by the fire if you Hke. I hear it is to be put off agttn*

« Put off for good, I think, Mrs. Nash."

** Put off for good ! What do you mean ? If the judges think to
grant a reprieve or pardon, or whatever it*s called, and so squash the
BSaxr before it comes on, my husband shall show 'em up in the courts for
it. I don't say but what I'm sorry for the girl and her long illness, but
then she shouldn't have been obstinate and refused to con^s. I can't
help fancying, too, that the illness is part sham, a dodge to escape tbe
trial altogether."

^< You talk about her confessing, Mrs. Nash, but suppose she had
nothine to confess, that she was really innocent, what else could she have
done than deny it ?"

** Suppose the world's made of soft soap," broke forth Mrs. Nash,
scornfully. " How can you be such a gaby. Miss Halliwell P Why,
you are a'most as old as I am — oh yes you are. Not quite, maybe ; but
when one dies from old age, t'other will be quaking. If Caroline Powis
did not steal the handkerchiefs, where did they go to, pray ? Stuff!"

"They are found," I said.

She was carrying the tumbler of ale to her mouth, for she had con-
tinued her luncheon without heed to my presence, but she stared at me,
and put it down untasted.

** The handkerchiefs are found, Mrs. Nash, and I have seen them.*

"Where were they? Who found them? Who took them?" she
asked, reiteratbg question upon question. ** Has she given them up,
thinking I'll let her off from being tried ?"

" Do you remember, ma'am, that the day you lost the handkefvhiefs
you had on your green satin gown ? Both days."

" Green saUn gown ! For all I know, I Imd. What has that ffot to
do with it?"

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QOING TO THE SHOWS. 287

''They were uDpickiiig the gown ibii mornuig at MiM Smith'gy mod
inside tfaie lining—-*'

** What are you going to tell me ?" screamed forth Mrs* Nash, as if
a fineshadowinff of the truth had flashed upon her, whilst she threw down
her knife and rork on the table and pushed her chair awaj from it '< I
declare you quite frighten me, with your satin gowns, and your nnjMck-
ing, and your long, mysterious face. Don't go and say I have accused
the ml unjustly I"

'* Between the lining and the dress they found the two handkerchieft,''
I quietly proceeded* " They must have fallen in there, the hemming of
the pocket-hole being unsewn, when you thought you were putting them
in your pocket SaSrah persisted, if you remember, that she saw you
putting the first in a few minutes before you missed it"

I neyer saw such a countenance as hers, at that moment She turned
aa red as fire, and her mouth gradually opened, and stopped so. Pre-
sently she started up, speaking in much excitement.

** Come along, Miss Halliwell. FU go to the dressmaker's, and have
this out at once ; confirmed or denied. Lawk-a-mercy 1 what reparatioa
can I make to Carry Powis ?"

Th^re was no reparation to be made. In vain Mrs. Nash sent jellies
and blancmanges, and wings of chicken, and fiery port wine, to tempt the
invalid back to life ; in vain she drove daily up m her own carriage, with
her own liveried coachman (such an honour for the like of that little
cottage of the Powises !), and sat by Caroline's bedside, and made all
sorts of magnificent promises to her, if she would but get well ; in vain
she sent Mr. Powis a cheque for his quarter's rent, hearing there was
some little difficulty about its payment, for Caroline's illness had been
very expensive, and had run away with all the ready money ; and in vain
she put the youngest child, a boy rising nine, into the Bluecoat School,
through an influential butcher, who was a common councilraan, and very
great in his own ward, and her husband's particular friend. Nothing
recaUed poor Caroline. ^' But don't grieve, ' she said to Mrs. Nash, on
the eve of her departure, ^' I am going to another and a better world."

Now it is quite possible, and indeed probable, that Caroline Powis
would have dicKl, whether this disgrace haa fallen on lier or not, for con-
sumption, very rapid consumption, was hereditary in her family. But
the effect the unpleasant circumstances had upon me was lasting, and I
made a resolve, that if I lost all the pocket-handkerchiefs I possessed in
the world, and had not so much as half a one left for use, I would never
prosecute anybody for stealing them.

I hope none will question this little episode in my domestic experience,
for it is strictly true, and occurred exactly as I have related it If Mrs.
Nash is indignant with me for telling it, though so many years since
have now gone by, I cannot help it ; and I am under no obligations to
her. She still occupies the villa close by, and has now two horses to her
carriage instead of one, and a footman to match the coachman, and her-
self and her appurtenances are on a larger scale, and altogether she is
rider than ever. While Carry Powis's tomb rests in a quiet comer of
neighbouring churchyard, and her father and mother both lie by
her now.

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THE EXPEDITION TO THE AMUR*

Thebe are many spots on the globe which still remain to be ezploved
by the geographer ; such are, for example, certain more or less oantral
portions of Australia, A&ica, and Arabia. These are regions difficult of
access, and stUl more difficult to traveL It would, however, scarcely be
believed that, till lately, the very extent of the easily accessible posaeaaions,
the nature of the establishments, and the means of offence and defence
possessed by so powerful a rival as Russia in the Pacific ; even the know*
ledge of the entrance into the river Amur, whether fh)m the south by
the Gulf of Tartary, or from the north by the sea of Okhotsk, have oot
been deemed worthy of inquiry or exammation. The self-complacency'
of wealthy insulars must be appreciated to understand how those in aotbo-
ritycoula remain happy under such ignorance*

The disastrous repulse at Petropaulski came like a thunderbolt to
arouse the nation to a sense of the power acquired by Russia in r^ona
till then not deemed worthy of notice by our torpid Admiralty Board^
and the hydrographer must have been somewhat humiliated and con-
founded when the fleet, no one knew how, made its escape within the
shelter of a Tartarian Dnieper — the utterly unknown and unexploied
Amur — 'vet in point of length the eighth river of the world, having a
course of 2740 miles, and watering an area of 800,000 miles in temperate
regions which have not as yet been marked on the nu4>s as Russian, yet
which are so to all intents and purposes. The Amur has, to what we
know to the contrary, its Kinbums and Otchakofs at its entrance, and it
certainly has its Nicholauski within*— the representative in the east o£
Ificholaief in the west.

Captfidn Bernard Whittingham was on the eve of relinquishing tbe
command of the Royal Engineers at Hong Kong in March, 1855, when
he received an invitation m>m Commodore the Honourable C. EUiot to
take a cruise with him in an attempt to discover the progress of Ruasiaa
aggrandisement in North-Eastem Asia, and to ascertain how fiur the
reports of her successful encroachment on the sea-firontiers of China and
Japan were true. The SibyUe started on the 7th of April, accompanied
by the steam-corvette Hornet^ and the brig Bittern. Emerging from^
the China Sea, southerly breezes on the Pacific, with a strong northerly
current, wafted them pleasantly along the ever-beautiful coast of For-
mosa, and on the 29th they dropped anchor in the capacioua harbour o£
Hakodadi in Yezo, the central island of Japan, and one of the ports
chosen by America to be opened to the world by that mysterious and
inhospitable population.

Here they remiuned till the 7th of May, by which time every one waa
glad to hear the order givea to weigh the anchor, and to see the sails
set again for the campaign in the north. On the 12th, the snowy raagea
of Sagalien came in view. As to how much of tlus remarkable land was
claimed or had been conquered by Russia, the expedition knew nothing ;

* Kotes on the late Expedition affainst the Busdan Settlements in Eastern
Siberia ; and of a Visit to Japan and to the Shores of Tartary and of the Sea of
Okhotsk. By Captain Bernard Whittingham, Royal Engineers.

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TBM IZFEDITKMr TO TEDI AHUB. f8#

jmk, 89 Oiptem Wbitlingiiam JMtty Moaaiiks, it wat a qnettioo iphtbh t
ipwy hnrrwd Tuit to thata watan might have folved al any tiina during
die paat five yaan. .

A hmdiDg waa soon eflbeted, the firat time at a dcMrted Tilh^pa^ the
aeeond wi^ greater sacoeM amid a population of Ainos, with long Uadc
hair fljiog in die wind, seal-akin jackets^ Idlts, and boots. Thme poor
people fell on their hands and knees and repeatedly tonohed the eardi
with dieir fordieada at die approach of their visitors. The extent of
Aea mental degradation may be imagined when it is mentioned thai
they kept bears in log cages, not as soologieal onriosities, but as crea*
tores to which to make votive offerings, if not actually to worship. At
the ptctovesqne bight called Baie de m Jonqui^re by La Peroose, a still
larger village was met with, but the inhabitants were^ for some reason or
other, leas accessible.

At daylight of the 20th, the small squadron weighed and stood acRMp
the Gulf of Tartary, only about forty miles in width at thb point, for the
bay of De Castries, situate on the coast of Chinese Tartary, not very fiur
to the south of the mouths of the river Amur. The shc^res of Sagaliea
aad Chinese Tartary were made in existing charts and maps to approach
so cloady about forty miles to the north, as to leave only a narrow
passage for boats into the estuary of the Amur, but this was afterwards
shown to be a wondrous error. Matters of import presented them-
selves on approaching the bay of De Castries to rivet tneir interest and
attention.

That ever thonght-inspinng and tonchinff scene of a ship's company at prayers
at sea, surroimd^ bv the instniments of aestmctlQn, readv in a few moments
*' to thunder alons; the deep," whilst listening to the mild teachings of our holy
fidth, had just enoted ; and groups of officers and men were nroudly watching tlie
^byli^$ speedy sailing before the fast-freshening breeze, wnich was alreadv top
much Ibr nie smaller vessels following her, when '' a sul under the land'^ was
reported. All glasses were instantly in requisition, and pointed towards the
direation indicated. ''I see one — two— three," the experienced master mur-
mured to me; and, as his telescope still bore on the bay Wore us, ** Yes» thane
are four, five, and, I think, a sixtn," he added.

The excitement was intaise, though subdued by discipline : and when, in a
few minutes, the Russian ensigns were discovered floating in the strong breeze,
at a distance of seven or eight miles, the order and signal was given '' to prepare
lor action ;'* and whilst we steadily pursued our progress, the cabins and tiieir
fimutuie were hurried below, and shot and ^ell mtraght up. - Offioers came
en the deck with their swoids on, and armed, as fortune willed, with pistola,
single, double, or Colt-barrelled. The doctors and chaplain were quickly in the
already-prepared cockpit, where medical instruments, oandagea, and lint were
^ying m admirable order.

'&^ many minutes had elapsed the noble main-deck of the Sibylte displayed
its fine proportions ; and perhaps at that moment ship-builders— if placed on
board — miffot have acknowled^ the folly of cutting seven immense orna-
mental sncT yachtJike windows m a frigate's stem, instead of four or fi^ useful
and ordinariqr-au^ gunports.

The brig was ordered by signal to examine the enemas force. In her usual
well-handled style, and to the muttered admiration of the Sibylla's crew, she
approached the outer bay, and off it ^ signalled a large friffate, three corvettes,
a brig, and a steaowr," as the compositmn oi the enemy's force.

The Sturnet iteam-oorvette was diMcted by signal to enter the outer

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990 THB. £Z»D1TI01I TO THE AMUR

Jbaibour and iecoim(ntre» and die returned in ihe afteraooD, widi'dw
xeport that there were six yesadt* Further examination showoi that llie
inner harbour was protected by three small islands. Rodcs, shoals, or
grounded ice obstructed the passages between. A Russian frigate was
moored, with her broadside to the impracticable-looking passage to the
southern island, and a long corvette, mounting eighteen or twen^ goni^
was moored also, with her broadside bearing on the channel between the
southern and middle islets. Two other correttes were similariv moored
in an inner line; a brig, or bri^antine, was placed further back; and a
small steamer was half hidden behind a projecting point still further v^
the harbour. Russia had been five years busily laying the foundations
of a settlement in this bay, as the nearest and earliest open harbour for
her possessions in the Amur ; and it was to this bay that the vessels
which had eluded pursuit after the declaration of war were directed to
proceed ; and the same place of refuge saved the Petropaulski ships.

There jet remained nearly two hours of daylight, and the commodore gratified
the eagerness of the boyish crew of the Homei by giving orders to hoist the
red ensign and to try the range of the long thirty-two nound gun in the bow,
which, as the furthest rangm? gnn in the service, ougnt to mtve reached the
corvette at 2000 yards. We watched the fli^t of a shell, and were dis-
appointed in seeinji^ it fall short of the island. The Russians cheered and re*
tamed the comphment from a broadside gun, whose shot fell likewise short,
amidst the cheers of our crew. The long gun was again pointed, and a second
shell dropped some distance from the mark. A longer cheer from the Russisns,
who brought the bow of their corvette to bear on us, was followed by a welK
directed snot which fell between three or four hundred yards shorty and was
greeted by another cheer. This practice was, I assume, thought a waste o(
time, and we steamed back to the frigate and brig, which were still outside.

Hie following day the three vessels "stood on and of the entrance to the
harbour, with a view to entice the enemy's souadron to leave their strong posi-
tion. The day passed without this object being attained; the Russians em-
ploying it in active measures to strengthen themselves.

Three alternatives presented themselves to the little British aquadron.
One which we cannot help thinking that some would have been glad to
avail themselves of, was to attack at once. But the auxiliary steam*
corvette having barely power of self-propulsion for herself alone, still less
to act as a tug, this plan was rejected. A nation which boasts of her
naval supremacy seems always to lack the means of preserving that
ascendancy when the time comes to give it practical application. A
second alternative was to blockade the Russian squadron; this was also
negatived. A third and last was to blockade the port, by keepine the aes
with two vessels, and to despatch the smallest for assistance. This alter-
native was acted on at once ; the three vessels stood out to sea, and
during the two following days sailed slowly to the south till the 23rdr
continuing to cruise in a narrow part of the Gulf of Tartary until the
27th, when they bore up again for De Castries Bay. If they had sailed
away on purpose to give the enemy time to escape^ they coidd not have
adopted a more effectual means.

The next morning, as we skurted the well-known bluff, every glass was turned
towards the bay, and long before it was possible to see them, masts were de-;
scried by anxious and eager eyes. A nearer approach revealed that the Rossiao
ships had evidently changed their positions, though where they had moved to

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THE IXPIDrnON TO THE AHUB. 291

wM Bot be diNoyered; asd riowlj and disagreeablj the ooBTietioii oime to
cvtrj mind that the enemj's Mjoadron had escaped. Still to the last some hq)^
yet remained^ until we got into the outer harbour* and found that the inner
anchorage was unoccupied.

Kegrets and disappointment were unbounded, and felt bj none so deei)!^,
tboogn silently, as by the commander, who had, I am sure, sacrificed the quidL
iupmses of his nature, and the honourable promptings of ambition, for the
Motion which his judgment dictated to him was his <hity.

' A landing was effected in De Castries Bay, and some rough log build*
ings explored, in which were found boxes, beds, clothes, TOoks, papers,
floor, and eren bread still warm, but no inhabitants. To add to the
eliinax of £saster, the Bittern arrived off Hakodadi on the 29th of May,
bat the reinforcements only reached the Bale de la Jonquiire on the 25th
of Jmie, and never looked into De Castries Bay, nor bent a sail, until
a rare northerly wind tempted a speedy return to the south !

On Ihe 29th of May the little squadron stood out to sea aeain, and
after beins^ run into by an American whaler, were joined on the 7th of
June hy the Winchester and Spartan frigates. From that time till the
15^ they continued under easy sail near the same spot, and it was not
tin the 16th that, being further reinforced by the Styx and Tartar^ they
once more turned their bows to the north I Thb time Captain Whitting-
bam entertained sanguine hopes of being one amongst the first to solve a
geographical question, rather mysteriously evaded by Russian surveyors,
and unauthoritatively discussed by the great German physicists, that is, if,
in contradiotion to the statements made upon very insufficient data by
La Perouse and Broughton, there exists a passage for ships at the
northern extremity of the Gulf of Tartary into the Gulf of Amur.

The auxiliary steam-corvette hoisted the commodore's broad pendant on the
aftenKKm 6f the 27th, and proceeded to sea. Rumours were rife that she was
ordered to look into De Castries Bay at daylight, and then, if no enemy was
seen there, to search the bays and inlets to the northward. The next morning
broke with heavy rain and thick mist, and hopes were again buoyant that the
boats of the squadron would be sent, on the return of the Hornet, to discover
tiie enemy's position, the frigates advancing as far as practicable, probably
^irty or even possibly forty miles, and the smaller vessels much further, to
cover and protect the boats ; and as the corvette steamed in at the early sum-
mer dawn of this latitude, the fresh northerly breeze and bright clear sky seemed
to lessen the chances of getting ashore, and diminish the risks of accidents^
Risks ! how often that fatal word is used as a shelter for imbecility and inde-
cision ! As if war was a certain game at each move, even with the immense
pfeponderance of the allied squa(£t)ns ! It was soon known to all that no
enemy's vessels had been seen, and the idacrity of getting the ships under
weidS promised a speedy settlement of the much-canvassed passage to the
nor&. Alas ! in a tew minutes each vessel, with every sail set — an unknown
spectacle in our progress to the north — ^was flying to the south before the plea-
sant breeze !

We have since learnt from Russian prisoners, that at that time, late as it wa^
only half their vessels had got through the passage never even reconnoitred
by us!

The officers of the squadron engaged in ferreting out the Russian
fleet in the Gulf of Tartainr must wish the landsman, who thus details
their proceedings, in that Tartary, where, according to poets familiar to
them in their youth, the most impious and guilty among mankind were
punished.

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39ft ZHB BXFXDmON TO THS AMUB.

, The Eoglirii were joined a* Cape CriHon by two Frondi fr^^ates, and
Ae alliedi squadron sailed on the 10th of July, wit^ die exception of tiie
French frimte La StbyUe, whose crew was soffering from scnrry, to tlie
Sea of Okhotsk. Here they were enveloped in dense fogs for a week» and
on the 17th were joined off Cape Elizabeth, the most northern point of
Sa^alien, by her Mdesty's ship Barracouta, At this point they weie
within the current of the Amur, although upwarda of a huiMbea milaa
from its mouth. On the 22nd the squadron anchored off Obmaa Bay,
where, besides the innumerable water-fowl, a Russian officer and a few
men were observed to be posted on every available projecting point. It
was in vain, however, that attempts were made by the steamer to fboroa
its way up the estuar}' of the Amuv; in the absence of charts,, the dif-
ficulties proved to be insurmountable. The boats were, however,, sent tq
cut off an armed trader of six or ^ght guns, and they suoceeded in cap*
turinc;', after a long and hard chase, two boats and fifteen men, the trader
herself having been fired and abandoned. These men declared that then
existed no passage for ships into the river Amur from the north, and
that the only passage was by the Gulf of Tartary, precisely that followed
by the Russian squadron, and left unexplored by the British 1

From the northern mouths of the Ajnur the squadron sailed to Aian,
an important Russian settlement on the Sea of Okhotsk. It waa widi
much difficulty, owing to a persevering fog, which left a dreary prospect
of a sea horizon of two or three hundred yards, that the place was found;
but at length it was made out on the 2nd of August by tiie Sil^Ue
running daringly in, until a rocky, iron-bound coast presented itself
rising dearly with a bright sun shining over it.

It is a shallow and narrow inlet, broken by projecting points, or rocka^ iato
three small basins — ^the exterior being a roadstead, ana the innermost only fit
for steamers and small vessels : indeed the whole aspect of the harbour z^
sembled more an artistes studv of Highland lake scenery than the proud em]^
rium of Siberian trade, for tne defence of which all the resources of Eusaiaa
engineering had been lavished! The latter was represented by three slight
earthen batteries en Intnqvette, which a steam-corvette ought to have ailenoed
successively in a quarter of an hour if the neighbouring heu'hts had not been
occupied ; and yet it was before similar batteries constrnctea by the Russian
seamen of a frigate and a transport, designed by naval o£Qlcers, and bnilt under
their superintendence, that the allied squadron suffered the ignominious repulse
of Petropaukki !

No wonder that the Russians are proud! The war found the professions
ddUcated to war ready for war ; and whether at Sebastopol or at the extre*
mities of the empire in the East, professional talent and command were found
combined ; whilst Cronstadt has dfefied menace, and Sveabour^ has only been
bombarded at a distance. Dare any English officer of reputation proph^ the
same of Gibraltar or of Malta P The enemy has taught us a lesson ; I tmat that
professional bigotry will allow us to benefit by it.

The Barracouta, Amohtiriief wad Pique frigates had viated dus (dace
in April, and found it deserted. An American whale-ebip was now at
anchor in the inner harbour, and her master came off and informed them
tiiat, since the d^Mrture of the first English squadron, nothing had
changed in the port, and that it vras still deserted.

Aian, in which a few Yakuts were also met wiUi, is desoribed as being
a dreadful place of exile, sad, dreary, and unhealthy. Children <tf
European parents, however healthy ana pure their blood, bom thaie^ aif

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BBAUIfARCHiia XRD HIS TIlfM. S9S

invariaUy seroftikHis. The somnier is a lour moQtbs* tog^ to wUeh
winter, with its intense eoM but bright weadier, is a relief. Attempts
were made to discover where the gmis which manned the batteries had
been buried, but without success. One opening made exposed to view
lai^ quantitiee of English and German china, glasses^ and flower-vases*
A neighbouring row, apparently of potatoes, on being dug upi A»hiMtod
hnndreds of wfdms' teeth.

On the 3rd of August the Barraeouta steamed in with the crew of tlie
wrecked Russian frigate Diana^ two hundred and eighty in number, and
was glad enough to be relieved of some of the prisoners, who much more
than doubled Uie number of able-bodied men in her crew. On the 13th of
Ajignst the squadron left these inhospitable shores ; and, *' disappointed
as were all the high hopes of entering the Amur by the northern ^^Mw^n^l^
and of encQuotering the enemy in weir own waters and under the oover
of their batteries, still a sense of proiimate reli^ from wet fogs and cheer-
less cold days served to mitigate the bitter feelings which firustrated zeal,
inaction, desultory plans, and ill success had mduaily sown in breasts
Rowing with the ' noblest longing for the stnfe ' a leader could desire.
Silently and dully the ships prooeeded southwaids, a damp veil ofteni
hidinff them from eadi other; but a momentary rising of the fog
usoalfy proved how perfect the discipline was which, for so many weeks,
had kept the squadron toffether in unknown and mist-covered seas.**

Sndi is the history of one of the most extraordinaiy and grievous
mistakes on record. The enemy's squadron was allowed to escape into
the river Amur by a south passage between Sagalien and Chinese
Tartary, within a few miles of the British squadron, — thb passage never
kavii^ been eiqilored, while the enemy was still detained there by the
ioeu To crown all^ the ElngUA ships sailed round Sagalien into the
Sem of Okhotsk to get into the Amur by the north, where there was no
passage. The tale would be almost laughable, if there were not such
serious reflections connected with it.

BEAITMABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

Ws left Beaumarchais, after encountering the Jew Angeluoa in the
fiorest of Neustadt, and being wounded in a ringular aforay with ban-
ditti, wMftding his way to the court of Maria Theresa, to lay his case
bdforo the empress.

Hy first care (be writes in his report to Louis XYL, dated 15ih October, 1774),
on arriving at YiemuL was to write to the empress herself. The appreSiension
&at the letter m^t be perused hj anv other person prevented my explaining tiie
motive of the audience wnich I sohcitea. I soi^^fat simply to awaken her cariosity.
Having, however, no means of access, I appealed to the Baron de Neny, her
secretary ; but he, upon my declining to tell nim what I wanted, and seeing the
wounds on my fiioe, took me for an Irish officer or wounded adventurer, who
wished to extort a few ducats from the empress, and he refused, in bluff terms,
to take charge of my letter, unless I would tell him my secret ; he would indeed
have turned me out of the room, if I had not assumed as haughty a manner
as himself, and assured him that I should make him responsible before the

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194 BEAUHABCHAIS AND HIS TIHBaSU

empress of all the mischief that might aocrae in a most important affair by lii^
refusal, unless he at onoe undertook to bear my letter to his sovereign.

Still more surprised at my manner than he had even been at my appearance,
he reluctantly took the letter, saying that I must not on that account expect
that the empress would consent to see me. " Sir/' I said, "do not let that cause
you any anxiety. If the empress refuses to ^ant me an audience, yon and I
shall have done our duty : the rest remains with fortune."

The next day the empress sent the Comte de Seilem to me, and he, upon my
statement that I was commissioned by the King of France upon duties which I
reserved to myself to explain to her majesty in person, offered to conduct me
forthwith to Schoenbrunn, where her majesty was at that moment. I accord-
ingly repaired thither, although the fatigue of the previous evemng had much
aggravated my sufferings.

1 in the first place presented to the empress your majesty's order, sire, and
she acknowledged the writing, adding that I misht speak openly before the
€k)mte de Seilem, from whom her majesty assured me that she had no secrets,
and that she derived great benefit from his counsels.

" Madame," I said, " the matter which I have to lay before ^rou does not so
much relate to affairs of state, properly so called, as to dark intngues which are
being concocted to destroy the queen s reputation and affect the king's happi-
ness." I then related the circumstances as they had occurred.

At this recital, the empress, lifting up her hands with surprise, said, ^But;
dir, what ever has induced you to show so much seal in the interest of my son-
in-law, and especially of my daughter?"

"Madame, I have been one of the most unfortunate men in France at tiie
end of the last reign. The mieen, under such trying circumstances, did not dis-
dain to show some sympathy tor all the sufferings tnat liad been accumulated on me.
In serving her in the present matter, without hope that she will even ever be
made acquainted with my exertions, I only liquidate a heavy debt that I owe her;
the more difficult my enterprise, the greater excitement I find in it. The queen
condescended to say openly that I manifested in mv defence too much courage
and mind to have committed the wrongs that have oeen attributed to me ; what
would she now say, madame, if, in an affair which equally interests herself and
the king, she found me wanting in that courage which she admired, and that
character which she called mind P She would say that I was deficient in zeaL
' That man,' she would sav, ' succeeded in a week's tune in destroying a libel whidi
outraged the person of the late king and his mistress, when the English and
Frencn ministers had made vain efforts for eiffhteen months to bring[ about the
same results. In the present case, entrusted with a mission in which we take
the greatest interest, he meets with nothing but failures. Mther he is a traitor
or a fool, and in both cases he is equally unworthy of the confidence that has been
placed in him.* Such, madame, are the motives that have induced me to brave
danger, despise pain and suffering, and surmount all obstacles."

**^ut, sir, why did you change your name ?"

*' Madame, I am unfortunately too well known under my own name in the
European world of letters, and the published defence of my last affiur has so
excited people in my favour, that wherever I appear under the name of Beau,
marchais, whether it la that I awaken the interest of friendship, or that of com-
passion, or mere curiosity, they call upon me, invite me, and surround me so,
that I am no longer at liberty to work as secretly as it is necessary to do in so
delicate an affair as that which has been entrust^ to me. That is why I begged
of the king to allow me to travel with the name of Eonac, whidi is in my
passport."

The empress testified the greatest curiosity to read the libel, to obtain pos-
session of which had cost me so much trouble. Its perusal followed imme-
diately upon my explanation. Her majesty condescended to enter upon the
most mtimate aetails of the subject, and she listened to me for a considerable

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bsalItmabchais and his times. 294

leagtii of time, t remained with her for more than three hours and a half, and
I sereral times renewed my request, with much earnestness, that she would not
loee a moment in sending to Nuremberg.

"But would the man have dared to show himself there, knowing you were
goine to that place yourself ?" inquired the empress.

''Madame, in order the more to mduce him to go there I deceived him, by
leading him to believe that I was going to retrace my steps and should return to
France. At all events, he is there or he is not. In the first case, by having
liim sent to France, your majesty will render an essential service to the king
and to the queen ; in the second, it would be at the most only a fruitless in-
quiry, as would also that which I should beg ^our majesty to have effected, by
causing due inquiries to be made at all the printing establishments in Nurem-
berg, so that tne libel may not issue from thence to the world, for by the
precautions that I have taken ebewhere I can answer for England and
Hdland."

The empress condescended so far as to thank me for the seal which I mimi-
fested ; she requested me to leave the manuscript till the next morning, giving
me her word of honour that it should be restored to me by M. de Seilem.

'' Ton had better," she said, with expressions of sympathy, '* ffo to bed, and
have yourself bled. We ought never to forcet here or in France now much you
have suffered in this cause mr the benefit of your masters."

I only enter upon these details, sire, in order that you may feel the more
«trongly the contrast which the^ present with the conduct afterwards pursued
towards me. I went back to Vienna, my mind still excited with the conference.
I sat down to put on paper several suggestions which had presented themselves
to my mind as oeing calculated to strengthen my case, and addressed them to
the empress. M. de Seilem promised to deliver them. Nevertheless, the manu-
acript was not restored to me, and the same day, at nine o'clock in the evening a
jecretary of the r^ncy presented himself in my apartment, accompanied^
two officers with drawn swords and eight grenadiers with fixed bayonets. B!e
was bearer of a note from M. de Seilem, in which that nobleman requested me
to allow myself to be arrested, reservinj^ to himself, he said, the explanation by
word of mouth of the reasons for this Ime of conduct, which I should certainly
i4>proveof.

"No resistance," said the secretary to me.

"Sir," I quietly answered, "I sometimes resist bandits, but never emperors."

AH my papers were then sealed. I requested permission to write to the
empress, but was refused. Everything was taken from me, my knife, scissors,
even the buckles of my shoes— and I was left in my room with this numerous
guard, where it remained for thirty-one days, or forty-four thousand six hundred
and forty minutes ; for, while the hours pass away so rapidly for those who are
happy that they scarcely perceive their flight, the unfortunate mark the time of
their suffering by minutes and by seconds, and find them very long when each
is taken separateljr. During the whole of this time one of the grenadiers, each
in his turn, liad ms eyes upon me, with his bayonet fixed, whether I was asleep
or awake.

Imagine my surprise, the extent of my indignation ! To think of my wounds
at such a time was out of the question. The person who had arrested me came
the next day to tranquillise me.

*' Sir," I said, "there is no repose for me till I have written to the empress.
That which happens to me is altogether incomprehensible. Let me have pmi
and paper, or you will have to chain me, for I shall go mad."

At last I was idlowed to write. M. de Sartines has all my letters ; they have
been sent to him : let them be read, and the extent of the grief that was killing
me will then be understood. I was utterly indifferent to all that concemea
myself ; my despair was concentrated upon the horrible mistake that was made
in Yienna, and the injury done thereby to your majesty's interests. " Only let

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SM nkXmAXBCMAIB ASIB BD

IDO be lioiiiid dovB to m caxmse,'' I said, ** ad OQB^^
am mdiffBarentto penotMi indipiiy

lam M. de Beaamarchais, orlam a rascal who usurps his namo and his «
In either ease it is <^posed to all good policy to make me lose* month at Vicmia.
If I am a cheat, by sending me to Tianoe vou onhr hasten my punishment; hot if
I BmBeanmarohais, as it is impossible to doubt aner what has taken plaoe, if ^oa
were paid to do a& injury to the interests of the kingmy master, you oould naidb
wmse than to impnson me at Yioona at a time when I can be so useful to him
elsewhere.'' No answer. I was left for eiffht kag days in the most frighkM
anxiety. At last they sent a oounaelior of tne regency to interrogate me. "I
protest, sir," I said to him, "against the violence that is done to me here in the
Aoe of the rights of nations; I came to appeal to the sjmfMthies of a mothei;
aadl find mjself buried under the weight oi imperial autboritT !" He proposefl
to me that I should write whatever I Eked, and he would be himself the beanr
of it. I strove to show in my letter the injury that was inflicted upon yoor
ii^sKstsbjrt^ detaining me in Vienna. I wrote to M.de8artine8, and begged
that a courier mi^t be despatched. I renewed mv entreaties on the sub|aet of
Nurembeig. No answer. They left me for a wbde month without traaqoil-
liskg n^ mind uponany one point At lenjfth, resigjiing myself with as mudi
philoeophyAS I ^^uld master, to my evil destmy, Iresiolved to lotAi to my healkk
I had myself bled, drugged, and pureed. I had been Seated as a twuidkr in
being arrested, and as a madman m taking away my sasors, knife, aeissQis, Ac,
as a fool in dqirivin^ me of pen and ink, and it was amidst such an aoomnnla'
tion of e^nls, anxi^ies^ and contradictions that I awaited the letter of M. de
Sartines.

At length, on the thirty-first day of my detention, it was announeed to me
that I was free to remain or go away, aooording to my wishes or my healtiL ''If
I should die on the road," I rqplied, "I would not stop a quarter of an hov at
Yienna." A thousand ducats were presented to me in iJie name of the emparesa.
I refused them without pride, but with firmness. " You have no money to
teavel with," they said to me; "all your things are in France." " I will ^ve a
bond, then, for what I am obliged to borrow for my journey." "Snr, an
empress does not lend money." V And I acoept no bounty save from my master;
he IS a sufficiently noble prince to reward me if I have served him wdi; bolt
I will receive nothing, and I certainly shall not receive money from a forei^
power by whom I have been so shamefully treated." '' Sir, tiie empress wiU
deem that you take great liberties with ner by daring to refuse." " Sir, the
only liberty which you cannot deprive a man oU who is very respectful, but who
has been cruelly outragjsd, is that of refusing favours. At the best, the kin^
mv master, will decide if I am in the ru^ht or not to pursue the line of conduct
I nave traced out to myself, but till X have his decision I cannot or wiU not
pursue any other."

The same evening I left Vienna ; and txavdling day and ni^t without taking
any repose, I arrived at Paris the ninth day, hoping to obtain there some in-
formation upon iht incredible adventure that had oefallen me at Vieona; but
the only thing that M. de Sartines said to me upon the subject was, that the
empress took me for an' adventurer; but I snowed her an order in your
majesty's own handwriting, and I entered upon details which ought to have left
no doubts as to my identity. It is upon these grounds that I venture to hope^
sire, that your mijesty wiU be kind endugh not to disapprove of the refus^
in which I persist, to avail myself of the enqiress's money, and that he inU
permit me to return it to Vienna. I might have looked upon a kind word from
the empress, or her portrait, or any other object, which icould have exhibited
in the face of the reflections levelled at me for having been arrested in Vienna
as a suspected person, as some kind of indemnificaticm for the error into which
they fell in reject to me; but money, sire! that b the height of humiliation
to^mcj and I do not thmk thi^ I should be subjected to such as the rmmd of

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BBAlfMAimHiW AMD BW TOaKL Ht

ike aolmty, nal, and oonnge with wiich I folfiUod to tlie beii of bj hmob a
vaaei difikmlt oomminioiL

Thus it wss that was yarified at the expense of BeaumaTehaia the
jOBtDees of Talleyrand's fityounte maxim, '* Abore all things no leaL*
By going to such extremes aboot a trifle he got a month's impneonment^
and iriien he complained to M. de Sartinesy the latter answered him :
** Qtte Toaka-Toys ? rimptoitrioe yons a pris poor na ayentm4er.'' The
solhor (^ " Hie Marriege of Figaro" ought to haye been one of Ae
fint to ML that his gold-box suspended at his neek, Us royal note^
his abuse of post-horses, his chance of name, his personal strife with the
Jefr, hb combat with the banditti, nis strange appearance, and his feyeridi
excitement, all about a worthless tract, must have formed an beterogeneoos
wholes well adapted to inspire doubt and mistrust in the empress; and
that the very thin|^ which he thought would give interest to has exploits
only eert ed to make him suspected of madness or of deoeit It appears;
boweyer, that in exchange tor the thousand ducats, the offer of which
hmi his pride so grieyouslj, he was ultimately presented with a dia-
mond, witti authority to wear it as a gift from the empress.

Beaumsrchaia was destmed to be pitted in his next missioo against m
personage as sharp and intelligent as himself, and whose life was also as
eiKqnersd as his own« This was the renowned CheraUer d Eon, who,
up to the age of forty-three^ was eyeiywhere looked upon as a man, who
as soeh had been suocessiyely a doctor in laws, a barrister-at-law, a
Hterary censor, a diplomatic agent^ a cheyaHer of St Louis, a eaptun of
dragoons, secretary to an embassy, and, for a brief space, minister pleni-
pofteotiary firom the court of France to that of London. Long beforo
Beaiuoarehais' mission the opinion that the cheyaKer was a woman had
^coBie geneiaL Beaumarohais was deputed, in 1775, by Louis XVL to
nievail apon the cheyalier to assume the fomale gnb. He succeeded
IB hb mission ; and the cheyalier exdianged, at m^ years of age, his
uniform of dragoons for a cap and petticoats, which dress he sphered
to till his deatfan-that is to say^ for tmrty-two yoars. The htstoiy of this
miasioQ coyers the author of the *' Marriage of Figaro'^ with ridioile.

The most extraordinary circumstance connected with this most absurd
mystification is, that no one can, eyen to the present day, determme
its canse or its objects. It appears as if the reasons which induced a
man distinguished by his rank and intelligence, an intrepid soMrer, a
cheyalier of St. Louis, and secretary of embassy, to ooannt to be cob*
sidered as a woman for thirty years of his life, should oyer remain a
mystery.

The yersion the most accredited upon the subject is, that the chevaliery
when young, haying a yery feminine appearance, was seat disguised as
a young lady to the court of St Petersburg, to act as reader to die
Empress £liiab(9th ; that this first gaye rise Jto doubts concerning his
sex ; and that these doubts, finally set to rest by the subsequent career of
the cheyalier, were reyived by Louis XV. himself on the occasioD of a
quarrel betwem the dieyalier and the Comte de Guerohy, Fnnch
ambassador in England, and who obliged him to resume the habiliments
of a Btx to which be did not bdong.

1|. de Loio6m remarks upon the unsstisfiutory chamoter ^ thi%

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998 BKAUXABCELIIS AND HIS TIMES.

the generally admitted yersion of the mystery, *^ Why should a king, to
prevent a scandal or to stifle a quarrel, make a captain of dragoons
assume the garh of a woman ? How did it happen, also, that the
tcbevalier continued to wear female's apparel after the death of Louis XV.
and Louis XVLr

M. Gaillardet, who has written a work in two volumes on the Hfb
of the Chevalier d'Eon, founded, he says, on authentic documents de—
posited among the archives of Foreign Affairs, affirms that if the famous
Chevalier d'Eon consented to pass for a woman, it was not for the sake
of the Guerchy family, but in the interests of the Queen of England,
Sophia Charlotte, wife of George IIL He pretends that D'Eon, having
been discovered by the king in the queen's company, a medical man,
a friend of the queen and D'Eon, hastened to dedare that the chevalier
was a woman. George HI. made inquiries to ascertain if this was reaUy
the case from Louis XV., who, to preserve the tranquillity of his royal
brother, assured him it was so. But from that time D'Eon was or-
dered to resume his male attire, with the consolation of having given a
king to England, for the author of the work in question does not hesi*
tate to say that he is persuaded that the pretended woman was the
father of George IV.

M. de Lom^nie remarks very justly, that before so scandalous an attack
upon the character of a most exemplary woman and virtuous queen coidd
be tolerated for a moment, some satismctory proofs of the truth of the
diaige should be adduced. Now this is precisely that in which M. Gaillar-
det's work is most wanting. There is a letter from the Due d'Aignilloa to
the chevalier, which, if authentic, lends some colouring to a scandal, but it
does not desig^te the queen; nor is anything to be found in the whole
work beyond rash assertions, and conclusions not borne out by fieusts or
details; out by narratives, scenes, and imaginary dialogues, which give lo
the whole the character of a romance, and deprive it of all and any pre-
tensions whatsoever to authenticity.

Whilst Beaumarchais was engaged on this singular mission, the
Parlement Maupeou was broken up by the king, and shortly afterwards
the author of the *< Barber of Seville" was restored to all his lost rights and
privileges. His missions, which had hitherto partaken more of the cha-
racter of intrigues than of recognisable services, were destined at the
same time to assume a more reputable aspect By dint of rendering
such services to the state, Beaumarchais had so far succeeded in gain-
ing the confidence of Louis XVI., of M. de Maurepas, and of M. de
Vergennes, as to overcome their scruples and political hesitations in the
American question. It was ficom the influence of his ardent solioitatiyons
that the French government resolved upon tendering a secret aid to the
insorgeat colonies, and to charge Beaumarchais with a very important
and delicate service. On the 16th of June, 1776, he obtained from the.
king the grant of a million of francs, with which he was to equip a fleet
of forty sail, and to carry out an operation which would seem to be little
in accordance with the usual habits of the man, and that at the very
moment that he was bring^g out his first successful play.

First performed in February, 1775, the " Barber of SeviUe** had been
oonqiosed in 1772 ; it was at first an opera-comiqne, adapted to the then

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BEA.XTMABCHAIS AND HIS TIMEB. 299

preTdADt taite. The failure of the '' Deux Amb" had driven its author
finom one eitreroe to the other, from exoesttve sentimentality to huf*
foonery. Beaumarchais was, under its first form, not only author of the
words, but.also, to a certain extent, of the music, which he had adapted
from tiie ionadillas of the Spanish theatre ; but, as thus arranged, the
**> Barber of Seville" was rejected in 1772 by the Com^die Itahenne, at
that time privileged to play pieces of that, description. The loss was
probably a gain to its author. Rejected as an adapter of Spanish music,
Beaumarchais ultimately transformed his opera into a comedy for the
ThelLtre-Fran9ai8, and it was luckily reserved to Mozart and Kossini to
grace the inspirations of the author with the charms of music. It was
even then presented as it had been originally to the ComMie Italienne,
ID four acts, to which he subsequently added a fifth. The whole of the
play, altered as it was three times by its author, at different epochs in his
fife, is so full of allusions to his chequered career, more especially to the
persecutions and triab which he had undergone, that it is impossible to
understand many of the points without some knowledge of the private
history of its author.

Beaumarchais' position in the world had now undergone a great
change ; he was restored to his civil rights, was a suoces^il author, in
the intimate confidence of government, well received at court, and
popular on towru Yet he was not without his troubles : his lawsuit
with the Comte de la Blache was not definitively settled ; his best friend,
the Prince de Conti, was taken from him by death ; and his biographer
gives the author of the '* Barber of Seville" the credit of having suc-
ceeded where the Archbishop of Paris failed, in reconciling the prince
with the. Church at his last hours! The progress of his lawsuit ooliged
him to go to Aix, in Provence, at the very moment that he was despatch-
ing his two first ships from Marseilles to America. At Aix he adopted the
same tactics that had served him so well in the Goezman a£Fair ; he in-
undated the town with pamphlets, and won over the opinion of the publio
in lus favour. His triumph was complete, and a final verdict disem-
barrassed him for ever of ms vindictive enemy. The unfortunate Gudin,
who was always in the wrong box, was the only sufferer by thu happy
conclusion of a tedious lawsuit. TVishing to celebrate his frienda
triumph, he published some verses, in which Croezman was alluded to a&
ten vu ieneUeur. The Caurrier de VEurope^ in which the verses ap-
peared, was published in London, and the words were there transformed
into shuU profane. The senate, justly irritated by the frequent attacka
of Beaumarchais, resolved to take vengeance for them on his friend, and
they issued a warrant for his arrest. Gudin, like Beaumarchais, appears^
however, to have been befriended by the fair sex, and it is not a little
charactmstic of the times, that he was informed oi the projected arrest
hy the wife of a senator, in time to take refuge in the asylum of the
Temple, and where he was received, and allowed to '' partager avec la
belle Madame de Goodville, sa chambre, sa table et ses meubles pendant
sa cl6ture. < Ce fut en effet,' Gudin wrote himself of his nlace of refu^,
' chez elle que je trouvai I'asile le plus doux que jamais homme d^cret^
ait rencontr6 dans le monde; elle ^tait au Temple pour ses dettes, et nous
ne cessions de rire en pensant que nous logieons ensemble, elle par d^cret
dn Ch&telet, et moi par decret du grand conseil.' "

yoL.xzxiz. X

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300 BllUKARCHAIS AKD HIS TOOS.

It 18 nseAees to follow such a man as Beaumarchais in hit Icmg UbouBS
in the eaiue of the American patriots. In such a cause his principal
associates were Wilkes, Arthur Lee, and Silas Deane, from whom he ob*
tuned Ae information with i^iich he argued the cause ef the patriots
with the kine and his ministers.

Beaumarchais, whether watchmaker, courtier, financier, merdunty cr
secret agent, persecuted or triumphant, equipping fleets in the sonice c£
the American patriots, or agent of the Committee of Public Safety, b still
to the world only the gay Beaumarchais, author of the ^ Baitwr of
Seville** and of the '< Marriage of Figaro.''

The ^' Maxriage of Figaro,^ which had been read and sommazily and
•decisiTely condemned by the king in 1782, was not played for the first time
1;lll the 27th of April, 1784. Beaumardiais' biograpner labours hard to
•show by the position attained at that period by the author in society, ihe
large f<»rtune he had accumulated, and the impossibility there was at that
time to foresee the events thi^ folbwed, that no such revolutioDary inten-
tions were entertained by him as have been generally admitted siaoe those
•events have taken place. Beaumarchais, he would have us believe;, oniy
sought by the ridi<mle which he heaped upon die laws, the anthoritie^
and the upper classes, to revenge himself for the humiliations and in-
iustices to which he hiad for so many years been subjected. Certain it ii^
however, that ihe king foresaw the revolutioDaiy tendencies of tha piece.
Madame Campan has preserved in her *^ Memoirs " the account of a scsoe
in whidi Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette had the *' Marriage of
Figaro" read to them. At the conclusion of the famous monolog^ of
the fifth act, the king exclaimed : '^ It is detestable ; it never shall be
played. It would require that the Bastille Aould be destroyed befeie
that play could be enacted without entailing evil consequences. That
man laughs at everything which oucht to be respected in a government"
^< It will not be played, then ?** said the queen, in a tone which seemed
to imply a latent inclination in fovour of the drama. <' No^ oertaialy
not," replied the king ; *^ you may be qmte sure it will not."

Beaumarchais' perseverance was as remarkable, however, if not mors
so than his genius. He never allowed himself to be daunted by difficulties
either of time or opposition. He began with the same tactics that he had
employed in his lawsuits to struggle against what he called la pro9eru>*
tkm de la cour, by awakening imd exciting the curiority of tiie public, by
reading the play himself before a select few. The anxiety to hear the
condemned play soon became a perfect furor. The copy used for this
purpose was very neatly written, the pages held together by rose-coloured
ribbons, and it was enclosed in a pasteboard cover, on which was in*
scribed Opuscule Camique. He used to precede the reading of the play
by a prefoee, which has not been made public be£ne:

Before proceeding with my reading, ladies, I most relate to you a flM^t wliich
took place in my presence.

A young author sapping at a house was remiested to read one of his wozks,
which was highly spoken of by all who had reaa it. He was mudi pressed, bat
continued to refuse. At length one of the persons, present being a little vexed,
said, ''Vous ressemblez, monsieur, k la nne coquette, refosant k chacun ee
qu'au fond vous brildez d'accorder i, tous."

* ''Coquette k part," replied the author, "vour comparison is more just fliaa
you think; les belles et nous aymt souvent le mtoe sort, d'etre oulms aprds

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iteATJlIABCHAIS ASD HIS TIMES. 301

le sacrifice. The lirely corioeitj mspired by the annoimcemeiit of a new woric
resGonbles somewhat the impetuous desires of lore. But when you have obtained
the wished-for oliject^ you nnd yourself blushing at having met with charms in-
soAdent to bind you. Do you be more just or ask for nothing. Our portion
is toil ; as for you, you have nought but enjoyment, and nothing can disann you.
And when your injustice breaks out, what a painful relation is there then esta-
blished between us and the fair one ! Everywhere the guilty one is timid : hare
it is the offended one who dares not lift up his eyes. But,'' added the young
author, " in order that nothine shall be wanting to the parallel, after having
foreseen the consequences of the step that I am about to take, changeaUe and
weak as one of the fair sex, I yield to your requests, and shall read to you my
work."
He read it and they criticised it. I am going to do the same thing ; you also.

Beftiimarchais moeeeded-so effectually in aroueiog curiosity by this
flVBteniy thai the piece was at leng^ ordered to bo perfonaed m the
H6td des Menva rlaieirs ; but after all the preparadooa had been made,
•ad at Ae Tery roomeiit that the performance was about to ooounence,
an order came nrom the king to interdict it. So general was the dia-
appcnntment^ that the words eppresmon and ^ant^ were pronouDced
wkh a vehemence that anticipated the fatal days that followed. Ap«
parently by the queen's intervention the piece was, however, played
at Gfeonevilfien, and Beaumarchais had to return from England, wbitner
he had gone aflter the first disappcnntment, to prepare it for the
stage. ^Hie very next noormng the author formally demanded its pro-
daetkm on the public stage, the long resisted for a long tiaae, the play
was soooesnvely submitted to fiv« d^erent eensors, but Beaumarchais'
wQndrous perseverance triumphed at last, and the '^ Maifiage of Figaro"
was brov^htoui.

The memory of that first performance is an event in the eighteenth
ceotory. The highest classes of soeiety went to the theatre in the
momiiig, great Imiss dined in their boxes, the guards were dispersed,
the rat&gs torn np, the doors broken in, and three persons were stifled
to death. Beaumardiais himself '* assisted" at that first representatioii,
seated au fimd d^ume loge grUUe^ between two abb^ with whom he
had just before enjoyed %joyeux eUner^ and whose presence i^peared to
him indispensable, in order, as he declared, that, in case of his death, be
dioold have administered to him des secaurs ires spirittieis*

By one of those strange vicissitudes which appear to be inseparable
fiK>m BeafrntarAais' career, the very sueeess of the '^ Marriage of Figaro"
was destined to be a cause of annoyance to him. It had reached its
sizly-eighth representation, notwithstanding the oppositbn of con-
seientioiis, aswdl as of envious persons. The Comte de Provence, aftee-
wards Louis XVIIL, was at the head of the enemies, who selected the
Journal de Paris as the organ f(a their incessant attacks upon the
SBoeessfal dramatist At mst Beaumarchais answered them good-
homoussdly, hot losing at length his temper, he declined further dis-
fiinian, upaa the ground that the very success of hn piece xendesred such
anneoessary. ^' Quand j'ai id vaincre," he wrote, ''lions et tigres pour
fine jouer one eom^die, penses«vous, apr^ son saee^ me r^duoie, ainsi
cni^une servante hollandaise, k battre 1 osier tons les matins sur llnsecte
ladeUmiitr

VhdarUtmAdf the Comte de Provence took the alosioB to a vile insect

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802 BEAUMABCHAIS AND HIS TIMES.

of the niglit to Umself, and he had little difficulty in ^
king that lions and tigen, although evidently only used as an antit
by Beaumarchais, applied to himself and the queen. Louis XVL was
already annoyed that a comedy, to the peHbnnance of which he had
always been strenuously opposed, should haTe been so successful, and he
wrote, according to the author of the '* Souvenirs d'un Sexag^naire,**
M. Arnault, upon a seven of spades, without leaving the card-table, an
order for Beaumarchab' arrest, and adding insult to injury, diat he
should be imprisoned at Saint Lazare^ a place devoted to the seclusion
only of depraved young people.

Such an act of despotism gave rise to a general feeling of discontent
Every one felt that his liberty was at the mercy of a personal pique.
So great was the effervescence that the king was obliged to entreat
Beaumarchais to come out of prison, for he insisted at first stayinr
there till he was subjected to an open trial ; and he afterwards lavished aS
kinds of favours upon him, to indemnify him for the injury that had been
done to his reputation.

There was, nowever, no peace for Beaumarchais. He was destined at
tins very moment, when fifty-three years of age, to be thrown into con-
troversy with a younger and even less sorupidous man than himselt
Beaumarchais had taken an active part in a new speculation to supply
Paris with water ; Mirabeau, who was opposed to its success, wrote a
pamphlet to show that the enterprise was a fboKsh one. Beaumaichais
answered what he pleased to term the Mirabellet of the pamphleteer.
Mirabeau, in a second retort, laying the question of the waters on one
side, grappled his antagonist by the throat, challenged his whole career,
and assuled him in the name oi public order and morality. ^' Mirabeau^
the dissolute,** says Beaumarduus* Inographer, ^' defending the cause of
good manners against Beaumardiais ; Mirabeau, who from his dunffeon
at Yincennes used to write and sell publications of the most reprmn-
sible character, reproaching Beaumarchais for the licence of his pen;
Mirabeau, the future orator, who was to invoke the Gracchi and Me-
nus, challenging Beaumarchais for his attacks against the state, has
always appetu^ to me as presenting a spectacle much more amusing
than a£Fecting.'*

In the midst of these accumulated contests Beaumarchais brought
forth a successful opera, '* Tarare ;" and in 1789 he commenced erectmg
that fragment of the Boulevards near ihe Bastille, whidi still bears his
name. On the 14th of July he was destined to witness, from his own
house, still in course of construction, the foil of tiie Bastille. The part
which the author of the *' Marriage of Figaro" took at the first step of
the revolution, was to act as president of the district des Blancs-Manteanx,
in fovour of order in his own quarter, and he was soon afterwards named
by the electors of his district member of the municipal body. The rest-
less spirit of the man, however, turned even the revolution to his disad-
vantage. Shortly after the production of his <' M^re Coupable," the kst
of his dramas, he embarked in a patriotic and commercial speculations-
tile purcharing of 60,000 muskets from the Dutch— a speculation which
entailed tiie loss of his fortune and involved him in great difficulties.
The Convention succeeded, in the midst of the negotiation, to the Legis>>
lative Assembly, and on the 1st of December, 1792, Beaumarchais was

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BEAUMABCHMS AliD HIS TIMES. 303

aocased of eon^rAcy and of a secret oorreqpondence with Louis XVI^
and the seals were tot a third time placed upon his house. Luckily he
himself was at the moment in Holland, and he hastened to take refuge in
England. A London merchant who had advanced money in the musket
^peculation, finding that the adversary of Goezman and Mirabeau was
bent upon vindicating his cause in person before the Convention, and
having little fiuth in the judicial integrity of that body, caused his
ereditor to be confined, for safety sake, within the rules of the Queen's
Bendu

So resolute, however, was the now old man of sixty to fight his own
faftttle, that he raised the money to pay off his debt, returned to Paris,
and, adopting his old style of defence, dutributed 6O00 copies of a printed
windioation. The author of the ** Marriage of Figaro" would certainly have
lost his head for his imprudence had it not so mtppened that the Conven-
tion was in want of muskets, and they gave him tne alternative of select-
ing between a condemnation or a mission to Holland, at that time in
open hostility with France, in search of the 60,000 muskets. Luckily
f^r Beanmarehais, he was helped out of this dilemma by the £nglish|
-who claimed the muskets, ana, says his biographer, ** le respect de la
l^;alit^ qui distingue et honore le gouvemement anglais entre tons les
gouvemements,'^ preserved the arms in safety atTerv^re. Beaumarchais
was, however, not the less obliged to carry out the orders of the Conven-
tion, and during his absence he was placed on the list of emigrants, his
property was confiscated, and his family imprisoned* The fall Si the Con-
Tention and the rise of the Directory enabled him once more to return
to his native country; but he was no longer the a£G[uent man he had been,
poverty stared him in the face, and care and anxiety combined to hasten
the termination of his most eccentric and chequered life. It has been
said that he committed suicide, but his biographer proves this not to have
been the case. He was, as an old man, still of a bluff, sanguine tempe-
rament. His last passport had qualified him as '* un bon vieillard, grand,
gris, gros, gras," and he was carried off by what our neighbours call
expressivdy une apoplexie foudrayante^ on the 18th of May, 1799.
The repose denied to him during Ufe was sought equally in vain after
death. He had had a bower prepared for a mausoleum in his own
garden, and there his last remains were duly deposited, in accordance
^ith strict revolutionary disregard 4>f consecratea ground or religious
Htes ; but that bower is now a street, and the bones of the author of the
-** Barber of Seville'* and of the " Marriage of Figaro" were nominally
transported to a cemetery — very possibly scattered to the wind.

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304
A WEEK Df CONSTANTINOPLE.

BT I«AB0SLLE8 WSAZAIX.

Kerteh, Fefarqaiy, 1856.

Aftsb a Toy quick and agreeable passage from Loodoo, 4ie good
ship wliich bore me and my fortunes to the seat of war cast anchor at
eight in the morning off Seraski Point, and, as you may suppose, the
dedcs afid paddle-botes^ were soon crowded with spectators, anxious for
the first fi^mnoe of a dty which will «yor exercise a magic influence oret
our min£, despite the disiUusionising to wfakh it has recently been sobr
jeoied. It was late in the mondi of December when we arrired^ and
yei the weather was as mild and warm as a Scffitember clur at honae,
The sun shone <AeeriIy on the gilded minarets ieaa cupolas of Stamboal,
and the waters glistened with hundreds of gaily-^painted kaiks, whidi
really walked them like things of Hfe. The prospect from the deck of
our steamer was really magnificent: to the right was Scutad, rising
upon the Asiatic hills in a dark setting of cypress-trees, indicating die
celebrafted Muhammedan cemeteries ; below these, again, Ae enormous
barracks ; at the base, the charming Kadi-Koi, built on the olassie soil
where Chalcedon once stood. In the rear of this landscape we could
distinguish the mountains of Bulgurlu and Kassi Dach ; while ai thrif
base lay slumberine the Sea of Marmora and the Prmces' Islands. la
front of us frowned Seraglio Point, with its countless historical reaoiius-
oenoes ; a little to the left, again, the steep aaoent through Galata and
Tophaneh indicated the way to Pera and the Prankish quarter. In
short, the effect of my first aspect of Constantinople will nerer be eaaei
from my memory.

It was only natural that we should feel a desire at once to subject all
th^e wonders to a closer inspection ; so, after donning our uniform and
retting ourselves up to a very considerable extent, three of us hailed a
kaik, and commended our first experiences of Oriental Hfe. It requires
A very considerable afnount of practice to enter these gondola-shaped
boa^ ; as they have no keel, the slightest oscillaticm w<Hild be apt to
upset them, and hence the greatest caution is requisite, if the passenger
feel no particular inclination to con^ to grief. Howeyer, we managed to
make the tn^ect from the ship to the Admiralty Wharf in safety* and a
few moments saw us in Galata. But how foamil was the ohaage pro-
duced by only a few minutes ! At the first glance it seemed an uttef
impossibility eyen to move from the spot, so dense was the crowd, so
gluey was the mud into which we were compelled to wade. The houses
which, when seen from a distance, appeared to haye been built by fiury
hands, were in reality not worth one farthine more than those I hsd
inspected at the miserable village of Dardanelles the previous day ; the
gaily-dressed and picturesque forms which the traveller sees wanderine
about the quays, and is disposed from a distance to regard as pachas ana
beys pur sang^ are converted, on a closer approach, into ragged vaga-
bonds— Turkish hammals, Greek scoundrels, and Maltese robbers. It
was a pity that my fair dream was so soon dispersed, and I was more
than ever disposed to admire the Englishman who— so the story runs-

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A WBBK IN OCHfSTANTIHQPUk SOS

[ ioM duit be nratt aot stltnpt to land in Stembod If he denred to
iMep op tin illusion ; to he hired one of the Mnall Gfeek peril-boatt»
HiSed in it lor a week along the Bosphorof, the Sea of Marmora, and
ibe Gdden Horn, and then returned home by the next mail etoamer,
-mAaat harini^ ooee aet fioot on land.

jkt it was of no nee giving way to sveh unj^eaiant tiioaghts. It ii
ftnie Ihat the qnay on which I stood was a rotton edifiee, into which I
aasBk aokle de^; instead of the perfame of roses, a standi of &h,
encmnbers, and gariic penraded my nostrils ; but for all that I was in
fer it, and the only phn was to go on. Our first halting«p<»nt was
ICasmn's hotel, Ae best in the plaoiB, and that in all conscience was bad
eoongh; £ar a botde of wretobed Bass they had the impndenee to
darge two francs, for a moothfol of breaa and cheese five more,
mad then the waiter was highly indignant becanse we declined to give
aoytfaing pour le service. Of a verity, with such prices, Madame Mis^'
sari can yery well afford to pay her own waiters. Strange to say, this
iKMMe is always crammed with EnsHsh officers, who qnietty allow them*
a^Tes to be idieated, linking it beneath their dignity to expostulate.
The only thbg note-worthy about Pera is the view to be enjoyed
from the suimnit of the hifl ; but whether that be a fair compensation
for the amount of actual misery undergone in obteining it, I mould not
fike to decide. For my own part, I went there once, and — ner^r went
again.

Am tar Galaia, I dare not describe it to you : this entire sibiiib, from
ibm Golden Horn as &r as the Tower, is, with its filthy streets, its eril-
aaaefiing fish and vegeteble stalls, its old do'men, wool-carders, Ghrisw
tians, Jews, (jieeks, Armenians, and German tailors, nothing better than
one huge Circean sty ; and it is a neck-breaking job to descend the
fltseet leading down from Pera after night&IL In fact, I neyer could
taiBj realise Muhammed's notion of not allowing his followers to drink
wine or spirits until I had seen this city, for I am convinced diat any
drunken man, unless specially guarded by that ProTidence which is snp^
poeed to haye charge of Imn, would inevitably break hb neck before he
reaehed his home. On both sides of the road are miserable huts, dig**
nified by the name of houses, whose roofr extend so far that nei^ier sun
nor moon can penetrate, and these have been converted into diops for the
speciid object of swindling strangers. There b, however, one green spot
on my memory with reforooce to this street, namely, the London Tavern,
wheie you can procure a very decent glass of Bordeaux ; any one dam*
bering up from Galata requires a strengthening dose, owing to the heat,
and I would advise him not to leave this house unvisited. In truth,
there are so fow pubhc-hooses in Constantinople whidi a man can visit
who has any ii^;ard for his character, or any old-^hioned notions about
moniktjf that I think this honoarabk exception deserves to be immos«
talised m the pages of Benlky.

Let us suppose ourselves safely arrived in Pera. But how shall I
attempt to describe a town which is renewed every eight to ten years,
owing to die devastating fires that continually occur ? The earelese
maaaar the Turks go about with fire and charcoal is quite characteristio
of ^ nation. If a fire bieaks out, in the Turk's fotalist view of mat«
tecs, it is God's will, and nothing can be done. In sooh cases he gene*

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306 K WEEK IK COKSTAHTINOBLE.

rally cairies off his wife and children from the haremlik, and leares ibe
house a prey to the flames. A short account of a fire at .which I was
present, in Galata, will give a good idea of the way the Bono Johnnies
manage things at home. We had just finished dinner, when our atten-
tion was. attracted hy the firing of cannon and the appearance of Ian*
tenis on the Galata Tower, a sure sign that there was a fire somewhere.
We immediately pulled on land, and found ourselyes speedily in the
centre of a dense moh of firemen, cavasas, and soldiers, all rinntiiig
*< Janjin Tar" at the top of their lungs, and attempting to stop the
spread of the flames with the most primitive instruments tbit can be con-
oeiyed. They consisted of an upright brass tube, resembling a field-gtm,
forming the cylinder of the pumping machine. Ekush of these macninee
is borne along by at least eight nremen, on two thick poles. All Wonted
*^ Janjin var," and sought to reach the place of the fire. But then cane
iike question, Where was water to be procured ? It had to be carried up
with great difficulty in tubs and bags, perhaps even purchased firom the
water-carriers ; and so, before they had succeeded in gettmg one sqoiit
into working order, the fire had converted a street into a heap of asbet.
Formeriy, t£e want of water was felt still worse, and it is even said that
ril sorts of scoundrels used to brine up squirts filled with oil, with which
they threatened to sprinkle the neighbouring houses unless iheir owners
consented to ransom themselves. The next morning after a fire has
taken place curious gazers may be seen wandering about over an im*
mense heap of smoking wood ashes. The Turks cong^regate, hundreds of
** Mashallahs" and ** Inshallahs" may be heard, and they puff away at their
diibuks in rivalry with the cinders. The next morning, when the aahei
have grown cold, you will notice on the spot a number of huts or tento
being erected ; the owner of the spot has taken possession of it i^faiii,
and uves on in his tent till he can scrape up enough to build a new
house. If he cannot do so, the spot remains empty ; and so you may find
at the present day whole streets desolate which were afflicted some tan
ot twelve years back by a fire. A curious preservation against fire may
be noticed in Constantinople before the windows of the houses, namely,
a pair of slippers and a bundle of onions ; houses which are {norided
with these means of protection are generally found, however, to burn as
Cut as the rest.

Suppose now, my dear reader, that you accompany me to a Ttukisk
bath ; — but no, I should not like to practise such cruelty upon yon; yoa
had better stay at home, and let me describe it to you. The person
desirous of bathing enters the hamam, and finds himself in a hogo faal]»
round the walls of which a gallery runs. Yon then go up a mght of
wooden stairs, where an hamamji takes off the dothes of the visitor, then
wraps him in several large blankets, and puts a pair of massive $aboi» oa
his net, in which he descends tiie stain. As a general rule, howevec^
tile shoes reach the bottom long before the wearar. From this hall As
bather is led into another, out of which a considerable degree of beat
poun forth to meet lum. While the first chamber is lighted by large
windows in the walls and cupola, the second apartment is found to be
somewhat darker. The floor is formed of very fine marble, and a fbuntaitt
is usually to be noticed in the centra ; round the room are cushions, ob
whidi toe visitor redines for a few moments, to prepara himsdf for the

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A WBEK IN OOirSTiJfTDfOnLfi. 907

bftdi. The Turks tit here in nndbturbed, Uested rest, wrapped op in
ihmr blankets, and trying to acanire tbe proper state of mind for the
impending performance. The visitor is allowed some ten minutes for the
requisite transpiration, and all sorts of reflections about what he is about
to undergo^ and is then conducted by a servant into the sidjahlik, or hot
Tooro, where he finds a heat of about 130^ Fahrenheit, and gasps for air
like a fish puUed out of the water on to land. This apartment is also
el^^tly paved with marble, and the ground slopes towards the waU, so
that the water may run off; the condensed steam keeps dropping down
from the dome^ where the only light penetrates through eonvez panes of
^laas. Round the bath-room are open cabinets, in which small marUe
benches are attached to the watts ; above these are two brass taps, firom
which hot and cold water can be drawn, and there is usually a brass
basin upon these benches.

The naked hamamji, generally a boy, who reoMves us here, intimates
to yoa that you must lie down on a large plate of marble, about two feet
bighy in the centre of the room : for what purpose will be soon dis-
covered. The stranger reclines on his back, tbe fluarble plate, like the
whole floor, being heated from below, but not so much as to be unendur-
id>le. This second pmod of reflection lasts another five minutes. You
perspire all you can ; the dome, too, perspires above us, and huge drops
&I1 on your &oe. On the marble plate there are usually five or six
persons reclining, all motionless and perspirine with great assiduity.
Then comes the hamamji, dressed only in a short apron, and the fun
waxes fast and furious. He begbs ^labouring the bather with both
hands ; rubs, rolls, and kneads every limb ; cracks all his joints, with tbe
exception of his neck, strikes them with his flat hand till it sounds like
the beating of a drum ; and, as several other hamamjis are performing
the same process simidtaneously on other persons^ the noise becomes
slightly monotonous, to say the least of it. At last the bathman plants
his kn^ on your chest, and gives you various other coups de grAce,
makii^ you feel as if your limbs were scattered about the bath-room.
While this process was goine on with me, and the hamamji had be*
laboured me in a most Van£dio manner, he ended by seizing my right
arm, in which I had been nursing a pet rheumatism for several years^
My blood boiled at such ill-treatment : following a very natural impulse,
I liberated my arm, and was op the point c? giving the hamamji a
box on the ears, but reflected in time, and drew back my hand. The
same circumstance must have firequently ham^ened to him before with
Franks, for he laughed and bade me get up. With a ^< Lord be praised !"
I collected my limbs on die marble plate, and carried them, following
the hid, into the side-room, where I seated myself near the water-taps.
Here I had to decide what degree of warmth I would have my batti;
the hamamji then produced the required temperature, by means of the
two taps, poured the water over me, then put on a gbve made of
coarse, hara felt, with the effect of a cunvcomb, and began to rub me
till he peeled the outer skin from my body. He then beat up some
sweet-seented soap*8uds in the bowl, pourod them over me, and the
faathii^ operations were concluded. I was finally wrapped up qiute
wet in new cbths, one of which the boy frstened round my head like
a turban, and was led bade again to the gallery, wheie I redined oa

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SOB A WnX IH OOSSTASSTXSOKA

one •£ a rotr of mnHwwm; « eUMc was siMk in mj 11M11A9 colfet
WM faiDuglit mc^ aod I fffuJaaUj diied. Tins faoted an hov, donag
vAoA I cotyqrsed, as iPsH as I coiild, with a thoroogh^bred IWk Itw
next me, wha asserted, with aU poinble eaniesliiess, ikuA waA a han
was the most ^lendid sod henencial tloDg to be had under tiie soa.
Other perseos have abeady stated this on aothorit j of the ToriES, bat
as I haie a special regani §ost my limbs, I oauaot assent to tibe pio*
posbiQD«

One cf the pettiest dsyects I saw in the streets of Pen was ikit
carriage in whidi ihiB Tiukish ladies make their excorsions to Am
Sweet Waters of Europe and Ana. It consists of a loi^ qnadrangnhr
finaie, on whkb some six pevaons find room; round it rans a bade
aboat two fcet faog^ generally painted a yenr bright red. At each
comer of the carriage are poles of a spear-like form, sapporti^ a snow'
white canvas soo^ as protection against the s«n ; along dus mn gold
coeds widi kffge tassels. This carrisge is drawn bj two gvej or per-
£BCtly white oocen, which are decked with very gay harness, and dnvsn
by a richly-attmd cavass. When an araba of tins sort is laden widi
luJf M doaen half-yeiled and fantastical^ attired Oriental beauties, and
Ton see ihem drive past, ntting cressed-legged in the Taridrii fasfaioni
it is quite impossible to pass by with iikhfiperence, est look in another
-Erection. I for my part always ventured to have a thcnourh good look
at the odaHsks when they passed me, altiioagh I had been warned
M^ainst rourinff the Any of the people ; and I never came to grie^
tboBgh now and then a Turic would mutter a ^Giaour !" between Ins tee^
and the way he spits it out is what the Americans woidd caB a caution
to ai^ nervous man« A great change, by the way, appears to have
taken plaoe with die Turkish women : formerly the yashmaks ware so
thick that no mortal eye could penetrate them, but at present evm die
yeils have had to yidd to the onward movement Once on a dme the
TcH covered the whole of die £Me, so that only the eyes were free, and
die poor women did not even use a pocket-haudkermief, because they
could not find die way to their noses ; but now nams avot^ ckangS t(mi
eelaj the yeils are so thin and gossamer-Hke in texture, that the fcatuios
can be clearly seen dnough them, and, in addidon, they only cover die
finehaad and the lower part of the fiice, while the eyes wA nose are
emancipated. A fiiend of mine, who has resided some dme in Fsruy teUa
me, too, diat the Turkish lacfies appear to have an especial fancy finr the
Franks and Giaours ; and they cannot be blamed if they try to pfa^ dieir
jealous husbands a trick, which is indeed the case now and then. They
yisit Pera in large parties, lounge about in their wide mandes and Imge
hoots,, under mmtk they ffcnendl^ wear neat little slippers, and let the
Franks gaae their fill of then, w&sh. evidenthr causes them great amuse-
ment. They look widi gieat interest after any degamtly dressed
Euiopean woman who msy pass them : and what a differenee exists
between the wasp^like waifta of the strangers and the dnmay doak of
the natives I Nor must you look at the feet of a Turkish lady, unless yon
wish tttteziy to destvsy die advantageous effect which dietr .inteiostinR
even pretty hom may have produced : all the Turkish women wadme
hhe ducks; all turn th» feet in, fvobeibly a result of their way of silting;
and their walk m xendsred sdllnwie.chunsy by the immenn yeOow hooti

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A WEEK IN CfmfTAXnSOFLB. SOS

m ivlneh Aej w&ie tfaongh the mud. Gencnfly, however, tiiej mre
■lettjr — I taw Tery £bw who were iU-lookii^, at kaat On the odiev
handy their &eee are generally pale and sickly, which is rendered still
BMwe wneartUy, ahnost tpeotral, by ihe yashmak. Thw contimial wash*
mg, and the nse of all sorts of essences, render the skin flabby, and take
away all its freshness ; and the prison life in the harems is not adapted t(>
gm iliem a blooming compkodoB ; but the shape of the nose^ the mouth,
md the raarkling eyes are generally very fine. An unpleasant effect ia
produced by the elder women, when they waddle along we street with a
species of patriarchal dignity, bearing a chibuk and parasol undw their

We win now quit Pera and proceed to the a^oining Tophaneh, a not
leas interesting suburb. My first visit was naturally ^ud to the institu-
tion whence vm qaarter derives its name — ^the immense oannon foondry,
astnatod at the oonflvenoe of the Bo^horus with tiie Sea of Marmora.
This boflding is one of the handsomest of the sort I have ever seen, not
jnerely for its qilendid situation, but also for the deamliness to be wit*
nessed within it ; snch a rarity in Turkey, that any instance of it pro*
dvees a marvelloos offset Any one who examines this foundiy can
qniddy iform an idea of the excellent condition of the Turkish artillery.
In the large oourt-yard I saw a great number of runs parked : some of
diera were trophies of the earlier Turkish wars, and had been taken irom
the Christians ; among others I noticed old French guns with the lilies^
others bot« the papal arms. I also noticed here four Russian guns,
taken at filatina horn the advanced posts, and which the Turks pointed
out with a very pardcmable degree of pride.

in Tophaneh is the large and splendid mosque which die padisbah b
in the brat of visiting ; here, too, are the head-quarters of the Tcherkess^
who bring their pretty daughters for sale to Stambool. These iree sofis
of the Caoeasus may be seen at any time in the streets and coffee-houses
of Tophandi, and always have a suf^ly of their fair wares on hand. It
has been calcidated that, up to the present time, about five hundred
Circassian and Georgian women were imported annually into Constantly
Bople ; but the trade has fidlen away considerably lately, for ^e Turks
iqppear to have eiven up dieir partiality for these daughters of the mountain,
and describe the Circassian women as obstinate, extravagant, and sulky,
the Georgians as stolid and awkward. A carious race of men these Cir^
eaasians i— on one hand they defend their Itb^ty to the last drop of blood,
on the other they carry thmr own daughters to the slave-mitfket ! The
fiiend to whom I have already alluded, and to whom I am indebted for
a great deal of my information, described to me a visit he paid to a Cir«
eassian yoong lady, and it is so pi^fmint that I vesture to repeat it. He
fimned the acquaintance of a Circassian slave-dealer, and went witih hhat
to his quarters. They entered a small and comfortable apartment, in
which he saw a gbl, not more than thirteen at most, with light hair and
most classical festures. The poor little thing was playing car^essly
with a water-melon, and regarded her visitor with kind glances, for tM
only desire of these poor girls is to be bought and make their fortunes.
My firieod, though not the most bashful of men, positively felt uneom«-
frrtahle at the sight, and ashamed of the part he was playing threu^
I onriosity, so be rose and quitted the house. The Circassian ^oU

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.310 A WEEK IN CONSTANTINOPLE.

lowed him, and lie heard the poor deceived girl utter some worda of
regret. As they would not let him go, he was forced to go to a cofiee-
house, and ask the price demanded for the child. Six thousand piastitt
was the reply. He promised to connder the matter over, and so escaped ;
but he could not get rid of his uncomfortable fselings for some days
after.

Like Galata, Tophaneh is built against the side of Pera ffill, and coo*
sists of dirty streets, in which fever . reigns with undisputed sway. The
air is pestilential in both suburbs, but more especially in Galata, and it
is excessively dangerous to pass through them at night, owing to ^
vicinity of the Maltese street, where a motley mass of ruffians is congie-
gated, ready to put any one out of the way for the miseraMe sum of
sixty piastres. By great efiPorts the police have succeeded in preventiog
murders by daylight, but all their exertions are unavailing to praveoi
horrid scenes at night Even in Pera, Englishmen have been reoeodj
attacked while going home to their quarters ; and one night, when I was
at the Opera, a major of the German Legion was stabbed in four placei^
just after he had lefib the coffee-house. But our countrymen mn veiy
foolish risks, more especially in the low drinking-houses near the bridge ;
many a man is hocussed and murdered for the sake of his dothing or
money, and the Turk very quietly ejaculates his ^ AlUih Kerim I" and goes
on his way, probably rejoicing that there is one infidel the lees in the
world. One thing I forgot to mention to the credit of the Tiiik%
namely, that although the city, and more especially Pera, swinna intk
beggars, you rarely find among these highwaymen any Muhammedans —
they are generaUv Greeks and Armenians — although you find in Galata
Tower-street, and on the stone steps leading to the Austrian EmbaasTi a
quantity of old women lying down, who begin to lament directly tner
see a stranger, and even go so far as to seize him by the ooat-taiL
When the Turk begs, he generally does so in a droll and, conseqiaentljy
successful manner, by calling you his kuzum, or lamb, and mentioiung
various pressing emergencies which compel Urn to become your sap>

tliant. Generally, however, the Turic only takes to the trade when
Imd or a cripple. The real Turkish beggars take up thor qoarters oq
the Yeni Rupri (new bridge), leading fix)m Galata to Stambool, over Ab
Golden Horn, whither I now propose my reader shall aooompany me.
This bridee is one of the largest wooden bridges in the world, I shonld
think, although I cannot say much for its architectural beauty. It it
currently supposed that you pay to cross it, but I fiincy it is optiooaL If
you happen to have any change, you gpive two paces ; if not, yoa let it
alone, and no one seems to bother himself on the score. The filrst oljecsft
cenerally soup^t for on entering Stamboul is the basaar, one of the
uugest Duildmgs in the phioe, and well meriting the cdebrity it haa
acquired. Even during the greatest heat you feel as if in an ice-cdlar
when within it, for not a single ray of blessed sunshine ever penetmtei
into this labyrinth of broad-arched corridors. But before reaching Ae
bazaar you are sure to have had your temper soured for days W die
infSunous interpreters, who stick to you like leeches, and can only be
driven off by a hunting-whip. They are all rogues without exoeptioo,
and if you employ one of them, you not only have to pay him twenty to
thirfy piastres for his services, but you find that your purchases cost yoa

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A WEEK IN CONSTANTINOPLE. 311

on an average one-third more than they should have done. '' Capitaine,"
or ** Signor Capitaine/' greets the stranger's ear from every shop ; one
bands you a handsome tobacco-box, another a shawl, another the Lord
knows what — joa positively nm the gauntlet. Your money is the article
required ; and since the presence of the Allies in the East, the English
hare behaved with such liberality that prices are nearly doubled for every-
thing. This bazaar is immeasurable : in one street we find the tailors,
then the shoeoiakers, then again the shawl, silk, and carpet dealers ; a
wh(^ quarter is occupied by the goldsmiths' shops, the bazarlan, or
bazaar for arms, &c. There is indubitably an immense amount of
wealth collected in this covered market-place ; but as a semi-obscurity
always prevails in it, you can only see on returning to daylight what it
is yon have bought, and not unfrequently you have sold yourself in the
bargain. On quitting the bazaar you generally feel inclined for a rest ;
so Yoa go into the nearest Turkish coffee-house, drink your cup of coffee,
and smoke your pipe. But those are luxuries I intend to describe pre*
sent]y> when I tell vou about the Sweet Waters.

The Send and tne Ava Sofia possess even more attraction than the
Bazaar, and away you clamber up the hill to the Seraglio, which may be
reached from different sides. However, it was another illusion dispelled.
The Send, on closer inspection, consisted of a gloomy court-yard, sur-
rounded by a high wall, in which all I had to admire was a magnificent
gJm-tree, occupying the whole of one comer. In addition, I saw the
antain near which the pachas used to be beheaded, and the iron hooks
on which their heads were £xed ; but that is nothing in a country like
Turkey, where every inch of ground has some sanguinary reminiscence
attached to it. From the court of the Serai I proceeded to the " Sublime
. Porte," which I had imag^ed a colossal gateway, but found it to be only
a narrow one, to which a fictitious height is given by the contracted
nature of the arch. Inside this door I saw on either side two glass-cases,
in which were muskets with ornamented barrels, probably to pay honour
to the padishah, for the guard carried the ordinary muskets. Two pretty
marble pillars ornament the entrance ; near them are two niches; above
the arch numerous verses from the Koran are painted ; while a row of
wired, unglazed orifices above the Sublime Porte serve to disfigure its
white-painted frontage. The prettiest object I saw was a small fountain,
just in front of the gate, covered with numerous ornaments, gold and
sflver bas-reliefs, &c. All those Oriental ceremonies which formerly took
place in the Seraglio are nedected; the building itself has lost its im-
portan<;e, for it is only inhabited by servants ; the padishah himself now
resides at his new palace on the Bo^horus.

Just opposite the Sublime Porte is the Aya Sofia, which, though not
so elegant in form and construction as the Achme^i and the Sule]r->
xnanyeti, still is rendered interesting by the numerous historical remi-
niscences attaching to it. Formerly no Christian dared to enter it ; but
at the present time any European officer or soldier is allowed to go in if
he will go through the ceremony of putting slippers on over his boots.
There is nothing, however, to be seen inside, save mats and carpets on
the fioor, as weU as long strings suspended from the ceiling, to which
ostrich eggs and flowers are attached, and the lengthy verses from the
Koran inscribed on the wall.
The most memorable of all the publio places in Stamboul is indubitably

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312 A WEEK IN CONSTANTDfaPLE.

the Atmeidaii or Hippodrome. Unfortanatdy, this aqoare ww
injured by the ereetioii of the Achmet Mosque^ and it b now limited to
about one-third of its former space. .To the north of this mosqoey witk
its six graceful minarets, we find three monuments of antiquity, the omij
ones presttrred in the whde of Stamboul out of the counties artistae
treasures which onoe adorned the Rome of the East. Though o£ leas
importance,'one of the most {Hrominent objects in Stamboul is the ^^ Bunrt
PiUar." This monument stands isolated, in the midst of Turkish rege^
iai>\e stalls, cook-shops, and ooflfoe-houses, which have collected so ckiseljr
around this c(dumn that it appears to be growing out of one of dieae
houses. At the first glance it might be taken for a huge smoke-Uadcened
ditmney, but it is supposed to have had a much higher mission, finr foHes
say that it once supported a statue of Constantine. Its name it indu-
bitably owes to the countless fires to which it has been exposed; it is
beginning to look in a very tottering condition, and is smrroondad by
iron rings, which, however, afford it but scanty support, as thej aie
perfectly rust-eaten.

One of the things to be seen in perfection in Stamboul is the out-door
life of the Osmanli. They appear to perform every domeetie dntj is
the streets, and all the artisans and mechanics wmtk in the open air.
This leads to a considerable amount of gossip, and were the work per-
formed proportionate to the amount of diattenng, tiie Turks woaMT be
the most industrious nation in the worid. Indeed, the preooooetved
notions of the Osmanli which we bring out wi^ us are uttedy
knocked on the head after a close inspection of the Turks ai home.
They possess a very considerable amount of humour, and are fend of
practteal jokes, winch they carry on utterly regardless of the annoyanoe
they may cause. Thus, tixr instance, the other di^ in Kertdi I saw some
of the Contingent amusing themselves with an exquisite game, wiudi
consisted in their picking up a dead dog and throwing it at each otfasr.
But, hold ! I have not yet finiAed with Gonstaatinople ; we have first to
go to Scutari and the Sweet Waters, and then through the Bosphorus^
so I am doubtful whether I can reach Kertch before next month.

It was at eight in the morning that I stood with tiiree friends on the
g^at bridge, and awaited the return of the Turkish steam-boat whoA
was to carry us across to Scutari. A number of Turkbh ladies, in the
most variegated feridjis, or cloaks, were also waiting for the vapour, and
had seated themselves with the greatest calmness on the rotten jdanks c(
the bridge while we were gaaing down on the blue waters at oar feet
At length the vessd arrived. Thanks to the Turidsh carelessness in
all matters relating to public comfort, there is not even an opening in
Ae railing of this bridge, from lAlch all tiie local boats ply. The pas-
sengers arriving from Scutari — chieflpr women — performed wondrous feats
{£ balancing on the narrow plank laid feora the vessel to the Imdge, and
evspt under the balustrades, while we followed the same course^ rad had
three things to ffuard •gikmt simultaneously — ^not to come into cdlisian
witii the Turidsh £Ear ones^ hit our heads acaiast the railing, or get our
feet entrapped in the holes iroon the bri^;e. Half an boor later we
landed on the equaDy wretched wooden Inidge at Scutari, and feond oo
the quaf a numerous party of horse-litters already assented. Each of
us hired a horse for the day at twenty piastres^ and we then commenced
•or ride in tfaadivsctian oCthaKassi bagh» die Uginst moantm on

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JL WXBK m COHSTANTDIOPLE. tlS

the Aiflintifl oout^ wfaeooe a magnifioent Hew maj be enjoyed. I should
recommand this ride in preference to that np the Bulgaria, for though
the distance to be tEayelled is greater, there is no comparison between
the two views.

In the interior of Scutari there is nothins^ remarkable— the onlj objects
to be visited are the barracks, hospital, and burial-ground, which we pro-
poaed to do on oar return — and we continued our ride across the plateau
to the Kasri Dagk After passing the sacred fioantain at the base of the
kill, whence the water is carried for miles, we had half an hour's dimbing
over the rocks and through the bushes ere we reached the summit.
Most BMgnifieent was the panorama whi(^ here lay extended beft»e us.
To the left, Constantinople, with the Castle of the Seven Towers ; to
the r^ht, the entrance to the Bosphorus ; between the two, dM Turkish
rity, Pera, Galata, and Tophaneh. To our extreme right we saw tiie
mirrored surface of the Black Sea, at our feet the Sea of Marmora, aboat
five hundred paces from us, washed by the sea, the Prinoes' Islands ; to
the left, on the Asiatic side, the snow-ca{^>ed Olympus, i^ed ia light
mist — ^an indescribably lovely tableau I

We soon found oorselves in Kadi-Koi, and hastened ofl^ as evening
was dosine in apace, to visit the mighty burial-grounds of Scutari : an
imnw^nae forest ^ gloomy <rvpresses, the twittering of miUkms of birds,
and a thickly-strewn field of narrow Turkbh gravestones, aaaounced the
kingdom of the dead. Here and there a couple of Turks were seated,
with dieb chibuks and nargilehs, on the tombs; they had pvobably been
there since the morning, so motionless did they appear. The Turk is
very fond, by the way, of enjoying his kef in a churdiyard, for gloomy
death possesses no terrors for him. I attempted to chmb up tl^ steep
road on horseback, and- commenced picking my way through the count-
less gp*avestonefl^ scarcely a foot apart. The road was ftitiguing, and my
exertions were fruitless : my horse was continually sinkii^ in up to his
fetlocks in the graves, or stumbling over astumed tombstones. I could
find no monuments worthy of inspection — ail the tombstones were equally
insignificant — but I could not refrain from admirinsp the permanent
brilSaney of the colours and gold fresco work with Mich toe Easterns
are so fond of ornamenting their graves.

On reaching Scutari we returned our hcMPses, and had to hasten of^ as
it is difficult to procure a kaik after dark. Fortunately we succeeded in
obtaining one^ fmd after the usual amount of bullying the kailrii, i^
demanded about six times his proper fare, we reached our ship in time for
a late dinner. I much regret that the length of our excursion prevented
oar having an opportunity to visit the hospital, and add my tribute of
sratitade to Miss Nightingale for the devotion with which she has
hboured to promote the comfort of our suffimng soldiers. Others, how-
ever, amofig our passengers were more fortaaate, and amply bore out die
laudatory remarics which have already been published about dus lady.
She has succeeded in nusing for herself a monument more enduring than
brass, and the name of Florence Nightii^^ will be remembered when
thoee of oar heroes are forgotten.

Sunday, the last day of our stay in Constantinople, was devoted to mi
excursion to the Sweet Waters of Kurope, fi>r which porpose half a doaen
of us took the ship's boat, and set off fbr a long puU. For some very
eoDsidenUe distonoe we proceeded op the OoMsd Horn, andwaeath tke

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314 A WEEK m COHSTAJrriNOPLE*

two bridges, and passed the few Tiukish men-c^-war still in ezistenee,
which have been removed for protection as high as the water will aUow.
Those we saw were built on fine models, but suffered from the all-
prevailing want of cleanliness. After a while the river narrowed per>
eeptibly, and the mountains grew higher; but one great charm was
wanting — namely, that the country was almost utterly devoid of v^;eta-
tion or trees. Here and there a dump of gloomy cypresses revealed the
presence of a Turkish graveyard ; but, wit^ this exception, the general
aspect of the country was monotonous in the extreme. At length we
arrived at the termination of our voyage, for we were stopped by a
Turkish sentry, who intimated that we could go no further in that direc-
tion. It was impossible that we had arrived at the celebrated Europeaa
Sweet Waters. All we saw was a half-decayed palace, situated on the
banks of a muddy canal, and very much resembling Homsey Wood
House, near London. Our disgust was excessive, and to cure our spleen
we started off for a long walk over the hills to gain some idea of the
general aspect of the country. The walk was pleasant enough, as far as
it went, but would have been much more so had it not been that our
ol&ctory nerves were being continually offended by dead oxen and sheep,
off which countiess lean and savage-looking dogs were making evidently
a dainty meal. Here and there we came across a shepherd carrying a
walking arsenal in his belt, and armed with a long spiked stick, forming
a very formidable weapon. He would look savagely at us, mutter some-
thing, evidentiy not a blessiog, between his clenched teeth, and retire
slowly. After a while we grew tired of our ramble, and returned to out
boat, when, after strengthening the inner man, we determined on making
one supreme effort to discover the Sweet Waters. For this purpose we
pulled to the other side of the river, and proceeded along a severely
strait path, whence a view of a stagnant piece of water, about half a
mile in length, could be obtained. At the end of about half an hour^s
walking, in mud up to our knees, we at length reached a village, and
discovered, to our unmitigated disgust, that we had not been mistsJcen :
we had visited the Sweet Waters, about which so many authors had
joined in a conspiracy to humbug us. We turned into tiie only coffee-
house the village possessed, and called for coffee and pipes. The opera*
tion of making the coffee took place before our eyes ;^ the man took a
littie brass cup with a long hanale, into which he put the coffee, very
coarsely ground, sugar, and water. After a few minutes' boiling over the
charcoal the beverage was ready, and handed to us in some porcelain
cups, but I cannot say that I enjoyed it particularly. It may be habit,
it IS true, but I prefer keeping the coffee and the grouts separate ; but
here you had to eat them bo^ with a spoon. Such a thing as drinking
a cup of coffee must be unknown to the Turks. Nor did I have any
much greater amount of success on tr)'ing the nargiieh, or Turkish
hubble*bubble, which requires the lungs of a horse before any smoke can
be drawn from it Now, as I particularly dislike making a toil o£ a
pleasure, I was glad to exchange for tne chibuk, which better re-
sponded to my English notions. The only thing I can honestiy say in
favour of the coffee-house was the excessive cheapness, for we only paid
one piastre and a half for eight cups of coffee and pipes to match.

On our return to the ship, we were highly gratified to find that all the
preparations were completed, and that we should positively sail on the

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A WEEK IK CONSTANTINOPLE. 315

next morning. Everybody was tired of Constantinople; tired of the
diet, the stench, the noise, the cheating — in a word, we were tired of
barbarism, and longed once more to be among civilised beings. Nor
were we <&app(Hnted in our expectations : the captain kept his word like
a man, and tne next morning found us steaming up the Bosphorus, and
fbDj prepared to admire its beauties, for we knew that every rotation of
the paddles carried us further and finther from that sink of iniquity, the
mere aspect of which is sufficient to prove the utter worthlessness of the
eause (or which so much of our best blood has been shed.

It is almoet impossible to eive any description of the Bosphorus : words
are too weak to describe the oeauties which are developed almost without
inteiruption from Scutari as &r as the entrance to the Black Sea. For-
tuaately, too, we should not have to land anywhere and <Hspel the
iUusion, so we sailed along in the brightest possible spirits, and were pre-
pared to admire anything. The whole of tne Bosphorus is so sown with
esnnon, that a mouse, one would think, could scarcely get through, and
yet, at the commencement of the war, a Russian frigate ran the gauntlet,
and esaqped into the Black Sea. I was anxious to see Buvukder^, inte-
resdng to me as the spot where the Contingent had lain so long idly, and
to the bitter discontent of the officers and men. But such gw>i rortune
was not granted me ; a rattling shower of nun, such as can only be met
with in Turkcnr, drove us below, and we were not released until our good
ship was heavine merrily on the Black Sea.

After an excdlent passage we reached Kertch in safety, but a descrip-
tioQ of that place does not lie within the limits of my present paper.
Next month I hope to meet my kind friends again, and have a gossip
with them about the Turkish Contingent, of wluch very littie is as yet
known in England, and that littie is incorrect.

But before quitting my present subject, I may be permitted to offer a
few speculations as to the rature fiate of Turkey. That the Osmanli are
predtttmed before long to be utterly removed from Europe admits not
the slightest doubt ; at least, if anybody is disinclined to believe it, let
Um just come out and see what Uie French have done, and are doing.
He will find it a matter of public congratulation among the French
soldiers that they have achieved the greatest victory of the whole war,
and that without a blow — ^namely, the capture of Constantinople. Why
is it that the Turks detest the French ? Because they are fully aware of
this fact, and know that they cannot possibly bc^ up against the
energetic and enterprising Gaul, who nas taken possession of their
European home, ana is fully determined not to resigpa it again. Such,
at least, is the opinion I have been enabled to form from close obser-
^ration, and I think it will be borne out. Not that I would assert for a
moment the Turks have not fiilly deserved their fate ; they were for a time
a menace to Europe, now they have become an insult, and the greatest
misfortune that could ever have occurred to nations calling themselves
drilised, was that they offered to support such a set of ruffians, as per-
sonal inspection compels me to brand tne Turks.

VOL. XXXIX. T

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SIS

lOLMAlTS ULTm CHBI8TIANITT .•

Deaii MtTiMAN has bere brought to a concloaon, wherein -werj
mucli is concluded, a truly Taluable and scholac-like work— oae of
those

— * enteprises of giert pith sad ■>o»ent^

which the ttagmficent dreams of scholardnp lore to plan, but
which, dream-hoars over and working-dff^s at hand, usuaOty fade
in the li^t of commoti day, and, like what they are, the baseless
&bric 01 a vision, leave not a rack behind. Such enterprises are
dear to studious minds, imbued with letters, and of imaginative
tendeni^, though not of imagination all compact; but to condense
these ^^msubstantial pai^eantsf' of design, a gorgeous cloud-land of

Sromise, into the prosaic performaisea dl some six thick vokunes^
emy octavo — hie labor^ hoe opus at : and one afiter another, audi
enterprises, like those of Colendge, are found to look well only on

J>aper, not in paper and print; md one afiter another, th^ iJ],
rom the designer's indolence, or incompetence, or growing indif-
ference, or broken health, or unforeseen obstade^ or some ouer

respect^ their oaneni turn awiy.

And lose the name of action.

The Dean of St. Paul's has most successfully, and at the cost of
time, industry, and persistent study known only to himself but
self-implied in his every chapter, brought to a close this most im-
portant history. Its scope and treatment fairly considered, we
have probably nothing to compete with it in our ecclesiological
literature, 'fhe Dean shows himself an ^' approved good master^
of his subject, large and lofty as it is, and complex as are its
ramifications. His erudition is copious and diversified. His tone
is a very model of candour, liberahty, and impartial fiiiniess. His
portraiture of character is often felicitous and vivid, never one-sided
or extravagant. He is happy in redeeming from m^re monotony
the dry chronicles of acts and monuments, which his theme requires
him to record, by the generally sustained force and emphasis of his
narration. His diction is terse, animated, and CTaphic; if some-
times apparentljr unfinished, and even incorrect the cause probably
lies witn the writer^s solicitude to be pithy and concise — which he
is to an almost whimsical degree, in the condensation of sentences,
and the more than decimation, the all but excision, of conjunctive

* History of Latin ChristianitT ; including that of the Popes to the Pontifi-
cate of Nichohs V. By Henry Hart Mihnan,D.D., Dean of St. Paul's. Vols.
IV.,Y.,VL Murray.

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mUUSfU IM3M CHBI8TU]illT¥. 317

As ]& the txmac volnme^ Qibbomfio ioaxm vad man-
wrifflon aboHttd.

A kige pcortion of the finfc of iheae yolmaea k de^ratad to the
adu3)iticai of the Papdl power riabg to ita Btmoet hekhty wider
Inneofflit III. Some of hit taoceiaors might go greater lesgUis io
tibe elahns of qaiitual deapoliflm^ lA anragatiiig to theiP^ye%

A ghosily domipatifm, QBOoafined

Aa th»t by dreaaxiiig barda to Lotc assigned^*

but^ as Dean Mikoan shows^ the full sovereignty of the Popedom
had already taken possession of the minds of the Popes themselves^
and bad been submitted to by great part of Christendom. From
the days of Hildebrandji that " raigbty maffician"t in spell-binding

Cnpalities and powers, Christendom nad, we are reminded^
me &miliarisea mth the assertion of those daimsi which^ in
their latent significance, amounted to an absolute irresponsible
autocracy. ''The essential inherent supremacy of the spiritual
over the temporal power, as of the soul over the body^ as of
eternity over time, as of Christ over Caesar, as of God over man,
was now,** in the thirteenth century, an integral part of Christianity.
At tbe beginning of this century, Innocent III. ^^ calmly exercised
as his right, and handed down strengthened and almost irresistible
to his successors, that which, at its close, Boniface [the Eighth]
asserted with repulsive and ill-timed arrogance, endangered^ under-
mined, and shook to its base.^ In his philosophical examination
of the rationale of this great fact, the Papal supremacy, Dr. Milman
observes with a truth not the less to be notea because it may be a
truism, that ideas obtain authority and dominion, not altogether
from their " intrinsic truth,*' but rather from the ^ constant
asseveration" of them— *the dinning them into the ears of us sus-
ceptible and pUable creatures of habit — especially when they fall
in with our natural hopes and fears, wants and necessities. ^' The
mass of mankind have neither leisure nor ability to examine them;
they fatigue, and so compel the world into their acceptance; more
particularly if it is the duty, the passion, and the interest of one
great associated body to perpetuate them, while it is neither the
peculiar function, nor the manifest advantage of any krge dass or
order to refute them.** The ambiguous terms in which the might
and right of Papal dominion were advocated, were of special
advantage to their cause.

* Wordsworth : Ecclesiastical Sonnets. XXXIX.

t Those ancient men, what were they, who achieved

A sway beyond the greatest conqnerors ;
Setting their feet upon the necks of kings,
And, Uurottgh the woAd, smkhuBg, diamii^ down
The free, immortal spirit? Were they not
Mighty magidaas f Bogebs : Jiafy.

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318 MILMAlfS LATIN CHRISTIANITT.

The fallacy upon which was reared the ideal Church goYemmeat
of Gregory and his disciples^ may well be called ^^ spfendid.'^ I^
fell in with that yearning for heaven's first law, Order, which the
heart of man, troubled by anarchy within and without, feds,
cherishes, and expresses. ^^ The unity of the vast Christian re-
public was an imposing conception, which, even now that history
nas shown its hopeless impossibility, still infatuates lofty minds; its
impossibility, since it demands for its Head not merely that infalli-
bihty in doctrine so boldly claimed in later times, but absolute
impeccability in every one of its possessors; more than impecca-
bihty, an all-commanding, indefeasible, imquestionable majesty of
virtue, holiness, and wisdom." Without this, as the author adds,
it is in effect a baseless tjrranny, a senseless usurpation. Hiis
condition is practically a postulate; a conditio sine qua non.

Innocent ill., of all the Popes, is shown to have advanced the
most exorbitant pretensions, and in an a^e the most disponed to
accept them with humble deference. Wim characteristic fairness,
Dr. Milman brings out whatever there was of ^^high and blame-
less," of " wise and gentle," in this energetic pontiff; in whom he
recognises qualities, which might seem to advance him more
near^ than any one in the whole succession of Roman bishops, to
the ideal heignt of Papal supremacy. ^^In him, if ever, might
seem to be realised the churchman's highest conception of the
Vicar of Christ." For, about Hildebrand, who initiated the
colossal system of Papal aggression, and Boniface VIII., and
Gregory IX., there was majesty of a more worldly sort; they
were distinguished by a ^^ personal sternness," a ^^contemptuous
haughtiness;" and the spiritual greatness of the first two was
alloyed and thrust back by their secular policy. They might,
indeed, endure with a loftier firmness than Innocent the calamities
which came upon them, and wince still less sensibly before the
slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; yet in those personal
calamities there is ^^ a kind of desecration of the unapproachable
sanctity of their office." The ark may suffer in the estimate of
Israel if too grossly abused by the Philistines. Proud Innocent
might be, as proud as Gregory or Boniface; but his pride was
"calmer, more self-possessed;" the star of his unconquered will*
twinkled less, as, in "bright particular^' sheen, it dwelt apart;
more than they he seemed to know himself, and able to make
others

Know how snblime a thing it is

To soffer and be strong.

* LongfeUow gives to ''the red planet Mars/' the ''first watch of the
night/' and sajs, or sings :

"The star of the onconqnered will

He rises in my breast.
Serene, and resolute, and still.

And calm, and selif-possess'd."— r(^t qftke Nighi.

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mUCAlf S LATIN CHBISTIANITY. 319

He escaped the more damaging insults to which they were sub-
jected. ^^ His dignity was less disturbed by degrading collisions
vritii rude adversaries; he died on his unshaken throne, in the
plenitude of his seemingly unquestioned power." Nevertheless,
with all the grandeur of Lis views, with all the persevering energy
of his measures, Innocent's reign is here seen to have been marred
throughout by failure, discomfiture, and disaster.

The details of that reign are minutely and methodically supplied*
In one chapter we have Innocent and the Empire ; m another.
Innocent and Philip Augustus of France ; in a third. Innocent and
England under Jomi Lackland — the man to whom Shakspeare lent
the only popularity (however brief) he ever enjoyed in these realms,
by the "brave words, brave words" he puts into his mouth, in
hasty and hastily-recanted defiance of this same Innocent ;* in a
fourth. Innocent and Spain — with a glance at his dealings with
Bohemia, Hungary, Poland, and those other " lesser kingdoms" on
the Baltic, which were not beyond the sphere of his ^^ all-embracing
watchfulness ;" in a fifth, Innocent and the East — fully particula-
rising the history of the Crusade for which he was so urgent — the
triumphant career of Fulk of Neuilly, whose burning words kindled
to " obedience to the cross," nobles, knights, citizens, serfs, though
to no lasting purpose — the diplomacy and daring of blind ^d
Dandolo— the taking of Constantinople, and estabushment in the
East of Latin Christianity; in a sixth. Innocent and the Anti-
Sacerdotalists— including the wars in Languedoc, and the lives and
deaths of Simon de Montfort and Raymond of Toulouse.

As to the result of Innocent's exertions in this last and notorious
instancy Dean Milman, while he owns that ^^ the success was indeed
complete," adds that ^is success, the extirpation of Albigensian
heresy, was ensured by means of which Innocent disapproved in
his heart. " He had let loose a terrible force, which he could
neither arrest nor control. The Pope can do everjrthing^but show
mercy or moderation. He could not shake off, the rapacy has
never shaken off the burden of its complicity in the remorseless
carnage perpetrated by the Crusaders in Languedoc, in the crimes

* £Miff John [to Paadulph,

*' of fair Milan cardinal.
And from Pope Innocent the Ic^te here "] :
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England, •
Add thus much more, — That no Itali^)^ priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions, &c.

« « « « •

King Philip. Brother of Enfi^land, you blaspheme in this.

JT. John. Though you, and all the Kings of Christendom,
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreadinff the curse that money may Duy out
.... let ^ alone, alone, do me oppose
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes.

King John, Act m. 8c. 1.

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S9d KLXAK'S tknS CHUItUKnT.

and cmelties of Simon de Moirtfoxt. A dark and ifieffaoedble ataia
of fraud and dissimulation too has gathered aioiuKl the fanw of
Innooent himself. Hereby "vras quendiod in blood; but tba eaith
socmet OT later grves out the terriWe cry of blood for veageaace
against wntdeivrs and op|>ffe8Sors.'' Hurter, who catcheB at evtiy
oppottanity fot magnifying 4^e ^^ equity and gentk^ess" of his
" hero and saint," makes the very most of Innooent^s indeeisivie and
yieidmg belyfrnuT at the Fourdi Lateran Council — not pevcemng,
yn his Ripal ss^st^ what Dean Milman points out — die himiiiBiboa
of Innooent, when thus reduoed, by the implaoable FuUdb s»d
Amends of that congress, to bec^raie the ^^tame insManent" lof
^teir bigotry and rapacious greed. ^ Innocent, the hauj^ly inno-
cent, tfppears in the midst ; mild, but waTerin^; seeing clesuiy that
winch was just, humane, merdful, and disposed to the l^ter-oovae ;
bat overix^me by the vioI«nce of the adverse party, and weakly
yielding to that of which his mind and heart equ Jly disapfooved.

To innooent succeeded Honorius III*, a tempori^ng P<)p^ wihoae
^ natural gentleness of <Aaracter" bordered on timidity. He is dl^-
scribed as not having energr of mind either to take the lofiaeriiiie,
or to refflst l^e high chui^men who ui^ed him towards xt; fill-
lowing a tempwising policy, which could only avMt for a time the
inevitable conflict with the Empire — ^inevitaUe if only beoause the
Emperor was Frederick II. *^ And yet a Pope who -could aSBone
as his maxim to act with gentleness rather than by compulsion, by
influence rather than anathema; never^less, to make no sur-
render of the o^rweening pretensions of his function, must have
had a mind of force and vigour of its own, not mvwcfrHij of ad-
miration: a moderate P<^ is so rare in these times, 'Asit he may
demand some homa^ for his moderation.^ A large pait of his
mo^eraftion may pemaps be ascribed to his phjrsical weakaett — ton
he was corpare inftrmis^ et ultra modwn debUis — ahhough noithcr
this, nor the burden of extreme old age has sufficed, in Tepeaded
instances, to tame the heyday blood of rapal energy. Witness die
suooessor of Honorius.

This was Gregory IX. Cardinal Ugolino had attained tfait4ige
when strength is but labour and sorrow, fourscore years, when
called to the pontificate. At fourscore years he was to entor «pon
that fearful strife with Frederick, which spread havoc and desola-
tion so far ai^d wide. Frederick little anticipated the history that
awaited them twain, as Okss^ and Pope, when he onceaaid of the
cardinal: ^^ He is a man of qpotfass reputation, of bLwiclQW morals,
renowned for Piety, erudition, and eloquence. He shines among
the rest like a Drimant star.^ It was only the oardinaTs due. But
what was the Pope''s due, in after years, by llie ^nairte of the same
imperial arbitrator?

The contest between the Empire and 1^ PapacTf *coiild not have
begun^ Dc Milman remarks, under men more strongly omitrasted

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thaA O^egorj IX. sad \Fi6denQk IL Grec^cnyi at the a^ «f
eighty, ^ xetaiaed the aiaibitioD, ^ vi^oar, aimoBt the aefeiTitj of
yootl^ with the etabboni ohitinacj, and something of the irritabte
TCttzlftBoe <d old a^ He was atill master of all his poirarfiil
ttooltieB; lus kaowJedffe of a&in, of muildnd, of the peoidiar
iBteseats <>£ almost all we natioDfl ioa Qixisteiidomi acquixed by k>ng
^nplovaneat in the moat important m^tiaidons both by Inno-
e»it til. And by Honorius IIL; eioqiK^oe which his own age
eompeEsed to that of Tully; Tffofottnd eniditioa in that learning
whi^, in the mediffiyal omirchman^ 'Oommanded the highest admi-
ration.'* On the o&er hand, Frederick is iairly portrayed with
many of the noblest qualities wMch could captivate the times he
Uvea in: a brilliant prince, who, having crowded ink) his youth
adventiiEefl, perils, suecesseff, almost unparalleled in history, was
now (A.fiL 1227) Qttly expanding into the prime of nrnnhood. AfSber
having, as a parentless cHrphan, struggled upward to the throne of
his heacoditary Sicily — after crossing the Alps a boyish adventurerj
and winning almost jpr(?pni(? marte^ the impmal crown,* — he was
now beginning to be id; onoe the Magnifioent Soverei^gn, the -gallant
Knight, and troubadour Poet (^^ not fbibidding iiimseli those
amorous indulgences which were the reward of chivalrous valour,
ukd of the ^gay science' "), the far-seeing, comprehensive^ en-
lightened Iiawgiver, and the patron of Kteiature and the arts. It
is impossible to conceive a contrast more strong or more icfecon-
citable than that which the historian here £:aws between the
octogeooarian Gregory, in his cloister palaQe,t in his conclave of
stem ascetics, with all but severe imprisonment within ocmventual
walls, completely monastLC in manners, habits, views, in •corporate
spiri^ celibacy, in rigid seclusion £:om the rest of mankind, in the
consoientions deteumnation to enslave, if possible, all Christendom
to its inviolable unity of £uth, and to the least possible latitude of
discipline; and the gay, and yet youthful Frederidc, with his
minted assemblage of knights and ladies, of Ohristians, Jews^
and Mohammedanfl^ of poets and men of science, met, as it were,
to ^j«y andminister to enjoyment; to cultivate the pure intellect:
where too, it is &eely admitted, ^^af not the reetrunts of leligion,
at least the awM luathority of chuschmeD, was examined with
fieedom, sometimes ridiculed with sportive wit." The exciting
vicissitudes in the great contest which ensued, between two chiefe
ia some respects so equally, in othen so unequally matched, are
narrated with imflae^mg q>irit and with ot^ous particulars in the
teDth{ book of this matory.
IliMigh eighty years of sge when elected to the chair of St.

* fiee LatiaChaBtianitT, toL iv. 313 igq.
tIbid.32L

t^lie beading *Bo6k IX * being, by right {or wrong), an errahim. See
™ftMje to voL It.

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322 MILMAN*S LATIN CHRISTIAIOTT.

Peter, Gregory' IX. leigned^ and warred^ and excommunicated,
an^l endured^ for twice seven years. The stout old priest was not
far from a hundred when, cast down but not destroyed, he defied
bonds and degradation, and issued his mandate to the faithAil, not
to let themselves be dispirited by momentary adversity : ^^ The baik
of St. Peter is for a time tossed by tempests, and dashed against
breakers; but soon it emerges imexpectedly from the foaming
billbws, and sails in uninjured majesty over the glassy surfaoe.**
This was just before his death in 1241 ; a death by some attributed
to vexation, but as Dean Milman says, extreme age, with the hot
and unwholesome air of Rome in August, might well break the
stubborn frame of Gregory. In September was elected as his suc-
cessor, Celestine IV., " a prelate of gentle character and profound
learning." In October, Celestine I V . was dead. For nearly two
years the Papal throne was unoccupied, to the scandal of the fidth-
ful, and the reproach of Frederick, on whom the blame was cast.
Frederick might well retard, if he could, the election of another
anti-Ghibelline chieftain. In 1 243, however, a friend of his became
Pope, taking the name of Innocent IV. Frederick was congra-
tulated. But Frederick knew there was no cause for congratula-
tion. " In the Cardinal," he forebodingly murmured, " I have lost
my best friend; in the Pope I shall find my worst enemy. No
Pope can be a Ghibelline. His quondam fnend fully justified the
Emperor^s prognostications.

Innocent IV. wore the tiara for some eleven years. He aspired
to become fully, what his immediate predecessors toere progres-
sively becoming, absolute in monarchical sway; his "haughty
demeanour," " immoderate pretensions," and " insatiable rapacity,"
offended many, but imped^ not the advance of his power. He
asserted the Papal claims witJi " a kind of ostentatious intrepidity."
There was a " personal arrogance in his demeanour, and an im-
placability which revolted even the most awe-struck worshippers of
the Papal power." His name was odious to the last d^ree in
England, the most profitable of his spiritual estates, and whidi he
taxed to an "increoible" extent After his death in 1254, wild
tales were rife in England, of his last hours,* tales which showed
that even the Pope could not with impunity set at nought the
moral sense, and natural emotions, of subjects who were not only
churchmen but men.

Alexander IV. follows; "a gentle and reli^ous man, not of
strong or independent character," but, according to Matthew Paris,
too open to nattery and to the suggestions of interested and
avaricious courtiers. Forced to adopt vie policy of Innocent IV.,
he was maladroit and ill at ease in its principles and practice. The
son of a cobbler succeeded him in 1261, Urban IV.; followed by
that Clement IV. whose praise is, that he did not exalt his kindred

* See vol. iv. pp. 466 «^.

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MILMAN 8 LATIK CHBISTIAKITT.

— ^tbat lie left in obscurity the husbands of his daughters ; then by
that Ghnegory X. whose soul was possessed by one great religious
passion^ a crusade, to re-christianise and redeem the Holy Land,
which, with ^its afflictions and disasters, and its ineffitceable
sanctity, had sunk into the depth of his affections" — and widi
whom expired (in 1276) the Crusades, and after whose time the
Pope began to sink into an Italian prince, or into the servant of
one of the ereat monarchies of Europe : ^e last convulsiye effort
of the Popedom for the dominion of the world, under Boniface YIII.
ending in the disastrous death of that Pope, and the captivity of
the Papacy at Avignon.*

Between Ghrecory X. and Celestine V. there is a space of nearly
twenty years, dunng which the pontificate is exercised by an
Innocent, a Hadrian, a (nineteenth) John, two Nicolases, and an
Honorina— none of them very note- worthy. But Celestine V. was
that Peter Morrone, whom multitudes had tracked out in swarms
from desert to desert, ^^ some to wonder at, some to join his devout
sednsion.'' The ascetics of old were worthily rivalled by this low-
bom anchorite, whose dress was ^^ hair-cloth, with an iron cuirass ;
his fix>d bread and water, with a few herbs on Sunday." At the
i^e of twenty he had gone into the desert ; and there ^ visions of
angels were ever round him, sometimes showering roses over him.
6oa showed him a great stone, imder which he dug a hole, in
which he could neither stand upright, nor stretch his limbs, and
there he dwelt in all the luxury of self-torture among lizards,
serpents, and toads." Woe worth the day to Peter Morrone when,
by unanimous acclamation, he was declared supreme Pontiff, and
summoned from his hermitage, in a wild mountain cave, to assume
the sovereignty of the Church militant here on earth. The am-
bassadors who bore the summons had difficulty in procuring guides
to direct their steps to his rugged retreat. " The cave, in which
the saint could neither sit upright nor stretch himself out, had a
grated window with iron oars, through which he uttered his
oracular responses to the wondering people. None even of the
brethren of the order might penetrate into the dark sanctuary of
his austerities. The ambassadors of the Conclave found an old man
with a long shaggy beard, sunken eyes overhung with heavy
brofrs, and lids swollen with perpetual weeping, pale hollow
cheeks, and limbs meagre with fastmg : they fell on their knees
before him, and he before them." In vam was his ferv^tly
iterated, tearfully reiterated nolo episcopari. Nolens vokns he must
obey the sic volo sic jubeo of the Conclave. Never was there a
n^ore popular inauguration. But the Cardinals soon saw reason to
repent; not sooner than this ex-Peter the Hermit wished to
Abdicate. His abdication was accepted. Celestine was no longer
Celestine. Peter was himself again. The abdication was indeed

• Latin Chxistianity, voL v. pp. 24» 63-4, 63, 81, 86, 934.

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S94 hiliuk'0 I4A3XS iMBjmujurc

an w&kt ^^ miprecgdeated in the annftls <^(he dmrch,^— * oeides-
don of mere hnmanity, cak«ilated to stagger aad scizidaliie a ^^^uroe
part of thinking and belieYiDg Chrirtewiom. It was di&renUjr
yiewad in different quarters. For tins adt the monkadi vriteia
esralted and slonfied Cdesline's holy name, as die isau idSal of
Chri^ian perfection. But in spite of his celestial name, Dante aent
him to Iiell for it — and to that part of hell where weiegailiered
those on whom, in uttermost scorn, the poet would noi oondescend
to look*

A Mving antithesis to the character of Celesdne appears ia the
person of his successor, Boniface VIII. (Benedetto Gaetani). ** Of
all the Boman pontic, Bom&oe has 1^ the dArioast name for
craft, arrogance, ambition, even for avarice and cruelty." Xlie
historian explains how this pontiff'a own acts laid the fonndation
of the ^^sempitemal hatred," with which his memory was icigarded,
not only by individuid foes, but by houses, factions, ordeco, diaaaes,
pvofessiaBfl, and even kingdoms: how, in his own day, hia bardi
treatment of Gelestine and the Celestinians, a&erwards coitfounded
with the wide-spread Fradcelli (the extreme and democnitic
Franciscans), laid up a de^ store of averaon in the poptilar
mind; while, in the higher order^ his tecrihle detecminattion to
crush the old and powerful family of the Colonnas^ and the stem
hand with which he repressed others of the Italian nobles^ together
with his resolute Guelosm, and his invitations of Chades of V idok
into Italy, involved him in the hatefulness of all ChaxLos's tyrumy
and <^pre86ion. ^^ This, with his own exile, goaded the -Gndf-bom
Dante mto a rel^itless GQiibdline, and doomed Pone Booiiaioe to
an earthlv immortality of shame and torment in we heU of the
poet" Add to this the odium he incurred in his conflict with
rhilip of France, and ^^ the lawyers, his fibtal foea." Hudly was
BiHiinice dead, when Christendom heard without protest that
epitaph '^ which no time can «iase" — though in later days it has
been potested against, by Cardinal Wistfuan* and otheoos^ — '^ He
came in like a fox, he ruled like a lion, he died like a dps." The
Ghibellines would have it, that in an aeoeas of fury, eitoer from
poison or wounded prid^ Bcmiface aat g«nwif^ the top of his ata^
and at length either beat out hk &ainfi against the wall or
amothered himself with his pillows. Dr. Milman aocepts as
^^ probabljr more trustworthy," the ^^ more fickodly" nocounts which
dttcribe him as sadly, but quietly breathiqg his laat, surtDunded by

* Speakinfi^ofibeJbadersmtkefiDrkimfac^
tion for Boniface Vlll,., Dean ICibnan dbs^ei^ that r^M^^ai WismiBa has
embarked in thk desperate cause "with consideEable Wming axid mooe iiigeimitj.
More recently bave appeared Tosti's "panegyrical, but not very succearful
biographj,** and the more impartid, the consmeirtkras nid "pamd,* btttfar
from sati^Mstorj life by Dnmuum. See vol v. 144 ».

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&Ai ^mrrtintls, liaving ocnufessed ^ &kli «nd reoeiyed the oon-
scSng offioes of die Churoli^ —

fetsmsoae fidem, oanoMw proinm

Bominw EodesifB, Cbdfito Imo vedoituB almns
Spmtiis.

Tke next Pope was Benedict XL, a man (^exem^aij life and
gaak manners, who for eooie time was enabled to puisoe a oouise
of ooa^liatioa and '^^ diegpBsauwBJke dagnity," and died suddenlj
just as he was turning o¥^ a new leaf C9ement V* repraeents
the opening of t^ ^^ Babyloniali csptiyit^ in the Book of the
Ouxjttides of the Popes of Kome — that p^nod during which Rome
was no lottger the me^opoUs of Ghnstendom, and the Fope
declined into a nominee of France. To the interval between
Clement's accession and death, viz«, &om 1305 to 1314, bekmgs
the tii^edjr of the abolition of the Templars^ lecounifeed by Dean
Milman with admimble impartiality, completeness, and effect. Du
Molajr'a dying citation of Clement is well known: ^Clement,
in^nitoiM and cruel judge, I summon thee within forty days to
meet me before the throne of t^e Most High." It was more thsn
a year from that time when Clement's d^th actually took place.
But it is worthy of notice, that die earliest aUusion to this dread
suttiinoQS does not contain the limitadon clause, the ^^ within forty
days," which, if part of it, would caned its prophetic character.

To the ^^ shamefially rich" and sensual dement succeeded another
cobbler's s(A^ — the deformed and stunted John XXII., who exqojed
the xepuiation of profound learning in theology, and the canonical
and civil law. A very worldly head of the Church he proved.
He aludd&ed the Mendicant Orders by liis avarice and his secular
pwsuits. Of all the Pontiffi, not one, aocording to the historian,
was more deeply involved in tempoial affidrs, ^ir employed his
spiritnal weapons^ censuore^ exoommunicaticms, interc&cta, more
prodigally for political ends. Moreover, ^ his worldliness wanted
the dignitv of motive which migtt da^le or bewilder the strong
minds of his pflfedeoessoi%" such as Grcjgory YIL, Innocent IQ.,
cor Benifooe VlIL Yet this Pc^ who was notoriously and pee-
eminently capacious, harsh, reteitlesiv intolerant, and vindictive,
^^iiad a great fame for pie^ as well as learning, arose every night
to ncay and to study^ and eveiy morning amended Mass." He
£ea at ninetyo ^^<^ ^ behind him, Bbhmer admiringly informs
us^ eme^ Sehaiz van no less than /ui%f und zwaneig MUlumen y^ld
gulden.

The shrewd and asagadoais Benedict XIT. comes next, the too
pliant jninister of French <^oun8el% and the too easy lover of wine
and persiflage.* It is 4Mdd that the pvoverb^ ^ Aa drunk as a

"• A stmging epitaph l)];ands BenecQct in a very maleS&s^xst^ manner :

*'IIle Mt TTero, laicis mors, vipeia clero»
Denns ^ vero, xmppa repleta mero.*'

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326 IHLMAK'S LATIK CHBISTUinTT.

Pope," is due to his " bottle tricks.** aement VL (1342-52) was
another pleasure-loving Pope, under whom the Court at Avignon
became ^^ the most splendid, perhaps the gayest, in Christendom,"
and whose life was a constant succession of ecclesiastical pomns,
and gorgeous receptions, and luxurious banquets. It remured mb
terrible %lack Plague to startle into seriousness such a Pope and
such a Court Innocent YI. reigned also for ten years (1362-62),
^^ the most powerful and most prudent of the Aviffnonese Pontifis,"
though the fame of the most pious he must oecfe to his successcn*,
Urban V. (1362-70), whose virtues are commemorated by Petrarch
in glowing terms. Grregory XI. assumed the tiara ^^ with sincere
reluctance" — a man of blameless morals, ^^smgularly apt, eaetv, and
agreeable in the despatch of business ;" his reign was confused ; his
death led to confusion worse confounded — ^its date (1378) being
that of the close of the Babylonish captivity of the Popedom, only
to be replaced by the great schism which ^^ threatened to divide
Latin Cnristianity in perpetuity between two lines of successors of
St. Peter, finally to establish a Transalpine and a Cisalpine Pope."
Of the Popes and Anti-Popes who ^^ flourished" and faded between
the death of Gregory XI. and the election of the notable Thomas
of Sarzana (Nicolas Y.) in 1447, we can only allude to the
studious, austere Urban VL. who ^^ did the harshest things in the
harshest way," and was gmlty of acts of most revolting cruelty,
such as might ^^seem almost to confirm the charge of madness;"
Martin V., who as the Cardinal Otto Colonna had a reputation for
temperate views, and a strict and even ostentatious love of justice,
which his papal career failed to increase ; Eugenius IV., who to
the narrow virtues of a monk, austere morals, and rigorous dis-
charge of the offices of devotion, joined monkish stubbornness and
self-sufficiency, together with a keen relish for war — always pro-
vided that the war be against heretics, and, as such, exterminating,
unconditional, without quarter ; and Felix V., whose election was
something more than a nine days' wonder to Christendom, his
Holiness being none other than that Amadous of Savoy, widower,
paterfamilias, and ez-sovereiffn, who, weary of his temporal crown,
had i-etired to a ^^ kind of viUa^nvent on the beautiful shores of
the Lake of Geneva," but was not over cov of accepting the
summons to the Papal See, though he did stickle about the kws of
his hermit's beard, which it went to his heart to part with, each
particular hair almost standing on end, and feeling ^^cut to the
quick," when the depilatory d^^ree went forth.

With the Pontificate of Nicoks V., this History of Latin
Christianity concludes. The choice of such a man as Thomas of
Sarzana, at such a time, was rarely felicitous. Within three diort
years of his election^ "the Pope had become again a great Italian
Potentate ;" and this, not so much in the strength of the Boman
See as a temporal Sovereignty, as] in the ^admiration and

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miucak's latin christiakitt. S27

gratitude of Italy, which was rapidlj reported over the whole of
hristendom." To Nicolas V., Italy, "or rather Latin Qiristiauity,
mainly owes her age of learning ;" under him Rome was to resume
her rank as the centre of Art, to be as of old the Lawgiver of
Cirilisation, to be ^^ at once the strong citadel, and the noblest
sanctuary^ in the world, unassailable by her enemies both without
and within from her fortifications ; commanding the world to awe
by the unrivalled majesty of her churches." The ecclesiastical
cedifieia Nicolai Papm vrere the delight and the wonder of con-
temporaries.

With him closes the series of Popes chronicled in the thirteen
Books of ^^ Latin Christianity." The Fourteenth Book, howev^,
will be to many readers the most precious of the whole ; survejring
-as it so admirably does the faith, the literature, the Teutonic
languages, the Christian Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting, of
the entire period under review. The tneology of the sreat
Schoolmen, the hymnologies of the devout, the theosophy of the
mystics, Chaucer and Wycliffe, Petnurch and Boccaccio, Giotto
and Fra Angelico, all are discussed, with an ability and critical
acumen that must make this final volume very widely and specially
attractive. Unhappily, we have no space left for illustration of this
section of the worlc ; nor have we been able to notice as they de-
serve the very numerous episodes, so to call them, in the course of
its variegated pages, which relate the crises or catastrophes in the
career of many a fiimous king and rebel, reformer and adventurer,
man of peace and man of blood. Let us, however, bestow a page
or two on one celebrity out of this throng, on Coli di Rienzi.

Dr. Milman does iustice to the ^^ wonderful courage, address,
and resolution," with which that remarkable man pursued his
design of reawakening the old Roman spirit of liberty — submitting,
for this purpose, to every kind of indignity, and assuming every
disguise which might serve his end — playing the bufloon to amuse
the haughty nobles in the Colonna palace — ^making himself, in the
words of his autobiography, "a simpleton and a stage-player, and
by turns serious or silly, cunning, earnest, and timid, as occasion
required." Dr. Milman does justice, too, in graphic words, to the
eany rule of the Tribune, when there lay prostrate at his feet, and
swearing obedience to his decrees, those nobles whom hitherto no
Pope nor Emperor could expel from Rome — ^but whom Rienzi had
expelled and recalled at will; whom Rienzi's ** open, patient, in-
exorable justice" now delighted to humiliate: when financial
reforms were planned and carried, military organisation controlled
by constitutional authority, and not only the city, but all the
country around blessed by a sudden and unwonted relief from
disorder, violence, and general distrust. "The woods rejoiced
that they concealed no robbers; the oxen ploughed the field
undisturbed; the pilgrims crowded without fear to the shrines oi

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SS8 USLMASfH^ LAmr omsTiAimT.

the miats and tbe aposdes; the traders might leave iheir weckwis
waiea bjr the roadside in ]9erfeet lafetj; tjianta tr^nMea; good
men rejoioed at their emanci^ldoa frem dayerj." Hie ^glonoas
endi^ €c the Tnbune'a ambition are seen in the aCrefls he laytapan
the moral as ifell as crril xevohitioa he had wroogbt, in his letters
to die Emperor and else-^erer had he not restored peaeey he
nskBy among the cities which were distracted bj fkotion ? had he
not decreed the readnDsnon of exiled citiaeas ? had he not begun
to extingun^ the partjr names of Gnelf and OhibdKne, aoid to
reduce Kome and all Italy into one harmonious, peaoefiil, holy
oonfederaey? Had he not, too, been honoured by flattering
adyances from Christendom eastern and western— by soleHin
embassies and letters from the Emperor of Constaudnople and the
King o£ Engknd ? Had not the Queen of Naples submitted -
herself and her realm to his protection, and the E3ng of Huagair

S*entty pressed upon his hearing the case against that fiur
endantr But while Dr. Milman does justice to tbe good
points in ihe character and the career, both so chequered widi
dark and bright, good and eyil, of Rienzi, he is not a whit
dazzled by the glare of his name and cause^ nor fails to see what
there was in him of hoUowness, extrayaganoe^ and yanity. The
Dean reckons it impossible to determine whether, as Rienm him-
self in one place admits, it was mere yanity or a yague and not
impoHtie desire to gather round his own name all the glorious
reminiscenees of every period of Roman histoxy, and so to riyet
hie power on the minds of men, which induced lUenzi to aocumn-
late on himsdf so many lofty but discordant appellations* —
blending together in the strange pomp of his ceremonies and the
splendid array of his titles, the Roman Republic, the Roman
Empire in its periods of grandeur and of decline, the Church, and
the chiyalry of the middle ages. "He was the Tribune of the
people, to remind them of the days of their liberty. He called
himself Augui^us, and chose to be crowned in uie raontii of
August, because that month was called after the ^ great Emperor,
the conqueror of Cleopatra.' He called himself Seyere, not merely
to awe the noble malcontents with the stem terrors of his justice^
but in respect to the philosopher, the last of the Romans, Severinus
Boethius. He was knighted according to the fuU ceremonial of
chivalry, having bathed in the porphyry vessd in which, according
to liie legend. Pope Silvester cleansed Oonstantine the Great of his
leprosy." At the height of his power and splendour, in the
August of 1347, proclamations were made in his name as Nich<Ja^
the Severe and Merciful, the Deliverer of the City, the Zealot fiw
the freedom of Italy, the Friend of tbe World, the August
Tribune. Seven dignitaries, civil and eccleriastica]^ placed seven
crowns on the head of the August Tribune— crowns of oak, ivy,
myrtle, laurel, olive, silver, and gold; the seven together symbo*

* Latin Chiistianitj, voL v. pp. 523 4q.

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Kiicur's LATnr GHBisruKin. 329

ling the serenfl^ gift of the Holj Spirit (seS. «ro t«v «ivni

wmtmfuiTmmi m mrrm €9tmrMr rtw Bp<mm)* Then it WftS that Riemi, mth

nest fnnSSoDg frords of Tamt^fr, made that pn^uK^ not to call it
bfai9Db«mo«ia^ compcriK>n of himself to the Saviooir of men, which
flboeked the -wise^ and fbieshadowed the roeaker's M. His haid
swam, at the elevation he had reached. He nad reared an imposing
edifice of power; but there needed only that the waves shonM
sime against its bas^ that the rains descend^ and the winds rise
and beait xspofsi it^ and it most fall, for it was foonded on the sand.
Bome was not bmit in a day, the Rome of ancient dirvs and ever-
kstin^ renown. But Rienzi's Rome was. Rienzi's Romans luul
little in conmon with the Romans of the Repohhe. They were
quick to cast down and qmck to build u{): we know what sudi
bnldiiL^ up is wordi. ^ Still, as for centuries, the Rcunans were a
fieice^ &k^ populace. Nor was Rienzi himself though his moands
were bkmeksi, though he incurred no charge of avarice or rapacity,
a model of the sterner republican virtues. He wanted simpEci^,
selidsty, aelf-oommand. His ostentation, in some respects pontic,
beeaaie puerile. His pocessions, of which himself was still the
centre, at first excited, at length palled on the popular feeling.
His luxury — ^for his table became sumptuous, his dress, his habits
^endid — was costly, burdensome to the people, as well as ofien-
aire and invidious. The advancement of his family, the rock on
which demagogues constantly split, imwise." As to his religion,
^ihe indispensable, dominant influence in such times," is fully
proved to nave been ^ showy and theatrical," and wanting that
depth, and fervour which spreads bv contagion, hurries away, and
binds to blind obedience its unthiniing partisans.* The chronicle
x£ Rienri's rise and progress fully prepares us for that of his decline
and (all.

He was unequal to cope with advCTsity when it fairly measured
its strength against his. It was as though some strange thin^
had happened unto him — m (awv avr^ avfApaiwcvrot. He lacked
defiant strength to stem the tide when it turned against him ; he
wanted stamina to breast the billows when they threatened to en-
gulf him. " He had no military skill ; he had not even the courage
of a soldier." At the close of that memorable year, we see him
stripped of power ; we follow his fugitive track, a? a lonely exile ;
we note his retreat in the wild Apennines, among deep ravines
where dwell " the austerest of the austere Franciscans,"— exchang-
ing his pomp and luxury for the single coarse gown and cord of
these stem Spiritualists ; his life a perpetual fest, broken only by
the hard fare of a mendicant : here he couches unknown for two
yeats and upwards, years of terror and anguish in the great world
without — during which the Black Plague was desokting Europe,
>3id earthquakes shi^ng its c^tals ; Kienzi, the Roman Tribune
cherishing meanwhile heavenward thoughts in his sombre sedu*

* Latin Christianitj, ?oL v. p. 597.

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3S0 MIUiAlf S LATIN GHBISTUNITT.

sioa (" O angela* life," he calb it, " which the fieads of Satan alone
could disturb!'*) — and Clement, the Roman Pope, shutting him-
self up in his palace at Avignon, and burning large fires to keep
out tne black death. Yet a while, and Rienzi emerges from his
retreat ; we trace him. to Prague, in conference with the Emperor,
whom he seeks to dazzle l)y " mad apocaljrptic visions." — to
Avignon, where, imprisoned and fettered, he has ^^his Bible and
his Livy," and perhaps " yet unexhausted visions of future distinc-
tion," strangely destined to come true, — and again to Rome^ that
the visions may be fulfilled, and the history of reformers have one
name the more ^^to point a moral or adorn a tale" — ^to Rome,
whither he wends his way in gorgeous apparel, to resume as
Senator the power he had won and lost as Tnbune.

But monastic austerities, and prison endurances, had alike fidled
to teach him practical wisdom. Dr. Milman again exhibits* him
bewildered by the intoxication of power, returning to his old porno
and his &tal luxury — extorting tne restoration of his confiacatea
property, only to waste it in idk expenditure. ^^ He was constantly
encircled by his armed guard ; he passed his time in noisy drunken
banquets. His person became gross, hateful, and repidsive. Again
callcMl on to snow his military prowess a^unst the refiactoiy
Colonnas, he was again found wanting." Add to which, that the
stem and e^ual power which had before given a commanding
majesty to his wild justice, now seemed to turn to caprice aiKl
wantonness of power ; while ingratitude and treachery suUied the
proscriptive severities he, this time, enforced against ms foes. He
had shrunk from politic repression before; he was impolitic in
vengeance and extermination now. The Tribune would not strike
har^ and had to flee. The Senator struck too hard, and most die.
^^ Tyrant ! " was the word in tiie streets ; that word begat insurreo-
tion ; and anon the ^' Romans" slew the ^^ last of Romans,'^ amid
shouts of "The People for ever!" and "Death to the traitor
Rienzi ! "^-exhausting upon the poor battered corpse the last re-
sources of that most lawless of things, mob-law ; of that most
vindictive of things, mob-vengeance.

* Latin Christianil^, vol. v. p. 552.

f Byron's phrase, in the well-known apostrophe—

'' . . . . Bedeemer of dark oentories of shame —
The fiiend of Petrarch— hope of Italy —
Bienzi ! last of Bomans ! While the tree
Of Freedom's withered tronk puts forth a leaf.
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be —
The forum's champion, and the people's chief—
Her new-bom Noma thon— with reign, alas ! too brief."

CkUde Harold. Canto IV.
Devout or sentimental Biena-ites, who hare been made such by an exdnsiTe
£aith in Bvron and Bulwer, will not perhaps bless the opportunity amdire alieram
pafim, when that other *' party," however salutary a counter-agent to their es
parte impressions, is so unprepossessed (and there/ore to them unprepossessing)
an authority as the Dean of St. Paul's.

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PEACE AND THE IMPERIAL DYNASTY.

Th« proclamation of peace has, through the good fortune of the
Emperor of the French, been heralded by an event still more
auspicious to the existing Oovemment of Prance than even the
proximate close of hostilities. The same good fortune which has
raised Louis Napoleon from an exile to a sovereign has presented
him with an heir on whom may devolve his vast acquisitions,
and who will, at any rate, have as good a claim as any other
Frenchman to the throne of the first nation of the Continent.
For upwiMrds of two centuries in no one of the dynasties to
which £ ranee has been subjected has the son succeeded to the
throne of the father. That the child now bom should live to
fulfil the bri^t anticipations indulged in at its birth, is a blessing
almost too unprecedented to be entertained without misgiving;
but it is in that very circumstance, in the misfortunes of the
French throne and the French nation, in those defaults of lineage
which have conspired so long and so miserably with the cha-
racteristic caprice of that excitable people, that now lies the reality
and the earnest of the prayers addressed by all the difierent bodies
of the State, and re-echoed by so many in this country, for the
welfare and prosperity of the Lnperial Prince.

The Legislative Body, alluding to hopes similar to those which
are now entertained on aU sides having been conceived at other
periods and not realised, attested as to why those to which they so
cordially gave vent upon this occasion inspired them with so much
confidence : ^^ It is, sire, because the two dangers which have
tipset thrones — revolutions at home and coalition abroad — have
been averted by you ; you overcame revolution by force, diverted
it by labour, calmed it by clemency ; ^ou have conciliated foreign
states with France, because your armies have only reaped glory
in the maintenance of justice and of right, and because you nave
known how to add to the greatness of France without humiliating

The Emperor acknowledged that the unanimous acclamations
which have hailed the birth of a son have not prevented him from
reflecting upon the fate of those bom in the same place, and
under nndkr circumstances. But he added: ^^ If I hope that his
&te may be a happier one, it is that, first of all, confiding in Pro-
^dence, I cannot doubt of its protection when I see it restore again
^y an extraordinary combination of circumstances what it was
pleased to overthrow forty years since, as if it wished to mature
oy mar^rdom and misfortune a new dynasty issuing from the

VOL. XXXIX. a

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332 PEACE AND THE IMPERIAL DTKASTT.

ranks of the people. History ha% moreover, lessons which I shall
not forget. It tells me, on the one hand, that we should never
abuse the favours of fortune ; on the other, that a dynasty has only
then a chance of stability when it remains faithful to its origin,
and when it oceupies itself solely wdth ihe popular interests for
which it was created."

The European Congress, by a hlappy coinoid«iiee, assembled in
the verv palaee where the event took place, also attested, in the
name ol Europe, to the saitiments, the iiopee, the joy inspnxed on
all sides bv the happy event with which it nad pleased Providence
to bless toe Emperor, and which^ by assuring and oonsolidadng
the Napoleon dynasty, beccnnes a nefw pkdge of safsty and oon-
fidenoe to the whole world.

The Emp^ror^s answer to thkr Euxopean expcession of synqpathy
and of QonndiKice will be ior cfvcEr m^norabk — as muck ao as the
worde spokm on his advent in one of dcie first ooaamefotal cities of
France. ^^ I tkank the Congress/' he replied^ <^ for tke well-mdies
and congxatulationa addressed to me dbxongh yon. I am happy
th«t Providsnoe has granted me a son at a mfsaimi when a new
9tBL of fpeaend xecondlialiQat dawns upon Euxopa. I will hams
hiaa up unboed with the idea that nalkms murt not be egoAifllica^
and that the peace of Europe diq>eiid& upon the proepefity of etdi
nation.**

Such a reply, deepfy^ marked widi the lesson of a hard-eaned
e3q)ezience, presttits in its tone a striking contrast to tibat adopted
by a great TransatlantiG stale^ which in its youA and vigour,, in die
vaafcness of its territory, the increase of its popuktiony ^^*^ above
ally its unbounded egotism, defies &te to do its wonL and dazes
fiiend and &e alike. The imperial fiither gravely and wiae^ un-
dertakes to imbue his son with the idea that naticns most not exist
for themselves alone, and that the peace of the wocld depende xxptm
the prosperity of each nation. Whata eontrast to w dootnnes
entertained in the Unated Statesof aoa intangible aoven^nty cf a
people whidi.is above all law and all reason, to which the world
must bow as Indians do to the great unseen qpirit, which Bone mitft
iq)p(roach or hold cenummion inmsli on terms of international sym-
ptihy or equality, and which abrogates to itself the right of vsestd-
m^ the New World to the utter and contemptuous exclusion of the
OSl^ I Ab the svstem of international jeabusies, and of idigioufi^
commercial, and nhilosophical difierences, seems to be dying awav
in the Old Worid — at a time when an iknperor is plfl«in^ sdms^
at dae head of the crusaders against old national pngndioei — the
New World appears to be ocmoentrating its whole vigour and
eaei^es into one great eoitre of human arrogance and national
egotism.

The Senate having testified to the apparent fact that Providence
has gifts in store Sxxt those prinoes who devote Aemselyes to the
greatness and prosperity of their people, the Emperor, in answer,

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FXACE AITD THE IHPEKIAL DTKASTT. 333

dedired, that when an hm is bom destined to perpetuate a national
syvteniy diat child is not only the offipring of a family, an Imperial
rrinoe, but he is trolj, also, the son of the whole country — a
child of France.

The Oouncil of State also stated, with equal truth, that ^^ Divine
Providence, which since the accession of your Majesty has showered
80 many blessings upon this Empire, which after crowning our
arms with Tictory, seems to be preparing so many glorious results
to your policy, could not have given you, sire, a more striking
proof of Its protection than by granting to your wishes and to ours
the birth of an Imperial Prince.**

The Imperial Court of Orleans likewise observed, that it would
appear that Providence wished this happy event should precede the
agnatuie of peace in order to teach attentive Europe that the best
guarantee of that peace is the consolidation on the throne of the
fiimily of him whom France has placed on it. Lyons declared that
during nearly a century it has never been completely exempt from
civil disturbances except when under the shield of a Napoleon.
That great manufacturing city, therefore, accepts as a blessing from
Heaven ev^ything that consolidates and perpetuates the power of
the family. Bordeaux declares that the Emperor has saved Prance.
He has curected her strength towards industry, commerce, and the
arts — ^he has added by war a noble gem to a crown of glory, and
the wisdom of his policy, by removing old national prejudices, will
have re-established the balance of power in Europe. JProvidence,
in giving to the Emperor a son, rewards him for all the good he
hasefiected.

Indeed, in the pseans sung from^ one extremity of Prance
to another, peace abroad and tranquillity at home were unani-
mously associated with the idea of the perpetuation of the Na-
Sleon dynasty. And the European Congress expressed with rare
Jcity the sentiments entertained by most other governments
and peoples, when they declared that in the stability of that dynasty
all united to see a pledge given to the security and to the contidence
of the whole world.

Peace will in all probability be* proclaimed ere these pages meet
the public eye. It was not only that the birth of an Imperial
Prince had to be suitably inaugurated, but the armistice in the
Crimea would expire on the 31st, and it was desirable to avoid
the necessity of a renewal. The official announcement that war is
at an end comes at an opportune moment for France. Russia, it
is reported, concedes almost everything that has been asked of her
-^he neutralisation of the Black Sea, the disarmament of forts
(even to Nicholaief), the independence of the Principalities, and
territorial rectification to a certain extent. Peace is made, but
whether in the meaning of the mat attributed to one of the
plenipotentiaries — ^ Une paix, et non la paix P — ^time alone can telL

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384 PEACE AND THE IMPERIAL DTNASTT*

Peace is declared, but whether the men who have aasembladl

together to discuss and sign it will repair to dieir respective

homes enamoured of each other, is another question. If reporto

are to be even remotely trusted, Russia has made no secret' ot the

irritation and annoyance which she has experienced at bcin^

forced to accept terms at the hands of Austria, who was indebt^

to her for the very preservation of her existence in the hour of

trial. Prussia, who was also admitted to the Conferences, not to

take part in the discussion, but to have the results imposed upon her;^.

did not find her position an enviable one, and the latent sparks of

jealousy even now may be smothered only one day or other to break

out into a destructive flame. It were no doubt much better that

these Powers had taken a more decided part in the war, than hang

aloof as they did ; the terms of peace would then have come from

them with better grace, and have been more acceptable to all

parties. If anything is left incomplete, it will be those Powers

that wiirbe the first to sufler from the next difficulty that arises^

and how changed may then be the position of affairs in the East,

and in what a difierent aspect may the Powers of Europe stand

towards one another ! Austria had a great opportunity, wnich she

allowed to escape her: it is little probable that such an one will

ever present itself again !

But if peace is proclaimed, after a long period of discussion,
kept secret with jealous care, it is not likely mat all the results of
the Paris Conferences will be given at an early period to the world.
A sub-committee was formed to draw up the terms of the treaty,
composed of Lord Cowley, Baron Bourqueney, Count Buol, Count
Cavour, Aali Pasha, and Baron Brunow, being one representative
for each of the negotiating Powers. Peace being signed, the Con-
ference will be dissolved, but a committee is to be left sitting, to
carry out the details which there has not been time to come to a
complete understanding upon. Some of these questions were but
very lately deemed of so great importance, that peace or war
hung upon the answers given. The questions of the Principalities
and of the Turkish Christians remain, for example, open. Such ia
now the impetus on the incline af peace, that they are not even
considered as obstacles in the way of a satisfactory arrangement.
It is also, we believe, determined that the proceedings of the
Conferences shall not be published ; hence the details of what has
taken place, and of the diplomatic struggles that occurred, will
probably either remain unknown, or only escape into publicity
gradually and after a long interval.

In all probability, England, represented by Lord Clarendon, and
Russia by Count Orlofi) had to bear the brunt of the struggle.
France had declared herself for peace, and the indiscreet and
somewhat unworthy rejoicing with which the first news of a
pacification was received in tnat country, by no means tended to

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FSACS AND THE IMPBRIAL DTNASTT. 3S5

enliance the satisfiu^ry character of the terms to be obtuned. '
The difierent position of the two nations in the Conferences has
been well put by two different writers, one a Pole — M. Joseph
Reitzenheim — ^in a pamphlet called ^^Les Conferences de 1856
et les NationaUt^.''

The diflbrence between the two nations, the author remarks, on
the subject of the war, is evident to every one. In France it is the
goyemm^it which up to the present moment has led on the popu-
lation, usually so warlike, but in the present instance so little
roused. It is a matter of astonishment that France should be
opposed to a war undertaken in a noble cause, in one which should
win all its sympathies^ as well by its principle as by the causes
which have provoked it Yet the war nas not been popular from
the <K>mmenoement, and a large portion of the press and of the
public have been consistently opposed to it, and that in the face of
the military glory won hy France and the great political influence
gained thereby. M. Reitzenheim attributes this indifference, if
not overt opposition to the war, to the reminiscences which still
influence many of the French against accepting the English alliance
without a certain reserve, and to the evil influence of certain parties
whose rule of conduct is to oppose everything, however salutary^
that they do not originate. "JNeither can I forget," he adds, ^Hhe
numerous foreign agents who act in a thousand ways on public
opmion."

England presents a spectacle of a contrary kind. There it is
public opinion, representing the mass of the nation, which roused
the government to the war against the Czar. The English people
understood perfectly the great importance of the war, both in a
moral and a material point of view. Hence it was also that public
opinion has declared itself all along in Enj^land against a peace
brought to a hasty and imsatisfactoiy conclusion.

^^ Great Britain," says an energetic writer, ^^is at this moment both
able and willing to carry on a &p:eat war. Although she entered
this contest after forty years' neglect of railitaxy armaments, she now
possesses the largest forces of an^ state in Europe. Her fleets in
the Baltic and the Black Sea will in any future campaign count
many hundred pendants. Her army is in perfect condition, is con-
tmually reinforced, and is probably the largest which now occupies
the shores of the Crimea. The financial state of the country is all
that could be wished, and any sums necessary to uphold its honour
and interest will be voted with readiness by the Legislature. On
the other hand, Russia, by the admission of her own statesmen,
has lost upwards of 400,000 men, is in want of money and material,
and can continue the war only by the most unheard-of sacrifices."

There certainly seems reason to doubt whether the terms that
have been agreed to are such as will satisfy all the expectations
entertuned m this country. Some of those expectations were, how-
eyer, unquestionably larger — sometimes, as m the case of a pro-

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3S6 PEACE Am> THE HCFRETAL DYNAflTT.

posed veconffxaetioa of Poland, pxepoeteronfity 90 — ^tfaan wexe
wairantod by tbe state of affidrs ; oein^ so, the disappouitmeiit
must be borne. The lesson whieh Busna has leoeived will pvo-
bably make it long before she again disturbs the peace of Europe.
It may be said, therefore, that the object of tne war will be
attained, and the exertions of the Western Powers fiilly rewarded.
Turkey has also not only been relieved from the inoessant pvessuie
of an all-powerful antagonist^ bni the CSiriatian races will be eman-
cipated, wd the country itself opened to colonisation and civilisatioa.

It is but natural (says M, Raitxenbeiai), that the French people
should wish to end thu war. They have i^yed a high part io
Europe iEoy h&ye gained a reputation with which tfaqr may rest cm-
tent But these great suoceeses have been bought by no small saeri*
fices. The finances oi France have been strained by war, and may ha
d«»uiged by its continuance. The call for men may hefiore long ialer*
fere mA the new-born industry of the countiy. Hostilities have inter-
rupted those speculations for me rapid gain of wealth which occupy so
much the attention of modem French society* The French people,
therefore, are less anxious for the staphladons of a treaty than for its im-
mediate result. The Emperor is but the representative of his subjects
when he proclaims and proves his desire for a pacification. We can well
tmderstand his wish, that the birth of an imperial heir should be an-
nounced to^edier with the advent of tranquilhty. But we cannot but
think that m the future men will ^scriminate between a well-groun^d
and an unstable peace. It will be no advantage to a child that its huib
is commemorated by an Amiens or a Tilsit We trust that it is not too
late to insist on all tiiat the Toioe of Europe has proclaimed ososntisl to
the common safety, and that Russia may not, after an almost unfaroksn
series of defeats, retain practically all that she possessed before the war.

After all, our countrymen must bear in mind diat they are but a
member of an alliance constituted for ^m attainment of a great
end. They have, therefore, to some extent surrendered the r^fat
of individual and separate action. The nation has fully proved its
good faith during two years of trying war. The suoceeses of
France have been made possible bv the disinterested support of
England, a country always more aesirous of its object Inan of
mere di^lav in attaining it. We have, therefore, a daim on
those by whose side we have fought, and to whose capital we
have hdped to bring the common enemy confessing his defeat
Although it may thus be beyond the present right of this country
to refuse assent to the conditions wnich her allies may declare
sufficient, still it is impossible not to feel that the union which a
great orisb has established between France and England will be
more enduring if our countrymen find that it has not fidled to
accomplish the objects for which they have sacrificed so mudi ;
and this they will not fail to do if, Russia humbled, they now set
to work unitedly to fiructify the results of the war, to open new
Enes of communication, and to toil together in a great kbour of
love — ^that of the colonisation and dvilmtion of the East.

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3S7
THE SPBNDTKRIFT.

A TALE OP THE LAST CENTUBT*

By W. HABRISON AINSWORTH, Esq.

XXVL

THE DEBT OV HOITOVB, AVD HOW IT WAS TAID.

Thbeb months have elapsed. A long tenn in the life of our
&st-goiiig hero. In three months he oould sqiucnder away as much
money, and commit as many follies, as other and slower folk
could contrive to do in as many years. In three months, by a
lucky hit^ some people have made a fortune: in the same space
of time Gage found it equally easy to spend one.

Three months then have gone by : three months of unheard-of
extravagance and waste — of riot, profligacy, exhaustion.

These three months have been passed in town, in the society of
rakes, gamblers, and other ministers to so-called pleasure. They
have been passed in an eternal round of dissipation* No pauses-
no restraint — ever onwards at the same headlong pace.

Each day has brought some fresh amusement— some new excite*
ment. £ach day has been marked by some act of foUy or pro-
ftiaion — by some mad frolic, unbridled excess, or piece of scarcely-
conceivable prodigality*

Each night has been spent in debasing orgies — ^in the gambling
ordinaries, in scouring the streets, in conflicts with the watch.

The cup of pleasure has been drained to the very dre^ The
supposed inexlmustible purse of Fortunatus is almost emp^ed. The
race is nearly run.

At first view, it seems scarcely credible that any person in his
senses should be guilty of the outrageous follies and vicious ex'*
cesses we have imputed to our hero : the more so, as we have always
affirmed that he was not destitute of good qualities. But the good
in him was now overi^iastered by evil. Yielding to temptations of all
kinds, he had fallen. His wealth, which, nroperly used, would have
given him a proud position, and enabled him to perform a thou-
sand beneficent and worthy actions, had proved a bane instead of a
blessing. It served to enervate his nature and corrupt his prin-
ciples; rendering him a mark for the parasite, the sharper, and their
harpy train. Indolent, luxurious, profuse, he was content at first to
purchase pleasures; but as. these palled, firom repetition and over-
indulgence, he sought excitement in play, and what in the com-
mencement had been mere distraction, became in the end an all-
engrossing passion. He could not exist without cards and dice —
and though his immense losses at the gaming-table might have

* (^ !l%e Author of ihit Tale menu the Hgki of tramlatum.

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338 THE SPENDTHRIFT.

operated as a check, they incited him to go on. He was not with-
out moments of compunction — indeed of remorse — ^but he banished
these feelings as quickly as they arose. Of late, he had begun
to drink deeply, and when inflamed with wine, he committed
frantic excesses. By such a course of conduct, if he accomplished
nothing else, he fully achieved the grand point of his ambition,
which was to be accounted the greatest rake of the day. His
unbounded extravagances had long been the talk of the town ;
and his wild freaks gained him an unenviable notoriety. Still,
thouch his speedy downfal was predicted on all hands, he main-
tained his position, for his debts of honour were duly discharged.
Whether his less honourable debts were paid with equal punc-
tuality was of small concern— except to his creditors.

With the fair syren, whose charms had enslaved him, and whose
extravagance had contributed in no slight degree to his ruin, Oage
continued wildly in&tuated as ever ; more so, perhaps, for since
he had been unable to gratify her caprices to the same extent as
formerly^ she made it evident that she cared little for him, and
her manifest indifference, so far from diminishing his passion, in-
creased it almost to frenzy. He became furiously jealous of her,
and as she frequently, from the mere pleasure of tormenting him,
encouraged the attentions of some presumptuous coxcomb, more
than one duel resulted from her heartless conduct Little recked
Mrs. Jenyns that her lover thus jeopardised his life on her account
She laughed when told of the hostile meetings in which he had
been engaged, and vowed they gave her 6clat. Grage now made
the discovery — but too late to profit by it — that the beaudful
actress was totally without heart. Not only did she not love him
now, but she had never loved him. This he understood ; yet his
insane passion remained incurable. The Circe had thoroughly
bewitched him. Once, and once only, since he had been first
entangled, had an opportunity occurred to him of breaking the
fetters of the enchantress. This was immediately after the memo-
rable masked ball at Bury Saint Edmund's, when for a few days
he regained his freedom, and yielding to better influences, shunned
her baneful society. But ere a week had gone by^ he was again
at her feet ; and though the fair conaueror was willing to for^ve,
she took care that her clemency should not be too easily obtained,
and exacted pledges for future obedience. It is possible that Gage
might at this time have succeeded in wholly estranging himsdf
from her, if she had not had a secret and powerful al^ in Fairlie.
It was chiefly owing to his instrumentality that the ill-starred
reconciliation was enected. Thenceforward the syren maintained
her sway.

Hitherto, Mr. Fairlie had answered all his reckless employer's
pecuniary demands upon him — not without feigned remonstrances,
certainly — nor without cent per cent interest for the advance^
and sufficient security for repayment ; but he had already begun to

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THE 8Plin>TiaRIFT. 339

debftte with himself how soon matters ought to be brought to an
end. The mine was ready to explode^ ana the train had but to be
fired. The steward waited for the fitting moment to apply the .
match, and meanwhile, like a skilful engineer, took every precau-
tion to ensure himself from damage.

By this time the pomtion of the two had beoome reversed.
Fairiie was the master; Monthermer the dependent. jGage's
estates in Sufiblk were all mortgaged — mortgaged, it would seem,
past redemption — and the real owner of Monthermer Castle,
though he had not as yet asserted his claim to it, was Felix FairUe.
More than this, all Monthermer^s sumptuous furniture, maraifi-
cent plate, pictures, equipages, stud of horses, everything, in uiort,
of value, once belondng to him, had been pledged to Fairiie, and
oould be seized by the rapacious steward whenever he chose.

Still Grage went on recklessly as ever, and kept up the same
gay and gulant exterior. His horses and equipages were still the
adiniration of all who beheld them in Piccadiuy or the Park;
and not one of the fops to be met on the Mall or in Saint James's-
street was distinguished by greater richness or taste of appareL
His entertainments at his mansion in Dover-street were still mag-
nificent, and of his numerous retinue of attendants not one had
been discharged. Most of these, seeing how matters were going
on, had taken good care of themselves. It is true that some of
the tradesmen whom our prodigal hero honoured with his custom,
having received private information as to the state of his affairs,
had become rather clamorous for payment, but Mr. Fairiie had
hitherto taken care that Gage should not be personally annoyed
by duns.

Having thus shown how the last three months had been spent by
our hero, we shall proceed with his history.

One morning, towards the end of July, a party of yoimg men,
most of them nchly attired, but of very dissolute appearance, were
breakfasting at a rather late hour in the large room of White's
Chocolate House, in Saint James's-street. Some few, while sipping
their chocolate, glanced at the journals of the day, not for the
purpose of ascertaining what was going on in the political world
— ^for they cared little about such information — but in order
to pick up a scandalous anecdote or story with which they
might subsequently divert their acquaintance. Others, and these
were the noisiest of the company, were recounting their adven-
tures overnight in the streets and gambling-houses — telling how
they had scoured High Holbom and Chancery-lane, and broken
the windows of those old rogues the lawyers abiding in or near
that thoroughfare ; how they had bravely battled with the watch,
what tremendous blows they had given and received — in proof of
which latter assertion the plaisters on their pates were exhibited ;
how they had been captured, and rescued as they were being
haled by the constables and their myrmidons to the roimd-house ;

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340 THE SPEMDTHBIFr.

and how in die end thej had come off yiotoriooslj, with a vast
qoandtjr of tiophies in tha shape of smashed lantems, cUsabled
xattleB, and splinterad constabW stages.

The peraon to whom these roystering blades owed their de*
liverance from the minions of the law was no other than Gi^
Mondiermer, who came up most opportunely with another band
c£ aoourers &om Long^acre and Drary-lane^ and speedily put the
watchmen to rout (Skse, it appeared, had been drinking deeply
and ^roaring handsomely'' — in other words, he had been creatmg
terrible disturbances in the quarters which he and his inebriate
oompanions had visited.

AJadi here we may as well explain, for the benefit of the
uninitiated, tJmt the young bloods of the time, after a hard
drinking-bout, were wont to amuse themselves and cool their
heated brains by scouring the streets, and insulting and mal-
treating every decent person they encountered. Occasionallv,
with frantic yells, which they termed ^^ roaring," they would
burst into the taverns, clear them of their guests, and then
proceed to trounce and kick the waiters. Daubing over signs,
wrenching off knockers, breaking windows, extinguishing street-
lamps, and tripping up chairmen, were among the mildest frolics
of these jovial gentlemen. Long ere this. Gage had earned so much
distinction amongst the scourers, or Mohocks, as they delighted
to be called, that by common consent he had been elected their
chief. Gage was proud of the title, and naturally enough attri-
buted his election to his eminent merits as a scourer ; but there
was another reason, though this was not put forward, which had in-
fluenced the Mohocks in their choice of a leader. Such pranks at
they played were not to be committed altogether with impunity.
Some one must pay the piper, and who so able to do it as Gbge?
Our hero soon discovered, that if it was a fine thing (as surely it was)
to be chief of the scourers, it was rather expensive work to main-
tain the position ; and that to mend all the windows broken by
his followers, re-gild and re-paint the signs they had disfigured,
and find new knockers for the doors they had injured — to say
^ nothing of fees to watchmen and others, as well as plaisters for broken
beads — ^he soon discovered, we say, that these things, when of con-
stant recurrence, and coming upon himself alone, cost a trifle.

Many of Gage's nocturnal exploits were recounted with infinite
zest by the young bloods we have described, and great admiration
was expressed at his courage and skill ; all agreeing that he well
deserved to be their leader, and only regretting that he could not
hold the post much longer.

Seated at a table,- somewhat removed from the rest of the com-
pany, were four personages whom we first met at Monthermer
Castle, and who at that time professed the strongest regard for its
then wealthy owner. To listen to their present discourse, the
warmth of their friendship had considerably abated. As to as-

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XiEB 8PEHDTHBIFT. 341

sistiiig Oage in his hour of need, moh an idea neveat jEor a ixiQiii«Bt
entered their heads: if it had, they would have soouted it at
once, as errant folly. From the time when we first encoanlered
them up to the present moment, these ingratee had never lost
sight ol Uxeir dupe. It was not their fault that, towards die
end of his career, Oage had fallen into the hands of a lower grade
of cheats. They had warned him, but he would not take couaaeL
When he could lose his money like a gentleman — ^loae it to gentle-
men— why should he plav with common rocdcs at a nming-
ordinary — ^knaves who used &lae dice and cramped boxes ? Was
there ever such a bubble I

These four personages, it will be guessed, were Sir Randal de
Mftwhinei^ Bean Freke, Lord Melton^ and Brice Banboiy. Let
us listen to their discourse.

^ Then vou think it is aU up with our fidoad^ eh. Sir Randal ?*'
Biice BunSury remarked.

" I am quite sure of it," the young baronet replied. " He lost
five hundred pounds to me, two nights ago, at haaard, and when I
supplied to Fairlie for the money yesterday, it was refused."

^^ Humph I that looks suspicious indeed I " Brice ezdaknad.
^^ Hitherto all his debts of honour haive been paid."

^^He pKud me a thousand pounds last week," Beau Freke ob-
served^ with a smile. ^^ I have not played with him since. Old
Fairlie gave me a hint when he handed over the numey, and I have
aotted ufosk it."

^^ FairUe oauticmed me at the same time^" Sir, Randal said.

^^Then you must put up with the loss with patience^" Brice
remarked. ^^Ton should not have played tmder such circum-
stances"

^^ I don't mean to lose the money. . He mmt pay me."

^How the deuce is he to manage it^ if Fairlie has stopped the
supplies ?" Lord Melton said. ^^ He owes me a small bet of a &w
hundreds^ but I conoder it gone."

'^ Tour lordship will act as you think proper," Sr Randal re-
joined ; ^^ but I mean to be paid."

<' Again, I ask — ^how ?" Lord Mdton said.

^^ Tou will see, if you remain here till two o'clock," Sir Ruidal
returned^ with a laugh. Then taking out his watdi, he added,
" You won't have to wait long. It only wants a quarter of an
hoar of the tim^"

As these words were uttered, a young gentleman at an adjoonxng
table, who up to this moment had been apparently occupied with a
newqMqper, looked ujk and glanced at the speaks:. lie did not,
however, attract Sir RandaTs notice.

'^ I will tell you what I have done, and vou will then ju^ge
what is likely to occur," pursued the j^oung baronel^ coldly. ^^I
have despatched a note to Grage acquainting him w^ the iailuare
of my application to Fairlie — and reminding nim that the debt is a

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S42 THE SPENDTHBIFr.

debt of honour. I hare told him I shall be here at the hour I have
just named, and expect to receive the money.**

^ He will send an excuse,'* Brice said.

'^ No, he will not,** Sir Randal rejoined. '^ He knows I will take
no excuses. Were he to fail me, I would publicly proclaim him a
de&ulter, and then his reputation as a man of honour would be (or
ever blasted."

'^ Scoundrel I" ejaculated the listener, under his breath.

'* My opinion therefore is, that the money will be forthcoming,"
Sir Randal continued. ^^ Notwithstanding old Fairlie's protesta-
tions to the contrary, I am sure this small sum may be screwed
out of him."

'^Egad, I don't consider five hundred pounds a small sum,"
Brice remarked. ^^ I wish to goodness I possessed as much. But
I hope you won't proceed to extremities with Ghi^e. Recollect
how much you have got out of him — and how often you have
feasted with him."

"I don't care," the youn^ baronet rejoined. ^ I must be paid.
Let me see," he added, again consulting his watch — ^ ten minutes
to two."

^^By Jove I I begin to feel quite imeasy/' Brice obaerved.
risinff. « I shall be off."

" Sit down," Sir Randal cried, authoritatively. " I want you to
be present at the interview."

" Interview !" Brice exclaimed, reluctantly complying with the
injunction. ^^ Do you think he will come in person?"

"Not a doubt or it."

" The best thing Grage can do to repair his (alien fortunes wiH
be to marry a rich heiress," Beau Freke remarked.

" Where is he to find her ?" Lord Melton laughed.

"Fairlie's daughter, if she would have him, would be the Ihing
just now."

" Poh I poh I old Fairlie would not now consent to the match —
much as he once desired it," Brice said.

"A truce to jesting on this subject, gentlemen, if you pleas^"
Sir Randal interposed. "Fairlie has promised me his daughter in
marriage."

" You I" the beau ejaculated. " Why, he has given me a Hke
promise."

" With the view of sowing discord between you," Brice said ;
"but don't let him succeed in his purpose. For my part, I wish
Quae could win her. It would set him on his le^ again." -

"I tell you he has no chance," Sir Randal cried, impatiently.
"Fairlie knows too well what he is about to wed her to such an
irreclaimable spendthrift."

"Well, then, there is Lucy Poynings," Brice sug^erted — ^"a
charming girl — far prettier, to my &ncy, than Clare Fairlie. If he

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THS 8PSKDTHBIFT. 343

will promise to reform^ and retire to the country, he may persuade
her to accept him.**

^ Pshaw, she has been long cured of her silly attachment to
him/* Sir Randal replied. " Gage and myself have often met her
at Kanelaghy Marylelbone Grardens, and other places, and she would
not even look at him."

'* Apropos of Clare and Lucy, do you remember how he drove
off with them both in Sir Hugh Poyningsfs travelling carriage,
after the masquerade at Bury?" Beau Freke observed.

<' Ha I ha I ha !" Brice roared, ^^ what a laugh we had at that
droll adventure! It might have been no laughing matter,
though, to GtLse. Ten to one he had broken his neck when he
upeet the coach in galloping down thal^ steep hill. It was lucky
the poor girls inside were uninjured. But they must have been
contoundedly frightened, as well as terribly shaken. Do yoa
xecollect the woeful appearance they all presented when they were
brought back to the Angel? The only lively one amongst them
was little Lettice Rougham, and she had lost none of her spirit.
It was an odd thing that her father should come up just in time
to rescue them all from their peril, and get Ghige from under the
horses^ feet, or most assuredly he would have had his brains dashed
out." .

'^ Supposing him to have any, which may admit of a doubt,"
laughed Sir £indaL

'^ Well, I fancied that night's adventure had wrought a great
change in his character," Bnce continued. ^^ For a few days, on
hifl return to town, he seemed disposed to turn over a new leaf,
and not to be over fond of our society. Things, however, soon
came round, and he resumed his old habits."

^^For that we have chiefly to thank Mr. Fairlie," Lord Melton
remarked.

"Yes — because we were necessary to him," Beau Freke re-
joined. " I shall never forget his alarm when, for a brief space,
he really believed that G^ge was about to reform. He thought
his prize would be snatched from him. Mrs. Jenjrns, who had
been cast off, had to be reinstated without delay."

"That was to counteract a purer influence which had begun to
tell upon the dupe," Brice said. " If Gage had been left alone
for another week he would have married Lucy Poynin^ — that is,
if she would have had him — and then he would have bidden adieu
for ever to Mr. Fairlie, and to some other of his obliging Mends."

" Not so loud," Beau Freke said; "I &ncy the person at that
table, who appears to be a stranger here, is Ustening to us."

*^ Well, unless he is a friend of Monthermer's he can have heard
nothing to interest him," Lord Melton laughed. ^^ We have been
talking of no one else."

More than once, the young man referred to had cast an anffry
glance at the speakers, and seemed about to interrupt their dis-

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S44 THE SFBNDTHHIFT.

Gourse. Bui he now took up the newspaper again^ and seemed
occupied with it.

^It is two o'dodcl'^ Sir Banckal ^ckimed. ^Re will not
come/*

" You are wrong, — ^he is here,** Brice Banbury cried. ''^I wish
I could vanish," he added to himself.

As the ezclamatioDs were uttered, Grage entered the room, and
after returning the salutations of such df the company as greeted
him, he passed on towsords Sir Randal. His faabitiments^ though
rich,, w^e sli^hdy disordered, and he looked more rakish than
heretofore, aia laeed cravat was carelessly arranged, his peruke
was dishevdkdL and his features haggara and worn by de-
batichery ; whiky despite his effixtts to conceal il^ Acre was a
viable embanassmeBt in his mannei. As he approadied the tdUe
at which hi» quondam finenda were seated, Bnce sprang fbrwaxd
to meet him, and pressed his hand with aAected warmvL Bean
Freke and Lord Melton were cordial enough in mannCT< — but Sir
lUikdal made no advmc^ and merely bowra stiffly.

^I knew yon would be punctual, Mondbermcsr,* he said. ''I
told our finends aa."

'^I murt begyou to accept my apoto^. Sir Randal,'* Gage re-
plied. ^^I am extremely sorry to disappomt you, but Fablie wifi
not make die required advance. However, such a pc^ltry' sum can
be of no consequence to you. I will pay you in a few oaya.'*

^ Tou will pardon me, Mr. Monthermer," Sir Randal repHed,
^^if I remind you of what I intimated in my letter that this is a
debt of hoxmn^ and must be repaid ok pain of forfeiture of your
cfaaiaeter aa a gentleman.^'

^^Ohl yes, — ^that is quite understood. IwSlpayit — ^Imeanto
paj it— only give me a few days* I am a good deal harassed at
this moment.'^

^^ Your perplexities are not likriy to decrease, sir, and I cannot
therefore jgraat yoa fuz&ea delay.''

<<Bat ^eathi what am I to do. Sir Randal ?** Gage cried.
<< How am I to raise die money P''

[^A.yj thafs just it — itti^B precisely wluit Lord Melton said,"
Briee iikterposed. ^ What the deuce is he. to do to raise the
money?"

^^ xou should have thought of this before^" Sir Randal said.

^ Will you lend me liie omoimt lor a lew Anrs^ Frdce?" €hi^
said to the beaay who^ however^ shook his heac^ and expresBed his
regrets at being compelled to decline. '^ Will you oblige me, my
lord ? " Monthermer added, appealing with equal iltsuCcess to tlie
SDOTting noUeman. ^1 suppose it ism vain to ask you?" he con-
cluded, addressing Btice Bdnbury.

" You shouldn't need to ask twice, if I had the money^ Mcm-
thermer," Bnoe replied. ^Fd lend it you with all the pleasure in
life."

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THE SPENDTHfilFT. 345

^ Then I must Dositivehr throw myself upon your good nature
to hold me excusea for a few days longer^ Sir Randal, Gra^e said
to the young baronet ^^ Tou must take my word, as a gentleman,
for the payment of the money.''

'^ I will no^ take it," Sir lutndal rejoined, insolently.
** How I'* Gage exclaimed, starting, and involuntarily laying his
hand upon his sword. ^^This is the first time I have oeen
doubted. I must have satisfaction for this affront."

** Pay me the money, and I will give you satisfaction, Mr. Mon-
thermer. But do not imagine I will cross swords with any man of
tarnished honour — and such you will be held when once I pro-
claim you a defaulter."

^^ Tarnished honour !" Gage cried, in a voice of anguish. ^^ Can
such an opprobrious term be applied to me ? Have I no friend
left?"

^^ Apparently not," said the young man described as seated
at an adjoining table, and who, as he came forward, proved
to be Arthur roynin^. "I will lend you the money you re-
quire," he added, placing a pocket-book m Gage's hands. ^^ Pay
tnis honourable gentleman," he cried, with scornful emphasis, and
regarding Sir Randal with supreme contempt.

'^ I will not take the money thus offered. Sir Randal exclaimed.
** By Heaven ! you shall take it," G^e cried, opening the pocket-
book, and forcing the bank-notes it contained upon the yoimg
baronet. ^^ Count them, sir-— coimt them in the presence of these
gentlemen, for I will not trust your word. Huzza 1 my honour is
saved. Arthur, I am for ever beholden to you."

^^ Gratitude is all your friend is likely to get, Monthermer, so it
is well to be lavish of it," Sir Randal said. ^^ Mr. Arthur Poynings,
you will have an account to settle with me. It is not the first
time we have met — but if you will afford me another opportunity,
I promise you it shall be the last."

*' I refuse your challenge. Sir Randal," Arthur said.
^'Refuse it, sir!"

" Ay, utterly refuse it — on the ground that you are a sharper —
and as such I will everywhere denounce you."

Scarcely were these words out of Arthur's mouth, than Sir
Randal's sword sprang from its sheath, and he would have
attacked young Poymngs if Gage had not seized him by the
throat, ana hurled him forcibly backwards.

In an instant the whole room was in confusion. All the rest of
the company arose, and rushed to the scene of strife. Sir Randal
was so furiously exasperated, that, fearful of mischief ensuing,
Beau Freke and Lord Melton judged it prudent to get him away,
and with diflSculty succeeded in removing him. When order was
at last restored, Gage looked about for Arthur, to renew his thanks
to him for his opportune assistance, but the young man had dis-
appeared.

VOL. XXXIX. 2 A

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346
THE JOIIfT. STOCK BANKEE.

A TAUB OF THX BAT.

By DuiNLBr Costello.

CHAPTSB I.
THB XA17 OV THX PEOP1.E.

It was the middle of July ; the summer was intoasely bot ; sad AWr-
Pandj had gone mad!

Kot, however, because^ :tke Doe-stai^ now last approaching its zenith,
but on account of a local event which had no less influence than Sirins
pver the minds of the excitable inhabitants of the little Welsh borough
just named.

An election was going to take place, *nd '^ The Man of the People"
was about to be returned.

Ah ! such a man ! Not nnce the days of HoweH Dha had there been
one like him ! If King Arthur himself — the enchanted royal raven — had
returned to Cwmry, his presence at Aber-Pandy would not have caused
one half the sensation !

And there were very good reasons why "The Man of the People"
should be more welcome tluin the hero of romance.

King Arthur, in the simplicity of the age to which he belonged —
if ever he belonged to an^ — would onoe more have kept his court at
Camelot, have again put fEoth in the fair and false Queen Gneoever, have
revived the Eouod Table, have held tournaments, have fought with
Paynim Kings, and h»ve flourished without oeasing '* his good awopd
Escalabar;" but for all this^ and extravagantly as the good folks of Aber-
Pandy — when deep in their cups — ^might have extolled the heroic deeds of
their mythic monarch, the question would have been adced, *' What will
King Arthur do for ttf ^ Will he double our wages in the pit and mine ?
Will he make house-rent cheaper? Will he increase the value of our
cattle, and send our poniecf, and pigs, and salmons, to a better market?"
And if King Arthur could not conscientiously have promised any of these
benefits, the townsmen of Aber-Pandy knew somebody who could ; — at
least, they thought they did, and that very often amounts to mash, the
same thing.

For a people like the Welsh, credulous only -in matters of l^^endaiy
lore, quick in their suspicions, shrewd in their dealings, and not so
faeart-and-«oul devoted to the goddess whose favourite abode is 8t the
bottom of a well as, unnecessarily, to make themselves martvrs in her
cause—for such a people it was wonderful the amount of iaith thsy
put in the professipns of the candidate for the representation of Abev-

It was true that he also was ^ native of the Principality, but their

eriotism would hardly have been awakened in his favour if a belief in
enormous wealth had not been widely entertained. Who but a great

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THE JOINT-nOOK BANKER. Z4S

papitaHrt could hire parohasod the Tast diitrict of the Btyn-Mftwr indk
the immediate iDtention of reopening the extensive lead-minefl aban.>
doned since the time of the Romans, and getting them into full work
again, with the avowed object of making a rapid tortiuie for every share*
holder in the undertaking ? Who but a person of extenaive iniuence
amongst the magnates of the London money-market — ^hat shining
centre of c^ulenoe and pawei^-:Could, Hke '* The Man of the People/'
have gratified them with plans for converting the small, maritime, trading
town of Aber-Pandy into a rival of ancient Tyre or modem Liverpool,
*^ only just let him have their confidence, and give him time enough to
do it ?** Was there not proof, moreover, that *' The Man of 4he People**
was rich — evidently richer than hie neighbours ? Was there not Ty-
Gwyn, the laige white house that he had lately built at Pen-y^CJriig, at
the top of the hill, where he meant to pass the shooting-season ? And
was there not Plas-y-Jones itself, to which he had just added two wings,
new stables, and a golden weathercock, and wheve he had set up a fl^-
ata£P, bearing the proud escutcheon of the Joneses, whidi blew out in the
breeze when he visited his ancestral-hall and feasted his firiends of the
four adjoining counties ?

Sufficient reasons these why Meredyth Powell Jones shoidd, in his
turn, become *' The Man <^ the People."

The day breaks early on the hills that environ the town of Aber-Pandy,
but earlier than daylight itself wei» those who dwelt amongst the hills,
on the bright July morning that was to herald the election of Meredyth
Powell Jones. From the steep mountain ak^ from the hollow valley,
from ihe broad meadow, from the maigin of the de^ lake, from the bai^
of the ruahing toraent, £rom the shelter of the woodside, &om the edge of
the sea-marsh, man, woman, and child were astir before ^le-eun began to
shine, to go down to Aber-Pandy to vote for '* The Man of the Pe<^ple,*'
—or, at all events, to see him voted for, and share in the excitement of
the hour.

And a curious sight it was, to a stranger in the land, to see them come
streaming into the wliitewashed, low-xoofed, ecooked-streeted, badly-
paved, dirty little town : the women astride their shaggy ponies, with Uieir
black eves, rosy cheeks, sturdy figures, flaunting ribbons and masculine
hats; the wild-looking men afoot, with stout sticks in their hands, and
wearing long coats of bright blue with large, white, metal buttons, red
waistcoats, corduroy breeches, stockings brighter of blue than their coats^
and stout shoes which — unlike their Celtic relations in Scotland and
Ireland — they actually wore on their feet ; as for the children, some were
carried, some were led, some ran before, some lingered behiDd; but all, in
«very group, in every file, male and female, man, woman, and child, were
vociferatmg in a dialect which the nadves of the Principality vow to be
the most musical on earth, but which an unprejudiced Saxon inwardly
denounces as the most frightful jaigon that ever tortured mortal ears.
Their voices, however, would be sweet enough by-iand-by, at least to one
individual, had he even been less of a Welshman than bie was, when the
^turning officer should declare him the elected mend>er for the incor-
ruptible borough of Aber-Pandy.

He was sure of that fact some time before the election took place,
ao oppositiou being offered. Por five-and-thirftjr years the place

2a2

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348 THE JOINT-STOCK BAKKER.

had been represented — ^if you like to say so — by Watkyn Watkyn,
Esquire, of Castell-Watkyn and Gl&s-Fynnon, the head of one
of the oldest fiimilies in the county. But like most heads of old
fieimilies, accustomed to representation, Mr. Watkyn Watkyn had
troubled himself very little about the material interests of his con-
stituents. He presented a petition now and then, but generally fell
asleep before the clerk of the House had read it through ; and once in
the course of his long parliamentary career he was known to haTe had
something to do with a private bill for diverting the high-road that led
from Castell-Watkyn to a neighbouring market-town, b^ause it did not
go near enough to certain quarries of which he was the owner ; but wiUi
these exceptions the legislative efforts of Mr. Watkyn Watkyn might
with safety be termed null and of no efiect, and when he died, without a
son to inherit his seat, and the Gl&s-Fynnon fox-hounds were thrown as
a subscription-pack upon the county, everybody — gentle as well as ample
— who had a share in the franchise, thought it advisable to look out for
some one whose habits of business were more fully developed than those
of their late respected member.

With an eye to such a contingency, Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones had
for the last four or five years been carefully probing the state of public
feeling in the borough of Aber-Pandy. Those four or five years had been
the most eventful of his life, for they had witnessed his rise from the posi-
tion of an obscure but sharp-practising attorney, at first in his native
town, but afterwards in London, to that of an omnivorous man of business,
a director in half a dozen profitable commercial schemes, a speculator in
shares on which his support conferred a premium — and whicn he always
profited by when they were at the highest — and finally to that of one
whose alleged resources passed current for real, downright, substantial,
and almost inexhaustible wealth.

To regild the name of Jones, if perchance it had been smirched in its
transmission through a hundred ancestors — to change into a spacious
mansion the humble feurm-house in which he first saw the light — to buy
up all the land that was saleable, far and near— to subscribe liberally
towards the erection of new Dissenting Chapels — to impress the inhabi-
tants of Aber-Pandy and the country gentlemen round about with the
idea that his was the influence which alone could bring the railroad
there, improving their town, river, harbour — in a word, creating thdr
commerce : these were amongst his acts and endeavours, and they had
not failed of success.

If the feeling has not entirely subsided in Wales, which makes it
rather uphill work for a nouveau riche to establish himself on equal
terms with the ancient proprietors of the soil, it is chiefly in those parts
where nature has hemmed them in by barriers which levelling traffic has
not yet pierced. But this was not the case in the vale of Aber-Pandy.
Some inkline^ of the widely-diffused belief that to make money — and a
good deal of it — is the great aim and object of existence, had found its
way down there, and '*the old families," as they style themselves, /Mir
exeellence, thought they might as well put their pride in their pockets,
when there was a prospect of filling those pockets with something more
serviceable than pride. Besides, who could deny the antiqui^ of the
name of Jones ? Wasn't it Welsh enough ? Didn't Jones of Spytty-

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THE JOINT-STOCK BANKER. 349

Evan drive a four-in-haud, the distinctive sign of a real Welsh Muire ?
Wasn't Jones of £g)wys*Monad chairman of qnarter-sessions? Hadn't
Jones of Gwern-Gwaefod attested upon oath — thoagfa the value of his
oath was not very highly rated, he being in the habit of taking it on light
occasions — had he not, however, sworn that he possessed afamily parchment,
emblazoned with the arms granted to his house by Llywarch Hto— a
goat with golden horns browsing on a field vert, — and wasn't this an
armorial distinction for any Jones to be proud of ? To sum up the
matter — no argument being necessary when you are once determined on
doing a thing — Meredyth Powell Jones of rlas-y^Jones — a Powell by
the mother's side, and a Meredyth by that of his maternal grandmother,
8o they found out — was recognised by ^* the old fGunilies," and universally
supported.

Great was the gathering in the nubbly market-place, which was to be
the scene of the election; long was Uie procession that crossed the
bridge called Pont-y-Pandy, in the centre of which rode the candidate
for popular favour, in a carriage and four, electorally-bedecked ; shrill
were me screams of ihe rosy-cheeked, hat-wearing females, when the
aforesaid carriage came in sight ; and Discord herself must have been
startled when the hubbub of Cambrian gratulation arose, greeting *^ The
Man of the People," as he stepped upon the hustings.

Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones was proposed by Mr. Thomas Evans of
** The Castle," — there is always a castle in these Welsh towns — and
seconded by Mr. Thomas Evans of Llys-y-Mynydd — a place which mag-
nificently means ''The Palace on the Mountain.'' Neither of these
gentlemen, notwithstanding the grandeur of their abodes, were feudal of
aspect or regal of address, but what they said was said with a will, in a
manner which the Welsh call '' heart-y," with the first syllable of that
word very strondy aocentuated. It is well that people should some-
times seem to be in earnest, and both proposer and seconder were
cheered, as if from their lips flowed not merely the honey of rhetoric
but the intoxicating methegltn of strongest oratory. At last the tumult
of approbation ceased, the mayor — who was also a Mr. Thomas Evans-—
put the question to the multitude, and no other candidate presenting himself,
Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones of Plas-yJones was declared duly deoted.

'' The Man of the People" then stepped forward, amidst an uproar com-
pared with which the confusion of Babel was no louder than tne gadfly's
sultry horn, and addressed the enlightened constituency of Aber-Pandy.

He possessed a good many of the external attributes of the people, a
finction of whom he now represented.

His appearance was not the most prepossessmg, and, as he stood
tilently waiting for the subsidence of the din, but for the quick glances
of his dark, restless eye, you might have fancied, as you looked imon the
heavy brow, tiie wide face, the thick, foreshortened nose, the flat, leaden-
hued lips, Uie adust complexion, and the square, massive, exaggerated
chin, that a huge daguerreotype was before you, instead of a combination
of human lineaments vitally endowed and instinct with human passions
and desires. When he spoxe, however, all that was previously devoid of
animation vanished at once : his features became plastic and expressiTe^
his gestures vehement, his language eloquent.

A political candidate making promises to an eager audience has no great

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tSfO THE XOIErr-STOGK BA17KSB.

need to restrfet himself to log^ieal statemeots : an appeal to the hnagmi^
tion, then, goes ten times M far as lAie somciest reasoning. Au resie,
who ever heard of reason en the hustings ? The orator's object there, when
not engaged in controrersj, is to 9end every one away in good hmnour,
and how can people be better pleased than by tiie assurance that all he
seeks is their particular advantage ?

It waff whoHy on topics of this nature that " The Man of the People"
dilated. He knew his hearers too well to trouble them much about
politics* That theme would have been appropriate enough had any rival
existed with whom to contest their votes, but after walking over the
course widiout an opponent, it was scarcely worth while to put eonomon*
place ideas into people's heads when he had something better to fill tiiem
with. Having told them, for decency's sake, that they might rriy upon
him for advocating every practical reform that should not break down the
great dyke of die constitution, which they, he felt secure^ were as anxioos
as himself to preserve in its unimpaired solidity, he changed lAe sohjeel
to local intemtB, not a moment too soon for those who Kstened, and
applauded. ,

There are those — I believe ^em to he mostly painstaking, delving
antiquariansy enamoured of their own pursuits — who assura the w>orld
that the Welsh tongue is the most expressive ^t ever was invented, —
that eveiy Wekh word has at least twenty different meaningBy and iJiat
every inflection conveys some separate association. If this be true,
nobody wiU deny that it is the very, best for the pusposes of a parii*-
mentary speaker. ^* The Man of the Peoplef" seemed to cleave to tins
opinion — at any rate^ he made use of Welsh as if he really thought so*
How he crowded the wharfs not yet built with workmen paid in goldeii
wages, — ^how he filled the empty harbour with the mercantile fleets of
all nations, — ^how he raised public edifices in Aber^Fandy that should be
the envy of metropolitan cities, — how he threw a netwoiic of railways
over Wales, of which Aber-Pandy should be the true and only nudeus,—
how he brought to light mineral treasures from the concealed depths of
the nKmntams that there looked down upon them, — and how at last he
carried plenty and prosperity to every man's door, — were points in his
artMly adapted though seemingly impulsive harangue which, at every
purposed pause, drew forth shouts and screams of &enzied ddight from
the greedy listeners by whom he was surrounded.

cSi, tbnre wasn't a Kving sotd there, they swore— in Webh — that
wooldnt laf down his liib for Squire Jones that mstant

" Oh, their hearts to goodness, — yes — ^indeed, indeed !**

And then they shouted "Jones y-beth-y-bydd, Ovoian! Orbian!"
And they drank Crw dha at the expense of ^ The Man of the Peo|^;"
and they got furiously drunk^ and rolled about the streets in glortfieatioo
of ^' The Man of the People ;" and if thor brains had not been topey-
torvy ahready they would have stood upon their heads for '^ The Man of
^ People," and have crawled on their hands and knees to worsh^ *< The
Man of the People." Let us suppose, fbr their own sakes, that the
electors of Aber-Pandy had, like tnebr Member, a competent knowledge
<tf the eapabiltties of tlie Wdsh language.

At the grand dinner which Mr. Mexedyth Powell Jones eave diat day,
at Plftt^y^oae% to about thirty ef the aqnirsB, eaqpectsiHi leading share-

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THE JODTP-STOCK BAKK^B. 35 1

kdden in t^ mBgnifieent mmesof Brjn-Mawr, he tried, as he ctrcnlated
Ae magirams of old pert which the Cambriaii sqairearchy still fondly
dfing toy what effect phm English, dei^g with soms of the greatest
nag^nitiide, would haTO upon ikeir imaginadons ; and neither die cunning
Bfemesesy the astute Griffithses, the wori^-wise Hugheses, nor the
abondaDtly-cIever Joneees, his own namesakes, were proof against the
prospect oi a bond fide two hundred per cent, for die money they then
sod there consented to fork out ; and when Mr. Meredy th Powell Jones
laid his head on his pillow that night he felt that he had made his mark
in die Frmcipatity and done a pretty good stroke of business.

CHAPTER n.

These used to be a theory in days of yore, when probity in com-
mercial transactions was the rule and not the excepdon^ that in whatevei*
speculadons a man embarked he ought always to be master of sufficient
resources to *< bring himself home again.''

It is true that, in nine cases out of ten, the wealthiest amongst the
menjiants, our ancestors, began the world with nothing: they took down
the shutters, they swept out the office, they mounted the high stool, they
plodded at the inky desk, they senred a long and laborious apprentice-
ship ; but they were honest and industrious, and, in due dme^ came their
reward — partnership, headship, and an ample fortune. Although
''nothing was the point they set out from, their progress had not con-
tinued long before *^ a little ^ appeared ; that '* little * accumulated, and
each accumulation helped to form the substantial foundation on which to
build eyentual prosperity.

Modem speculation, howeyer, goes to work in a diflPerent way. The
original '* nothing" is the only feature of resemblance between the
Fenchurch-street of the past and the Capel-coinrt of the present. There
is no taking down of shutters now-a-days, no office sweeping, no drudeeij,
no plodding ; a face of brass, a heart of iron, impudence that notning
can daunt, recklessness that nothing can restrain — these are the quafities
taken to the mart, the substitutes for integrity and upright dealing. The
idea of pausing to inquire whether an engagement entered into can be
met when its nour arrives, neyer for an instant troubles the mind of
modem speculation. To *' do business * is the first diine ; ingenuity and
daring accomplish the rest.

He was a cleyer follow who inyented the calling of the '' Parliamentary
Agent,'' though perhaps the inyentor himself neyer foresaw how many
occupations it was destined to include. There is no necessity for being
brought up to anything in particular in order to shine in this line. Tou
may nave run the gauntlet through eyeij ordeal, and haye issued from
bXiy more or less scadied ; it is of no consequence ; yon are in want of
an ostensible position; parliamentary agency opens its arms to your
embrace.

Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones commenced ku London career as a
parliamentary agent. His prerious practice as an attorney at Aber-
randy had put him up to a yariety of useful dodges, and business yery

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352 THE JOINT-STOCK BANKER.

soon came in. Irregular, marauding, Algerine that business might be :
so much the better ; the world was so bad, he said, that a good, whole*
some 8Courg;e was the mat thing needful ; you might call him *^ The
Cholera" if you liked — ^he cared nothing about names so long as he got
plenty of clients. It b a curious fact that rogues always hunt in coi^les
— providentially, it may be, for their mutual undoing. Be this as it may,
like will to like, and Meredyth Powell Jones was not long before he dis-
covered the necessary affinity between himself and a genderoan named
Mr. Rig^y Nicks.

It would be difficult to say when and where Mr. Rigby Nicks first
turned up in a public capacity, but that he had been pretty well schooled
somewhere^ was plain enough to all who had the luck— good or bad as it
might happen to be — to come into contact with him. The ostennble
business of hb life was pleasure, but beneath the shining surface the
current ran deep, dark, and strong in the direction of profit He had
many personal qualities to fit him for society. Of good appearance, easy
manners, fluent of speech, ready-witted, full of anecdote, and with spirits
that never flagged, Rigby Nicks was the life and soul of every aide
which he graced by his presence.

Nothing, however, in this world is absolutely given away. We are
all barterers : in return for what we offer, an equivalent is, in some shape,
required. The exchange which Rigby Nicks preferred may be gathered
firom the following anecdote.

When Brummell was at the height of his glory, he had no more
devoted worshipper than the wealthy Motteux. To be honoured by the
countenance or the Daody Autocrat was the sole end and aim of the
millionnaire*s existence, ft was in the month of June, all the worid was
in town, and Motteux met Brummell in Pall Mall. Would the great
leader of fashion come and dine with him, — would he fix hb own day, —
would he -name the people he should like to meet? " My good fellow,
Motteux,^ said Brummell, with the greatest kindness of manner — " my
good fellow, if you wbh to show me any attention — ai this time of Ae
y^arj — let it be — 1» money I '*

And ** money" was the thing which Rigby Nicks generally contrived to
elicit, in one way or other, from his admirers. He had a great many
strings to hb bow — a tolerably long one, as may be imagined — and a
great many arrows in his quiver — not such as the Psalmist sings of, but
of the kind that usually hit the mark. Whether he backed horses on
single or double events, whether he sat or stood behind painted paste-
hoaidf whether he speculated with a Mend's credit or hb cash, the result
was always the same : he pocketed something by die transaction. The
friend might suffer — indeed, that was as safe to happen as when an author
" shares profits" with a publisher — ^but Rigby Nicks got well out of it.

So lucky a fellow ought quickly to have become rich, but a proverb
stood in his way. The money got over the back of a certiun personage,
is spent — we all know how. Thus it befel with Rigby Nicks. He had
been " in" for most of the best things going, but the proceeds disappeared
as rapidlv as they were acquired : in what *' lower deep" none but himself
could tell. Enough that he was still a speculator when he met with
Meredytli Powell Jones.

It was a general election, and the general corruption attendant on it,

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THE JOINT-STOCK BAKKEB. 353

which first diew these two woithies together. Rigby Nicks possessed
a krge aoqnaintance amongst moneyed candidates; Meredyth Powell
Jones had felt the pulse of numerous constituencies, and knew tneir respec-
tive values. The man of pleasure and the attorney soon understood each
other, and from that time forth their interests were united. They did
not set up a firm, keep a stock purse, or trade invariably on the same
bottom ; but the paths trodden by them, however circuitous or wide
apart, idways led to the same goal.

Still, the consequences were not the same to each. Rigby Nicks, at
the close of every successful project, remained — for the reason already
assigned — precisely where he was when he started. Meredyth Powell
Jones, on tne contrary, — whose personal habits were the reverse of ex-
pensive—constantly improved his position. Their mutual relations, there-
fore, gradually altered : the man of pleasure became daily more and more
dependent on the man of business, until, with all his cleverness, the
former eventually became his associate's tool.

Of all the men who have flourished in these shifting, adventurous
times, when the courted Crossus of to-day is a fugitive or a felon to-
morrow, none were less open to the reproach of not taking the tide at the
flood than Meredyth Powell Jones. We have seen the result in the
enthusiastic reception he met with at Aber-Pandy.

It was late in the session when he took his seat; all the great Parlia-
mentary battles had been fought, accusations against Ministers were
almost at an end (till the House met again), and support was not quite
so anxiously sought by gentlemen on the Treasury benches; nevertheless,
the Ministerial whipper-in, always the politest of men, shook hands with
the new senator, and trusted he should always find him voting on the
right side. It was easy enough to give a promise the fulfilment of which
was not immediately to be exacted, and till the opportunity arrived for
making it worth his while to sell his services, the honourable member for
Aber-randy took up *' an independent position.".

But to be idle was no part of his nature; he had too many irons in the
fire for that. There were mines of all metals to be worked; railways in
all countries to be kept in motion; companies of all kinds to be carried
out. The Limited Liability Act had passed, and ever^ man with a
shilling was ready to rush into partnership. Until this opportunity
ofiered, the philanthropic depths of human nature had never neen suffi-
ciently sounded. It was amazing how suddenly the discovery took place
that — ^if money were to be made by them— schemes for universal im-
provement were the simplest things in the world. Nothing, it was now
found out, had ever sone right before. Adulteration, abuse, deception,
insufficiency, alone characterised the past; plenty, reality, and the
genuine article — no matter what was wanted, or how much — ^were to
mark the future. A mercantile millennium had at length arrived. Virtue
was henceforward to be the motive power of the machinery of commercial
speoalation. To do good to the community at large was reward enough
hr any toil — af^r dividing profits of ten or twenty per cent. All
shareholders were brothers, and all the world was an oyster, containing
one inestimable peari, which everybody wanted to sell — for his brother's
benefit^ of course.

Foremost amongst these ardent lovers of their kind was Mr. Meredyth

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354 THE JOINT-iTO€K BAIfTKrau

Powell Jones^ tCnd aealoasly as lie had always faiboiired for the gt)od of
his species, his past exertioiis were thrown eotively into the shade by itis
efibrts he aade wheo, to the weight of his former position, he was able
to add that whhsh he deri'ved from a seat in FEu-lianient.

The recess came opportunely to assist him in maturing^ farihe/t schemes
of social advantage. To cement the bonds of friendship ^ere is no^g;
like keeping open honss, with good shooting and a good cook. His
Ty-Gwyn property afforded the first ; Rigl^ Nicks secured the seoDod;
and a score of influential Members, Chairmen, sad Directors, went down
from London to revel in W^h hospitality. The grouse foil fost on the
moors, the entries vanished from Ae boflffd ; never were heard soeb
stories as diose told by Rigby Nicks ; never was seen sn^ ft host as the
member for Aber-Pandy ; never were such pkms dreamt of as Aoss
which he devdoped. The life the Londoners led amon^ the Cam-
brian s^oirss was perfectly deligiitful ; but there is somfetran^ mere de-
lightful even than present enjoyment !

What that was Meredyth PoweU Jones promised to realise for them
wken winter eame, and one and all of the guests were ^lad wfaea the
murky fogs eoce more shrouded their dfarly-bel[>ved eity, smd the monej-
inaking seaeen again set in.

CHABTEB III.
Air INVBKtOB.

In the front roomy on the second fbor of a house in one of the strsito
beloB^ng to the region of S<^-square, two women sat at w(UEk.

Though the weather was oold — ^November having set in — ibey bid
seated themselves dose to eoe ef the wiMk>ws> in order to profit by ths
dim afternoon M^^ as long as it lasted.

Had they been nearer to the fireplace their position would not have
increased their comfort, for aldiov^h the ^ was laid k waa not lit, tnd
the hearth that does not blaoe is one of the most <^eeiiess things oit
earth*

It is probable that neither of these women at that momcDt gftve tbs
subject a thought, the occupataon on whkh they were engaged entirely
engrossing their aitisntion. It was a pattern of many-cdbused flowtct
on dark velvet, deogaed apparently to form the border of some rich robe;
but it was equally dear, from the appearanoe of the roooa and otbsr
unmistakable signs, that the robe when finished was not to be worn bf
either of the busy needlewomen.

Yet, however sumptuous the fabric and brilliant its adornment, it
could not, a» a dress, nave had a more appfopriate deatiDatton than that
of decorating the person of one of th* two embtoideressss at ktfW ^
beauty alone has a claim to splendour of attire.

She was» at a guess, about two-asd^twenty years of age ; T'"^'^^
perhaps, in reali^, but looking as much, in conseqnenee of the coa^|^
maturity whick French girls, in general^ attain aft an eariier p«aod tasB
our own. Of the nation to which she belengedno eaa a* sU ikiUid m
continental physiognomy could entertain a doubt, for thaogh lom^ ^

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TBUJOOrr-STOCK BiOI^EEB. iSi

tike aitrilrate9 of lier beantj were oommon to soetkem eounirias, the ex-
preenoB whic^ informed it was cpiite distmet £rom that whieh animates
the features of the women of Italy, of Grermany, or of Spain. It was
tiie br^ter hue of her cheek and the grater brilliancy of h^ complexion
tliAt constituted ihe external difT^nrenee, hot a wider sepaistion lay in the
•Oiistant pky of her counteBaiiee, whieh, even when she was silent,
leretfed the yiraotty of her disposition, and more surely declared her

ler companion, too^ a woman past fifty, with still some remnant of
good IooIeS) but no remains of a fine figure —being, in fiMt, a mere handle
of clothes — was no less eridently a natire of France.

Tfaefe was a third " party" — so to speak — in the room ; but as Nature
had only endowed him with a voice wherewi^ to bark— ^a £M«lty he very
frequently exercised — ^he took no share in the eonversation which arose
aa soon as it beeame pocitrvely too dark for the elder of the woricwomen
to see to thread her needle^ Yet he was by no means without impor-
tmee, or a sense of it — whnt little Frenoh dog is ?-^nor was he at any
liflse oegieoted hj his mistress as he lay eurM up in the kAdn of the
ample skirt which depended hoot the aforesaid bundJe*

im a natter of course, tAw language spoken was French, but, widi the
exception of a few pet ^wases, md here and l^ere a charaetmstic exple-
tiiRO or epitbetr I maH nHthfoUy — ^if not literafiy — trandaia it.

^ Mon Dieuy Leonie," said ^e who had oeased to work, ^^ it tries the
ayes to use them in this way. It is already dark in this gloomy country
at four in dw afternoon ; now, at Bordeaux, at this season of the year, I
ooold aiirays see till six T

" Ahi yas, nmt^" replied L^oniO) with a smile, ** there is a great
^iffeieuee, ne doubt ; but our api^mest in the Cours d' Aquitaone was
a good deal nearer to ^t sky, and then the sun shone every day."

<' And here," said L^onie's aunt, who bore the naaM of Broohart —
^ here, on the contrary, the son ^ines never !"

** CM), no,* aunt, you are wrong there. Remember, only two months
ago, we s^w it very beautifally from the bill at Richmond, that pleasant
Ay we passed there. The river, too, looked as bright and blue as the
Garonne!"

** Yon aiv right to makethe most of that day, Leonie, for it is the only
pleasant one we have seen since we came to England."

^* It is all the same, aunt ; we did not make our appearance here mih
die swallows^ so we could not expect muck Besides^ winter comes in all
coontrieSy and it was dark and dreary enough in Paris last year."

*^ Dterk and dreary, perhaps! Bat theti, what a difierent atmosphere!
Ah ! who would give themselves the trouble to think of the whither in
Franee! it was not the doads, Had they been twice as heavy, that made
as fed SB we did."

" It is never the clouds that can do that, aunt, let us be where we may.
I am more gay at heart here than when we lived in better rooms,
wnongst oar own countrymen, even m beautiful Pans.

** Aad yet you have to work— we both of us have to work— •faarcl — for
our livelihood."

^^ Yes, that is tnie» Bet, on the othw hand, my fhther is at fiberty.

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356 THE JOIKT-STOCK BAKKEB.

At least, he is not in prison in London. Here we can see him every day,
and feel sure that, though an exile from home, he is not, like many othm
of his party, a dSportd,*^

'* I know that," said Madame Brochart, rather peevbhly ; << and I know
also, as I meant to say just now, that what made us feel uncomfortable
last winter was the situation your father was in. From the time he took
up those ideas of M. Cabet nothing has prospered with him. Seven
years ago, when he and M. Brochart — whose tomb I shall never crown
with another wreath — were partners at Bordeaux, no two vine-growen
in the city were in hetter circumstances. It is the folly of politics that
has ruined all, and brought us to what we now are !"

'^ Still, it might have been a great deal worse, dear aunt. Suppose
my father had not succeeded in effecting his escape ; suppose, at the
tnal, he had been found guilty "

" As most certainly he would have been," interrupted Madame Bro-
chart ; '^ no Icarian, as he calls himself, ever escaped.

" In that case," continued L6onie, '< instead of reaching England
safely, he might by this time have died in Cayenne ! Ah I then indeed
I should have known what grief really is !"

*' As far as we are concerned, L6onie, it appears to me not to matter
greatiy whether we starve in one place or another.'*

<< Starve, aunt ! Such is not the fact. See— -we continue to live on,
hoping — naturally — ^to do better. It is true we are not so much at oar
ease as we have been ; this is a poor, a very poor apartment — and we,
too^ are poor who inhabit it. But when I discovered that the great
merchant in Recent-street wanted the very work which I am capable of
executing — which you taught me, dear aunt — then I felt as, if I bid
found out a Califomian mine. He has promised to pay for it not less
than two Englbh pounds, that is fif^y of our francs, ttie m^treJ*

*^ And all we can do in a day — observe the breadth of the pattern — u
only the length of a decimetre — just the value of five francs. And every
day the light grows less and less, and we are forced to burn our candle
sooner. Yes, I was quite right to denounce this dark dimate.^

** I must agree with you now, dear aunt, in wishing it were a little
clearer, for I can no longer distinguish between these shades of green.
Afler all, the merchant's two pounds are well earned ; but if there
were no merchant and no money the brightest sunshine would be of
littie use.''

<* These English people —these miUionnairet^* sud Madame Brochart,
after a pause, *' live in great luxury. What is thb robe, now, that you
are workmg your fine eyes to death with, but die dressing-gown of some
rich milord I"

''Yes, I believe that is the case. I heard one of the merchants
shopmen say it was for a great personage, but his name I cannot
remember."

^' You remember their names much better than I do ; but then you
can speak their language. Dieu merciy I am ignorant of all but two or
three words. I can say ' Yaes,' and ' Porterre,' and ' Moutonshop ;' I
know no more V*

"But those words are very useful here, where you want them erwy

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THE JOINT-STOCK BJlSKER. 357

daj ; fc^ it most be agreed, dear aant, that oar diet is not greatly
Taxied."

^ It is two months— ever since that day at Ricbemonde — since I tasted
a salad."

^* It was a happy day/' repeated Leonie, following the corrent of her
own thoaghts. «

** Yes, and the dinner was altogether eood — even to the vin de Bor^
deaux. Ce jeune monsieur, your father s acquaintance, had been accus-
tomed to Paris life, and knew how to play the host. I took a great
Kking to that young man. I wonder why we have nerer seen him

since

\**

^ If you recollect, aunt, he was then going abroad for some months.
It is probable that he departed the next day."

^* 1 wish he were returned, to invite us again to dine."

L^onie said nothing, unless a very gentle sigh be the interpreter of
words unspdcen.

^* How came your father to know this English monsiew f pursued
Madame Brochart

** He saw him, in the first instance, accidentally, at one of the co/^
in the Haymarket^ where they talked about my father's grand projei ;
and afterwards they met to renew the subject."

'' He is rich !" said Madame Brochart.

" Yes, my father says so," returned L6onie.

<* WiUiout that," observed her aunt, '< it would be of no use for my
brother to develop his scheme. But if this young man has gone away,
perhaps it has £edlen to the ground, like so many others."

<< I cannot tell,** said Leonie ; *' if so, he will not gnes9 over it, no
more shall I. He is fertile in resources. He has great invention, my
father."

*< Nobody can deny that," replied Madame Brochart. '' I only wish
that a single one of his projects would succeed."

** There is every reason now to expect a success," said IA>nie, confi-
dently. ** No longer hampered by politics — for my father scorns to con-
n, like some who are here — his mind can be freely directed to accom-
whatever he charges himself to undertake. Hark I that is his
knock I He cannot forget that the street doors in London are not
partes eochhret/*

Azor, the little dog, had also caught the sound, and immediately
b^an to give a specimen of his powers of utterance. He was in the
midst of a canine roulade^ such as only a little French dog can execute,
when the door of the apartment opened, and Monsieur Lepage, the
brother of Madame Brochart, and the father of Leonie, made his ap-
pearance.

<< Veux-tu te taire, Axor ! maudite petite b^te I" was the first salu-
tation of Monsieur Lepage, as he hastily entered; his next was to
embrace his daughter, and then to bestow a fraternal accolade on his
sister.

He was a man excessively rapid in all his movements, small and spare
of person, sharp-glancing, quick-speaking : to sit down quietly for more
than five minutes at a time was a thing he never was known to do, and

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•68 THE joflff>svo0K BAinnnt

if he hftd not gooa to sleep the lastMit he cob int« hsdiy it wo«U hmm
been impossible to have kept him at all in a horizontal pontion. Wbaa
on his le^ he was perpetually walking baokwaids ana forwards like a
lion in his cage, and if a belief in the metempsychosis still pTerailed, it
might fikiriy haf« been iaferred that he had passed a fiaoadecabie part
of a former animal-life in a menagerie.

** What ! no fire again, L6onie ?** he said, as he looked quekly round
the room.

^' We wefe at work till this mmnent hy daylight,^ refrfied his
daughteTi *'I did not 4hink yon would hure been home ^ite so
soon."

<< Oh, it is net on my aooomat,'' said Monaieor Lepaga, though he
shivered as he spoke, '* but without fixe, you know, it is not iBoasUe to
cook, and you, my sister, who do not objeot to dioe, shoidd haore kept
that fact in remembrance."

^< But, as L^onie observed," returned Madame Brocbast, '' you weas
not expected so early. Ok^ect to dine ! No ! That in tnrth is weirj well
known. Only this : it is tant soit peu ennuyatU alwi^s to dine on the
same tfung. I suppose yon have brought in nothing but the pecpetual
moutonshop ? To^aun perdrw, mmtjrmv, tu sam ee qtte aeia vemi
direr

<< You are wrong, my sister, thb timei" said Monneur Lq»age, laugh-
ing, and producing something from the pocket of his rSddngoiet carefully
wrapped up in a red cotton handkerchief. '^ Dis,'' he said, fiioetiously
attempting to speak English, <' dis is no longer de moutonshop, h«t one
great rumtake ! Aha I"

As he spoke, he depoated his burden on the table, unfolded the
handkerchief, partially withdrew the income-^ax paper in which the
butcher had irreverently enclosed the steak, and pointed triumphantly
towards it.

*^ It is too broad and too thin to make a.good bomilU,** said Madame
Brochart, probing the steak with her forefinger.

''That is very possible," replied Monsieur Lepage, ''but on tiut
occasion no one will be hardy enough to make the experiment. I will
show you how to dress that dish. To-day," — he was now walking
about the room, taking up one thing, lepladag it, taking up another,
and again putting down that, — '' to-day, when the business of my great
project obliged me to go into that part of London called, par exceUence,
'the City,' a mat director of nulwa^s, a Member of Padiament, tie
homme Snarmement riche^ who is seued with a true idea of my in-
vention—-that man conducted me to a ctrfS^ called ' DoUyshopouae,* in a
street more narrow than the Rue du PUitrt^ where Videntm used to
lodge — ^you remember when — before that last affair — and invited me te
eat 'launch* — mot Angiaia^ ma 9t»inr^ qui v€Ui dire manger qudque
chose d kt hate — well, we went into a small open cabinet — un * box '— >
until a rtMnto^s^ should be dressed. We were opposUe an immAnffo

fire, on which was a monster grU What is a gril^ in English,

Ltoiie?"

" Un 'gridiron,' mon papa.**

" Ah, Iraoollect I A 'ffredin^' diat is the word. This gretUm ww

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nOB /OINT^ITOCK sAmoot. Si9

*Ao{»' aid ^Ukts,' hissi^gv fitiiklii^, mokmg, jfor 4li^
hundreds th«t «at waiting, erwry mie wiu his kmh and fork in liii
handy to loee not « moneni, so procions is time in the City. AU the
while I kept n^ eyes on thai ffreain^ reec^yed to master its secret and then
impvove upon ^ By » snpieme effort I at once penetrated into the
ehefcTcBUvre of English cookery, and saw where it was wanting. To-
morrow I inyent a gredin that shall eclipse everythiog of the kind in
London, and this evening, now, I will show you, my sister, the English-
man's pride, un vrai rumtake P'

While Monsieur Lepage was talking and walking, Leonie had lit the
fife and bc^gm to make preparations for the promised banquet, her deli-
cate hands not disdaiaiag to ooenp;^ theaMslves with the fiunily mdnage,
Madame Bioehart also was busied in her way ; but the most active and
enei^etic of the three was Monsieur Lepage hioasetf. He knelt before
the mre and pofied at it with the bellows the wrong side apwards, till,
£MMying the instrument worthless, he threw it aside, and putting his face
dbee to the bars blew with his mouth till he was thoroaglify out of boeath.
Then he jnaiped op, ran to the table, spread out the steak, battered it for
a few mom«Dts wttA the first thii^ handy, which happened to be a large
smoothing iroQ, rushed to a^upboard, and dragged forth the **gredm^ of
the establishment, brandished it with an air of anticipated conquest, and
then set it ov«r the unoertasn flame, exclaiming that that was the way the
thing was done at *^ Dollyshopouse."

^' If there were but the opportunity— 4f I bad only a chisel, or a fow
inoheaof block tin, J would render that ^gtwim* the most perfect apparatus
for cooking ' rumtake * that ever was heard of ! ' N'tmporteJ **

This last exclamation is always a Frenchman's resource when he is
doubtful of a result, despises a victcty, or u most incontestably beaten.
Monsieur Lepage had not arrived at either of the two Hatter categories :
hut there might ha^re been the gift of prophecy within him, for he was
accustomed — without being aware of it — to failures.

The crueial experiment was now ta be made ; with his own hands
Monsieur Lepage transferred the steak to what he persisted in calling a
^^grediui* L6onie laughed to see him so intent upon a pursuit to which he
was an utter stranger---for he had never before inteiteied with Madame
Brochart's habitual occupation — and little Asor, whose olfectory (»rgans
were greatly excited by the broiling process, capered round the room and
barked with extravagant delight Not a creature but himself would
Monsieur Lepage suffer to approach the fire white his g^eat work was in
projection. He *' turned and turned" the steak, and still went on, uncon-
sciously imitating the supposed fault of Desdemona, and disregarding alto-
gether the doubts which were eocpressed by Madame Brochart. At length
he darted his fork into the smoking mass, and shouting out '* YoillT le
mmtake !" dashed it, ^ tout chaud," as he said, into the dish that
awaited the dinner. It was a rum steak with a vengeanoe 1 No black-
ened cinder, no shrivelled property in Covent Garden's reoent 'fire, could
have been «o utterly devoid of juices, so perfectly uneatable as this first
specimen of Monsieur Lepage's skill in cookery. Even Azor, when he
mul tried his teeth in it, relinquished his chance of supper with disgust

^' Diablo !" said Monsieur Lepage. <' Cost bien drdle ! It must have

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360 THS J0INT-8TO0K BAHKIS.

been the &iili of thai ^gredhu* Tea, yes, my sister! Dine npon fareftd
to«^ay ; to-morrow you shall be recompensed by my invention.*'

Was Monsieur Lepage's '^ grand projet*' of the same description as liu
'< little go ¥* No matter. He had got the ear of a speculator who cared
little if an object were feasible provided the public believed it to be so.

CHAPTER IV.
THB NBW BAKK.

Saint Jacob's-squarb, if not the largest, was — at one period — ^the
most aristocratic locality in London, and the proudest mansion it con-
tuned was the ficunily residence of the Most Honourable Alberic Lupus
FitZ'Malpas, nineteenth Marquis and Earl of Wessex.

During the reigns of the first three Greorges it had been the scene of
more poUtical intrigue than any other house in the kingdom — not even
excepting the house dedicated to St Stephen — and, at a lattf period,
when the Reeent ruled the roast, intrigue of another Idnd was to the
full as flourishing : in other words, from the day it was built to that in
which its last noble possessor ceased to dwell there, it was the focus of
fashion.

Wessex House was what, at the present time, we call ^' an institution,"
and was held by the great world to be part and parcel of its greatness ;
indeed, without some such centre, it seemed as if the g^at ones who
constituted that world, would hardly have been able to fulfil th«r
mission.

Great, therefore, was the consternation in high circles when the Wessex
knocker was first muffled ; when the wheds of three physicians' carriages
stopped noiselessly twice a day at the Wessex door, before whidi the
tanners' bark was so liberally strown ; when bulletins describing the illus-
trious patient's restless nights began to appear ; and still greater was the
constemadon in the aforesaid high ciitues when the blinds ,were all
drawn down, and other unmistakable signs declared that the head of
the house of Wessex had, at last, withdrawn from the great scuffle.

Life is, in truth, a scuffle in which the best generally come off
worst ; and, as the defunct Peer had had what is called ^' ratner an ea^
time of it " — though he now and then administered a few hard knocks to
others — the chances are he was not of the very best. But he was im-
mensely regretted ; particularly when it became known that the heir to
his titles found the estates too much impoverished to admit of his keeping
up a town establishment, and that Messrs. Console and Cornice, the
fashionable auctioneers, had been "honoured" by the usual *' instruc-
tions."

The only way in which the high circles could assuage theb grief, or
distract their thoughts from the great loss they had sustained, was — by
going to the sale.

The late Marquis had been celebrated for hb love of tw*<d — ^in the
Italian, not the English sense— and catalogue in hand his sorrowing
friends crowded to Wessex House as if they had suddenly resolved to
repent, and virtue^ not cracked crockery from Herculaneum, were the

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THE JOINT-STOCK BAKKSR* 361

object of Aeir leiunch. It was somethmg for them — the ghost of a
departed joy — ^to wander once more through the richly-decorated apart-
ments : it was a good deal more to be able in doing so to discharge their
lon^ pent-np opinions and me free rent to the critidsm which, during
^e liretime of the deceased, they had not yentmred to breathe even in
secret to each other. For once Wessex House became the Palace of
Truth, and it is only to be lamented that the metamorphosis was so long
delayed.

At last, when the Aubusson carpets, the Beauvais tapestry, the tables
of marqueterie, the buhl cabinets, the gems, the vases, the statues, the
pictures had all been cleared away^-dispersed to be gathered again and
then again dispersed — the sorrowing friends cleared themselves away also,
leaving only two mute objects to represent the past. The first was the
hatchment, charged with heraldic hieroglypmcs and wholly black*
bordered, which intimated to all who were learned in such matters that
the Marquis of Wessex had gone to a place where gilt strawberry-
leaves and Roman pearl balls no longer confer precedence ; the second,
still more indicative that the Wessex sun had set, was a narrow black
board nailed between the dining-room windows — the humble companion
of its highly-coloured rival over the street-door — on which, in plain white
letters, were inscribed the simple words.

To BB Let or Sold,

with a reference for cards of admission to the firm already mentioned as
havine been ** honoured with instructions."

Did no other wealthy nobleman or leader of foshion become the occu-
pant of Wessex House ? Alas, no! Wealthy noblemen are a mythic
race — rare birds at all events, and seldom flushed. Noblemen there are,
and leaders of foshion too, but the nobility is of a different kind, and the
fisshion of an altered form: the nobles and dandies of 1856 think more
of making an income than of spending one. If you wished to discover
the habitat of a man of rank, what time the Marquis of Wessex was
wont to turn out with his curricle and brace of g^rooms, you had only to
walk up St Jacob's-street and there you met them by the dozen ; but
ask, in these days of hired-broughams, for the heir to a ducal house, for
an ex-minister of state, for the man with an honourable prefix, and your
walk must extend a little further and in a different direction.

It is in Moorgate-street, Threadneedle-street, King William-street, in
the region of the Bank of England and the Roval Exchan^ that the
sdons of noble houses pass their days, shedding lustre on railway boards
and diminishing none of their own. At least one half of the great families
of England owe their origin to commerce, and it is but a natural reaction
when commerce is sustained by the personal exertions of the members of
great families.

If it went no further than this, all would be well ; for what pursuit is
more honourable than that which forms the very mainspring of the
country's prosperity ! Her arts, her arms, her laws, her institutions, her
entire social position, would languish and decay with the neglect and
decline of her commerce.

But there is a reverse to every picture, the wrong side to every tapestry.

vol. XXXIX. 2 B

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tm THSJOOriHWQQKBAHKBK.

Let aU the takot mui OEpenciHM tlut wm avaUabK be tttliited m die
service ofthe leaUy uaefiil uaderUkinga whioh multiply around ua daily ;
buty for theedLe oteverytUiig ttiat is just aad koneet, let ua never eaaae
to brand witk repfobation iM crude, the tbiifUei^, the kaaneh qpeeukp
tions which meet as at eveiy tam* atimvlatiDi^ the zaah, entrapping the
weak and nuning the nnwaiy.

WfaAt ideas Mr. Mered^rth Powell Jenes had on this sulject may, in
some degree, be inferred by what has been said of his rise and progress,
but {(HT a clearer notion of what they were, he must be allowed to spenk
for himself.

<< It is high ^me, Bigby," said the member for Ab^-Paody to his
confed^^te^ as they sat at break&st one raonaing shortly after their return
from Wales—" it is h%h time that the ProsMctns of the New Bank
should be issued. I heur that tfiere are a good many thinas of the sert
on the tapu, and the sooner we oome before the pnbhe the netter/'

<< Youmean the African afiir^ I suppose f said Bigby Nidcs.

*< Oi course," retemed Jones. ^* It was the last thu^ that I mMitioned
confidentially to onr inends the Squires; some of the city men that we
know of are <|aite ripe for it, and as to the Mlows here at the West End,
those to whom I have privately whispered the matter are quite wild to
begin. Have you done anything yet ?**

" Yes — a little," replied Kigby Nicks. " I have spoken to Buncombe,
Smasher, Plant, Kyte, and two or three others of my set : we shan't
want for Directors."

" I dare say not," said Jones ; " the iBYestment will be only too profit-
able ; but we must have a few solid names as well as those you haire men-
tioned."

" Buncombe is a good bell-wether," observed Rigby Nicks.

^I know that. Yes, — there are several substantial men who will
follow where he goes. Let us compare lists. But first — ^is anything
settled about the place of businesB ?"

<< I saw Console and Cornice yesterday evening. They are quite pre-
pared to let us have the hevse in St. Jaoob'a-square tiiat we were kx>]anff
at. A lease of twenty-one years, granted ia the joint names of yourself
me, and another. "

*« And the wnt ?"

" Two thousand a year."

'' We must have a dause about alterations."

^ Oh, the trustees will agree to that, provided we do not interf<ne with
ihe/ojraiis."

^ What do they want fiur the concern altcgether, — to buy it out and
oatr

<< For^ thousand."

Mr. ^ieredyth Powell Jones considered a few moments* He thsn
very quiedy said : <« Well buy it"

«' That's the best wmy, after all," said Bigby Nidcs, asoooUy as if thi
poxcbaeeHttoney were ia his pooket. *' It's a e^lendid situation !"

«< Which is evorythingv" refdied Jones. ** Worth all the money by
itself."

The leeidity of the new bank bmng thus deoided on, die originators

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xm Jomr-STQCK BAirsift. MS

#p8oed drair port&Jio8» toak pen and ink in lia&dy aod b<^;Mi to Inuij
themociiitie wiA the pi«pa]»bton of their prospeetsa. After oompamig'
nolee, euggestiDg kfefta, ^Tcapofomg and auMtitiitii^ namet, after writing
aad rewritiDg^ i3feering« expangmg, and restonng, thej finidl^r aoeeeeded
m drawing op a paper, whiek vae fchaa vorded :

•"THE UNIVERSAL GUARANTEE AND GGSMOPOLITAIf SAFETY
ALLIANCaS JOINT^TOCK BANK Off CENTRAL AEBICA.

*' To be incorporated by Royal Charter, on the extreme principle of
limited liability. Capital, One Million sterling, in 10,000 shares of
lOOiL each, with power to raise it to Five Millions, which additional
capital, when raised, will be offered pro rata amongst the holders of the
original capital.

PATKoar.
Tbos Sxjltan or Soodaij.

COirKT OS DIBJBOTOBS.

Mered^ Powell Jones, of Plas-y Jones^ Eaq., M.P., Chmrmm.

Rigby Nicks, of Diddlington Bali, Esq., Vice-Chairman,

Lord Leatherheade

Sir Ajai Smeisher, Bart ,

Major-General Buncombe, K.H.

Admiral Shawtensajrle, C.B.

Browne Browne, oi Browneville Castle, connty of Sigo, Esq., M.P.

Rhys Ap-Rliys, of Rhiadar-Dhm, Esq.

H. rantagenet Drawman, Esq. (late of the firm ef Dnyer and BraiFnan).

Latham Ptekla, Bsq., P.R.S., P.R.Q.S.

Fortunatas Jenkins, of PistjllJenkins, Esq.

Sir riyman Kytfit, £t.

(With power to add to their nnmber.).

TEUSnSES.

Kr Abraham Hardcaah, Bart.
Peter Stumpey* -Esq-
Joseph Till, iteq.

AirniTOBs.

General Manager. — &gbf Nicks, Esq.
Intpeehro/Brane&es.-^A. WellwleyTfanit, Esq.
Sianding CotuueL-^B. Savder, fiiq., Q.C.
JtMant Jfaad^.r-Marmaduke Tinker, Esq., C.E.
jttiiskoU Jjupcctor qf Branches.— l&x, Philip Qogglea.
Bankers (pro tern.). — ^Messrs. Blunt and Sliarpe.
Solicitors, — Messrs. Sickle and Gleanum.
Secretary, — Julius Smirke, Esq.
Principal Q^.— 84^ St. Jaeob's-square, St. Jaooh's.

^ Th»undotAted pcosfieEity which has attended the Joint^Stoek BanUng
^ftitamm the UnkedKingdom^ and eapocjaUy of those Banks which hare
bacA eatabUahed in LoimSmi for the fortberance of moneta^ intenooozse
with the int«>*trofieal oountriea of the East, sives the best aaauzance of
the inddbiiable sireceM o£ a Bank eatai>Ushiea on similar principlefl fi>r

2b2

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S64 THE JOnnvsTOCK bajtkxb;

opening up the resources of Eiqaatoriai Africa; and recent events hate
render^ toe present time peooliarly opportune for its establishment.

*' It is, then, proposed to found a thoroughly independent and perfectly
self-sustaining Joint-Stock Bank, in the most accessible and attractive part
of the Court-end of our -moneyed metropolis, for the purpose of identi-
fying the wealth and intelligence of the white Western nations with the
hitherto-neglected and singularly-undeveloped treasures of those of the
sable South, — regions known to us only, at present, through the adven-
tm*ous enterprise of a handful of hardy, aevoted, and scientific tra-
vellers.

<^ In the full expectation of creatine a new era in the monetary relations
of the world, the directors of the Universal Guarantee and Cosmopolitan
Safety Alliance Joint-Stock Bank of Central Africa, have nven their
undivided attention to the means of accumulating deposits d me precious
metals for subsequent transfer to this country, as a *' rest" on which the
shareholders may confidently rely and therem find a positive guarantee ;
and with this view negotiations have been entered into with his Highness
the Sultan of Soodan (who reigns absolutely over a vast territory, ex-
tending from Timbo on the frontier of Senegambia to the confines of
Sandy Borgoo), vnth the native Princes of DarfAr and Kordo&n, with
die Emperor (or *^ Negus,'* as he is styled) of Abyssinia, with the King
of Shoa, and finaUy with the Grand Sheikh of Somauly, for the esta-
blishment of Branch Banks in the capitals of their respective dominions,
which it will be seen, by a glance at the map of Africa, form a belt across
the central districts of that mighty continent, from the golden-grained
shores of Guinea to the rich and spicy lands that bordar the Arabian
ocean. Already have the potentates alluded to — with a liberality worthy
of the most advanced state of civilisation— expressed their willingness to
ud in the formation of entrepSts for monetary traffic in the flourishing
cities of Timbuctoo, Saccatoo^ Kouka, Muddago, Shaboon, Sennar,
Grondar and Berbera, thus uniting in one Bund (as it may be termed) all
the kingdoms north of the Gebel-el-Kunuri, or celebrated Mountains of
the Moon, and enchaining (as it were) in one wide interest the commer-
cial relations of Africa from sea to sea.

'* Under such flattering auspices it may safely be predicted that by means
of the caravans which traverse the auriferous regions of Nigritia and
the adjacent gold-producing countries — from Lake Tchad, as a centre^ to
Tripoii on the north, to the sources of the Nieer (or Quarra) on the vrest,
and across the base of the principal watershed of the lofty range of KiU-
mandj^ towards the east (the most valuable ores being always found in
greatest abundance in the head-streams) — the metallic resources of Africa
—her gold, her silver, and her copper, the three recognised forms of car*
rency — may be made instantaneously available as a means of exchange
for tne curcular notes of the Universal Guarantee and Cosmopolitan Safety
Alliance Joint-Stock Bank of Central Africa.

** It is the want of a general or cosmopolitan currency, which, op to the
present time, has mainly tended to cripple the mercantile and indnstriat
energies of a continent that was intended by nature to minister to Eoro-
pean necessities. But this restraint having once been removed, a new
order of things will inevitably arise. That freedom of commercial inter-

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THE JOINT-STOCK BANKER. 865

coarse which is ibe natural offiroring of mntual confidence, and the absence
of which has ever been a desiaeraium amongst the native tribes, will now
be fixed upon a secnie basis ; while the growing interest that attaches to
all we know, as well as to all we do fwt know, of the internal wealth of
Central Africa, will, by the exertions of the local management, be amply
rewarded in the large returns attendant upon the outlay of the Company^i
ci4>ital,

^ The necessary steps have consequently been taken for securing a Royal
Charter of incorporation, limiting the liability of the shareholders to
double the amount of their subscriptions, and when all the preliminary
arrangements are completed the business of the Bank will be com-
menced.

^^ The principle upon which the Directors propose to conduct the
business of the Universal Guarantee and Cosmopolitan Safety Alliance
Joint-Stock Bank of Central Africa will be those of the most successful
of the London Joint- Stock Banks, while correlative advantages to which
those institutions are strangers will be afforded, and under this head it
may be as well to state that by the Safety Alliance system all accounts,
botn current and deposit, will be allowed a far higher rate of interest
than is practicable elsewhere.

** The Bank will combine an ivoiy and gold-dust agency business as a
distinct department, and the entibe suppbession of the slays tbadb
will be amongst the objects which are destined to enter largely into its
composition,

*' Prospectuses may be obtained of, and applicadons for shares may
be made to, the Brokers, Messrs. Fustick and Madder, Lillypot-lane;
but no application will be considered unless a deposit of 1/. per share ap-
plied for is previously made with the Company's Bankers, Messrs. Blunt
and Sharpe.

*^For the convenience of parties residing at a distance from London, a
remittance to, or order in favour of Rigby Nicks, Esq., Vice-chairman,
or Julius Smirke, Esq., the Secretary, will be handed by them to the
Bank, and a voucher returned by one or other of them immediately to
the applicant

*^ By the provisions of the Act oiF Parliament under which the Universal
Guarantee and Cosmopolitan Safety Alliance Joint-Stock Bank of Central
Africa will be charteied, one half of the capital must be paid up at the
time of incorporation and before the commencement of business.''

'< I think,'' said Meredyth Powell Jones, when Rigby Nicks had read
diis attractive document out loud, *' I think, lUgby, that it tnll doP

In this not very improbable conclusion, Rigby Nicks fully concurred,
and that its active properties might not lie dormant a moment longer
than was necessary^ the Prospectus, fairly written out and well paid for,
was sent as an Advertisement to all the morning papers.

How it prospered we shall see hereafter.

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set

EL MBDINAH ANB MECCABL*

Few travellers have been at»le to penetrate into the Moslem's Hofy
Land, so carefully guarded hj the sanguinary fanaticism and Hgotiy
of its own people, and that al the pious pilgrims who visit it &om
all parts of the Muhammadan world. Still fewer have succeeded
in vudting the Holy Cities — ^El Medinah, with its sacred tomhs of the
P»>phet, of his daughter Fatimah, and of his successors, Abu-Bekr and
Omar, de^sed by Shiahs ; or Meccah, the birthplace of the Prophet^
with its jealously guarded and exclusive sanctuary! Burckhardt had
been there, it is true, but he was prostrated by sickness throughout his
stay in Hejaz, and was thus disabled from giving to the world minute
and satisfactory descriptions of the places. Others have also added to
the gradual accumulation of more or less correct details regarding tiieie
mysterious cities and their Holy Places ; but Mr. Burton leaves all htt
predecessors far behind him. So successful was his disguise, that he
travelled with the g^eat pilgrim caravan, reinforced &om Egypt, Tnrk^,
Syria, Persia, and Arabia, describing the strange features of the dauj
progress of some fifty thousand human beings through a desert, water-
Jess, burning country; he joined with them in their pr^ers, passed
through oil their triails, patiently bore up with all idieir K>ng, tenons
ceremonies, lasting often the whole night as well as the dfl^, visited
with them their most holy shrines and sanctuaries, and came out of thd
ordeal unscathed and triumphant, to place on record one of the most
curious and interesting exploits that it has ever happened to traveller

Mr. Burton had fitted himself for this remarkable undertaking by
acquiring, during a residence of many years in India, through Iwl
peculiar aptitude for such studies, a thorough acquaintance with various
dialects of Arabia and Persia. His eastern cast of features also uded
him, with his knowledge of languages, in the various disguises whidi he
was induced to assume. He first started in the character of a Persiia
wanderer — the vagrant, the merchant, and the philosopher, being,
amongst Orientals, frequently united in the same person. This, thoudi
it might have covered any deficiencies in the pronunciation of the Arabic,
was not a disguise calculated to facilitate nb progress among Sunoi
pilgrims. After a month's hard work at Alexandria he was Uierefore
led to assume the character of a wandering Dervish, changing his title of
Mirza for that of Shaykh Abdullah (commonly written Sheitdi ; but Mr.
6urt<m is one of the few who adopt a correct system for rendering
Arabic, Hindustani, Persian, and Turkish words in Roman letters).
It was, however, long before he got over the uncomfortable consequences
of havine first appeared in Egypt as a Perrian — the bad name stock
to him : bazaar reports, he says, fly quicker and hit harder than news-
paper paragraphs.

No character (writes Mr. Burton) in the Moslem world is so proper for dis-
guise as that of the Dervish. It is assumed by all ranks, ages, ajid creeds; by

* Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meocah. By Bichard
E. Burton, Lieutenant Bombay Army. Three Vols. Longman and Ca

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ELWBiaAB AKD WOKSCAM. 367

the aoMflmia viho kas been disgiaoad at ooort, and bj tiie peasant w&o ia too
idle to till the ground ; by Dives, wko is weary o^ life» and by JjaBanis, who begs
bread horn door to door. Further, the Der^sh is allowed to ignore ceremony
and politeness, as one who ceases to appear upon the sta^e of life ; he maj pn^
or not, marry or remain single as he pleases, be respectable in cloth of fneze as
in cbtb of «>ld, and no one asks him— the chartered vagabond — ^why he comes
here P or wncrefore he goes there P He may wend his way on foot alone, or
Tide hiB Arab steed, followed by a doaen servants ; he is equieJly feared without
wneaponfiy as swi^gering throush the streets armed to the t^th. The more
h«^ty and offensive he is to the people, the more they respect him ; a decided
advantage to the traveller of choleric temperament. In Im hour of imminent
danger, ne has only to become a maniac, and he is safe ; a madman in the East,
like a notably eccentric character in the West, is allowed to say or do whatever
the spirit directs. Add to this character a little knowledge of medicine, a
'^ moderate skill in magic, and a reputation for caring for nothing but study and
books,** together with capital sufficient to save you rrom the cha^&ce of starving,
and you appear m the £ast to peculiar advantage. The only danger of the
''ftik" (tne Tarikat, or paith, which loads, or is supposed to lead, to heaven)
is, that the Dervish's ra^d coat not unfiequently covers the cut-throaty and^
if seiaed in the society of such a *' brother, you may reluctantly become his
companion, under the stick or on the stake. For, be it known, Dervishes are of
two orders, the Sharai, or those who conform to religion, and the Be-Sharai,
or Lnti, whose practices arc hinted at by their own tradition, that " he we
dauma name** once joined them for a week, but at the end of that time left
tliem in dismay, and returned to whence he came.

Thos disguised, oor traveller started up the Nile in the IMie Asth"
mcrlu;, as Ae steamer is called ; had bis organs of vision publicly con-
demned by an Englishman, for happening to touch his elbow ; accepted
hospitality in Cairo at the hands of a shawl- merchant of Lahore; ez-
chajiged this for rooms in a Wakalah, or .Khan; became a Turkish
pilgtim i and lastly, a Pathan, or A^han, assuming the polite, pliant
manners of an Indian physician, and the dress of a small ££6»ndi, still
however representing mmself to be a Dervish, and frequenting the places
where Dervishes congregate. After a somewhat pro]onfl;ed stay m the
Egyptian metropolis, our Turco-Arabic and Hindu-Persian doctor and
Dervish ventured upon an eighty-four mile ride across the desert to Suez,
on a dromedary, with a Bedouin of Tur (Mount Sinai), the results of which
were aches in every bone, the loss of much epidermis, and eyery portion of
the sldn that had been exposed to the sun well seared. Thence he sailed
to Yambu, on the ^' Golden Wire," the traverse being marked by conflicts
several times renewed with a party of Maghrabin, or Moori^ pilgrims>
and brief delays at Tur, and at Wijh. The effects of the sun upon this
trip are depicted with painful truthfulness. ^* The morniufi^ beams oppress
yoa with a feeling of sickness ; their steady glow^ reflected by die glaring
waterSy blinds your eyes, bhsters your skin, and parches your mouth ; you
now become a monomaniac ; you do nothing but count the slow hours
that must ' minute by' before you can be relieved.''

Yambu, one of the <' Gates of the Holy City," is built of limestone and
coral-rag, on die edge of a barren plain that extends between the moun-
tains and the sea, the walls, full of fossils, crumbling away like almond
cake. The people of this place are among the mosthigoted and quarrel-
some in El Hejaz. At this point Mr« Burton once more chained his
dies* to that (i an Arabg and havii^ purchased a shugdu^ or hUm, he

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*368 £L KKDIKAH AKD MEGGAH.

• started, in oompany with a large party of pilgrims of various lacee, and
' an escort of irregolar Turkish caralry, for £1 Medinah.

The first station on the road was £1 Hamra, or <' the Red," a collec-
tion of stunted houses, or rather hovels, upon the Darh Sultan, or the
Sultanas Highway to Meccah. Here they were joined hy another caravan,
. a not unwelcome reinforcement, as the Bedouins were amunng them-
selves with robbing the pilgrims throughout the country, and toeeth^
they wended their dubious way to Bir Abbas, a mere station in the desert,
with some stone forts, palm-leaved hovels, and a coffee-shed. Between
this station and Shuhaaa, or ** the Martyrs," was a pass of bad repute,
called ^* the Pilgrims* Pass,'* in forcing their way throu^ which the party
lost no less than twelve men killed by the fire of the Bedouins from tlie
rocks above and around. One more miserable station — Suwaykah — dien
a valley — the Wady-el- Akik — both of which are familiar to Arabian his-
tory and poetry — and the Mudawaj, a huge flight of st^, rouriily oat in
a long broad hue of black scoriaceous basalt^ led the way as if by natural
portals to £1 Medinah !
We halted our beasts as if by word of command. All of us descended, in

of the sea, and the sands of the waste— bless him, 0 Lord of Might and Migestj,
as long as the corn-field and the date-grove continue to feed mankind !" And
again : ** Live, for ever, (!) most excellent of Prophets ! — live in the shadow of
happiness during the hours of night and the times of day, whilst the bird of the
tamarisk (the dove) moaneth like the childless mother whilst the west wind
bloweth gently over the hills of Nejd, and the lightning flasheth bright in the
firmament of El Hejaz !"

Such were the poetical exclamations that, according to our traveller, rose
all around him, showing how deeply tinged with imagination becomes the
language of the Arab under the influence of strong passion or religious
enthusiasm. Nor was the scene that presented itself to their eameat gaie,
apart from its religious associations, altogether unworthy of such enthu-
siasm. As the travellers looked eastward, tne sun arose out of the horison of
low hill, blurred and dotted with small tufted trees, which from the morning
mists gained a giant stature, and the earth was stained with g^ld and
purple. Before them lay a spacious plain, bounded in front by the
undulating ground of Nejd ; on the left was a grim barrier of rocks, the
celebrated Mount Ohod, with a dump of verdure and a white dcmie or
two nestling at its base. Rightwards, broad streaks of lilac-coloured
mists were thick with gathered dew, there pierced and thinned by the
morning rays, stretched over the date-groves and the gardens of Kuba,
which stood out in emerald green from the dull, tawny surface of the
plain. Below, at the distance of about two miles, lay £1 Medinah ; at
first sight it appeared a large place, but a closer inspection proved the
impression to be an erroneous one. A tortuous road from the pass to
the ciW wound across the plain and led to a tall rectangular gateway,
pierced in the ruinous mud wall which surrounds the suburb. This is
the " Ambari" entrance. It is flanked on the left by the domes and

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XL XEDIKAH AJH) HECQAH* 3Q9

.miDacets of a prettj Turkish building, a << TakiyaV' erected by the late
MuhiEunoiad Ali for the reception of Dervish travellers ; on the right, by
a long, low line of whitewashed buildings garnished with agly square
windows, an imitation of civilised barracks. Beginning from the left
hand, as the pilgrim sits upon the ridge of rocks, the remarkable features
of the town thus present themselves in succession. Outside, amongst
die palm-trees to the north of the city, are the picturesque ruins of a
large old sabil, or pubHc fountain ; and between this and the encemte
stands a conspicuous building, in the Turkish pavilion style— the go-
▼emor's palace. On the north-west angle of the town wall is a tall
whitewasned fort, partly built upon an out-cropping mass of rock; its
ramparts and embrasurea rive it a modern and European appearance,
which contrasts strangely with its truly Oriental history $ for in the East,
wherever there is a compound of fort and city, that place has certainly
been in tiie habit of being divided against itseUl In the suburb " £1
Munakhah" rise the domes and minarets of five mosques, standing
brightly out from the dull grey mass of house and ground; and
behind is the most easterly part of the city. Remarkable from afar is the
g^m of El Medinah, the four tall, substantial towers, and the flashing
g^reen dome under which the Prophet's remains rest Half concealed by
this mass of buildings and by the houses of the town are certain white
specks upon a men surface — ^the tombs that adorn' the venerable ceme-
tery of El Bakia ; and from that point southwards begins the mass of
palm-groves celebrated in El Islam as " the trees of El Medinah."

The Masjid El Nabawi, or the Prophet's Mosque, is one of the Ha-
xamain, or of the two sanctuaries of El Islam, and is the second of the
three most renerable places of worship in the world ; the other two being
the Masjid El Haram at Meccah (connected with Abraham), and the
Masjid El Aksa of Jerusalem (the peculiar place of Solomon). Mr.
Burton's account of this renowned sanctuarv, of which a Hadis, or tradi-
tional saying of Muhammad's, reports, '^ One prayer in this my mosque
is more efficacious than a thousand in other places, save only the Masjid
£1 Haram," is what might be anticipated of the country in which it
stands, and the people by whom it is held in such high veneration.

Passing through muddy streets — ^they had been freshly watered before even-
ing-time— ^I came suddenly upon the mosque. Like that at Meccah the
approach is choked up by ignoble buildings, some actually touching the holy
'* enceinte," others separated by a lane, compared with which the road round
St. Paul's is a Vatican square. There is no outer front, no g[eneral aspect of
the Prophet's mos<iue ; consequently, as a building, it has neither beauty nor
dignity, and entering the Bab-el-Bahmah— the Gate of Fity-— by a diminutive
flight of steps, I was astonished at the mean and tawdry appearance of a place
so universally venerated in the Moslem world. It is not, like the Meccan
mosque, grand and simple — the expression of a single sublime idea : the longer
I looked at it, the more it suggested the resembluioe of a museum of second-
rate art, a curiosity-shop, full of ornaments that are not accessories, and deco-
rated with pauper splendour.

This '^ Masjid el Nabi" is a parallelogram, with a spacious cental area,
surrounded by a peristyle with numerous rows of pillars, like the colon-
nades of an Italian monastery. These arcades are domed above vrith the
half-orange cupola of Spam, and supported internally by pillars of

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870 SL MBaSAM 13n> VEOGAB.

dyTerent Bh«pe ml nutterU, varjiiiff from Ske porpbjrjr to ^Ktjpbster;
the sotithern one, where the tepvlcnre stsnds, is pat ed with hsaAsoBe
slabs of white maihle and marqvetry work, here and there ooveied with
coarse matting, and abore this by unclean carpets, well worn by the lest
of the faithfol. There are no end of details eoaneoled with Ae mosque
itself, all of more or lees impoirtance in the ceremonials te be gone through
in the visitation, and the ordeal of which ovr traWler had aatanlly to
submit to to effect his objects. First thete was ''the Holy FWmting,''
which, divided off like an ai^ runs parallel with the Boa&em wmli of
the mosque, and has abo its holy niches, two of which are of heantifol
mosaic, richly wwked with various c(^ared narbles ; and a dnrd contaias
the ^pul^at" — a grAceful collection of slender eohunns, elegant tmoeiy^
and ioseriptions admirdbly oarv«d. Next is the spaea called the Gavdeat
af^ a saying of the Pro(A»f s, '< Between ny Ton^ and my Pdpit is a
Garden of the Gvrdens of Paradne." This is the moat eUbomta part of
iiM mosque.

Little (says Mr. Burton) can be said in its praise by da^, when it bears the
same relation to a second-rate church m Rome as an Snghsh chapel-of-ease to
Westminster Abbey. It is a space of about eighty feet in lengthy tawdnlj
decorated so sa to resemble a garden. Th« earpets are flowmd, and the
nediments of the colamns are oa^ with bright green tileiv <^ adorned to the
Leight of a man with <ga^dy and unnatural vegetation in arabesque. It is dis-
figured by handsome branched candelabras of cut crystal, the worlk, I beHeve, of
a London house, and presented to the shrine by the late Abbas Pasha of Egypt.
The only admirable feature of the view is the light cast by the window of
stained glass in the southern wall. Its peculiar backmund, the raifing of the
tcmib, a splendid filagree-work of green and poh^ied brass, gilt or msyie to re-
semble gcdd, looks more picturesque near than at a distaneei, irinn it sumsts
the idea of a gigantic bbrd-cace. £ut at niffht the em daKzled by oil^amps
suspended £iom the roof^ byname wax oancSes^ and by smaller illominaiioiis,
fallmg u^n crowds of visitors in nandsome attire, with the rich and the noblest
of the city sitting in congregation when service is performed, becomes less
critical. Still the scene must be viewed with a Moslem's spint ; and until a
man is thoroughly imbued with the East, the Hst place the Banzah will remind
him of is that whoob the architeet primarily intended it to resemble — a garden.

Lastly, there is the mausoleum ; and it also consists of various parts.
There is the Hujrah, or chamber as it is called, from the circumstance
of its having been Ayisha's room. It is surmounted by a green dome,
bearing a large gilt creseent springing from a series of globes. Inside
there are, or are supposed to be, three tombs facing the sou^, sur-
rounded by stone walls without any aperture, or, as others say, by strong
planking. Whatever this material may be, it is hung outside with a
curtain. An outer railing is separated by a dark narrow passage from
an imier railii^, and thie fence forbids passage to all men, although it
has fbwr gatea. In the southern side of the fence are time windows,
one of which, called Shnbak el Nabi, or ike Prophet's window, is sup-
posed to look into Muhammad's tomb ; the second into Abu-Bekr*e> and
the third into Omar's. Our adventurous and enterprising traveller stic^
ceeded in getting a peep through the window, so called, of the Prophet's
tomb ; but alas ! all that he could see was a curtain ! Neither he nor
any ooe else have seen aught of the coffin so long reputed to be
auspended mid-air.

Shaykh Hamid, after wrenching a beggar or two from my shoulders, then

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XL KBmNAH Aim MBOGAH. S?t

line io <baw mmr to » liltie wiiickNr, exiled the Fh^etfs, and to look
Htre mj piooeediiigs were walobed with suspieitras ejei. The Persiaoft
hme SQttetimes vianaged to pollute the part near Aou-Bekr*8 aad Omar's graves
1^ tossing throudi th^ aperture what is extemalij a handsome shawl, intended
as a presenit for tne tomb. After straining my ejes for a time I saw a curtain^
or rather hangings, with three inscriptions in large gold letters, informing
leaders, that behind them lie Allah's Prophet and the two first cidiphs. The
exact pfece of Mnfaannnad's tomb is moreover distinguished by a large pewi
TOB$aj, and a peculiar ornament, the eekbrated Kankab-el-Duni, or eonsteUatioa
of peaiiBy suspeaded to the cmrtain breast-high. This is described to be a
*' brilliaat star set in diaannds aad pearls," and placed in the dark in order that
man's eye may be able to bear its spbndours : the vulgar believe it to be a
"jewel of the jewels of Paradise." To me it greatly resembled the round
stoppers of glass used for the humbler sorts of oecanters, but I never saw it
quite near enough to judge lairly of it, and did not think fit to nay an exorbi-
tsHt sum for tne prrvflj^ of entering the inner passage of tne baldaquin.
Altogetfaar, the eovp «r<9>7liad nolMng to reoommend it by day. At night, when
the lamps hung in this passage 8l»d a dim light unon the mosaio ymk of thf
narblo floors, upon the glittering inscriptions, aina the masave hangings^ the
scene is more likely to become " ken-speckk."

Jumihet stattkm for pilgrioM is the sepuldirey ^or oenotaph of the LmAf
Firtaanah. Her gatfe is oatiide tlie emoemte and the curtain which suiv
BOOBflb iHrfathec^B retnaimi, so strict is Morieaa deeoruoi, and so exalted
its opimoB «f the '* virgin's" delicacy* The eastNm side of the Hnjrah,
hero turning a Httie westward, also interrtipts the shape of the square, ia
onier to gwve this spot ihe appsaranoe of sti}l forth^ disconnexion wi^
the rest of the fomlding. The tomb, seen tinramgh a sqvars aperture
ISce those above described, is a long catafalque, covered with a black
pidL The daoghter of ^e Prophet is called ZriiisB, *^ bright, blooming
Fatimab," as aUo £1 Bsttal— a tzds giTen by Eastern Christiaiis to the
OBoihsr of oor Lord* The perpetual vhrginity of f^atimah, even aflfcer the
iBodnrbood, is a point of orthodoxy ia El Idam.

Thevs are maiw asore cariosities at Ei Medinah, arosqaes, minarets^
gates, porches, pillars, gardens, fountains, wells, Wakakiis, or Khan%
baths, sshI other paUic hoildings, all more or leas remarkable for some
peeofiaiities of stractnre. Or mm the traditions asvooiated with them.
Mr. Boston was not permitted to examine the castle. There are also
pkces of pievs visitation in the vicmity of the town, the diief of which
aia the naosques of Kuba, the cemetery £1 Bakia, and the martyr Ham*
nh's tomb, at the &ot of Mount Ohod«

Mr. Barton travidled from El Medinah to Mecca with the DamascoS
caravan of {nlgrhns by Harun el Bashid's and the Lady Zubaydah's
eslehrated route throcqy^h the Nejd Desert, which has not before been
tiaiwrsed by any Emropean. Tlie Dnb d Sultani, or Sultan's road,
which keeps the line of coast, has been visited and described by Burok^
hardt. Th» carsran, whaeh kept gradually increasing in numbers, oon*
sisted at staxikag of some seven tboosaad souls, in att sorts of costume^
on foot, on horseba^ in Itttert, or bestridiiig the splendid camels of
Syria. It was aooompanied by one, and afterwards by two Mahasal%
sod protected by an Emhr el Hajj — a veteran Piasha-^and his soldistj,
The tiaae &T startiaf^, g^eaerally at n%ht, and the time iat wMsamping
I mnAed bjr the di^haa^e of one of two small brass guns earned oa

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972 Eh MEDINAH AND MECCAH.

• The only town met with in ihis desert track wm Sawayricfffah* eo&*
8isting of about a hundred houses, erouped at the base o( an iscdated
mass of basaltic rock, which rises abruptly out of a hard dayey plain.
The sumniit is converted into a rude fortalice — no setdement can east
without one in El Hejaz — ^by a bulwark of uncut stone, piled up so as
to make a parapet, ana the lower part of the town is protected by a mud
wall, with the usual semicircular towers. Inside there is a bazaar, w^
supplied with mutton by the neighbouring Bedouins ; and wheat, barley,
and dates are g^wn near the town. This town belongs to the Beni
Husayn, a tinbe of schismatics, whose fealty to the Prince of Meocah is
merely nominal. Familiarity, it is said, breeds contempt, and so it
appears to be with the Arabs in the neis^hbourhood of the Holy Cities ;
ihey are almost to a man schismatics, and they never £ul, when it is in
then: power, to rob the pilgrim bound from distant lands on a picas
errand, which, it would be supposed, would win for him the respect and
protection of the countrymen of the Prophet.

At the next station, a large village called £1 Sufaya, they were joined
by the Baghdad caravan, escorted, Mr. Burton says, by the fierce moon-
taineers of Jebel Shamar. This, we suspect, is a mistake : the Shamar
tribe of Arabs dwell in the plains of Babylonia and Mesopotamia, and the
only hills they are acquainted with are the Jebel Singar. WiUi such a
motley crew of irascible tempers, it is almost needless to say quarrels
were of hourly occurrence, and even murders not unirequent. ^' I nevar
saw,** Mr. Barton relates, and he had had some experience, as diose who
will peruse his most remarkable narrative will find, '< a more pugnacioas
assembly ; a look sufficed for a quarrel. Once a Wahabi stood in firoot
of us, and by pointing with his finger, and other insulting gestures,
showed his hatred to the chibuk, in which I was peaceably indkilging. It
was impossible to refndn from chastisine his insolence by a poKte and
smiling offer of the offending pipe. This made him draw his dagger
without a thought ; but it was sheathed again, for we all cocked oar
pbtols, and these gentry prefer steel to lead."

At length, at £1 Zaribah, the appointed place, shaving, washing, and
perfuming became the order of the day, and the pilgrim garb, consisting
of two cotton cloths, worn in a particular manner, was assumed. No
covering was allowed to the head or the instep. All quarrels and bad
language were for the future to be avoided, animal life was to be revered,
to the extent that scratching was no longer permitted, and even vegetaUe
life was to be held as sacred. It is needless to say that the Moslems
themselves admit that none but the Prophet could be perfect in the in«
tricacies of pilgrimage. The caravan now assumed a wondrously pictu*
resque aspect. Crowds hurried along, habited in the pilgrim garb, vrfaose
whiteness contrasted strangely with their black skins, their newly shaven
heads glistening in the sun, and their long black haxr streaming in the
wind. The rocks rang with shouts of ^^ Labbayk ! Labbayk !" Ot^amns
of Wahabis, dark, fierce, savage mountaineers, guided by a large kettle-
drum, followed in doable file the camel of a standara-bearer, whose
green flag bore in huge white letters the formula of the Moslem creed,
^hese Arabian sdiismatics cursed all smokers aloud as infidels and
idolaters. Their women also disdained the veil. A momentair attempt
unon the caravan, made by the Utaybah robbers at a pass a little beyoiul
El Zaribah, was at once repelled by these bnve but reckless ssTages.

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SL lOmiKAH AKD IfBOGAH* 37ft

Soon after diis little adrenture the caravan reached classic and noetic
groond, the Wady Laymnn, " the Valley of limes." Scattered villages,
btiried in dnmps of limes, citrons, lemons, pomegranates, and the rarer
halm of Gileady told of the approach to a city. Bedonin girls looked over
the garden walls langhingly, and children came out to offer fresh fruit
and sweet water. The Sherif of Meccah, a dark, heardless old ftuuitic,
who applied for the expulsion of our consul at Jeddah on the ground
that an mfidel should not hold position in the Hoi v Land, came out wit^
his sons and attendants to meet the caravan. The final entry into tho
Holy Gty was not so striking as the first appearance of £1 Medinah.

About 1 A.H. I was aroused (Mr. Burton relates) by general excitement
" Meccah ! Meccah I" cried some voices ; " The Sanctuary ! 0 the Sanctuary !**
exclaimed others; and all burst into loud "Labhtyk/' not unfrequently broken
by sobs. I looked out from my litter, and saw by the light of the southern
stars the dim outlines of a large city, a shade darker than the surrounding pli^
We were J^ing over the last ndge by an artificial cut, called the Saniyat

ked on both sides by watch-towers, which

Kudaa. The " winding path" is flanke

command the ''DarbeTMaala," or road leading from tfie north into Meccah.
Thence we passed into the Maabidah (northern suburb), where the sherif s
nalace is built. After this, on the left hand, came the deserted abode of the
Sherif Bin Aun, now said to be a ''haunted house." Opposite to it lies the
Jaunat el Maahk the holy cemetery of Meccah. Thence, turning to the right,
we entered the Sulajmamyah, or Afghan quarter.

Meccah is so near ^e coast that it has already been the theme of
many a description. This is because, in case of detection, the traveller
can perchance make his escape good to Jeddah in a few hours, but at £1
Medinah discovery would assuredly entail serious consequences. The
cluef feature of the place, the Bait Ullah, " House of Allah," or Kaabah,
has hence been fully described by Burckhardt and Ali Bey. Mr. Burton,
therefore, wisely devoted himseli rather to giving an aocount of the pro-
ceedings of the pilgrims during the Holy Week, than to detailed descrip-
tions of localities. And it would, indeed, be difficult to imagine anything
more novel or interesting than this account of thf ceremonies and
festivab of the Moslems. Mr. Burton entered into them almost with
the spirit of a Mussulman. See him in the presence of the Sanctuary :

There at last it lay, the bourn of my lon^ and weary pilgrimage, realising the
plans and hopes of many a year. The mirage medium of fancy invested the
nuge catafalque and its g[loomy pall with pecmiar charms. There were no giant
fragments of noar antiquity as in Egypt, no remains of graceful and harmonious
beiwt^ as in Greece ana Italy, no Mroaric gorgeousness as in the buildings of
India; yet the view was strange, unique, and how few have looked upon the
celebrated shrine ! I may truly say that, of all worshippers who clung weeping
to the curtain, or who pressed their beating hearts to the stone, none felt for a
moment a deeper emotion than did the Haji from the far North. It was as if
the poetioal legends of the Arab spoke truth, and that the waving winffs of
angels, not the sweet breeze of morning, were a^tating and swelling the black
covering of the shrine. But, to confess humbling truth, theirs was the high
feeling of religious enthusiasm, mine was the ecstasy of gratified pride.

No small difficulty was experienced in getting a sight of the world-
renowned Hajar el Aswad, <^ The Black Stone." Crowds of pilfrima
blocked up the way: in vain our traveller prayed and raised hn
hands to his ears, the palms hang the stone ; no one would make way
for a miserable Dervish. In despair, he went through the ceremony of

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874 WL MBDIKAH AMB MSOCbUL

«K»iiiiambulalioci find kksiiig the inger tip« of his Ingkt faaad* %
atill no further progrew was xni^.; till at last iha boy Miihamynmij4>
koted half a doaea stalwart Meoeaas, with whase asflistafiee.«Ji» inraa
enabled, by sheer streogth, to wedge his way inta dM tUa and light*
legged orewd. Afiter thoa readung the stone, he rdatos, deapita popular
ijudsgnatioB, testified by impatient shouts, he monopolised the «ae of it
for at kaac ten miDutes. Wyist kissing it, and rabmng' hands and fai»-
head upon it, he narrowly observed it, and went aw^ persnadecL that it
10 a big aerdite.

Aerolite wor^ip is a thing of such very great antiqmty, aaeribed,
indeed, by Sanconiathon to the god Ccalus, that there is little doubt that
this is the true view of the case* The Arabians were given to Ctholatey,
H is well known, long befere the time of Muhammad, just as the Hindns
worship a pyramidal Uack stone at Jagannaldi. The sun waa worsfaq[>ped
at Emesa under the form of an aeroUte, which was removed to Bona by
Heliogabalus. Something of the same kind is to be observed in the
practices of the Hebrews in setting up stones for pillars for kingv — a
practice which was handed down to medieval times in the Konigs Stuhl,
or King's Chair^ near Coblentz, the Morasteen of Sweden, the Irish
Stone, the Scone Stone, the King's Stone at Kingston-on-Thames and in
many other instances. It is enrious that some Greek wdeten call dMas
holy stones Baitnlia, or Bethulia, from the Hebrew ^ Houaa of onr Lord,"
the literal interpretatkm of Jacob's Stoae Pillar, and the name a£ which,
''Bmt AUah," is preserved in the Kaaha <^ Meocah.

Speaking of Meecah itself, Mr. Burton says, ^ The site mi^ he-aoaa^
pared at aa hamUe diatanee to Bath. Soaaa writers liken it toFlorenee ;
but conceive a Florence without beauty ! Among the many ceoemonies
and pilgrimages performed daring^ Holy Week, one of the aaost atrtkmg
is the visitatkm to Monnt Arafat, which Oiwes ila repute to the legend
that when our first parents forfeited heaven by eatn^ wheats winch
deprived them of their primeval purity, they were oast dawn iqKui eartk
The serpent descended at Ispahan, the peacock wt Gabul, Satan at Bil-
bays, Eve upon Ara&t, and Adam at Ceyhm."

Although the ^ Mountain of Mercy,'' aa it is alao called, it only a six
hours' march, or twelve miles east of Meecah, the camels were wearied,
and many pilgrims feQ down and died on the way. *^ Between Muna
and Ararat," Mr. Burton relates, " I saw no less thim fi?ve men £dl dawn
and die upon the highway ; exhausted and moribund, they had dragged
themselves out to give up the ghost where it departs to instant beatt^ide.
The spectacle showed how easy it is to die in these latitudes ; each man
suddenly staggered, fell as if shot, and| after a brief convulsion, lay still
as marUe." There ore no end of consecrated sitea on Ara&t, and the
breaking up the ceremoniea, called the '^ Hurry firem Ara&t," was n ooai-
plete rout, replete with the greatest dangers.

I^ however, the pilgrimage to Arafat is one of the most striking and
picturesque ceremonies of the Holy Wedc, the stoning of the devil is by
fiir the most curious. At Muna, or Mine, a place of oonaideraUe sanctity,
half-way betawon Meecah and Axs&it^ are no leas than three devil% or
deril stations. One called Jamrat el Akahah, or Shay tan al Kabir, the
^ Great Devil,'' ia a dwarf buttress of rada masonry, placed against a

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EL MEDIKAH 4ND MEGOAH. 375

rough wall of stones, in a narrow way at the Meccan entrance to Muna.
Another is a pillar called the *' Wusta,'' or central place of stoning, huilt
in the middle of Biliina ; and tfie third is at the eastern end, and is called
<< £1 Ula," or the first place. There were different days for stoning these
doTils, upon wksdi days the o^mnony amoi^ soeh a horde of saTiges
was ome cantmiioiit acene of fearful and nMMt dangerous struggles.

TheeeiamoniesQftlMYaunielTaTwiyah, those of the Day of Ara£it,
the eeremonies of the Days of Victims^ the Days of Drying Fksh, when
fire or m thovsaiMl tmimals are slain and out up (in the ^ Denl's Punch*
bowl," as Mr. Burton inreveteatly calls it), as if oa purpose to engender
plague and dnn the number of devotees, and lastly, the Umrah, or ^^ Little
Pilgriniaffa,''coiisthuie the main features el the Holy Week; InitMr.Bur.
ton also mtroduees us to a Tariety of annor pex^armaDces^ none of them
without interest ta those who hke to study the mgariev of the human
mind.

A gmeral phmge iato wotidly pursuits and pleasuses anaouaeed Ae
end of the ceremonies. All the devotees ware now ** wfaitewariKed," the
book of their sins was a tabuia rtum^ and most of diem k>st no time in
taking their departure, or in opemag a fresh aecount Nothing, there-
fore, remained to detain our tnvettcr ia the broilii^, nojuooB atmosphere
of Meceah, and, issuing forth into ^ open plain en his way to Jeddah,
he felt, he says, a thrill of pleaanro- saoa pleasure as ealy the captive
deliveved from has dungeon can eoLpenence. Exclamations of astonish-
ment and a hospitable welcome awaited him at the Britiah consul's house
at Jeddah. Mr. Cole had, in divers -discusnons widi the Tarics about the
possibiU^ of an Eufflishroan finding his wagr in disguise to Meccah,
ofiten asserted that liis oompatrio4a oould do avarythbg, even make a
plgrimage to Ihe Holy City. liie Moslems politely assented to the
first, but denied the second part of the aroposition. Mr. Cole now pro-
posed to Inmself to have a good hnign at die e:q)0nse of his bigoted
friends, but he soon found that they took up the statement of their
having been duped, or their Holy P&ees hamg been pre£uied by the
presenoe of an infidel, so angrily, that he was induced to drc^ the sub-
ject. Yet the very tomb df Abu-Bekr has been profined by unbelieving
Shiahs, and the Holy Stone itself has been polluted by some incredulous
Greek or Jew in a manner that will be understood by all Oriental
travellers !

«< The defilement of the Bkck Stone," says Mr. Burtcm, "" was pro-
bably the work of some Jew or Greek, who risked his life to gratify
a ImROUs bigotry. The Tureomaniacs of Europe are now beginnmg to
know how their Eastern co-religionists, and with ample reason, feel
towards the Moslems*"

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376

A NIGHT OE TWO IN PAEIS.

Although I have been a pretty regular yisitor to Paris finr the last
five years, strange to say I had nerer felt any particiilar inclination to
dive more deeply into those mysteries whidi Parisian authors have su^ a
peculiar talent for unveiling. I had hitherto been perfectly satisfied to
i-eceive thdr accounts of Parisian villany at second-hand but in perfect
good feith, and had not attempted to prove the correctness of thw details
by personal inspection in company of a sergent de ville. Last October^
however, being accompanied by a young painter cousin of mine on my
visit to ihe Exhibition, and he evincing an intense inclination to judge o£
such matters for himself, I reluctantly consented, consoling myself with
the reflection that, if I did get home again with an uninjured hide^ I
might be able to pick up some interesting information for my old friends
the readers of the MiwellatHf.

At starting, however, I must premise that the two evenings I devoted
to the sulnject were for from being suffident to exhaust it : why even a
week, with the aid of the most competent glides, would not have enabled
me to treat this subject comprehensively ; for this a knowledge of the
most secret lurking-places is required, which you cannot entor at any
given moment I only tried, at the outset, to omn^er myself to a certain
extent, and judge how far it might be advisable for me to go again
should curiosity prompt me hereaSier. It requires great caution to visit
these places if you want to derive any instruction from your visit. You
must always be prepared to be ti^en for a mouchara so soon as you
betray, by the slightest sign, that you do not belong to their sphere.
The lamentable . population of the barrihre$^ who Ittfk in tiiese their
nooks of misery, cannot naturally comprehend that any one could descend
to them from other motives than treadiery and espionnage, so they
regard you not only as dangerous but as unprivileged, and a kid glove
wm not more carefiilly avoid the contact of a ehiffonnier^t bag than these
wretched beings will get out of your way. I will here only attempt to
describe what these my first excursions into the realms of Parisian penury
aUowed me to witness.

For the purpose of these studies I had hired a trustworthy young
man, who asserted that he was acquainted with every hole and
comer of the barriire life. We made ourselves as imrecognisable as
possible, removed from our exterior every article which might ofiend the
native pride of the barrierei, and, in addition, my cousin pocketed a
revolver, to be prepared for any eventuality. Our guide was perfeedy
well aware where he had to lead us, for we had most carefully instructed
him to show us something very vulgaire et vilain. My cousin, speaking
as he does only French of Bow, had received strict orders not to open his
mouth lest he might betray us, and so was condemned to the character
of a deaf and dumb man. Thus, then, we commenced our voyage of
discovery.

This was directed, in the first place, to the Barrieres de BeUeville and
de la Chopine^te, the Faubourgs St Martin and du Temple. We selected
the road through the former — through those gloomy streets where the

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Jl night or two in PARIS. 377

eommerdal and ma&n&cturing trades of Paris haye their workshope^ ia •
which all those wondrous things are made which Paris exports to each
end of the world. It was nine in the evening ; all was silent, the ¥rork«
shops were dosed, the workmen out heyond the barrih'es, either to seek
their homes, or to eat their supper, which they procure there considerahly
cheaper, as the commodities have not to pay the octroi. The street
lamps grew weaker and more rare, while now and then we met patrols
carefdlly marching through the quarters of the people. This very walk
afforded me the best possible insight into the timid caution with which
the goyemment keeps order established. Long have I striven to regard
this display of military strength within the banlteue as a purely political
afiair, as a proof how anxious M. Pietri was to prevent the slightest dis-
turbance or improper noise in the streets. I admired this careful atten-
tion, especially as the reorganisation of the serpents de ville on the
Eo^ish model appeared to me fully to attain this object, and you meet
them reinforced and even strengthened by cavalry pickets whenever the
collection of groups may be expected owing to balls or festivities. This
zealous system of patrolling, which traverses Paris after night&ll in
larger detachments than ever, this unceasing watchfulness, this clattering
<yf sabres and muskets in every hole and comer, has some deeper mean-
ing : the obieet does not lie so near the surface as they would wish us to
bc£eve. I have grown so far clever that I trust quiet in Paris less than
noise. Wherever I go I see one hct confirmed, that France has ob-
tained one party more without lessening the others in the slightest
degree, and that one drop of oil falls after the other in the fire, whether
it be Idndled at Sebastopol, or may be hereafter on the Rhine.

Our guide proposed very wisely to show us first the jovial side of the
lowest Parisian popular life. We arrived at the Barri^re de Belleville,
and then went in toe direction of the Chopinette. Here there was a great
disturbance ; the street was brilliantly lighted, groups of every descrip-
^on were assembled before several houses, whence the sound of dance-
intisic echoed. On one of the houses I read, in yard-long letters, Bal
des JBblies ; on another opposite, Bal de la Societe Famer. We first
entered the Folies, whence wild shouts and n<H8e reached us ; the entrSe
cost ns six sons, and this was a high figure : but then this was a tiptop
establishment The dancing-room in this institution forms a large,
T^iilar quadrangle ; round it is a space divided from the dancing-room
by a barrier, witnin which stand small covered tables, whose cloths may
certainly have been white at the commencement of the ball. A galler}*,
ra^r elevated, behind this place of entertainment appears built for
spectators, while a wide gallery, apparently for the same purpose runs
round the room above this one. At these tables were seated various
groups — soldiers^ principals, non-commissioned officers ; male and
female workpeople were drinking in the sweetest harmony the sour wine,
which may be procured here for five up to ten sous, out of small bowls ;
dose to them, only separated by the barrier, rushed the dancers ; the
mosic rattled, increased still more by the yelling, whistling, and shout-
ing of ihe dancers. And could le bUu^ the wine, namely, that vinegar-
like eomponnd, be the cause of all this excitement ? No ; it was the
innate, undeniable liveliness of the French, which they displayed in its

vol.. XXXOL. 2 0

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878 ▲ inoHT OE TWO nr fasu.

vtter wiMnen, esralen of tbe jer^wMf <& tfHk potted at everj <
Hale and female dancers embraoed eaeh other with Bacchanalian fineuj,
made the most meuriog^ and rnimeaoiog bounds, rasfaed agaiiist €«ch other
and boonded back — all thu with sndi an dasticitj and indefiatigabaitj
that I should have fancied mjself in a lunatio asjlom had not toe iriU
Frenchman been visible in every feoe. Here a pair dtstinnished them-
selves by the most artistic piroueUeSy W distortions of me arms and
legs, whidi the boldest harlequin dared not have imotated ; or vhea
the movements of the danee separated them, they telegn^hed to each
other with the most extraordinary swinging of the arau^ with the
most inventive pantomime, then fell in ea^ other's anas, and sud-
denly bounded apart Kke a eonple of india-rabber balls. There danced
a masked mur, a pierrot with a shepherdess as Kghtiy drfsasd ms
she was fight-minded. There, again, the qaadrille Ml into mihappy eea-
fasion — at the extreme end ci the room a tragedy was taking place, t
dancer had forsotten fabnself so fer as to give his partner a box of the
ears. But with what rapidity was this eventfal catastrophe apneaasd!
The msnlted lady hnrriss from the room and disappears ; Imt dM ■anltn
diaappears with equal velocity. A la parte I hm a doaen ef the uemeit
shoat simultaneously. Within five seconds the mrfbrtunate felknr flies
over the heads of tfaie mob ia the gallery and through the door. In the
mean while the music is not interrupted-^-the qaadr^ is not intemspted
— nodnng can distmf) that ; they dance away as if notbii^ had occoned.
The way in which Frenchnoien tora a troaUesome fellow out of doon
is perfect. Police surveillance b in this respect qmte mmeoessaiy, aa the
company naturally wish to avoid any disorder, as this may mtecfere
with their pleasure.

The opposite locality of the Sooi^ Favier bore precisely Ae aams
staa^. As the waiters here would not take their eyes off ns, nothing
was left us but to order som^e of the << blue" wine, of whidi vast qnan*
tities are drunk here ; unfortunately, this did not take place witfuMit ov
insulting the prevailing tone here, as we asked for Uie best, witii the
green seal, for which we also paid the exceptional price of ten sous. A
huge placard in the saloon announced in colonrsd letters that the next
day a bal de nuit would take f^aoe on behalf of the array in the East ;
a M de nuit, because the balls, held here regularly three' times a week,
commence at seven or eight, and are over by twelve, fer the vrorkmaa
must be at work again be&nes, and is not so fertonate as to be able to
extend his sleep tiU mid-day. On such extraordinary evenings the/eHs; di
macaransy dbc, are probably more in request than they appeared to beoa
this occasion.

Our guide had intended to take us tiiis same evening to the odier
bitrrieres, as we insisted on seeing guelque ehote deplusvdam — that u,
descend a few steps lower — ^for sStbous^a wliat we saw here was interest
ing enough in its way, still it wanted the peculiariy diaraoterisdc, the
horriUe and ludicrous, which we had set out with the intentioa of wit— is
ing ; we wished to see the mysteries of Paris, and the company we feond
here was only slightly mixed up with them. It had grown too late^
however, for this occasion ; it would have ti^sen us an hour and a half to
reach Hont Pamasse and the Rue d'Enfer, and by that time ths

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A noHT OB TWO nr PAsia. 379

mysterits would be adeep ; we mint, consequently, content oimelyea
with a ramble through m gloomy Btreets, into which by night neither
tbe patrol nor the iergtmt tie mile e?er ttrajs. Onlj at intenrals does a
melancholj lantern illamine the nooks and comers, or a thin roshUght
send its rays through the filth-^oked panels of a decayed door, an*
nouncing that hers die poison is sold which prcTonts wretchedness firom
living any length of years. A shadow glides hurriedly from one house
«door to the other; an arm clothed in tatters is extended out of the
window, «id casts certain objects on ova heads, which eren the most
extreme poverty throws into the streets. Then behind Uiat small paper*
patched window, scarce two feet above the street, sits a mother with her
infiuit on her lap, on the floor of the naked room, by a chinmey, in
wbich green, damp wood b cracking and filliog the room with smoke.
Tbe child sleeps, tne husband sleeps too by the fire, on a heap of rags ;
an earthen vessel, a broken jng^-tatters and misery--^orm the tcik furni-
tioe. ^ What a wretdied existence !" whispers my cousin, who has found
a study here. The woman in the room koks up from the twigs, which
Imve luready fallen in and charred away : she turns her back oontemp-
tiiOQsly upon us, for what else can we i^>pear in her eyes than some of tbe
low maui^ardif the police spies of the service de eArete f Who else could
listen and spy here, where even the ehiffbnmen and rcwageun could find
nothing P

Our second excursion to imjuire into the mysteries of Paris led us
through dM memorable Quartier Latin; my cousin had again pocketed
his revolver, but had the most innocent thoughts in his heart, and I would
not have given him ten francs for his wardrobe, so thoroughly had he
obeyed the laws of pauperism, for fear of betraying any indications of
eizeeptionalism. We walked down the Rue des Samts r^esy past the
Prado — the parent and protector of the cancan — into the Rue de Seine,
visited the students' cafisy and eventually reached the Rue St. Jacques,
that street which in the June insurrection played such an obstinate party
and was not fbreed by the troops till the house *' Les deux Pierrots'^ was
levelled. Even at the present day folks like to talk about this house.

I ought to have abetter memory than I really can boost of if I wish to
remember the numerous dens into which our g^de disappeared with us :
the wretched ball-rooms, with their broken benches and three-legged
i^irs, in which we saw the workmen dancing, the countless narrow
streets, with their uncomfortable aspect, through which we eventually
made our way into the Rue Mouffetiurd. These dark streets can only be
visited after nightfall, in order to learn their primitive and partly terrific
manners, when these caves drive their inhabitants into the street or to the
pothouse ; and the artisan, while revealing his political tendencies, strikes
t6» table with his fist till the glasses rattle. There is something alarm-
ing in sitting in such company, when the bad wine embitters their
temper, when the hard hand is raised to the brown furrowed brow, and he
thinks in vain on the sorrows of the coming day. No city in the world, I
am sure, contains a population of so restless and disquieting a nature as
that of the barrieree of Paris; an evening walk among these dark and fex^-
menting elements makes clear to us die whole history and future of
Fiance.

2c2

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880 i. ITIGHT OR TWO IN PABiA

After mOTe than two hours' walking through the dirty streets, contimt-
idly uphill, we at length reached the Rue Mouffetard. We had left behiiid
the whole Faubourg St Jacques, that " Parisian Thebaid,** as it wa§
Cdlled by the fashionable world in the seventeenth century, because oen«
tunes ago a multitude of monasteries stood here, in which the blasee am*
tocracy retired ; in the same way the Faubourg St Marcel lav behind ns,
which saw better days at that period, and in which St Marcel lies buried*
Poor Marcel b now in a bad neighbourhood : filth, misery, and crime
have settled over his head. Any one who attempts to civilise these hor
bourgs must be able to do more tnan build houses.

La Grande Chaumi^re — the celebrated scene of the Parisian student'
balls — ^was on this evening empty and desolate. The Grande Chaumi^re^
on Mont Pamasse, has seen the g^reatest men of France dance die
cancan on its parquet, before the destinies of nations had caused them any
headache ; the Grande Chaumiere is, therefore, a memorable house, and
Inany coxyphsei of the Revolution and the Restoration cannot drive past
it withouti summoning up curious reminiscences — that is to say, if ever
their route leads them over this pavement of wretchedness. The Barri^res
Mont Pamasse and d'Enfer were our destiny : the road suddenly became
scarcely passable, and we found ourselves removed from the world of lofty
tottering houses in St Jacques to an architectural Lilliput. On both
sides of us extended a countless number of miserable huts, which had been
ered^d with any materials which the wretched builders had been able to
procure houestly or dishonestly; our guide explained to us that we were
on a large buildmg plot, which had been parcelled out into lots, but that
hitherto no purchaser had offered; in the mean while extreme poverty had
established a provisional colony upon it. Conical, square, and octagonal,
straight and crooked, the huts stood then, and however poor and insufficient
the material might have been, it could be seen that they were built with
technical taste and the economy of poverty. Here the nomads of the
capital pitch their tents, naked and wretched as a horde of gipsies.

I coiud not refrain from casting a glance into the dirty windows of
these huts, for neither curtains nor other hangings concealed the &mily
life of this proletarian camp. And, in fact, wnat have they to conceal ?
Can wretchedness in Paris be moral ? Jl est tres diffictie de penser
noblement quand on tCa qxCa penser de quoi vivre. How then can ex-
treme necessity ever arrive at thinking morally? As it was not ad*
visable to be caught in this town of poverty as spy and watcher, and our
guide himself did not appear to feel exactly comfortable, we tried to
regain the main road, and waded through mud a foot deep, till we
entered a ravine formed by a high boarding of planks, in which there
was not the slightest appearance of a light This alley led to one of
those large, beggar pothouses, which we intended to risit, so notorious
by the name of <' Califomie." An agitating silence prevailed in this
quarter; the darkness was growing positively unendurable; several
groups of strange-looking figures, which we passed in the dark, were not
adapted to make our promenade agreeable. Suddenly we saw three
lanterns commg towards us — they were honest folk (cniffbnniers) who
were beginning their da/s labours at eleven at night, and were going
into town with dark lantern, bag, and pick, to support existence

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A yiOHT OR TWO IK FARia. 3%%

on diiogs vhidi those who were only ft few sous per day richer than
th^neelves cooridered valueless. Honest people 'these chiffonnier$ and
Towtgeuri : they are on their legs from night till morning ; the Parisian
inevitably meets them when he wanders nome, sick of pleasure, at an
early hour. They have a daim on the nigh^ and neither the patrol
nor the other servants of public security find any offence in their noc^
tiimal movements. Honest people^ I say, for they generally restrict their
nightly chase to lower game — tne dogs and cats — ror the latter of whic^
they find certain puremuers among the lower restaurants, for in Pari^
more cats are unconsciously eaten than the increasing frequenters of the
itMsM d*k6ie would dare to conjecture. The chiffbnniers are ofitentime^
accompanied by their own dogs, who precede them in the streets as adf
▼anoe posts, and, on account of the troublesome rivalry in this branch of
trade, take possession of the nearest rubbish-heap on behalf of theif
maftars.

If we wished to find the company to whom our visit was intended
adll assembled, we must make haste, for the chiffbtmier must reach his
pasture-grounds betimes, if he wishes to earn his thirty or forty sous. The
darkness around us suddenly ceased, and we found ourselves opposite a
TOW of low houses, whose only floor was brilliantly illuminated. The
windowsi blind with dirt, forbade any glance through them; it coul4
assuredly only be interesting to enter, for there could hardly be any
dsmger, as, from our exterior, we eould not possibly be taken for latds.
Our g^de allowed this, but hinted at the difficulty of keying our
mouths shut in such a place ; they would recognise us as strangers at
the first glance, and he would have a difficult part to play in getting us
out again. Our cicerone was a cautious man : he was right, ay, doubly
right ; but as we had no time to lose, hey for California !

Once again we entered the gloomy roads-^once again we wandered
through a labyrinth of filthy streets, and at last arrived at a wid^
court-yard filled with benches and tables. ^^La CaU/orme!" our
guide said, pointing to the tall and wide windows of a building in front
of us, bearing a strong resemblance to a cook-shop, which in fact it
is. On these benches the worthy company of la CaUfomie pass their
summer nights, for even they have a sentiment for nature and poetry.
At the time of our visit the benches were in the most fearful condition,
covered with rain and mud; but they will be cleansed again when
qpring comes, for a chiffbnnier even can love cleanliness.

A perfect roar of hoarse voices reached us on the threshold of Cali^
fionua, the atmosphere of the large closed room weighed oppressively oa
om? lungs, for at least three hundred Califomians of Pans were her^
assembled, seated at the long tables, smoking their "capond" fron^
bladcened cutties, or busied in eating and drinking. Just as difficult as
it is to impart education when a person does not possess it, equally so it
is to deny it when you once have it Though our exterior was i|
masterly attempt at the popular, or chiffanniereique, — though my cousin
had reduced his great black beard to the most admired confusion,— still
they need only look at our hands to convince themselves that we did not
^mpbv them m collectmg rags. In addition, the lowest class of society
is endowed with such penetration that it knows most accurately wit^

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882 ▲ VIOHT OB TWO m taxul

irkom ii hat to 6mL Ponortj vadentaocit distineiioiit ; it wonli W
ImmI for the no^lit^r of vmerj if every one could imiCaite tbem. 'Po/wmk%
iooy has ita parvenus, who have reduced theroaelvei with great tfBMhii
and much expense from poatessors of milfiona to poaaeasort of notfaiag;
but to bear your honours bluahiag is not every man'a forte^ for ^wt
lequires its peculiar study and education.

As I have aaid, in spite of all our good will, we aaanaMd a
exoepttenal position in California ; but wi& ih» graateat poasihle
faire we seated ourselves at one of the rough tables, and called fin* i
fflasses of rum. My cousin threw a five-iranc piece oa the table, for we
had been so careless as to expend all our small change on our waf ia the
trots Mou$ p4mr la eonsommation, that is, in the nomerous small entanea»
fees, for which you have a right to refreshmeat. Decency was at omot
insulted by this five^franc piece; the chiffomnier seated next me invohn*
tarily drew back, and cast a distrustful glance upon iis, for in CakiloiMa
five-franc pieces are things unknown. Either we were honaat and well-
to-do folk-^n that case we did not belong to this sooiefy, aa we paa>
aessed more than they all-^or else we had atolany and then we wera jvst
as little suited for the company, ioTy as I said, the ck^nmarm avs
honest people. At any rate we Imd lost oar credit by our owa art and
part, and were obliged to put up with hearing our neighbours maka aU
sorts of whispered remarics about us.

The conversation about government, police, war, and othw matten,
was bushed around us ; we might, afber all, be police spies. One of the
most interesting trnts of this society was, consequently, lost to us, for
the Parisian proletaire politicises like the most practiaed dipkrawtiat^
naturally in his own manner, aa aUuded to before. We must, therefbie^
content ourselves with taking a look at the whole company, in which wj
cousin found some magnificent studies. At one table sat a baod of
ehiffbnnierSy whose implements stood modesdy in a comer ; they '

supping out of their own havresack they had brought with them, or
earthen vessels ; at another table sat a group of vagabonds, with iim
most cunning and weather-beaten faces. They were playing cards for
aoua; the oanls could scarcely be distinguished, but unmist^Eable weie
the rogdshness and villany beaming in their every foature. One
man's clothes were shabby and torn; you could see that they wars
various articles of the most different origin, which had collected here to
dress up one of the most distinguished of scoundrels. The worst faee ia
the whole group belonged to the worst clothes; that the others wers
better dreased could, however, only serve as a proof that they were atiH
greater rogues than he. You see, then, that you cannot always trust to
physiognomy, for at the present day that awmdler must be a pracMi
muff 1^0 caoDot appear, at leasts respectably dreased.

One group in the comer of the stone-paved room was highly ehasae*
teristic. It consisted of a single fomily, father, nether, and two boys rf
fburteen and fifteen raapectively. This fomily appeared to bowt eaasa
degree of prosperity, for the fother was couatrag a iMig of aoua, ths
mother was watching him attentively, while the bc^ a couple <ii jomig
§amm$ of the purest water, were drinking a bottle of execrable wins^
with auch a^-aatiafoctum that it was imposaihle to dodbt who was tha

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THE NEW BOfONIDES. 383

prodnoer of this copper mammoo. Corraption was branded on ihe fiioet
of these lads, even more so than on those of the father and mother.
Each had a handful of sous returned him by his fond parent, which thej
careleady tkrost iBto dieir pod^ets. I eannot £Etncy that the father of
these eons was so simple as not to know that they had quietly kept back
the lion's share of their daHy eannags* PM^aps the handful of sous
was intended to serve as an encouragement, or in some measure as a
pmnkim, lor a beggar-boy does not thrust money in his pocket with
MMh contempt as I saw here, unless he had eoUeoted enough of them £nr
hta purposes beforeluuML

Our guide proposed to depart We had formed the aoqoaintaaoe of
CaKfovnia and its honowrable population. Curiosity and novelty were
■atiBfied. The miayratntr of la Califomit, a rough lellow, was not un*
fiseliiifl^ for the half-franc my cousin had giren him; he played us a
tridc by walking before us to the door, and giving his unwonted guests
a deep satiiieal bow, whidi had the efiect of causing the CaH&nuans
moareet us to bvrst out into a horse-laugh.

80 Fve been Miee to California, but never mot% — ^never more^

THE NEW SIMONIDE&

BY CAPTAIN KXDWIN.

Sdcokidss, by fra^^ments known to fame.
In Greece of old drew tears from every eye,

Butyott, with no resemblance bat in name.
Must live throaghout all time in infamy.

Gtennine iu works, yours forged for filthy pelf,

And all the tears you shed are for yourself.

IM NOVUM aiBiONIDSM*

Qraiis laudati, uullam memor eximet sevum
Carmina, fragraentb tradita, Simpuidis.

Sed tibi, Simonides ! tibi solm nomine, Chartas •
Non padeat^ veris, vendere suppositas ?

Mte minns, pretio restant mendada,, fraodea —
£t te Oes^ aliis flebilis ille fait.

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384

MISESIE8 OP A WET DAY IN THE COUNTET.

BT MAXyiTAinTJAH^

Woks up at sundry interyals during the night, hy the wind rainngy
beatings chafing, and shrieldng, like an infuriated apirit, round the hooae^
sending violent gusts down the chimney, and making the doora and
windows rattle again — the rain, driven in with furious beatiDg gusts
against the windows, keeping up a sort of accompaniment to its musie.
In the interlude, disturbed by mice bavin? a battle royal over a crust of
bread, left by misfortune in the room, and being almost certain that, in
this campaign in the daric, one of them ran across my hee. The rattUae
of the window-panes increasing violently and audibly. Got up and atmelc
a light, under the insane idea I should be able to put a plug in so as to
keep them quiet I found that my dear little boy, Adolphus, with his
usual mechanical genius, had cut all my wooden pegs up into thin
match-lighters, and tried in despair to substitute paper plugs from an
old Punch. Failed signally in this attempt, as the rain ooxing in
drenched the paper, and made it weak in its constitution. The lamp
blown out in my hands by a sudden rude blast of wind, and retreated*
trembling and cold, to my bed, upsetting in my way two chairs and
one little table.

Just got into a disturbed sleep, where I fiimcied I was out in a storm,
and was trying in vain to reach the house but never could do so, when
I was eventuslly aroused by the entrance of the servant, to inform ne
that my pet, Cecil, refused, on any account whatever, to submit to ins
usual ablutions ; and that Adolphus had upset the bath all over the
nursery floor, saying that his mamma had told him that water always
found its own level, and that he wanted to prove it. Regretted to dis-
cover in this instance that the water had forgot itself, and descended be*
neath its level, havine oozed through the nursery boards, and being now
busy on a voyage oi discovery into the dining-room below. Took care
of the dear pets whilst the disaster was getting repaired, and was let
into promising Adolphus and his eldest brother, Reginald, that, as the
day was so wet, they should be excused from their schools and remain at
home with me. Spent nearly half an hour in restoring the equilibriom
and temper of the nursery, and then went down to brealmtft with
Pater&milias, whom I found looking not slightly disturbed, buttoning
up his great-coat, and putting on lus boots, ana, with the usual per*
versity of his sex, insisting that ** he would rather go out, be it ever so
wet, than stay in the house to be tormented as he had been — that it was
rery strange I never could be down to breakfinst, and that he never
could have a meal in peace !-^that he should like to know how anybody
could eat with the wet all dropping down from the ceiling? — and that u
the children could not be taught how to behave better, he must b^ they
might be kept out of his room."

Felt all my Materfiunilias feelings very much M;grieved, but had
not time to remonstrate as the door was slammea to with the hut

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inSEBISS OF A WET DAT IN THB COUKTBY. S8$

sentenee, and I was left to break my fiist at I best oould> on some
cold weak tea, a ragged-looking loaf, batter that was evidently
beinff the worse for hacked, and a modicum of cold bacon. Sat there
watraing pensirely a little pool on the tabledoth, growing bigger
firom the roof*drippiDgs — and the enlivening view of the rain-arope
trickUng down on the window-sill — and felt my spirits growing every
moment '* small by degrees and beautifally less," till I was suddenly
Toaaed to consciousness by piercing screams proceeding from the play«
room. Entering there I found the two eldest boys 6ghtiDg over a book ;
Ceol Vane engaged in furtively throwing things into the 6re, and con-
▼eying other treasures into tne ash-heap beneath ; whibt nurse was
vainly tiyine to comfort Una Clementina, our youngest hope, who had
fiedkn off a <mair and broken her nose, in her vain endeavours to emulate
her brothers in climbing. * Sent the two boys by themselves into another
room to look at pictures, with strict orders not to fall out any more, and
comforted the bany with lollipops and sugar. Went out to order dinner
of co<^ but found everything in confusion, as the '^ blacks" had come
down the chimney in the night, and the wood was so wet it had entered
a protest i^ainst being lighted, whilst the wet had come in at the
dairy and £)oded all the nulk-pans. Endeavoured to cross the yard to
see what mischief had been done, but was nearly taken off my legs by
the wind, which handled my petticoats in the most shocking manner.
Retreated at last into my own little room, and locked the door agunst
all intruders. Thought I would write some sweet verses to console
myself, but could see nothing from without but the leafless trees, sodden
grass, and earth and sky of one uniform grey leaden colour. Watched
the drops of rain as they fell from the window-ledge upon the stone
beneath, and counted them off by fifties at a time, till I quite forgot how
many fifties I had counted, and then endeavoured to see if I could call
ten between the incessant cracking and creaking of doors and window-
frames, but could not even get as far as five. Relieved myself at last m
verse, after the following fashion :

Those doors ! those doors ! those passage doors !

Why leill they fret me so ?
Why will each separate pane of glass

Go rattling to and fro ?
I stop my ears, I shroud my head.

But still that noise wears on ;~-
I hear it even through my dreams^

Nor wake to find it flown.

Those doors! those doors! those passage doors !

I've tried to plug them back,
Bat every art that T invent

Increases still their clack I
While through the vaulted space beneath

The wind the carpet stirs.
The very oil-doth bristles up,

The whbtling drugget burrs !

Those doors ! those doors ! those passage doors !

As penance for my sins,
I think I never seek for peace.

But still their noise hefpsA !

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386 wOT»Ttt« OF A WET DAT IK THE OOOaTBT.

And hbwls the wind a recpuem wfld,

Aa ohoitti to that strain,
'Tia clack, chat, clatter through the house.

And clack, chat, clack agam \

Those doors I thoae doors ! those paseage doors (

We giro them bolt and bar.
And ^et thej seem like things posaessed

With one eternal jar !
While round the comers of the house.

Like scream of engine shrill.
The winds go whistlmg on their way,

And shrieking at their wilL

Those doors ! those doors ! those passage dooii !

Why will they fret me so P
Why must each separate pane of glass

do rattlinff to and fro P
I cannot read, I cannot write.

My tlioughts are even Tain,
With clack, chat, datter through the house.

And daok, chat, dack again !

Feeling rather the better for this energetic effort, thought I would go
and see after the children and the dinner, but was begged by nurse not to
come into the room, as she had '< just gotten the childer qmet, and it was
a pity to disturb them,** and turned away from the kitchen departments,
aner one look at the cook's sour &ce. Walked about the house, feeling
miserable and in everybody's way, and not having the least idea what
to do with myself. Thought at last I would make myself a little
smart for dinner, but found my hair had got all ragged and out of curl,
and my things hanging limp, moist, and uncomfortable about me.
Determined to sit down and nave a good cry, but thought better of
it Heard Paterfamilias' step resounding angrily through the house,
letting In a current of wind and rain up to the bedroom door, and
trembled before it. Having a certain conviction that the dinner was
execrable, sent word down to my sposo ihtit I had a bad headache, and
thoueht I should have a cup of tea in my own bedroom, and escaped
thereby the storm beneath, of which I only heard the under effects of the
dinner being all sent out again, and the same angry step resounding
through the house, and a certain banging of the house-door, which
betokened a gusty departure. Finally, to soothe my ruffled spirits, set
myself down to write this true history of a rainy day, in hopes that
other sufferers, after the like fashion, may find that there are house-
hold martyrs as miserable as themselves.

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387

EAIKES'S JOUENAL •

!By£itY one conversant with London notabilidee some thirty or fbrtj
yenn a^ must have a lively reminiscence of a portly gentleman who in
g€^h as inoffensive as his looks — that is to say, surtout <^Med to the extent
of three buttons, plaid trousers, and blade cravat — was invariably to be seen,
between the hours of four and six, p.m., in Bond-street, Piccadilly; or St.
James's, at all events within half a mile radius of Crockford's and White's.
This gentleman was Mr. Thomas Raikes, the eldest son of a rich City
merchant, who early in life " having," says his biographer, '* a marked
preference for social and literary pursuits," exchanged the east for the
west end of the town, became a member of the £uhionable clubs, and
oodxed largely in what is, by *' a somewhat questionahle eourtesy, deno-
minated the best society.** Mr. Raikes* decided peeuliarity was placidity
of countenance ; there was a remarkable smoothness of the skm of his
fiaee, an absence of all furrowing, and an uniformity of expression that
imparted ideas of anything but cunning, or wisdom, or decision of cha-
racter. This was Mr. Raikes' segis. His fortune, education, and good
manners probaUy contributed, with his own exertions, to gain him friends
among the dbtingubhed men of the day, but it must have been that
plaeid countenance that won him the confidence of such men as the
Duke ot Wdlington. Yet was the owner of that countenanee observii^,
treasuring t^ foots in his memory, and placing them on record all the
time. A great admirer of Talleyrand, he was for a brief spaee of time the
Talleyrand en petit of his own coterie ; and many will be surprised to find
that that ^* nice, smooth-faced fellow Raikes,*' so often the outt of their
ridicule, was all the time laughing at them in his sleeve, and that he has
committed their deeds and sayings to the UtenB scripts qui manent

As a politician, Mr. Raikes is to be admired for his consistency. His
journal commences in that stirring sping-time of politics and of the year
when the Reform Bill w«i passed, litis is the keystone to his pubKc
sentiments, and of his aversion to all progress and changes. To a Grey
or Melbourne administration, to Peel seceding from his party to save a
country, to a citizen kmg, or to anything or all that aflected liberalism, or
savoured of innovation, placid Mr. Raikes was not energetically — ^fbr that
was not in his character — but most pasavely ofmosed. He had a horror of
parfiemtSj an abhorrence of all that was not decorous in society, great
mteluriveness in his associations — his ideas, in fact^ moved only wi^in a
certain circle ; as a consequence, he had also a ereat dread of going out
of the world in an indecorous manner, and if one thing more than
another characterises the first two volumes of his journal, it is the nume-
rous narratives of singular duels and of fearful crimes aikd suicides which
eridently de^y intevested the narrator*

Mr. Raikes was not the kind of miA to beconw a bero^worshbper.
The mere exdtemeat would have outraged his ideas of deoorom. Had
such, however, been possible, the *' Iron Duke" would have been tiie
object :

* A Portion of the Jeumal kept Yxj Thomas Baikes, Ssq., firom 1881 to 1837.
Two Vols. XioAdon: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans. 1856.

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888 MR. RAIKES^ JOURNAL.

The more (he says, nnder date of July 24th, 1832) I see of this ertraardmaty
man, the more I am struck with his singularly quidc apprehension, the fadlitj
with which he seizes the real gist of every subject, separates all the dross and
extraneous matter from the rc»l argument, and places nis finger directly on the
point which is fit to be considered. No rash speculations, no yerbiage, no cir-
oumlocution ; but truth and sagacity, emanating from a cool and <}uiddy appre-
hensive judgment, fortified by jpreat experience, and conversant with each and
every subject, and delivered with a brevity, a frankness, a simplicity of manner,
and a confidential kindness, which, without diminishing that profound reapecl
which every man must feel for such a character, still j^aoes him at his ease ia
his society, and almost makes him think he is conversing with an intimate
friend.

His whole mind seems engrossed by the love of his country. He said, we
have seen great changes ; we can only hope for the best ; we cannot foresee
what will happen, but few people will be sanguine enough to imagine that we
shall ever again be as prosperous as we have been. His language oreathed no
bitterness, neither sunk into despondency ; he seemed to me aware of everythinff
that was going on, watching, 'not without anxiety, the progress of events, and
constantly prepared to deliver his sentiments in the House of Peers on all sub*
jects which affected the interests of E^land. Hb health appeared mudi im-
proved, and 1 trust that, however hb present retirement may be a loss^ to his
country, it may be a benefit to himself.

That the Duke could tell a good story we have an example from Sud^r
bourne, Lord Hertford's ;

Three or four of us were sitting round the fire, before we went up to dress
for dinner; amoiu^t whom was the Duke, who amused us much with several
anecdotes of the late king. He was in a very gav, communicative humour, and
having seen so much of George lY., one story Drought on another. He said
tha^ among other peculiarities of the kii^f, he had a most extraordinary talent
for imitating the manner, gestures, and even voice of other people. »> much
so, that he could ^ve you the exact idea of any one, however unlike they were
to himself. On his journey to Hanover, said the Duke, he stopped at Brussels,
and was received there with great attention by the Xing and Queen of the
Netherlands. A dinner was proposed for the following: day at the palace of
Laacken, to which he went ; and a large party was invited to meet him. His
majesty was placed at table, between the lu^ and oueen. *' I," said the Duke^
"sat a little way from them, and next to Prince Frederick of Orange. The
dinner passed on very well; but, to the great astonishment of the oompany»
both the kin^ and queen, without any apparent cause, were at every moment
breakinj^ out m violent convulsions of laughter. There appeared to be no par*
ticular joke, but every remark our king made to his neighbours threw them mto
fits. Prince Prederick questioned me as to what could be going on. I shrewdhf
suspected what it might be, but said nothing: it turned out, however, to be a9
I thouffht. The king had long and intimately known the old stadtholder when
in England, whose peculiarities and manner were at that time a standing joke at
Carlton House, ana of course the object of the prince's mimicry, who could
make himself almost his counterpart. At this dinner, then, he chose to give a
specimen of his talent ; and at every word he spoke, he so completely took of
the stadtholder, that the king and queen were thrown off their guard, and oould
not maintain their composure during the whole d the day. He was indeed,''
said the Duke, " the most extraordinary compound of talent, wit, buffoonerr, ob-
stinacy, and good feeling— in short, a medley of the most opposite qualitie8»
with a great preponderance of good— that I ever saw in any character in mj
life."

The two foreigners most known at that time in Londoiii he remark^
were Montrond and Count d'Orsaj, Of the first he ny$ ;

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Montrond must be near alzty-five jean old, a protigSoi Talleyrand, and
constantguest at his table. He has bred through the different scenes of the
IVench Kevolution, always keeping up a certain scale of expense, is received
into all the best houses in London, ana is witty and entertainm^^, though his ion^
is rather tranchant. He plays hiffh, and generally wins ; is fml of anecdotes ;
tells them well; great epicure and connoisseur at the table; enters into all the
gaieties and pursuits of the young English dandies, who look up to him and ad<
mire his sallies. He was notorious in Paris as a rou^; grand brStailleur; and
fought one duel with the elder Greffulhe, which did not end so fatally as some
others. He married the Duchesse de Fleury ; a beautiful woman with a fortune,
which he spent. Old age has now mellowed the more riotous traits in his cha-
nuiter ; he feels less independent in a foreign country than in his own; and a
life of quiet self-indulgence seems now his only ambition.

The other morning, he elsewhere relates-, Montrond, coming out of
Sefton's house, met De Bos, and said to him, " Ce pauvre Seflton, il est
81 m^chant, si bossu aujourd'hui, 9a foit piti6."

The same personage was subject to apoplectic fits, one of which
attacked him after dinner at Talleyrand's. While he lay on the floor in
conynlsions, Mr. Raikes relates, scratching the carpets with his hands, his
benim host remarked, with a sneer, " C'est qu'il me parait qu*il vent
abfloTument descendre.''

The visitation of cholera, in the autumn of 1832, evidently disturbed
the equanimitv of our journalist. Not only are the daily reports of the
Board of Health duly entered, but any striking cases that occurred, more
especially among the better classes of society, are recorded, as also that
the fear of the pestilence caused a neglect of entrees, champa^e, ices, and
fruits, at the cost of plain meats, port, and sherry. With tne advent of
winter, the siege of Antwerp came to divert the thoughts from the pro-
gress of a gloomy malady. How far the feelings of the Tories were
interested in this proceeding is attested by a hundred passages ; but one
will suffice for an example :

On Wednesday last, at our Tory dinner at the Carlton Club, the earliest
arrivals were Lord Glengall, Sir H. Cooke, Messrs. Henries, Hook, and myself.
We were reading the evening papers, wherein it was mentioned that a British
sailor, who had served in many engagements abroad, had been carried before
Mr. Justice Conant, charged with beinff drunk in the streets, with haying abused
the ministers, and with swearing aloud that the British flag was disgraced by
sailing in company with the rrench tricolor. The poor wretch, having no
respondents, was fined by Mr. Conant thirty shillings, or, in default, to two
months* imprisonment in Coldbath-fields. On hearing his doom, he only replied,
" Sir, you may send me to prison, but the British flag is not the less dis-
graced."

^ Our natural impulse was immediately to subscribe the trifling flue to liberate
him, which Sir H. Cooke transmitted the next morning ; but even this early
interference was too late, the committee of Lloyd's Coffee-house had alreadv
anticipated our feelings, and rescued the poor drunken patriot. I need not ado,
that tnis coffee-house is the resort of all the great underwriters, and the dona-
tion was merely an act of strong public feeling.

Here is a portnut of Talleyrand, for which the veteran sat in his
morning dressing-gown :

I was rather amused to-dav at Whitens with Sefton's description of his visit
this morning to Prince Talleyrand. He is very intimate with huU, and is
received at all hours ; a privily which he avails himself of very frequently at

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peseni^ to hmt the latest intelligence fromFsrii shd Antwerp, nov se gemoMj
mterestiug.

This mcrming he was osbered into the dreMing-room of this celebrated octo-
genarian, who was under the hands of two polets de ehambre, while a third^ who
was training for the mvsteriea of the toilette, stood looking on with attention to
perfect himself in his ititure dnties. The prince was in a loose flannel gown,
his long looks (for it is no wiff), which are rather scanty, as mar be sapposed,
were twisted and or^t^ with the coriingnron, saturated with powoic^ and

Eomatmn, and t^en with great oare arranged into those snowy ringlets wfaich •
aye been so much known and remarked all oyer Enrope. His under attire
was a flannel pantaloon, looee and undulating, except in those parts which were
restrained by the bandages of the iron bar which supports the lame leg of thb
celebrated cul dejatte.

After some interesting eyidence of Lord Londonderry's mind baying
giyen way nnder too great ajmlioation and oyer-excitementy we faaye ibe
following pleasing anecdote of the then King of Sweden :

General Sir Alured Clarke was makint; a tour of pleasure on the Continent,
and arrived at Stockholm, when' he wished to be presented to the king. A
private audience was granted, as a matter of course, to an En^h general
officer. When presented to Carl Johann, Sir Alured was veiy much astonidied
to find that the King of Sweden, instead of a formal reoeption, folded him in
his arms and kissed him on the cheek. He was confounded at tins distinction,
and more so when the king a^ed him if he could not recollect him. In this, as
his memoiy was quite defective, he could only express his r^rets. To which
the king replied, "I am not surprised that you do not recognise in me the Cot-
pond Sernadotte, who became your prisoner at Pondicherry, when you com-
manded the Ikiglish army in IncUa, to whom you showed the greatest kindness
while in fyour power, and who now is most anxious to return the obligation in
eveiy way that may be most agreeable to you during your stay in his domi-
nions."

This is followed t>y a curious instance of second sight, gpven as authen-
ticated ; and then a notice, that ** The other day a large party dined at
the Pavilion. Among the guests was the American minister. The kine
was seised with his fiUal habit of making a speedi ; in which he sai^
that it was always a matter of serious regret to him that be had not been
bom a free, independent American, so much he respected that nation,
and considered Washington the greatest man that ever lived."

Early in 1833, the newly established Carlton Club became possessed of
a new cook— *a remarkable event thus duly chronicled :

They have hired a French cook for the Carlton Club from Paris, who lived for-
merly with the Due d'Bscars, ©fmAjr fnaitre d'hStel of Louis XVIII., and who
probably made that famous jpa/</ de saucissons which killed his master. It was
served at breakfast at the Tuileries to the king, who with the duke partook so
voraciously of it, that the former was attacked with a dangerous fit of indiges-
tion, from which he with difficulty recovered, and the latter absolutely died from
the excess on the fdlowing day. One of the Prench journals, remarkable for
its/ac^iies, announced the event in the following terms : " Hier sa Majesty trb
Cb^^tienne a 4t6 attaqu^ d'une indigestion doat M. Ic Due d'Sscars est mort
le lendemain."

Having at that dull period of the year nothing very particalar for his
diary, Mr. Raikes fell back to reminisoences of the Duke and Duchess of
York, of both of whom he speaks in the highest possible terms* The
duchess especially be describes as not only a ires grande dawie m the

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fiiHcrt mm of the word, bat a woman of tlia most admirable sound aaote
and aoonrate judgment, with a heart full of kindness, beneficence, and
efasritj. The dudbess, it is well known, was particularly fond of animals ;
aroond the pool which joins the grotto in the park of Oatlands may still
be seen the gravestones and epitaphs of her favourites.

The duchess, in her morning walks at Oatlands^ often visited the farmyard
and amused herself with noticing the different animals and their fiaauiies, among
which was a sow that had lately farrowed some beautiful pigs. A few days
afterwards at dinner some person asked her if she would eat some roasted pig.
Her answer was : " No, I thank you, I never eat my acquaintance.**

A few days before her demise, Lord Lauderdale, who had long ranked
among the duchess's friends, went down to Oatlands to inquire after her
hesdth. She could not see him, but sent him from her bed the following
note.

Mon oher Lord L.,
Je fiais mes paquets^ je m'en vais moessamment. Soyez toujonrs persuade de
I'amiti^ %ue je vous porte.

Yotre affectiona^ ao^,

It can easily be understood that the Reform Parliament was not to the
taste of the Tory journalist. He chronicles Sir Robert Peel's opinion of
it with evident gusto^ and the description is not withowt truthfulness :

Sir Robert Peel said to me that he was very much struck with the appear-
ance of this new Parliament, the tone and character of which seemed quite
difEerent fiN>m any other he had ever seen ; there was an asperitv, a rudeness, a
vulgar assumption of independence, combined with a fawning deference to the
pec^e out of doors, expressed by many of the new members, which was hi|^y

diagostinff. My friend R- , who lias been a thick-and-thin Reformer, ana

voted wi& the Government throughout, owned to me this evening that he
began to be frightened.

Elsewhere he puts on record, in reference to the bill for the eman-
cipation of the Jews, that it has been pleasantly said of the Whig
government, '' that it is impossible to ravish them, because they conoede
everything.**

Embarrassments of the house with which Mr. Raikes was connected
compelled him to break up his establishment in London in the autumn of
1833, and to settle for a time in Paris. It will be readily imagined that
the court of the Citissen King no more suited his Tory predilections than
the reformed parliament at home.

I was amused by hearing an account of the balls now given by Louis Philippe
at the Tuileries, which are very splendid as to decorations, but not verv select
as to company. In order to gain popularity, a certain number of tickets are
sent to each of the ten lesions of the National Guard. Great part of the society
is, therefore, composed of the shopkeepers of Paris, who, even in this scene of
fotivity, do not toee sight of theur own interest. It is said that a lady hap-
pened to oompkun the other night that her shoe pinched her, when her partner
unmediatelv presented his card of address as cordonmer du roi, and offered to
wait upon her the next morning.

Upon another occasion be idates :

There was a grand ball last night at the Tuileries ; near 4000 persons were
pvesent, 1^ i^aitmrats were splendicOy Ruminated, aad the wappet very m^

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S92 KR. BAIKES' JOUBHAL*

nifioent. To give an idea of the company^ Tarmoath said that he called in the
morning on his coachmaker, to desire that his carriage, which required some
little repair, mii^rht be ready at ni^ht, as he was Roinf to the balL The coach-
maker said : " That puts me in mmd that I am also invited, and I most get mj
own carriage ready likewise."

Here are two more reminiscences of Louis Philippe :

The king has made Miss S. E. Wykham, of Thame Faric, a baroness by the
title of BajToness Wenman, in token of old recollections. I well remember iht
time when, as Duke of Clarence, he was anxious to marry an Englishwoman of
lai^jge fortune, and made his proposals to this lady, as weU as to the Wanstead
heiress, the late Mrs. Long Pole Wellesley, with the same unsuccessful result.
It proves that he does not bear malice for the refusal.

Prince P. Esterhazy, the Austrian ambassador at London, is arrived here oil
his way to Vienna, and has been received with the most marked attention at
the Tuileries : he had a long interview with the king, who, he says, is in heart
a most ultra-Ck)nservative : so, indeed, was Napoleon at last. In all the new-
fangled revolutionary ideas and changes of later davs, it appears that what it
calkd the people are the only dupes. Thev are caioled, and set in motioii by
specious prospects of advantage to themselves, ana find at last that they hare
gained nothing but a new master, perhaps worse than the last: they are ihea.
aid on the shelf till fresh circumstances, or fresh excitement, mar require the
puppets to act another drama, with precisely the same results for themselTea.

It would appear from the following anecdote that Admiral Sir Chailef
Napier was in no greater favour at court in 1834 than he is in 1856 :

We went with the Darners and'Glengalls to the Faubourg St. Germain to see
the Hotel de Cluny, built in the fifteenth centuir, the old architecture of whidi
is still preserved. Here resided Mary, wife of Louis XII., and sister to onr

Henry V III. Mrs. D. showed me a letter from , which says : ** I went,

yeiterday, with their majesties to the private exhibition at Somerset House.
We were received by the President of the Royal Society, who, among other
portraits, pointed out to the king that of Admiral Napier, who has been oom-
mandinff the fleet for Don Pedro. His Majesty did not hesitate to show his
political hvBA on this occasion, by exclaiming immediately, * Captain Napier may

DC i sir, and you may be , sir ; and, if the queen was not here, sir,

I would kick you down stairs, sir !' "

The H6tel de Cluny was at that time private property, and Mr. Baikes
speaks of it as a burlesque exhibition. No wonder, when in the chapd
tnero was a mannikin priest in chcuuble et Stole. It is, however^ now
made public, and one of the most curious exhibitions in Paris.

The world of letters is anxiously awaiting <* The Lay of the Stork***-
no bird more worthy of being nung of by lady fair. In one yillage, and
one village only, in the far away East, we have seen them builSnff on
walls barely three feet high, within reach of the urchini among whom
they seemed as domesticated as barn-door fowls. We have had a pair of
these Mussulman birds nestle on our own roof— -close by our oouch —
where beds are made in the open air, to the great scandal of the pioos
Moslem. We have seen them again in solitude, or in the company of
mat warty lisards and stealthy jackals amid the ruins of desertea cities.
We have seen them joinins^ their brethren high up in the haaTons on
their migration to other lands. Still, everywhere and at all times, pen-
mvely standing on one leg b^ the nest side, or throwing back the head
and dappbg the long mandibles to welcome the return of her mate» with

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frog at fDake wriggling in its lriU» or together endrcliDg the douds ere
they alight for the ni^fs repose, the stork is eyer a most picturesque
hird. There is almost groundwork for a story in the following little
esoerpt •

The Nwrembera Oazeiie mentions that last year a Polish gentleman oanght a
atork on his estate at Lemberg, which he released, having previously fixed round
its neok an iron collar with tl^ following inscription : H€Be eicoma ex PoUmid.
This year the bird has returned, and bom a^ain entrapped by the same indi-
viduaU who has found its neck ornamented with a second collar, but made of
gold, and thus inscribed : India cum domt mUHt eicoma FoUi. The bird has
again been set at liberty for further adventures.

The following instance of a spy being outwitted by royalty is highly
amnsmg:

After the restoration in 1814, among the titled followers of Napoleon, who
were the most anxious to obtain employment at the court of Louis XVUI.,
none showed more servility and assiduity to accomplish his purpose than Fouch^
Due dPOtranto. He at last had a private interview with the kmf, when he
expressed his desire to dedicate his life to his service. Louis rephed : " Ton
have occupied under^ Bonanarte a situation of mat trust, which must have
{piven you opportunities of cnowinji^ everything tui^ passed, and of gaining an
insight into the characters of men m pubhc life, which could not easily occur to
others. Were I to decide on attaching you to my person, I should previously
expect, that you would frankly inform mc whftt were the measures, and who
were the men, that you employed in those days to obtain your information. I
do not allude to my stay at Yerona, or at Mittau, I was then surrounded by
numerous adherents, but at HartweU, for instance, — ^were you then well ac-
quainted vnih. what passed under my roof?" '' Tes, sir, every day the motions
of your majesty were made known to me." " £h, what, surrounded as I was
by trusted friends, who could have betrayed me ? Who thus abused my con-

correspondence with the Due d Aumont." " What ! De Pienne, who possessed
my entire confidence P I must admowledge," added the king, with a malicious
smile, '' he was very poor, he had many expenses, and living is very dear in
En^and. Well, then, M. Fouch^ it was I that dictated to nim those letters
which you received every week, and I gave up to him 12,000 fr. out of the
48,000 fr. which you so regukrly remitted to obtam an exact account of all
that was passing m my family."
These words terminated the audience, and the duke retired in confusion*

Mr. Raikes animadverts with great reason on several different occa-
sions on the want of prudence so often exhibited by the English on the
Continent. The following is an example well calculated to wound the
pride of any person of proper fooling :

Guiche told me the other day that he had seen at the races in the Champ de
Majrs an English family consisting of a lady and three daughters, the latter
rather handsome, surrounded by half a dozen young Frenchmen, who had got
introduced and completely enfipx>ssed them ; knowing one of the men, he asked
their names, but nothing could induce him to tell; his only answer was, " Vous
n'avez pas besoin de 9a," and they were determined that no others should in-
terfere with them.

How often do I see here cases of that nature : English families who have
never lived in the world at home, who are unaccustomed to real good society,
come over to Paris for a little recreation, fancy that a count or a baron must

YOUXXZIX. 2 D

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be a ^mkgewlkmm^ Mfsbo tks hndt o^ a sHi ^ adreiitean^ wh» ■»- aiwiya
on tbfr looMat for siok yictttn^ and e» too late thek ungwenkri ondalily.
13iece aBa ererj daj adyeEfciaeBeiita ia tha^papcii offiBnng snioa of iiiciiifl(f*to «^
one who will procure the advertiser an English wife (d»^ entendu) with fnrtn^^

Again, upon another otcasion :

The nnmber of oor eoiuiiiymMt heie is gnab; maaj akooBt rwwWifas irfao
fozm a. societj distniot wnnngHt tkeonelms. It ia iha dav of Bagbah i^
nnMonatotd to good sookBtgr afe home, oMiimt so nuaqr foUiea in FtaJa^
wMchdisonMKtthenatiominttiBe^fQtof foBwyMrs; and, aa tiHgr fHMnUj hodl -
together, and maki tfaemsdves ecyacta of netorittjv the sHgwa oeaoaiia. wmt
national than individual. You cnadTiitly hear tfaa obBerren repack oa theae
occasionB : '^Les An^laiaont fait telle et telle chose," instead of oommentiag
on the individual, as m the case of other nations who are less gr^;ariou8.

The other day a party of this description, who were anxious to witnaas tHe
bloody ceremon{jF at the Plaoe St. Jacques, hu»d a reem in a gmngtuiiU opnoaite
to theacaffbld, and left Meurice's Botel at two o'clock in the mozning, thal^thej
might aroid the expected crowds and take their station without any imxxnye-
nience» When acziv^ at their destinatiGiL they ordered supper, and paawd the
nig^t in i^rinking /»]^ftmp<i£rnp and uoiay mirths till the waiter informed tlw^m that
the DrqMuntians for the mebncholy scene were arranged. In this state of mind,
and netted with debauch, they rose from table to sxati^ an unfeeling coriaBitj
with a bloody spectacle, which even a savage woula not nave witnessed withoat
awe and emotion. These are traits which must excite disgust in the breast of
every one.

Also, on March d, 1836, it ia reeorded :

There are two younff hidiea here, daaghtea o£ Lord ; pwtty gida^ bat

r^narkable for their dress, which leaves their neoka and aakles very munh «^
posed. A man oi wit remadEed the oihsx nighty, that " Les robes de oea demoi>
selles ressembkot ik ua maiivaiB jour d'hiver, qui commence trop tard et finit
trop t6t."

The foUowmg is, ff possible, stall more-aevere :

An EnftUsh famify, ]^. and Mrs. M— — > aot maeh aoenstooied to good
sooietT i^ome, but possessed of a good fortune eatablished tiionsdyea some
years back in the Eanbourg 8t monain, opened their house, and by d^reea
coileeted a number of their tided neighb^ira. Within the last two jears
Madame de C — — ^ one of their habitu^ ^'^S?^ ^ S^ htX^A, and it waa

observed that ahe from that moment deserted Mrs. M ^'s assemUiea. She

did not hesitate to avow it, saying, "Tant que je ne donnais rien, j'allaia Toir

mes amis ^ea Madame M , maia nudntenant, comma je ne poofraiB pas

reoevoir cette dame chez moi, je ne vais plus chez elie."

The fiJknifing story, tM at Madame da Flahaolt's, is a Beliaf to AMt
exposh of ooB cooatiynien and oountc^women :

The director of a horticultural journal in Paris, anxious to increase the list <tf
hia subseribem, annouiced to them a prize of 500Q francs for the fiaeat tid^
which might be prodnoed at the end oi sixmonths. The indiyiwuyit of gaiaiag
audi a sum filled the list of his oiaimA immediatebr, but when tbs peood anmd
for adjudging the priaa, giwat waa the dilemma of the editor on seaiii§^ hia haU
filled with wipe and eandidates. fis lost no time in running, to a frund, ob^-
taiaedfrom him areoeipt for the oiared reward, andahowed it to the nannmhW
amateun,^who repaired to the successful candidate in order to oom^an thaii
prodoctioDa with his. The friend, finding himself in a scrape, sends hia aanaat
to the Qmk our iZnav to parohasa a tolip, which coat three (aaum^ andesbihita
it to the Gioyd» with, such eannminms on ita pratended beantiea that tJMn

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ICB. BADSM^ JOUBKAJbr 386^

beoome oonfDiuided^ and, wishing to ffont^ tkeir ignoranoey j^'b vx jMUniratinn
of it. It is fortunate for the plot tJiat they wore not Buichmm.

Residing in Parisy the great oeiit>« of duds and 8uieidef» we have
b^bre reiBMked upon die nambar oC cntkrat inatancea of tha foirmer
vliieh Mr. Raikea has placad on r«oord in hia joomaL Here is aa
example, dated September 12, 1856 :

A duel took place oa Wednesday, near Paris, which was attended by singular
oircqmstances. One of the combatants having had the first %xty placed himself
in an attitude to receive that of his adversary, who tod^.a long- and deliberate
aim — ^Ihe ball passed through his skuU, and he died immediately. A fisw seconds
afterwards his adversary a£o fell and expired^ for he had received a ball which
traversed his lungs ; he had nevertheless retained sufficient strength to execute
his deadly purpose. The combatants went into the field to revenge a double and
reciprocal adultery.

And a still more curious case :

A most singnlar trial is to take plaee at the Cour d' Assises ia the wid of this
month, of whidi the following ia the outline : •

M. Lethuillier, proprietor of a maison de sant^ near Paris, had an intimate
friend, M. Yadebant. Suspicions of an improper intercourse between the latter
and his wife induced M. L. to send him a challenge. Nevertheless, some inex-
plicable motive ur^^ him to insist that, whichever might fall, the cause of his
OMrth should remam unknown ; and he therefore proposed that the duel should
take place without seconds, and that each adversary should bear about his
person a written oertifieate ^t^ in case of' his body being[ found, he had not
died bv assassination. The parties being agreed on this point, proceeded to the
Bois de Bomainville, armed with pistols. It was decided that the antagonists
from a given point idumld walk towards each other, and fire as they pleased.

M. Lethuillier anerts that, his attention being diverted by a woman who waa
waL^ng on i^ road at some distanoe, he stopped diort, while M. Yadebant^
oontinued to aihranoe» and fired when he came near him. M. L. being wounded,
fett, and, if he is to be believed, implored the tesistanee of bis adversary without
vfwL

M. Yadebanl^ imagming Ihat he had killed him, todc up both pistols and dis*

le wound, however, of the unfortunate Lethuillier was not mortal ; having
presented his profile to his enemy, the ball had carried away both his eyes,
without injuring the skull, and he managed to crawl from the wood to the high-
road, where he at last met with assistance. Having recovered from his
wounds, M. LethuiUier now brings a civil action, and Yadebant has surrendered
himself for trud. Plans of the ground are taken, T^ch, it is said, will be of
great importance in the decision as to the good faith of the whole proceeding.

And now for some specimens of suicide a la Parisienne:

A double suicide took place on Friday night, Bue de la Eid^Iit^, No. 24, at
Paris. A M. Mal^^ve, formerly in the army, was deprived of his fortune by
unforeseen calamities. He was found with his wife.in their apartment, suffocated
hf a pan of dtarooal, havingpreviou^]r stopped up every i^perture in the ro(»n
whidi could admit of air. He had written the mUowing curious letter to a
tdend by itu&pditepotU:

"^^aaiid V0U8 aUez lire cette lettre, ni moi ni ma pauvre El^onore ne aennur

plus dans ce monde t ayes done la bont^ de faire ouvrir notre ports, et vous

nena t«mvere£ les yeux ferm^ poar toujours. Nous sommea fajo^jouk tout

doDx dfis nalhfiors qui nous poursuivent, et nous ne croyons pouvoir mieux ffaro

lue de mettre un t^me k tons nos maux. Gonnaissant son courage, et toot

.attadiemcgit que ma bonne fenmie a ponrmoi, j'^iaia certain qu'elle acoeptocait

k pactie^ et partegerait enti^ment mamanike de vok.

''Adieu, brave ami; en attendant les effets de lajBifiiempsyohoae, je voua

2d2

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396 HR. BAIKES* JOURNAL.

souhaate nne bonne nnit, et k moi on bon royage. Pesp^ que poor minnit
nous serons arriv^ aa but de noire promenade.
" Vendredi, 10 Octobre, 11 heures da soir."

The Marquis de L— — , residing near the Opera, after having sqnandered aa
immense fortune in dissipation and the pursuit of pleasure, has latelj destroyed
liimself, because he had only 33,000 fr. a year remaining, whidi he found was
not sufficient to satisfy the caprices of his mistress, rrevious to his death,
wishing to insure the independence of her whom he accused as the author of
his ruin, he left by will to Mademoiselle D^rieux all that he possessed, being'
000,000 fr. or 700,000 fr. By an extraordinary fatality this will is dated the
1st of October, 1834, and it was on the S5th of September preceding that he
had ceased to live. In consequence of this irregularity, tlie civil tribunal of the
Seine has refused to confirm this donation to Mademoiselle D^rieux, in the
absence of the heirs presumptive to the estate.

The reasons giyen for these numerous suicides, which are indeed dailj
occurrences in the French metropolis, are sometimes full of meanin^whea
apparently least so. For example, on November 4, 1834, Mr. Raikes
says, '' To-day the ^aper mentions the following : ' M. Alphin, jeane
homme de dix-huit ana, appartenant k une famille excessivement riche et
heureuse, vient de se tuer par digout de la vie* ** It is needless to
expound here the combination of evils, bad education, bad disposi^cm,
and absence of all religious feelings, which would bring about audi a
melancholy state of things.

In one instance, the feelings of the victim are described up to almost
the moment of death :

A working jeweller, named Charitd, scarcely twenty years old, lived with an
aged mother, whom he supported by his earnings. His emnloyment at last
decreased, his resources failed, and he became tormented with tne idea of seeing
his infirm mother come t« want. His own health likewise became iropainMU
and he was at times heard to say, that if Providence did not come to his aid, he
would terminate his own existence. Last Thursday evening his mother went
out at seven o^clock to visit a relation. In a few minutes aftowards the son
went down stairs, gave his candle in charge to the porter, appeared to go out,
but privately returned to his room. He there wrote several letters to his friends
and relations, particularly to his two sisters, one of whom is living in England,
the other is a milliner at Brest. He then carefully stoi)ped up all the issues by
which air could come into his room, and as if he had wished to have his fate to
the last moment in his own hands, he placed a table close to a glass-door, whidi
he might easily break with a blow of his elbow, at any time, if he should wish
to stop the progress of the suffocation.

The table being thus disposed, with paper, pens, and ink, and a lighted candle
near liim, he wrote the following lines, which were afterwards found near his body :

"I am twent;^ years old and I am going to die. To my fellow-citiEcns and
the lovers of science. These are the effects of death by charcoal : fint of all a
thick vi^ur which makes the eyes to smart; a slight headache; then the
vapour causes the candle to bum dim ; the light grows fainter ; all that in five
minutes after lighting Uie charcoal ; the wick turns to ash — ^the headache does
not increase — the nam in the eyes is worse — the headache now increases — tears

flow, and in abundance At this moment a woman (here the delirium

seems to commence),— one does not know what one does-— one " There

are three words, but illegible, and the writing irregular), and at last " the l^t

goes out almost . . . and I " It is probable that at this moment the

unfortunate young man expired.

About eleven o dock the mother returned home, and found her son a come;
a large brazier of charcoal, quite extinguished, was near the chair, from wnick
he had fallen on the floor.

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MB. BAIKES' JOUBNAL. 397

The love of the marvelloaf, sympathy for the terrible and the horrible,
and a slight tendency to superstition, not only manifest themselves in
the carefully recordea cases of murders, suicides, and duels, but also in
instances of second sight and of fortune-telling :

The Dachesse de Goiche mentioned this evening the curious prediction made
to her bv Mademoiselle Lenormand, the noted fortune-teller, in 1827. Having
arranged with Ladv Gombermere to visit Mademoiselle L., every precaution was
taken to prevent their being known. The duchess disguised herself in a black
wig, with a large hat, and tliick lace veil. They went m a hired carriMre, with-
out servants, to the Luxembourg, and walked from thence to the Rue Toumon,
where she resided. It was impossible that any suspicion could exist of their
name or rank. After the usual preliminaries of asking the day of her birth,
consulting the palm of her hand, and dealing out car£, &c.. Mademoiselle L.
first told her various circumstances of her past life, which were wonderfully
correct. She then asked the duchess what animal she liked best, what animal
she most disliked, and what flower she preferred beyond any other? Her
answer was, the horse, the spider, the lilv of the valley. She next gave her the
description of her own character, as well as that of her husband, both of which
were so exactly depicted, particularly that of the duke, that she actually dis«
covered traits m each which had previoushr escaped her own observation, and
now appeared very evident to herself. But when Mademoiselle L. began to
touch upon the future, she told her that her jpresent prosperity was coming to
an end, that the most serious misfortunes awaited her, and that all her prospects
would be suddeuljT destroyed on the 30th July, 1830, ^ eame d'un/avori deeku;
that from that period she would suffer much adversity and exile, with the above
favourite, that m three years she would return to her own country, and in July,
183—, she would regain her prosperity, from the circumstance of a prince suc-
ceeding to a rich inheritance.

This prediction was so extraordinary and so precise, even as to dates, that
Madame de Quiche expressed a wish to have the detaQs committed to paper,
which was complied with ; and on the following day she sent her fmme de
ehambre to the Itue Toumon, who brought back this singtdar warning, in the
handwriting of Mademoiselle Lenormand, with the date, and her signature. How
far the first part has been fulfilled, by the three days of revolution in Jidy, and
HxQ subsequent flight of the Bourbons from France, every one must know. The
second pomt, of her return to France in three vears, was not less singularly
verified, as she was at that period at Prague with Charles X., and so little ex-
pecting to quit it, that ten days before the circumstances occurred which brought
on their resignation of their places, she had been saying to the duke, " Here
Mademoiselle Lenormand must fail, as we have no chance of seeing France again
for many years ;*' but still it came to pass as predict^.

It now only remains to be seen how the conclusion is to wind up ; in the
mean time, there is the written paper, as undeniable evidence of what has hi^
pened.

These things are in themselves so unaccountable that no opinion can be ^ven
on the subject ! but a similar circumstance once occurred to myself, which I
have often mentioned to my fnends, and which has been also partlv verified.

I was in Paris in October, 1820, and one morning, meeting Jonn Warrender
in the Rue St. Honor^, he urged me to accompany him to visit a fortune-teller
who lived in that neighbourh^. She was an old woman in a (;arret, and not
80 much known as Jjcnormand, but had made some successful hits in that line,
which had gained her a certain celebrity. I have never forgotten the words
which she spoke to me, whom she could never have heard of in her life.

" 1. Yous n*avez point de p^re.

" 2. Yous avez une m^re ; elle mourra dans un an.

** 3. Yous seiez arrSt^ dans six mois par un huissier, pour cause de dettes.

'* 4. Yous dtes riche, mais dans sept ans vous perdrez toute votre fortune, et
puis api^ vous la regagneres.''

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UR. RAIKIS' JOUBKAL.

Theflrftwasirae; tke second ^nu fdHtUedin about that period; the ihiid
was aeoomplished in nether a cnrionB maimer: I was then in yerj-pn&penmm
drcomsUnces, living in Qioavraor-araare ; the repairs of that hooae had been
performed b;^ contract, the builder laued before his work was concladed, and the
assignees claimed of me the whole amount of the agreement, which I would onlj
pay as fer as it had been fairly earned ; the difference was only 150/., bnt tbie
assignees did really send a baihff into my house, and arrested rae, while nij car-
riage was waiting at tiie door to conrey me to dinner at Yori^ House, where the
BtOTT caused considerable merriment at the time. The last has been fatally
Teriaed also, but the good fortune at the end alone turns out a complete £aUacj«

By date June 27, 1835, Mr. Raikes had found out that

Mademoiselle Lenormand is not infallible : there is no appearance of insaneo-
tion to-day, but there certainly has been a fall in the funds since her predicdoo,
owing to the Spanish interveiition. The French seem particularly prone to
credmity in these matters, and the trade of fortune-teller is not one of the leaat
lucrative in Paris ; it is carried on openly, and subject to no legal penalties as in
En^and. The different memoirs attest many communications made to the Jdnoa
of Trance by apparitions or inspired individuals, particularly that of the Blai£-
smith from the lorest of 8enars to Louis XIV. ; but there exists still in this
neighbourhood, between Tersailles and Bambouillet, a labouring man, who bad
several interviews with Louis Xvill. of a warning nature. It was his castaiQ,
whenever he received the inspired commission, to place himself in the custody of
the gendarmes belonging to his arrondissement, and request to be led to tbe
royal presence, which having once accomplished, orders were given that in fdtnsa
lie should always be admitted. I have it from one who stoodhi^ in the cob-
fidence of that court, that he constantly warned Louis XvlIL of the fate
which awaited Charles X., and that he counselled him to use every means of
strengthening his throne during his own lifetime, that fewer dif&cmties might
remain to be encountered by the weakness of his successor. It was in conae-
quence of this warning, that Louis XYIIE., shortly before his death, issued an
ordinance to abolish me liberty of the press in Trance ; which passed without
resistance. His speech on that occasion is wdl remembered: "TJn roi qui
touche k sa mort pent oser faire ce qu'un roi k son av&iement ne poorrait
( oontemplerl"

Tke Fiesehi attempt oeourred on the 28 th of July of die waae ymri
80 Mr. Raikes had the pleasure of recording on that day, iimt ** mar all
Mademoiseile Xenormand only failed in her prediction by one month ;
instead of the 28th of June, the mischief has eccurred on the 28th c^
July.** His love of the marvellous extends evento a half-belief in dieama :

The Duo deSerri dreamed one night that he was standing at the window of
his i^mrtment in the Tuileries, which overlooked the gardens, accompanied }aj
two individuals, and while he was admiring the beauties of the prospect, has
attention was suddenly attracted to the iron railing by what seemed to be passing
in the Bue de Biv(dL A dense mass of people was assemUed in the stoeet, mn
presentlj there apptared a grand funeral procession, followed bv a train of car-
nages, evidently indicating ine last tribute paid to some deceasea man of fortune
and consequence, fie turned round to one of 'tiie bystanders and inquired
whose foneral was passing ; the answer was made that it was that of Mr.
Breffnlhe. In a short time after this processicm had filed off down the street,
another and more splendid cavalcade made its appearance, as eomiiig from the
ch&teau : this far surpassed in magnificence its predecessor ; it had eveiT attri-
bute of rovaltj,— the carriages, the^pards, the serfantsweresudi as could only
be marshalled in honour of one of his own family. On pvtting'the same ques-
tion, he was told that it was his own foneral. In afew nights after thisvision
thelDuc delBerri went to a grand ball given by Mc. (kdaSh^ at Ins hotel in

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. WL 2LAIKB8' JOIZBSiX. MO

the Ilae d'Artois ; it was a yery oold iu^» and Mr. Gfareffujho, vho wm not in
a good state of health, attendea his royal highness to the carriage bareheaded,
acra uras struck with a sudden chill, which brought on a violent fever, and ter-
minated his life in a few days. Before a 'week had elapsed the knife of the
asaaawn Louvel had consummated the remaining incident m the dream.

£Eere is a memosaadam of a kind whioh evidently fixed our joaraaliBt^e
attestioDy and which he U>€k no email iolerest in plaoiiig on record:

The extraordinary oomposure with which even a painful death may be con-
tetrmlated is exemplified by a criminal who is under sentence of execution for a
mnxraer, in one of the priscnn of Munich at this present time. He has made
with crumbs of bread and a sort of macaroni several fifirires illustrating the
Boene in which [he will quit the world. He has figured tne instant when the
exeeutioMr, haviBg out off his head, is hddmg it up to puUie view. A Fran-
cieoan ^riar on his knees is at tiie side of the headless oorpse ; near the priest is
aa invalid with a wooden 1^, selling a true and fall account of his judgment
and ejieeuiien.

And anodier instance of ihe horrible :

The following extraordinary ocourrenee has just taken place at a chateau near
Senlis. The Comtesse Pontalba, whose name has been cited before the tri-
hosudB in a trial for separation from her husband, at length found means to in-
tMPCot him in her favour and procure ker return home, which very much exas-
perated her father-in-law. Determined to deliver his family from a woman who
oaanded it with ignominy, he the other day entered her apartment aimed with
two pistols, and cuscharged the contents of ooth in her body : he then retired to
his own apartment, in a different wing of the chiteau, and shot himself through
the heart. His body was found stretched on a sofa, with the countenance calm,
hat still with a threatening expression. The old count, whose life had been as
honourable as his sense of honour was rigorous^ had just completed his eightieth
year, and possessed an immense fortune. The countess did not die on the spot,
though pierced by four balls (for the pistols were double-barrelled); her hand
by iaatmct was raised to protect her heart, but she still li^ in very great
danger*

3!Wo mare etrange inoiibntg:

A young lady of l^evers, universafiy admired, was married to a person
mho had Men established in the town for some months only, but had made
hinfielf generally respected. The wedding day passed off, and the happy
pair had retired to tl^ nuptial chamber, leaving the guests still emoyin^ the
festivities of the occasion, when their guety was suddenly diecked by a
dxeaSful soream &em the bride. The chamber was opened, and she was found
in a fainting fit, grasping in her hand the riurt-ooUar of her husband, torn from
his shoulder, on whidi was displayed the brand, proving him to have been a
convicted fekm. It is said that the senses of the unhapj^ girl appear to have
fled tor ever. The parents have applied to Mr. P. Dupm and Mr. Syrot, two
eminent counsel at the Paris bar, for their opinions, whether Art. 232 of the
Civil Code, which declares the condemnation of ei&er of a wedded nair to an
infamous punishment suiOicient cause for a divorce, is applicable to tnis extra-
ordinary ease.

A youth livii^ at Yeriv, in the Aisne, though only eijfhteen years of age, was
full SIX feet higl^ and had made himself remarkable oy his extraordiiiary »ats of
strength. Amvt a fortnight ago he laid a wager that he would raise witii his
teeth, ami without touchi]^ it with his hsmds, a cask of cider containing forfy-
'fieven gaUons. It was surrounded with rojyes so as to give hhn a safe and eon-
vement hxAd. 3j tiiis he sensed the cask with his teeth, md carried it wi^ut
stopping across a yard of considerable extent. When, however, he had put
dorwn his burden, he was incapable of sbuttmff hismouth, and eoen afterwards
fodnted. He was carried into the house, where he lay lor six days without
zecovering his senses, and then died*

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400 MR. BAIKSS' JOURNAL.

Another, not a little characteristic :

M. , a banker at Paris, returning home some evenings affo from a baD,

missed three things— his wife, his cashier, and the contents of nis stronf box.
Having by some means ascertained that the fugitives were gone to Havre, he im-
mediately followed them, and arrived at the hotel in which thej had taken up
their abode, where he learned they were to sail the next day for Ainerica. Makipg
a confidant of the landlord, the banker went to the chamber where the two calprits
were. At the first summons the recreant cashier opened the door» and thiowio?
himself at the feet of his injured benefactor, acknowledged his criminality, ana
only sup})licated mercy for his guilty companion, who remained trembling in the
room which he had just quitted. " Dovct be alarmed," said the banker, "all I
. want is my money.'* The whole of thb was immediatelv given up. Hie banker
.havinff ascertained that nothing was kept back, turned to the aelinqnent, and
offered him notes to the amount of 10,000 fr., sayii^, " This is for the service joa
have rendered me in ridding me of a vicious wife. You maj set off with oer
to-morrow for New York, on condition that you have received the money for tite

express purpose ofpaying the expenses of yourself and Madame to the

United states." The paper was signed, the door was closed, and in a quarter
of an hour the banker was on his road back to Paris.

Gambling — a practice by no means peculiar to the French capital,
. but not a Tittle flourishing in its gay circles — has also its ezemplaiy
illustrations :

On Wednesday last died in Paris poor Mr. Stibbert, aged sixty-three. Hb
story is shorty but one of the most remarkable instances of the infatuation for
play ever known. He was the son of General Stibbert, but defonned fixMn his
birth, inherited a fortune of 80,000/. as I have always heard, and till the age of
foitv-five was a man of regular habits, a cultivated mind, and much respwjted
in &igland among the friends with whom he lived. Unfortunately, after tiie
peace, eighteen years ago, he determined to visit Italy, and arrived in Paris with
the intention of passing here only a few weeks. One night he was induced ta
CO to the Salon, then kept in the Rue Gran^ Bateli^re, and frequented by the
best society of all nations, under the supermtendence of the old and ^^'^
Marquis de Livry, a very different establishment from the Tripot in the Kae de
Richelieu at present. He there sat down to plav for the first time, lost a small
sum of money, returned to win it back, continued to lose, and in the same hDp^
less enterprise prolonged his stay for several years, till he absolutelv lost evm
shilling of his large property, and has since latterly been depenaent on his
brother for a small allowance, hovering like a spectre round the gaming-table at
Prascati, and risking his few francs every night in that sink of depravitv, auU
hopin£[ that fortune might turn in his favour and enable him to resam his ksatt.
His mild manners, his settled melancholv, and, as he has often told me himself
that infatuation which he felt quite unable to resist, rendered him a constant
object of remark to the various English who have visited Paris for many yean
past.

Another is less painful to peruse :

A certain Vicomte de V , friend of Talleyrand, who with him frc<ment«l

some distinguished tair^, where high play was encouraged, had incuned some
suspicions not very creditable to his honour.

Detected one evening in a flagrant attempt to defraud his adversary, he vas
very unceremoniously turned out of the house, with a threat, that i^ ^® 2JJ
made his appearance there again, he should be thrown out of the window. Xbe
next 6aj he called upon M. de Talleyrand to relate his misfortune and protest
his innocence : '* Ma position est tr^ embarrassante," said the vicomte, " oopneS'
moi done un oonseil.'^ ^'Pame ! mon cher, je vous oonseilk de ne plos jouer
qu'au res-de-chauss^."

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401

BT-WATS OP HISTOBT.
THE MOURNFUL MARRIAGE OF SIR S. MORLAND.

One of the stock characters of our laat age comedy, was ihe moros^
* suspicious, and with all, ^llible old bachelor, the staodiag jest of hi;)
younger associates, the dupe of intriguing maids and their designing
mistresses, who generally ended a life passed in abuse of the fair sex, ai^
. dread of the " holy estate of matrimony,'' by running his head into the
noose of some equivocal or unequivocal jade, and the curtain usually
dropped before a lauglung audience upon tne head of the wretched miso-
gynist, in the first agonies of discovering that, after a long and lonely
course of suspicion and wariness, he had been trapped, and was destined
to pass the remainder of his life under a petticoat despotism of the most
despotic and degrading kind.

These things don't happen now-a-days ; hence, doubtless, this character,
in its broad features, is no longer reproduced in modem comedy ; and it
may be taken as an illustration of the world-wide inspiration with which
Shakspeare describes the stage as marking <* the very age and body of
the time,** to note how Congreve's *' Crusty old Bachelor" refines into his
modem counterpart in the Sir Peter Teazle of Sheridan, just as the
grossness of the stolen, or tricky Fleet marriages of the days of
*' handsome Fielding" are refined into the completeness with which the
modem trip to Gretna at once satisfies decorum, and defies pursuit.
Times are changed, habits altered, and the stage mimicry of life follows
suit and changes also.

The story of *' real life" I am about to tell is exactly one of those
which, if now produced on the stage, would be pronounced exaggerated
and improbable, though in its own day it would have been received as a
natural and not out-of-the-way incident A grave, staid personage, with
a place on the page of history ; a name widely known in connexion with
events of historical interest ; a man of mark, a ** ripe scholar," a cour-
tier, all in one, and vet with an underplot in his private career, marking
him out for the original of the duped hero of a low-comedy intrigue,
the jeer of a merry audience, and the standing laughing-stock of all
his private acquaintance. Pity that our narrative should date in the
brief reign of the saturnine James, instead of that merry monarch his
brother Charles, to whom, and to his gay courtiers, it would have been
a realily £Eur better than any ** play ever enacted by his Majesty's ser-
vants," affording them " laughter for a week and a good jest for ever."

Goioe back mto the protectorate of that stem << Oliver^ who, if he
gained his power irregularly, yet confessedly used it so as to render the
name of Englishman dreaded, hated, and respected in equal proportions
through Europe, we find one of the incidents of Cromwell's brief rule on
which Englishmen love most to dwell, in his bold interferonce on behalf of
the persecuted Vaudois. Not only bv remonstrance and protest, but by
stem and unequivocal threat of armed aid and reprisal, did the Protector
interpose between the bigot policy of the House of Savoy and its own
Walaensian subjects. Nor was his sympathy limited to words, or evea

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402 THE MOUBNFUL ICABAIiLGE OF SIB 8. MORLAND.

warlike demonstrations; a grant of thirty-eiffht thoosand ponnds !*— « Tast
sum for those days — ^was distributed to me plunderea and persecuted
people of the vaUeys^ And this pnnoely benevolence was ministered to
the sufferers by the hand of '* Samuel Morland,** then a youuff man and
accompli^ad sdiolar, who> nailed inm a Camfari^|e ftUiowriro into the
office of Secretary Tliurloe, was selected to dispense England s nrotherlj
jod to perseevted Mtow-Chngdans, andihia, doubdesi, not wilfaoitt a
Mgard as wefl to hb high personal oharaoter, as to hb alnfity to leeocd
the eveiits of his misrion in that narratare, which is ever siaee^iefisised to
as a text-book by all writers on die afiairs of the Waldenaee.

This is the first viention we meet of Samuel Morland; the
while it lays open a ^painlol speetaele of the prrale tnachery whidi i
vmu cowrentlbrpablio vntue m diys of civil wmifae er euaiweiiwi, n
lower ear hero in eiteom, jast as tAie £proar of ins priace waaelerati]:^
him in the aoafe oF'waridly faonear.

The memorable ^ twanty-niatfa of May," 1660, tmmm, aad widi it
came the Second Charles to *' enjoy his own again,^ riding from Dover
to Whitehidl tinoiigh aoeh an ^veaoe of weloomtng ei^eots as gai^eliiin
oeoasion to si^— in his own happy manner — '* that it anut have hem Ins
•own fault not to have 9ome heine long ago V* This ptUic entiy to Ins
capital to(^ place, as we have «ad, in the ead of the meodi; bat ofea mt
the b^iinning of it Charles had began to dispenae fuiieyal Caiams to
those who hi^ contributed to his ^ Bestovatioo,'* and amoogtbese iihsi
^ the king delightad to honour,'' we find "from Pepys' gossip, ifaat lie
^knigirtedlir. Moiiaad, and did eive the leason finr it openly ikmt it
wmfoT^knang Ma wiMit^tmc% M^kt time he wag 43ierk to Seerwtarie
Tkmf^oe.**

This debasing avowal seems to me to humiliate the bustmist aad
leeeiver of honsar alike, and ka^ea aipevolting impiesakm of the effect
of civil ooBviMooB in sappiag the very fwrndatiens of trath and tsnat
aBKNW men. fiere we ha^e The King! << the vsry foaat e£ haaoar,"
lewaraingm eoarse of sendee tohim, vrbaAi was in efieot treadnry ao
Hoikmd's own tisstiag emj^orer, and prodatnHng'his new knight to liis
assenibled eoort as one who had boom his favoar by aodi systemalac
bi'SBiih of finth aad heoesty, as in oidunary rehitions between nnn and
man wecdd ecpeliibe traitor -ftom ikoeat soctefy. l^o doobt Chaiiea was
neither of riJaamtm aor in tniemnstanoei to look too nicdy into tbe
moral fsatares of any msaaa which helped him to faisthrene; yet he nnist
have been devoid of the oommooest moral ptiception i^ 4n kUmcret soa^
ho-cenld ledmpon'hiB aow uaJe kn%ht withoot loatiiiag.

The adcao^^oflgiaeBt of Morland's servbti did not last in a paitiy
kn^htfaood. iHe shortly after loceived a life-pension of "five bundled

Kimds per anamn, charged upon the Post Office revenue ; and ahen, a
tfe hter in the year, Sie kiag was aoattering honoars over the hmBi
wiA hvklhliand, we find amoi^tbem «^ Sbr tenuel Merfaad, of Soadi-
baawlede Bannister, fieihs, Btmmet/*' Ni^, farther still, we'fiidl Wm
obtaining from hb looklesB master aet only tns honour ifor lumedf, bat

* lieriimffi Welclsmian naarative eontains a minate aoooont of the distribu-
tion of this sum among the " poor YandoU** to the amotmt of 21,9081, and closes
witha<«6a2ZaiicemAa]Mrari6,S3StlOi.8d. Q^aery i^niaX became (f this bmhmeet
■BU the '"meRie^onarefa" find it Ml-«« mhand** v^tea he caw to WUt^aOl ?

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T^EB MOTTRNFITL MABSCAGE OF SIB 8. m<ML£KD. 408

a ^Biamk haronHey^r Avo/** to dispose of fbr Ms own private mdraiitsge.
It would be a eurioos piece of secret histoiy if we eocdd trace out among
** The Older of Baronets" the indifidoal who bonght his honour ^' ban
nutrchi^ from this Baronet-broker of Baroneteies I

We learn diis fact, as before, hcsm l^e gossip of Pepvs. !Bepy8 had,
it seem% been Morland's pupil at Cambridge, and had rormed so low an
estimate of his former tutor's judgment and common sense, that he arowB
Ins sarpnse at -finding him so well able to make his way at court in the
new world just then beginning. On the 14^ of Angast> 1660, Pepys
makes an «ntry, in his own style, as follows:

'^ To the Privy^wale Office, and thence to Mr. Pvm, the tailor's, and I
ftmed upon making me a velvet coate ; thenee to the Privy-seafe againe,
vniere Sir Samuel Morland came wMi a baronet^s grant to posse, vjfMi
the ^ung had gnmn kmn to make money of. Here we staid withliim a
^reat wUle, nd he told me the whcie manner of his serving the king in
uieibse of the F^xrteotor, and how Tharloe's iwd umge nadb him doe it;
Aav he 4msov€fred Sir Eiehard WWs,^ and how he had sunk his
fmluBe ibr the king ; land that now the king had given him a pension of
500i: per annum in the Post Offioe for life, and the henejk of two
'6amn$ttJ — aMe wldeh <be mtke me begin to thmk that he is not to nmeh
^ufw)k a$ Iteok him to be.**

Poor if ofland, while opening iris heart to Ins former pupil, fitUe
tbougbt that 'he vras eoirading his aecrete to a ** cfaiel takin' notes"
to be'^^pvented" for ihe edification of genemtiomyet onbom— as lilile did
good Doctor 'GUly (the modem histonan of the Waldenics) suspect what
a **hv^mBy *eai^poie of character he had puMsd over in Ptopvs* pages,
n^ien we ebelt&d ihe following glowing portrait of CvomweU s ahnoaer
.and aooredited agent to the proud Dulro ef "Savoy." ** Cromwell (writes
Boetor'CHlly) ccmldnot horre'cbosen a man ^belter 'qoalifiod to diadiarge

'* Ae easB nf fiir Biohord WlBii, hsre aUaded to, il detuled at large ligr
Claiendon in teok zvi. of his Histocy; and QLareadon Ailly givse Morland the
credit whickhe thus claims, of having been the discoverer of the doulde-dealing
of "Willis, who appears to iiave gone here and there, from one party to another,
inthecMl wars, but who ultimately, for a large pension, became tiie ^ spsnf
tpt^ of 'CimDwoll, inasflKidi as all Us diwoverles wsre rsoonveyed, as soon as
.made, by Iteland to QiaadeB. This basiaess is ao farther connected with oar
jnesent subjeet than as it exhibits another phase of that queer, loose mosaltty
which characterised the intrigues of that period. Willis was a traitor, but he
wore his mask *^ith a difference." IT he betrayed tbe king^s-agents and partisans,
liedidsowithjasllttiedamqpetotiiekfa^eauseaBhewdUcoald. Hesparedtiie
^goed men aad.tree" as jnacb as possible, bat gave up liie doobtftdaad moderate
without hesitation. <*It was soon noted," observes Clarendon, ** that he (Sir B.
'Willis) seldom communicated anything in which there was necessity to name
-any man who was of the kuig's party and had ahotnfs been ao reputed; but what
-was mdavtakflo by amf tfike Pritbytman partjf, or hi unymho had been, amaiiutAe
-kmg^ moepemrmi mU4o Ike i^fe, .... If j^ any time he named any who had been
of the l^Q^s party, it was chiefly those who were satisfied wiUi what they had
doMj how httle so ever, and resolved to adventure no more." — Clarendon^ b. zvi.

The whole " secret service" of that period was a perfect network of intrigue.
CromwcU and llmrloe had in turn their epies m the very lung's chambers, who
were in like manner detected; for an instance of which, see ''Maning's
txea^^hery," as narrated by Clarendon in same book. On the whole, 1 think it
.probable that while Cromwell was served with more ability, Charles found more
JfideUty in his agents, and that the Protector felt that he was walking over mhics
and pitfiEdls at every step of his rdgn.

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;404 THE MOUBNFUL liABBIAQE OF SIB 8. MOBLAHD.

the dtttiaf of audi an ettibaBsj than Moriand. Toimg, ardent, fiiU of
courage, and conscious of the dignity <^ the character wluch he had to
sustain as the representative of the Commonwealth of Engand, he pro>
cured an audience at Rivoli, where he addressed the Duke in a Latin
oration, which, after a few customary expressions of courtesy, contained
truths which none but a stem republican (! !) could think of sounding in
royal ears.**

After the extracts we have given, Morland disappears from Pepys'
gpraphio memoranda for a number of years, with the exception of an oc-
casional dash of the pen, sufficient to show us that he very soon became
one of those hangers-on of the court who, no longer needed, was no
longer noticed. We can see, as if with our living eyes, that Sir Samnel
had, to use an expressive phrase, '* worn out his court welcome at White-
hall," and was become a kind of ** Sir Mungo Malagrowler'' among the
reckless courtiers of Charies the Second. The royal gratttnde which
in its first fervour had flung him baronetcies to dispense, and Bmigati
him an ample pension on the public revenue, in time beg^ to oool,
and cooling, to c^bllapse ! So that, after an interval, we find, 6n^
^^the lord treasurer," with a Joe Hume ausierity^ ^^ curtailing his
pension," and presently the curtailed pension fidls into airear to a
formidable amount; so that, at the end of a quarter of a centoiy
(1684-6), we trace the King's knight aud baronet to a small boose
at Vau3thall, where he employed hims^ in scientific and medianicsi
experiments,* which classed nim with the persons known in that age as
'< projectors" — ^men out of place in the pleasure-seeking court of Charley
but who would have been more duly estimated in oar day, when
speculation periodically combines itself into " Lunar Railway Companies,''
'* Timbuctoo Mining Associations," and other provisions for evaporating
the extra energy and capital of our countrymen. Assuredly, Sir Samnd
Morland, had he now lived, would have written himself down X. T. Z.
and A. S. S., &c., &c., &c., and have held high place in the ^< director-
ships" and <' management" of the '* joint-stock bubbles" of our day.

*' Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood." Sir Samuel Morland was
in the sixty-first year of his age, when, notwithstanding Ins experienee^
his erudition, his converse with courts, and the craft which nb own
practice in the ways of deception should have taught him, he fell into as
shallow a pitfall as ever snared a schoolboy. It is impossible to conmder
his mishap without seeing in it something at once of the pitiable tfw
ludicrous, and, above all, some judicial innision of that treachery whicB
he had long before prided himself upon practising upon others. If ^
comparison may be used without profaneness, the case seems to resemUe
that of Jacob, who, having in his youth b^^iled his aged father, was
himself in his own old age made by his own children the subject of con*
tinned frauds, which w^-nigh brought his *< grey hairs with sorrow to

* Upon looking into Evelyn's graver " Diary," running parallel with the goinp
of Pepys, we find frequent mention of Morland, and his ingenioos oontrivanoes w
inventions. Some annotator has ** made a note" confounding Sir Samnel Koriaoo,
onr hero, with his son, who died unmarried and childless in 1716 ; but there ctn
be no doubt that Sir Samuel the elder, who survived to the year 1695, was t»
person mentioned in these Diaxies, and the ** Master of Mechanics" to Charlef iB<^
James the Second.

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THB MOURNFUL MARUAGS OF SIR B. MOBLAND. 405

ihe gr»T6." But Sir Samuel Morland must tell his own sorrows, which.
be introdaeesy strangely enough, in an official eomniunieatton to his.
quondam piipilt now the prosperous and powerful Secretary to the Navy,

T«i the subject of some projected improyements in the constntctiou
** gon^axTiages."

*^ SIB SAMUEL MOBLAND TO BCB. PKPT8.

« Sat, 19 Febn 1686-7.

^ Sib, — I went about three or four daies since to see what the Com-
miasioners of the Navy had done upon the order you sent them relating
to the new gun-carriages, £(c., but met none but Sir John Nareborough,
who told me your onkr respecting a trial of shooting to be made like
that at Portsmouth, whidi was impracticable at Deptfbrd, because shoot-
ing with powder only was no trial, and shooting with bullets too
dangerous ; and therefore his opinion, which he did believe would be the
opinion of the whole board, was, that to each new carriage should be the
addition of a windlass, and also the fidse truck at the ent of the carriages ;
and that all the other things, as eye-bolts, tackles, &c., should be left as
they are on the old carriages till such time as a full trial be made of the
new way, both at sea and in a fight, and then what shall prove to be
useless m the oM wi^ may be wholly left off and laid aside.

** I could have waited on you with this account myself, but I presume
you have by this time heard what an unfortunate ana fatal accident hath
lately befiUlen me, of which I shall give you an abbreviate.

'* About three weeks or a month since, being in very great perplexities,
and almost distracted for want of moneys, my private creditors torment*
ing me from morning till night, and some of them threatening roe with
a prison, and having no positive answer from his majesty ab<nU the
1300/. which the late Lard Treasurer cut off from my pension so severely ^
iriiich left debt upon me which I was wholly unable to pay, there came a
certain person to me whom I had relieved in a starving condition, and
for whom I had done a thousand kindnesses, who pretended in gratitude
Ho help me to a wife^ who was a very virtuous person and sweet disposi-
tioned ladye, and an heiresse who had 500^ in land heritance per
annum, and 4000/. in readie money, with the interest since nine years,
besides a mortgage upon 300/. per annum more, with plate, jewels, &c.
The devil himself could not contrive more probable circumstances than
were lay'd before me ; and when I had often a mind to inquire into the
tmth I had no power, believing /or certain reasons tJiat there were some
charms or witchcraft used upon me, and withall, believing it utterly im-
possible that a person so obliged should ever be guilty of so black a deed
as to betray me in so barbarous a manner. Besides that, I really be*
lieved it a blessing fi-om Heaven for my charity to that person ; and I
was about a fortnight since led as a fool to the stocks, and marryed a

coaehman*s daughter not worth a shilling^ and And thus

I am both absolutely ruined in my fortune and reputation, and must
become a derision to the world.

*' My case is at present in the Spiritual Court, and I presume that
one ward from his majesty to his proctor, and advocate, and judge, would

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406 DSCORATTVX ABS IN ENGJUlfD.

juroGiixe me q»aedy jnstsoe. If oUfaw our old aoqaaiiitaBoe or Chrii»i«ii
{dty move you, I oeg yoo. to put ia a kind word for ma^ and to deliv«K
the enclosed into the Idng^ own hande, and witk ail oenvenitnt apsod^
for a criminal bound and going to eaeootimi is not in greater agoniee
than has been my poor active soul since this befel me ;■ and I eame^Uj
entreat you to leave in three lines for me, with your own porter, whit
answer the king g^ves you, and my man shall cbJI for it. A flood of
tears blinds my eyes, and I can write no more, but that I am

" Your most humble and poore distrest servant,

On the stage, this would be the point in the duped old baehelor'a <
on which the **Deus ex machind " would desoead, and either d^ivwr him
from the noose into which he had run hia silly head, or leave it an m-
dissoluble knot^ the pressure or torment of which would be left to tbe
imagination of the audience ; but in. our true tale^ the pttifiil soraewa of
the silly old man are but beginning. He had heavier and mocerprotracted
punishment to imAergo for the senile self-love in which he allowed him-
self to be persuaded that a '' virtuous and sweei-dispositionnd ladyot**
with an heirship which would iMure made her a " oynoiora" for tW
gallants of the court, had become engauSe of a starving smagenarian
We can find no parallel for such a case of in&tuatioa nearer than.that of
Malvolia

DECO&iTIYE ABT IN BNOLAND.

Thsbb are, undoubtedly, many fine buildings in this ooantry, and
some amongst them ase not without those internal embeilishsieBes whioh
add so mu(£ to the splendour of the palaces of France and Italy ; but,
as a general rule, the Decoeative branch of Art hai^ in England^ beao
greatly neglected

The ornamentation of domesdo interiors, by calling in the aid (£
painting, never made any remarkaUe progress aaioagst us^ and, where it
did ezist^ it was diiefly to be found in royal raaidenoea and in mnnwniia
almost royal, like Blenheim, Chatsworth, and a few othaa. But tfaa
*' painted ccolings,'' on which were expended the labours of Thomhiliy
Verrio, and Daguerre^ were the last efforts of a stvle thai navar fairty
became engrafted here^ This would not have excited mueh tmet if the
mythologiod tastes of those artists had alone been pernetnated, but mA
the era to which they bdonged the prinei{^ of intevosil deooration aeeaM
to have been abandoned ^together, .^hiteeture, plain even to ofj^*
ness, took possession of our streets, whitewash within^doon held undis-
puted sway, and aa far as Art was ooncemed, the. rudimental anange-
mantS'Of the wigwam were infinitely more pietuBsaqiie tfaaai the papeeed

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DECORATIVE AM IK ENGLAND. 407

waUs of the ciyilised Englishman. This, too^ in a climate where the
presence of hright tints and the enlivening creations of the painter's
fancy are almost oeoraRuyto* atone txr twwant of.a radiant^ sunny
atmosphere.

lime remafks have been elioted 6om ns by the pomaal of a small
brochure/^ iftat has jvst &llen in our waTy by which we are gkd to per-
core that Decorative Art has not only oawned again tqpen Bi^and^ but
tlttty under very* favourable auspices^ it has abeody beea adapted in a
quarter well calculated to inflneaoe poUie taste* It is M. Auguste
Hervieo^ the ^Bsttnguidied pupil of the mat FVeneh painters Gfos and
Gtrodet, to whom we are indebted for wis> revival, and her Ch^ace the
Duchess of Sutherland to whom we owo its adoptioD, tiiat beautiful
summer abode Clt^en-on»Thames being the seeae where M. Hervieu'a
remarkaUe trients have found full scope iar tiieir ezereise. ^o ceiliags
haye there been submitted to his sldll, oae oB ik»m in a dtassiag^room
wlier^ on a» aanre sky, Cupids are floating; the others of much greater
importance, the ceiling of the grand staircase, where die Ikmr Seasons
are admirably illustrated, the suqjeet having been suggested by the noble
owner of ClieMen herself.

The example of dhe Duchess of Sudieflaad is one that deserves to be
generally fbllowed, as well for the sake of Art in the abstract as for its
exeentioD at the hands of M. Hervieu. The expense attendant upon
this kind of deooration is not such as to weighf !^;ainst the advantage of
its empkyment, which is, indeed, as NL Hfirviea obsesre^ ^ eventuaUr
more economical, from its durabifity, tfian the use of ordinary substi-
tutes.^ Aft regards the appKcatkm of tih» Decorative Axft on a large
scale, we may hirhr ntkj with M. Hervieu, ^Why should sot Ardiitec*
ture, Panting, and Sculpture be invited to co^operate^in England as in
Itidy, Franee, and elsewhere ? Why shodd not the more genial efforts
of ttie pencil be oalled in to give lifo and warmth to the colmr tones and
the more abstract and frigid KNms of rae kindred arts ? Tliere are
p<urtion8 of ihe interior of great mansions, sudi aa halls, staircases, and
ceifincs^ where the absence of this adjunct prodaces a painful sense of

TOld.

We trust these Toids will, by degrees^ be filled up, and we know of no
artist better calculated than M» Hwvieu to accomplish such a ta».

* BevML of Pictorial Deooration in En^and. London: Sdndae and Ck>.

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408

ALISON»S FIFTH VOLUME .•

Of the feten chapters whidi make np the present volame, one,— to
which, judging hy his preliminary prospectus, the author attaches eoa-
siderable importance, and would assign first-rate powers of attraction,— is
devoted to a critical resume of the Literature of €rermany. To this wt
shall recur anon. The other six discuss the Constitutional ffistorj o(
Germany, from the conclusion of the War of Liberation to the refola-
tionanr epoch of 1848 ; the affiurs of France, from the extinction of tbs
hereditary peerage at the dose of 1831, to the Ml of Count Moli'i
minutry in 1837 ; the internal history of our own country, from die
passing of the Reform Bill to the fall of Earl Grey's ministry in 18S4 ;
and the progress of events in Turkey, Greece, Egypt, and the East, from
the treaty of Adrianople in 1828 to Mehemet Aii's aoceptaoce of the
terms of allied Europe, in 1841.

There is much that is ^* interestiog and instructive*' in these Ustoriesl
chapters. The least diffuse, perhaps, and certainly not the least valuable,
is tnat bestowed upon the quarter of a centuiy's peace in Germsnj ;
wherein the historian diligently sets forth the effects of this long period
of repose^ and of the entire cessation of domestic war, upon the devdop-
ment of industry and the increase of social prosperity. He shows how
peace, instead of produdng universal contentment, ** cast not the dive-
branch, but a firebrand into the bosom" of Germany, — the stillness which
prevailed being but the harbinger of future strife and desolation. For the
War of Liberation had given an impulse to progressive, and, so to speak,
aggressive patriotism. Young Germany haa *' struck for the FatherlaiKi
in the belief that they were cementing with their blood not only its ex-
ternal independence, but its internal freedom." Sir Archibald aUowi,
with his wonted candour and hxr dealing, which so far make him a jewel
oi a Conservative historian, that although it cannot be said that any
express promise was made by the German sovereigns to thdr people^
when the war of liberation broke out, or during its continuance, that
representative institutions should be the reward of national valonr,— jret
that undoubtedly this was everywhere understood, and, as he expresses it,
" constituted the mainspring of the astonishing efforts made by tne people
of Germany at this eventful period." The war at an end, alAindaot eri-
denoe is on record, that the *< general establishment of ponstitutioosl
governments formed part of the understood compact between the sove-
reigns and people of Germany." But Sir Archibald is free to own, sod
careful to prove, that these monarchs broke faith as completdy with the
people, when the latter had fought and conquered for tnem, as did the
Tiers-Etat of France with the clergy, whose accession had ^ven them
the majority over the privileged orders at the outbreak of the Revdutioo.
Especially he directs attentbn to the delays and deluding arts of the
Prussian government, and its alliance with Austria in preparing and
passing the, so-called. Final Act of confederation (1820), tne effect of

• History of Europe, from the Fall of Napoleon in 1815 to the Accession^
Louis Napoleon in 1852, By Sir Archibald Alison, Bart, D.C.L. Vd. V. Bls«-
wood. 1856.

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Alison's fifth voLUBiE. 409

Tvhich was, not to confirm but destroy popular influenco in aflkirs of
state. *' The free cities, in which the spirit of liberty burned with the
greatest intensity, and a few lesser states and large towns by which it
was shared, were completely kept down by the weight of Austria and
Prussia, who not only commanded a majonty of votes in the Diet, but
had the whole military force of the Confederacy at their disposal."
Flattering things are, however, said of the wisdom of the internal govern-
ment of Prussia — whose leading statesmen, during this period, such as
Hardenberg, BemstorfF, and William von Humboldt, exeited themselves
discreetly and emphatically to secure the well-being, the better-being,
the best-being of their country.

But their exertions tended, the more directly in proportion to their
success, to increase instead of diminishing the irritation of the masses at
being *' kept out of their rights." Education and enlightenment fostered,
not dulled, the popular uneasiness at unpopular measures. The crash
must come at last, sooner or later ; the longer deferred, the more violent
its results. It came accordingly in 1848, and remains to be described by
Alison m a future volume. Why it was so long delayed, he in part
would explain by what he calls '^ a very curious circumstance," on the
face of it threatening to restrain, but in point of fieu^t helping to extend,
the authority of the ruling powers. This is, the spread of education in
Grermany among the lower classes of society. For Sir Archibald's view
of the case is, that although education would at first dispose Young
Germany to liberal, and even revolutionary opinions, — insomuch, indeed,
that extreme licence of ideas in the schools and universities was one of
tlie chief causes of anxiety to principalities and powers, — ^}'et, when these
young patriots left college, and had to get their bread, the education they
bad received compelled them, if bread they would have, to close with the
only means of obtaining it, namely, government employment. They
could not dig ; and if to beg they were ashamed, speedily they must
resolve what they would do — even '^ knock under " to Destiny and the
dons, and accept the pay of the authorities whom it had been their youth-
ful dream to displace and utterly confound. ** Universally educated, the^'
all sighed for intellectual rather than physical labour: restricted in their
walk of life by circumstances, there was not one in ten could find employ-
ment, or earn a subsistence in intellectual pursuits. Trade or manufac-
tures in a country so little commercial could absorb only a limited
number; the army furnished occupation merely for a fe^v^ years in early
life ; colonies there were none ; emigration, till the middle of the century,
was almost unknown." Hence the only resource was government em-
ployment. The crowded number of applicants gave the authorities a
powerful hold over young gentlemen, whom the straits and privations of
this worky-day world were fast disillusionising. " Dreaming of republics,
and declaiming passages about Brutus and Cromwell, was very exciting,
as long as the youths were at college, maintained by their parents, and
animated by the presence of each other ; but when they went out into
the world, and found themselves alone in a garret, with scarce the means
of purchasing one meal a day, it became very desirable to exchange such
penury for the certainty and security of a government office." It is the
old story. Ts& est la vie. And thus, inasmuch as for every vacant
situation in Germany,— even the meanest SchreiberstelU^ the narrowest

VOL. ZXXJX. 2 X

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410 AUSOH^S fEFTH TOCCMS.

plae^ Ae pettiest Wdi—- » roimd ioma of smlUkmB esxtSiitm ofcuri
thermelvee with preeipituit ^mpreisememij no ironder if the ^^ aidm
rtodent," fresh though he might be from hit repnblicaa nagBiloqiieBefl^
his duels, his pipe, sod his beloved beer, soon became mefgod, notpwitib-
standnig his glorious antecedents, in a ^ <!VMt, respectable govonMHot
employe, who toiled at his desk twelve hoars a day fiir eighty pounds a
year, and thanked his stars that, in the dread competxtioii, lie had <kawA
such a prize in the lottery of life." Que vauleZ'Wme f it wovld be tiie
RUne, sir Archibald submits, hi ereiy other country H the moaps of
existence were equally restricted. Cut off the backwoods and Cafifomia
from America; or Manchester, Liverpool, and Qlasgow, pirns India and
Australia, from Enriand, and where, he aeks, would be the boasted in-
dependence of die Anglo-Saxon chancter ? Efidently, on his Aammg,
nowhere.

Among the more animated descriptions in die Miratrre portion of this
volume, wiH be found that of the Duchess de Bern's adventorea in 1833,
of the insurrection in Paris after the funend of General LaoMrqiMy of the
siege of Antwerp, liie ^monster trial" for treason' beftm the Chaoiber
of Peers in 1835 (rather curiously designated a repetition of die O. P.
riots of London, with this difibrence, that the scene of diem waa not a
theatre but a court of jnstieo ■ certainly a very dwatrieal one, as ia aot
unusual in France)^ the attempt by Fiesehi on the liib of Louia Philippe,
the Strasburg venture of Louis Napoleon, and the bombavdmaat of
Beyrout and of Acre under Admunals Stopfbid and Reforai-Olnb
'< Charlie." The historian's reflections on the treaty wma^qaeat upon
this feat of British arms, particularly as bearing on the war with Bassia
of 1854, are worthy ot an attentive reading, and ftmish matter tat grate
speculation as to what may be herealter.

His own disposition to moody forebodings is wdi known, aad yean
that bring the philosc^hic mind— to some people— deepen this teooeMy
radier than otherwise. Thus, in die present volume, he pronoiniees that
man blind indeed who does not perceive in eurrent G^mnaa literature
die hearings of a pent-up fire destined to produce throes and oonvolaioas
more earnest, more serious, but not less bloody, than those of the Fraoch
Revolution. And again, he regards the cession of Antwerp, that ** gieat
outwork of Napoleon against England,'' toother with the nhandnnmwsf
of die Flemish barrier in the north, and of Constantinople in the south
(<< virtually ceded to Russia," by our policy, or want of it, in 1833), so
melancholy proofs of *' the infatuation which had seised upon die nadoas
in Europe the most boasting of their intelligence ;" admng, that they
bequeathed '' one, probably two, dreadful wars in future timeo to this
British people." Whether we are moved by Sir Archibalds warnings,
and feel convinced by his previrions, or no ; whether we rate his ^isuth
sophy at a high figure, or treat it as a negadve qaaadty ; at the least we
must give him credit for earnestness in endeavouriaff to airive at the
truth, to enforce it, now by historical example, now by didaotie preoeply—
in short, to realise, in his own way, that ided of History which has boon
defined Philosophy teaching by Example.

The notion of reriewing Eitfopean literature in distnaet chapten, so
well as of narrating European history, is a mistake on Sir AxehibakPs

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lUiOas'8 HFTH TOLUHB. 411

part He i» not the nao fior it» Nothing, one eonid not help bdieving,
alter dipping into the chapter on Englidi lifteratore in toL i^ nodnng
aould be woraa than that surrej of home produotiont. Bnt the chaptw
<m Gernan aothonhip in vol. ▼. beats it hollow in badnew. We ha^e
not flpaee to dwell' on prooft of the writer^s inoompetenoy to deal inA his
large sabject But the reader shall judge, by two instimces, how deeply
die learned baroaet must have studied the celebrities and dassios of the
VgOerkmd.

fie deseribes Stransi^s LeUn Jem as the leadbg wofk of the *^ Rational
9ehool of diTineS)" the object of which is, he^says, to explain away every
miraculous event, to solve evenr dark enigma, to elude every metaphysical
diAcnlty connected widi the Christian faith, and to reduce it to a sublime
and benefieent system cf morality, whsob reason mmr emfaraae without
difficulty, and reflection adhere to without regret. Strauss, it seems^ is
Ae bead, Ae^fitciB prme^p^y the representative man, of a school winch
teadies that ** oar Saviour was a wise and virtuous man, vrboBe preeepts
it woold be well if the world would follow; hot onlv ia a greater degpree
than Confucius, Socrates, or Plato,, illimrinatsd by Divme lisht. All the
peculiar dootrines of Christianity, the Trinity, the Ckidhead of oar Saviour,
the Fall of Man^ the Redemption, are either denied or passed over with
iwv Mttle consideratiBin, as toiding only to immerse the mind in abstract
8H metap&ysical questions, to me ne^ect of the weigfatisr matters of
the law."

We had always taken Strauss's work to be a reaction from the views
of tiie ^Rational School" — the myth to be a doctrine ^deiA con-
trary" to the natocaUsm of Sender and Panlus. Can Sir Ardnbald
Alison have really read ^ JPAge of tiiat Strauss whose aim it was to demo-
firii the entire system of Rational Divinity, whose scheme dilbrs as un-
eompromisingly from the Naturalists as from the Supranaturalists, from
Ptalus of Stottgart as from Paul of Tarsus, but whom Sir Arc^bald
lepsoscnts as the most able and influential advocate of those Rational
divines, who( <* without openly disputing the fundamental doctrines of
Christianity" (tins of Siranssf), profess to '' establish them on what is
dewed tiie solid basis of trotit and reason" ? If the same terms were
need in reviewing ICss Hartineau's correspondence with Mr. Atkinson,
Ifaey conld hardly be more out of ^lace.

Fbor consolation, therefore, can it afford those who are dismayed at the
possible tendencies of Straose's revolntionary doctrine, to be assured, as
Sir Archibald Alison undertakes to assure them, that ^ there does not
appear to be any real ground for these i^prebensions." Before they can
be tianquillised l^ his opiniott on the subject, they will prefer having
some sKffht groand for sopposing him to have met whh Strauss, and dis-
covered hn relation by antagonism to the Rational Schod. As the case
■ow stands, there is every leosoii to suspect that the historian's acquaint-
ance with the anti-Christian, anti-natoralist, anti-theist in question, is
jast idKNit equal to that enjoyed by good Dn Chalmers, when, being
urged by ThMudE to read Strauss — as amere matter of dut^ for aRegius
Professor of Divinity and ^'foremost man" in the Soottish kirk— the
simple honest doctor eidaimed: ** Well, I will read it, I will indeed;''
and then wistfully added, ^ Is it a big book, yoa ?* Not big enov^
evidentiy, to have cost Alison much time or pains in the reading.

2e 2

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412 Alison's fifth volume.

Again: ** Schlegel,'* writes the Historian of Europe, ^^ has a very Ingli
reputation in Grermany, and his Philosophy of History is often referred
to as containing profound and important views of human affiurs.*' Of
course the I'eader assumes that Froderiok Schlegel, the younger of Ae
hrothers, is meant; for he, not William, wrote the ^'Phibsophy of
History.**

But in the same paragraph, and speaking of the same Schlegel, the
author of the *^ Philosophy of Hislory," Sir Archibald g^oes on to si^,
that perhaps nowhere in literature, ancient or modem, is to be found a
higher perception of the objects of art, a more generous appreciatioa of
genius, than in his Lectures on the Drama!

Oh, then, it is William, all the while, that Sir A Alison is writiDg
about ; for William was the Lecturer on the Drama, a fact as well known
in England (thanks to Mr. Black) as in Germany.

But no : it is not William. For the next sentence tells us that his
.^thetics are models of refined feeling and just criticism, however he
may have failed in the I^ilosophy of History. Both the jEstheOes and
the Philosophy of History being Frederick's.

Our natural inference at the close of the paragraph was, that Sir
Archibald was not aware of the existence of two Scnlegels, and attri-
buted to one the productions of both. But a doxen pages farther on,
after disposing of Clausewitz, and the Archduke Charles, and Von Ense,
and (Ehlenscnlager, and Jean Paul, and Kant, and Madame Hahn*Hahn,
and others, who should turn up but Frederick Schlegel, who is grmvdy
introduced as '* brother to the great aesthetic essayist," and duly com-
mended as a '' very eminent man.** It is a Comedy of Errors, and we are
almost left in doubt after all as to ^' which is which."

This literary chapter abounds with* critical parallels, arranged in what
Tony Lumpkin styles " a concatenation accordingly ;*' a mode of te^eat*
ment hugely affected by Sir Archibald. For example : Schiller'a ^< mind
was not graphic, like that of Homer ; nor profound, like that of Shak-
speare ; nor tender, like those of Virgil or Racine ; but simply heroie.'
He '^had studied human nature; but it was neither in real life, like
Goethe, nor on the opera stage, like Metastasio, nor in the dreams of
aristocratic republicanism, like Alfieri." Schiller^s lyrics are said to
** unite the burning thoughts of Gray, the condensed expression of
Campbell, to the varied pictures of Collins, the poetic fire of Pindar.**
Klopstock's lyrics are '* not so graphic or varied as those of Goethe^ nor
so lofty and chivalrous as those of Schiller : they have not the exquisite
rural pictures of Uhland, nor the varied earth- wide panorama of Freili-
grath.** Kotzebue '<had neither the heroic soul and ardent sforitof
Schiller, nor the exquisite pathos and profound knowledge of manldnd
which captivate all in Goethe** — *^ his imagination for the construotion of
dramas was as prolific as that of Lope de Vega, his subjects as varied as
those of Voltaire.** The German writers of comedy ^* have neithw the
delicate satire of Moliire, nor die playful wit of Sheridan, nor the inex-
haustible invention of Lope de Vega, nor the ludicrous hrce of GoldoDl"
Freiligraih <' is not heart-stirring and sublime like Komer, nor wild and
romantic as Biirger.** Ruckhart ''is neither profound and pathetic like
Goethci nor noble and chivaboos like SdnUer: he is more akin to

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Alison's fifth yoluhs. 413

Wi^land,** — and again, << he is more akin to Horace than J^indan"
Andersen's <* animal" stories <<have not the deep insight into human
nature which distingubhes the somewhat similar fictions of La Fontaine,
nor the amusing prattle of Gay," &c. Thorwaldsen *' has not the vast
imagination and daring genius of Michael Angelo, but neither has he his
biaarre and sometimes grotesque conceptions. Not less refined in taste
and delicate in execution than Canova, he is more original." Jean Paul's
norels '' have neither the deep thought of Byron, nor the admirable wit
of Cervantes, nor the sagacious insight into die heart, of Scott or
Bulwer."

The speed at which the learned baronet writes will readily explain,
but hardly excuse, the carelessness which pervades his composition. We
have iterations and' reiterations of favourite phrases to a palling, not to
say an appalling, extent. Of Goethe, Sir Archibald asserts, that, ** con-
trary to what is often observable in men of genius, the most minute
fcrutiny will not detect, in the whole of his voluminous works, a sinc^le
repedtion of the same idea, or one expression twice repeated.*' In this
particular, Sir Archibald for his part resembles, not Goethe, but the men
of genius. Take, for instance, the everlasting recurrence in tliis volume
of the word " Fatherland,** which the stage grandfather of maudlin
German melodrama could not repeat more frequently, in the senile
dotage of his beery patriotism. Thus we are told of the thirty-five
years of peace that have *' blessed the inhabitants and developed the re-
sooroes of the Fatherland,'* — " the melancholy traces of the Thirty
Tears' War . . . visible on the Fatherland," — the educational schemes of
'* the rulers of the Fatherland," — '* the Fatherland exhibiting the pleas-
ing spectacle of unanimity and concord springing out of social happi-
ness,"— Komer reflecting ** the feelings which then shook to the centre
every heart in the Fatherland," — ^the Grerman youth ^< who had struck
for the Fatherland," — Fatherland railways, alias '' the spacious network
of iron communication which overspreads the Fatherland," — ^the Pro-
testant absorption of " the whole genius and intelligence of the Father-
land,"— the "convulsion" which n848) "was longer of coming on the
Fatherland," — the frequent repetition of Goethe's lyrical stanzas " hy the
children of the Fatherland," — J&omer, " this remarkable man," was " the
Tyrtseus of the Fatherland," — " Scott, Bulwer, and Madame de Stae),
have met with no rival in the Fatherland," — the philo-Teutonie ways
and means of " the Teutonic race, when they settled in the Fatherland,"
-—the share German literature had in " effecting the deliverance of the
Fatherland," — and the sure destiny of Handers works, to " continue,
like the poems of Homer, to enchant successive generations, and per-
petuate, in the most aerial of the fine arts, the glory of the Fatherland."
" On a remarque," says an eminent critic, " que Madame de Stael pro-
dignait la vie ; elle-mtoe a remarqu^ quo M. de Guibert, dans son dis-
eonrs de r^ption k TAcad^mie, r^pete, je ne sais combien de fois,^ le
mot de gUnre /' adding, that one great poet is perpetually introducing
Vharmome and le$ flots ; another, des giants^ &c. Our Scottish His-
torian has a goodly collection of phrases ever in request. The Father-
land is but a modest unit in the swelling throng,
lliere is a duster of phrases, for instance, in constant demand, con-

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414 AUSaiffS WJFEB TOLUlffi.

neoted with <be hmxt of mm, the heert-BtiniBg, and the secret qpriogi
of the human heart Thus, Goethe " has ftrudk into the deep raoaiMS
of the mind of man*' — has worked out that rich mine, *'ibe human
heart^ — ^his Faust showing ^< profound knowledge of the human heaxk^**
— and WiOiebn Meitter, &c., ^'a profound knowledge of the hnmas
heart." S<^ler *^ had not the profound knowledge of the human heart
as it exists in ordinary men, which strikes us in every page of GSoethe."
Of Konier <4t cannot be said that his pieces have the profound know-
ledge of the heart, and the secret springs of life, which chacactense the
works of Goethe." Haklander ** has not the profound knowledge of the
human heart .... whiidi distinguishes the works of" Bulwer.

Then again for the '* secret springs.'' Goethe had a ** vast acquaintaaae
with the secret springs of action.* The *^ world-wide celehritj" of his
Faust is above all owins" ^* to the secret qmngs of evil which it exhibits."
His novels and plajs dK>w *'a complete aoquaintance with the eeoMt
springs of evil which are for ever springing up in the breast/' His
" comedies prove he was as th<Nx>ugh a master of the secret swings ef
Tanity," 8ic. Komer, was, comparatively, not up to *^ the secret apo^gs
of lire." A propos of Schlegel's Philosophy of Histor}', ^* without entire
liberty of thought and action it is vain to expect that die secret qftfingt
of events are to be discovered."

Then again for the " heartening." Burger's ^' conceptions are oftea
terrific, his language heart-stirring." Komer's was a '^ lofty and mag-
nanimous soul which stirred the heE^t of Germany, as with the souimI of
a trumpet" Frmligrath ** is not heart-stirring and sublime like Kdm«r."
The Archduke Chiu'les has worthily recorded his '' hoart-etirfi^g aa»-
pa^" in 1799. Shakspeare ^' uttered such heart-atimng sentimeots at
the court of Queen Elisabeth," &c.

Scotticisms are of course to be met with, but lees plentifully than iMuaL
We have '^will" for «< shall:" e.g., <<subeeaueDt vmters have extracted
much which they hove rendered interesting from his [Niebuhr's] pages ;
but we will search for it in vain in those pi^jes themselves." We have
the £ivourite at more freqviently than is desimble : €. ^., '* the Polish
emigntnts .... inspired with the most violent hatred at the moQa^
diical party," &c ; '* the general animostly of the other members at 2L
Thiers;" " he [Thiers] felt throughout a cordial hatrod at the r^ume of
the Restoration," &c.

Awkwardly, or incompletely, or ambiguously expressed passages thsM
are, enough and to spare. The following is not a model of lu«d alate-
meni : << Many of its [the Kational Guard] battalions never made diav
appearance at all ; of those whidi did eome, nearly two-thirda won
lUbeent." Nor this of structural elmmce : ** Had they [Earl Grey «Eid
CCoonell] remained united, he is a bold man who should have predioted
vi^t would have been the preasnt state of the British Emmire." ller
can vre read with unalloyed gratification, senienoes about Uie bn^giMK
dass |< taking refuge in tiie Aspaaias of the theatre fixr relaxatiQn,"---e%
sp^Jdng of Moart's music, *^ the thnllii^ thoughts^ which, esMsgiiigt
as it were, ihrouffh the chinks of thooffht, fill the minds of all who fcal
ibis influence wiui symoathetie rapture/' — or << Chass^ not feeling him-
self able-to implement the terms of the original capitulation," kc

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Alison's bjfxh volume. 415

More palpable inaccuracies occur in due proportion. In the general
literature of Germany '^ is to be seen the traces of genius chafing against
the fetters of conventionalUai.^ The Adyentpres of the Duchesse de
Berri '* exceed anything that erer figured in romance or described in
poetry.'' M* Trmt is made (Jepauvr^homme /) to say of M. Guemon,
oefiore the Chamber of Peers* *'I see at the bar he who first placed the
tnesAar flag on the palace of your ancient sovereign.'* Nor can we
acquiesce with perfect confidence in certain of Sir Archibald's transla-
tions bom the French and German. Is " the * Relatives by Aflinity* " a
true rendering, either in letter or spirit, of the polysyllabic title of Goethe'^
odious novel ? '' La Organisation des MuntoipaliUs^*^ introduces a
new disposition of the article. Vive les Sieves de VEcoU PolyUch^
nigueT is worthy of the play-bills which pray ^'Yivat Eegina et
Princeps!" Thiers we are told, ^had no associations with ja veille
FroMctJ^ Barere is made to propound the maxim, << II n*a que les morts
qui He reviennent pas." Some sensitive Gauls will think it almost enough
to make Barere mort arise and revenir^ to protest against thb perversion
c^his once lively paiis of ipeech*

We have kid undue stress on s%s and skrs of this kind, if we have
led the reader to suppose them to assume a prominence in the original
volume any «my proportionate to that in the present notice. To Sir
Aichibald himself we need make no humble apologies for the liberties
we have taken. He is too impregnably intrendbed in historical difi^ity
and self-ieqpect to heed our nibblings. Perhaps the reader wul he
amused at a passing illustration of the learned baronet's self-appraisaL
In chapL xxxi. he is contending that measures of real utility, though
^* not unknown in a free community," yet rarely originate either with the
Administration or the Legislature, but '' are forcad upon them, some-
tiiaes by the weight of arguments, urged by a few powerful minds at a
distamce from the arena of party conflicts :" and then what should come
but a note, quoting largely from one of Sir Archibald's pikers in
Blaekwood^ in which paper his *' powerfiul mind" had <' urged" on the
British Government, and *< at a distance from the arena of party conflict,"
certain maaaures to be adopted in a sound Irish policy, " six weeks before
the Government measures were brought forward^"* Not that we have
the remotest wish to overlook or deny the historian's sagacity. It has,
indeed, been approved and ^nfirmed in various ways, by a sometimes
disastrous experience ; and political antagonists, were they as candid as
he is, would own as much, more freely and more frequently tiian they do.

* Hist, of Europe, vol. v. p. 385 and note.

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416

LTICrS ADVENTTJEB.

I don't see why I should not tell you Lucy's adventure. We always
tsall It ** Lucy's Adventure,*' or ** Lucy's Romance," because it was the
only romantic event that ever happened to Lucy. It is many years ago
now, as you may suppose, for she was then only eight-and-twenty. We
had just got Mary's wedding over, which took place on the expiratioD
of the first year's moumiog for our mother. A relative of ours, Mrs.
Copp, had come on a visit to us at Seaford, to superintend the prepara*
tions for Mary's marriage, and to chaperone us till it was over, as we
three sisters lived alone. Aunt Copp called us the girls, though I was
turned thirty, and I am sure more steady than she was. She was a
widow, about five-and-forty, desperately bustline and active, and much
eiven to interfering in everybody s business. When I incautiously wrote
her word how near Mary's union was with Dr. Goring, instead of re-
ceiving an answer, saying she was pleased to hear it, and hoped it would
prove happy, or something of that sort, who should arrive by the morning
mail but Aunt Copp herself, followed, in the course of the day, by a sea-
chest, two hair-trunks, and two bandboxes, which had come by another
conveyance, the mail having refused to carry them. We were qnite
petrified at seeing all these trunks, and knew she had made up her mind
to a lengthy stay, which was not an agreeable prospect. She had
volunteered a visit at the time of mamma's death, remaining three
months, and a regular worry she was to us. Not a bit of crape could
we begin to hem, but Aunt Copp would fling on her tortoiseshell
spectacles, come peering at it, and find some fault It was not cut
straight ; or it was begun at the wrong end ; or the hem was not broad
enough ; and she would whisk it out of our hands, draw out the stitches
at one pull, and make us begin it according to her own notions. Not a
thing could I steal into the kitchen to do, leaving her safe, as I hoped,
with Lucy and Mary, but in five minutes she had ferreted me out. I
was putting too much stuffing in the duck, and Phoeby had overboiled
the onions ; or — that was not enough jam for the roUy-pudding ! and
she'd have no salt put in the crust, she hated salt ! It was especially
provoking to me, who pride myself upon being an efficient seamstress and
nousewife, and Phoeby came to my b^room one day, in desperation, and
said if Mrs. Copp stayed, she should go. So, to see her, and all this
luggage arrive, a few days before Mary's marriage, flustered us exceed-
ingly.

'^ Now what do you three girls think of yourselves, not to have sent
for me ?" she began. '^ Did you ever hear of a young girl being nuinied
from a house, without a matron in it to countenance her?"

The idea had not occurred to us. And I, with my naturally steady
character, which a disappointment in early life had helped to render even
more sedate, believed I was as good a guide and protector to Mary u
any matron could be. I ventured to hint as much.

** Quite false ideas !" called out Aunt Copp, without giving me time
to finbh. '* Never was such a thing heard of, I tell you, as a young lass
gmng out of a house where there was no married woman in it. For my

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LUCY'S ADVENTUBK. 417

Crt, I question if such a wedding would stand good. Why you would
TO been the talk of the country round. And Mary such a child !''

'< I am twenty, Aunt Copp," interrupted Mary.

" Twenty I" scornfully ejaculated Aunt Copp. ** So was I twenty,
when I married my poor dead-and-gone sulor-nusband, and a precious
goose he found me. I was one-and-twenty when my darhng boy waft
bom (I had a letter from him last week, girls, and he's made first mate
now, through the other one going off with yellow fever ; and was beating
about in a calm in the Pacific, which gave him time to write), and a
precious goose of a mother he found me, the innocent baby ! So don't
boast to me of your twenty years, Mary ; go and tell it to the marines.
What should three incapable gprls know about the management necessary
at a wedding P Have you thought to order the cake ?"

** Oh yes, we have done that*^

<< And to get cards printed ?"

"And that also."

"And the style of setting-out the breakfast? Have you discussed
tbatr

"Notyef*

" I thought so,*' groaned Aunt Copp. *'No ship-shape arrangements
beforehand, no consultations, no nothing. A pretty muadle you'll be in,
when the morning comes I be leaving the dressing of the table to Phceby,
or some such carelessness. %he'll put the fowls at the side, and tne
custards round with the glasses, for, of all incapable headpieces, that
woman's is the worst. Of course you'll have custards ?"

" If you think it necessary. Aunt Copp," I said, " but we do not wish
any needless show or expense. Besides the clerfl;yman and his wife, and
one or two more friends, there will only be ourselves and Alfred."

" Why you have never gone and sent for Alfred ?" snapped Aunt
Copp : not that she was really ill-tempered, but she had a way of snapping
pec^e.

" Alfred is to marry me, Aunt Copp," interposed Mary.

** Lord help ye, for three thoughtless simpletons— and him for another!
A poor fellow, whose living is but a hundred and seventy-five pounds a
year, fees included, and his wife sick, and his children coming on as thick
as blackberries, to be dragged across the country a hundred miles to
many a child 1 It will be four pounds out of his pocket !"

**It will not be out of his pocket, Aunt Copp," interrupted Lucy, in a
nettled tone ; " we have taken care of that." But Aunt Copp only
grunted for answer. She never would allow that we did anything right.

•* And pray, Miss Lucy, is there anything of the sort a-gate for you?"
she went on.

" Why, Aunt Copp l" ejaculated Lucy, laughing and blushing. " Of
course not."

" I don't see any *of course,' in the matter. If Hester means to live
and die an old maid, it's no reason why you should. I advise you to set
about looking out for a suitable husband. Keep your weather-eye open,
and— dear me! the very thing I"

This concluding exclamation, in a changed tone of voice, as if Aunt
Copp had just recollected something, caused us to look at her.

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41S LUOr'fl ADYENTUBB.

« I with to goodaaas Iknew wheie he was boondio! Bot, yoa me^
when I got out^ he went on in the mail."

<< What is it you are talking o^ Aunt Copp.?^

«< Such a ohanoing gentlenianl He was my fidiow^paasengar. Where
he oame from I oan't tell yon, for he was in themail when I got in. A
fine man as yoa'd wish to see, six hoi hi^ with a full hlne eye, and a
colour like * red cabbage. He told me he was looking out for a wife^
had come out» traTclling^ to find one, and meant to marry as soon as he
had found hor. It woidd be the very thing for Lucy ! I dedare, if he
were wi^iin reasonable distance, I'd send my card and ask him Jto tea. I
know I should get him for you, Luqy."

*< Beallv, Aunt Copp, you are growing old and ridiculous^" xe^Mmded
Lucy, unoecided whether to laugh or be angry*

<<01d am I! Ridiculous am IT bridled Aunt Copp^ in a &aj\
<< everybody don't think so. Why, he wanted to try it on with me, I
could see he did, a handsome man like him, and not a day more than
five or six-and-thirty. He did. Miss Lucy, and you need not begin
grinning there. -We had the mail to ourselves, or as good, for Ae hX
farmer, who took up the opposite seat, nearly from side to side^ was
snoring all night. Very polite indeed he was, and very respectful, qiute
the gentleman in his mannas, and would keep on kissing my hand, fiut
I volunteered to tell him I had been married onoe, wluch I had fbnnd
quite enough, and I did not purpose takiiu^ another, preferring to remain
my own miatvess, besides having a dear son, who was chiefoffioer of a
splendid two-decker, now becalmed in the Pacific (unless the wind should
have got vm sinoe), and that I had no love to spare from my boy for the
best second husband Uwt could ofibr. Whereupon my gentleman turned
sulky, and gathered himself up in his corner. Old am I ! Just put that
window iu^ Maiy. I'm hot.

So we had to endure Aunt Copp's company, and make the best of it.
But before Mary's wedding morning arrived, and her handsome yom^
bridegroom came and took her away, our managing aunt had tried our
patience severely.

Very dull we teUt, the day after the wedding, Friday. Aunt Cow was
setting things to rights in the house, and worrying Phceby in the kitchen,
but I and Lucy seemed not to know what to do with ourselves. Alfred
had left us eany in the morning, so as to get home before Saturdayt
When dinner was over, Lucy proposed a walk.

" Let us go and look at the haymaking," acqniesoed Aunt Copp.
^ The smell of it, coming in here at the windows, puts me in mind of mj
young days, when I tumbled over the hayeocks with the best of them.**

Acconunffly we went into the hayfield ; one rented by the rector, Ms.
Williams. Hje was there, with his wife and little boys,.at work in his
shirt sleeves. <* That's right, young ladies," he called out, when he aaw
OSS ^^cone and aoatter the hi^ about: the mora it's opened to die sun,
the better, this hot afkemoon. A pleasant^ rural scene this, ma'am " —
to Aunt Copp.

*' Yes, sir. I was telling the girls that the smell made me believe
smelf jQWBtg again. I Mve not been in the way of it much* Mr.
'^iVilliams,snMel8etdedinli&: what with living in seaport towns, where

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LUOr'8 iUXl^iElinDUSE. 419

^nie's aoie HMeti irith aothiBg but t«r and pitch, and foiag Toyages with
my hoeband, wheie ooe is abut up in a doie abip, and never sees a fiaU
for monihsy or seenis anything bat salt brine. Tbue, HeatoT

Aunt Copp, with b^ great strong aims, bad seiied hold of a whole
haycock, and dashed it on me. That was the commenoement of the apcMrt
We kughed, and scieamed, and smothered each other in hay, mm.
Williams and Luey being Coxemost in the fray.

Afier two hours' fiui, we were leaving the field, tired, heated, and
thirsty, saying we would return after tea, when Aunt Copp, who had
rushed up to a haycock, some few of whidi were left intact near the
entrance, intending to favour me and Lucy with a partiqg salute from
bdnnd, gave a great scream, which caused us both to look round.

Well done, Aunt Copp 1 Instead of securing the mound of hay, her
arpa had got entangled round the neck of a gentfenum, who bad stretched
himeelf to recline on the ofiMde of it, and had fiJlen into a doae.

*^ Good Heavens above !" ejaculated Aunt C<^p. '^ I beg your pardon,
air. I thought I was laying bold of nothii^ but the haycock."

'' No oflbnee, ma'am. I wish you*d put your arms there again. Ah,
my dear regretted fellow-traveller, what, is it you I How do you find
yourself by this time ? I have been up and down the country ever sinoe.
I forgot, you must know, the name or the place wheie you stopped, 90 I
thought I'd take all the stopping places of the mail, one by one, which I
did, and came here, in rotatbn, this afternoon, intending to pay my
respects to you. What two deiigbtftd ladies !"

<^ They are my meees," returned Aunt Copp. "Miss Halliwell, and
ACasLuoyHalHwell."

"And I am Captain Kerleton — if you will allow me to introduce
myself; fonnerly serving with my regiment in India, but the duty did
not agree witti me, and I sold out Would this little ^ot be a pleasant
part dF the country to stop in, for a week or two, think you ?"

** Very," cried Aunt Copp, impressively. " And the Seaford Arms is
an excellent inn."

"ThoBl'moffforit Which is the road ?"

" There," replied aunt, pointing in the direction of the village, *^ about
five minutes' walk. But won't you step in with us, and take a cup of
tea? It will refresh you, this hot afternoon. Our house is dose by.
.Girls," she added, seising a mimite to whisper to us, as we were walking
home, for the stranger eagerly accepted the invitation, "this is the
gisntfeman I tdd you of, the one in the mail, you know, wIk> wants a
wife. So look out, Lucy."

Lucy felt annoyed, and naturally. She was a most retiring-minded
gill, and had a genuine horror of thrusting herself forward to attract the
notiee a£ gentlemen. Neither was I plcMd. For it seemed to me not
Eight of Aunt Comp to ask him to our house in that unoeremonious
manner. What duiahe know of Captain Kerleton ? He mi^t be an
adyentmrer, a swindler,for all she could tell to the contrary. As it turned
oui^ he was a gentleman, oi good fianuly and fortune, but no thanks to
the prudence of Aunt Copp. The &ct was, Aunt Ccm had been con-
nected with seafSuring people so long, that she had imuhed a touch ci
their free-and-easy notions, and had become almost as op«n*haaited in
her manners as h^ deceased husband, the late mercbant-captam.

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420 luct's adventure-

Captun KerletOQ took up his quarters at the Seaford Arms, and a gaj
time of it ensued. The whole neighbourhood undertook to patrooiM
him, especially the houses which contained grown-up daughters, for his
fortune, really a good one, report had magnified to one three times
aslarge. Picnic parties, evening parties, haymaking parties followed
close upon each other, some of which owned Aunt Copp for the pro-
jector : take it for all in all, I don't remember that our quiet village had
ever been so g^ay. Captain Kerleton did his utmost to render himself
agreeable: would run his head off to fetch and carry, at any lady's whim ;
dance himself lame, and sing himself hoarse ; and, when once he wot
set on to dance and sing, there was no stopping him. On the whole, I
liked his manners, and the Seaford Arms gave a pleasant account of his
quiet, gentlemanly habits, but there was one trick of his which was a
very strange one — that of staring. He would sometimes be seized li^h
one of these staring fits, and then he would sit in his chair, and look
somebody straight in the face for a quarter of an hour together, and
never once move his eyes. Sometimes it would be Aunt Copp, sometimes
me, somedmes Lucy, and sometimes others : I think it was all the same
to the captain. Once it was Phoeby. He had gone into the kitchen to
ask her to brush his coat, which, in walking up to our house, had acci-
dentally acquired some dust, and there he sat himself down, and stared at
Phoeby, till the girl eot so confused that she sidled out of the kitchen
and left him to it, bolting herself in the backhouse.

One morning we were seated at the open window of our front parlour,
busy over some shirts and bands for Alfred (for his poor wife had enough
to do with her children and her household cares, without thinking of new
shirts and bands for the parson), and conversing, sadly enough, of the
future prospects of myself and sister, which were anything but distinct,
when some scarlet object came looming up the road in the distance. Lucy
saw it first, and we all looked up, through the closed Venetian blinds.
The sun shone, hot and bright, and the scarlet was intermingled with
something that glittered like gold, and dazzled the sight.

'^ Groodness heart alive !" exclaimed Aunt Copp, after a puzzled gaze
through her spectacles, '4f it isn't Captain Kerleton in his r^-
mentals !"

^ We had never seen the captain in his regimentals, and a very imposing
sight it was. He detected us at the window, • and walked strai^t up
to it

^* (jood morning, ladies," he said, putting his face dose to the Mind.
'' Is not this a blazins^ day?"

*' Something else looks blazing, I think, captiun," cried Aunt Copp.
" We did not know you."

*^ You mean me in my regimentals, I suppose," returned the captain ;
"they came down last night I should have had them before, but the
servants at home made a mistake and sent my brother's. He is in Scot-
land— gone to look after his property— or it would not have happened.
'What are you working at so attentiveljr, Miss Lucy?*'

^< I am stitching a wristband, Captam Kerleton."

"Not forme. Miss Lucy?"

" No," laughed Lucy, " for my brother."

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LUCT'fl ADVENTURE. 42 1

'Perhaps the time may come, Miss Lucy, when you will stilch

mine.

Aunt Copp gave a significant cough, and Lucy, after a surprised
glance upwards, blushed deeply, and went on fast with her stitching.

** Wilt you walk in, captain ?" said Mrs. Copp. , << You will find the
firont door open."

'< Not this morning," replied the captam. '' I only came to bring
this — ^if you'll please to open the blind."

Aunt Copp drew open the half of the Yenetian blind, and the captain
thrust in a small parcel, tied up in white paper, turning short away as
soon as Aunt Copp had got it in her hands. There was no direction,
and she turned it about in uncertainty.

" Captain Kerleton," she called after him, '< what's this for ? Is it to
be opened ?"

<< Opened 1 Of course," answered the captain, whirling his head round
to speak, his legs striding away all the while, *' I did not bring it for
anything else."

What on earth should be in this parcel but a green and gold book, and
a small, beautifully enamelled lady's watch, in a case. We opened the
book, fiill of curiosity. " Advice to Young Ladies about to enter into
Housekeeping. By a Clera^man's Wife." And on the fly-leaf was
written, " For the future Mrs. Kerleton, with respectful regards." On
the paper enclosing the watch was written *' Miss Lucy."

'^ Well, if ever I saw such a start as this !" uttered Aunt Copp, while
Lucy's face turned pf an indignant red.

'^ It is shameful. Aunt Copp ! It is quite indecent of you ! You
have been saying something to nim about me. I am sure of it !"

*' I declare to goodness I have not," fired Aunt Copp. ^* This offer of
marriage—for it's nothing less — ^has come horn his own free will, and
from no talking of mine. Shan't we have a nice time of it, getting her
wedding things ready, Hester ?"

'* Aunt Copp, I always thought you were an idiot, and now I know
it," retorted Lucy, struggling between tears and rage. '^ Offer of mar-
riage, indeed! If it is an offer of marriage, you may take it to yourself.
Hester, just pack the watch back again to the Seaford Arms; send
Phoeby with it. Thank goodness, my name was not on the book, so
Aunt Copp can do as she chooses with that — keep it fl)r herself, and tell
him so."

Lucy's tirade was cut short, for the blind was again pushed partly open,
and a scarlet wrist came in.

'' I beg your pardon," cried the captain's voice, " I forgot this." Aunt
Copp involuntarily stretched forth her hand, and received another packet,
sinularto the one which had contained the watch, the captain darting off
as before, at the military pace of a forced march.

" Miss Lucy HalliweU," read aunt again, through her spectacles.

" I won't have it I call him back ! throw it after him I" exclaimed
Lucy. But Aunt Copp told her she knew better what she was about, %
and opened it.

A pretty gold chain, and the key of the watch.

" Well, my dear," said Aunt Cc^p, **yott are in luck."

'< Luck !" irascibly uttered Lucy. <' The man's a fooL"

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422 EtTCT'S ABVENTDBE.

''I know who 18 a greater,'' rejoined Aunt Copp, hnghing sod lookiii^
at Lucy.

^ Hester," exdaimed Lucy, *^ I appeal to jou; Is it right — is it in ac-
cordance with good manners, his poking diese tfainga in at die window ?
Ought they not tx> be sent back instantly T

** It is in accordance with good-nature, Lucy," I replied ; •* and to ft»r-
ward them back, in haste, aa you sugge^ would be returning inrndt for
kindness. When he next calls, let^unt Copp give him the preaeBtB,
and civilly inftynn him that you cannot aecept tlMm."

" I wish you may get me to do it," cried Aunt Copp. ** * There is a
tide in iftie 9,fhm of man,' and Lucy has now got hers.''

So the task fell to me. And when the captain called Aat afternoon
(still in his regimeatals), I went to him alone. But before I had wdl
entered upon the subject, Captain Kerleton interrupted me, and made
Lucy a very handsome o^. I was at a nonplus : not knowing*, now
the affair came to be put on this regular footing, whether Lucy would
have him or not I went into the next room.

** Have him? of course^" eried Annt Copp.

** Have him ? of oourse- not," reputed Lucy.

^ Niece Lucy, the matter is senous now, and you most not be ehiHirfi
over it. What is your objection ?"

'< I don't know enough of hira,'^ urged Lm^. ** Consider, Aunt Copfi,
it is not a fortnight since we first set eyes on him. The idea of pgomisuig
to marry a man after a fortnight's acquaintance!"

'^ You need not marry him, off-hand^— or promise to. Yon can tdl him
you wish to see alittle m(H« of him before aeci<Bng : that will be nather
accepting nor rejecting, and give yon botibi time to improve your acquaint-
ance with each other. PU manage it."

Before we cotdd prevent her, she dashed out of the room, and joined
the captain, whom we could hear whistling, as he leaned from the window.
What she said to him neither I nor Lucy knew, but she presently re-
appeared wilhthe captain in her wake; and the latter, in the most ridicu-
lous manner, fell on his regimental marrow»bones (as Annt Copp ex-
pressed it afterwards) and b%an kissing Lucy's hand.

When we could get him off his knees and his herotci^ whidi I thought
was never going tc^ be aecompfished, I and Aunt Copp endeavoured to
convince him how titie case stood : that he was' not to look upon Lucy as
engaged to him, but that she was willing to meet him, as an acquaintance,
till they had seen more of each otfier. Oh jeB^ yes, he agreed to every-
thing, too glad to do it, except to taking back the presents. He grew
excited when it was named, and said that we should never mention it
again, unless we wished to cut him to the throat. Whether he uninten-
tionally substituted that word for heart, or whether he really contem-
plated making an illegitimate use of his shavins^ razors, in case his
presents were rejected, we did not dearly comprdiend. ** Never mind
the presents, Lucy," cried Annt Copp, *^ don't o£fend him: it will be
*time enough to send them back if you nnally reject him.'*

So Captain Kerleton stayed on, at the Seaford Arms, and Avnt Cof^
stayed on with us, for she argued that to leave Lucy at sad^ a crWcal
penod would not be ^riiip*-shape.*' It came to be rumoured aH about
the village that itm i

f captam ana Liicy were eng!^;ed, and some eoogratu-

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LVCfS ABVBNTUBB. 419

loted her, in spite of her denial, and some were msnom^ The etptaiit
had bought favour on all sides. When anybody gave a party, theie
would appear di^es of the eh<ncest fruit, the ofifermg of the captain, and
b(ssket8 of fish were perpetually arriving everywhere, with the captain's
card : he kept tiie younger ladies in gloves and bouquets, said once, when
a concert was to be given in the village, for the benefit of the poor music-
piaster, the captain bought up all die tickets, and treated' everybody*
Twice he scattered silver by the handful amongst l^e field labourers, ajnd
the village was in an uproar for days afterwaids, to the wrath of the
finmers and edification of the beer^hops. Nothing came amiss to the
captain's purse ; whatever he saw, he bought up and distributed, from
parcels of new book» to Ktters of sucking-pigs. As to Lucy, tne things that
axrived for her were ju9t as iacongruons. One morning l&ere was a knock
at the door, and imon Pboeby's answering it, an air otishion was deliv«!ed
to her; an hour anerwards there came another laK3ck, and thi» proved to
be the milllner'»girl, bearing a flaming rose-coloured bonnet and feathers.
Aunt Copp thought these two articles mfust be meant for her, not being
particularly suitable to Lucy : however, *3iey were put by with the rert of
the articles. As to remonstrating with Captain Kerleton, we had long
given ikai over as a bad job, and had no resource but to take the things
in. Many (^them came from, town, without address to send them back
to, and we did not choose tb raise a scandal, by despatdiing them to the
captain's apartments at ihe mn.

But things could not go on like ibis for ever, and Lucy felt that she
most accept or njeet Inrn. The captain felt so too, and came up one
day, and told. Lucy, in our presence, that he had been lying on tenter-
hooks all night (and for several previous nights be»des), and wtndd she
marry him.

^* I'll make her so happy,'' said the captain, appealing to Aunt Copp,
for Lucy escaped from we room ; ^* she shall have what she likes, and go
where she likes. Would she Kke to see China ?"

Aunt Copp thought not. It was too &r. 8he had once, herself,
been in the Chinese seas, and was ^ad, to her heart, to get into British
ones again.

'< Oh. Because distance is no object to me," explained the captain.

^' I think, Captain Kerleton, that Lucy would wish to see a littie of
your family," I suggested.

" There's not a soul of it left;, but me and my brother," answered the
captain. ** When he comes back from Scotlimd, I'll take Lucy up to
see him, ^ she Hkes : which would be a good opportunity for her to get
anytiiing in London she may want for the wedding."

He evidenUy spoke in no bad fiuth. He did make simple remarks
now and then, like one might expect to hear from a child.

^ That's not the fsslmm in our part of the country, eaptain," said
Aunt Copp, snamng him up. *^ Young ladies don't go on journeys
with gentlemen, before they are married to them."

^ But that is exadfy what I want," i«tomed tiie captain. << I have-
been ready to marry her, all along. It was Idiss Lucy who would not
Will she marry me to-morrow?"

^ Goodness, eaptam," reoMmstrated Aont Copp. << With so honse^

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424 Lucy's adventure.

and no establishment, and no anything! The neighboiin would tfabik
us all out of our senses together."

** WeU, the lone and the short of it is this, if Miss Lucy will not haTe
me, I shall go and find somebody else that will," cried the captain, turn-
ing sulky — an occasional failing of his. ''And FU go by the mail
to-night, if she does not give me an answer to-day."

Lucy gave him his answer — and accepted him. ''But, Hester,"
she said to me, " I do not care much for him.'' And I don't think she
did.

" I am not hotly in love, you know," she went on, laughing, " like
you were with somebody once upon a time. I don't fancy it is in my
constitution : or else our friend the captain has failed to call it forth."

It was decided that, before fixing on any place for a residence^ Cap-
tain Kerleton and Lncy should travel a little, after their marriage, taking
Paris first. Lucy wisued to live near me, and I thought of seUling in
London — as Lucy would have done also, had this marriage not inter-
vened. The captain was perfectly agreeable to anything : would stop
in the neighbourhood of Seaford^ or live in London, or be a fixture in
Paris, or steam it over to China. Everything that Lucy or Aunt Copp
suggested, he fell in with. He seemed to think more about persomd
trSes. " Would you like me to go through the ceremony in my regi-
mentals, Miss Lucy, or in plain clothes?" he inquired. " Such — let us
say — as a blue coat, white waistcoat, and black^ these things," slap-
ping his knee. " What is your advice ?"

It was a very home question, especially before us, ttnd Lucy blushed
excessively. " Perhaps Aunt Copp can tell ?" she stammered.

" Oh, as to those trifles, it's not a bit of consequence," iiTevcrently
answered Aunt Copp. " When you two have once got your wedding
over, you will know what nonsense it was to have made any fuss about
it — as we old married stagers can tell you. Captain, of course you will
have your brother down, to be groomsman?"

" No, I won't," replied the captain, bluntly. " He is the most inter-
fering fellow going, always meddling and tnwarting. You don't know
the scrapes he has fot me into, through his interference."

" But your own brother. Captain Kerleton," urged Aunt Copp. " It
would be so very unfilial."

. " Shouldn't care if he was my own mother," doggedly retorted the
captain. '* He is not coming down to my wedding."

But Aunt Copp was of a different opinion. And what should she do,
unknown to everybody, but despatch the following note to Major Kerle-
ton, the captain's brother, at his town-house :

''Dear Sir, — ^As we are soon to be near connexions, I make no
apology for addressing you. Captain Kerleton being about to marry
my niece. Miss Lucy Halliwell, I think it only seemly and right, that
you, as the captain's elder brother and nearest relative, should be present to
give your support and countenance to the ceremony. It will not take
phuse for three weeks or a month, and we are only now beginning the
preparations, but I write thus early to give an opportunity of my letter
bein^ forwarded to you in Scotland, where we hear you are staying.

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LUCT*S ADVENTUBE. 425

If you oblige me with a line in reply, stating that you accord us the
£Eiyonr of your company, I will write again and let you know when the
day is fixed. Remaining, dear sir^

" Your obedient servant,

'* Rebecca Copp.
*«MigorEerletoD.*'

And Aunt Copp hugged herself in secret over what she had done, and
told nobody.

Meanwhile we began to be actively engaged, getting Lucy ready for
her wedding. One morning we were in the midst of work, Miss Bowen
the dressmaker, who had come to us for the day, cutting out and con*
triving bodies, while we made skirts, when we saw Captain Kerleton ap-
proaching the house. So Lucy told Phoeby to say we were engaged, but
would see him in the afternoon.

But the capt^n insisted on seeing Lucy, assuring Phoeby he had
something very particular to communicate to her. So Lucy was obliged
to go to him.

The captain wanted Lucy to go for a walk — with, of course, me or
Aunt Copp ; for she was not in the habit of walking out alone with him.
Which was the ** particular communication " he had to make.

" It is out of my power this morning," sud Lucy to him. " We have
some work about, which we cannot quit."

« Leave them to do it," advised the captain ; " you come for a walk.
Come by yomrself : never mind what that old Aunt Copp says."

** They cannot do without me," replied Lucy. " The (uressmaker is
cutting out my morning dresses, and she wants me frequently to try
them on."

" Put it off till to-morrow," mrged the captain. " Work can be done
one day as well as another. See what a splendid morning it is."

" Miss Bowen will not be here to-morrow," rejoined Lucy. ** Indeed,
I cannot leave them now."

^^ But I want you to come," persisted Captain Kerleton, somewhat
(Lucy said subsequently) after the fractious manner of a spoiled child.
^* You must come. Yo\i*\l never go and set up your rubbish of work in
opposition to my wishes. Miss Lucy ?"

*' Do not put it in that light," said Lucy, gently. ^' My dresses must
be tried on, you know, or they cannot be made, and if I went out they
would be all at a stand-still. I shall be most happy to go with you later
in the day."

** Then you wonU g^ant me this simple favour ?"

" I can%" returned Lucy. And out rushed the captain, dashing-to
the firont door, and stamping away across the road.

In the evening he came again. We were at tea, taking it in the work-
room, for convenience' sake, when Phceby entered and said the captain
wanted to speak with me. ** Not Miss Lucy," Phoeby repeated, " you,
miss." I went in. Captain Kerleton was sitting in the easy-chair, and
looked very red and excited.

"Do you know how she behaved to me this morning?" he began,
without pre6ftee or ceremony.

"Who?" I asked.

VOL. XXXIX. 2 P

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4M LUOr'ft ADTEnUBXt

<'8ha Mi8tLu«y« I tkei her, a» the gwadtti fiwmy, to ga ftr •
fiMe walk with m», aad she toU me to mj faoe that she woold bo*.*^

'< She reaUy could not, Captain Kerletois'* I amweted ; ^I haifeM
douht she would have liked to do so. You must not fancy she acted from
any caprice > Loey is not capable of it"

'' She told me there was some trash of sewing going on, and ake had
to stop in for it.''

<«Itwa6thecaM.''

'< Well/' returned the captain, speaking in that dogged^ oketinale
maniier whieh now aod then oame over him, '< I look upon it in this
fight. When a young lady, who has promised to he your wife^ makes an
excuse that she can't go out with yon^ it is equivalent to saymg she wants
to break matters ofE That is how I have taken it."

'* Break— ^ what ?" I rejoined, staring at the captain with all my
eyes, and feeling myself turn into a cold perspiratioii.

'*Why I conclude that Miss Lucy wished to make known, in a
roundabout way, that she was tired of me. And I have acted upon it.*

<' Dear Captain Kerleton," I said, ^* you are entirely mistaken. I cat
assure you Lucy is perfectly ftti^fal to you. Hie work she had to stay
in for, was in prepcu^tion for hep marriage."

<* Well, it's •too late now," cried the captain, with redouUed obstinacy,
<^lor I think I know somebody who would suit me better."

I sat opposite to him, glued to ray chair, unable to utter a word, aod
wondering whether he had taken leave of his senses. He^ however^ was
not glued to his, for he suddenly rose from it, and dropped dawn on Ins
knees, elose to me.

'< My dear Miss Hestevf it's you^ and nobody dee. I do think yen the
most charming, amiable creature, and I have transferred my aflRpetion
fiPom Miss Lucy to you. WiU you have me ?"

I never was so taken aback in ray life, and a sutpieion did cieai me^ in
earnest, that Lucy's refusal in the morning must have sent the captain's
brains to flight. He would neither get up nor let roe^ hnving teken
forcible possession* of my hands. While we were in tlna ridieulous
position, who should come bustling into the room^ with the 8ugmr»bntiai
but Aunt Copp.

" Why what on earth Hester I what's the matter ?"

The captain took a step away from me, on his knees, and addwnscd
himself to Aunt Copp, a£RMrding me opportunity to riae up*

^* Miss Lucy has cut me, ma'am. 'Riat is, she i
as to make me cut her ; and my affections are now fixed on Mist '.
I was on the point of praying her to name her own dqr foe our union,
when you interrupted us."

<< Good patience deliver us !" uttered Aunt Cop^, hep naonth opening
with astonishment, and stopping sow '^ Whatever is all thia ?^

I could not speak for laughing then, the whole thing straek meaiio
supremely absurd. There knelt Captain Kerleton in A» 0fci4asriag
regimentals, his hands thrown theatrically out towards aunt, and his km
twisted into a die-away expression towaids me, while Aunt C<^ stood
arrested in the middle of the room, one hand supporting the sngar-kasin,
and the other the silver tongs, her face being tnmed to petnlhotioBy nn'
her eyes rolling from one to the other of us in a sort ef benror.

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LllCr^ AUVEATUJUt 4M

''NiMerHesten what w this? I uwrt upan kaovin^.'^

** I thkk Captain Kerkton Bnant to play off a lit^ joka with ma^
Aunt Copp/' I answered. '* Lucj, it seems, offended hire this motnaig ;
hnft timj wiU make it all ri^t again.''

*^ Bntf by Heayen, it is no joke, Miss Heater !" intermptad th»«aptn%
i^iiBgn^ apt << I mean it as real earnest."

^Then allow me, Captain Kerleton, to assese jou that I sfaaU nafvat
tevatit^bnt as a jolm, now and alwi^/' I ioopressiYeiT whispered. '^Aod
pray let neither of us recur to it agais eren in tbaogm.''

<*Then you won't have me? You meaa to inainaate thai?'' he
reiterated, aloud, pulling a face as long as ray tuem*

" I would not have you, Captain Kerleton, if you were worth your
wight in gdd. So let the joke pass away : and wa had better say
nothing about it to Lucy."

^^ Highty-tighty," cned Aunt Copp, recoyering from her -petrifaarion,
and coBung forwaid, '* but you can't do these things, captain. Shake off
one sister, atpleasare, and take up with aaather ! I see whaiitis : yam
hare heea getting-up your temper, becaase Lucy crossed yea this
morning. So now you must get it down again. We were just going
out to take a walk, and the best thing you can do is to go with ua. Why,
yon woald be as bad as a sailor*"

*^A saibr?" snUenfy repeated the captain.

<' Yes, sir, a sailor. They have sweetnearts by the donn, in each port^
and that^ well known. Many's the wvangle I hare had with my boy
about that : he vowing, by all that was bkMi, that he had not, and I
knowing he* had. Don't tell me. But you can't hare two in a house^
entain. So sit yourself down there, and get cool, whila we put one
thuigaonh"

He- went out with Aunt Copp and Lucy. I remained at home^ and
was truly uncomfortable^ ddiberatiag whether I ought not to tell Luoy
what had tskea pkce. For, if the thmg was not a joke (as I kept trying
to persuade myself, thovgh the more I tried, the more inoomprehensible
a joke it grew), was a man capable of these violent change and fits of
tconper one to whom we ought to entrust Luoy ?

^ You have not been far," I said, when they caaie in..

^Captain Kerleton was in his sulks, and wouki not talk, so I steereck
LiMsy back again," cried Aunt Coppw

'* I think his feelings were hurt, when I said I could not go out with
him this morning," unsuspiciously remarked Luoy.

*^ Fdelings be keelhauled !" ejaculated Aunt Copp, in irritation. ^< It's
temper, not feelings. Take care you don*t give way to it when he is
your husband, Lucy. Put it down at first, and you'll keep it down.
Nothing / should Uke better than to have the curing of his flights and
his sulks. I'd tame him in a week."

The next day dawned, and we all rose as usual, little thinking what it
was to bring forda. For how many a one has a day risen in bright
happiness, to close in sorrow, dark as the- darkest night 1 It was not
stnstly sorrow, however, timt came to us, rather mortifieatioii*

Lucy went out to spend the day mth some friends, who hod invited.
bsT'for a ferswell visit, previous to her marriage ; and aftar dinnav I and
Copp were soatad at woik» viua thoUUtor spaka;
2 f2

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428 LUCY'S ADVENTURE.

" Well» I think I must hare made a kaleidoscope of my spectacles, fiv
be is ever changing ; now it is him, now it isn 1 1 Hester, is that tiie
captain, or not T'

I followed the direction of Aunt Copp*8 eyes, which were fixed on a
gentleman who was advancing up the opposite road. ''Yes — no — yes,*
was my contradictory reply. " I declare. Aunt Copp, I am not sure.
One minute it looks like him, and the next it does not If it is the
captain, he has discarded his regimentals." It was not Captain Kerietoo,
but one who bore a striking resemblance to him.

*< I know !*' exclaimed Aunt Copp, with awakened interest. '^ It is Us
brother. I wrote for him."
« You, Aunt Copp r

** Yes, to come to the wedding. But I told him to wait for a second
letter. He is come too soon."

Phcoby brought in a card, *' Major Kerleton," and ushered in the major
after it, a cordial-mannered man. He proceeded to tell us his business^
and I thought Aunt Copp would have fallen through her chair widi
vexation ; for it was she who had been the means of introducing the
captain to Seaford, and — worse still — to Lucy.

All that we had observed as strange in the captain^s conduct was now
accounted for. Captain Kerleton was a lunatic. Some years pre-
viously, when in India, he had met with an accident, which caused con-
cussion of the brain, and had never entirely recovered his intellects. At
that time the captain was eno^aged to a young lady, to whom he was
much attached, but the match was then broken off, and this seemed to
have left some impression on his mind which it had been unable to get
rid of. He came home, and had since lived with his brother, and yean
had brought so much improvement to him that he would pass muster in
society, without suspicion, as he had done with us : the only point on
which his intellects were still completely at sea, was a propensity to
make offers of marriage. '* I have nad no end of trouble witii him on
this score," said the major to us ; " for if he has made a fool of one lady,
in the last eight years, he has of fifty. Of course, when I am on &
spot, I whisper a word, and matters are soon rectified ; but, once or
twice, when he has taken advantage of my absence from home, to start
off, as he did this time, there has been more difiiculty to get than
straight. It is five years ago this summer," continued the major, lower-
ing his voice, ^ that he found his way into Yorkshire. I was taken ill
—seriously ill — on my journey, and was absent longer than I had ever
been. By George! when I came back, and proceeded to hunt i:^
Richard, I found him a married man."
*' A married man !" uttered Aunt Copp.

'' He had eammoned some young lady into marrying him : a very nice
sort of girl she was, too ; of respectable family. But they were poor,
thought they had got a catch in Dick, and burned on the match."
" Mercy on us I" ejaculated Aunt Copp. " Is she alive ?"

*< To be sure she is. She "

<< Why then the captain's a married man now I" screamed aunt, unoe-
wmoniously interrupting Major Kerleton.

^^ Neither more nor less," returned the major. '* When his yonnff
wife, poor thing, found out Dick's infirmity, she refused to remain win

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Lucy's adtentube. 429

bim — and quite right of her, too, I think. She has lived since then on
the Continent, with a married sister ; Dick— or, at least, I, for him—
allowing her a yearly income."

** But what a wicked man he must be, to attempt to marry my niece
when he has got a wife living !" remonstrated Aunt Copp.

'* Not wicked/' interposed the major. ^' Upon this point Richard is
insane ; the doctors say incurably so. He would marry twenty wives, if
he could get the opportunity, and never know that he was doing wrong."

" A regular Bluebeard. He ou£;ht to be tried for bigamy," grunted
Aunt Copp. *^ But it has been a blessed escape for Lucy.''

'* It has indeed. Not but that I am sincerely grieved he should ever
have been brought in contact with your niece, for this exposS cannot be
a pleasant one for her. He left home, it seems, the very day I did, and
must have lost no time."

" He ought to be confined,** said Aunt Copp, rubbing her nose in
mortification.

^' He is so sane on other points, that to confine him would be scarcely
justifiable," explained the major. '^ But I shall learn a lesson by this
last vagary, and if I have to leave him again, will take care to place a
watch over him."

** Other points," repeated aunt; ^* I don*t know about that. He seems
to have unlimited command of money."

" Not unlimited. His fortune is a large one, and he has command
over a portion of it."

*' Perhaps you'll walk this road, sir," s(ud aunt, leading the way up-
stiurs to our spare room. The major followed her, no doubt wonderingly,
and I followed him. *' There !" she said, exhibiting the curious lot of
presents Lucy had received, " perhaps you can tell me what is to be done
with all these. Major Kerleton. The captain sent them here, and we
could not stop him."

Major Kerleton laughed heartily. ** Poor Dick !" he said, << this is
another of his tricks. He gives away all before him."

^' He has supplied the parish here," was Aunt Copp's rejoinder.
*« What is to be done with these?"

" Whatever you please. If there are any worth keeping, pray retain
them. The rest dispose of, any way — throw them away if tney are no
better worth."

** Several of the articles are of value. The watch and chain especially,
and some rings. But, sir," and Aunt Copp drew herself up to her full
height, " my niece will not allow herself to keep them, or anything
else."

** I hope and trust she will," warmly returned the major. ** 1 shall pray
Miss Lucy to accept them from me. Ah, my dear ladies," he continued,
taking a hand of each of us, " I only wish it was in my power to make
any reparation to her for the annoyance which my unfortunate brother
has brought upon her and you, but there is none tnat can be made."

" Not any," responded Aunt Copp, with stony rigidity. " The
sooner he is out of Seaford, the more agreeable for aU parties."

So thought Major Kerleton. He took the poor madman back to
London with him, and thus ended Lucy's romance.

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^00

ABOIIT THE BflSATIQTS AND EBYIEWEBS.

VIL — Chabubs Lamb.

A WINSOME creature was Lamb, ^^ the frolic and the gentle."
His it was to enjoy, in the words of Landor,*

The love of friends, 'without a single foe ;
Unequalled lot below !

He was, and is, all the dearer for his whims and humours. ^^I am
made up of queer points," he says in ooie of his inimitable letters,
" and I want so many answering needles " — his purpose being to
declare his disrelish for your totiis teres atme rt^ndus man of the
world, and his (juick sympathy with people who had some ccook
in tlieir composition, 6ome screw loose m their psychological finune-
work, who were in a " fix," political or religious, or under a dond,
often of their own compelling. ^^ Common natures do not suffice
me. Good people, as they are called, won't serre ; I want indi*
viduals." Individuality was fairly enough represented in his list
of friends, which included some queer specimens of eccentiic
humanity — for he ever stood with open arms to welcome those
who elsewhere were reckoned, and treated as, birds of ill omen —
though, such was their variety, that, to the welcome he accorded
them, it could hardly be said, ^^ birds of a feather flocked together.**
Mingle, mingle as you may, was the order of the day— or the
night rather, at those cheeny homely Noctes of his, the un-
constraint and glee of which remind us of Pliny the Youngei's
words: ^^Tou may sup, it is true, with more eleganee in many
places ; but nowhere with more gaiety, mirth, and hcmest free-
aom."+ Lamb's great " failing," it ms been said, connects him,
" unfortunately for mankind," \vith the poet race. It is one which
mankind (predisposed ml humani alienum h se putare) is not

* Who once only met Mia ^ce to face; but that once sufficed to piodnce
this earnest tribute :

" Once, and once only, have I seen thy face,
Elia ! once only has thy tripping tongue
Bnn o'er my breast, yet never has been left
Impvessioii on it stronger or more sweet.
Cordial old man ! what jon^ was in thy years.
What wisdom in thy levity, what truth
In every utterance of that purest soul !
Tew are the spirits of the gloriJGled
rd spring to earlier at the gate of heaven."

t Pliny's Epistles : To.Sept. Claras (bo^i).

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HBABTMIAMB. 4S1

ejEtreme to mark with brand or baa— when oodoined, as in Ui
case who wrote, with trembling hand, the C/onfesrionB of a
Drunkard, with qualitiea fio engaging, so care^ in many respeots so
noble. It is a case in which, if we must withhold our aamiring
reyer^ice, we cannot withhold oar instinctive love ; ^^ for we cannot
choose but love all human capacities in thenroelves attractive —
themselves heavenly gifts ; and yet we cannot look without pity
and censure upon sin ; and self-indulgence in the poet, whether in
the grossest form of eensuaUty, or in Uie lesser one of intemperance^
is not to be excused and smiled away, because passion is strong, or
aensation vivid." But this man, constitutionally sensitive and
irritable, and habitually a sufierer from self-incurred ills, — ^his bio-
grapher has al^tingly told us how, when the dismal emergenci^
which chequered his life arose, he, this nervous, shattered wreck,
^^6o slight of frame that he looked only fit for the most placid
fortune," nerved himself with heroic resolv«, heroic action, and
more — ^heroic endurance, to meet and master calamity, and behaved
with "as much promptitude and vigour as if he had never penned
a stanza nor taken a glass too much, or was strung with herculean
sinews." It may well be asked, if the annals of self-sacrifice can
riiow anything in human action and endurance more lovely than
the sdf-aevotion of his character exhibits, in the watch and ward
he kept over his sister — the Maty Lamb of his home and heart,
the cousin Bridget of his Essays. " L'humoriste Lamb," says M.
Philar^te Chasles, ^^ veilkit avec une solicitude adorable sur Brigitte
[sic'} sa sceur, paitvre folic qui avait frapp6 sa m^re d'un coup de
conteau et Pavait tu6e dans son d^lire. * Nothing can be more
touching than that little incident of Charles Lloyd meeting them,
the brotner and sister, slowly pacing together a Httle footpath in
Hoxton fields, both weeping bitterly, and " taking their solemn
way to the accustomed A8ylum."t The coming event cast its
Shadow before — its dark, drear, dreadful cloud ; and well might
they fear, well might they weep, as they entered into that cloud.

They sat sad toother.
Solacing their despondency with tears
Of suoh affecdon and unbroken faith
As temper life's worst bitteniess.j:

If Charles Lamb broke more than one or two apostolic precepts,
there was one he obeyed to the letter: Let brotherly love continue.

» "L'AngletetTe au XIX* si^le.''

f For *• Miss Lamb experienced, and fall Well understood premonitory
symptoms of the attack, in restlessness, low lierer, and the inability to sleep ;
and, as gently as possible, prepared her brother for the duty he must soon
perform ; and thus, unless he could stave off the terrible septiration till Sunday,
obliged him to ask leave of absence from the office as if for a day's pleasure-Hi
Wtter moekety V^^^Final MmofiaU, chap. ix.

t aidUJey : *' 'Hie Clenci," Act in. Be. L

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432 CHABLBS LAKB.

In this literal obedience we may almost say none but himself <
be his parallel.

Some there have been to sneer at LamVs occupadon ^^ at the
desk and on the high stooL" Only conceive Goethe, it has been
suggested, with that lofty forehead and stately form bending over
a kdger ; or the wizard Coleridge, with those dreamy eyes, deep
in cafculation of the price of stocks. A happier and better man
even Coleridge might have been, had circumstances constrained
him to some definite daily employment; happier and better he
must have been, had he possessed that practical plodding sense of
duty which, for many long years, impelled and enabled Charles
Lamb to fulfil his most ungenial taskwork. ^^ Thirty-three years
of slavery," he called them, when their tale was told. Irksome at
times, almost beyond sufferance, became the tyranny of ledger,
desk, and high* stool. One is reminded of the appeal to *^ Peter"
in the Canterbury Tales:

* A propos of " high stooV' Mr. de Qainpey's narrati?e of his first intemcw
with Lamb contains an amusingly told though " very, very little incident.** Tbe
then Oxford Student, on inquiring for Lamb at the India House, was shown
into a room '*in which was a very lofty writing-desk, separated by a still higher
raiimg from that part of the floor on which the profane— the laity, like myself
— were allowed to approach the clerus, or derklv rulers of the room," of whom
some half-dozen were thera perched aloft, quill-driving with might and main.
WaJking into one of the two open doorways of the railing, the visitor (to resume
his own words) " stood closely by the side of him who occupied the first place
within the little aisle,'* touched his arm, and inquired (pointing to the super-
scription on Wordsworth^s letter of introduction) for Mr. Charles Lamb. " The
ffcntleman smiled ; it was a smile not to be foreotten. This was Lamb. And
here occurred a very, very little incident— one of those which pass so fugitively
that they are gone and hurrying away into Lethe almost before your attention
can have arrested them ; but it was an incident which, to me, who happened to
notice it, served to express the courtesy and delicate consideration of Lamb's
manners. The seat upon which he sat was a very high, one; so absurdly luA,
by the way, that I can imagine no possible use or sense in such an aftituaey
unless it were to restrain the occupant from playing truant at the fire, by
opposing Alpine difficulties to his descent. Wnatever might be the original
purpose of this aspiring seat, one serious dilemma arose from it, and this it was
which gave the occasion to Lamb's act of courtesy The act of descend-
ing from his throne, a very elaborate process, wiUi steps and stages analogous
to those on horseback — of slipping your ri^ht foot out of the stirrup, throwing
your leg over the crupper, &c. — was, to all mtents and purposes, the same thing
as dismounting from a great elephant of a horse. Therefore it both was» ana
was felt to be by Lamb, supremely ridiculous. On the other hand, to have sat
still and stately upon tins aerial station, to have bowed condescendingly from
this altitude, would have been— not ludicrous indeed; performed by a very
superb person, and supported by a very superb bow, it might have been vasthr
fine, and even terrifying to manv young gentlemen under sixteen: but it would
have had an air of ungentlemanly assumption. Between these extremes, there-
fore. Lamb had to choose ; between appearing ridiculous himself for a moment,
by going through a ridiculous evolution, wnich no man could execute with
ice ; or, on the other hand, appearing lofty and assuming, in a degree which
\ truly hupible nature (for he was the humblest of men in the pretensions

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CHARLES LAHB* 4Sa

How loDge tyme wol ye reken and oaat
Tour sommes, and your ooks, and your thinges P
The devel have part of alle such rekenynges,*

Or of the laureate's picnicing Francis, who thus moralises, inter
altay over (also inter alia) a dusky loaf that smells of home, and a
pasty costly made of quail and pigeon, lark and leveret, ^Hike fossils
of the rock, with golden yolks imbedded and injellied" —

Oh ! who would cast and balance at a desk,
Ferch'd like a crow upon -a three-leg^d stool.
Till all his juice is dhed, and all his joints
Are full of chalk Pf

^'Here I am, then,'* writes Elia the Superannuated Man to
Wordsworth, in 1825, "after thirty- three years' slavery, sitting in
my own room at eleven o'clock this finest of all April mornings, a
freed man, with 44 IZ. a year for the remainder of my life." A warp
of sadness crosses the woof of gladness. It is more evident in a fol-
lowing sentence: "I came home FOR ever on Tuesday in last
week." Painfully so in another: "Now, when all is holyday, there
are no holydays. From the date of his mittimus his spirits fell.
And the more he ventured on the charms of retirement and seclu-
sion, the gloomier he became. Even the suburbs of the Great City
sufficed not for this thoroughbred Urban — not, however, of the 5^?-
vantis lineage.

Dvlcvus urbe quid est? asks TibuUus. Carlagnulus asks the
same thing, in otner words, a hundred times over. He seems to
have been of the same mind in this article of faith with Madame
de Stael, who, it has been observed, though bom in the midst of
the most magnificent scenery, thought, like Dr. Johnson, that there
was no scene equal to the high tide of human existence in the heart
of a populous city : " Give me," she cried, when her guests were in
ecstasies with the Lake of Geneva and its enchanted shores, " give
me the Rue du Bac ! give me to live in Paris, though in a fourth
story, and on a hunared louis a year."J To her too sensitive

which he put forward for himself) must have shrunk from with horror. Nobody
who knew Lamb can doubt how the problem was solved : he be^ to dismount
instantly; and, as it happened that the very first round of his descent obliged
him to turn his back upon me as if for a sudden puroose of flight, he had an
excuse for laughing, which he did heartily — saying, at tne same time, something
to this efPect, that I must not judge from first appearances ; that he should
revolve upon me; that he was not going to fly; and other facetiae, which chal-
lenged a general lau^ from the clerical brotherhood." — Autobiography of an
English Qw«i»-tffl^tfr (" Recollections of Chas. Lamb :" PartL).

♦ Chaucer: " The Schipmanne's Tale."

t Tennyson: "Audley Court."

X Similarly it has been remarked of Madame QeoflHn, by one of her bio-
graphers, that " eUe ^tait d'avis * qu'il n'y a pas de meiUeur air que celui de
rans,' et, en quelque lieu qu'elle edt pu 6tre, elle aurait pr^f^ son ruisseau de
la rue Saint-Honor^, oomme Madame de Stael regrettait celui de la rue du Bao."

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4M ^itA^^Ti

nostiilsy Tagricultwn wntmt le fwfm$t^ Lamb affected more con-
tempt for rustic life than he felt : it "ww one of Wb whims to pretend
a complacent compassion for country people, in the spirit of the
citizen s wife in the play, who says, ^^ Ay, poor souls, I was amongst
'em once.'"*^ Partly affected, however, as tlas disdain m%ht be «t
one period of his li&, he was but too really and paiaifuUy lU st ease
when, in life's decline, he sc^ight seclusion, and found too moch of
it, in a quiet retreat at Enfield. It was the old sto^ of Villicus:

Tu mddiitftinTis tooitA preoe rara |«tebas :
Nunc Urbem et ludos et balnea villictis optas^f

partly to be explained by the mere law of reaction, Rure ego tHnm-
temy tu diets in Vrbe beatunu Very little experience of Enfield
tranquillity sufficed to determine, with peremptory decision, the in-
tensity of Lamb's envy for citizen, his horror of pagan, life :

Solos felioeB vive&tes damat in Urbe.}

Had he made one at the Convimum ReUmmun of Erasmus, he
would have battled stoutly on the side of Timotheus§ against £»•
sebius and rural felicity and all that. He had not a great deal in
common with Horace Walpole, but probably he could have hugged
him for writing to Sir Horace Mann: " Were I physician, I would
prescribe nothmg but recipe^ CCCLXV drachm. L<mdm!'\ Boa,

» 1*^ Oit. Wife, Lord, how fine the fields be ! What sweet living 'tii in
the country !

S«^ at, W\fB, Ay, poor souls, God help 'em, th^ live as contented]^ as
one of us.

lit Oit, Wife, litj bnsbtnd^s ooosm would hive liad me gone into the coontiy
last year. Wert thou ever there P

2nd at. Wife. Ay, poor souls, I was amongst 'em once.

Ist at. wife. And what kind of creatures are they, for love of God ?

^nd at. Wifs. Very good people, God help 'em. [Adding, however, when
prosed to go there,] Alas, 'tis no pk»» for us.

1#/ at. Wife, Why, prithee f

2nd Cit, "Wife, Why, you can have nothing there; there's nobody cries
brooms. [How this axgument would have told on Chades, with his aar for London
cries!]

Istat.Wlfe. No?

%nd at. Wife. No, truly, nor milk ?

\8t at. Wm. Nor milk, how do they ?

2nd Cit, "Wife. They are f^ to milk themselves in the Oountry, &o,, &a~
A Xing and No King.

t Horat. EpistoU I. liv. H 15.

j Horat. Sermon, i. 1.

§ Euseb, Gum omnia nunc vernent et rideant in agns, demiror esse^ qui
fumosis urbibus delectentur.

^ Ti. Non omues oapiuntur aspeotil florum, aut pratomm vemantiami ant fon-
tium amniumve; aut, si oapiuntur, est aliud quoa ma^fis juvet^^ &a 1t<^^«^",
Oollogv, Famil.

B Walpole's Letter^ vol. L p. 809. pd. 1846^

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CWLBLIB LAJfB. 4M

as he telk us^ undertite diadow of St Dnnstan's steeple, just wheM
the conflux of the eastern and wetteicn inhabitants of this two&ld
eity lueet and justle in inendlj opposition at Temple-bar, he
ascribes to this bein^ bom, as it were, in a crowd, the entire aflfec^
tion which possessed him for city life, ^ amountmg to an almost
insurmountable ayersiim from solitude and rural scenes." Whidi
aversion, he adds, was never intannipted or suspended, exoept
during his temporary enthralment by a ^' fair-haired maid:" every
man, while the passion is upon him, being for a time at least ad*
dieted to groves and meadows and purling streams. ^^ For my own
part," he goes on to aver, ^^now the fit is past, I have no hesitation
m declaring, that a mob of happy faces crowding up at the pit
door of Drury^lane Theatre, just at the hour of six, gives me ten
thousand sincerer pleasures than I could ever receive from all the
flocks of silly sheep that ever whitened the plains of Arcadia or
E^)som Downs."*

He loved to express himself " strongly," in this fashion — careless
whether people of "Imperfect Sympathies" took it all literally or
not; rather pleased indeed if they did, for the passion for mysti-
fying and hoaxing was at all times hot within him. His manner
of talking was enough to perplex most of those wh6 apmroached
him for tibe first, and some for the hundred and first, time. Talfourd
refers to the " wild contrasts of expression which sometimes startled
strangers." But he adds that no one acquainted with Lamb's
story will wander at the eccentric wildness of his mirth — his violent
changes from the serious to the farcical. " His whim, however,
almost always bordered upon wisdom." His sallies remind us of
what Madame Roland said of the bautades of a most un-Lamb-like
contemporary — eUes fonty diose trbB^rare^ rire et penser tout h la
Jms. Leigh Hunt tidks of " those humours of tragicd fancy with
which he [Lamb] refreshed his ultra*humanity." HazHtt said:
^ His jests scald like tears, and he probes a question with a play
upon words." Thus talking, matter-of-fact people knew not what
to make of him. And thus writing (for he wrote as he talked;
the man and the writer were in him not distinct and discrepant),
there are thousands who, as they read, know not what to make of
him to this hour. For he is by no means the writer to ^^ take"
with the million. To become a universal favourite he must
forfeit his most distinguishing and exceptional traits. Et vaki
paurquat.

A seeming paradox, but a imradox in no bad sense, is pro^
poimded by Mr. de Qinncey in his assertion, that in every literature
of la^e compass some authors will be found to restmudi ofthe in-
terest which surrounds them on their essential iMm-popularity: that,
in fact, such authotB interest because to the world they are not'mt^

* Letters in the Be/lector, (" The Londoner.")

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486 CHARLES LAMB*

resting; that they attract by means of their repulsion. He points
out how the world has an instinct for recognising its own, and
recoils from certain qualities when exemplified in books, witli the
same disgust or defective sympathy as would have governed it in
real life — turning away its face, for instance, from qualities of
child-like simplicity, of shy profundity, or of inspired self-commu-
nion, towards grosser, bolder, more determined, or more intelligible
expressions of character and intellect — and doing this equally in
literature, as in life. ^^ Charles Lamb, if any ever toasy is amongst
the class here contemplated; he, if any ever hasy raiiks amongst
writers whose works are destined to be for ever unpopular, and yet
for ever interesting; interesting, moreover, h^ means of those very

aualities which guarantee their non-popularity" — simply because
ae same qualities which will be found forbidoing to the worldly
and the thoughtless, and insipid to many even amongst robust and
powerful minds, are exactly those which will continue to command
a select audience in every generation.

Thus, the essays of Ulia traverse a ^^ peculiar field of observation
sequestered from general interest;" and are composed in a " spirit
too delicate and unobtrusive to catch the ear of the noisy crowd,
clamouring for strong sensations." In this quality, however, lies
the charm they present to the fit audience though few — in this
" retiring delicacy," in the " pensiveness chequered by gleams of
the fanciful, and the humour that is touched with cross-lights of

Sathos," together with the " picturesque quaintness of the objects
escribed," and the " constant recurrence to ancient recollection
and to decaying fonns of household life, as things retiring before
the tumult of new and revolutionary generations." There must
be sympathy with the personality of such a writer, ere his writings
can be foimd to interest — sympathy with his idiosyncrasy, with his
peculiarities, Avith the differentiating mark of his pei-sonal Ego.
And who, like Charles Lamb, reveals himself to us, as the phrase
goes, out and out? If Elia is a mask, the Essays are no disguise.
They are himself in print, not revised and corrected for publica-
tion; not trimmed, and smoothed down, and pared away. In a
sense, he wears his heart upon his sleeve; ana, of course, daws
have pecked at it, and will again.

In that quaint piece of genial self-portraiture and dainty-sweet
melancholy, the essay called " New Year's Eve," how characteris-
tically he declares his attachment to things below, and owns his
love of ^* this green earth ; the face of town and country ; the un-
speakable rural solitudes, and the sweet security of streets." A
new state of being, he confesses, fairly staggers him : his household
;ods plant a terrible fixed foot, and are not rooted up without
lood; they do not willingly seek Lavinian shores. '^ Sun and
sky," he asks, humorously, yet wistfiilly, tearfully, " and breeze,

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CHABLESLAMB. 437

and solitary walks, and summer holidajrs, and the greenness of
fields, and the deUcioos juices of meats and fishes, and society, and
the cheerful ^lass, and candlelight, and fireside conversations, and
innocent vanities, and jests, and irony itsdf— do these things go
out with life?" He wants to know if a ^host can laugh, or shake
Iiis gaunt sides, when you are pleasant with him ? and whether we
must part from our midnight darlings — books. ^' Must knowledge
come to me, if it come at all, by some awkward experiment of in-
tuition, and no longer by the familiar process of reading?'* He is
like Hawthorne's vision-seer in the Hall of Fantasy, who remon-
strates against the advent fate of *^ the poor old Earth," chiefly
T^retting in her destruction that very earthUness which no other
spnere or state of existence can renew or compensate : the fragrance
of flowers and of new-mown hay; the genial warmth of sunshine,
and the beauty of a sunset among clouds; the comfort and cheerful
glow of the fireside; the deliciousness of fruits and of all good
cheer; the magnificence of mountains, and seas, and cataracts, and
the softer charm of rural scenery; even the fast-falling snow, and
the grey atmosphere through which it descends — all which, and
innumerable other enjoyable things of earth, must perish with
her: add, too, the country frolics; the homely humour; the broad
open-mouthed roar of laughter, in which booy and soul conjoin so
heartily. "I fear," says Hawthorne's speater, "that no other
world can show us anything just like this. As for purely moral
enjoyments, the good will find them in every state of being. But
where the material and the moral exist together, what is to happen
then? And then our mute four-footed friends, and the winged
songsters of the wood I Might it not be lawful to regret them,
even in the hallowed groves of Paradise ?" * No sympathy had
poor avToxB<ov Elia, of the earth 'earthy, with those who pro-
fessed an indifierence to life; who " hail the end of their existence
as a port of refuge; and speak of the grave as of some soft arms,
in which they may slumber as on a pillow." In no such asp|ect did
«ver Death visit Awn, in his meditations all sicklied o'er by its pale
cast of thought.

Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard.
Because I wish'd this world's etemitj,f

•says one of Shakspeare's female characters; and the saying ex-
presses Elia's " secret dread and inward horror" of the great change,
and his utter incapacity to go along with Shakspeare's duke in his
condemned-cell speech, beginning." Reason thus with Life." J His
soul shrank back upon itself, and startled at — mutation. " Some
have wooed death," he says — " but out upon thee, I say, thou foul

* Mosses from an old Manse. f King Henrj YI. Part II.

X Measure for Measure.

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Qfflj pfaantom ! I detes^ abfaor, execrate^ and (with Fiiar John)
gire thee to aizscose thousand devils^ a* in no mBtaiice to b»ex->
cusedortoleiated^ but Ammed as an unhrersal viper; to be branded,
proflmbed^ and qK>keiit evil of I In no waj can I be brought to
digeflt diee^ thou thin mdanehtd^ Prioatkm^ cnrmoie firightful aad
confounded Poutwe P* Such confesnons are not to be read mtii-
enipaku But it is oonfessionff of this sort^ unique in matter and
manner, that give such value and interest to our intercourse with
l^e writer. In the a£kcting letter of expostulation which Blia
WTOle to Southey, on the oecasion of &eir misunderstanding (for that
is the word: what but misuncferstanding each oth^ could sepante^
for a little season, two such men ?) in 1 823, he remarked, that the
contemplation of a Spiritual World, whidb, without the additioB
of a misgiving conscience, is enough to diake some natures to their
fouttdalaon, is smoothly got over by others, who can float over the
black billows, in th^r little boat of No-Distrust, as uneoncemedly
as over a summer sea. The difference, he holds, is chi^y consti^
tudonaL ^^ The shapings of our heavens are the modificiUaons of
our coneldtutions; and Mr. Feeble Mind, or Mr. Grreat Heart, is
bom in every one of us." No Mr. (xreat Heart was he, arxned
Qq9*^pse, moving

right <m, with calm eternal eye,

through the dusky defiles, and amid the eerie sounds, of the Valley
of the Shadow of Death. To the same Southey he had written
eight years before : " God help me when I come to put off these
snug relations, and to get abroad into the world to come ! I shall
be like the crow on the sandy as Wordsworth has it; but I won^t
think on it; no need I hope yet" Lamb's affectionate biographer
— in many things so like-minded with himself — ^has impressively
said, in words that bear seriously on this earth-clinging tenacity,
that small associations make death terrible, because we know, that
parting with this life, we part from their company; whereas great
thoughts make death less fearful, because we feel that they wnl be
our companions in all worlds, and link our future to our present
being in all ages.

And thus, throughout the series of Essays, we never seem to lose
sight of the Man that wrote them. He is their qui semper j qui
vbiquBy qui in omnibus. Quill-driving in the South Sea House^
keeping holiday at Oxford in the long vacation, putting on record
Mrs. Battle's Opinions on Whist, playing the fool wiwi a will on
All Fools' Day, discussing " My Relations," conjuring up his
Dream-Children, describing Mackery End, reviving his First Play,
his memories of Christ's Hospital, and the Old Benchers of t^e
Inner Temple, and the Old Margate Hoy, — reciting the Praise of
Chimney-Sweepers, complaining of the Decay of fii^gars in the
Metropolis, disserting on the origin and merits of Koast Pig,

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mhXOBUMB. 4St

rtmkiag a olem bmal of Ab CottfiMnona of a Dnndcstd,*— in fdl
theoert aBd moiie^ his verj s«lf surviYefir to us; we hare him not, and
jrarl we 89ft him. akUL

A» a litenuycxikio, he wa% within a certain limited and peeufiar
^»h«re^ widiin what by a soleoism maj be caQed an eccentnc
cuct^one

Wka jvsUy knev to blameor to eoviiBrad ;

To fauiogs mildy but zealous for desert ;

l^e clearest head, and the sincerest heart.*

Grifted with exquistte taste, within that defined range, ^' par I^
sans theories saTantea, il prend ime grando pkoe parnri nos oii-
ttquea." Hia remarks on die character of Lear^ m the essaj on
Garrick and Acting, have been called the nobleet criticism evts
written. How he relidied, appreciated, and brought out the pdtnts
and beautiee of the old dramatists,, his ^^ Specimens^^ memoraUy
and with no uncertain Yoaoe declare. But the critic was ill at ease
if joti took him out of his microcosm of cherished books. If yon
had urged him to leaye hk Burtons, and Brownes, and Fletdxen^
and Margaret of Newcastle, and snehSke old familiar faces, bidding
him to take ^ tcnmorrow to fresh fields and pastures new," we eaa
fancy him at first moodily repeating Macbeth s '' to-morrow, and to*
morrow, and to-morrow," and then abruptly dismissing jrou and
your overtures with the (in this case cheery) thought that ^ tOr
morrow" neiper comes. He loved to revive firom the dust some
dead and buried literary crotchet- weaver, some effete and unpro-
mising scribe, whom he was pretty sure to have all to himself (and
loved the more on that account), some faded modem*antique,

Dead» though, and done with, this many a year-—
Let* s have a colloquy, something to quote,
Mal^e the world prick up its ear.f

As a reader, he hated to travel in a crowd. He left the highways
for the by-ways, the beaten route for the waste places of literature*
In the words of TibuUus, Pomaque nan notis legit ab arboribm*
He could not "get up^' a passion for Byron; he could not desert
Fielding for Walter Scott; Shelley was "icy-cold" to him; the
only contemporary prose he could enjoy, and this in large measure
for personal reasons, was William HazUtt's. When they talked of
their Schillers and Goethes and stuflF, he behaved much as Sir
Joshua did when bored with Correggio, barring the snufi'-box and
the ear-trumpet.

No German nonsense sways my English heart,

said the doughty Matthias; J and Lamb was equally proof against

• Pope : Essay on Criticism. j[ Robert Browning : Men and Women.
t Pursuits of Literature. Dial I Y .

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440 CHARLES LAMB.

Teutonic principalities and powers. " I thoroughly agree with you,**
he writes in 1823, to Mr. W. H. Ainsworth, "as to the Grerman
Faust J as far as I can do justice to it from an English translation.
"Ks a disagreeable, canting tale of seduction, which has nothing to
do with the spirit of Faustus — Curiosity." But, as we have said,
give Elia a congenial theme to discourse upon^ a book within his
pale of comprehension and after his own heart — and then^ out of
the abundance of that heart his mouth spake things, how wise,
how true, how loving, how subtle and penetrating, and even
creative ! The true point of view, as a Quarterly Reviewer sajrs,
Lamb always seized with unerring precision, and this led him,
with equal success, to detect the real centre, whether a character or
an event, round which the orb of the drama he was criticising
revolved. " Hence he was one of the most original of critics, and
threw more and newer light upon the genuine meaning of some of
the great masterpieces of the theatre than any other man; and yet
we do not remember a single instance in which any of his positions
have been gainsaid." [Had the critic of the Quarterly torgotten
the quondam editor of the Quarterly William Gifford r But let
that pass.] " Like all critics who have a real insight into their
subject, Lamb helps you, in a few words, to a principle — a master-
key — by which you may work out the details of the investigation
yourself. You are not merely amused with a brilliant description
of a character or passage, but become a discerning jud^ in the
light of your own perceptions and convictions."* This is high
praise, coming too from pages which once (1811) pronounced
Lamb's comments on Ford, the ^^ blasphemies of a poor maniac**
But it is the praise due to a critic who enters with a " most learned
spirit of human dealing,*' the prerogative of genius alone, into the
dramatic being of the characters of the play, and brings out, with
an "incomparable accuracy and delicacy of touch,'* their inter-
agencies and contra-distinctions, their ^^ places of contact and
mutual repulsion,*' their objective influence and their individual
development; often opening to us in his researches a glimpse
bey on a the common world's horizon, and snatching a grace oeyond
the reach of art.

• Quarterly Iteviev,lSU.

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THE SPENDTHRIPT.

A TALK OP THE LAST CENTURY.^
By W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, Esi^

xxvn.

SHOWING HOW HBS. JBKTNS TOOK A PEEP INTO HE. FAIBLIE'S STBONG-BOX; AND
WHAT SHE GOT BT DOING SO.

Mr. Fairlie was alone in a spacious apartment in Monthermer't
magnificent mansion in Dover-street. We call the house Mon«
thermer^s — ^but only by courtesy — for in reality it belonged to the
present occupant of the chamber. The room we propose to in-
spect lay at the back^ on the groimd-floor^ and opened upon a
garden, m which there were some fine trees, now of course in full
K)liage, since it was summer season. Between the lofty windows
and the table at which the steward was seated stood a screen, so
that he could not be overlooked from without. The trees inter-
cepted the sunshine, and the tall screen further darkened the cham«
ber, and gave it a gloomy air. The furniture, too, was dingy, and
the walls— where not occupied with bookcases — were hung with
choice pictures, chiefly of the Dutch school. It was, in fact, the
libranr , or study, and had been the favourite retreat of the Honour-
able Sackville Spencer, the former possessor of the house, who used to
pass many hours of each day witmn it in the society of his beloved
authors. All the rest of the mansion had been newly and splen-
didly furnished by Grage at the time of its purchaaa> but this room
was allowed to remain in its original state to please Fairlie, who
made choice of it for his own occupation. Here he passed as many
hours daily as the lettered Sackville Spencer had been wont to
pass, but in very different studies. Our steward, it will be readily
conceived, made but slight acquaintance with the poets, philosophers^
and divines, by whom he was surrounded. He had no greater taste
for art than for literature. He might sometimes condescend to
look at the pictures ; but he rarely, if ever, noticed the marble
busts on the pedestals, whose cold gaze seemed to regard him
as an intruder on their sanctuary. The only books that en-
grossed him were account-books, while the sole object on the
walls that he deemed worthy of attention was a plan of Monther-
mer's Suffolk property. Whenever he had a few minutes to spare^

* {^ The Author of this Tale reeervee the r^fht of tratuUUum.
VOL. zzxrc 2 0

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442 THE SPENDTHRIFT.

or souffht relaxation from his self-imposed toils, he would get up,
and planting himself before this map, would trace out with his
finger the boundaries of some particular plot of land, and consider
whether any change, beneficial to himself (for he now regarded
himself as owner of the estates), coald be effected. In fact, he
was always making what he considered improvements in the pro-
perty, without the slightest regard to ihe wishes or convenience
of the tenants ; offering in this respect, as in all others, a notable
contrast to old Squire Warwick. There was little ebe worth re-
marking in the room ; but we may just mention, that on the left
of the fireplace was a deep closet, the door of which now stood
partially open; while beyond the closet, and nearer the garden,
was a ode door, o(»BKiaBicating by a short passage with an ad-
joining apartment, and fcwming a private entrance to the library:
a means of access never used, except by Fairlie himself, or with
his permission. Within reach of the steward, at the moment we
have chosen for intrudinff on his privacy, was a large strong-box,
TCovided with double locks, and secured by broad bands of iron.
This mysterious-looking chest was ordinarily deposited for better
security in the closet, but had been brought out on that morning^
in order to &ciHtate the examination of certain documents whi£
it contained.

Mr. Fairlie had been occupied with ho accounts for more than
five hours, verifying entries try reference to vouchers and memo-
randum-books, and casting up long columns of figures. He had
just brought his labours to an end, — ^apparently to his entire satis-
faction, for as he closed the ponderous ledger and fastened its
brazen clasps, a triumphant smile played upon his countenance.
He then tamed round in his chair, unlocked the strong-box, was
in the act of placing a bundle of papers within it, when the ade
door we hove alluaed to suddenly opened, and admitted Mrs.
Jenjpa.

The smile on the stewards countenance instantly faded away,
kni gave plac6 to a very different expression* He md not like to
be disturbed, and showed his displeasure.

" What business haine yDu to come in by that way, madam?^
he exclaimed, sharply. *^ You know it's agunst orders. I must
begyou to withdraw. I am particuhriy engaged at this moment.'*

The pretty actress, howeven paid no attention to what he s^d,
but sprin^ng forward, arrested him before he could shut down the
fid of the chest

^ IHe often kxiged to see the contents of that strong-bo3^
Ae cried, **and now I can gratify my curiosity. Whatfs here r*
she added, matching at some parchments, and carrying them off
towards the window. ^^ As I live, a mortage from Gage de Mon-
thermer of certain lands and farms in the county of Suffolk to
Felix Fairlie for forty thousand pounds ! Why. bless m^ Fairlie,
you don't mean to say you have lent Gage forty thouscmd pounds ?"

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THS SnSIKrHBIlT. 443

^^ Iferear mind what Tve lent him. Give me back tibe deed.**

<^ Mot tiU Fve «xaaiiied it," th^ continued. ^ What does thb
memoranduTn mean, Faiilie ?"

^ It means that the mortgi^e-^Bonej not being paid when doe,
the power of redemption has been cot offl In plain teims, t^e
kads are foc£eited to me.'*

^^ Very sharp practice on jour part, in sooth, Mr. Faiilie. Hie
efitates^ 1 coBclnde, most be wordi at least dooUe the 00m loit upon
them?"

^^ PoflsiUj 80^" the steward replied, drilj.

*^ Thrioe as much, I dare say, would be nearer the mark. Now
m be bound, Fairlie, jrou ham gained nearly a hundred thoosuid
poiuids by this transaoticm ?"

^^ Nonsense ! madam. How absurdty yon talk.^

^^ Not so absurdly^ sir. But I haToi't done yet. Lud ha' mercy I
h^e's another mortgage on other lands in Scffalk, — ^induding the
park and castle P

^^ And here again I've been compelled to fi)recloBe, madam — ^to
JcHredoae — d'ye understand ?"

"To act the Jew I suppose you mean. Tou say you were
OQgyellfld to take tins rigorous course ; but I iancy Tery httle com-
polaum was required. In one way or o&er, you appear to hare
got hold of all poor Monthermei's property."

" Poor Monthermer F' the steward echoed, with a anew. " How
l<mg is it anoe you began to feel compassion for him ? You had
no scruple in helping to jduck the pigeon. I can count your
gains exactly if I choose — but in round numbers I may say that
you have listened Monthermer^s purse to the tune of some twenty
thousand ponnda."

" Well, if I have, it's a mere trifle compared with your gains^
Fairlie. Besides, I've lost all my profits at i^y."

" Whose fault is that, pray ? I manage to keep my winnings ;
and since you desire to know what they are. 111 tell yoo." So
saying, he lock her hand, and directed her attention to the plan
hanging against the wall.

" Look diere, madam," he said. " All you behold upon that
sutp is mine — those domains — ^that castle — those villages — those
fiurms — those moorlands — those hills — that broad tract stretching
from fifteen miles inland to the very verge of the German Ooean
— ell belong to me !"

" What a lai^e landed profHietor you have contrived to make
yourself, Fairlie 1 But let me ask you, my good sir — and, since
nobody is by to hear you except myself, you may answer with sin-
oerity— -do you think all this property has been acquired honestly ?"

^Jiist as honeetly as if it had been bought in the ordinary
way. I have done no more than any one else would have done
under like circumstances."

2«2

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444 THE SFENDTHBIFT.

**0h, fie! you abominable h3rpocrite! Why, if you had not
played the extortioner with Gage, he would still be as well off
as any gentleman in Suffolk. For every thousand pounds lent
him you have exacted three. Tou are a terrible usurer, Fairlie —
a perfect Sir Giles Overreach. Pray, are you in funds now ?"

" If you mean to inquire whether I hold any stock of mon^
belonging to Gage, I answer ^ No.* "

^^ Then I'm almost afraid it is useless to ask you to cash me
this order from him — a mere trifle — a few hundreds ?"

^^ Quite useless. I have closed accounts with Mr. Monthermer,
and will make no more advances. I am already on the wrong side.
Henceforth, he must raise money where he can, and how he can.
He gets no more from me — of that you may rest assured. He
must pay his debts,— or go to gaol."

" Gro to gaol ! You hard-hearted old wretch !"

^^ I must speak plainly, madam, or you will affect to misunder-
stand me. Your nch adorer is ruined — absolutely ruined. I re-
commend you, as a friend, to find another lover — equally wealthy
if you can — and equally lavish. Let me relieve you from these
deeds.

And, as he spoke, he took the parchments from her, and placed
them carefully within the box. While he was thus employed,
Mrs. Jenyns crept stealthily behind him, and looked over his
shoulder at the contents of the chest — showing by her gestures
that she had made some discovery which she lancied of import-
ance. Satisfied with the investigation, she drew back as quietly
as she had advanced.

When Fairlie had locked up the chest, he turned to her, and
said hastily, " I wait your further commands, madam ? Pray be
brief. I have told you I am busy."

" Oh ! I have not the least desire to prolong the interview. All
I want is cash for this order."

*^ I have already explained to you, most fully, as I conceived,
that I cannot pay it. Mr. Monthermcr ought not to have given
it you. He cannot plead ignorance of his position. For the last
few days I have been obliged to discontinue all payments on his
account. You may have heard that I yesterday refused him five
hundred pounds to pay a debt of honour to Sir Randal de Mes-
chines."

" A very mean trick of you, Fairlie. I hope you heard how
nobly Arthur Poynings behaved to him. But come, sir. I must
have the money. I won't stir ^vithout it."

"You won't, eh?"

" Positively not. Hitherto I have been your accomplice — ^now
I mean to act on my own account. I am sure you don't wish
to make me an enemy, Fairlie."

^^ If I should be so unfortunate — owing to my refusal to comply
with your demands — ^I shall regret it ; but it cannot be helped."

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THE SFENDTHBIFT. 445-

** Indeed you will regret it, Fairlie — and with good reason.
I can do you a mischief— and I will."

^^ Poh ! poh ! I laugh at such silly threats, madam."

<* Tou may laugh now, sir, but you won't laugh when I give
Grage some mformation which I have derived from a peep mto
your strong-box."

<* 'Sdeath 1 what d'ye mean? — what do you fancy you have dis-
covered?"

^ Quite enough to make it worth your while to pay me a
thousand pounds to hold my tongue."

**AcciOTed jade I what can ohe have seen?" Fairlie muttered.
^^ She must have detected something, or she would not assume so
bold a front — Well, madam, we have always been good friends,
and I have no desire to break with you. You shall have this
thousand pounds. But mind ! not in payment of Grage's order."

** As you please about that. Provided I get the money I am
content. I thought you would prove reasonable " she added, with
a mocking laugh.

Fairlie made no reply, but sat down to write out a memoran-
dum. While the actress signed it, he unlocked a drawer, and
taking from it a pile of bank-notes, handed them to her.

^^ Tou mustn't trouble me again," he said.

" I make no promises," she replied.

** Mrs. Jenyns," Fairlie remarked, rising, " before we part^ let
me give you a piece of advice. Believe me, nothing more is to
be got from Gbge. For your own sake I advise you to leave-
him at once. Indeed, I am surprised you should stay so long."

^^ I have no intention of abandoning him at present, Mr. Fairlie,
I do not think so badly of his case as you would have me do. He.
may yet come round."

" S^ever ! His case is hopeless, I tell you," the steward ex-
claimed, almost fiercely. ^^ If you were inclined to listen to me —
but I see you are not," he added, checking himselL ^^ GK>od day,
madam. Do as you please."

^^ I think I ought to tell you how I intend to employ the money
you have given me so obligingly, Mr. Fairlie."

"I care not how you employ it — in some folly — at the gaming-
table, no doubt."

" Five hundred pounds will be devoted to the repayment of Mr.
Arthur Pojmings."

" ZoundjB ! madam. Are you mad?"

" The other five hundred will be used in an experiment which I
hope may help to retrieve Gage's fortunes."

^* Retrieve them 1 — pay Aruiur Poynings ! Give me back the
money. Tou have obtained it under false pretences. Tou havo
robbed me."

But with a loud derisive laugh the actress broke from him, and
made a rapid exit by the same way she had entered the room.

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44« TBB BPfai DTUtTT.

xxvnL

TBOM WHICH n WOTTLD AFFEAB THAT MB. FAIELIE 80KETDCES 7B0MISED KOBE
THAV HE DTTENDED 10 PESFOBlf.

Mb. Faiblie was highly incensed. He paced io and fio Sat
some timey and had scarcety recoTeied his ei{«ammitVy when
the door at the lower end of the room was opened, and PiMkej
enteied to wnoimoe Sir Sandal de Mesehinea. Iha iMxoaet
was without and could not be refused. So^ tbougk he wodii
"vdlliiiffly haTe declined to see him, Fairlie p«t ok agiBcioasaipect,
and aaliirang his nnwdoome yiaifeor, ofiered kioa a seal

<< Of coarse you have heard what took place at Whk/fls yester-
day, Faudie?'' Sir Randal obaenredy as soon as the^ mtt aloaa
^^ Since then, I have sent a friead to yaong Poyuags, biitk
ze&ses ma satia&ctkMi fc»r the insult offired."

^Bttt you won't let him escape?" Faiilie cried.

^^ Make yourself easy on that score. I will fofoa him into a
dotL and then—"

^I flee," Fairlie i^oined, widi a smile. ^Bxm, lam ihton^
the lungfr— di ? Qmte zighft-^oifee right! I kite the £dlowii
much as you do. By-the-by, yott will be surprised to hear tkt
Mrs. Jenyns is about to repay him the money Im lent Gage yesle^
di^."

^^Mnu Jenyns rq>ay him l** the baronet ezdaimed, withanaftcted
aatonishment. ^ I should a* soon have expected Oagp to pay Us
debts. Whalfs in the wind now? Has she ooiioeiYed a sadden
caprice tot y oang Poynings ? If so, FU mp tka amoor in the
bod. Flagae take her! Fe^ is like all the rest of her fiokle
sex." Then suddenly changing his manner, he added, ^ When is
this babble to buret? Everybody is talking of the oceonnice at
White's ymlecday, and as it is now genemlly kaowa that Gage
cannot pay even a debt of hooou^ his acquaintance will fi^t flby
of him. X ou appear not to know wfaa^s going on outside tki
facose. The doora are beset by importunate creditoa. This state
of thin^ cannot last much k>nger."

<a £in't mtond it should. U you take the trouble to call bm
to-morrow, Sir Randal, and inquire for Mr. Monthemeiy you will
find he has sndd^Eily \i^ town — on urgent business."

** Oh ! you mean to speed him off into the ooontiy— to Moo-
thermer CJastle, eh ? "

^He dudl bever set foot inside the Castle again with my con-
sent; and I don't think his journey is likdy to be a long om*
His first hak wiU be at the Fleets where he will probably NBMA ^
a £eew months."

^^ Ha ! ha ! ha ! " cried the baronet, laughing at the jest»

^^Ihare pbmned it all," Fairlie imrsued; ^hta anest will trice
pkce this yety day. Of coarse^ 1 shan't tppear in die mi^$

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Til£ SnEHBTHBlFT. 442

Imt the tucAiog creditor, Mr. Nibbe^ is Merely my inatninient. As
to those clamorous fellows whom yem sftw ooinde tke hama^ not
one of them wiU gets farthiag. My ckims are paraBKmnt. They
can touch aothing."

^^ Egad, you ase a devUiah clever fellow, Faitiie. I liave an infinite
ieq>ect ftur you. And now, eince you are fully in a position to
carry out our arrangement respecting your daughter, it is tine
to bring it before you,"

^Nay, Sir Randal, it is premature to towdi upon it now.
Whatever I may be in reality, I am not yet ostensibly master of
the property. Once in possession, I shall be willing to listen to
your proposals."

^ My proposals ! 'Sdeatb ! sir, I have gone beyond proposals.
The amdr is settled. I require folfihnent ot our compact."

'' Fulfilled it shall be in due time, Sir Randal Why shouU
you doubt me?"

" Because — but no matter — I won't be left in any uncertainty.
I nrnst be satisfied your daughter will accept me."

^^ You will only defeat your object by precipitancy, Sir Randal.
I must have time to pcepare her. She nas been very ill of kte
— very ill indeed — and I nave be^i so much engaged in winding
up Mx>nthernier^s afi&irs that I have had no time to think of any-
thing else — but I will attend to this business immediately."

At this jimcture, a seasonable int^ruption was offered by Pudsey.
The butler came to say that Mr. Freke was without, and desired
to have a word with Mr. Fairlie.

" Say Mr. Fairlie is engaged, Pudsey," Sir Randal cried.

^Hold, Pudsey!" the steward interposed; ^^I must see Mr.
Fidte."

The butler bowed, and retired.

^^ 'Sdeath ! this is provoking," Sir Randal cried. ^^ I don't want
to meet Freke. I'll leave by the private door, as I've often done
before."

'' Pra^ do so, Sir Randal," the steward cried, ddtghted to get
lid of him.

^^ Have a care how you attempt to play me false, Fairlie I" the
baronet cried, proceedmg towards the side door as if with the in-
tenticm of passmg out But p^ceiving that the steward's back
was turned, he opened the door quickly, and as quickly closed it;
contriving to slip, unobserved, behind the screen. The next
moment Seau Freke was ushered in by Pudsey.

*' I dare say you guess my errand, Fairlie ?" Bean Freke re-
marked, as soon as do^ butler had vrithdrawn.

^^ You give me credit for greater paietration than I possess, sir,"
llie steward replied, bowiug. ^^ I am not aware to what circum-
stances I am indebted for the pleasure of seeing you this morning."

^ Really — you surprise me. I fancied you w<Mild expect me to
complete the terms of our arrangement."

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448 THE SPENDTHRIFT.

^^ In roj turn, I must express surprise, Mr. Freke. I thought all
our arrangements were concluded."

^^ You affect an astonishment which I am sure you do not feel,
Fairlie. But there is no need of circumlocution. I will come to
the point at once. My errand refers to your daughter."

^' X ou have heard, then, of her illness, and are come to inquire
about her ?"

** Her illness ! no. I hope it is nothing serious."

*^ I hope not, also, sir; but I have been very uneasy about her
—very uneasy, I assure you."

^^ She has always looked charming whenever I have had the
happiness of beholding her," Beau Freke replied, looking as if he
dia not place impUcit credence in the steward's assertions. After
coughing slightly, he added, " I cannot believe that you design to
behave unhandsomely to me, FairUe, though my confidence in yoa
has been somewhat shaken by finding that you have promised your
daughter to Sir Randal."

" May I ask from whom you derived your information, sir ?"

*^ From the best authority — Sir Randal himself."

" Sir Randal is the very worst authority you could have, my
dear Mr. Freke. He has a motive for deceiving you."

" Then you deny having given him such a promise ?"

" Flatly deny it. He has often 'spoken to me about my daugh-
ter, and, being desirous to continue on sfood terms with him, I
have not altogether discouraged him. He has construed some
slight expressions of assent on my part into an absolute promise —
that is all."

"This alters my view of the matter unquestionably, Fairlie.
I can quite understand why you should not wish to quarrel with
Sir Randal ; and I can also readily understand how his vanity may
have led him to believe he would, be irresistible with the young
lady — but he would never do for her husband."

" Never, my dear Mr. Freke — such a man would never do. Sir
Randal is the very last person I should desire for a son-in-law,
while you are the first I should select. I assure you I should es-
teem it a high honour to be connected with a gentleman of your
birth and distinction."

Of course not a syllable of these remarks was lost upon Sir
Randal as he stood behind the screen, and he had some difficulty
in controlling his rage.

" I am much flattered by your good opinion, Fairlie," Beau
Freke said; " and I have now no hesitation in asking you to ratify
our agreement by at once affiancing me to your daughter."

*^ I must crave the delay of a few days, my dear Mr. Freke. As
soon as Monthermer^s affiiirs are entirely settled I will attend
to it; but just at this moment I have more on my hands than I
can easily manage; neither do I think the present a favourable

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THE SPENDTHRIFT. 449

opportunity so far as my daughter is concerned. She is far too
unweU to be troubled just now."

** I don't believe a word about her ilbessy" Beau Freke thought.
" The rascal means to throw me over. But Til tie him down.—
No occasion in the world to trouble Miss Fairlie," he added, aloud.
** Reduce your promise to writing, and I shall be perfectly content."

** A written promise, Mr. Freke ! Won't my word suffice ?'

'^ In such cases it is best to have some evidence of the intentions
of the parties. I must have a written undertaking, with a penalty
— a heavy penalty — in case of non-performance, x ou have taught
me caution, FairUe."

Thus driven into a corner, Fairlie scarcely knew what to do,
and Sir Randal was considering whether he should step forward
and put an end to the scene, when, to the steward's inexpressible
relief, Mr. Pudsey again made his appearance, and said that Miss
Fairlie had just arrived, and wished to be admitted to her father's
presence without delay.

The steward replied that he would see her in a moment, and as
Pudsey withdrew, he added, "We will settle this matter some
other time, my dear Mr. Freke. You must not meet my daughter.
Pass through the private door, sir — there ! — you know the way.
Quick, sir, quick I — she'll be here before you are gone."

Fairlie fancied he had got rid of his troublesome visitor. But
he was mistaken. Beau Freke practised the same manoeuvre as
Sir Randal, and with equal dexterity and success. But, instead of
gliding behind the screen, he slipped into the closet, the door of
which, we have said, stood conveniently open. He had scarcely
ensconced himself in this hiding-place, when Clare Fairlie entered
the room.

XXIX.

how clase 7ai&lie endeavoured to prevail upon heb fatheb to pay

gage's debts.

Fairlie haS not exceeded the truth in declaring that his
daughter was unwell; but she was far worse than he supposed. In
appearance she was greatly altered since we first beheld her. Her
beauty was unimpaired ; but it now inspired uneasiness, rather than
exciteid admiration. To look at her, you could not help appre-
hending that that insidious disease which seeks its victims amongst
the fairest and most delicate had begun its work upon her already
fra^le frame. Her complexion was transparently clear, and tinged
witk a hectic flush, which heightened the lustre of her large dark
eyes. A settled melancholy sat upon her marble brow, and there
was an air of lassitude about her that proclaimed extreme debility.

Since their arrival in town, now more than three months ago,
Fairlie had seen little of his daughter. He had provided apart-

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450 THE SPOSmHRIFT.

meiitB for hier in Jenayn-etreet, at tbe house of an eUefljr hdjj
Mrs. Lacy, with whom he was ac(j[aamtocl, md dM had readei
theie^ diiunng tbe wh(^ of ^ tmie, wi<ji only otie attendant^
Lettioe RoughaoB. Fairlie waa ao much oociipied witk Ifon*
thtfmei's affitixs — so be&t mem biinging his niadunadom to a suc-
cessful issue — tiiai he lud Cttle leiure for the perfoiwanoe c^ do-
mestic datiea. Clare never came near him, and a week would
sometimes elapae between his fisite to her. Ev^er since die oocnr-
rence at Bury St. Edmuul'S) when Clare bad me<Uta*ed flieht,
and accident only bad brought her back, an estmgemeat nad
taken place between father and daughter. Fairlie could noi alto-
gether forgive ber disobedience, and she only consented to reiDain
with him, on oonditioa that she was no longer to be compelled
to reside nader Moaihermer'8 roof.

Poor Clare's existeMce was bUsfated. She had ceased to t^e
intereirt in ak&ost all that yielded pkasore to peraons of ber own
age; neither mixing in society nor going to any public places of
amusement ; and avoiding in ber walks, as much as ponible^ all
9potA to which ga^ crow(n resorted. 0^ friend was oonstast to
Mr. Lucy Poynmgs strove to dii^ her gloom, and bdieid
with great anxiety the inroads thai secret sorrow was aAakii^
upon her health. But evext Lucy's weU-meant e£brte failed. In
vain did tbe lively girl essay to tempt the poor su&er with glow-
ing descriptions of filtes a»l reviews, of operas and theatres, of
lidottos at Marylebone Grardens, and masquerades at Ranelagh —
Clare was not to be moved. She could not even be prevailed to
go into the Parks or to the Mall, except at such hours as she knew
no one waa likely to be there — mudi to Lettice Rougbam's dis-
content. But we must not misjudge Lettice. The little damaely
though volatile, had a really good heart, and felt the sincerest
sympathy for her young mistress. She often shed tears on her
account, and declared her belief to Lucy that Miss Clare was
d3ring of a broken heart. And Lucy b^n to share her appre-
hensions.

The person who was last to notice the ak^ied ^te of Clare's health
was the very first who ought to have discerned it ; and he mi^t
have continued still longer unconscious of the change — for Clare
made no comj^nt to him — if Mrs. Laey had not thought it her
duty to c(Mnmunicate her aus^vings to him. To do him juatioei
Fairlie was ^preatly shocked. He enjoined that every att^itioQ
should be paid his daughter, and that she should have we best ad-
vice. Mrs. ItSLcy shook her head despoxidingly, as if she thought
this would be of no avail ; but she promised oomfditnce, and u&
him. For several days after this, Fairlie was extremely solicitoas
about Clare^ and paid her frequent visits, but by decrees be be-
came less uneaqr^ And im the end succeeded in persuading himself
that his fears were groundless. Clare was ill, no doubt — but not
dangerously so, ^d he was confirmed in this opinion, because,

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THX SFBHDTHXIIT. 461

aotwithstanding Mn. Lacy's eatreatiei^ she defined all medical
advice. Fairlie's heart was so hardened hy oavetowneai, that it
was scarcely sueoeptiUe of any tender emo4ion« and in his blind
pursuit of gain he cared not if he sacrificed all dutt should have
been dear to him. Compared with tiie vast stake for which he
was playing^ all other matters appeared of minor^ interest ; but
when the ob^eoi he aimed at was obtained, he promised himself
to watch over his daughter carefully* Meantime (so he thought),
ake could take little hinxu

From what has been pronised, it will be easily imagined that
CSare's unezpecied visit occasioned her father great surprise, and
some Uttle misgiving. Both were silent for a few minutes, during
which Fairlie regarded her with natural awdety. She had evi-
dently collected all her energies for the interview — and the flush
OB har cheek deceived him. He thought her looking better ; and
told her so.

^^ I know not if I am better or woise,^ she replied, in feeble
accents; ^^ but I did not come to speak about my ailments. What
I have to say relates to yourself and Grage."

JFairlie's brow darkeiM^ and he app^md disposed to check her.

^^ Father, I beseech you to listen to me,^ she pursued. ^^ You
have wronged this young man, who was entrusted to your care,
said €wer whose interests it was your duty to watch, grievously
wronged him — ^but it is not too late to remedy the injustice.**

The steward shook his head, but made no ether reply.

'^ For the sake of his father, who was ycm patron, and to whom
you owe everything — for the poor aaisj^Qided young man's own
sake, whom you once professed to F^aid — ^for my sake^ if you
have any love kfk for me — I implore you to save him.*

Still Fairlie maintained an obstinate sifeaoe.

'^ Do not turn a deaf ear to all my entreaties. Speak to me, I
beg ofyou.**

^' What can I say ? I can do nothing for him.''

^^ Father," Qare said, with a aolenm eamcstnesi, ^ this is the last
request I have to make of you. Discharge Gage*8 debts. Set him
free."

^^ What nKmstffoas absor^^ you talk, PjAV* Fairlie cried,
angrily. ^^I pay this prodi^s debts. Staff and nonsensel
What good would it do him if I did ? He would be exactly in
the same position two months hence. I am sorry you have trou*^
bled yourself to oome to me, Claie, if this b yovr soke business.
Believe me^ Gage deserves no oonsideiatioa.''

^^He deserves evtrj oonsidentioQ on your port, ftiher. I
am told he is in dingwi of arresL b this true? You do
not deny ia. Fatker, will j%m ilaiid by fvietiy sad aUow the
son of your heMfiMtor te be dragged to gaol? (&t dkamel
shime!"

And she burst into a paroxysm of tears.

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462 THE SPENDTHBIFr.

^< The law must take its course. I cannot prevent it^'' Fairlk
said, in an inexorable voice.

"Do you tell me this?'^ Clare cried, raising her head, and re-
garding him scomfullv.

" Well then, I won i prevent it — if you will have the truth,"

Clare made an effort, and arose.

" Farewell, father !" she said ; " we meet no more in this world,*

" Sit down, girl — sit down," Fairlie cried. " I entreat — ^I com-
mand you. It is for you, and you alone, that I have laboured to
acquire a fortune. I have no other child — ^no other object of
affection. All will be yours one day. Why should my gains be
wasted on a prodigal?"

" Give him back his own. I will have none of it."

" Clare, you drive me mad. Let things take their course. He
must have a severe lesson. It may do him good, and perhaps some
plan may be devised for aiding him hereafter."

" Ana meanwhile he is to be thrown into prison by your privity —
by your contrivance."

"By my privity — by my contrivance, Clare?"

"Yes, you make yourself a party to the wrong by not prevent-
ing it. But I have said my say. Farewell !"

" No, no, girl — we must not part thus."

" I will only remain on your consenting to discharge Gage's
debts."

*^Well, if I agree to do as you would have me — though
against my own inclination — against every dictate of common
sense — will you show yourself more tractable in fixture?"

" In all reasonable matters."

" Ay, but you may consider what I require unreasonable."

"Let me mow it, then." •

" Will you marry as I would have you do?"

"I have far other thoughts than those of marriage, father.
— Have you made choice of a husband for me?'*

^^Two gentlemen aspire to that happiness — Sir Randal de
Meschines and Mr. Freke."

" I would rather be led to the grave than wed either of them."

" Nay, I but said this to try you," Fairlie cried, alarmed by her
increasing paleness. ^^ Be assured I will never sacrifice you to a
gambler or a rake, and both these gentlemen are such. I have other
designs in regard to you."

"Trouble yourself no more about me. Let me go."

And she tottered towards the door, but ere she could reach it
her strength utterly failed her, and she sank upon a chair.

" What ails you?" her tsAket cried, springing towards her.

" A sudden faintness," she replied. " It will pass off soon."

Just then there was a noise of hasty footsteps without, and in
another instant the door flew open, ana Lettice Rougham rushed
into the room.

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THE SPENDTHRIFT. 453

" Oh, Miss Clare !" Lettice screamed, " it has happened just as
we expected. They've arrested him/'

** Peace ! hold jrour tongue, hussy 1" Fairlie cried. " Don't you
see your mistress is ill. Bring something to revive her."

'^ Here, miss, smell at this bottle. Oh dear ! dear ! what will
become of him ? I won't be silent," she said to Fairlie. " Poor
Mr. Monthermer is arrested, miss. They're going to take him
away."

** Arrested!" Clare cried, looking at her father.

" Yes, miss; and the servants say it's Mr. Fairlie's doing. They
all cry shame upon him — and well they may. I cry ' shame,' too.
Nay, you may look as angry at me as you please, sir. I ain't a
bit afraid."

Clare seemed to regain her strength as suddenly as she had lost
it. She arose.

" Give me your arm, Lettice," she cried, " and help me forth. I
will set him free."

^ You ! how will you do it ?" Fairlie exclaimed.

" Come with me, and you shall see ! " she rejoined.

" I cannot face him," Fairlie said, shrinking back.

" But you must — ^you shall !" Lettice criea, laying hold of his
hand, and draffffing him along. " Your presence is necessary."

Fairlie would have resisted, but his daughter's looks compelled
him to accompany her.

As soon as the coast was clear, the two eavesdroppers issued
from their respective hiding-places, and met face to face. They
stared at each other in silence for a few moments ; and then both
burst into a roar of laughter.

^* What 1 were you there ?" Beau Freke asked, pointing towards
the back of the screen.

" And were you there ?" Sir Randal rejoined, pointing to the
closet. *^ I thought you were gone ; but I find you have as much
curiosity as myself. WeD, we have had listeners' luck. We have
heard ourselves called ^mblers and rakes; but at the same time
we have learnt something it was expedient to know. Fairlie has
duped us, and means to cast us off. So far as I am concerned, he
shall find this no easy task."

^^ If he thinks to get rid of me, he'll find himself mistaken. I'll
stick to him like a leech."

^* Marriage with his daughter is of course out of the question,
after what we have heard. But we will find other means of
bringing Um to book. If he proposes to enjoy his ill-gotten gains
in quiet, he must pay us a heavy per-centa^e as hush-money."

" Exactly," Beau Freke replied, laughmff. " He shan't easily
get out of our toils, that I promise. But let us see what they
are about A hundred to one he don't pay Gkige's debts."

" I take you," Sir Randal replied, as they left the room together.

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454

THE COUBT, AEISTOCBACT, AND DIPLOMACY OP
AirSTEIA,*

The higUy imp<M:taiii and very interestii^ ^' Memoirs of tbe Cout d
Austria^" now first presented to a British puBlk, are the Engliah Tersion
of the corresponding part of the series puhlished by Dr. E. Vehse^ under
the title of ^* History of the German Covrts since the Befonnataon.* In
so £blt as Austria is concerned, they extend, therefore, (rora the feunder
of the Austrian monarchy as an European power, Maximilian I., to the
reiffn of Francis II. Rodolph of Habsburg, the first of the djrnaaty,
had, it is true, laid the foundation of the family estate of the homae of
Austria; but it was, under Maximilian, by tlnnee fortunate marriages,
raised to the rank of the first empire of the civilised worid.

With Maximilian, the middle ages were buried. He sriMtitnted the
rule of the law for the M law of anns, and planned a confltitation,
which, had it been established, would have prevented the adiism in ike
German Church, by a national reform of the existing eoclesiastioal aboMS.
A united Germainr roi^t have snccessfiilly made bead i^;ainst tbe Pepe,
who would as little have denied his assent to the accomi^ithed fiaet of
enacted decrees in this instance, as he did in the case of those of the
Council of Basle. ** Maximilian's form fades away in the bright evening
sun of the expiring poetical middle ages : Charles v. meets our ejrc, item
and melancholy, in the dawn of a new, matured, and coolly calculating
age." The greatest question of the sixteenth century — the Reformation —
was looked upon by Maximilian as a mere priest's quarrel : to Charies V.
it appeared as a dangerous rebellion ; and he opposed the movement of
the new religious spirit, against which the Pope nad buried the spiritiiai
thunderbolt of his anathema, with the ban of the empire, and witk afi tbe
woridly expedients of the new system of polity. Neither Mannilian nor
Charles comprehended the true importance of the religioat questioii, or
recognised the necessity of placing themselves at the head of die move-
ment, to gmde it, and to oarry it oat in % national G«niiaa spirit, and
&r the interest of Germany. Mfnrimilian, in his gay eardessnesa, nndw-
rated its importance : Charles, in his melancholy scmplefly overrated^ it
He saw in tlie new heresy only the ereat danger to the ancient political
system of the German empire ; aad on this sround he tried to wa^ a
war of extermination against it. Neither of mem was equid to the idea
that a new system was to be introduced, a compact unity of Germany, a
unity in that form which England alone, of all the states of Europe,
has succeeded in establishing. As Napoleon said in 1 8 1 3, *' If Chailes V.
had placed himself at the h^d of the Reformation, he wotdd bare obtained
afosoKite rule over the whde of Germany."

The eoA of sndi a man was in keeping with his Iffe ; alreadr, ai Iht
battle of Mmhifeevg, he was a tfettrey dad in a Ml nk of yiitteting
arinour, with gilt heloMl and cuinisi» and adomed with the nd gdd-
•feripedBwgyBdhim badge; grey firaoi die tortarea of iho gook, fait link

* Memoirs of the Coart, Azistocrscj, and Diflamagor ef Austda. Bj De. E-
Vfehse, Two Vols. Longman and Co.

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THE COURT, ARISTOCRACY, AND DIPLOMACY OF AUSTRU. 455

were as if paraljsed, his face pale as death, and his yoice scarcely audible.
The Protestants had for some time looked npon him as a dead man. <' Like
a mommy, like a spectre," says Ranke, '^ he advanced against them."
The cloister-life of this vindictive enemy to freedom of conscience has
been narrated in the picturesque pages of ACgnet Dr. Vehse's nar-
rative is founded upon the manuscripts of a friar of the conyent of Yuste,
disinterred from the archives of Brussels by Van der Bronk, and it
agrees in all the main particulars with the details g^ven by Stirling and
by the French academician.

If Charles was grave, taciturn, sedate, and ailing, his brother and
successor, Ferdinand I., was as ardent as the sun of Castile, gay, ex-
ceedingly communicative, disdaining neither the pleasures of conviviality
nor the relaxation of music and dancinfic, and enjoying the most robust
health. His son, Archduke Ferdinand, of the Tyrol, became famous
for his morganatic marriage with PhUippina Welser, considered the
most beautiml woman of her time. Her skin is siud to have been of
such transparency, that when she drank red wine the blushing fluid was
seen through her delicate neck. A portrait, representing this " fact,''
is still extant at Nuremberfl^. The thing is impossible ; but Dr. Vehse
was so carried away by the rich materials for romance presented by
the earlier history of the House of Austria, that he seldom stops to in-
vestigate statements with a very critical eye. Speakiog, for example, of
the death by poison of the brave, ingenious, and agreeable Don John of
Austria, he says, " His heart was found quite dried up, and his skin as if
singed with fire !"

Maximilian II. was in *his youth the *' Prince Ha^ of his d3masty ;
yet he was the favourite of Charles Y., and the last German emperor
who, as stick, placed himself at the head of an army of die empire, and
took the field in person. Unfortunately he was too partial to Hungarian
wine, which made him suffer terribly from gout, and having taken an
elixir of reported miraculous virtues, he survived its effects only a few
days.

Rodolph U., a gloomy, wayward prince, acquired some fame by his
antiquarian, alchemical, and magic hobbies. There were always living
at his court a number of clock and instrument makers, with whom he
used, like Charles V., to work ; as also a host of astrologers, who had to
draw horoscopes; and he kept up a constant intercourse vrith alche-
mists, Rosicrucians, and adepts of every sort, whose ranks comprised not
a few impostors, quacks, and needy aaveuturers. These conjurers un-
dertook to prophesy from magic mirrors or boiling water; they pro-
mised to find for the Emperor the elixir of life and the philosopher's stone ;
and even more than this, they gravely engaged in experiments to produce
men, actual human beings, in the crucible, and to resuscitate mummies.

Dr. John Dee, the celebrated English alchemist and necromancer, was one of
the most oonspicuoos characters among this motley crowd. Bodolph at one
time had the very highest opinion of Dee. Each looked upon the other as a
great magician, anduiey were not a little afraid of each other. Even a man
Eke Count Khevenhiiller fully believed that Bodolph saw in his magic mirror
the remote future, and that he was able by means of his magnets to read the
most hidden thoughts of persons living at a distance. When, in 1598, Count
Adolphus Schwaizenberg had taken Baab from the Turks, and sent Colonel von

VOL. XZXIZ. 2 H

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4ff6 THE COnST, ASISTOdUCT,

Baohbcim to convey ike repoii to the Emperor, the cdond was not a little
suprised at finding that hu Majesty waft alreadj coffnisant of it. " The Ebv
peror/' Khevenlinller writes, " told him that they haa known it hy means of aa
lurt. taught them by an Englishman, of giving &ifi;nals at a distance by moon-
light with two mirrora and a magnet ; and that Scnwarzenberg had had a mirror
thus prepared, and his Mijesty anotiier/' Dee retnined, in 15011, to London,
where Qneen Iflizabetii gave lum a pension. As James I., being a despiser of
the '' art snblijDe,'' stopped the payment of the nittanoe, Dee prepared to leave
his eoantry a second tune, when death preventea him. He died at Mnrtlake, ia
1608, at the age of eighty-two.

Edward Kelly, a fnend and coadjutor of Dee, was less lucky with Rodolph.
Ihe Emperor at first created him a baron of Bohemia; but when afterwards
the adept was either unwilling or unable to produce ^Id, he was, in 1590, by
the order of his Imperial patron, imprisoned in a Bohemian easde, where hie
remained for six years. Queen ISiiBabeth, at the entreaties of Dee, interceded
for lum, bat in vain. At last Kelly tried to gain his liberty by his own efforta,
lowering himself from the castle by a rope ; but he broke his leg in the attanpt»
md soon after died of the consequenoes of the falL

Two Italians, who daring the last half of the sixteendi eentui'y were
the astonisbment of the whole of Europe — Marco Bragedino and Hie>
ronymus Scolto — Kved at Rodolph's coort in great style. The first made
gold, and wee aecompanied by two black bulldoes, to show his power
over spirits. His deceptions navhig been found oat, he £ed in the
Bavarian eiq[iital^ on tibe gallows, in 1590. The second was also an
alchemist, and a base intrigner. Rodolph never married, because l^ciio
de Brahe bad declared from an horoscope drawn for him that danger was
threatening him from his nearest relation, his own son.

The latter part of Rodolph's life was what might be expected from the
rioomy superstitious turn of hb mind. He beoune, in fact, little better
wan a mtoman.

Halley's comet, which made its appearance in 1607, strengthened his fear of
murderous designs from his family, which the awful meteor seemed to him quite
unmistakably to prognosticate. In vain the learned and sensible Keppler tried
to turn him from these apprehensions. His mistrust grew to such a he^it,
that he listened to all tne slanderous gossip and denunciationfi of his lowest
menials. He went so far as to oanse all those who approadied him to be
searched whether they had any arms concealed about their persons. Even his
numerous mistresses had to submit to this reguktion. Fear nutde him sechide
himself in his castle at Prague. His bedroom was like a fortified place. He
would often jump out of bedf^ and order the govemcNr of the palace to search, in
the middle of tne night, every nook and comer of the Imperial residence.
Precautions were taken everywhere f^pednst the possibility of a sorprise. Whilst
attending mass, which he now only d£d on the highest festivals, he sat in a hi^,
covered i>ew, the front of whidi was very doseljr latticed. For greater security
during his promenades, he had Ions and spacious passag|es bmlt on purpose,
with narrow sloping apertures like loopholes, through which he need iK)t fear
to be shot at. These passages led to his magnificent stables, where he liked to
be, and where, consequentlv, he passed much of his time. There he used to
meet his mistresses ; and there he kept his special pets, a number of the most
splendid horses; but onlv for the pleasure of looking at them» as from fear for
his life he never ventured, out on horseback.

And again, after relating the embassy of Robert Shirley, the English-
man, from the Shah of Persia, Dr. Vehae adds, ,

Whoever wished to secure an [interview with Bodolph,<

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ANB JMFLOMJsCY OF AV8TBU. 457

acMl penoDB of exulted rank,— bad to disguise tliemsdres as grooms, as an
andieBce eoidd only be obtaiaed of bisa in bis magpificent stab^ Bat eren
faara il was dangoBow to aDpoacb tbe eooeainc yioknt soyereign. Eva, tbo
dangbtar of George Fopjd of Lobkowitz, wbo in 1604 bad (alien mto disfiroce,
bad, by meaoa ol a bribe, been admitted to that aagnlar audienee-biOl, to
eatreal for tbe life and liberty of ber father; when lortimatelT an honest groom
kepi ber baek, teUinff ber that she would not be the ftrst lady applying to las
Majesty on aiairs of importanoe, and fiiUmg ^uae in the staUe a Tictim to the
last of tbe ngnd raadmaa.

That terrible war of religion^ known as the Thirty Years' War, began
with Matthias, the successor of Rodolph II. in toe Imperial digmty.
He was a debilitated, gouty, dissipated prince. Superstitions were still
rife with Romanist Grermany. Matthias expired, as prophesied by
Keppler, by seyen Ms, drawn for tiie year 1619: JUhgnm JIfonarcha
ilfimdi jfemo Mense J^krtio JIforietnr. Inauspicious omens also hap-

Sened at tlie coronation of FercBnand. The tower where the crown of
t. Stephen of Hungary was kept baying been struck by lightning,
a Knk of the diadem got loose at the coronation, and the beH of the
royal sword broke.

The rulers of the first Habsbnrg dynasty, from Maximilian I. down to
Matdnas — ^not eyen excepting Maximilian 11., the best of the old fine-
had been giyen to all the excesses of illegitimate amours. With the
new Styrian dynasty that came in with Ferdinand H., debauchery
having debilitated the stock, its usual consequence, deyoteeism, made
itself manifest Ferdinand was surrounded exclusiyely with ecdesiastics
and women, who held sole possoasiim of his ear and heart! Once he
went out against the Tarks^ tmt the mere approadi of a troop of Spabis
caused faim to beat a hasty retreat The war fereed upon tke Imperial
deyotee by Ae Papist ** (main of noUee** against the Protestant ** chain
of nobles,^ and wnich was ultimately deci&d by Widlenstein and Tflly
crushing, arms in hand, the sympatoies which Germany had shown for
tbe cause of the Austrians and Bohemians, began under Ferdinand IL,
and lasted dnring the whde of the eighteen years of his rdga.

The battle of the White Mooatain was followed by what VchM calls
<<the bloody day of jadgnaeni in tbe AUstadt Bing of Prague," tlie
terriUe 21 si of June, 1621. Twenty-kmr lords were beheaded, and
three hanged. Tbe property of 728 nobles was confiscated ; whilst
185 noble houses, besides many thousand fiunilies of commoners end
citizens^ left their oonntry (ae oyer.

A new condotHere now arose, after the pattern of Mansfeld, wbo not
oidy offered to carry on war on a grand seak^ and to make it self-
sapporting, but also to estahlisb the mdote sorereignty of the Eaiperor.
This was no other than WalleBstein. He beeaaae in the second period
of the war what Tilly had been in the first

From eady diili&ood the lofty and grasping spirit, as well as tbe harshness
and stubbornness of Wallenatein's duffaoter, manifested tbeniaelyes. One day
when bis mother nhastjsed bim, a boy of vat more than seyea years, be oidled
out, ^I inab I were a prince, thai I mi^t not be flogged!" At that tender
u;e akeady, whilst playing at soldieca with other (^fldrsa of baa age^ be always
(£oee for biniadf the part of general^ and was fond of bang waitea iq^ like a
grand lord. When ma nnde, Adam yon Waldfltoin» oiee reboked boa Cor it,
rfMMTkTag,**WcM,eoBan^yoagiyeyownaciftbeakgrfappnocP* thebaygaye

2h2

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458 THE COURT, ARISTOCRACY,

the ready answer, " That which is not may one day be." There ware many
anecdotes current about Wallenstein's haughty, ambitious spirit. Thus, it was
said, that at the school of Goldberg he had^once dreamed that teadiers and
pupils, and even the trees had made obeisance to him : for which his preceptor
Fechner had ridiculed him. At the Uniyersity of Altdorf, he had been oooe
oondenmed to the black-hole ; and as that place, newly-built, was to be named
after its first inmate, Wallenstein had pushea his poodle in before him, on whidi
the black-hole had ever after been called Poodle. And another time, when he
was a page at the court of the M^^ave of Burgau, the son of Ferdinand of
Tyrol ana the beautiful Philippina Welser, he had once in his ambitious daj-
dreimis fallen from a window m the third story of the castle of Innsbruck, and
escaped as by a miracle.

Wallenstein was born to be '' a prince in war." He displayed the
greatest splendour and magnificence. He connived at all tne excesses
of his solduers^ under the sole condition of having the strictest diadpline
kept up on service. His camp was the most joyous and gaj tluat a
soldier could have wished. He allowed a train of servants, camp-
followers, and waggoners, as also women, of whom there are said to have
been fifteen thousand in the camp of Nuremberg ; but be allowed no
priest. On the other hand, the severity of his punishments was as
excessive as the Hberality of his rewards. Cowardice was inexorably
punished by death ; at the least breach of discipline, the general, whose
word was in lieu of a sentence of a court-martial, briefly gave the order,
<< Let the brute be hanged !"

Even the appearance of the general struck the beholder with reverence and
awe. A t^ tmn, proud figure, with sidlow countenance and stem features;
a lofty, commanding forehead, with short bristling black hair; small, black,
fiery and piercing eyes : dark, mistrustful looks ; his chin and lips covered with
a pointed beard and thick moustachios, the ends of which stood stiffly out ; —
such was the man, as we may still see him in his portraits. His usual diesa
consisted of a buff jerkin and a white doublet, scarlet mantle and hose, a brcMul
Spanish ruff, boots of Cordova leather, lined with fur on account of his gout ; on
his hat he wore, like Tilly, a long[ waving red plume.

Whilst in the camp the most notous gaiety reigned paramount, the most pro-
found stillness was enforced in his own immediate neighbourhood. He is said
to have once caused a valet of his to be hanged, for having awakened him with-
out express orders ; and an officer to be privately put to death, for having
startled him by the jin^glinff of his spurs. He was always plunged in thought,
occupied only with himself and his own plans and jproiects. He was inde-
fatigable in mental exertion and practical labour; but m tnought and deed alike,
he drew only from the resources of his own mind and his own will, in proud
independence of every foreign influence. He even disliked being looked at
whilst receiving reports or giving orders ; and the soldiers were directed, when
he walked through the rows of their tents, not to appear to take any notice of
him. The men were struck with a strange awe when Wallenstein's tall thin
figure glided along like a ghost; there was about all his being something
mysterious, solemn, and uneajrthly. The soldiers were fully convinced that their
general had a bond with the powers of darkness ; that he read the future in the
stars ; that he could not bear to hear the barking of the dog nor the crowing of
the cock ; that he was proof against bullet as well as against cut and stab ; and,
above all, that he had cnarmed Fortune to stand bv his colours. Fortune, indeed,
which was his deity, became that of the whole of nis army.

Wallenstein was a man of the most fiery temper, but outward^ he always
showed himself cool and collected. His orders were brief and terse. He was
very chary with his words; but, although he spoke little, what he spoke was

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AND DIPLOICACT OF AUSTRIA. 459

foil of enersy and to the purpose. Least of all lie spoke about himself; yet
the most ardent ambition burnt quietly and silently within him. To that passion
he in cold blood sacrificed everything and everybody. George Zriny, Ban of
C^atia, one day brought to him the head of a Turk of high station which he
had cut off himself. As the ban, in producing the ghastly trophy, made the
remark, "This is the way in which one ought to pursue tne Emperor's
enemies," Wallenstein answered with icy coldness, " I have seen some heads cut
off before, but I never cut off one myself;" and soon after, he treated the ban
at a dinner to a poisoned radish, of which Zriny died. This happened in 1626.

This last story may be placed in the same category as those previously
alluded to, of the effect of wine on the feir Philippina Welser, and of
poison on Don John of Austna.

The Gbibelline plans of Wallenstein aroused the jealousy of the Pope
and the Jesuits, and they succeeded in obtaining his dismissal, and in
getting Ferdinand, as Vense 8ay8,*to cut off his own right hand. When
Gnstavns Adolphus, the " Snow Majesty," — as he was derisively called by
the nobles at Vienna, who had not the least foreboding of the hot
work in store for them from that " ice-king," — led his Goths across
the Baltic to the rescue of their German brethren in faith, the battle of
Leipzig and the death of Tilly left the Emperor no alternative but to
call Wallenstein once more to the command of the army. Nothing can
be more characteristic of the man than the picture given of his re-
tirement.

Wallenstein had in the mean time lived in proud retirement, partly at Prague,
and partly at Gitschin, the little capital of his duchy of Friedland. At Pra^e,
he hved with almost royal pomp ; but, as far as he himself was concerned, lust
as formerly at the camp, in the strictest seclusion. For the great palace which
he built in the Bohemian capital, one hundred houses had to be pulled down.
All the streets which led to it were barred with chains ; the entrance was bv six
gateways. In the court-yard, a body-guard of fifty gorgeously-dressed halberdiers
kept watch. His household comprised nearly 1000 persons. At the head of Ids
court, as lord chamberlain, stood Count raul Lichtenstein; who, besides a
monthly salary of 200 florins, had board for himself and forty-eight dependents,
with forage for as many horses. His first steward was a uount Harrach ; his
chief equeny a Count mrdegg. The duke himself was waited upon by twenty-
four cluunberlains, who, like tnose of the Emperor, wore golden keys ; and by
sixty pages of honour of the first houses, all of them dressed in sky-blue
velvet, laced and embroidered with gold. Many of the former officers of Wal-
lenstein were living at his court, dniwing pensions and receiving free board at
his table, which was never served with less than a hundred dishes. His stables
contained upwards of 1000 saddle and carriage horses, which fed out of marble
manors. When he travelled, there were never less than fifty carria^, drawn
by SIX horses, and fifty drawn by four. In a lofty vaulted oanauetmg-hall of
his palace at Prague, ne was depicted in a triumphal car, drawn oy four horses
of tne sun, with a star over his laurel-crowned h^. The long smtes of rooms
of this palace were filled with astrological, allegorical, and mytnological figures.
A secret staircase led from a small round s^oon into a grotto of artificial
stalactites, where there was a bath. Adjoining this ^tto was a spacious
portico ; from which one entered the gardens, adorned with fountains, and with
canab abounding with fish.

Wallenstein's fortune was colossal, even according to the standard of our own
times. His yearly revenue was estimated at 6,000,000 florins (600,000/.),
derived partly from the large capitals which he had pUiced in the banks of
Amsterdam and Venice; and partly from his estates in Moravia and Bohemia,
especially the duchy of Friedland and the principality of Sagan. ^though no

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4S0 TEE OOTOTj AJUBltMSBACr,

kmger is the poMeanoK of the d«digr of Meoklesbiug, be ooBtnuedmtl 16S1
to oein daeats witii the kgsnd of his Mme, m Dvke of Meoklenhig.

Wallenstein onlv ooDsented to retssume oommand of the army "^nA
&e oondition of aosolute power, and that neither the Emperor himaeff
nor his son should have an jdiing to do with the army. T^ fatal faattk
of Liiiien — lo fintal, yet so gioriotts, to the Swedes — u well tdkL

The whok field was covered by a dense fog, wbidi eompletdy intereepted Ae
view. The Kins; of Sweden likewise monnted his ^diite charger, and aadressed
the Swedes, Pinkaders, and Geraaaas, each separately. He thesi oaaaed to be
anng^ to the sonod of trumpets and ketUe-dnuns, Lutiber's hymn, ** A atrGW
fortress is our God," and Ins own favourite l\ynm, known as his " Field Soqg,r
composed by his chaplain Dr. Fabricius :

'* Do not despair, thoa little band.
E'en though the foe>is near at hand.
To bring thee to destruction."

As a war-ciy he too gave that of Breiten£eld, " God with us." He had not
yet broken his fast ; ana again only wore his buff ierkin, with a coat of broad-
cloth ovca: il; without any cuirass, as an old wouna and his corpulent made it
inconvenient for him to wear armour. On the morning of the batUe he ex-
pressly deolined it, saying, "God is my cuirass."

It was now nine o*ckdic; the king had approached Wallensteai^ order of
battle within range of oaanon-shot The artillery began to {^y, the oavahy to
throw out skirmishers ; but, as the thick fog made it impossible to see anythiaff, all
was soon quiet again. After ten o'clock only, the fog began to disperse, and uere
was a little gleam of smdiiiDe. The kmg was just staying with Doke Bernard
opposite the windmills, in front of the rigot wing of Walleiisteai; and he oalM
out with a loud Toioe, " Now let us be at it I The Lord be with as ! Lord
Jeans, help ! We fight to-day for the hoooor and gkvy of Thy hqhr
"" ' "Fa

Thea, drawinj^ his sword, be charged with the word oif eoBmnnfl^ '* Forward !**
against the ditdies of the high road, which were kept by Wallenstein's aiiiUerT
■nd muaketeert. It was his principal object to take the batteiy near the wind-
nills, which was the key of Wallenstein's position. Bdiind the ditdiea he was
veoetved by a murderous fire; and only after three hours' hard fighting, three of
the eaemys squares were brt^ren by the Swedish infantry under Brahe. The
king now descned the cuirassiers of Wallenstein's second hue of battle, in dieir
hbA cuirasses, and at their head, m glittering armour, their ootond, Ottavio
Picoolomini, the sane who afterwards b^rayed WallensteiiL GustaToa callod
Ottt to Colonel Btalbantsch, who oommanded the Finland regiment of hone^
** Attadc thoee black fellows 1" But being at this moment apprised that (he
Lnpoial eavah^ in the eentre had again driven back his previoualy auoeeasfal
nfantry, he put himself at the head of the Smaland regiment, oommanded hy
tiM wounded Cdond Steenboek, to hasten to the support of his own oeolre.
Whilst he was thus riding on at full speed, few only could fdlow him. Iheae
were Duke Francis AlbcSrt of Saxe Lauenburff; &e equerry e( the latter^
Ludiau; the lord of the bedehamber. Von Truo)]»ess ; the page Angwtna von
LenbeUing, the scm of a Nuremberg patrician house, a lad of ixlj eigteea
fears; and, besides these gentlemen, two grooms. At onee the king found
himself in the midst of the enemy's horsemen, those " blaek fc&wa.*' His
horse was wounded in the neck by a dustol-shot ; after which he himself had his
left aim shattered by another ball. His first words were, *' It is nothing, follow
me;" but the wound was so severe that the bonea protruded thro^^ Ihe
deeve. He now b^ged the Duke of Lanenbaig to remove him from the fray,
and turned raund; but in th« same moment, he roomed from tiie Lnpenaliat
Lieutenant-colon^ Maurice von Falkenbog, tiie brother of that Sweduh com-
mandant who had been killed at the taking of Magdeburg, another |»8td-8hot m
(he faMk. ExoUiming with a eigh, ''My God, myOod!" hesankiiom the

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A3CD Dm^OOCACr OV AUSnOA. 4U

saddle; biA his foot being £Mt in the stirrup, he was dnnped on hnr hia hQCMb
The eqieny L«ehan now eigaged fWkenbeiff; the duke fled, ana the page
jilone remamed with the king« &e was still afire, and tiie boy, who lefosod i»
tell thai it was the kine, was himself mortailr wounded. The kmg, after being
jTobbed of his golden ohatn and stripped, at last called ont, '^ I am the King (2
Sweden!'^ Upon whieh the Maek onusMsiers tried to oanr him off with them;
bvt at this noment Steenboek's regiment oame up; the olaek eniraaaiers took
to flight, and, being nnable to take the king with than, they ahot him throii§^
Hae head, asd stabbed him in several places ttuoo^ the body; after which thcj
€faroTOed him. The Sweokh stjnai&roiis tfaen rode otk lus corpse. This haij^
penied at two o*dock in the afternoon.

The king's wounded and blood-stained white efaarger, racing aloi^
the Swedish lines, was the first harbinger of the sad news. Diu^ Ber-
xiard undertook to revenge his death. Pappenhekn was slain, and
Wallenstain's kaok waned befiove the rising star of Bernard of Weimar.

On the foUowittg morning, the Swedes souriit, among the many corpses whioh
strewed the field, tor the dead bock of tiieir ung. It was found stripped nake^
scarcely to be recognised, — so disngured was it with blood and bruises from the
boofs of the hor8eB,-^d covered with nine wounds ; not far from the lam
atone whioh to this day is caUed the Swede's stone (Schwedeastein), near tho
little town of Lutzen, a few yards off the high road leading from Leipzig to
Naumbmg. Duke Bernard caused the bo^y to be taken to WeissenfSds ; where
Queen Eteanora received it, and from thence conveyed the bctoved remainB
hert^ by wi^ of Beriin to Stockhcdm. The army swore to Duke B^nard over
the eorpse of the king, that they would foUow him to the end of the world.

The unexpected death of the King of Sweden, who had not yet completed his
thirty-eighth year, caused the seateat sensation thnnu^ut Europe among
Papists as well as Protestants. The Emperor had a Te Deum sung in all the
churches as if he had sained the most glorious victoiy; but he wept at the
sight of the blood-stainea buff jerkin of Gustavus Adolphus, with the holes made
bj tiie balls in the sleeve and in the bad:. At Madrid, there were great re-
joicings, and the death of the ki^ was represented at the ph^house lor the gw*
tificationof the futhfuL The Pope, iHio in his heart had besK not a iStfe
pleased that some one had risen to oppose the overwhelmiM^ eupreaaaey of te
JBmperoi^ caused a low mass to be read for the soul of the faOea champion of the
heretics. On the Protestants, on the other hand, the sudden disaster fell like a
thunderbolt. The banished King of Bohemia was actually seized with paralysis
<m receiving the news at Mayence.

The Jesuit party, which had loog sworn the nun of Wallensteu,
OAoe DKuw prooured his dJemiwal. His death, however, it was kfb ftr
etraogers te aceomplidL The three chief instroments of the ¥tndietave
plans hatched by the Italians and Sbaaiards, were Bader, aft Iridh
Papist, and Gordon and Icelie, Scotch Calvinists, who affeerwacds tamed
Papists.

Itwaeadaii[,boiBteroBsni^; thewindroased,andadrigzliagrsinfaftwd
agadnst the windows. Oaptam Walter Devereux, of Buyer's reggunettt, with
twelve of his men, now set out on his bloodv errand to the duke. Die soatineli,
supposing he was coming to make a report, allowed him to pass* WaUenslein
had ti^en a bath, and was going to lie down. In the ante-room Devereux met
the videt, who had just carri^ in to lus master his usual evening cup, a
tadbacd of beer on a goiden Salter. ISie nan reqeested Barereax not to make
Anoise, as the di^ ]»d retind to aest. A few mimutes hoion^ his ■ntiskma
Qiovaaii Batiista 6em had left him, who is saad to hafe waned him hgr the etas
even in the hvt meeirwit

▲eooidieg to XhefeahfiUei;, tiny eedd net agree in theg nahwlifiMM, the

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462 THE OOUBT^ ABISTOCBACT,

astrologer having fotmd in his that the hour of danger had not yet arrived ; and
the duke, on the other hand, that it was past. The ktter also prophesied that
8eni would he imprisoned, which really came tme. Wallenstein had been
startled by the noise o£ the soldiers being drawn up in the market-plaoe ; and
he had heard the shrieks of the Countesses Kinsky and Terzka m the outhouse,
who had already been informed of their husbands' murder. This caused him to
go to the winaow to inquire of the sentinel what all this meant. Devereiix
asked of the valet the key of the duke^s room ; on beinff reused, he forced tlie
door, shouting, '' Kebels ! rebels !" and entered ifith his fdlow-assassiiis.
Wallenstein was standing in his shirt, leaningagainst a table. " You are fo
die, rogue !" Devereux c^ed out to him. As Wallenstein turned towwds the
window to call for help, Devereux rushed up to him with a partisan ; and then,
without uttering a word, with outspread arms, the great man received the
deadly weapon in his breast.

" And," writes Wassenberg, the author of the German Florus, in his own
quaint style, " hb belly gave a crack just as if a musket had been fired off ; and,
whilst thus breathuig out his soul, he spouted from his mouth a great smoke,

S; as if he were all burning within. Such was the end of the Grerman
iline!"

Butler was enriched and ennobled — the present Counts Bntler of
Bavaria are his descendants. It was the same with Leslie, whose house
became extinct in 1802, as also with Gordon.

Ferdinand II. was succeeded by his son, Ferdinand III., who was m>
enfeebled by the gout that he could only be moved in a chair, and he
died from night at a fire which had broken out in the Hofborg of
Vienna. The " miraculous" luck of the House of Habsbnrg gave to
him the victory of Nordlingen, and the Peace of Westphalia brought
with it the still more fortunate conclusion of the Thirty Years* War.

The reign of Leopold I. was one of the longest and most warlike in
the history of Austria. It comprised three great wars with France, ex-
tending over twenty-two years, and two severe wars with the Turka,
extending over twenty-one, besides three severe insurrections of the
Hungarians. Yet Leopold himself was a weak-minded prince, and a
puppet in the hands of the priests. Marshal Grammont relates a charac-
teristic story of him.

Havinf an unusually largje mouth, which he always keeps open, he, one
di^, whi£t plaving at nine-pms with Prince Portia, complained, as it began to
ram, that the arops fell into his mouth. The Prince ol Portia, his favourite,
then taxed his ingenious brain, and after having pondered for some time, advised
his royal master to shut his mouth. The King of Hungary forthwith did so, and
found himself considerably the better for it.

The Abb^ Pacichelli has also left an amusing sketch of the Emperor*
The hangine lip, peculiar to the House of Habsburg, he said, was so
marked in him, that the eye-teeth protruded. Every morning he heard
three masses in succession, remaining all the time on his knees. Yet,
like the Emperor Rodolph, Leopold was a collector of books and curi-
osities, was fond of music, and also, like his predecessor, a patron of the
occult arts.

Leopold, also, like the Emperor Eodolph, was the patron of all the itinerant
adepts of the occult arts. One of them, the Milanese Chevalier Francesco Boiri,
accidentally saved his life, when, in 1670, the year of the outbreak of Uie Hunn-
rian " conspiracy,'' an attempt was suspected to have been made against the me
of the Emperor by means of poisoned wax-tapers. The Pope had put a piiie of

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AND DIPLOMACY OP AUSTRIA. 463

10,000 crowns on Borri*s head, and given orders to have him arrested on his
joTLmev, on account of his pantheistic and physico-philosophical ideas. Coming
nrom Denmark, he was arrested in Moravia on his way to Uonstantinpple. When
he was conducted through Vienna, the Emperor desired to see the adept. The
audience took place at night by candle-light. It was not long before the Italian
pointed out to the Emperor that, to jud^e from a certain smell pervading the room,
there mnst be poison about ; and he directed Leopold's attention to the smoke
of the tapers. An investigation, which was made at once, proved the truth of
Borri's assertion, who immediately administered to the Emperor an antidote. Out
of gratitude for this service, Leopold induced the Pope to keep Borri only under
open arrest in the castle of San Angelo, within the precincts of which he had
free egress and ingress. Borri died in 1681, after having performed a number
of famous cures, even during his captivity. On many sides Leopold was cheated
downright ; thus, in 1675, there came an Augustine friar, Wenceslaus Seyler,
from a monastery at Prague, to Vienna, and had himself announced as an adept
to the Emperor. He accredited himself by changing in the presence of Leopold
a copper basin, and also some tin, into gold (that is to say, he gilded it). The
Emperor, in the joy of his heart at the idea that now his Bohemian tin mines
would yield him more than the Hungarian gold mines, created the friar Baron
Beinersberg and master of the men of Bohemia. The ducats which had been
struck from the alleged new gold, he gave away as presents to his courtiers and
guests. But the com, although larger than the ordinary ducat, was too light by
lour grains. The Emperor was afterwards fully satisfied that he had been
cheated; but, being conscious of having compromised himself too far to act
with severity, he paid the very considerable debts which the friar had contracts!
at Vienna, and sent him back to Bohemia— very likely to the monastery from
which he had escaped.

As late as the year 1704, one of the most famous alchemists, Don Dominico
Manuel Caetauo, Conde de Ruggiero, '-'Field-Marshal and Councillor of State
of the Elector of Bavaria," came to Vienna. He had just escaped from Bavaria,
where the Elector Maximilian Emanuel, whom he cheated at Brussels, had put
him in prison. After Ruggiero had made gold in the presence of Prince Licht-
enstein and Count Harraco, Leopold took nim into his service, assigned to him
a salary of 15,000 florins, and caused an especial sum to be paid to liim besides
towards the expenses of preparing the tincture. But the Emperor died before the
tmcture was ready ; and Ruggiero was, in 1709, hanged as a cheat by the King
of Prussia.

A curious instance of his superstition is also related.

The adoration which the world paid to the Emperor, and the miraculous luck
of his house, fostered in him an extravagant idea of his being illuminated by
supernatural inspiration, which imparted to him light, wisdom, and firmness far
superior to that of his ministers. His confessors, far from suggesting to him .
any doubt of his prophetic light from above, intentionally and industriously con-
firmed him in lus superstition. When, a^r the taking of Belgrade in 16 689
the Turks wished to conclude a peace, Leopold refused to accept the offer,
although it would have been most opportune, as a new French war was impend-
ing. Maximilian Emanuel of Bavaria at that time said in confidence to the cele-
brated Marshal Villars, the French ambassador at Vienna, " One must know
the Emperor as well as I do, to believe what the reasons are which keep him
back. Monks have prophesied to him, that the Empress would be with child
and bear twins ; and that just then the Turkish Empire would fall, and one of
the twins would ascend the throne of Constantinonle. When Belgrade was
taken, the Empress really happened to be enceinte, ana now the Em][>eror's belief
is quite settled, that the rest of the prophecy will come true ; and that is the reason
why he does not wish to hear of peace.** ^

No wonder that a prince so effete and priest-ridden could be ungrate-

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464 THB OOUBT, AUiflOGBAOT,

M. When Sobieekj had rafieTod Vietiaa firom the Ttsks, and thorohy
possibly saved Ghiitteiidoiii, a meeting wMi Leopold ioob pboe m the
eamp, near the riyer Scfawechat.

There was a lon^ delibontion as to the mannfir of oomplhafathig the kng
inthoat any derogatioii to the digB% oi his Imperial Mi^esfy. LeopoUl haviag
asked Duke Chades of Lomiiie^ ''How shall I seceiye hua?" the dahe refdiei,
"How, hut with open armSy your Majesty ! for he has saved the Empke r At
last it wasdetermiiied that the meeting smmld be on honebadc. Lecyoldaalatad
the savioor dt Vieami; b«t behayea with ohiUinff ooldnesa. He WMunsd
stiffly sitting in the saddle ; aor did he even lift his hat when Pnnaa Jacob
Sobiei^y kissed his hand, and when the Polish noUes of the first hooaes wwe
presented to him. With the same haugfatiaess and ooLdness he behayed towaads
the Genaan prinoes ; and the whole prooeedings having been broaght to an end
with the most rigid formality, his Miyesty rode home as stiffly as he had <

Our own Marlborough had to come to the relief of this ^ starched
idol'' and '^ majestic wooden listlessuess," as Vehse designates him.

Marlboroiu^h at last came to the relief of the Emperor l^^ Ins celebrated
march from the Netheilands to the Bannbe. Goyerin^ this vast undertaking wi&
tiie most profound secrecy, he set out on the 19th of May, and met, on the lOlh
iA June, with Eugene at l^ddsheim, an estate which the Emperor afterwards be-
stowed on the I^lish hero, with Ihe title of a prinee of the Empire. It was tim
first time that the twojgreatest captains of the ace saw one snother. On the Sftnd
of June, they were jomed by the third genenuC tiie Margraye Louis of Baden.
Marlborough tried by eyery public and priyate means to manage that Prioee
Eugene should remam with him on the Danube ; but, owing to the margrave,
as senior seneral, insisting upon haying the dioiee, Eugene was sent to the
Bhine. Murlborougfa and the margraye took the ctiief command in altensAe
turns of twenty-four hours; and so strictly was the military etiquette kept an,
that the trooipa of tiie margraye always formed Ihe right, and those of Man-
borough the left wing.

Yet, after aU, Marlborough and Prince Eugene joined their fofces against the
allied French md Bayarian troops. The marsraye, being passionate^ fend of
siege operations, had been deveny put out of toe way by giymg him ^ foitreB
of Ingobtadt to inyest. The two together gained the great yietoty of B[5A-
stadt-Blenheim (Blindheim), on the 13th of August, 1704. The French sufflned
a defeat such as they neyer had had since the memorable day of Payia. Bavaria
was conquered ; the Austrian monarchy and the Empire were sayed. Lieutenant-
eolonel Gundaoker, Oonnt Althann, brought the news of thismomentona vietory,
which decided the fate of one-half of the wwld, to Vienna. Leopohl did what,
aocording to the strict rules of etionette, he otherwise only did to

prinoes $— -he wrote with his own hand a letter of oongratalationto Marlboragk.
^You haye," his majesty said, " ereeted to the mort illustrious ami potent
^ of €keat Britain a monument of victory in Upper Geraumj, whithor the

IS arms of the Eaglish nation never^ in the memoET of man, hare peoe-

before-

On the 5di of May, 1705, the Emperor Leopold died, at Um age of
•ixty49ur, of dropsy of the chest. £Ven afker he had Httseed hia imt
■rayet^ his pnswonate fondness for music ntumed to hiaaonee mosa.
fie ordeved his priyate hand to enter his chamber; aiMi whilst tiiay ^bm
pkyed to him for the last tkney he expired, amidst Ae sweet atraaus of
Hie mstnmients.

Joseph I., who succeeded his Esther Leopold, was proud, priest-ridden,
and " gallant." He, hdVeyer, rebelled against the cUctadon of the P<^
to such a degree, tbat the hitler wrote n satire <» his amours.

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ASTD DUFWMACY OF ATTBIIIIA. 4&S

for Buiaic, aod afao his hoiiili:^ to the Vnmdk ; winch, however, was in him
mndi nore fiory and impetsoos &br in his phkgontie father. Onee, on aeeing
at the ridiBg-eehool the Marqaess de Yilkis, who, before the ontbieak of the
wsr, wms freiioh ambsssador at Vienna^ he drew his sword, and said to his wifie^
^ Bsiw glad shoald I be to get at these JreaofaiQen.'' When, however, at tlus
«aai|Mkii on the Bhinei, 1702, he afipeared in person at the camp of the llaiv
gEsre Xjom of Baden, this miHtary ardour was bj no means remttkable. Bhh
toij has BD reooid of Joseph's having gatho-ed any iaiareb ; his visit to the cuap
was a nere visit of state, undertaken to animate, by the presenoe of the vioor
gerent of the head of the Emmre, the patriotic seal of his £aith6d and obedient
sufajeeti. Joseph was an enthnsiastic admirer of MarlboroogL When, on the
Sanday a£ter the victory of the SofaeUenbeig, in 1704, which was tiie prelude of
the great victory of Blenheim, the oonrt went in sokmn procession to the Im-
perial chape^ Joseph steeped oat of the ranks, and went up to ecm^ratnlate the
Attghsh ambassador ; ana when, a short tisse after, the great decisive viotoy fol-
iawed,he saadtothe samec^omatist (Sir George St^neyX " I am burning with
desire to siake the acquaintance of your illumoiis generalissimo." Tms ao-
quaintance iras fonned within the same year, on the occasion of Joseph's seooad
visit <^ state to the eamp before Landau. Joseph had scarcely aaeendedthe Im-
perial thnme, when he ffraeiously invited the duke to Yiemui by a kiter writtea
m his own band. Marlborough made his appearance there, on the 12th of No-
vember, 1705 : and left— aftw having been treated hj the court of Yiemm, as
the " Enokfort Belations" express it, " with every imaginahle honour*'— on
the 22nd, with his son-in-law, the Earl of Snnderlanl

Charles YI., Inrotlier of Josef^ and the last emperor of the direet
male line of the House of Habsborg, showed in aU his manners and
movements the same phlegmatic listlessness of which his predeoesson^
the Spanish-Jesuit emperors sinee Rodolph II., had set toe example.
The last Habsburger dso remainad true to the hereditary evil of his
race : he dreaded alike all improvements and innovations. His vrife was
EiizaheUi of Brunswick, who, as Lady Mary Wortley Montague writes^
^ was admired for her beauty by many nations.** Following me bent of
tile high society of those times, when the example of the French court swayed
all tile others, he had also a mistress — ^Marianna, whom he marned to
the Impmial Chamberlain Count Althann. She was one of the moat
&8cinating ladies of that time, radiant with beauty, ekgaaoe^ cheerM-
ness, and good sense, and at the same time a kind patroness of artists
And of men of science : it was she who brought, in 1729, Hetro Metas-
tKio as court poet to Vienna. Metastasio vras said to have beea vnited
to her by a secret maniage. Certain it is that he was as passionate^
in love with her as Tasso with Leonoia d'Este. She was mso the int^
niate friend of tiie beautifid Hunganan widow Lorel (Lory) Batthiany,
the/rMuf of Prince Eugene.

EaMBS, who had nmde t^ Emperor Cbarles VL what he was, was
ttcvertJiehos an objeeC of decided aversion to the menmrdi. Yei Frinee '
Ewgene was not only tiie first man »t the Impmal court, bult '* he vras,
b fact,"^ as Frederick theGreat says, m the Introductwn to tiie *' History
of his Own Times,** "the red emperor.** Vehse gives the following
descr^tion of the greatest general Austria ever had:

ISwene was a small man, not at all handsome. His appearance by no means
beliea tire country where he had received his education— it was compl^ly that of
^Frendmiaa. His complexion was daik, but remaikabFr dear : nis hot thin,
nmg, and strongly mari^ed by a have prominent nose, with nosttus Uke those of
a horse. He wore his own black hair, with two small stiff cuils; between his

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466 THB COUBT, ABISTOCRACT,

fiftietli and sixtieth yean, wben hebepin to torn my, he assomed a laigeflcrr-
ing wig. The only fine point about his face was us eyes ; they were dsw and
rafi of animation. His glance electrified his soldiers, and won the hearts of the
women. It would, however, have been difficult at first sight to reoo^puse in hin
the great man; he even looked remarkably silly, had a trick of gazmg into iht
douds, and, like Frederic IT., continually took Spanish snuff from his waistooat-
pocket ; which suggested to the Pope the saying[, that Eugene took as mai^
towns as snuff. In his movements he showed an incessant restlessness, jfi it
was tempered by manly vigour and princely, dignified bearing; and in his inter-
course with the world he ooserved the most measured deportment, and even re-
serve. His impulses all came from within, and he never allowed them to be
overruled by any extraneous cause. At the first meeting, he was, in most in-
stances, of chilly coldness, taciturn, and reserved. His temperament was tender
and sanguine ; and he was fall of plans and ideas, which unceasinglv oconpied
his mind. In the prime of life, he seldom slept more than about three hours. He
possessed a remarJu^le instinct for reading the future. Whilst, in 1708, he was
encamped before Lisle, he was, in the afternoon of the 14th of October, suddenlj
seized with an irresistible drowsiness. In this sleep he dreamed that he saw his
mother dead in the trenches. The struggle to reach her awoke him. He told
his dream to his adjutant ; and soon afterwards news came &om Brussels that,
at that same hour, his mother had died there. The courtiers at Vienna used to
sneer at these fancies of Eugene. But he had an iron will, and a clear stzonff
head; in fact, an Italian intdlect, but a Qerman heart, full of gentleness m.
sympathy. He was called " the Noble Chevalier ;" and chivalrous he was to
tne heart's core, as a lover, a friend, or an enemy. He was always noble,

generous, and forgiving, a foe to all flattery and fawning obsequiousness ; and
e detested everything like untruth and falseness. He never made a promise
which he could not keep. The winner of thirteen great battles, he was adorned
by the most unaffectea modesty. Moderation aud disinterestedness, at that
time the qualities rarest to be met with at Vienna, were prominent features of
his character. Never did Eugene show the least jealousy of his great friend
Marlborough ; not even when the latter, after their joint victo^ of Hdchstidt-
Blenheim, received for his reward the Imperial principality of Afindelheim. His
honesty commanded the respect of every one. He used U> say, ** honesty is not
an indispensable, but it is the best quafity of a true statesman." Villars, whilst
he negotiated with Eugene the Peace of Kastadt, wrote home to the minister of
state, Torcy, " Nothing in my life ever gave me so much trouble as the neces-
sity of not giving offence to the honesty of Eugene; for the character of the
pnnoe inspires every one with veneration.''

His good humour and calm serenity never forsook him.

When, during his diplomatic mission to London, early in the year 1712, his
nephew, the Count of Soissons—at that time a boy of nfteen years — had at a
street riot been crushed by the crowd ; the Duke of Marlborough said to him at
the funeral, ''I wonder in what style we shall one day be put under the sod."
Eugene replied, " Ambition will follow us to the grave laughing, and fortune
weeping." " Of course," the duke quickly retorted, "if we be not too old for the
lady already." Marshal Scbulemburg, who was with him in the camp before
Mons in 1/09, once wrote of him, "Prince Eugene can hear anything witlraut
being angry ; he is the happiest man in the world. A few days beforehiB deadi,
Eugene wrote : " Healtn and good humour are generally considerei as Uie
greatest happmess of man. As to my humour, my friends are pretty well satisfied
with it ; for I have always replaced good health by serenity of mind. I am quite
aware that the want of health in a minister or a general is exceedingly iniunous
to the state, but it is not my fault that Heaven nas so long tarried in relieving
me from guard." The same agreeable humour is also mani&t^ in the polit^
writings left by the prince. They are Memoirs, Notes, and Letters; filling
seventy-two quarto volumes, which were kept in the archives at Milan, and
were ulerwards taken away by the French.

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AND DIPLOMACY OF AUSTRIA. 467

Superstitions were still rife in Austria, even at the time of the last
Hahsburgers. It was in yun that the bed-chamber of Elizabeth of
Brunswig wife to Charles VL, had been decorated with represen-
tations of manly beauty; it was in yain that the Emperor caused
himself to be crowned and anointed at Prague, in deference to a tradi-
tion, according to which none but a crowned and anointed king was
deemed able to become the father of male heirs^ — an << Austrian Pramiatic
.Sanction" had to be enacted to secure to the Archduchess Maria l^eresa
the unmolested succession to the Austrian inheritance. Yet was Maria
Theresa's advent heralded by a war of succession and two Silesian wars.
Neipperg, who had succuml>ed to the Turks, placed the Austrians in the
most humiliating position before the Prussians. Vienna was in danger,
and the memorable scene took place when the queen, in deep mourning,
appealed to her faithful Hungarians. The Hungarians saved Maria
Theresa, Vienna, and the monarchy.

This great Empress was the first to establish a sort of unity in the
Austrian Empire. She was assisted in these reforms by Prince Kaunitz,
the greatest minister that Austria has ever had.

Eamiitz was one of the most singular men who have ever lived. Sprung
from an original Sclavonic race, he rose like a meteor in the official sky of
Austria. In him the ponderous, but sterling and steady Aostro-German cha-
racter was, in a most peculiar and original manner, blencfed with the mercurial
versatility of the French man of the world. It was a very just dispensation of
fate, that the merit of having originated the alliance between Austria and
Prance should have fallen to the lot of one who had succeeded in so felicitously
tempering his rugged Sclavonic Austro-German nature with the easy grace of
French manners. The political phenomenon of binding together the two njfl
powers was not less wonderful tnau the moral one of luiying, in his own person,
reconciled the discordant elements of those different nationalities.

Kaonitz, besides, was the most remarkable mixture of great and petty quali-
ties. Just as in an almost fabulous degree he had all the foibles of gallantly
and vanity, he also was eminently possessed of the very sort of routine and
diplomatic skill that was best fitted for the world in which he lived. He did
the two greatest things which any man could have done in Austria; besides
oonduding the alliance with France, he overthrew the Jesuits.

In his younger davs, Kaunitz plunged heart and soul into all the pleasures of
French g^antry ana fashionable vanity. In Brusseb, he made love to the
famous courtesan Proli ; in Paris, to the celebrated prima donna Gabrieli, and to
a host of more or less renowned j^risettes of that say capital. The G|ermanic
steady assiduity with which he paid his court, and the equally Germanic good-
natured illusion which he made to himself of the fidelity of ms mistresses, be-
came a subject for mirth to the French, who were better versed in the wicked
ways of the world. His sentimental and somewhat stiff gallantry, which was
not quite able to run i^ace with tb* volatile and airy fashionables of the gay
worla of Paris, had even publicly been ridiculed in Paris as well as in Brussels,
by some very witty vaudevilles and caricatures. Yet, far from being discoun-
tenanced by these sallies, Kaunitz took his vantage-ground in a manner which
met with every acknowledgment from the French themselves. He used to face
all those scurnlous attacks with a most imperturbabb serenitnr of a kind entirely
his own; and — ^returning the fire which had been directed against him— he
would make s|>ort of boUi Ubel and libellers^ with suo& a singularly cool and
well-^iced satire, that even the most callous and impudent !^enchman stood
amazed and confounded. By his Belgian mistress Kaunitz had a son, who in the
French revolution distinguished himself as a Jacobin at the worship of the
"Goddess of Reason."

It happened with Kaunitz and Maria Theresa just as it did in later times with

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4B6 THE COUBT9 ABI8T0GRACT,

Mfettenooh and the Smperw Frauds. The ncmce ia this respeet so HtUe
nstrtiBfid hims^, as to take his xnistiesees wita him to the rtrj gates oC tbe
Imperial palaoe when driviDg to an audience of the Empress. He ihm made
them wait for him in the carriage; and, alter having transacted basiness, le-
tomed to them durect from the saored presence of mqestj. Being oihx remon-
strated with bj Maria Theresa abont his free and easj conduct, the prince nttde
liie yerjexpressife repty: *' Madame, }e sois venu ici ponr parler des d&ores de
Y. M., oon des moennes." In his later years the ^rmce atnctly eschewed eveiy
scBSttal en^ojncnt as distncfaiDg the imid and uqnnons to health, wUek hie
vahied moraaad more as he advanced in years. Inafpearanceo&Ly.he nrtminfd
the gallant manners of Fiance.

The sossntrknties of this gml man are a finrtile tlieme witk VelMe.
He sttms, among other thii^ ta ha¥s baen the iwrentor of ibt art of
pomrderiog, praetised also hj Ae ftanoas Pmee de Ugiia. He vsed te>
dictate to Ins seeretaries in the momiog, from eleven to twelve, stiH m
bed. Like other gi*eat ministers, he nerer betrayed eanodon. After
meal»— BO matter where iKnmg — he i»ed to take out a cempkete and
most varied set of instrmaents for deanstng Ins mowth. Once, wIkii be
was prepanng to do this at the table of the Frenok ambassadoi^ Boron
Breteui], the latter said to his guests : *' Levona-nous^ le ludnee ^eat
6tre seuL'' The prineer whe was dien left alen^ used his mstraaieiits
in solitude ; hot mm thait time be never dined out again* He never
enjoyed fresh air ; it did not even agree with him. ffis carnages w«re
bermetacatfy closed. The only exorcise which he took was at the biliiai^
table, and a ride on horseback. Every afternoon, bef<N« dinner, he rode
three horses^ each ^ the same number of minutes I

Jio one has ever nnderstood better than Kaamtx did tbe art of mddng life
pleasant ts himself and to others. It mat also be said that no one haa ever
taken such anxious care of his life as he. Whatever eould reamHt him of dyiai^
was to be careful^ kept in the baekgromid. AU liie persons aanally aiboat hmn
wore steicUy forbidden to utter in his presence ^ words ^ deai^" and ''small-
pfKL," He had not himself been aflieted with titis disorder, mit he had ^ —
shocked by it in the case of the Empress. His readers received frcan
wxitii^ an earnest injunction to eschew ihe use of those two obasdeos
The wags would have it that even the " inoculation'' of trees was not to be
spoken o^ because it reminded him of the inoculation of tiie sbbU^ox. His
bnthday aho was never to be alluded to. When the leferendazy Yen Binder,
f (m: fiffcy years his friend and confidant, died, Xaveiias Baidt, the prinse's rcadet^
expressed himself in this wi^ : '* Baron Binder is no longer to be fbuad." Tbe

prmce, after some momenta' silence, re{^ed: "£st-ilmoctP n^Uati
assez vienx.'* Bmder was one year and a half yennger than Kamnts To
another of his readers, Seovetaiy Harwr, at that time a man of soty^ he onoe
said : ^ Mais ooBMnent cst-il possible, one des jennes gens, eommo veos^ odbbaat
des choses pareflks?" The news of the deolh of Erederio the Great xeaohed
him in this way : his reader, with i^pareni absence of nubd, told Imn that a
courier had nut arrived from Berlin at the Pruaaan ambassador's with the notir
fications of King Frederie Fi/^MM. Kanmts sat for some time stiff and motio»-
less in his arm-chair, showing no sign of having nnderstood the hint. At last
he rose, walked skmly throagh tiie room, t^en sat down and said, OBsnig his
arms to heaven, ^ Alas I^whra will such a king amin enneUe tbs diadem i"
When the laperor Joseph died, tbe valet refeuned to Kaanks a doeament,
whidi the Ihnperar was to have signed, with the words, "The Bnpenr agas
noBKHre."

The death of his sister, Countess Qnestenberg, EaoDits salj knew when he
saw his household in mourning. In a like manner he onoe rwnamed anao-
qnakted with the reeovery of one of his sons from seven iUnesB, xaiA tte eon-

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AKB DIPLOMACT OF AUSTRIA. 469

vileMent came in pcnon to call on Jam ; Kaaniiz himsdif had merer been to see
liim during his Alness. To an old annt of his he onoe sent from bis table one of
ber favonnte dishea^foor years after her death.

Yanitj, dread of death, md self-idolatry^ were the three great charao-
teristiea of Maris Tb^esa^s minister, yet snob waa bis BteacBness and cir>
cnmspeetion that he became tbe foundier of the greatness of Austria under
the new Habsburg-Lorraine dynasty. Kaunitz, with all bis petty foiUe%
w»8 intboeeasible to bribery, and that at a time when all aroand hina — at
OOTnrt, in the bweauoracy, and ixk the army — the Moat bavefeoed eovnm-
tioa r^^ned paramouDt. Almost at strange stories are told of Mana
Tlieresa as of ber minister.

After the death of her husband, in 1765^ Maria Theresa had Ions' stayed away
from the theatre, when, an the 12th of Febman^ 1768, a son and ndur was bora
to the Grand Duke Leopold of Tuscany, Maria llieresa's second son, afterwards
the Emperor Leopold II. She receiyed the news in the evening, whilst woridng
in her cabinet. Without further ado, she rushed out in her pkln house dress,
or rather nigligi; ran through the ante-chamber, the outer rooms and passages,
into tlie theatre of the Hofburg; and, leaning far over the baLustrade of the
Imperial box, e^ed with motherhr triumph down into the pit, in tiie broadest
Vienna dialect, ''Poldel (Poldy, Leopold) has a boy; and jn^ as a token of
remembrance, on my wedding-day; isn't he gallant r' The pit and the boxes
were electrified.

The Empress was as fanatical ia ker measures for piAlic morality at
she was for religion. Her seal manifested itself in a particular manner, by
arresting any yoong women, however well behaved, who were found
walking by tnemselves. It is said that jealousy bad much to do with tiliis
rigour. This jealousy bad also some foundation for its existence.

The warm conjugal affection which Maria Theresa showed to her husband
was not sufficient to keq> him from induking in gallant adventures. Even as
early as 1747, Podewils mentions in his despatch, " He is fond Of women, and
formeriy sJiowed a particular attachment for the Countess GoUoredo, the wife
of the vice-chancellor; for Countess Palffy, maid of honour to the Empress,
who afterwards married the Sardinian envoy Count Canales ; and for several
others. He even secretly arranged suppers and other small gay parties with
them ; but the jealousy of the iBmpress compelled him to restrain himself. As
soon as she remarks tiutt he n particakrly attentive to any lady, she pouts with
him, and lets him feel her dispieasnre in a tiiousand ways. Being aware of his
propensity for gallantry, she has him watched everywhere. People, however,
will have it that, notwithstanding all these jealous precautions, he, under the
pretext of going out shooting, stul finds means to arrange /Mrr^i^^/iMf.**

Two of Maria Theresa's daagbters were lady abbeeses, one at Pragoe,
tl» other at Innebnudc.

One of these, the Archduchess Marian, was famous for her taste for minera-
logy, in which she was instructed by the celebrated Bom. She died in 1789,
The other lady abbess retamed her liveliness and pcmularity to an advanced age,
and was known for her rou^^i-and-ready speedies. She onoe suffered from an
ulcer in the cheek, which comiJbtely ate through, and which obligsd her to keep
her bed for sevoil weeks. When Sir Robert Keith, the English wnbassador^
paid her a visit of condolence, she burst out into a laugh, and told him that he
was wrong in considering her case as one which called kx sympathy* ^ Oroyez^
moiy' she said, ^j^mr wie arehiduchesse de auanmte tms, qui rve^t point mariSe^
im trou h lajoue esi wt amusmmt;^ for, sne added, ••no event whidi breaks
themonotony and aMM of my life can be looked npoa as a misfortane.** She
told him that it was a disgnne to Maria Theteta^a vsik to keq^ her Batuv

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470 THE COURT, ARISTOCRACY, AND DIPLOMACY OF AUSTRIA.

daughters under constraint like children, and to prohibit them from the pleasare
of mingling with society. The Archduchess Elizabeth died in 1808, at lAnz,

The reign of her son, Joseph II., although brief, will ever remain one
of the most momentous and memorable epochs in the history of Ae
Austrian state. From studying his mother's foibles, Joseph had acquired
a fortunate and deeply-rooted aversion to clerical insincerity and fana-
ticism.

Music was the only cherished and popular art at the time of Joseph, and it
was then brought by Mozart to the height of its glory. But to excite the en-
thusiasm of the Viennese, it was obliged to assume that gay form whidi dia-
racterises some of the earlier operas of the great master, such as Figaro, and
Belmonte and Constance (the " Abduction from the Seraglio") ; whereas, on the
other hand, the severe style of "Don Juan" at first would not at all take at
Vienna : which made Mozart say, " The Bohemians will understand me.*'

It is well known that Beethoven also, in his lifetime, was very little appre-
ciated in Vienna ; that his sublime works made but little way with that gay
public ; and that the povertv to which he was left in the Imperial capital was
rdieved by the London Philharmonic Society.

Joseph was fond of travelling incognito, which, as might be imaginw^
ofiten led to amusing scenes.

' Once on his road to Paris, he arrived at a post-house when the post-master
was just going to have his child christened. He at once offered himself as
sponsor. The priest asked him for his name. *' Joseph." '* But the surname ?**
"Joseph (the) Second." "What station or profession?" "Emperor." The
amazement of the parents soon gave way to an outburst of gratitude, as the
Emperor made his little godson a very rich present. At Eheims, he arrived
before his suite, and was just shaving, when the inquisitive host asked him
whether he belonged to the suite of the Emperor; and what office he held abooib
him P "I shave him sometimes," was Joseph's answer.

Joseph's great points were his clerical reforms, his edicts concerning
the censorship and religious toleration, his reforms in the constitution of
the nobility and in taxation, but still more especially his plans of cen-
tralisation. Without Joseph's reign, Austria would hardly have got over
the revolution of 1789 ; " And, indeed," Hormayr wrote just before the
revolution of 1848, '^his memory rises every spring more powerfully
from the grave." Count Ficquelmont, in his attack on Lord Palmerston
and his policy, particularly extols the centralising system of Joseph.
The events in Gallicia, and in a higher degree those in Hungary, he
argues, are the most eloquent apology for the political views of the
Emperor Joseph. This is so far just in what concerns the keeping
toother the heterogeneous materials of which Austria is composed ; but
is it to extend abo to the centralising of external states, as Tuscany and
Parma?

Joseph II. was succeeded by his brother, Leopold II., who only
reigned two years, yet, during that brief time, and contrary to the
advice of old Kaunitz, he entered into the fatal convention against the
French Revolution. This convention, by which Ni^oleon, as he himself
expressed it, " was bom," Leopold survived only by half a year. He
indulged in profligate excesses, which ruined his health. His wife, a
daughter of Charles III. of Spain, showed such great forbearance to his
infidelities, that at Florence she would sometimes have her embroideiy-
frame taken to the house of her rival, the opera-singer Livia, and oon-
yerse with her in the most condescending maimer.

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471
THE JOINT-STOCK BANKBE.

▲ TALK OF TBB DAT*

Bt Dudlbt Costsllo.

CHAPTSB y.
▲ LOAH TBAHBACTXOV.

Thrbx are two Great Worlds in London : the Great World of
Fashion, with its rank, its glitter, its ezclnsiveness ; and the Great World
of Money, with its low h^tnnings, its studied plainness, its stoical self-
importance. *

The Maraois of Wessez being defunct, this history has not much to say
abont the nrst of these two great worlds, but, inasmuch as Ephraim
Broadcast, the wealthy bill-broker, still lives and flourishes, some sptyee in
itspaffes is claimed for the second.

£phraim Broadcast began life with certain advantages over his City
compeers : he had money, a well-known name, and a larse connexion.
Moreover, he had been trained from his youth upwards to keep ever the
same object in view, nor suffer his feet to wander from the path pre-
scribed.

*^ Wisdom," siuth the Preacher, ^' is a defence : and money is a de-
fence." Ephraim cultivated both in their direct relations to each other,
and the wiser he grew the more money he got ; or — ^to put it the other
way — ^the richer he became the more he was esteemed for wisdom. In
soDQe hands the double-edged weapon with which he defended himself in
his worldly dealings might have proved a weapon of offence, but Ephraim
never smote his antagonists ; it satisfied him quite as well to see them
rolling in the dust through their own acts and deeds, as if he had put
forth his arm and stretched them there. It was, however, no part of
his creed to raise up the fellen : those who were down had only them-
selves to thank for beine where they were.

If anything so disturbative as ambition could have found a place in
the evenly-balanced mind of Ephraim Broadcast, it would have declared
itself in his 8e<^et desire to end nis days with the reputation of being the
wealthiest man in the city of London ; it must, therefore, be supposed
that he gave no encouragement to the restless passion, but suffered him-
self to grow rich by the mere force of circumstances. He had yet an-
other wish, but this he did not refrain from avowing at all seasons and in
all places. It was — and the world honoured him as highly for the senti-
ment as if ihey had witnessed its peipetual accomplishment — that he
might be known to all future time as the spotless Ephraim Broadcast—
liie very ermine of his race — ^upon whose commercial transactions there
never rested the shadow of a shade. Happy he who can make money
and keep his hands unsoiled 1 If Ephraim JSroadcast performed this fea^
be stands assuredly a marvel amonffst moi.

There are, however, two ways oflooldng at every question; or perhaps

VOL. xzxiz. 2 I

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472 THE JOINT-STOCK BANKER.

it might be better to say, that no two men look at the same question
from preciselY the same point of view. Now, in Ephiaim Broadcast'f
case, it must be considered that his especial occupation was the immodiate
manufiEu^tore of the most ticklish commodity in existence, and — standing
where he did — it conld hardly be expected that he should entertain the
identical scruples which afiect the uninitiated. What to many — if all
the fsLcka had transpired — might have appeared an almost crimmal con-
nivance, seemed to him only a simple i^air in the regular way of busi-
ness. A daring speculator, for example, might long have traded without
a shilling of resd capital — ^robbing Peter to pay Paul, and then reversing
that arrangement — creating unreal securities as the necessity for their
deposit arose — ^realising surreptitiously-obtained effects in one quarter in
oraer to cover grave deficiencies in another — carrying on, in A/ort, a
wholesale system of fraud ; and in the eourae of his operatiOQS, mi^^
have dealt so largely and so frequently with Ephraim Broadcast aa tn
make it the interest of the latter to keep to himself the knowledge that
anytiung was wrong, until his own peculiar profit was gained, never
hueding who else might suffer. But Ephraim would opine in sndi %
case tluit a passive confitioii was the one whidi his Aaty enjdned hint to
assume : his was never the hand to throw the first stone ; " he that
handleth a matter wisely," he would say, '^ shall find good," and '^he
that openeth wide his lips shall have destmction :" in other words, his
policy was to hM his tongue till the moneys he had ventured w«aDa
retnnied with intetest I^ peradventure, thedartitt^ specnktor 6uled too
soon, and Ephraim became a nominal loser, where hundreds besides wana
nnarting &om real losses^ he charitably refrained {torn pressing his
chums, observing that^ howevor ill the aetively-woirldly m^;fat be^ the
fabw, be could still afford to smile at the evil whidi hiad befrJlen ; and
the majocity pinned iheir faith on his integrity beeause of the reason fior
that smile. Yea, verily, ^' moncpr is a defence V

Ephraim Broadcast could smile also at other tilings. The prospectos
of me Joint-Stock Bank of Central Africa, vrheax it appeared in all die
blazonry of newspaper print, enabled him to enjoy that mild excitement
for it foreshadowed the necessity for raiang money, and sooner or later
those who wanted to raise money made their appearance in his counting-
house.

It was mentioned in ihe last chapter, where the conveEsation between
Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones and Mr. Bigbv T^idcs is recorded, that it
was settled between those worthies to buy Wessex House ooti^ht;, ki»
stead of taking it on lease^ and that forty thousand pounds was to be the
amount of the porchase-money.

Now it is not everybody, at the west end of the town, who has foitj
thousand pounds lyke idle in lus banker^s hand& Rigby Nicks ludn't;
— tlus&ctma^ behaved without his affidavit; to tdl the truth, he dal
not bank, parrodarly, tti^rwhere : he had been waiting, peifaaM for soaae
sueh o|^Kirtnnity for safo mvestment as the ^' Central Amaear NeiAflr
was the hopowrahle monber £» Aber-Pandy in a mudi more flourtshiag
condition with respect to an immediately available bafamee. Funda he
had, of ooQise, or how could he have worked the lead nunes of Bijni-
Mawr, — have set the Aber-Pandy raihri^ (s^Aem^ m motion, — ^haio
offoed eneouragement to the ^^ grand p^fei*" otmoomsmha^^

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THK JOINT-ffCOCK BABKEB. 473

Frendi mtvntor on whom be had recently bestowed his pstronage ? But
it is one thing to have your finger in eyerybody's pie, and another to hy
jonr hand upon a sam of ferty thoosand pounds just at the yeiy moment
yon reqniie it. Mx; Meredyth PoweU Jones was perfectly able to do Ae
former, but quite incapable of accomplishing the latter; so it was decided
between hinoui^ and his impecanious colleague that he should go into the
City and negotiate a loan with the boose of Ephraim Broadcast The
honourable member for Aber-P^ndy was no stranger to the great ct^xtal*
ist ; indeed, considering the nmnbor and extent of Mr. Jones's uKMietaiy
transactions, it followed almost inevitably that his secorities should hxm
found their way into tfie iron safe of the conscientious Quaker.

*^ Seeorities ?*^ Doubdess. Any you might choose to name : railway
coupons, foreign bonds, mining shares, title-deeds, whatever had a
marketable value ; and always those which most enjoyed the fiivour of the
markets.

But why should Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones have preferred the ezpen*
aive process of raising a sum of money to the simpknr one of obtaining a
lease on the strength of his social, commercial, and senatorial position ?
Why not wait till the Banking Company was formed before he embarked
capital of his own in the affair ? Ah, — ^that was his secret I He had his
reason for what he did. It might be that he expected to put something
handsome into his pocket by re-selHng his purchase to the Company ; it
might be that sucn was ihe grandiose manner in which he always con-
ducted his afiinrs ; it might be— oddly enough as it sounds— uiat he
only consulted his personal convenience in the matter; these^ however,
are mere speculations ; what were his real motives he dosely confined to
his own bosom ; even Rigby Nicks knew nothing of them. Neither did
Mr. Jones think that the presence of Mr. Nicks would tend in any way
to heighten the character of the proposed loan in the eyes of the Cit^ men
with TOom he had then to do, so he went alone.

<< Well, Mr. Broadcast," sdd the member for Aber-Pandy, as soon aa
he was seated in the little back parlour in Bullion-alley, — ^^well, Mr.
Broadcast, you have seen the advertisement of the ' Central African ?' **

<* Friend Jones,'' returned the man of money — ^not seated, for his
habit was always to stand while he did business, with one hand in his
breeches-pocket and the other on his desk, his attitude and action sym-
bolising his extreme uprightness and vast resources—^' friend Jones, he
replied, " I have."

" What do you think of it?"

** Nay, friend, it is not for me to be a mouthpiece ; neverdielesB, it
hath a feir promise. If those benighted regions can be rescued from
darkness, and the curse of slavery be removed from the land of Africa, o£
a truth it will be a good work."

'< No doubt Tluit will all foUow as a matter of course. Pm glad to
hear, thoi^ that you take that view of it What do ihe Gty folks
say, generally?''

<* Ahem I The shares are not yet in the market"

** But diey will be before many days are over. I shall see Fustick
and Madder, the brokers, on the subject, by-aod-by. I mean to keep a
corner for you.

" Reserved, — ^for option ?"

2i2

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474 THB J0IH1V8T0CK BAKKIB.

<*Ezactljr; in the usual way. HoweTer, there aze aome pwilmlinaiiai^
and that*8 why yoa see me here this monuog.^

Ephraim Broadcast's right hand went deeper down into Us broocliaa
pockety and with the fingers of the left he slowly tapped his dedc ; bat
ne did not say anything, and Mr. Jones went on :

** We are going to set up, as you see, in St Jacob's-squaze. Fda in
treaty about the house, wmch I mean to buy on my own account — and
I want the money.''

Ephraim Broadcast inquired the extent of the aecommodation re-
quired, and having learnt it, responded, of course, that ^ money was
tight;"— not that the Quaker actually seld «< tight"— that would ha^^
b€«n nearly as pro&ne as swearing— but he conveyed the same meaning
by the word " restricted."

<< Still I must have it," pursued Jones.

Ephraim Broadcast smiled beniffnantly : at the prospect, I suppose^ of
bttne aUe, indirectlyi to help ^^ Ae good cause," the per-centage be^^
but dust in the balance.

^ And what security hast thee to depont ?"

« Shares."

** In what concern ?"

*^ Royal Scandinavian railways."

<< Ahem ! How many hast thee thereof ?"

** Oh, a considerable lot. I took up a number that were forfeited for
non-payment They have the secretary's and two directors' names to
them ; when mine — ^you know I am cbwman — is added, they are just as
good as bank-notes, in regard to ultimate value. You are aware that
the Scandinavians are guaranteed by their own flfovemment."

<^ Of a surety I possess knowledge of that Let me consider. Forty
thousand thou sayest P"

He put his mouth to the ivory orifice of a tube that conducted from
the parlour to the outer office, and delivered a message; a rumbling
sound came back ; he applied his large, red-lobed ear to the opening,
and then resumed his former attitude.

^< Scandinavians, I find, are at two-ten."

<^ Yes, — ^but if you advance entirely on those securities, I could let yoa
have them a trifle lower."

<' Hast thee the shares on thy person ?"

Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones produced his pocket-book. << Not ex-
actly," he said ; ** but if you cast your eye over this list you will see how
many I have on hand."

The Quaker did as he was requested, and a mental calculation kept
pace with his readine.

'<Thee boldest, then, nine thousand sij( hundred and tw^ty<^our
Royal Scandinavians r'

*^ Which," replied Mr. Jones, quickly, <* at five pounds per share, and
fifty shillings jE^emtcim, represent considerably over a hundred thovunmd
pounds."

Ephraim Broadcast was troubled at that moment with a shwti dry
cough. When the annoyance had subsided, he said :

** Nay, but, friend Jones, thy premium assuredly would not stand bebie
so large an issue."

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THE J0INT-8T0CK BAKEEB. 475

** Peiliap8 not," replied Mr. Jones, ** but a limited delivery in the erent
-of my not takiDg up the bill which you discount, must be a part of the
iNOgain. That, of course, is my reason for handing orer the securities at
something under market-price.**

'< I see,** said the Quaker. <^ What are thy limits ?''

** The issue must be spread oyer six months, in allotments of not more
than two hundred and fifty."

Ephndm Broadcast nlently calculated again.

"We will take them,** he said " at par."

The quick-eyed Welshman and the impassive Quaker looked at each
oiher fixedly for a whole minute. Mr. Jones then spoke :

** Give me a letter of agreement.**

Ephraim Broadcast again whispered in the tube, and a derk appeared,
to whom he gave certain directions. The functionary withdrew, te-
turning, however, presently with an open letter, which ran as follows :

«« IS, Bullion-al^y, 13/11/55.
" Sm, — ^We have agreed to advance to you 40,000/. for three months
Tipon the security of 9624 Royal Scandinavian railway shares (numbered
at foot), the loan to be taken up within a week, and one clear day's notice
to be given with lists of shares. Interest at five per cent., and three-
quarters per cent, premium.

** We are. Sir, your obedient servants,

" For Broadcast, Beaver, and Co.,

« Samuel Flabby.
•• To Meredy th Powell Jonet, Esq., M.P.*'

The successful negotiator cast a glance at the signatures before he put
up the document.

** I have not the pleasure," he said, *' of knowing Mr. Beaver, nor the
other eentlemen of your firm. How many are you ?**

'^ Three,** replied Ephnum.

** Ah," observed Mr. Jones, jocosely, ** you agree in principle with ma :
^ in a multitude there is safety.* '*

''Thou are right, fnend Jones. *A threefold cord,* thou knowest,
* is not quickly broken.* '*

^* It must be a strong one,** thought the honourable member, '^ if it
bears the strain I intend to put upon it."

He then shook hands with tne Capitalist and went his way, both
parties inwardly rejoicing at the busmess each had transacted — ^the
Quaker blandly, the Chairman of the Central African with a kind of
fierce exultation.

OHAPTSB TI.
MB88B8. OBIOLB AND PBAOOCK'S ESTABLISBllEZtT.

Notwithstanding the dark November days, the embroidered velvet
for the dressing-gown was finished before the month was out

However tecuous the work might be, it was something to depend upon,
which, as Madame Brochart observed to her niece, was more than could
, be said for any of the inventions of Monrieur Lepage.

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<?6 TkE Jomr-fiiocK buoueb.

Her talk being oorapleted^ MademoifeUe Leonie prepared to ^any the
woriE homey hopiag, as she well might, to reoeive a freah ofder from her
emj^over. Simple as her costume was, she wore it ao nacefott^, and
looked so much above her present station, that even the Sttle panel k
her hand seemed only there by a caprice «nd not neceasity. It was about
mid-day when she set out, and a walk of little nK>re than a qoarler of an
hour took her to Regent-street

A most superb establishment is that of Oriole and Feaeook. It stands
on the best side of the street, pilasters of verd-antiqiie wbk gilded
Corinthian capitab decorate the exterior, through half a dosea plate-glass
windows of a single pane gleam gold and mlver tiaeues* and silks and
satins of every hue, and the open portals di^filay a dmree of magnificence
within which utterly bewilders me when I walk by, tnoagh the whiskered
assistants who cardessly lounge about seem only m th w natural elemeirt,
and look with inefUle contempt upon foolish wonder like mine.

Leonie Lepage could not well mistake the house, but seemed to share
some of my trepidation as she approached it Perhaps it was the thought
that she was going to receive payment for her labour which made her
check her pace ; perhaps the flush on her cheek aroae from the recolleo-
tion that me sum she expected was, after all, a very small on^ and there
is something like a sense of guilt — at least I generally feel it — in receiv-
ing only a small amount ; perhaps — and this may be the most nataxal
solution of any — perhaps she feared lest the proprietor of this gorgeoos
establishment should defer the little payment till a future day. But her
hesitation was only momentary, and, between hope and fear, she entered
the shop of Messrs. Oriole and Peacock.

Seeing a remarkably handsome girl approach, with whose features they
were unacquainted, two of the youngest assistants stepped hastily forward,
vying with each other in the petits soins of their calling.

<* Which of them should have the honour of showing her the newest
articles, the very latest novelties ?'*

Indeed neither of them; she had not come to make any purchases;
she wanted to speak to Mr. Oriole.

The little parcel now told its own story, aided possibly by the fact 4at
her shawl was thin, and of a pattern long gone by ; h«r accent, too,
added something to the young men's enlightenment. But they were
attentive still, though it was now after a di^rent fashion. ^^ Mr. ^^
was engaged just then with a customer, — ^in a faw mirmtes he would be
at leisure, — ^in the mean time would she take a seat?" And each of ^e
assistants eagerly brought a chair and began to render himself as be
thought, particulariy agreeable, impeUed tlwreto by Leonie's beauty, tnd
encouraged by the Irankness of her manner.

" But pleasures are like poppies spread." The young men had scarcely
opened a fire intended to be intensely damag^g, when the shop-walker, a
severe-looking gentieman, with a grizzled head and a white neckdotb,
passed that way.

** Mr. Vokms,** he said, ** fetch down that pared of balzarinee frow tw
show-room.; Mr.^ Lilharap, you are viranted on the other side."

Whether the severe shop-walker cleared the coast of maliee P^^^^
or only in the stem exercise of his duty, I cannot ezactiy n^y y^ ^
freed L6onie from the tender gmprememeMi of the two asrisW*"*

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THE JOINT-STOOK BAKKSB. 477

tibosgh tliey wMnm wiih tmimi fehetaaee, and she ftnniiitd mkfniij
alone.

Uoder these drcumstances, as it was too early for much hu8inaBi^ she
eoa}d not hdip heaang what Mr. Oriole was sayiog in his ooatcMnary
loud voice to toe person who engrossed his atteotioii. This was a aaa
of no very attractiTe aspect^ wheee zestless eyes wandesed in all diveetbns
^ifaile he was being spoken to.

Hr. Oriole was a very pompous indiiidualy who could, on oocasiony be
estremely deferential; his tone was lofty, but his manner aubsenrient;
Ins phraseology fine, but a litUe interspocsed with slip-sbp.

^^ I emnloy nothing in um establishment, sir," he said, ^' but talent of
Ae Tery nrst order — the moist resheriky diat can be 'ad for money. But
talent, sir, as unquestionably you will agree Willi me^ 'as — I may say-*-
a latitude of its own : it can not alwinrs be tied to time. I did indeed
anticipate that the order which you honoured me by giving would 'aive
heen executed before this, but the hatmosphere, sir, at this season is—
ah — ^inimical to — ah — ah — elaborate hartistic work where many — ah— 4di
-—many newameea are ^nployed. That is a fine style of figured satin on
n^iioh your hie is now resting — a itoeet pattern : it would make a loiFelj
lining to the robe ; if I might advise now ^"

But his customer's glance had again shifted, aadfi^wing the diraotion
it had taken, that of Mr. Oriole fe£ on the same object.

^' God bless me!" he exclaimed, '^ this is a singdarly 'i^mr ootncidenoe I
The very person I was alluding to jii^t now. Mr. Chaffin," — here he
tnned to the grizzly-headed shop-walker, — '^ why was I not instantly ia-
fiormed of this arrival Such neglect is unpardonable^ Mr. Chaffin."

The '^ party" thus addressed replied with a grim aspect — which greatly
delighted Mr. Lillicrap, on the other side of the shop, and Mr. Vokina,
who had just re-entered it — ^that he had not been << aweer" of the youi^
person's business.

" 'Ad he 'ave known of it 'e should immediately 'ave in£onned Mr.
Horiole."

While this slight altercation was going on, a marked change had taken
place in The Customer's manner. Not only were his ejres steadily fixed
on the olgect which had last attracted them, but theu: ezpcession was
totally altered : indifference had given wav to surprise, and tnat again to
inopressiUe admiration. It was no wonder, — ioi he was gaaing on the
beautiful fiice of L6onie Lepage.

She had risen from her chair during Mr. Oriole's haranne, and ad-
vanced a few steps towards him, waiting fi>r the opportunity to speak ;
and this movement it was which first caught The Customer's attention.

^ I b^g your panioit," she began, with a very wrong but a very pretty

aecentuation on the last-spoken syllable But Mr. Oriole was too

eager to see the work she had brought to listen to any explanation.

*' Tray bang, tray bang, mamsell" — Mr. Oriole raided himself on his
French — ** ouvry le packy. Trays hurroo, ah — ah" — here he got out
of his depth, and fell back on tiie vemaenhr — *< very glad you've come
at last. I was just saying to this gendeman that fine work mustn't be
'urried. And very fine work it is," he continued, as he opened the pared,
and displayed the embroidery — ^ very fine indeed, upon my iUaourJ
Cfaannong ! charmong I Don't yon think so^ sir ?"

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478 THE JOINT-STOCK BAKKEB.

^'More bMnttiful than anything I ever saw befoier lepiied The C»-
tomer. He was looking, howerery at L^nie, and not at the embroidered
flowers.

^^ I am so pleased," she said, *^ that I have given satisfaction ; it is a
real huminess to me that I **

At tnis moment she eauffht the expression of The Costomer's ardent
dance — she had been too busy in assisting to show the velvet to notioe
him before — and feeling, with a sudden sense of nneasiness, that she her-
self and not her handiwork had prompted the last remark, her oolovr
deepened, she cast her eyes on the ground, and left the sentence un-
finished.

Mr. Gride, who better miderstood the texture and hue of the fidnica
in which he dealt than hidden causes of emotion, paid no attention to the
circumstance, his thoughts being divided between admiration of the en»>
bxoideiT and the price which he ought to charge — not pay — ^for it. He
affected, however, to make the last ccmsideration appear the principal
one.

^^ Mr. Chaffin," he said, '* show mamsell the way to the cashier's de*
partment. — - Prompt settiemeats, sir," he observed to The Customer,
<< prompt setdements and liberal payments, — them is our invariahle
motto with the talent we employ.— Aur. Flush !^ — hen he directed his
voice towards a rostrum which surmounted a spiral flight of stairs in one
comer of tiie saloon — *^ Mr. Flush, liquidate this lady's account, and take a
receipt Let me see you again, mamsell, before you leave the establish-
ment. — ^Yes, sir," continued Mr. Oriole, again addressing The Cnstomflr,
^' liberal payment, as I remarked just now, is our chara^eristic, — we are
dutangy for that. Perhaps you'll be surprised, sir, when I tell you 'ow
much we pay for work like this! Eight guineas a yard, sir,— eveiy
shilling. We don't make a farthing by it — beyond the usual commisnon.
Indeed, our great hobject is to encourage hart and keep up our name."

^' I suppose, then," said The Customer, '^ that my expensive fancy will
soon be gratified now I"

^^ Expeoave, sir, — ^to you^ sir ! 'Ow can you think, sir, about expense.
Quite a baggytell to a geutieman of your fortune ! It shall be put in
hand without a moment's delay. The Halbany, I think, is your ad-
dress?"

'^ My present one, — ^yes. I am going to move into St. Jaeob's-square ;
— not just yet, however ; — ^yes — ^the Albany — the Albany, — ^that wOl do.
When shall I have the dressing-gown ?"

*' This is Toosday," said Mr. Oriole, — ** stay — I must recommend the
flowered satin liuing, — ah, you don't mind — blazy, no doubt, — like all
millioners— well — well — this is Toosday— on Saturday you may rely upon
'aviug it 'ome. Good morning, sir. 'Appy to 'ave 'aa the Acmour. Door,
Mr. ChaflSn,— doorl"

And The Customer was bowed out of the shop.

As soon as he was gone, Mr. Oriole walked towards the rostrum be-
nde v^iich — having received her two sovereigns, the price of her work—
L6onie was standing with her back to the street, in order not to see tiie
gentieman again wbo had stared at her, as she felt, so rudely. She turned
at the sound of Mr. Oriole's voice. Patronage and pomposity predomi-
nated now in his tones, though a certain kindness of manner was not
wanting. This might have been more effectually mani&sted had be

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TflS JOIKT-BTOCK BAKK£lt. 4l^

reaDy aeted np to the alleged motto of hii faodse, bat there are people-^
and a good many of them — who do not know, or cannot be made to nil*
derstand, that the evils of poverty cannot be altogether soothed by sym*
pathising speeches.

^ As I mentioned to yon just now, mamseU, I am very well pleased
with your work. You 'ave— ah — ah — given me satis&ction. 1 shall
continue to employ ^ou. Money, I know, is a consideration with you ;
it is with most foreigno^. But I must expect you to keep to tune ;
my customers must not be kept waiting."

^I shall woric as hard as I can, sir,'' said L^uie, stifling a strange sen-
sation that was rising in her throat. ^ Yes, sir, you may be well assured
I hare only for that too strong a motive."

** Tray bang, tray banef, mamsell. I may reckon upon you, I 'ope«
Let me have four — no — we 11 make it height this time — ^yes — ^heig^t yards
more of the same embroidery — at the same price I Come, that's what I
call a border. Four pounds ! Why, I shouldn't wonder if it kept your
£Eumly for a month ! You 'ave the pattern ?"

It was as well that L^onie had to reply at once to this question, for an
image had been conjured up which, dwelt upon a moment longer, would
have made her answer difficult

** Ah, yes, sir — I have the pattern," she said. ** For when is this work
demanded ?"

^ In a fortnight, mamsell. Don't forget ! Dams un — dams un —
cathorse— ah — im " ♦

** Dans quinze jours, monsieur," interposed Leonie, smiling, her gaiety
cf heart having quickly returned.

**Ah, canjoor — tha1?s it — ^wee— wee, canjoor. Good moming, mam-
sell. Mr. Vokins I I advise you to take advantage of the early-dosing
movement ; I encourage it for the sake of heducation. Don't go to the
Casmo after hours, sir — but sit up in yotir room and leam French. No
man now-a-days can expect to get on without it ! I wish I could make
Peacock think so."

Mr. Oriole^ having disburdened his mind and glorified himself— by
implication — was at liberty to retum to his busmess, and straightway
pluuffed into the affairs of the establishment.

Leonie resumed her walk homeward at a quick pace : the shops were
tempting to look at, but her aunt was sitting alone, and she knew how
ennuyee Madame Brochart always was when' left alone, so she turned
hastily from them and made her way through the narrow streets that
conducted to her lodging. Not unobserved, however, for the person who
has hitherto been spoken of as ** The Customer" had been lymg in wut
ever since he left Mr. Oriole's shop, and now followed lier. At the
comer of a street leading into Golden-square, Leonie paused, not quite
sure that she was in the right direction, for she seldom went abroad ex-
cept on Sundays, and then, as Madame Brochart observed, " eveiy street
in London was alike."

It was at this point that the stranger overtook her. Leonie was look-
ing mund in uncertainty just as he came up. She recognised him in-
stuttly, and forbore the inquiry she was about to make. He did not,
however, pass on, but came to a dead stop, and at once accosted her.

^' I saw you just now at that shop in Regent-street," he said.

L6ome made him no lefijj but rapidly renewed her walk. The stranger

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MO THSJOiinVOTOCKBAfirKKK.

koft up with her; die daoe ii^iere tiny w«re fimMned ha piupuse»
aoDody was in aglit lie spoke ag«in :

" Voa are venr beauiafiil.'

No answer : L^onie breathed hard.

*^ You aie a Frraieh girV he went on ; '^jreu woik lor Alt
jo« must want money. Tell me where yon live I''

Still Leonie was silent — still walking qmekly.

'^ I am yery zich — how rii^ I haardlj know — pau oaimot oonoeife I I«ei
me visit you.'*

^< Sir r she exohdmed, turning hastily round, ** if you are an EngiiA
gentltfnany begone ! If not, I call to the police.''

<' Nonsense, child,'' he replied ; '< yom must not be silly* I ropwif to
yon that I am very rich."

<' And I, sir," returned Leonie, the ridi blood mantling in her chcsir,
and her dark eyes flawing fire— ^' I, sir, am poor— very poor 1— too
poor to have affiur with you. Listen to me, sir. I have a htiur V*

''And he is poor, too? So much the better, fie will nnderatKid
how to keep out of the way."

'' He understand more than that He understand what is honour!
You are below my feet."

A oab drove into the square at that moment. L^onie's qniok eye saw
that it was empty ; she made a signal to the driver, who stopped. Bbe
jcan up to the cab, threw opoi the door, jumped in, and before the man
could get down from his box closed the door again, and, pointing befoae
her, CfJled out to him to drive strai^t on. It was the worik of an
instant ; she was gone before the stranger could leoov^ from his snv-
pise. But he was not a roan without expedients, and forbrae &T0ared
him, for an empty '' Hansom" at that moment tmmed the comer. He
tossed the driver half-ar<»rown, and sayin? to him, ^' Keep that cab in
sight, — not too near," Uirew himsdf back in the Hansom as fur as fas
possibly could.

Poor Leonie. She little thought, while she was telfing Madamp
Brodiart of the insolence to which she had been eaqposed, and how
dev^ly she had escaped, that he who had ofEered it was watchiBg fbr
her appearance at the window the whole of that dreary aftegnoon.
Lonser even : he stayed till it was quite dark. About six o'clodc, as he
stood under a gateway opposite, he saw a man go up to the Aoar of the
house which I^nie nad entered and give a single knock. While he
^waited for some one to open it, he turned towards the street, and the
%ht from a lamp fell full on his Seuso. The watcher recognised in it the
Matures of Monsieur Lepage.

'^ At all events," he muttered, ^^ I know who she is. I must play my
eards differently ; but I shall win the game!"

CHAPTER yn.

GBAXBAU BEUCOHT.

Thb diining town of Cotswoldham is a yery feasant place at certain
seasons of the year, and contains a great number of yerv pleasant peopk.
It is a kind a£ juste miUeu between the cultivation a£ the capital and tbs
crudity of the provinces, and partakes in a tolerably equal degree of both
ihose qualities. Its form of government, not many yeans ago, ivas that

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THS JOINT-fiTOCK BAKKEB. 4ffl

at an absoliito moaaidiy, but, alAougb stffl under some degree of re^
iafluenoe, it profefses now to be a me repubIio» semi-fashionaUe, sami-
ibeoeratiq^ authofity being divided between a JBlaBter of tbe Ceiemonie^
a leading pbjBieian, and a popular preadier. These functionaries ge-
nerallj pull veiy well t(^ther, tbe ball-room, tbe pump-room, and tbe
ohapel being each filled with dancers, drinkers, and devotees— the same
people in different dresses.

Cotswoldham was formerly a place to which gentlemen bom the aster
isle, whose estates were slightly encumbered — they never knew how-
were in the habit of resorting, for the purpose of improving their fortunes
by marriage ; but that sort of speculation has for some time fedlen into
desuetude, a different way of making money having been discovered by
Ae aflcttesaid gentlemen, without entailing upon them the necessity of a
watrimonial encumbrance.

But '' marrying and giving in marriage," and a variety of curious
interludes of which matrimony is the presumed basis, are events con*
etantly going on at Cotswoldhain, with more striking results, perhaps, than
at any other town in the three kingdoms. It is said, too, that bebesses
still abound there, but as these ladies arrive only from Wales, the
jeality of tbeir fortunes may be doubted.

The ffreat characteristic of Cotswoldham is the laiaser oiler mode of
life which prevails there. Health is the pretext, amusement the motive
of the majority of its permanent as well as of its fluctuating population
-—those apart who, as in all places, are dwellers from necessity ; and with
that amusement it sometimes happens that certain acts are combined
which do not altogether raise the performers in the scale of morality.

About twenty years before the opening of this veritable history, there
resided in a seaport town, within a long day's ride of Aber-Pandy, two
aisters, the daughters of a not over-wealthy clergyman — such a person
being easy to And in those parts — ^whose hxwly name was the not ub-
eemmon one of Moivan.

Thepr were both handsome after the manner of their country ; very
tall, with blade hair and eyes, white teeth, and very high cokmrs ; a
good deal resembling each other, but not alike in age, the ddo*, Martha,
being, at the time I speak of, siz-and-twenty, and her sister, Rosina,
twenty-one. Had there been fewer years between them, the differenee
of their charactors might, very likely, have been less; but Martha's
seniority enabled her to tnun hn younger aster in the same habits of
thought as herself and it came to pass that when Rosina had arrived
at woman's estate, she was as fond of flirting, and had nearly as mnch
eaqierience of the worid, as her instructor.

They had neither of them any lack of lovers — squires, lawyers, and
half-pay officers of both services ; perhaps, indeed, they seemea to have
too many, for several years rolled on, and '' the handsome Mor^;ans," as
they were called, did not marry. It was thought at one tune that
Jimdytii PoweU Jones, the young attorney oi Aber-Pandv, whose
business often took him to the town where th^ lived, woukl nave pro-
fiesed to Hartha or Rosina, as he seemed very attentive to them both;
but it might have been the undeclared prefefence, or some caose not
quite on the sur&ce, for be left tiie country to aettle in London vrithout
anking an offer: at all evei^ without his offer himng been accepted.
Immediately he was geae, howevw, Martha MDi;faa changed bat miodt

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482 THE JOTST-WtOCK, BAKKEB.

and gave her hatid to Captain Ruddock, of the Bojal Marines, a gentle-
man nearly twice her own age, who, after some forty years' ser?iee hj
land and sea, had managed to realise a tolerable aiiiii of money, and now
tsame to the oonclorion 9iat it was time for him to enjoy it

Eyerybody said that Miss Martha had thrown herself away; thst die
might hare married anybody she diose, and a hundred other things that
people will say whenever an unexpected marriage takes place, — but tibe
lady herself did not appear to think her choice a bad one. Cafbk
Ruddock was very fond of his wife, she had CTerything her own waj, tnd
for a whole twdvemonth they lived together in the meet ezemphiy
manner. So attentive, indeed, was Mrs. Ruddock to her husband, thst,
periiaps, she cherished him too much, and over-cherishing is sometiiiiei
as hUl as neriect It proved so in this instance; for Captain Roddock^
who had weaUiered the breezes of the Baltic and heed the glowing tropics
unharmed, succumbed suddenly one day beneath a alight attack d 0M,
for which the remedial brancly-and-water, administered by his teodsr
wife, did not prove efficacious. He had time, however, to make his wiH
the day before his death, — being so advised by Mr. Meredyth Fowdl
Jones, who happened to he down from London on a yisit^ and kindhr
drew up the document, — and he showed his sense of Mn. Roddodrs
unremit^ng affection by leaving her all he possessed,— not an immense
fortune, it is true, but a very comfortable income, upon whidi, in the
country, a very fair establishment could be kept up.

But^ now that she was a widow, Mrs. Ruddock discovered that her
native town did not agree with her. Her nerves had been shaken, sod
to use her own phrase, the air of Wales was "too much for her,"— so she
decided upon going abroad, with her sister Rosina, for whom a single
life appeared to possess the greatest charm, as her companion.

Having settled her affairs, which she placed in the hands of her friend
and adviser, Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones, Mrs. Ruddock proceeded to the
Continent Boulogne, Brussels, and Paris severally detuned her ftr
some time, and in each of these places she contracted a great number or
very agreeable aoauaintances. So very agreeable, indeed, were they, thst,
baa she been so disposed, Mrs. Ruddock at any moment within the fint
year of her widowhood might have thrown aside her weeds. There was
*^ the Major" at Boulogne, '< the Baron*' at Brussels, and " the Count" at
Paris, all of whom vowed that she was the most delightful woman u
the worid, and laid their lives and fortunes at her feet. But their fif*
were not much to her taste, and their fortunes being nowherei she de-
clined the proffered honours. Rosina, too, might have married eqnuff
well, — it bemg taken for granted that her dot was worth looking ^^*^
but the suitors did not meet her view of the case either, and, Hhe oet
prototype, the "feir Vestal throned by the West,** she continued **i»
maiden meditation fancy free.**

In a certain dass oflife--not the highest in rank— where people hare
to form thdr circle, the selection is not always made with P^'^J]'^
ment, particulariy on the Continent You may become intimate wiwti^
fascinating Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, whose charmmg young '^^^^

iuonmu, wno piays so vreu ac ecartej — so vreii tnat tne ciw *» '7.
Malli from which he suddenly withdrew, itiU mourns the day when »

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THE JOIN^STOCK 3ANK£S« 4S3k

wlui first ooBnected with it; you may mix freely with the Reyerend
CSarendiah Howard, who is ezoessiyefy fond of ^^ mixing fredy'' for
himself, and left his cassock at home ; yoa may dote upon '' that dear
Countess de Hauteville,'' who isn't a countess, and has a habit of b(»Tow-
io^ fiye hundred francs, which she never repays ; you may indulge in
plenty of this kind of society, but if you do, neidier your manners nor
your morals will be much improved in the long run.

It so happened that birds of the plumage just described— very gay and
very glittering — were exactly those that most attracted the large and
^^^Ic^did" Mn« Ruddock, and the nearly as large and quite as ''splendid"
Rosina Morgan : — splendid, that is to say, in the eyes of those who like
a dash of audacity as the substitute for naivel^^ and a dash of rouge as the
sucoedaneum to natural colour when the latter begins to fade.

But Paris was not the limit of their travels : there were the inevitable
baths beyond the Rhine, and also the inevitable Italy* with the " Rome
and NajMes'* which some folks fancy are cities having no connexion with
die mother country. If this were a political and not a geographical idea,
it might not be altogether wrong. But to resume : Mrs, Ruddock and
MissRosina Morgan travelled everywhere, — were seen wherever the situ-
ation was public, — were known by a sobrigtiet not altogether flattering,
—and though no one could actually accuse them of having lost their
characters, die cameleon hue which their reputations wore depended very
much upon locality— or charitable construction.

Four or five years of this kind of life were past, and as many more
might have succeeded, but for an unforeseen contretemps,

Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones, who was now pushing his parliamentary
agency, and feeliog his way on speculative ground, and who had carte
Manche from Mrs. Ruddock for the removal of her capital whenever he
deemed it advisable for her interests, made a move on her account in
canal shares— or something of that sort — and the result was not such as
to justify his known reputation for sagacity. The speculation, in fact —
80 he wrote — turned out quite contrary to his expectations ; it was, to tell
the truth, an absolute failure: he was a heavy loser himself and his
<^ dearest Martha" (they were on those terms of mendsbip) was, he feared,,
all but ruined. She must return home immediately, and he would see
what could be realised by the sale of a very small landed property, the
joint inheritance of the sisters, which was left, — ^and all he could add from
his own little store he would freely give : he was almost a heart-broken
man, and scarcely knew what he wrote, but he begged her to keep up her
courage.

M^tha had plenty of that article io her composition, and though the
drifting tears made furrows of the broadest on her painted cheek while
she read her friend and adviser's letter, she adopted the counsel he offered,
and returned at once to London.

The interview between the sisters and Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones was
affecting : it seemed so at least, for he could not repress his emotion for
full five minutes — a yery long time for a lawyer. When, however, he
was himself again, and they were able, as he said, " to discuss the matter
calmly," his shrewd intellect soon hit upon a plan for enabling his
^'dearest Martha'* and ''dear Rosina" to secure a very genteel indepen-
dence. He had ascertained that the landed property already mentioned
would fetch a certain sum— ''say a thousand pounds;" well, he would

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484 THE JOUTr-STOCK BANKER*

add anoAer thomand^^t was as much as he oould do to acnqpe it
togedier, — bat then he had his professumal prospeets, and basidefl^ he
^n't care for himself; with this money he proposed to boy a hoove att
Cotswoldham, — there was a ch(»ce of two or three at die Martf — all higW]r
eligiUe, — it might be famished handsomely for *< say, ao much;* and
when the establishment was hiAv mounted, — it riionld be his **duimai*
Martha's and ^'dear^' Rosina's aHogeiher,---he wonld only haiFe a moti*
ffa^ daim lor the amount of his advanoe; when afl diis was drnir and
he Degan now to see his way quite clearly— why, as a boazdiDg>4ioo8e af
first-rate character, it wonld be a fortune to them in fife years, or ten tt
the very outside.

People who have no alternative but subnussion are very soon per-
suaded. Besides, there was somethin|^ in the scheme whidi harmoaiaed
with the personal habits and ^neral views of the ladies. To a boardhig^
house life, as guests, they had long been accustomed. With fewer per-
sonal attractions than — the sisters flattered themselves — they poaseesed^
they had witnessed some very remarkable successes in the boardmg-hoiMe
line; a native talent for maixBuvrin^, improved by continental practie^
might advantageously be brought mto play ; no shrinking d^oMy of
sentiment need interfere ; they had many fnends of the very sort to be
serviceable in such a case ; and, to sum up all, if they could no longer
spend money vrithont the trouble of making it, they were ready — ea the
opportunity best offered — to turn the project to account.

Some of the conclusions at which they arrived were partly or^final,
partly suggested, but they made them all their own by adoption ; and much
to the contentment of ^. Meredyth Powell Jones, me interview ended by
the complete adhesion of his fair (jients. He was not a man to linger king
when once he had resolved on doing a thing, and the acquisition by prhreta
contract of the house at Cotswoldlmm was soon accom^shed. Neither did
the ladies loiter over the woric which lay before them, lliey had been aoena-
tomed to make a dash wherever they went, and the present was not the
time to foreso the practice. The simple stereotyped announcement that the
<< Board and Residence" which they offered ** combined all die comlbrts
of home with cheerful society,** was much too tame for thdr purpoae —
or that of Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones, who directed all their movements.
The ^ shining town** was no terra incognita to Mrs. Ruddock : both her-
self and Rosma had passed more than one season there before the advent
of the defunct Captam of Marines, and there were people in Cotswold-
ham who s1»ll retained a very lively remembrance of ^^ the handsome
Morgans."

That remembrance the sisters determined to revive and improve upon,
and when the advertisement appeared announdug that

*^ Chateau Bslmoht"

would shortly be opened as a boarding-house, *^ on a system hitherto un-
attempted in England," and it was known in addition who were its c(m-
ductors, the shining town of Cotswoldham experienced a sensation to
which it had been a stranger since the palmy days of the Great Bashaw
who was once its lord and master.

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485

MOTHER FORD.

BY CHABLE8 WILIJAM JATHS.

Oh, lovely lady, bent o'er book,

Eich produce of some fertile brain.
Student with carewom, anxioiis look.

Seeking immortal trath to gain,
Sti^man, and priest, and poet true,

Qoaint Hiawatha, gentle Maud,
listen the while I sing to you

In homUe pzaiae of Mother Ford.

I know the haughty world will sneer.

And wonder that I dare essay
To catch its aye unwilling ear

With au^ht but what is vain or gay ;
But truth IS such a sacred thing,

He sins who keeps it as a hoard.
And 'tis a pleasant truth I sing,

The world has known a Mother Ford.

Time was that Brother Jim and I,

When the long holidays had come.
Would put our heavy learning by.

And turn our steps to happv nome ;
Tliere welcome, but not wantec^ though

Well with our wish did it accord
When mother kissed and bade us go

And spend those days with Mother
Ford.

To hoop— to hoop— atway, swBy,

We leave the busy town afar,
Kor for a moment turn or stay

Till in those happy haunts we are ;
Where freedom and the heath-robed
hills.

The hawthorn Umes and mossy
sward.
And the old weather-beaten mills

durroond the house of Mother Ford.

Oh, happy days ! I often fly

In memory back to you again,
And find thfurein a luxury,

A pleanue almost to a pain.
When, to the worid as yet unknown,

I thanked my God I was no Lord,
Nought but a poor innkeeper's son.

And foster-cnild to Motter Ford.

We near the little village-school :
The door is open — ^in we look,

Anii from the scQolar and the fool
Down drops the dog-eared speUing-
book.

They dap their hands and make a fieuse
(What care they for the strap or
cord I),

And pcHut to our old tiysting-plaoe^
Down by the house of Mother Ford.

For there we often met to plan

Adventures which hereafter gave
A strength and courage to the man.

The power a heartless world to
brave.
Lei the fierce wasp and squirrel say

If safely were their treasures atcnd.
Or in defiance home away

By those two boys of Mother Ford.

Ah, she was proud of her two boys :

The learning, which she never knew.
But them adorned, increased her joys.

And made her somewhat reverenced
too.
See, there she stands beside the gate.

Such welcome, sure, was never neard
As that which in her joy elate

Is poured on us by Mother Ford.

Our little chairs beside the fire.

The china mu^, our names thereon;
Moreover, what ooys most admire,

A huge sweet cake to feast upon ;
The teapot with its antique lid.

And cups and saucers (m the board :
"Some witch has told you we were
bid

To oome to you now. Mother Ford."

She smiles : we prattle, eat, and drink.
Tell all our scnoolboy news at once :
How Jim was thrashed for squirting
ink.
And I because I was a dunce ;
How, breaking up, we broke the cane,
Ajid bolstered all who sneaked and
snored.
And hoped they'd not come back
again —
Oh, those were days with Mother
Ford!

Time's changes ! Ah! how many a friend
Is growing haughty, rich, and cold.

Whose digmty it might offend
To offer the embrace of old.

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486

MOTHSBFOBD.

E'en Brother Jim is now estranged—
We parted at an angry word ;

Bat there is one has never changed.
And never will— dear Mother Ford.

What though our playmates might be
mde.
What though we wandered out afar
O'er hill and dale, through brake and
wood,
Betuming with the evening star,
No heavy look or threat she gave.

No dire comphdnt ajs^ainst us scored.
But as should honest triend behave
Did she— God bless you. Mother
Ford!

God bless you, that you let us taste

In youth the pleasures of the free.
And taught us not to chide in haste

When others would unshackled be.
Moreover, how devoid of g[uiie.

If artless tongues their joys record.
To give a sympi^hising smue.

Such as your own was. Mother Ford.

In danger oft she was our aid :

Jim while "a-fishing" near was
drowned.
And, though with life she nearly paid

The venture, dragged him from the
pond.
I, unto pestilence a prey.

Awoke at last to health restored.
But found her health had flown away—

Too kind a nurse was Mother Ford.

I've known her scarce with plenty
blest:
She gave without a stinting hand,
And if a neighbour was distrest,
'Twas her who comforted and
planned :
The poor, the sick, the sad at heart
Ne'er unto her in vain implored ;
Bight well she played the Christian's
part —
A true disciple. Mother Ford»

On rainy days, when close in-doors
We were compelled to make our
stay.

She'd let us chalk her wdl-acrobbed
floors.
Or, if we wished, at maibks ^^Amj;
Or sing us one of those old scmgs

The world no longer can applaud—
For lovers' tears and maidens' wrongs
Are foolish themes now, Motur
Ford.

In winter nights we round the fire
Would draw, and watch her cheerfol
face,
And list with ears that never tire
To tales she told of other days.
When humble folk, with scanty means,
Wlio ne'er above their station
soared,
Were happier feur than kings and
queens —
At least so thought dear Mother
Ford.

Where in my happy youth I strayed

Amid the naunts of solitude.
Or with my bold companions played

Beside the thick-leaved luiwtiiom
wood,
A rail has bared his iron breast.

And through that scene incessant
pourect
Of the earth's wisest and its best.

But none can equal Mother F(ffd.

On the green hill, where oft I laid

And gazed into the summer tkj,
Man has his world-famed palace made.

And kings and queens walked won-
deringly ;
Yet not more valued is it now

Because with such attractions stored.
Than that of old upon its brow

I roamed a child with Mother Ford.

Yes, Mother Ford, those halcyon days

Shall still be treasured in my heart,
And in my memory find a place.

With memory only to depart ;
And thou to whom so much I owe.

Hereafter great be thy reward.
And long may I be spar»l to know

So true a mend as Mother Ford !

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THE EOTAL ACADEMY EXHIBITIOBr FOE 1866.

Our anntial visit to some of the principal studios has given us glimpses
of many fine pictures intended for the Exhibition of 1866, whidi opens
on Monday next. Although there are several distinguished names
amongst the absentees, the promise of the year is eooa : the leading
jurtists who exhibit — whether of the elected forty or beyond the pale-
do more than '< hold their own," while vast progress has been made by
numerous aspirants to the fame which must very soon be thdrs.

Precedence is claimed — not by virtue of seniority but by the incon-
testable right of genius — for Clarkson Stanfield's magnificent picture of
the hull of a noble ship drifting helplessly alone in the midst of the wild
•ocean, without a soul on board to relieve the spectator's mind from the
.sense of utter desolation. An incident in Washington Irving's *^ Sketch-
book," and the train of thought called up by it, have — in part — suggested
the subject which Mr. Stanfield has treated with such wonderful power ;
but the ima^nation of the painter, his thorough knowledge of the sad
ventures of a seaman's life, and the feeling which the undoubted &te of
the ^' Pacific" has so freshly awakened, have contributed in a still greater
d^^ree to the completion of his grand and only too successful design.
A sublimer theme than this '< tempest-tost" bark, the' sport alike of
vrind and wave, mastless, rudderless, a mere drift that once was all
beauty, insdnct with motion and guided by human will, cannot well be
imagined, and certidnly no living artist but Mr. Stanfield could have
represented it with the same terrible fidelity. A second picture, by the
.same ^* ruler of the waves," represents the coast of Spain off the port of
Iran, with the singular mountain called ^* Les Trois Couronnes" rising
beyond the famous river Bidassoa (which separates France from Spain),
and the Pyrenees in the far distance. This work has all the freshness
and vigour which characterise Mr. Stanfield's best productions, and
prove how little his right hand " has lost its cunning." Mr. Geoim
Stanfield has also three very good pictures: a view of Sion in the
Yallais, the covered bridge below the village of Leuk, in the same
<canton, and a charming scene on Hampstead Heath.

The author of ArgylFs last sleep— of Montrose's death— of Charlotte
Corday's execution — of that well-remembered scene in the Temple in
Paris— has added another laurel to his wreath in the parting of Marie
Antoinette with the young Louis the Seventeenth, the story of which is
so pitifully told in the recent work of M. Beauch^ne. Mr. Ward has
with admirable judgment availed himself of all the best points in the
historian's narrative, superadding many things which his own genius has
prompted. He has thus, for instance, idealised the chief attributes of
the French revolution in four figures, the members of the committee
who come to bear away the royal child. We see the common, blood-
thirsty rouge — the clasrical, self-styled Brutus or Aristide — the venal,
pompous agent of whatever party chances to be uppermost, — and—
rarest of M — the truly conscientious, the commiserating and almost
•compunctious republican. This party have just entered the prison, and
the last-named amongst them has opposed resistance to the violence of

VOL. ZXXIX. 2 K

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488 THE ROTAL ACADEMY EXHIBITION FOR 1865.

the rest, a fact which is indicated hy the overthrown chair, the displaoed
table -coyer, and other marks of disorder. A space unoccupied, saye by
the mde prison taUe, separates the mournful fiamily (rom their pene-
cutors. The royal group consists of the widowed queen, who is ibodly
olaspnig her oit^an son, of the kneeling Dauphine, and of the besntifiil
Madame ElizabeUi, who stands behmd her sister-in-law^ chair. Th^
faaye passed a night of tearful scnrrow, and with the grey light of mom-
iw comes the moment that brings despair. To look on this aoene ai
Badness unmoyed is to haye a heart steeled against erery thioh of emo-
tion, aa eye barren of the sense of sympathy ; if eyen tnat stem icpuh-
lican is touched by the pity of it, how should we escape yrho hftye bo
political feeling to stand between us and a mother^ oonynlaiye grief!
On a mibre dec^ affecting picture -we haye neyer looked, and rinoerety
do we congratulate Mr. Wi^ on this ddditional and well-woQ triaiuph.
He sends also to the Exhibition a cabinet picture, repafesenting a phase
in the life of Byron when, through an open window at Annesley Hafi,
by moonlight, he watches Mary Chaworm willingly yielding herself to
the enjoyment in which he can take no share, her pleasures not his, and
her kyye anodier's. The poet's likeness is well preseryed. Neither has
Mrs. Ward suffered her pendi to rest in idleness. She has eontrihated,
in illustration of Tennyson's poem, a yery beautiful " Queen of May,*
simounded by a host of admirably-painted accessories, and a yery d«vcr
drawing-room •* interior."

Mr. Philip, irho wins applause at eyery succeeding Ezhibitioa, has
made an enormous stride in the present one, adding unexpected force to
admirable composition. He has feur pictures, all excellent in their
seyeral degrees, but one of them a masterpiece. This is a seme at
the entrance to the cathedral of Seyille, where seyeral persons are
assembled in prayer. The principal ^guie is that of a woman with an
infent, and a sick boy crouched b^ide her, yrfaose case is eyidently hope-
less, and fer whom her rapt and ardently-trusting prayers are rising,
with all the intensity of a mother's agony, to Heayen. She prays widi
the whole feryour of her soul, sa we can read in her dark eyes weary
with watching and weeping, in eyery Knearaent of her worn and wasted
but still han^me fece ; Iktt no outward sign of prayer is yisiUe, fer
with one hand she holds her healthy infant, and the other is tenderiy
laid on her pale emaciated boy, who lies amidst the Mds of her dress,
half unconscious through sickness and pain. No picture of Spairidh
peasant-life eyer painted by Murillo himself could excel this group in
leeling, in expression, in intensity, and in trutfi. The ocAxmxmg is m^-
xufioent, the rich reds, yellows, purples, and browns so finely massed and
so artistically managed that their union ferms a blending of all hues of
most harmonious ettect and maryelkms breadth, but all so nicely toudied
that, from the profuse ornaments of the boy's jacket and the modier's
sleeyes to her opal earrings flaslung with rainbow tints, eyeiy objeet,
wheth^ in light or shade, is finished with the minutest care. Beside
this touching group stands an elderiy man, a peasant, reyerent in attitude,
but calm and satisfied to be in the immediate ndghbourhood of the deep
deyotion whose influence he feels ; his drapery and jMwe are most pie-
turesque. On the other side of the earnestly-beseeching mother is a
half-flirouded deyotee mumbling her prayers and assiduomy teUing her

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THE BOTAL AGADiaCT EXHIBITION FOB 1856. 489

beads, the Terr type of saperstttiQa ; and beyond her a lo?dy pair of
SeyiUanas of dbe higher oi^r, prayrag too, but with a differenoe in the
maimer of their derotioiis. Tfa* nearest to the K>ectator of these two is
an aohnm-haared mi with long curred eydbshes ja«t tonchinr a rounded
dieek of rose, so foil of softness and pnnty as at oneeto reciS the beauty
of that Virgin of Ba£BEMlle known as '< La Vi^ge de Fran9ois JPreoaier.''
She is probably thinking of things celestial as she raises her eyes from
tier missal, but her companion, wi^ the s;^endid dark eyes and brilliant
fiui, on which Afestu de toros is painted, is evidently of another mould,
and looks as if she were quite conscious that some handsome gallant, as
devout as herself, is gazing on her from the shelter of a not very distant
eoneealment. Beyond this charming coquette, and clear amidst the
deepening gloom, is seen a church processioa of banners and crosses, and
striidng is the efiect produced by all the shadows so artistically thrown
akmg the dim aisles in which the remaining figures are lost. We look
upon this picture as Mr. Phil^'s chef d^cduvre^ and we apprehend that the
public will ratify our opinion. Of his three other pictures, one is an Arriero
drinking agua fresco at a road-nde well somewhere between Xeres and
Bonda, the crystal draught being shot into his mouth, as is the fashion
in Spain, from the neck of a jar which a Moorish-looking g^l, the
water-drawer, is holding above his up- turned head : the colouring and
e9q>ression of this group are admirable. The same fine qualities a^^ar
also in a Gitana of the Triana, carelessly carrying two water-jars : the
abandon of this figure is perfect, and the treatment exquisitely natural.
The last of Mr. Philip's offerings is a portrait — and such a pOTtrait ! The
lovely original is known to many. Here she is called Dona Pepita, and
though the daughter of an En^^hman, her Spanish mother's eyes and
hair rive her full chum to wear the rich mantma de tiro, and half con-
ceal herself from the admiring world behind the national ahamco. The
sweetest smile hovers on her rosy Hps and plays over her damask cheek,
and her features are altogether fEuiltless. While Mr. Philip has gained
immensely in power, he has lost nothing of the art of delineating
beauty.

Notwithataoding the numerous ^4nteriors^ of St. Peter's at Rome
which are to be seen in modem galleries, few — if any — ^have been painted
within the walls of that wondrcnis temple : they are usually recollections
of what the artist has passionately admired, but has not been permitted
to sketdi on the spot Since the well-known work of Panini in the
Louvre, no true representation of the interior of St Peter's has, in fact,
appeared, owing to the difficulties which are thrown in the way of artists
by the jealousy of the guardians of the sacred fane ; and it affords matter
for real congratulation that when the severity of the prohibition was
slackened, tl^ permission so long desired should have been granted to a
painter of such marvellous capacity as David Roberts. His splendid
picture is, indeed, a triumph kA art» so elaborate is it, so finished, so full
of art and masterly ddlL Every cornice, every ornament, every one of
the minate beauties whidi cover the gorgeous walls, the golden ceilings,
the decorated columns, is brought out with a fidelity that is truly
astonishing ; every rich medallion, every gk»wing picture that oomes
within the range of sieht, is finished with miniature-like precision ; and
the whole are thrown mto deen shadow, os sofl half-tint, without k)sing
one jot of their splendour, while from die lofiy dome and across the

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490 THE ROTAL ACADEMY EXHIBITION FOR 1856.

resplendent wails streams of pure sunlight sild the rich colours and poor
briUiancj through the aisles and arches of uiis worid-famed temple. The
time chosen by Mr. Roberts is the Christmas«day ceremony^ when the
Pope is carried through the edifice on a portable throne^-symbdieal of
his elevation as the yiear of Christ— wearing all the m^rstic emblema of
his spiritual power, and surrounded by all the digpnitanes of the Bohmh
Church. With these are minted acolytes, incense-bearon, soUiers,
devotees — a vast but harmonious crowd — which give great animatioii to
the foreground, and produce a wonderfully fine effect. The actual point
of view of this noble picture is that which presents the Baldacchino, or
grand canopy covering the high altar almost immediately in the centre,
with just so much of me gallery inside the dome as suffices to indicate the
marvellous vault resting upon its colossal piers. This perspective leaves
nothing architecturally to be desired, and the mana^ment of the lb;ht
and shade complete a work unrivalled in its particular style, man
familiar Venice offers another example of Mr. Roberts's artistic ^ilL
The scene is a view from the Campo in front of the church of San Gio-
vaani e Paolo, with the celebrated statue of Bartolomeo Colleone on the
right hand — ^the spot where, according to Byron, the compact was entered
into between the Doge Marino FaHero and Israel Bertuodo to over-
throw the tyranny of *' The Forty :" a receding canal, an angular bridge
of a single arch of rose-hued stone, some picturesque buildings, an
Italian sky, and a bright distance, make up the remainder of the subject,
which is Venice all over. Mr. Roberts has a third picture, no actual
locality, but such as the wanderer may light upon in many a lovely bay
of the purple JSgean : it is a Greek temple on an elevation, and is painted
with a view to its effect when seen ^' above the line."

Venice receives its illustration from another well-known pencil, that of
an artist known in his Adriatic pictures as ^' II L4igunetto," in his Dutch
ones as ^^ Mynheer Van Cook," — the last no type, and barely a para-
phrase of his real name. Two of Mr. Cooke's subjects of the former
category are the Dogana di Mare, and the church of San Giorgio; —
the nrst in the cool of early morning, the last in the roseate effect of
sunset Mr. Cooke's third Venetian picture has other qualities besides
the skilful treatment which pervades tdl his works : the vessels in them
have a histoiy attached to their class. They are those large fishing-boats,
called BragOKzi, decorated in a kind of Byiantine style, with sails of blade
aud amber, ornamented with sacred pictures and holy emblems, with
pious inscriptions and religious devices on the hulls, and the masts sur-
mounted with vanes of the most singularly elaborate construction, known
uoder the name of *< PinellL" One of these boats, dedicated to the
Virgin, and inscribed " Noi stiamo sotto divina providenza," is runmng
into port under the influence of a strong ** borasco^" with half her equi-
page of nets streaming from the mast in the direction whither she is
flying ; another boat, followiug close, has *' Viva la pace" — an apnmoi
of the moment— painted on her bellying canvas, and hoth of them dask
furiously through the tumbling sea ; in the distance rises the Castello di
Sant' Aiidrea, and near the entrance to the Lagune are seen some vesseb
castmg anchor, one of them a Turic, with the crescent on her flag. The
originality of this picture is one of its many attractions, and the spectite
cannot but be struck by the skill with which the coburs are opposed,—
the amber, black and red telling forciUy against the green and blue. Mr.

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Cooke's Dutch pictuiesare: a Trawl-boat preparing for sea on the return
of the tide— a variation of the subject which ne treated so well last year
— and vessels entering the port of DoI^bvI on the Dollart, a large bay in
the northernmost part of Friesland. The breadth and vigour of the
Schevening picture cannot be surpassed, and the line of foaming waves
breaking upon the sandy shore is of the most absolute truth fdike for
colour and movement. Del&yl combines the characteristics of the shore
of Holland with that of her ever-threatening sea : one litde boat, called
a ^* Sneb" from its beak-shaped bow, contrasts well with the larger
craft.

Before we quit the sea we mifst mention another ''bold adventurer" —
and a new one — over its perilous depths. This is Mr. F. R. Lee, the
Royal Academician, who has this year embarked on a new career, in
which it is not difficult to predict a success scarcely inferior to that which
he has already achieved. Remembering his long, shady avenues, his fine
secular monarchs of the forest, his sequestered woodland dells, it is
almost startling to find that he has painted four pictures for the Exhibi-
tion without a single tree in any of them. The first and most striking
of the series, is a stormy effect on Plymouth Breakwater. We are
supposed to be standing nearly at the eastern extremity of the Break-
water, with the long perspective before us as far as the angle where
it turns towards the shore, and is terminated by the lighthouse at the
entrance t# Plymouth Sound. The sea, stirred by a rising gale, is dash-
ing over the broad pier with a force which would sweep away, like pebbles,
the heaviest blocks of granite, if they were not strongly secured by
chains; warned by the danger of exposure, the workmen are hastily
seeking refuge behind '' the shelter,'' — a massive construction to seaward
of the Breakwater, where they can remain secure till the violence of the
storm has abated; over the remoter part of the harbour's great safeguard
the waves are shivering themselves into spray; and towturds the south,
vessels of all sizes are weathering the gale or scudding before it Mr.
Lee must have closely studied his effects from nature to have produced
this vigorous, truthful picture. — His second subject is a cutter beating out
of the littie harbour of Fowey, in Cornwall. She has just passed the
promontory on which are the ruins of an old castie, witn a fine breezy
down beyond it, and is breasting the clear green waters of the open sea
which sweeps towards the shore, and are broken at the entrance to the
harbour over a ridge of glistening rocks. Overhead the clouds are drift-
hig fast, leaving dark shadows on the sea where they pass before the sun,
and revealing bright gleams of light between. Transparency and motion
are everywhere present in the treatment of this charming subject Mr.
Lee's third picture differs from both the preceding: a vessel has gone
ashore, and the tide having receded she has been stripped and broken up
by a party of seamen who are returning from their work : this is a fine
ccmiposition, it is beautifully coloured, and all the characteristics of the
coast and its occupants are well preserved. The last picture of the four
is a fine yawl contending against a rough sea, with a bold, rocky fore-
ground on the left hand. Some of the artist's secret is told here, for the
vessel is, we believe, a portrait of Mr. Lee's own yacht, in which he has
been so successfully prosecuting his marine studies.

Of the tableaux de genre which we have seen, some are excellent, and
all of high merit. Mr. Frith's principal picture, called ^' Many happy

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492 THE EOTAL ACADEMY EXEXBTnOfif FOR 1846-

retorns of the day," wiU have » crowd round ^^^^^^J^^^^
ooUectedthe year before last to see hb "SandaatBwDSgi^te^ i^

Alice, tbe heroine of the piece, is only two yeart old, ««* f^^" *£
chair at a well-covered table, under an ardi of leaves •ndflowei^ gf
health having just been drunk by all the numerooa par^, • »«.»™"
sheis utteriy indifferent, aUthe leelbg she is ^^?^^^i^?"^^
centred m a large orange, on which her tiny grasp is toily toxea. im
her indifference is not shared by any of those to whom she ^f^ »
gtiU-beautiful grandmother, the charming mother, and tbe lovely am^
group which is the perfection of feminine sweetness— are g^fS^^^
upon the infant queen of the day; the* exulting father wd thephad
jmindfather, who sits a Httfe apart, aie equally enjoymg the ^f^^
ahost of little brothers and sbters (what would one give to ownCTrtt

famfly !) are taking the Uon's share in the festivities. F<>r co^^TS
colour, expression, distribution of l%ht, air, and breadth of eflect, tw
picture is not to be excelled. .

Amongst chUdren too, but chiUren of a diflEsrent dass, how giw"
Webster! One picture b%r*«* that a very gem! It l>««"jj«"^
of " Hide and Seek,'' but ne^ no title to teU its story. Thegsw
takes place in a hon«dy cottagiu and perfectly devek)p8 ^e ^^
devices of a set of young creatu!^^ bent on deceiving iiie ^^^f^
joyous searcher, whose moment has ]vt arrived, and who is «nter^"*
cottage^oor. Behind that door two s^ little, half-frightei^g^^

makmg themselves small to escape obsS«Hti?°' ^*^ ^ ^^LT!S
bare legs and red socks exposed, has t*»rowN^i(Psetf mto^^^
cradle ; another, more artful, is croudied down '^^iL^j^^^^^ lujte
and her sleeping in^Emt ; a third, cleverer dian his fflS^®'^'^ . *»
himself beneath an overturned hamper, but has forgottfcP*^^?VVy
hand, which lies on the red-bricked floor ; and a fourth, a ^^^^^^i^^fyg^
still, has taken refuge behind her grandmother's grey <5loak,^^P*~. |^
to the wall, from wliieh it hangs, and thinks henelf po'^^^^^^L^
observation — the young ostridi — because, though her head i^^yf?^
her pretty 1^ antd feet are more mamfest to the eye than ai^?^^.
in the cottage. Such fun as this is only to be seen in Webster s v^ „!
we foel the present, hushed enjoyment, and every moment expec' ^l^
plosive mirth that awaits the impending discoveries. To parti
the qualities of art by whidi the work is diaracteiised is nee^ess. Lf^
Mr. Faed has produced this year a companion to ^' The Mitlf*^*
Bairn," to which ne has given the name of *^ Home and the Homc^
It is an exquisite cottage interior, in Scotland of course, and Burpf^
Wordsw(mL have combined to fnmi^ him with subjects for illn8traL!|
<^ Home" is the cotter smrounded by his family; ** the homeless" wct^
in the strangers who claim his hospitafity. The master of the liouf^
ntting with '* the lisping in&nt prattling on his knee" — bende him isL
elder girl seated on the floor playing wiUi a puppy, and behind his eht^
pouting, the late dariing of the family, now displaced ; ibe soc^
^'thriftie wifie" is smilinriy preparing a bowl of ^'parritcli'' (^a f**
pairitdi'' would be more locally correct), and a sturdy heakfay boy, o^
<^ the strangers, b attracted dose to the table by the unwonted prospecY
of a hearty meal ; the boy's mother, a woman who has seen better dayJ
miserably poor, but too proud to b^, sits with another wearied chSd, ]
girl, close to the '^wee bit ingle," the ruddy light from which

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« Uinkin' bonnily" upon her well-fiuraied bat attenuated features— <tlM
poet of the lakei having filled up what was waating (for the paiuter^g
purpose) in the Teraes of the Baid of Ayr. The treatment of this subject
IS nill of the best feeling : the details are admirably painted, and here
again without any sacnfice of breadth. Mr. Faed has another picture
oonsisting of a sinjg^le figure : ^' Highland Mary/' after parting with her
poet-lover. She is reatmg alone, by the hill-sido, on her way bomeward»
afiier a meeting never to he renewed ; sorrow is on her lovely chedc, and
tears swim in her sof^ blue eyes. How much force and truth there are
in this simple subject cannot well be conveyed by written words.

Mr. Solomon's pictures this year are marked by his accustomed beau-
ties. One of these tells a pretty story with sligbt materials: the inevi-
table bride has just finished her toilet, and a young dressmaker in sober
gs^y^ who is fastening the last knot of ribbons, has been invited by the
liappy girl to observe the portrait of her bridegroom in the Inracelet oa
ker arm, which the humble assistant r^ards with an air half of sadneee
and lialf of pkasore, as if she were thinkiiy of some one to whom she is
not yet wedded, though he may be as weU loved as the fortunate War
whose portrait is thus cherished. The heads of the two g^ls make a
ehanning group: the contrasts between the delicate pallor and black
^flossy tresses of the young workwoman and the brilliant oomplexion of
the golden-haired faride---between pensiveness on the one hand and
radiant joy on the other — are exceedingly effective. Mr. Solomon's second
picture is a group of three handsome girls, one telling fortunes by card%
the other two listening. The centre figure is a lovely, daric-eyed creature^
vitb an air so serious that even the rallying laughter of her fair com*
punon £eu1s to distract her thoughts from the apprehension of a doubt-
ful future. The story is prettily told, and the actors in it are all modds
of beauty: the colouring is fresh and br^ht, and the leafy, sun-touched
bower without, all brilliancy, in spite of the passiog cloud which seem«
reflected on the Oountaiance of tne thoughtful giri whose attention la
riveted on a card. Miss Solomon, whose talents we have so often borne
witness to, has made a notable advance, in a picture which t^s a toucUng
episode in the Life of a Beadle, in the shafie of a pale, fainting mother
and her infant, who are ordered off the steps of a churdi by the Bumble
in authority, to make way for a lady of conditbn and her well-dressed
child. Neither of those, however, for whose sake the poor are eimtemned,
enter into the feelings of the truculent official ; theare are both shame and
compassion in the lady's look, and her pretty boy gaies with suiprieed
interest on the small intrudn' pressed to its mother's bosom.

Mr. H. O'Neil has given himself a very pleasant theme. It is the pro*
flamation by the bellman of a small market town annoanoiog to a crowd
of eietted rustioe^ of all ages and conditions, the arrival of a travelling
Cixvus^ evidence of which is moreovw given by the appearanoe in the
background of the attractive " Hippodrome^ van. Here is a smiling
fitrmer (an old and wekxmie acquaintance) leaning on a liay£»rk — ^be«de
him a vrondering friend with a tumfuke ticket in Us hat — rather moee
remote a Cheap Jack, praisbg his own wares unheeded— nearer to the
spectator, a barber, who has rushed out to learn what is going on, leav*
ing a weU-latheved eustoaier unshaven; a blind man and his hungry dog
are promineDt in the crowd, and m the oentre of &e principal group an
old woman driving a donkey-cart is a conspicuous figuro. it would take

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494 THE BOYAL ACADEliT EXHIBITION FOB 1856.

op some space to describe all the personages in ibis pietiire so full of dia-
racter, so we roust leave it till it is able to tell its own tale on the 5th <^
May. Mr. O'Neil has a very pretty smaller picture, called *^ An affec-
tion of the heart," in which a very modest youngs lady is taken by her
grandmamma to consult the family surgeon on the nature of an inaem-
table complaint— quite past her power of discovery. The fiiendly man of
art is feelmg the damsel's pdse, and by the shrewdness of his smile and
the twinkle of his eye we see that the cause of her malady is no secret to
him, — even if a certain narrow pink ribbon, at one end of which is pro-
bably a hidden miniature, did not help to enlighten him. The timidtij
of the charming patient, who evidently fears discovery, is admirable.

Mr. Rankley's picture, '' From the Cradle to the Grave," is a Tery
clever one. He is an artist whose merit is more and more developed at
each succeeding Exhibition. There is a singularly bold effect produced
in his present work, which is scarcely understood at a first glance, but
vrhich, on examination, is found to be a very truthful one. The subject
is a cottage interior by fire-light, where the gradation from in&ncy to M
age in the same family is very ori^nally treated ; the grouping is good,
and the feeling very pure, with much artistic and carefid management.

Mr. Grant also continues to make manifest progress. The first of two
pictures which he sends in, ^^ An old soldier telling the story of his cam-
l^iffns," is full of truth and tenderness. The young fiunily from The
HaB, of which the veteran and his wife are the lodge-keepers, have paid
a visit to the aged couple : two fine boys are listening to the old man,
and examining the scars he proudly shows ; a younger brother is taken
np with the weapons which hang over the fireplace ; one fair sister
stands thoughtfully listening, while a younger one is enjoying the sor-
prise and pleasure of the kind old woman, once her nurse, to whom she
nas brought a handsomely-bound Bible. The picture is altogether very
delightfm. There is great merit, too, in the second work of Mr. Grant,
the subject of which is the interference of two Sisters of Mercy to prevent
a herd of idle boys from persecuting a poor Jew pedlar.

With the exception of what Mr. Ansdell has done for dogs and deer
and their collaterals, we know nothing of the animal painters. He,
however, has three pictures, which quite repay us for what we may have
missed elsewhere. The first is a Highland eirl with setters ; the second,
a snow scene, in which a Hiehland shepherd is carrying off a newly-born
lamb to the farm with the old ewe following, and a real shepherd's dog
attending; and the third, called ^'The Browser's halloo," repr^enta a
former custom in the New Forest of calling the deer to be rod by the
keeper. All these subjects are beautifully treated — the last especially —
and we only regret that our want of space prevents a more detaued notice.

A word or two must not be omitted respecting Mr. Hardy's exquisitely

K*nted interiors; for breadth and finish nis Kentish cottage scenes may
ir comparison with Ostade and Gerard Douw. We hear of fine por-
traits, notably those of Mr. Hart and Mr. Desanges — the former limiting
ihe exercise of his art in this direction ; and we have had the good fortune
to see some in delicately tinted cravens, the work of Mr. G. F. Browninfi^,
the most graceful productions in tnat particular style which it is posnble
to imagine. Two of these, the portraits <^ Miss Gore and Miss iilandie
Ainsworth, will rivet the spectator's attention, and dwell, as they deserve,
long in his memoiy.

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495

SUMMEE-DATS AT TENET .•

TsMBY may account itself a happy place in having^ had Mr. Gosse for
its Tisitor in the summer of 1854. If he ffoes on writing a book eadi
year in commemoration of the scene of his holiday trip, and thereby at-
tracting custom to the spot, in the shape of eager throngs of nature-wor-
shippers and nature-inquisitors, of botn sexes and all sorts— fat, £ur, and
fort-uitous, — ^if the publication of a popular tome becomes the matter-of-
conrse sequent of a June in Devonshire, or a July in Pembrokeshire,—*
it will soon be a question of importance with all uie sea-side and water-
ing-places throughout Great Bntain, which of them shall next secure the
holiday yisitation of so pleasant and eke profitable a guest He will
come to be as much in request as the British Association ; representatives
of this rising village, and that aspiring hamlet, will be waiting upon
him anon, to prefer, and show cause for, their respective claims to his
company; possibly counsel will be retained, and in some cases a retain-
ing-fee be offered sub rosd to the much-in-request naturalist himself to
make sure of him at once ; a case of Nin Prius, — that is to say, unless
previously engaged. From Cornwall to Caithness, common and un-
common places will be hurrying to book a place in his good books. For
a summer book by Mr. Gosse is a standing or stereotyped advertisement
in £&vour of the locale it treats of. Thereby any such local habitation
gets a name — supposing it to have none before ; and as good as a new
name, if it be already provided — a real and substantial, in addition to its
existing '< nominal" value.

Three or four years ago, Tenby had been recommended to our author,
by his friend and fellow-savant, Mr. Bowerbank, as <' the priuice of places
for a naturalist." Thither he wended in June, 1854 ; and ecce signum t
in the shape of the enthusiastic, eloquent, healthy-toned, grave and gay,
very graphic and sometimes garrulous volume now before us, with its
foor-and- twenty beautifully finished and often curiously novel illustra-
tions, which form a complete study of themselves — a sort of private
Aquarium for the reader's own library-table— for the book is not at all a
book to be shelved, and that is saying a good deal for a book in these
over-productive times. The nearly forty letters it contains are occupied
with a detailed record of Mr. Gosse's summer doings at Tenby ; almost
etery day's engagement being set down, he tells us, just as it occurred ;
tide-pool explorations, cavern searchings, microscopic examinatiotis,
scenery huntings, road-side pryings, — here they all are, he says, making
np a faithful narrative of how he was engaged ror about six weeks at that
** prince of places" for the like of him. Little fear is there of the book's
being accepted, according to the hope he expresses in its behalf, as
another Lemon firom a popular and recognised public Teacher in the im-
portant art of How and What to Observe.

As usual, he purveys po^u^m of varied sorts for varied tastes ; pieces
de rdiistanee for men of science, whose grinders and digestive organs are
capable of making way with such fare; and kickshaws, or guelquei
chose$9 lightsome and supplementary, for weaker stomachs, which '^ turn"
at techni^ nomenclature, and must either be indulged with less pcmder-

* Tenby: a Sea-side Holiday. By Philip Henry Gosse, A.L.S. London: Van
Yoorst. 1856.

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496 SUMMER-DATS AT TENBY.

0U9 diet, or (what an entertainer of Mr. Gosse's ^' means" of eutertain-
ment could never allow) be sent empty away.

The scientific will consult with interest his descriptions, for example, of
ike Great Rlnaottome, ^t most g^^lac of all the Meduss Aat swim
the European aeas — a specimen of whi<^ some two feet in be^t, baving
been po^ed or towed to the quay-steps in front of Mr. Gease's lodgiagi^
was secured by him, deposited in a large badi filled with ae«-^wa*Biv
wheieia it could float side- wise, and carry out its pulmoDic cotiUactiuM^
thowh without room enough to turn itsrif, — and there examined bj bin
as mnrately as he, and more so than the Great Rhizostome itself (faew-
erer susceptible to flattering attentions) could possibly denie ;*-or agaia^
the Stages Horn Polype^ as he calls a curious branching sponge-like
creature, to be found in j^enty near Tenby, — and the ClaTdiiw, a eoeial
Molhisk, like a little crystal pitcher in fmm, with a tennsparent body
•^th of an indi long, and x^th wide, — and the disputed race Adr-
eMarimy which Mr. Gosse is perfecdy satisfied are in fiict essential orgaas
of the Echinoderm. The microscope shows the base of the stem of each
PeSedtaria to be evidently continuous with the common integvnMDk
diat invests Ae sjnne, and organically united to it, {without any the
siftehtest trace of suture, or perceptible difference of structure. He eat
off with a razor a thin transverse sHce of a living ray, and immediatdy
laid it, covered with sea-water, on the stage of the nucroseope ; vrbea he
lound the PedkeUarue quite motionless, and evidently dead, like the
suckers with whidi they i9&e associated — a result opposing, by its instan-
taneous diaracter, the notion of the former being parasitic snimaii.
Equally certain is Mr. Gosse, in spite of what Professor Agaariz calk the
aibsurdity of the notion, that the ^ fine vibratile ciHa'* w&ch cover the
suckers <^ the sea-ur^iin, are organs of locomotion. '^ When Phifessor
Agassb says this notion is absurd, one is almost tempted to think that be
never saw an Echmtu in progression. I have been accustomed to take
up my specimens, dragging them firom th^ moorings (even at tbe risk
of tearing asunder these delicate organs, as often happened), whea I
widied to institute some special exammation, and hold them against tbe
glass side of the Aquarium for a few seconds, when invariably the sueban
were one by one impressed to the glass, and presently adhered, so that I
eonld fear^sly let it go. Immeduitdy more and more wese put fovtb,
and stretched to their utmost extent, firmly mooring the animal at aH
points. Here it would occasionally rest motionless, except fi»r the con-
tinual waving to and fro of the free suckers and the spines ; but now and
then it would set out on a march, and advance deliberately, but still tole-
rably fast, aH round the glass sides. Certainly Professor Agasna ^mtpM
set say that the spine-tops alone eould enable an EcMmu to flsavdi
securely along a perpendicuUur plate of elass. Besides, it needs but a
gknce to see tint it is the sudcers that re^y carry the bo<fy along.** Tbe
iugenious conjecture broached by Agassoz, that the PediceOarim may be
tbe infant Eefdm^ ^ which afber their exduskm affix themselvef on the
skin of their mother," is another point on vrhich our author confronts, and
■any will agree confutes, the learned professor. If the PMoeUmim
-mn embrycmie ferms, would they, Mr. Gosse asks, be always pieaent,
and stationaiy, as diey confessedly are— no one having yet firand a sea-
urchin without them ? But he can^ furthermorey appesl with assurance
to the recent researches of Prof. J. Mueller on the embryokgy of the

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SUMHBR-DAT8 AT TBKBT. 497

EduaoikraMta, as eoiieki8iff<ely wMmgihe qaetdon agamit M. AgassiA
ooojeetore.

The aection doTotod to Lmunous Aaimak, in the present ▼okunev is
also woirthy c^note hj students of natand history ; ihe iUnstratiTe plate
are each a ctmo9a fekcUas in its way : stall m<ae so the ^ Rottfera"
illustrationSy which give a ^ powei^' of new intecest to tlie letter-press oC
an already most intMesting m^^tcE.

Meanwhile the general reader (who^ despite his title, is apt to be
particular in this matter) is doly catered for in a highly miseellaneoiui
bill of fiMPs. Zodogy is indeed Mr. Gosse's hobby, and nerer has
aoologioal stsdent reason to exdain

For oh ! for oh ! the hobby-horse v^ forgot.
But the good steed is not worn to a shadow, or ridden to death. Tlie
merciful man is merciful to his beast, and gets off it now and then, and
babbles o' green fields, and stoops to pick the flowers in them, and sits
down to tiuk with the rustics, and sticks in the mire in the act of bos^
botanising, and inspects old castles and churches and abbeys, and holos
yon by the button while he tells a local legend as it was told to him, or
quotes a couplet from Dan Chaucer, or a stanza from Earl Surrey, or
some lines to the purpose from Wordsworth or Shelley, liGss Twamley
or Ebenezer Elliott or Bishop Mant. Indeed it approximates to a faul^
the habit he has of putting down all he sees, hears, and thinks ; in works
on natural history one co^d well dispense with flings at Romanism, for
instance ; that veteran naturalist Mr. Waterton womd be none the less
agreeable, were his readers left unaware of his zeal for his own Bx)man
Catholic Church, — and Mr. Gosse would lose nothing of our respect
were he to re£rain from Protestant ebullitions of feeling in the midst of
his researches.

At Pembroke Castle, for example, Mr. Gosse cannot quit the Con-
fessional without reflecting on '^ what deeds of cruelty were wrought
here," all to be '^ declared in that day,

Dies ire, diesilla^
when in Babykm ^ diall be found the blood of saints, and of proplwts,
and of all that were slain npon the earth.' " At Carew Castle, a
dnngeon hole behind the penitent-eell in the chapel, elicits from him
the obserfatioD, that '4t is good to see such places with one's own eyes ;
t^ey fimn a solemn speaking testimony to those grim reafities whidi k
is too much the &slnon to think Hgray o^ or b<^y to deny, in this
age, — die meraless cm^ty and bloodthirstiDesB of Popery, wherever and
whenever dominant. The sight," he adds, ^ of tins dark dnngeon, as of
Aat in PemlMdce Castle before, caused me to breathe more heartily ike
prayer, that this nation mi^ never again be taken eaptive in the Papal
toils." Having to describe a series of crystalline spines, curved in a
scythe-Hke form, which distinguishes a eertain mimatme firii, of de-
batable specaes, onr good Protestant dnws tm Fopeey for an ilkstnip*
tkm : *^ The whole jqpparatns, when widely gaping and fbrciUy donng^
looks truly formidable ; and reminded me of a horrible instrument of
Papal cruelty iriiioh I have read o^ as used in some German cities
during the middle ages, whidi conurted of a number of scythe hladss
set in opposmg rows, and woAed by machinery across each odier.''
Nay, he is even jMandalised by the basin for holy water, the pisoina, and

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498 SUHHER-DAYS AT TENBY.

tibe ancient sancte bell, in the yenerable little chnrdi at Gumfirestoii:
^ I need scarcely saj that these objects are considered with onlj la
antiquarian interest : the Gospel of Christ is known and loved and
preached in this little edifice, and these relics of old Popish darioiesg ire
of no further value than what they possess as illostrations of a former
age. For my own private opinion, even that measnre of interest woold
scarcely induce me to tolerate their presence in a place appropriated to
the worship of God." Mr. Gosse is admirable in and about tne Aqot-
rinm ; charming among Sea-Urchins and Sea- Anemonies ; really gmt
whether in the shallows or depths of marine zoology ; but possibl;^ out of
his depth, at any rate out of his element, in theological polemics : he
may be sound in the futh, as he is hearty in it, but why obtrode its
controversial side on people who seek him as a natural historian alone?
Ne Aquarius ultra Aquarium.

His is manifestly such a healthy, enjoying, and (to use Jeffreji
favoured phrase) sweet-blooded a nature, that we wonder the more at
his turning aside from genial pursuits, to say things that must needs stir
ill-blood in some of his readers; for we presume even ^'Papishers*
are capable of enjoying the marvels of creation, and of studying wiih
good will the opera omnia of our pleasant and prolific A.L.S. He is a
right cordial enthusiast in the pursiut of knowleag^ with a soul open to
all skyey influences, to all the choral music and the gladdening sights of
« dear goddess" Nature. He is all eyes.

Whene'er he takes his walks abroad,

and all ears, whether to bird-symphonies, or to the homely gosnp of
boor and hind, tinker and tar. He pumps little National School-Dori
on the sea-beach, to add to his reservoir of zoological nomenclature. He
enjoys the garrulity of an old salt on the habits of birds — for example^
the universal custom with such as feed on fish, to swallow their finny
victim head foremost, a process necessary on account of the way in
which the fins and spines frequently project, though instinct here seemi
to be sometimes at fault — ^witness " old Tommy's" narrative as follows:—
" Once upon a time I was in Milford Haven : I see a comoral [cormo-
rant] catch a gurnard. He had got 'un hold by the tail, and whether
he forgot to throw 'un up, I don' know, but he tried to swallow 'un so.
Hie prickles took him in the throat, and — bless ye, sir ! he tamed onf
in a minute !" This was told apropos of Mr. Gosse and his companion
observing a cormorant on the topmost edge of a slender columosr peak

Skve a toss of his head upward, and without seeming to lose his grtfp ^
e prey, so turned it, that it was swallowed head foremost
Mr. Gosse always encourages communications, from all sorts and con-
ditions of men, plus women and boys. Standing to admire the submarui^
firesi below Amruth, he is pleased with the " eloquence'' of a Iwn« ^
man who discourses, pipe in mouth, on the subject : *' People call it sea-
turf ; they cart it away for manure, and it all goes to earth : they po* /•
on the barley and oats. Anybody can see it's wood, by the ^^\^

grain. SheU-fish pierce it "^Tis light stuflF, but 'tis the drine in H thrf*
the good. They get it at low water, springs or neaps, alike." ^'

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SUlfMER-DATS AT TENBY. 499

G0M6 bad ao opportunity of examining speciniens of the iirood of this
ancieDt forest^ now completely covered by the lea, and found some of the
blocks perforata as the *^ old man eloquent** told lum, with shell-fish —
others quite solid, resistbg the knife and.the saw as perfectly as fresh
wood. The pieces he saw, appear to have been poplar and oak ; but elm,
willow, and alder are siud to occur as well ; and he was informed that
afiter storms, trunks and roots are occasionally laid bare at the recess of
the autumnal spring-tides, which have marks of the aze still fresh upon
them, proving that the encroachment of the sea has been effected since
the country was inhabited by civilised man. There are, by common
report, other submerged forests to be met with on the Welsh coast

Another day, Mr. Gosse is en rapport^ or in a state of entente cordiale^
with a ragged donkey-boy on the sands at Tenby, who is communicative
as to the local nomenclature of certain of the more lowly invertebrate
animals,— calling the common Troekus wnbiUcatus '< Sweet William,"
the MaetrtB << Cockles," and the SoUn a <' Hay-fish." <' He enlightened
me," says the docile zoologist, '^ on the difference between the hole of the
' Cockle' and that of the ^ Hay-fish ;' that the latter is deeper, and that
the 'fish' retires more rapidly on alarm; but he cautioned me on the
danger of putting my finger into the burrow, as the ' Hay-fish' would
break it [the finger] idl to pieces.' " After this, their conversation grew
discursive, and the health of his donkey was the subject of the younger
zoologist's lamentation : he only hoped the poor beast would live through
the winter, for Good Friday woula set him all to rights affain. '' We
g^ves the cross-buns to the donkeys, and to all kinds of cattle ; and they
always cures 'em of everythmg ; — mother always does !" Was not Mr.
Gosse's Protestant zeal arous^ by this profession ? He makes no com-
ment ; but aflter his denunciation of the bell and basin in Gumfreston
church, one might safely reckon on a warning against the equally harm-
less (if well made, and eaten in moderation) one a penny two a penny
hot cross-buns. At our next visit to Tenby we shall make a point of
seeking out the donkey-boy, to learn the effect of Good Friday fare on his
four-legged friend.

The chanter on '' trawlmg^' is an amusing and informing one. Mr.
Gosse likea to stand at his window, he teUs us, and see the Trawlers
getting under weigh on a Monday morning — shaking out the dark red
sails, that lay awhile flapping against the booms — and heaving up the
anchor with a half son?, half cry, ^' Ho I heave ye ho !" that came
mellowed and softened by distance on the ear — followed by the harsh
creaking of the gaff upon the mast, as the mainsail rose up, and up, and
up, till it was '' all taut ;" when up went the jiln and out glided one
snug little craft — then another, and another, ana another — all of them
presently appearing off Tenby Head, each the counterpart of the rest, all
under the same canvas, mainsail, ffaff-topsail, foresail, and jib — anon shut
in by St. Catharine's cliffs, and when next seen, so fr^out in the offine as
to be but brown specks. As they run away to sea the trawl is hobted up
to the mast-head. It is here described as a net of conical form, run-
ning off to a point — about twenty-five feet wide and thirty-five deep.
*' The upper edge of the mouth is &stened to a stout beam of fir-wood,
twenty-nve feet long, the ends of which cany the trawl-heads. These
are stout flat bars of iron bent into a semicircle of three feet wide, to keep
the foot of the trawl (or that part of die^net which is to drag over the

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509 SUMMER-DATS AT TEKBT.

•Mrboitora) thai dittaaM b^ow the beam* To the eorre of mA head
n fastened the fraW-rcpe^ irhidi is to loose as to reeede in a earred lame
to half the length of the trawl ; it is a stout rope well * serred' (or oosted)
widi spiinyam ^ pveservatiioii. ¥^Ain the hagof the net are/KMsAdis^
which open backwards. To each end of the betm is affixed a stout rope,
eomiBg to a point in front, and tkns fcnrming a triangle with the beam for
its base : this line is die hridk ; and at its point it is eomiected with a
strong puley (the wttrp) hj means of a block. The vnrp is made fiut
on bcMrd, and it is by hading on it diat the net is drawn in for fnramma^
tion. A new trawl costs 501. or 60/., and the boat is worth about 70(ML"
The weight of the apparatus carries it speedtlj to the bottom, while tiie
baojancy of the fir4)eam keeps die ii]^>er edfi;e of die net, with iteelC £nee
from the g^ronnd ; and when furtj adjusted, the net trails b^nd tbe
boat, the trawl-rope draggmg tlie bottom in a curre, extending some
twenty feet behind die b^un. • The rope comes widi the abmptnesa of a
'^ rough customer^' to *< astonish the natives," who are dining, or taki^
dieir siesta, at the bottom of the sea. Up th^ go, at & first nide
serring of so starding a suaraions. Give them rope enough, as the prcH
▼erb says, and they wHl in£idlibly do for themselves. Bope enough is in
dns instance fiterally given, and accordingly thej are done. To escape
the rope diey ascend with a di;^lex urn at the altiisimo and the presHs-
tmo. But m this act of ascension, they oome into colliacm with the net,
which expands above diem '^fike a roof Upward movement being
checked, they try sidelong. Alas, too soon they find an end, in wander-
ing mazes lost '^ If they go one way, they are in tbe bag of die
net ; if the other, the pockets which are hanging down receive them ;
if they sink again, the irawl-rope, whidi is constantly advancing, has
carried the bottom of the net beyond them, and they are eom^etdy
taken." Of course it is only certain kinds of fish that can be thus cap-
tured. The trawl is impotent against fish that swim in shoals at the sor-
hoe ; the mackerel ignores it, the herring rises superior to it ; but it
works its will on red mullet, makes away widi skate ad kbUum^ is irre^
sistible in its advances to turbot and brill, and captivates gurnards whole-
sale, and proves to flounder after flounder what flats the)r are.

The net is partly hauled aboard to discharge its contents. The upper
dasses of the captured fish, such as sole and turbot, are forthwidi "de-
bowelledy" and packed away in the hold ; die lower ordenf, such as ling
and hdke, and such small deer (if ling and hake vmy be so called, as well
as rats and mice) are thrown in loose ; and the riff-raff, the canaille^ die
Bohemians of the vas^y deep, — the refuse, in short, which remains afto*
this short division 8uia»-««re swept overboard with all convenient speed
and uttermost contempt

Mr. Gosse natundly sighs as he thinks of this contemptuoas and indis-
oiminate system cilauser aller. We may readily suppose, he reminds us,
diat so extensive a sweepbg of the sea-floor must present unrivalled
<^portunities of gathering the 9poUa ophna of marme natural history.
^< It makes a naturalist's mouth water^ — almost his eyes, surely, if he be
an enthusiast (indeed we feel pretty certain that, in moodv reiflectioD on
diis waste of precious stores, Mr. Gosse must once and agam
Some natural tears have shed, nor wiped them soon,
but refused to be comforted, where comfort there was none at or in
hand) — ** it makes a naturalist's mouth water only to ima^e to himself

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SUMMER-DATS AT TENBY. 501

tiie natore of the 'rubbish,' which is unceremoniously swept oyerboard
after every haul. Tke muHiiiidee of miaote Fishes (which, being uneat-
able, are valueless); the fine and rare Shells, both univalve and bivalve;
the strange Ascidians ; the Crvstaeea and Cirripedes ; the elegant Worms
and other Annelides; the Sea-cucumbers, Urchins, and Stars; the
Medusse, great and small, covered and naked-eyed; the Corals, the
Anemones, the Sea-pens, and Sea-shrubs, and numberless other unnamed
aiHl imnameable creatures, things on which the eye of no naturalist has
erer yet rested ; — the multitudes of these that are every day trampled
tmder foot, and thrust out of sight at the point of the besom, would, I
snapeet, be enough to keep the ' Annals,' the ' Zool(^ist,' the ' Naturalist,'
and an our other scientific periodicals, full to overflowing with novelties,
for many a long day to come.

^ It is exeeedingf y £fficult to induce the trawlers to bring any of their

* rubbbh' home. Money, that in general ^ makes the mare to go' in any
direction you wish, seems to have lost its stimulating power, when the
duty to be performed, the quid pro quo^ is the putting of a shovelful of

* rubbish' into a bucket of water, instead of jerking it overboard. No,
tbey havent got time. You try to work on their friendship ; you mt and
^lat with them ; and think you have succeeded in worming yourself into
tiheir good graces sufficiently to induce them to undertake the not very
onerous task of bringing in a tub of ^ rubbish.' But in nineteen cases out
of twenty you are disappointed."

That the thing is not, however, utterly hopeless, Mr. Gosse bears
experto crede evidence, — a tub of ' rubbish' having been actually secured
by him more than once or twice. He found the boys more open to ad-
Tsnces than the men ; and advises all who may be di^sed to tiy their
hand on a bucket of trawler's "rubbish" to begin with the cabin-boy, in
their adoption of the preliminary postulate of ** first catching your hare."
He was rather unfortunate in the specimens brought to him, which were
^ sadly disappointing^ when tiiey came to be examined, consisting almost
exclusively of the commonest kind of Hydroid Zoophytes ; but, as he
says, scores of species were doubtless brushed overboard when this
residuary trash was bundled into tiie basket : the former, by hypotheffls
desiderata^ and in effect non inventtZy were neglected in all probability
because they were small, or required to be packed singly ; whereas tlie
latter, consisting of long and tanded threads, could be caught up in a
moment, " like an armfiu of pea-haulm in a field, its value being esti-
mated, as usual witii the unmitiated, by quantity ratiier than quality,
by buft rather than variety." The trawling crew are, yery naturally,
but in a naturalisf s judgment very vexatiously, less discriminative m
coflecting a bucket of "rublnsh" for microscopic survey, than in collect-
ing a load of marketable fish for the break^Eist and dinner-table.

Our rambling notes give next to no notion of the contents of tlus
attractive book as a whole — ^but merely a taste of their quality, adapted
rather adpapuhtm than ad dervm. But " Tenby : A Sea-side Holidajr*
either is alr^y, or so soon will be (in the sheer nature of things, and
books), in the hands of our readers, as they take their sea-side holiday, in
fiflwy or in fact ; tiiat, without disrespect to, but positively out of genuine
relini for so pleasant a -volume, we may pitlnly and paradoxically affirm,
^e less said about it the better. Our mnction is to whet, not take off
the edge, of their appetite. May that appetite be fresh, and good diges-
tion wait upon it

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602
A GLIMPSE OF BEANFIELD.

BT JOHN 8TBBBINO.

Beanfield is just the right place to pass the summer in, if you most
pass it ia any town at all, for the sunlight always seems to be so oora-
pletely entangled amidst its old garden walls, its gable ends, and opea
market-place streets, as to have resigned all thoughts of making id
escape. But though I have passed the spring, and am passing die
summer in Beanfield, I do not wish it to be inferred that I am Jwtji
basking in the sunlight. I habitually sit in a room whose only window
is a skylight. My prospect consists of a region of cloudland and a huge
horse^hesnut-tree. My occupations are le^, and my companions a set
of old musty books, knocking each other's heads about in a glass-framed
case, the most notable being Oke's Magisterial Institutes, Bmrow's
Reports, a few volumes of the Spectator^ and a number of antiqoated
law journals and diaries. On Tuesdays and Fridays the magistrates sit
in we large room next to mine, to send back to the workhouse the old
women who will discharge themselves as soon as the spring sunshine
appears, and go wandering about the fields stealing turnip-tops. From
the clerk's office beyond occasionally come to my ears, on nne afternoons,
subdued murmurs of popular airs. But with these exceptions my dinrs
pass very silently, partly occupied in work, and partly in gaziog ^ ^
horse-chesnut-tree which I have already mentioned, and whid for *
thousand reasons I love. In the first place, it is so peculiarly my own ; I am
quite sure that I alone of all people m the world counted its great gold^
buds in the spring time, and watched with delight the resuscitation of
each leaf that seemed to have been half-drowned by its first plunge into the
unfathomable sky. Who but myself can have oiscoverea that it is ti»
south-west wind which most frequently and most gracefully discloses the
purple casements of sky through the green curtains of leaves ? I want to
tell you all about my hfe here, and the place and the people; but I doot
know exactly where to begin, for I haven't been so lucky these rix
months as to have lived a story, or, if I have, I can't disco?er the
remotest clue to a plot I suppose I must begin at the beginning, and
that was the railway station.

Little could the architect of that great red brick house, with the
columned porch and the tall sunken windows, of which those on the first-
floor are surmounted by a brickwork cherub apiece — little could we
carver of its oaken banisters and the scrolls of fruit and flowers on the
panels— little could the owner, as in all the dignity of peruke and h^
powder he stepped through its sombre corridors— little could any one (^
these have suspected that their pet mansion would one day be the hoose-
of-call for the mail, and that its penetralia would be invaded by p^^
truns. But the blow did not come with unmitigated force. The
country-house of the beau of Queen Anne's reign had for ^^7.7^^^
its present destiny served as a boarding-school. You can sm see toe
stains of ink on the green paint of the carved peaches ; and it was soo^
busier hand than that of Time which broke off the beaks from the ^^
heads on the staircase. Just on that spot where we wwt for a railway

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A GLIMPSE OF BEANFIELD. 503

ticket has many a young urchin stood, inyoking tardy Horace from the
ceiHng ; and those two sisters seated on the luggi^ behind their mamma
occupy the &vou]ite seat of many a pair of friends who chose to do their
Viigil in that comer, that they might talk together, and look out upon
the men fields unobserved. When the school removed, it retreated to
another old house three or four miles from Beanfield, near a gravel-pit.
Some schools seem to belong to old houses ; you have an instinctive feehng
that they would cease to exist should they attempt to change their
earthly garment of gables and red brick for any other. The idiosyncra-
sies of private schools might form a subject for interesting investigation.

We leave the old yew in the garden of the railway station, and stand
an the outskirts of Beanfield. Behind us is a bank of hills as men and
bright as though it were the side of a furrow in a field of malachite. On
the right hand are the fields dipping into the horizon, with white gates
here and there, like ships amidst the meadow grass. At our feet is a
curve of the river. Down to the right there, amidst the few cottages
near the holly-bush, at the end of the town, stands a tall, white-haired old
man, making memoranda in his note-book ; he is a Waterloo pensioner, .
and holds the office of inspector of nuisances to the Beanfield board of
health ; he has just discovered a huge uncovered drain, and marks with
yast delight its gleaming, lazy, bituminous flood, rolling through the rank
summer herbage on its banks. He disregards, as the mere fantasy of
vritchcraft, the group of noisy, healthy-looking children playing by its
side, and marches off to obtain an order for its instant removal. Let us
follow him half a mile to the south, along Chaseside. What a splendid
bed of tulips, and what a curious old wooden cottage 1 The parish cimrch
beadle lives here ; not at all of the Bumble species, but in appearance
something like the stalk side of an apple, quaintly lined and tucked in
about his mouth. That is his daughter leaning over the paling by the
currant-bushes ; she is talking to some little girls who used to be her
schoolfellows, but she is too delicate to go to school now. She is making
a present to one of tliem of a doll. *^ Oh! what a pretty hat ! and separate
sleeves ! and shoes ! and*' — but here the voice is sunk, and the profane
vulgar are supposed to be out of hearing — ** wax, legs ? yes ! all over !
oh, my !"

Passing across a little meadow, in which the sorrel is already turning
scarlet, and then waking up a kind of muttered echo between two high
garden- waUs, we come again upon the river and a house beside it. It is
one of the pleasantest houses in the town, being situated between the
rippling river and the old park, now used as a pasture. There are two
rows of windows in its red brick front, and two rows in its red tile roof ;
a group of Lombardy poplars on the right balances a huge heap of ivy,
which overgrows the gables on the left. There is an easy stile across the
path between the bank of the stream and the garden wall, which little
market-bound children use to stand on tiptoe to see the girls sitting
beneath the large plum-tree, sewing and manipulating white silk and
black and white velvet. If you cross this stile and follow the path you
reach some spacious, sun-delighting workshops, a few feet beyond the
garden, in which labour seems to have changed itself into a busy holiday.
Stand now on the bridge to the lef^ and catch broad, sidelong views of
the house, and the garden-wall, and the workshops, and the reach of the

VOL. XXXIX. 2 L

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004 A GUXFgfi OP BSAHflELD.

imr, ftnd the-oM psrkpaatims l>ej|ioiM[ ; the afteKBOOB snoligfal itdunn^
img^ -w'A glory a heap c£ noUe tniairi «£ eloM on tbe 4eep gnen 8«ai4
hitee ikt gnAt, and little ^iUrca aie neadiag amoagefc tbai like tbe
imry ctTttak cf roral het^ aod hapfnness ; ob the home-fcont tke raaea
ase aa a danadc aadi hetweaa thefintand seoondatoiiea; dieredwkieaC
evesiBg flODtight is wmaimg t# waste with a gleriow ahvadaaoe amciMat
tbe feagawta c£ bottlei on the ganden^wall ; and so oar eyes t Tad! aril j
inbdi the aPOKkahopi, which aeain pardy aamHier-heuae aad partly meai-
hoDSc^ widk their large sashes half opeo, and the dder-irees ia bloaot
graaipedfredy about l£eai. Laths and tiashers, saws, haouaera, and pbnas^
lamy appreatiees and cheerM workaiea ; — how hr^tly the eveatoi^ eon
slows tipan the last honr of their lahouz^ whieh is abo reflected in hrighi
detail widiia the tranquil river amidst the boaghs of the overhaag^g rWn
nnta. Sanly it aiust be a hoat-htiilder's ! Surely yoa iatelligent-loekia|^
maa, who is evidently the master, employs the sweet leisuse of the he
daring whieh he reclines beneath the plum-tree ia his garden, in tra
with his mind's eve upon the gravd walks the ribs and vertebrae of i
and wherries, which wod d be worthy, for their form's sake, to have stan
for anehers. WeH, it is a boat4Miilder'6 ; they bnild many boats in tfieae
morkroomsof mndi sioiplicsty^ which go on loi^ voyages, ridly fineighaed,
with never a wreck ; boats whieh are launched not from the iiv«r-fiid%
dock, or ereek, ner from the pebbly beach, with a christening benedictiea
of wine, bat on the rank herbage of the graveyard, with a libation of anllca
olay, amidst the stony emblems of humanity. Mr. I^oriey b the Beaa-
field undertaker.

If it is one of the pleasantest houses in the town, they are certainly two
of the prettiest diildren ia the town who now stand in frxmt of die uader-
taker's houae, wuting for their father, ^o is in the yard talkins^ with
Mr. Shorley* It is a sad bun&ess on which they have come, and the two
dttldren fed a little conscienee-stticken that they are not sadder at the
thought that they shall no aiore play with their little baby4»other, nor
any more measure his height with the Newfoundland ; but they comfort
each other with the reflection that they shall think more about it, and be
more grieved when a little time has passed* by ; and so they allow them-
selves to enjoy the touch of the evening air through the curls upon their
foreheads, and watch the fahie-backed swifb darting to and ho through
the bridge, as though it were the eye of a great silver needle and tbey
were the purple threads. Bui Mr. Shorley soon appears at the gate, taking
leave of the tall, pale gendeman, with an air which seems anxious to an-
ticipate future favours while it expresses gratitude for the present ; and
then the bright4iaired children, taking eadi a hand, aecompaay tkeir
papa across the heath, along padis li^rdered witii wild thyme, so fr«h
and buoyant — aMM>ugh from natural fisding they indulge m no oxprm
sions of mirth — that they seem like the radiant edges of a doud, by ths
warmth aad radiaaee of ^dudi alone dMdark sad cload is preserved from
fiUlinr into a swoon of tears.

A tew minutes' stroll round ike M Hog Pasture brings me to liie fittle
row of humble detadied cottages, in one of vdiieh I k)dge. I wiH not
ask you in, because the partition between aiy landlady's room and mine is
so thin, and her baby cries so anieh, which aaakes bm ashamed whea I
have visitors. And besides^ tha sunlight is beeooiiag richer, and thsie

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jl auMPts Of BuxnBU). 505

is jmk tfa« totpieioB of a pbtittnt eoclimm anidit die d»8, and I hm^e
tiie other side of Beanfield to riiow jon.

The road in froot of my residenee is oae of those smooth gimrel enaSy
TtHuiing between flfeep borders of gvesn tur^ whteh, after a sosart smaner
shower, are full of briglit pods, wfaieh are as deep for half an hour as
the U«e heaivens are high ; but this ereniag it is all rvby-tinted, and
droops amongst the trees in Sandy HoUow Uke a weary monareh's seef^ie
in the foMs of his royal robe. On the opposite side of the way is a garaan
pafing raised npon a somewhat steep buik^ on which two kids are gadier-
ing their erening meal ; then comes a row of half a dossen cottages, with
the foliage of five grand elms above their roef : almost dU of them hare
their doors wide open, but a man is entering one with a latdi-key; the
fi>liage of the vine and the westeria adorns the Hne of smooth brickwork;
tile ooenpsdions of the inhabitaots of most of them seem to be ironing
aflid making beds, £br sheets and other linen are contuanaJly passing belbie
the windows Hke ghosts, or the half-iMed sdJs of sh^ in a stem.
Beyond this bit ci bmider^s speculation is a ehasm of what appears at
4rst sight a confusion of garden pales and apple-trees ; but soon th# eye
vests ^adly on mossy thatched roofs and leaded casements, slanting at
afi imaginable angles, but always gathering the sweetest sunUffbt I do
not know how many separate homesteads are collected together in this
raral nook, nor much alx>at their inhabitants, hut it is tokrably certain
that amongst them are a straw-bonnet maker and a buteher's-blook mdcer;
as for the latter fine fellow, it has long been my delight to watch him for
a few minutes before breakfast at Us hearty toiL How lovingly he
handles the huge mass ! With what a dericate sense he fashions the lump
into that form which in a botcher's block is reeognlBcd as beanty ! As
for the straw-bonnet maker I know nothing of her, but once a week cff
so, on a bench amongst llie currant and gooseberry-bushes, glittering as
brightly as erodes of gold or beehives, are displayed four or five speei-
mens of her toil I sometimes eoniectitre why tibey afe thus set forth,
and as the position does not offer a <mance of sale, I decide that it is done
out of pri^ and over-gloriousness. Beyond this nest of cottages, and
much nearer the road, is a butcher's shop, whieh enters folly into the
spirit of the early closing movement, for any day at rix o'clock the pro-
prietor may be seen sitting beneath the iron lattice-work of the closed
shutters, smoking as calmly as though he had no weight on his oonscienee
of unsold sheep within. 1 am recalled from my gUnce to the opposite
side of the way by the '* Good evening^ of my neighbour the rat-killer.
There are two stumps oi peplar-trses in his garden, and be is leaning
against one, smoking — I suppose he kills rats by smoking, for he never
does anything else. His litkle giri leans against the opposite poplar,
hemming the skirt of an eternal Mlac frock ; but now her brother comes
home frm work, a lad about sixteen, and the pee goes out, and the frock
is neglected, while ^y all three stand about the euxrant-bush next the
wall whieh the blight has withered, aa though a flame had passed over it.

I am passing the tnfont-sehoel now, with adoeMe row of Umes all round
it. I remember heiagnear then the first day I came here» and wondering
that trees so young should havie attracted so many bees ; but a minute
after ^ dock shmck twelve^ and the murmur ceased, aod a crowd of
pretty fooes, and pink and blue and white frocks^ broke into a seoxe tf

2x2

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506 A GLIMPSE OF BEAKFIELD.

charmiog groups about the green-tinted stems. Tins fine old hooae on
the left is about to be pulled down ; there are bills on each side of tbe
broad, ornamented iron gate respecting the sale of the materiab ; I can
read from here that there are two hundred thousand bricks to be sold at
the rate of eleven shillings a thousand ; in another week the ribs of its
roof will be driftmg, like the skeleton of a vast sea-monster, amidst the
flying clouds in the moonlight. It was once inhabited by the lord of the
manor, and when the act was passed for dividing all the conunons and
lammas-grounds and marsh-lands, that wooded strip which stretches
down along the river's side was allotted to it. Now a Freehold Land
Society has purchased it, and has resolved to run the chief road of their
estate through the library and butler's pantry ; democratic vengeance, I
suppose, against all things feudal and antique, lords of manors, doomsday-
books, and ale stoops. I can never pass this orchard — nor, in fact, any
other — without leaning on the gate for a while to enjoy the sweet dlenoe
and beauty which pervade the avenues betwixt the mossy stems; everything
here gives pleasure : a fragment of a broken bough gleaming like a bit of
crusted gold in the level sunlight, a dead leaf upon the rich herbage of the
shade, seem to ripple the sense of enjo3rment to its farthest expanse. I can
see through the drooped boughs, in the ^Eurthest comer, an old man wi&
a wicker-basket, and know that he is Old Grarland, who has penmssion to
pick up the fallen fruit in this orchard ; he is always picking up some-
thing : in the spring you may see him on the White Webb pastures
gathering sorrel, and in the autumn contending with the black swine for
the mast. I have reached Brigadier Hill now, where there are two pretty
houses, one low and dark, of brickwork, covered with ivy; the other,
much loftier, white, wooden, with a rustic porch ; a retired barrister
lives in one, and the surgeon of the place in the other ; there are children
in both, and I have often, when passing at miduight, heard little voices
calling to each other across the cedars ; indeed, the houses are so dose
together that the children in the one cease from their play when they are
at prayers in the other. But I am approaching the open country now,
and at this turn of the road I lean upon the stile beside the Stone-Crop
Well, and look back upon the town.

There is Beanfleld m all its evening glory, purple, and amethyst, and
gold. It seems as though that portion of the earth were being remolten,
and even now the square church-tower meets my gaze like a sudden
crystal from the mass. Suppose I had always Hved in London, or suppose
I had always lived on some wild country-side, how completely unable
should I be rightly to appreciate the scene before me. I am on high
ground, amidst meadows thickly strewn with oaks and elms ; the river is
beneath me on my left, and the mbts of evening are already amidst the
alders, making them seem as though Arachne had her home there ; right
in front is a patch of oats, the ear full formed, but still quite young,
affording a delicate gratification to the eye, such as can scaix^y be sur-
passed, so broad in mass, so delicate in detail. Beneath this field are
meadows, from which the hay has just been carried, and the cattle are in
their own pastures again. Beyond these commences the town. Houses
that seem to have no gardens, gardens that seem to have no houses, streets
without commencement or exit, boldly sketched in as background and
foreground to groups of children who, seen frt>m here, seem to move not
at aU ; clumps of elms so tall that they force the wayiietfing crow to torn

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OMER pasha's campaign- 507

aside, and groups of oaks so dense that sidelong red-tiled roofs amongst
them seem to be ploughing their way through a turbulent green sea. That
is Beanfield, that is its appearance as you look at it from here, a stranger ;
bat when you know it, when you have lived in it, you are sc,aTCely able to
look upon it as one place, one thing. If you consider it in respect to its
name, you remember how in its earliest records it is called Bon-field,
because, as the antiquary of a later time observes, all the land in the neigh*
bourhood was originally devoted to pious uses and the sustenance of a fair
abbey ; and a few centuries later, Bone-field, because, as the antiquary
of a later time observes, it was the scene of a sharp conflict between the
adherents of the Red and White Roses ; then, finally. Bean-field, because,
as the modem local antiquary asserts, it had to supply so many measures
of beans to the followers of the sovereigns when they passed through it
in the course of their royal progresses. And its name brings to your
mind its charities, which lie like a benediction on most of the lands in
the neighbourhood, so that there are few hay-stacks or corn-ncks for miles
aronnd which bear not about them a memorial of the beneficence of
London merchants three and four centuries ago. The rent of that fine
mansion on the right supports eight decrepid old women in comfort, and
the loppings and toppings of that piece of coppice beyond have appren-
ticed out, since they were first devoted to that purpose, many score of
little orphan urchins.

Dear Beanfield ! there are thoughts and memories connected with the
half-year which I have spent amidst your quaint beauty and* gentle still-
ness, which 1 love to recal daily, although the least of them is a pain !

OMER PASHA'S CAMPAIGN.*

Omer Pasha, who had found Mustapha Pasha's troops at Batum, re-
ported to be twelve thousand strong, to consist of only about three hun-
dred effective men, and who had laboured in vdn to obtain reinforcements
from the Crimea, landed at Suchum Kalah on the morning of the 3rd of
October, quite unable to calculate what the numerical strength of his army
was likely to be, or when they would be in a fit state to move. His first
step was to commit Prince Michael, whose sympathies were decidedly
Russian, by appointing him governor of Suchum, under his Mussulman
name of Hamid Bey. Political communications were also opened with the
Circassians. Explorations were made of the country around, as £ar as
prudence would permit. The mouth of the Ingur was also examined by
the boats of the Cyclops and La Vigie. At the same time troops were
being landed from the Crimea with great rapidity ; the Great Britain
alone disgorged eighteen hundred men. Sebastopol had fallen, and twenty
thousand men joined within a fortnight. The avant-garde of the army
of Mingrelia was soon pushed on to Shem-sarai, Prince Michael's '* sun-

* The Trans-Caucasian Campaign of the Turkish Army under Omer Pasha :
A Personal Narrative. By Laurence Oliphant. William Blackwood and Sons.
1856.

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<M OMBR pasha's CAMPAIGK.

ftit^ w^ Scigdidi. On tiw 10th of Oetober Omcr Piaha lumntf
fterted Kt th« head of fife thoofaad omd, and two hMmm <if nrtilUfy i

ftsd Mr. OKplMknt jom«d the adrafice gtttrd, at that tine f^campA
mMm dD«e£oiin' Bimrcfc of die lagnr, on the 30th of October. The
flNkd about seven miles from Shem-eavai crencd the Qodaw% nwrn^ mod
Ikes left the coast The coontrf was at fint iot, bat Sor the most fMt
eoimed with a dente ibreit> wHh fireqeent twanpa

I fotmd myself snrrotmded by a miscellaneoti? conooune, stit^Qgling br de-
fioas pallis tnroi^ the toiwled underwood, or plonghmg their way tbroagn Ike
deep mnd. There were imantrj and oavabr in k)Bg Inws wmdnv between the
aegajiftcrnt oak and beeok trees of whidi the forest is oomposed-— Ahkhasiaat
on wiiy ponies dodging in and oat, and getting past everybody — moles and
nadc-horses, in awkward predicaments, stopping wd the road, on whose deroted
neads were showered an immense variety of oatns By their drivers, who, in thdr
tnriL were sworn at bv the rest of the world. There were some batteries of
artillery, which lookea so hopelessly imbedded that nothing short of Britidi
enersy, as impersonated in Colonel Gaddell, who commanded, eonhl have extri-
eateothem. There were broken-<kiwn baggage-w

and evetything bnt broken-down men. Here and then a paska was syiatted by
the roadside indal^fing in his nacgilke, enjoying Ins ''kief," and watching phcidlf
the exertions of his troops.

Pasnog a pret^ village perched upon ikte riTer-faaaky where the pea-
sants were grouped by the roadside selling Indian-eorn eobs^ and cakes
made of the saaoe gnin, or of millet, to the passers-by, the road heearoe
mote open and diT> and the occasional ravines were roaghly hiidged.
Mr. OH^haat fooaa the advance gnard encamped is a large plain near
the village of Ertiscal, about twenty miles distant from Shem-sarai. It
consisted of sixteen battalions of infantry and three battalions of Rifles.
The Rifles, about two thousand strong, were ccmsidered to be the crack
troops of the Turkish army, and they were commanded by an English-
man-rColonel Ballard.

On the following momnig two battalioDS of Rifles led the way to the
Ingur, followed by about six thousand infantry and artillery, the whole
being under the oommaad of Abdi Pasha. The main body of these
troops halted at about an hoar's distance from the liver, while the Rifles,
with two field-pieces and two battalions of infantry, took ap a positioa ea
a laige pfaun, separated fiom ikm river by a belt of wood aboot oalf a BMle
in widm. The same afternoon Mr. Otiphaat accompanied Celeaeb
Simmons and Ballard down to the banks of the river, to have a first
glhwpee of the Raisians. They penetrated by devious little woodoaitteffs'
paths to the nver^s edge, where, concealed by the thick underwood, thej
oonld observe at thm leisure the heads of the sokiiets above the
stockades, and here and there the gleam t£ a bayooet in the thsok woed
behmd.

Mr. Oliphant was made of use to take drawings of the river aad of the
opposite bank. The river was at this point divided by a narrow sisay
idand into two branches, each about thirty yards broad. The opposite
bank was denaely wooded, and trees had been felled and interlaeed with
those which were standing, in snch a way as to form a most fennidahle-
looking stockade for more than a mile. In the course of the day Ballard
appeared with two companies of Rifles for a little practice, upon which
occasion a poor little boy, about ten years old, a nephew of Prince

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OM£R pasha's campaign. 508

Miskadi's, wbA drtsaed m ihe Inillunii ami, petumqw cwtniiw of jkln
khanan beys, receiTed a ImU m the kg.

My first experience of life in the Tnrkisk camp (Mr. OUpifaant rdates^ vas most
agreeaUe. The weather for a month past had heen dondiess, and the days brMt
nd sttBuy, but never iaa the least oppcessiye — the niflhts clear and fros^. 0«r
tents were pitehed at the edge of the wood, and the thick tendrils of a Tine
hanging from one tree to another at the door of mine, formed, with the aid of a
blanKet, a pleasant swing. Havinff so lately started, we were weU supplied wildi
luxuries, and provisions were purcnasable in the neighbouring villages. But re-
tonnoitrmg was more interestinc; work than foraging, and next day I made
anertiher expedition, accompanied oy some riflemen, to the river.

This time the enemy were on the alert. Whenever a speck of red
was discerned, a shower of bullets informed them of the fact ; so they

Sat their Fez caps in their pockets, and crawled about as if they were
eer-stalking. The most exciting operation was getting &om one clump
of bushes to another, when they were separated by the sandy bed of tin
river, and completely exposed to observation. After several narrow
escapes and with no small difficulty, Mr. Oliphant was fortunate enough
to find the ford. Omer Pasha arrived himself next morning, and &-
termined to erect two batteries upon points which comnlanded it. It
k not a little illustrative of the part which a handful of Ekiglishmen
played in this episode, that no engineer officers being forthcoming from
among the Turks, Colonel Simmons was obliged to g^ve Mr. Oliphant a
lesson in battery making, and sent him to Skender Pasha to get the
men and gabions necessary for one battery, while he superintended the
construction of the other. Skender Pasha contributed not only a work-
ins^ party of two hundred men, but a regiment of infantry and two
field-pieces, " a command with which,** Mr. Oliphant amusingly relates,
be was '^ considerably astonished and overwhelmed." Off, however, he
marched, and half an hour afterwards was, with his men, silently and
vigorously at work on the hank of the river, within about a hundred
yards of me Russian sentries.

We had almost filled our front row of gabions when the Turkish makr
whispered that he saw the Russians coming down to the river in force. This
was a most startling announcement. I certainly saw, through the darkness,
three black Knes drawn up upon the opposite shore. As my experience in
mifitary matters was exactly that of most other Lincoln's-Inu barristers, and my
knowledge of Turidsh dki not include a nnj^e word of command, the thouglrt
of the two field-pieces and the regiment of mfantry began rather to trouble rae
^— Aore particularly as the artillery officer suggested something that I did not
in the least uoderstttDLd. However, I peremptorily ordered him not, and dis-
covered, to my intense relief, on looking through my opera-glass, that the
Russians were, in fact, three rows of logs, which successive floods had stranded
upon the bank.

Every nerve was gtrakied, every sinew braced, to complete the bat-
teries before dawn should disclose them to a lynx*eyed enemy. Tbe
men worked like aats, without the ^inamer of a torch to lig^t, or even
the spark of a pipe to dieer them. The guns were not pot in vAtil the
following night. During the day nothing could be dose; it waa a
period of perfect repose, and Mr. Oliphant spent it partly in the
company of the old Pole, Skender Pasha (abbreviation of Askundar-
Alexander), who assured hint he had eighteen serious woimds, not

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510 OMBR pasha's CAMPAIGN.

counting the loss of some fingers, and others of a light and trivial
nature. *' There certainly was," Mr. Oliphant states, ^' a hole in his
head, which looked as if nobody who was not accustomed to being
seriously wounded could have received it and lived." The rest of the
time was spent in his vine swing, with a presentiment that it was only
the lull which precedes the storm. The whole army had now come up.
Upon a hill commanding the river, about half a mile to the leflt, one
battalion of Rifles, some infantry and artillery, were placed. On the right
was the division of Skender Pasha, while about a mile to the right rear
of him, Omer Pasha, with the main body of the army, was encamped.
It consisted altogether of four brigades (thirty-two battalions) of iofimti^',
four battalions of Rifles, and one thousand cavalry, with twenty-seven
field -pieces and ten mountain-guns, or, in all, about twenty thousand
men. The remainder of the force, about ten thousand men, were em-
ployed protecting the dep6ts which had been established at Godova,
Shem-sarai, and Suchum.

The whole army, with the exception of Skender Pasha's division, con-
sisting of about fifteen thousand men, was under arms before dawn upon
the morning of the 6th of November, and was marched off in a westeiiy
direction, to cross the river by a ford lower down. " It was a lovely
morning," Mr. Oliphant relates, " and as I accompanied the army in its
march across the charming country— now through noble forests, now
over plains dotted with magnificent timber, past picturesque villages and
Indian-corn fields, where the peasants collected to see us, and listened
wonderingly to the stirring strains of each regiment as it marched past
— I thought I had never enjoyed a morning ride more thoroughly, for
with the charms of this novel and inspiriting scene was combincKl the
impatient excitement of anticipation.^'

At last, after marching for about seven miles, the troops debouched
upon a plain near the river, and Omer Pasha and his staff drew up to
inspect them for the last time before they crossed. Then he sent for-
ward Colonel Ballard in command of the advanced guard, composed of
three battalions and a half of Rifles and four guns, to lead the way
across a branch of the river to a long, narrow island, near the other
extremity of which a ford was stated to exist. The island was covered
with a thick copse-wood, through which they pursued a narrow path,
throwing out skirmbhers on both sides. The main body of the army
followed at no great distance in rear.

After having proceeeded through the wood for about two miles, they
entered a plain at mid-day, and were immediately and unexpectedly
greeted by a pretty sharp fire of musketry and a few round shot. The
latter proceeaed from a battery about six hundred yards distant, upon
the opposite side of the river ; the former from a wood immediately
Reusing them, at the other end of the plain, about a hundred yards distant
The Rifles crossing this open ground with great rapidity, the wood was
obtained possession of without difficulty ; but unludcily the ford beyond
was sought for in vain by Colonel Ballard and Mr. Longworth. Under
these circumstances, nothing remained to be done, as far as Ballard was
concerned, but to take advantage of every bush and stump at the water^s
edffe, and fire away at the embrasures, which was done widi the best
effect, although not without great loss firom the tremendous fire kept up

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OMER pasha's campaign. 611

from the batteiy- One or two incidents occurred at this period worthy
of being related. Colonel Caddell had dismounted, and was holding; his
horse and talking to a pasha, when a round shot came between them,
went through hb horse, killed his interpreter, and hopped into the ranks
of a r^ment in rear, doing a good deal of mischief, and finally <Usap-
peared down the bank, followed by the pasha, *' whom,** Mr. Oliphant
says, naively enough, '* I did not again observe on the field." Another
was a gallant old Turk, near seventy years of age, whose bravery as an
officer, Mr. Oliphant says, would have distinguished him anywhere, but
made him a positive curiosity in the Turkish army, and who, dashing
into the wood with cheers of Allah ! to Ballard's astonishment, passed
over the almost prostrate forms of his skil^l riflemen, and drew up in
line on the river-bank outside the wood. It was not until they had fired
a Tolley into the battery, and were beginning to ^1 the effect of their
unprotected position, that Ballard could induce the old colonel to retire
into the wood, and make him understand that it was his duty, under the
circumstances, to conceal, and not expose his men.

It was drawing towards evening before Osman Pasha led his division
by a second and third island, separated from the opposite shore by a
narrow, but deep and Bw'ift stream, across which the troops made their
way, driving the Russians before them, with a loss in killed and wounded
of about a hundred and fifty men. At or about the same time, Colonel
Simmons had succeeded in leading two battalions of infantry and three
companies of Rifles across the river, at a higher point, so as to take the
battery in reverse. After crossing a wood, with ditch and abattis be-
yond, this little column found itself close to the battery, and in the brief
but hot struggle which ensued, the Turks lost about fifty men in killed
and wounded, and Captain Dymock fell in the act of leading them on
to the assault. One Hidaiot, a Pole, who could speak Russian, and who
had acted as interpreter to Dymock, took his place, and making his
yoice heard above the din of battle, ** My children,'* he called out to the
Russian soldiers, who were hemming in the small band on all sides, ''fly;
my children, you are surrounded — whole regiments of these infidels are
coming through the wood." The Russians, it appears, took the hint, for
in another moment the battery was deserted ; and tonchmg the guns
with his sword, as a sign that he was their captor, this brave fellow re-
turned to attend upon poor Dymock, who breathed his last in hu arms.
For his gallant conduct upon this occasion Hidaiot was made a major in
the army, and received the order of the Mejidie.

Thus terminated the battle of the Ingur, at which the Russian force
which opposed the passage of the Turks is said to have consisted of eight
battalions of infantry (about ^ve thousand men), three thousand Georgian
militia, eight guns, and seven thousand volunteers, who are said, how-
ever, to have vanished into the woods as soon as they heard the first
round-shot whistle over their heads. It is no disparagement to the
strategic genius of Omer Pasha, whom it is the fashion with some to
extol in tbs present day at the expense of the officers commanding the
allied armies, to say that he had little or nothing to do with the results.
These were brought about in part by the position taken up by Ballard
and his Rifles (how the Turks would have acted without such guidance
is shown by the account given of the conduct of the old officer who

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fil2 OHES PASHiL'S CAMBJOSS.

if ngiaent to A% rnr«r«buk ovtnde tfa» wood), bii iMmly ky
dn amiUbodly of mon lod bj Sivnoos and Drnock mnm tkt nm^
Ml who, alone and uMapported, carried ^ battery in levaw. Mt
Olifiuttt, iadead, himsdf remarkcs that of tba Tiaekiib offiomfHieniiy,
ikm has odd dw better. Nobody takea aMnh notice of tfaeoi utib
igiitiiig' ii going on; and indeed it is only then, when, in Ai tnili-
MBt of the wosMnt, men from Oarier Pasha downwards spstk Ik
Inigiiagn whieh are meet faauliar to tbem all, that one ^seofwi hm
mmnj foreifBeri there are in the Tnridsh army, aad bowxeBlly depeaiat
tlml army is for its trhnophs npon them*

After a isinltstj reeonooissaace ike iwhole army moved to SigdU^
A% princ^ pfeoe in llingvelia. The town its^, f^ich is eompoNdtf
tspo stioeta of wooden hoases, shaded by aveooes of booth traes, > lynw^
Hid dm palace of the Princess Dedmne, was deaerted. Omx4$ nm
plaoed at all the entranees of the pabee to protect tbe piopertgr* mi
■witi'ies were also posted at die ehmb and in tbe streets. Phndcr wm
strictly prohibited, and was, indeed, as far as the Tmrks were oonsnoMi
liBHtod to a few fowls, bat the Ablrhaiiaos wevid seise npon the hsod-
aomesi boys and the prettiest girls, tear them sbriekii^ feom tfaw
agonised pannts, and, swinging them on their aaddle-bov^ giikf wmj
with tbem ^Rmgh the forest.

From Sogdidi all the commissariat animals had to be sentbaekto
Oodaya, a distance of forty miles, for proyidons. This was tbe ]ii%mm%
of those delays which soon proyed fotal to the campaign. The wote
was at diis time so beantifnl, Mr* Oiiphsnt remarks, dwt ^7^^
Wye eondnued their march withovi tents, and thereby rendered mmk
the services of a thoosand more beggage*animals ; or if die whdtvmf
was nnable to go in porsait of the Russians, a diyisbn might havs poiW
on withoift yory much risk, considering the utterly demoralissd ftsli «
the enemy's troops. That eyery day was of the ntmost vahie vsiiufcis^

rvtly proped by the feet, that if tbey had arriyed open the Wntorf
Skemseal two d^fs eadier, tbey would haye loachod Knteis ia tma^
fonr hoars afterwards,

Sogdidi was^ howoror, too dehghtfol, too eednctive a speiy »d m
OMBp was not sirudc till dm 15th of Noyember, when die ^^^
once more moyed forward, the Rifles, as usual, loading the way. ™
toad lay dmwgh aa undnlating, wdl-wooded country, widi '^f^'^^
eonetmeted in available positions to Cbetha, where were eitensifs ■tf'
racks and dep6t8 of provisioiis destroyed by the Rnsnaos, sad wnm

pssehed npon a bank abooi thioe hundred feet high ^^'^^"^^^^^^
atwanu This fine old eoelcsiastieal structure dates, neooidmg to D«^
do Montpeiomc, from the durteenth century. On the 17thi '^^J^
leanribg khopi, they struck the macadamised road wUeh coooecti Btj^
Kahh with Kntais and Tiflis. The army did not follow dm dimctsosd^
Kutais by Uteh-Kumursh to Kntais, Mc Otiphaant tells as, >^^V^
keep open diroot oomoranieation with Redut Kalak They eDeaa|)(|d 0^
auae night at Kholoni, upon a hill which overkoked the phna «fj*
Shion--die ancient Phans. On the lath di^ condnoed didr sai^
along the same well-known and magnificent road, die bridges, bowerer,

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htamg beem ereryiriieie fe^tfoyed, and tkey MicMBoed al S«kbarlMt, upts
tW n¥«r ZiewM, a loivefy tpot» with » wtteHkU aM roined CMtle. Fbom
thb poiBfc iIm tfUMport aoMiaU were agmm seal back for «rofifioa%
MMKiBg aaeeond and lital dela^. Skender Paska, witk a tmM adhtaes
gmx6f oecapied Siiiaktay fire unlet in advance, aad after Sugdidi tkeaMift
•oasiderable pkee in MiogreUay aad was hatiky em^yed m eonsiraeliag
a bridge. Ferhad Pasha also pushed a reconnoissance ae Emt at Uia
fikfweal, i^ieie be bad a tkimith wkh At e«tpotto oi theBttiBDt> who
iMd gfadoaiW reftiied aatcil Abj bad pkoed Ibat rn«r between thoaattleai
and iie inraden,

Mr. Otipbant, for hit part, does not appear to baive feuad tbe dtky
ledioot. He took loag ezpferatory ridet in tbe neigbboaihood ia teareh
of ponkrj and ^ pictaresqae.

The weather bad hitherto been so k>vely that the oemntoy^peefle
believed that tbe iaTaders bad ProTidenee ia tbeir fiiveur; bai al
kit tbe kag'eapeeted sain eaiae, and tbe first tbiag it did was ta
oairy away poor Skender's bridge; the nezt» to aweep down iim
bridge wbicb bad been oonstnicted aerost the Zierrne^ aad to cni off
aU eoBMminioatioa between one half ^ eaap aad tbe other. The
laia wat inoetiant, and at last, apon tfaemomiag efthe 2d of Decembei^
in the middle of a tremendous storm, the armj received tbe order it
flwrek This wat after a fortaigbt't dekj on the Ziewie ! Tbe Tecboua
wat OMBsed tbe teoond day by a fragile £>ot-bfidgey pontoonsy and a load
with the water op to the men's waiett. Tbe array encamped tbe taawi aight
> a MDall stream ; the Rifles, with whom Mr. Oliphant held on, in a

BMridy field of Indkn-com stubble. The third day tbey camped at a
dwtanoe of about two miles from the SkenitcaL AU night it poiwed ita*
etstaally, *' Neyer, except in the tropics, and even nurely tbere/' Mr.
OBphaat tays, ** haye I witnessed saeh a delu|;e." A littk before dawa
tbe rattle of tmall arms aanoanoed that tbe weather bad not deterred tbe
enemy from attempting a tarprise.

RcisoancHstaoces ware now carried oat to find a lord, bat the riyer wat
at least two bundred yards broad, and mshed down with a ftiry that
Botbing ooald withstand. Foeett treeo were totting upoa itt boiling tor*
Imo — islaodt of yegetaUe matter were being swept alei^ it Tbe ince^
tant lains in tbe mean time redaced the camp to a deplotaUe ttate. Tbe
teats were flooded, the RMn literally packed ia mud, proyitiont were
nmnsng thort, ague and feyer becoming nfo. At leng^ on tbe 8th of
December, the weather showing no signs of improyement, tbe order caoie
for retreat. This, while tbey were within two hoars' eanter of Kataii^
whitber after one aiore struggle at the Skeniscal, or at Mehraaie, twa
miles beyond, where it was ssod Bebotoff bad taken xMp bis podtioii, tbey
might kmg ago have been in comfortable winter qnarteit, bad it sot beta
for fotal delay.

Aa it wat, no other coarse remained bat to retreat, for tbe river bad
beoome utterly anfordable. Tbe news of tbe fall of Kara bad alto arrived
tbe aight before. Tbe Rifles, who were in advance on the nnrcfa inland^
formed the rear-^gaard on tbe retreatr Tbey had to be aader arms befell
anybody else, and did not get mtder canvas until tbe sett of the arasjr
waa taag« " If Toridsb posluM,'' Mr. OKobaat lemarkt, ** ate adanaa
to advaadng, tb^ certaiiuy do not (diow, thoaaaM antipathy to letatat*

ing, and leaving their men to find their own way. They invariably keep

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S14 OMER pasha's campaign.

weB ahead ; the consequence is an utter absence of order just when it is
laost necessary." Upon arriving on the banks of the Abasha, five hun-
dred mounted Georgians made a show of attack, which was repulsed by
the Rifles with a loss of about twelve men on the part of the enemy, aad
»o casualty on the side of the Turks. Upon this occasion, Bu Maza, the
Algerine chieftain, distinguished himself by getting into the line of €re
of both parties-

The Cossacks kept on the next day hovering as closely as posnble on
tfie tear, and several little traps were formed for them by hiding the Rifles
in the bushes. " They were, however," Mr. Ollphant says, " as shy as
grouse in October, and only once came within shot." Horses lying dead
bj the roadside showed that the work was beginning to tell ; while many
of the men were so knocked up with fatigue and starvation that they
oontd scarcely crawl along. The Georgians now began to shoot the
sentries at nieht. At length Mr. Oliphant, finding that no glory but a
great deal of discomfort was to be gained by linking his fortunes with the
Rifles, determined upon leaving his quondam friends in the lurch and
pushing ahead as rapidly as possible. Some respite was afibrded at
Kholoni, but sick and ill, the rain falling incessantly, and with no resources
of any kind, Mr. Longworth joined Mr. Oliphant in an attempt to efieet
diehr escape thence to Redut Kalah.

It was a painful and laborious journey. They had to plough their
way wearily along past waggons hopelessly imbeaded in mud, bullodcs
lying down to die, and files of dispirited soldiers. At Chorga they got
nie shelter of a pigsty, by first turning out its grunting occupants.
It was only twelve miles from Chorga to Kedut Kalui, but the road had
become almost impassable, and it was not till he was nearly exhausted by
Blness, cold, wet, fatigue, and starvation, that our traveller, spreading
his blankets on a wooden floor, lay and enjoyed the blaze of a geniu
fire. At Redut Kalah tobacco was also procurable, and when, Mr.
Oliphant remarks, *' a man has a pipe to smoke and a fire to look at,
what can he desire further to render him supremely happy and con-
tented?" Thus ended Mr. Oliphant's share in the campaign, and
which terminated something like the campaign itself, in smoke ! There
is no doubt that the original cause of failure lay in the delays whidi
occurred in acquiescing in Oroer Pasha's plan, and in sending him the
troops and means necessary to ensure success; but owing to a fine
season prolonged to an unusually late period of the year, there is also
Htde doubt that with a little more activity and energy, the Sirdar Ekrem
might have established his head-quarters at Kutais before the wet season
set in, and where he would have received the adhesion of the Princess
Dadiane, as well as that of the principal families of Imeritia and Guriel.
He would, indeed, by that occupation, have deprived Russia of four pro-
Tinces (two of which are amongst the most valuable of her possessions
beyond the Caucasus), containing altogether a populatioivof about 500,000
souls, and an area double that of the Crimea. But to say as a result of
dus petty campaign, carried on when the Russian army was engaged
before Ears, that it places Omer Pasha before the world as the foremost
mmn of the war, is as unjust to a really meritorious ofiicer, as it is to
le other commanders who triumphed over difficulties of a veiy difier^t
Tf by a rare perseverance and the most praiseworthy skill and courage.

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515

MISS COSTELLO'S "LAY OP THE STOEK"*

Welcome as in the cities of the North the return of the storks, wel-
come to us the reappearance of . Louisa Stuart Costello in her
singing rohes. She has discarded them too long.f Like the stork, ahe
has been out of sight (not out of mind) for what seems a long winter of
our discontent.

The Lay of the Stork is a charming production — happy in design and
framework, graceful in expression, musical in cadence and rhythmic flow,
warm in feeling, elevated and elevating in the casuistry of the conscience^
in the ethics of the heart. Imagination inspires the treatment of the
atory, while a sound practical purpose " solidifies" its character, and «
pervading presence of religious feeling sanctifies its very heing's end and
aim. If only for that section of the poem which, with tasteful exclusion
of all personal reference or clap-trap details, pays fervent homage to the
mission of Florence Nightingale and her noble sisterhood, like-minded
and high-hearted all, — S only for that picture of Scutari,

"Where lie the sick on beds of pain,
Unconscious of the scene alt light.
The sparkling shore, the gardens bright.

They may not hope to view again !

The rash, the coward and the brave.

The foe and friend, the low, the high.
The gen'rous Frank, the Tartar slave,

The Turk, the Arab, mingled lie.
And round them flit an angel band

That seem all wants, all pains to know:
With noiseless step and tender hand

As on from couch to couch they go : —

if but for this commemoration of the Daughters of England, the Lay of
the Stork deserves to be had in high and lasting remembrance. But it
has other claims to such distinction ; other claims, neither feeble nor
few.

In a brief introduction we are referred for the origin, or occasional
cause of this poem, to the following incident. " A young German ladj
of eighteen, had a fancy, a few years ago, to discover to what region the
storks repaired on quitting a northern climate, and for that purpose
attached to the neck of a tame one a letter, in which she heggea for aa
answer from whoever found it, informing her of the place where the bird
alighted, and any other particulars attending it. The bird was shot by
an Arab, in Syna, and her letter, copied by him, without understanding
its language or import, was sent to the Prussian Vice-Consul, at Beyrout»
who courteously addressed the desired communication to the young
lady." In an Appendix the correspondence which followed is giveq,

* The Lay of the Stork. By Miss Louisa Stnart Costello, Author of the
'' Memoirs of Anne of Brittany," &c. London: W. and F. G. Cash. 1856.

t We allude, of course, to doings in verse, not prose. In prose writing-
historical, topographical, biographical, and miscellaneoua— her labours have been
as numerous and agreeable as they are un-laboured.

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516 MISS COSTELLO'S " LAY OF THE STORK."

with a copy of the original letter, as transcribed bj the Arab who shot
the bird, Aabnum Aaloss by name.

Enough in f«ek an iscideiit for one of Mias Coatdio'f poetieal instinctB
and culture. Given this key-note, her yoluntary follows. On this hint
&9ie speaks — or sings rather — sings with full heart, and ailyer clear soft
Toice (excellent dung in woman !), the story of Chasida, the Lay of the
Btork.

Lila, an orphan maid, dwells alone in a seqnestoved oasda, tiiat riaaa
above a little silent bay of the meanderinfi;> Neckar. Lila ia wealtibj,
young, and fair; but me happiness of Lim's lore is hestovped on no
ttuman suitor ; a bird is its onVf redpient — that Stork of wlueh thia Lay
records the home-joys, the flitting, and the ftite. lila eaa interpat llie
glees and catches of every pretty warbling choir of Inrd voiees, and tke
mystic whisper of the breezes to the waving grass, and l^e babbie of tha
waters on the glittering sands ; and m her radiant youth she aluaa^
knows, what II Penseroso aspirations would fain secure in tima oif
age, to

brightly ^11

Of eveiy star the heaven dotk show
And every herb that sips the dew.

In vain kinsfolk and friends rally the reduaa, and seek to '' bring her
out," and exchange stork-society and star-gaziag for the conventionalism
of courtesies and courtship cui ItbitHm. Though a reduse, she is no
misanthrope, no soured sentimentalist, absorbed in the luxury of selfish
reverie. On the contrary, she scatters bounty with the laxfi;e-handed
freedom that beseems and bespeaks her large-hearted nobility; she
can scheme good devices for her suffering fellows, and can bring the
^ood schemes to good effect Yet is there a hollow spot, and an aching,
m that gentle heart of hers. A sense of human vanity presses cruelly
at times on all her mind and soul and strength. The position and pro-
spects of her sex puzzle her wilL Her own maidenly but exceptional
portion and prospects — grave matter these suggest of vefleetion, spaciH
lation, pensive moody musings. Her study of flowers, and skias, and
&e majesty and mystery of mountains, is all in the hope to laam froaa
them the '^ spell of happmess," and to hear from them that one toord t&t
which she yearns by day and night. Love she has seen by glimpses, felt
by snatches — but where, what is the one full meaniBg of that ona wwd?

All things promise love around.

I can prize, can cherish aH ;
But amidst this charm^ mund

Nothing answers when I call.
And my heart shrinks bad^ once more.
Waiting; shroaded as before.

Quousque tandem i How long, how long? Why, reader, diereby
hangs the tale of the Stork ; for from the far-away death of the wander-
ing bird is kindled the new life in love of the wistful maiden.

She would fidn unravel the mysterpr that attends the jpath of the 8t<»ks.
She would &ki loHowtiwm, in Wmmd's eye, as, dividing en route^ some
among them speed back to old Nile, and some to ^ Auaa rivcra loiie, by
wild sculptured rocks and caves" sacred to India's twiee tea thotaad
deities. Dear to her is the stork, however wanting in dianns of plumage

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mm cosTBixo's " lay of thb stork.'^ 617

and form and voice ; dear, lMeaaiealoTiji|^ guMtk iim streets and cities
of the sons of men :

Thou lov'st our homes : the lane-*-the street —

And, perching on the helfry oft,
We simie th j kindly shape to greet

Where» motionless, thou sirst ak)ft;
We feel ^ou lov'st us, and we hail

Thy yearly visit to our land

LeacQng thy rapid, feathery band.
And know thy presence will not fail.
Cities and people thronging all
Welcome ye loud from tower and wall.
Crying, with joy to marie your track,
" The Stork I— Spring's Aesseager comes back !''

Nor forgets the poetess to commemorate the traditional virtaes of tbe
humanised bird — its coniagal faithfulness, its filial piety, its parental
affection— or the stories that are told of its social customs and wandering
mission.

The stoik, ^en, shall be Lilacs messenger to distant climes, of the
watchfulness and devotion of true love. Her messenger from shore to
shore, from sea to sea — across the illumined peaks of Carmel, through t^e
idands of the Delta, to the ruins of Persepolis, and the groves of hr Japan.
Her winged messenger shall speed a message of good cheer to them that
doubt, of solace to them that mourn ; the message that there is no death
in love — ^that love ** hovers near the couch where wounded heroes lie" —
that no cave is too dark for love's efifulgence, no spot too drear for its
joy-giving light. She commits to a scroll this message of sympathy,
tUs evangel of hope's inner life :

One who in solitude has plann'd

A world of virtaes, great and high,
Asks aid from ev'ry stran^^s hand

To make her dream reaJ^t^,
To all she sues, to all she pleads.
To him who first this message read^
A blessing and a prayer she sends.
And ranks him as her first of friends:
All noble aisM, all thoughts that soar,
She bids awake, to sleep no more.

So runs the proem of the e{>istle — excehtor I the spirit of the stram.

Then Lik— half in jest — has bound
A scroll the Stork's white bosom round;
A purse the treasured words defends.

By Lila's skilful fingers made,
That by a silken cord depends.

Amidst the flattering feathers laid.
These, closely hidden, shall it rest
Secure within that downy breast.

And so, with a fond farewell, she dismisses her bird-angel— with a san-
guine au revoir rather, for she looks to see her again, with written proof
(by another hand) beneath her wings, that the message has been God-
sped — that the bread of life she thus casts upon the winds has been
found, and fed on, gratefully, effectually, after many days.

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618 MISS COSTELLO'S " LAY OF THE STORK.**

And when, borne far from shore to shore.

My joyous message thou hast spread,
Betum, dear wanderer, once more,

And tell my heart how thou hast sped.

Return she never does ; but Lila's message meets strange accomplish-
ment even in the messenger^s death. The Stork is cat short in her
flight ; but not in vain has been the beating of her wings, as one that
beateth the air.

The machinery of the tale that opens with the flight of the Stork is
just sufliciently complex to prevent our attempting to detail it in the brief
space that now remiuns to us — a circumstance by no means to be de-
plored, but the reverse, as we are thus arrested in the pemidous practice
of skeletonbing, in prosy Barebones's style, what to be appreciated and
enjoyed should be seen in its original living form. How, therefore^
when the ^* first dry leaves are borne away from the tall linden's verdant
crown,'* the Stork calls forth her armies to retreat from the icj North,
and Lila, as the last swift wing sweeps by, fancies she can yet descry her
flEivourite amidst the wild array, — how *^ the shade of all these snowy
flocks" now overcasts the lonely Danube, now the foamy Inn, now mt
gold domes and rose-hued towers of Venice — how the plains of Asia are
reached by the emigrants, and Lila's truant builds her second nest in a
paradise of solitude on Syria's strand — how the boy Youssouf slays

the sainted bird that came

The Arab's home and care to claim,

and his mother wails anil the scheik Khalid applauds the deed — kow
Khalid reads the scroll, and accepts the message with tremulous joy, as a
leaf from Eden borne across waste waters by sacred dove, — how war with
Russia engages Khalid in the field, and Lila in the soldiers' hospital —
how she that sent the message and he that received it, are brought to-
gether again, under happier auspices and in the peacefiil fatherland of
them both, — this to understand and enjoy, the Lay of the Stork itself
must be scanned line upon line, not torn and tattered as in a Magaxine
notice, here a little and there a little, off at a tangent, tantalisinglisamo!
A gentle and intelligent reader assumed, as 'tis at once our great right
and pleasant duty to assume, — the least that reader can do is to get the
Lay of the Stork forthwith from Mudie's or other nescio cujus library
(club, circulating, country-town, or what not) ; that is the least ; but tlie
best were, to have in this instance a soul above borrowing, and to buy
outright so pleasant and pure a Lay, that merits right well, on the mere
score of outward show, a conspicuous place on the drawing-room table,
and, for that within which passeth show, a near and dear one in the
sanctuary of the heart.

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519
TOM ELLIOT'S PEIZE.

Mrs. Agatha Needham had lived in her house in the eood old city
of Nearford all her life, which was by no means a definite number of
years, her own register saying forty-nine, and that of her baptism sixty-
three. A niece of Mrs. Agatha's (she was a maiden lady, and only
** Mrs." by courtesy) was the wife of a country clergyman, and one of
that lady's sons, a medical student, came to Nearford to be an inmate of
Mrs. Agatha's, whilst he *^ improved " himself under Mr. Dicks, an emi-
nent surgeon, attached to Nearford Infirmary. Mrs. Agatha, in corre-
spondence with his parents, had stipulated, before she would admit him,
for his observing certain conditions — that he would never smoke, would
never speak to her two maid-servants, except in her presence, would
always be in by ten o'clock at night, and in bed by half-past To all of
wHcn Mr. Thomas Elliot vowed obedience, and said they were the exact
rules he had laid down for himself. So Mrs. Agatha consented to receive
him, and he arrived. A dashing young man of twenty-one, showy in
dress, free in manner, but the pink of quiet propriety in the presence ot
Mrs. Agatha. He speedily became popular in Nearford, and Mrs.
Agatha grew intensely proud of him.

" My dear Thomas," she exclaimed to him, one morning at breakfast,
^* what an extraordinary smell of tobacco-smoke pervades the house when
you are in it."

'* It does, ma'am ; it*s highly disagreeable. Nearly makes me sick
sometimes."

** But what can it proceed from, Thomas ?" pursued Mrs. Agatha,
sniffing very much over her muffin. *' You assure me you do not smoke."
" I smoke 1" echoed Mr. Tom — " I touch a filthy cigar I It comes from
my clothes."

" How does it eet into them P" wondered Mrs. Agatha.
^* They are such a set, aunt, at that infirmary — have cigars in their
mouths from morning till night. Sometimes I can't see across our dis-
secting-room for the smoke. Of course my clothes get impregnated
with it."

" Dear me, Thomas, how sorry I am for you ! But don't talk about dis-
secting-rooms, if you please. The smell must also get into your eyes,
and hair, and whiskers !"

" So it does, uncommon strong. But I douse my head into the big
basin in a morning, and that takes it oiF."

** The governors of the infirmary ought to be reported to the lord-
lieutenant," cried Mrs. Agatha, warmly. *< I never heard of anything
so shameful. How can they think of permitting the patients to
smoke ?"

** It's not the patients, aunt," returned Mr. Tom, smothering a grin.
** What should bring them into the dissecting-room : unless — ahem !—
they are carried there ?"
" Then is it the doctors ?"
** No : it's the pupils."
<* Misguided youths !" ejaculated Mrs. Agatha. ** And you have to

VOL. YXTIX. 2 M

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520 TOM Elliot's prize.

associate with them ! I^ever you learn smoking, my dear Thomas. But
ahout this smell ; I really don't know wkat is to be done. The maids
commence couching whenever they enter your bedroom, for the fumes of
smoke there, they tell me, are overpoweringly strong.**

" Ah, I know they are. It's where all my clothes hang*"

^' Suppose you were to get some lumps cf camph<uv and sew ibam in
your podcets," suggested Mrs. Needham. **Ii it keeps fevers Gcom
the frame, it may^ep tobacco-smoke ficom clothes. Get iizpen'oEthi
Thomas."

" m get a shilling's worth," said Tom. '' Though I fear its fgoptttim
don't reach smoks."

'^ Oh, Thomas, I forgot Did 3'ou hear the noise in the house last
night ?"

'* Noise r responded Mr. Tom.

" A noise on the stairs, like somebody bumping up them. It was jwt
two o'clock, for I heard the clock strike. When Rachel came to dxesi
me this morning, she said it must have been Minny zacmg aflter the
mice. But I never heard her make such a aoise before. I hope it did
not disturb you ?"

** Not at all, aunt," answered Tom, burying his face in his hand-
kerchief ; ** I never woke till half an hour ago. Cats do make an awM
noise sometimes. I'm off to the infirmary."

*^ And you have eaten no breakfast I I can't think what the lad lives
upon."

In the hall, as Mr. Thomas was dashing across it, he eBcountesed the
housemaid, a pretty girl with cherry cheeks.

*' Look here, sir," she said — ^' look what we picked up this morning.
1£ mistress had found it instead of me and cook, whatever wouki you
have done?"

" My latdi-key ! I nnist have dropped it when I came in, in the
night, and never missed it. But after a punch jollification, IblWing on
a tripe supper, one's perceptive fcu^ulties are i^t to be obscured. That's
a fact undisputed in phyncs, Rachel, my dear." And as Tom dropped
the latch-key into his pocket, he acknowledged his obligation to the
finder in a way of his own.

*' Now, Mr. Thomas," remonstrated Rachel, '< I have threatened fi%
times that I'd tell missis of you, and now I wilL You want to get me
out of my place, sir, going on in this way."

** Do, cried Tom, " go and tell her at once. And faarkee, my dear,
if you and cook get talking to the old lady about the smoke in mj bed-
room, 111 shoot the first of yon I come near« You should put the
windows and door open."

Just as the incorrigible Tom walked ofi^ Mrs. Agatha NeedhaM
opened the fareak&st-room door, and down dropped die maid upoa her
hands and knees, and began rubbing away at the oilcloth.

*' Rachel I was that »y nephew ? Talking to yon I"

** Mr. Thomas has gone out, ma'am."

" Yes. Who was he talking to, before he weat ?*

*' Talking to, ma'am ? Oh, I remember ; he asked about his uoAreDa.
I think he must have left it at the infirmary, or at Mr. Dicks's."

(< Asking a necessary question I will look ovei|* said Mn» Agatha,

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TOM eluot's PBICE. 521

^* bat ak>iikl ke ev«r iIidw a 4i^»Otttion to speak wilk yov iipea iaiai-
ferent subjects, you will come o£F straight to me, aad teport hiiof Bncikel;
for it i» not alUnfed.*

^'Vety well, ma'am.''

Pfom tke id>»ve apccimcn •£ Mr. Ton EUbty k nuvy ke wondered
knw ke contitped to femm aa immito of Mn. Agatha Needkam's, amd
continue in that lady's good graces. It was a marvel to Tom kinraetf,
aad ke was waai to amyj in that iavomU sesort^ tke difloectiag-room,
tkeft tkoagh ke kad got on the ancieai ouidea't blind lide, ke h«i more
trouble tiwa enoagk to keep himself tkere*

One day sundry of the infirmary p«ip3s were aneoibied in tke above-
laentioaed ck<»ce retreat. A lookev-on nugkt kaye descriked tkem as
keiag xatker ^ joUy." Tkere were §evtm «i theai : four kad short pipes
in their mouths, and the three others cigars, and they were sswkuig
anasy widft an tkeir might, Mr. Tom EUiot bckig ammigst tkem ; while
some pewter pots of beer stood on the table.

*^ Bow did old Moss aeve out last night?" inquiiad one, witk a shock
bead of Tery red kaii^ as be sat on a deal tabla and kkked his ieet
against a »ei^koinig walL ** OUl Moss" bemg a botanist, who was
then giving lectures in the city, which tke infirmary pupils were ex-
pected to attend.

» Wkat's tke good of askiag me?" teqwoded Tom ElHot "Pass
tiw pot, JSMS."

" I'd got a better eagagemeni, and dida't show," resmaed the An^
speaker. " Were you not there either, Elliot ?"

*^ I jast was there. And got jamawd dose to two of the lore^est
girls fever saw in all my life. One of 'em is a prize."

** I say," ened Da?», one of the oldest ai tke pi^nls, " who are
those girls Tom Elliot's raving akoot?"

" Who's to know ? There were fifty girls in the foona. Very likely
they were the ThompooBS."

'< Annihilate the Thompsons!" interrupted Elliot; "the one's cross-
eyed, and the other's nokly. D'ye think I don't know tke Tkompson
girls ? These were strangers. At least, I have aaver seea their faces
at lectures before."

" Wbereabowts M your two beavties tit?"

" About half-way up the room, on the left-hand ^b,"r^sspoDded Tom.
" Close anderaeatk the astroooaiical map."

" I kaow !" ikoated a yonagster. ^ They had got a Ug £Kt dvenna
betweea theoa, hadn't ikvj ?"

"Jast so, Ivttle Ddbbs, la a scaskt hat."

"^Aseoiktkatr eokodLDains,

** Or a tarkoB," added Elliot : "anigkt ke meant for one or the other.
A glaring red cone, tkree feet kigk."

^Over a &aeD wig, ndiidi ske puts in papers and makes believe it's
her own hair," rejoined little Dobbs. " It's their aunt."

"Yen insignifieimt monkcT— «fte«r arati" bseke forth Elliot "If
yoo doa't tell Urn namewithoat delay. 111 dissect yoik Tm see I'm
ei^iriag ander tke toapense."

^i^oii't thmkmwAof tkegirisaqr»Bi^"pwMatDdikeyoaaggeatle-

2m2

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622 TOM ELLIOTTS PRIZE.

man, delighted to exercise Elliot's patience. *^ The dark-eyed one's the
best, and that's Clara."

<< Out of the way, Jones. Let me get at him. I'll Clara him."

** Hallo, Elliot ! sit down," cried Davis. '^ Dobbs, you yoong limb,
if you cause this confusion again, I'll turn you out Keep still, EUiot,
and I'll tell you. They were his cousins, the Blake girls, Clara and
Georgy."

" That they were not," said Mr. Dobbs. " They were the two Freera.''
* << Oh, the f reers," echoed Davis ; '' they don't often show. Old Bag-
wig keeps them up tight They are the prettiest girls in Nearford."

<< Who's old Bagwig?" demanded Elliot.

^* The papa Freer. As cute a lawyer as any judge on the bencL He
sports a wig with a bag behind : the only relic of bygone days to be
seen in the town."

** 1 intend to monopolise one of those girls for myself" annooneed
Elliot.

** Phew ! wish you joy of your chance. Ba^wig's laying by sacks of
gold, and designs those two female inheritors of it to marry on the top of
the ladder. Nothing under a foreign prince. You'd never get admitted
inside their house, if you tried for a year."

" I teU you that girl's a prize, and shall be mine ; and I'll bet you two
crowns to one that I'm inside their house within a week. Tell me I
can't get in where I choose ! you can*t perhaps," added the audacioos
^lliot, drawing his handsome figure up, in his vanity.

<'Done!" cried Jones.

<< And 111 take him too," echoed Davis. '< Which of the two is the
prize?"

** There's one with piercing dark eyes, giving out wicked gUnoes,"
answered Elliot '^ And splendid black hair."

"Yes. That's Clara."

<* And a Roman sort of nose, and rosy pink colour."

" That is Clara."

^' Tall ; fine shape ; lovely fall in her shoulders," went on Elliot

" Yes, yes, no mistaking Clara."

« Well then, it's not she."

" Now, Elliot, don't try on any gammon. It must be the young one
then, and that's Loo."

" Hark ! hush ! listen will you ! There's Dicks's voice, as Fm i&ve!*'

The metamorphosis was like maffic. Certain overcoats of the lopik
which lay in a heap in a comer of the room, were raised, and the pewter
pots hidden under tnem ; slops of beer, rather prevalent, were rubbec dry
with handkerchiefs; cigars and pipes, all alight, were thrust into ^
pockets ; tables, as sitting places, were abandoned; and when Mr. I>i%is
M.R.C.S., entered, every student presented the appearance of sober ^
dustry; some with the operating knives, some buried deep in surgi^
books of reference.

If fortune ever £Bivoured any venturesome layer of bets, Tom Ellic
was certainly the one that day. On his return home in the afUmoot
he found Mrs. Agatha Needham cutting most extraordinary otMcre. Sht
was evidently in a desperate state of excitement and anger. Tom's con-
science took alarm ; he believed something had come out about himy^lfi
and felt as if a cold bath had been dashed over him.

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TOM ELLIOTTS PBIZE. 523

*^ Dear aunt, whatever is the matter?" he ventured to ask, finding she
did not speaky and thinking silence might look like self-confession.
<< You are surely not taken with St. Vitus's dance in the legs P"

^' Never was such a thing heard of ! never was such a wicked act per-
petrated ! Rachel — my honnet and velvet mantle. Thomas, nephew,
don't stand peering at my legs. It's not in them, it's in my mind.

Mr. Thomas sat down, completely cowed. What on earth had come
to light ? The latch-key— -or kissmg Rachel — or smoking in his bed-
room at night— or had that sexton—* ? <' By all that's awful, that*
must be it T" reasoned Tom. " The bungling fool has mistaken me,
and sent the thing home, and she and the girls have turned Bluebeard's
wife, and opened the box." Tom's fiace began to stream down. What-
ever could he do ?

^* Has a — a case — ^been brought here, ma'am, a heavy one ?" he stam-
mered. *' I came home on purpose, because there's been a mistake. It
belongs to Mr. Davis, senior student, and ought to have gone to his
lodgings. I'll get a man and have it moved directly."

•* Mercy, boy," cried Mrs. Agatha, " I don't know anything about
cases. If they had sent a dozen here, I should never have seen them to-
day. There has been a wicked man here, Thomas, that's what there
has been. A lawyer I believe he calls himself, and — that's right, Rachel
— I'll go and consult mine now."

Tom's spirits went up like mercuiy. ** Then / have not offended you,
dear aunt ! I feared — I don't know what I didn't fear — that somebody
might have been trying to traduce my character to you."

" Child and woman have I lived m this house for sixt— over forty
years," went on Mrs. Agatha, unheeding Mr. Tom's fears, " my own
leasehold property, and my father and mother's before me. And now an
impious wretch comes forward and says there's a flaw in the lease, and I
must turn out, and am responsible for back rent ! I'll go and consult the
first lawyer in the town. Come along with me, Thomas."

** It's impossible, dear aunt I have got six hours work before me to-
day : reading-up for Mr. Dicks." The truth was he had made an ap-
pointment for billiards.

" That's exceedingly vexatious. I should like to have had you with
me for witness. But you are quite right, Thomas : never put your
studies aside for anything. I'll wish you good afternoon. Rachel, if
anybody comes, you don't know when I shall be at home, for I am gone
to Lawyer Freer s."

" Lawyer Freer's !" screamed Tom, rushing after his aunt, and nearly
upsetting Rachel. " Of course you must have a witness, aunt, if you
are going there. Just wait one moment while I slip on another coat and
waistcoat."

'' What's the matter with those you have on?" demanded Mrs.
Agatha.

« Oh — this is my professional suit. And when I walk with you, I
like to look as your nephew ought."

" Dutiful lad !" aspirated Mrs. Agatha. " He shall not be a loser by
his attachment to me."

Lawyer Freer was at home, and ensconced Mrs. Agatha in his con-
sulting-room. Her dutiful nephew slipped aside as they were going in,
and shut the door on the old lady and the attorney. Mrs. Agatha was

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jB4 Tom bluot'b nsa.

tooMloflieri

berra1i§eGtt»Botio% atfifvl, 4ii«abwiite«Ckrnepke«'; and
she wooldi DOl duterb th# ^oMidefadom of her case by casDiag

for him. Tkty both eoadaded Mr. Tom ipas exemm^ bk patwoaa in
the «oaif>anj of the elerbt in Ae fix^at effiee.

1^ he. He was as fcring as he was high, aad he weoit aloay iht
passage, pe^iia^' hero and peefin^ tbene, till he cave to a rooat a hie
two yoang ladies were seated — fab faeaaties of the pfevioas night. Qan,
the eldest, a wflktmiki gtri; Loaiaa (tfie priie), prettier stili, with dancing
eyes and shinnig ouiit.

*^ I beg pasdon^* cried Aft. Tom, as the yoang ladies rose in uaipiiss;
^'do not let modisturb ^ren. I am seat here to wait, whilst mj annt
holds a private csnsaitatson wMh Mr. Freer. Mrs. Agadm Needham.*

The young ladies bowed. They had a speaking aeqaaiatanee with
Mm. Agatha, and hoped she was weU. Tom siiswsd them she was Tcry
well, went on talking open other sdbjeets, aad made hiaMsif entirely at
home. Mr. Ton EHiot had won his bet.

Mbs. AaATSA. Nbxdham finsnd her lease and its flaar oooU not hs
settfed by the kMryers. The eaase, in dne tMse, was enteoed for trial, at
the March assizes, *^ Newcome versus Needham.^ It caiasod an extza-
oaiinary sensation ta Nearibrd: alh die holders of kmaAM pifiily
argainf^that if Ifra. Agatin Needham was distuhed in her long and
peaceful occupancnr, where was their seenrity ? As to MsSb Agatha, it
nyiy be ^aestuaied. if she enjoyed a liiB night^s rest daring the period of
saspcBSO. Nothanf^ eonld exceed the sympathy and interest erisK»d kf
Tom Elliot in the affiur: as Mrs. Agatha obsenwd, what she shodd hnsa
done without Inm, she did not know. Hm kgs were kept an the can
bstwesn his annfs house and Lawyer Preer^s; and dm nuwias OMa*
sages forwarded by Mrs. AgaAa neariy drore the lawyter wiUL fittr
was fidgety^ and llioBBas pressed her on.

^ Da yon want my semces with Mr. Freer, this morning, aant ?^

^^ No, Thomas, I think not this momiDg."

''Yon'ddawett to send to hi»,if only the sHghtsst nessaga. No
tranble to me. These lawyers seqaire perpetaal loofcing-ap. They aat
so apt to forget the interests of one client m those of another. It's ^mA
of sight, oat of Bund' with tfiem.*

^* Very true, Thomas. Thank you. Go down then to Mk Faeert
my nempliments, and I hare sent to know if diere's anything finsh. Bat
I aoQ nihsaacid to giro yon dus firequant ttsuhh.*

^TnaysTs a pieasore, annt, when yon an ooneemed," rsspondad
Thomas.

^Ths nsarfiit of possesshig snA a nephew r epenkted Mrs. Agatha.

tt^

Tom flew o£P, but the stars were against him that day. Laww
Freer was out; so moeh the better: f>r Tomooold more ssMy find his
way to the young ladies, as he had now dene many and many a tisaa.
Tkiey had also tidLOi to look for Uas, and they saw him eonnng down
the street.

^H;efe'sMr.Emot, Loo,^ obsei led Ckra; and a h&aA of sntisbntion
rose to her laoe, as she turned from the window to a mirror and sasnothad
her hair, here and there, with her finger. Louisa did mt aaswct^ hot a

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Tcnc suudot's vbsze. 515

mmilx bftghter Unli raie ^ her &ee, mod ibe bent loiper <y?er the piece
of drawing she was preparing for her master. For Lomsa, leareoly
•ighCeen^ still had wartcis aMoiiding her» and Clan, who was two years
•idee, looked tipoii her aa a doAd. Child aa she might ha, thoagh, she
kid gvowa to 2mw Tom Elliot

Why did they both blush ? somebody may adc ; ensely Aey were not
hoth in lore with him ? Not exactly. Tom Elliot was a general ad-
nirer, and whilst he had heeome reaUy attached to Locma Freer, and
had s^ven pnvately to gain her affections, he had evineed a rery fidr
share of admiration for Clara, partly in hoinage of her beauty, pardy to
divert suspicion from her sister. And Clara Freer, who had no objection
in the world to reoeiTe admiration from so handsome and popolar a man
at Tom Elliot, eertainly did not repel him.

" He's over head and ears in love," Clara was proceeding to add ; b«t
her sister interrupted her in a startling voice,

""Infeve! Wtthwhom?"

^WithsM," cemplaeently replied Miss Freer, ''who else is there?
ffis next move will he to mal&e me an cffat — in his random way.**

Louisa's heart beat ^eist agunat her side, and her blood tingled to her
fingers' ends.

<< Make i/tm an ofier I" she ga^ forth. "* Wonld you many htm 7"

*^ fikes the duld I I many a medical student, an embryo surgeon I
I look a litde higher tiian that. Loo. But if Tom Elliot were as nch in
unaaldii aa he is in attraetiosis — ^why then you might stand a speedy
ehaaee of bebg a bridesmaid. I know he a^ves me."

No more was said, for Tom entered, and began rattling away, ahi&t hia
enm fuhiooL. An attractive companion he undoubtedly was. Presently
Miss Freer was called from the room by a servant^ upon some domestie
affiur.

^ My dearest Loo," he whispered, aa soon aa diey were alone, ^yo«
look sad this morning. What is it ?'

'^ Oh, nothbg," she answered, bufsting into tears. And Tom, all alife
with surprise and concern, elated her m his arms, and vras in the very
agreeable act of kissbg off the tears, when Clara returned. It was
sooner than they had expected her, and they were foirly caught.

Clara, her features naturally of a haughty cast, could put on a hok
wtym she Uked. Mr. Elliot had never yet been fovoured with it ; but
it shone out, in full force, as she imperiously demanded an eaphnatjea
fimn both of them.

<< The truth is, Miss Freer," said Tom, speaking up like a man, ''that
I kM« your sister. Untii I saw her, all young lames were alike to me —
that is, I was fond of them all. But now she is the only one I care for,
mt ever dmll cara for in the world. I did not intend this to eeme out
yet : and I hope you will keep our secret."

^ And pray, returned Chan, boiling over with rage and niorti6eatioD,
*^ when did you intend it to come out, sir ?"

'< When ? Not till I was well established in my profession, and eould
Mk for hsr as I ought to do, of Mr. Freer."

'^ Clai%" uttered the younger sister, h»r tears folUng foet in agitation,
for she had read the expression in the elder's eye, '^for the kMre of
HaaMtt do not hetcay me to papa. DearCkraT

^ I shall aacpiatnt your father instantly, aa ie my duty,* was the eoid

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526 TOM £LUOT*S PBIZE.

reply. " We shall have a baby in leadiog-striogs entangUng itself in a
matrimomal engagement next !"

'< Clara, my dear sister — ^let me call you so for the first, though I hope
not for the last time, be reasonable, be kind," said Mr. Elliot, trying Air
powers of persuasion. But effectual as they had hitherto proved witb
the young lady, they failed now.

" What I can do to oppose your views on my sister, I will do," she
vehemently answered. " You have played a traitor's part, Mr. Elliot, in
seeking her affections. I beg you to leave the house at once, and yon
will never be admitted to it again."

*<But, Clara," he remonstrated, "you "

" I have told you to leave the house," she reiterated, pale with anger.
'^ If you do not quit it this instant I shall ring for the servants to show
you out."

" Very well, Miss Freer," he said, all his customary equanimity return-
ing to him. '* Louisa, my darling," he impressively added, turning to
her for a last £EU*eweII, '* we may be obliged to bend to circumstances and
temporarily separate, but remember— come what may, I will be true to
you. Be you so to me. Will you promise ?"

'* I will," she whispered ; and Mr. Tom Elliot bent down, and sealed it
on her lips, regardless of Miss Clara's energetic appeal to the bell.

Clara Freer made her own tale good to her father, and Thomas made
his good to Mrs. Agatha. For in £be violent indignation of the attorn^,
he had informed that lady of her nephew's having presumed to make love
to his daughter, and Mrs. Agatha, overwhelmed with the first shock of
the news, wrote off an imperative summons to Tom's father, telling him
to post to Nearford, upon a matter of life and death. Which summons
brought the alarmed parent flying at express speed.

Everybody who heard of the affair pronounced them both a couple of
simpletons. A medical pupil of twenty-one, without any definite hopes
or money whatever, to have talked of marriage, was ridiculously absurd ;
and for a young lady, with money and prospects, to listen to him,
was more absunl still. The clergyman, when he arrived, and found
what the matter was, wbhed to treat it as a joke, the lawyer was too
outrageous to treat it any way but in earnest, while Tom strove to denj
it to Mrs. Agatha.

" There's nothing in it, dear aunt," he pleaded ; '* don*t you believe
any of them."

" But Miss Freer affirms that she caught you kbsing her sister," per-
sisted Mrs. Agatha. '' How do you account for that?"

'Tm sure I don't know how it is to be accounted for," answered
Tom, demurely. ** I believe I must have dropped asleep vrith my eyes
open, and done it in a dream. I was sitting there, waiting for the lawyer
to come in, and had got tired to death."

Mrs. Agatha was staggered. She had not much faith in those sort of
dreams, but she had great faith in Tom's word.

<< Kissing is very bad, Thomas," she observed, doubtmgly.
^* It's shocking, promptly answered Thomas. *' You cannot beUeve,
ma'am, I should be guilty of it— awake. Never tried to kiss any young
lady in all my life — except my sisters."

Not, however, to his father and Mr. Freer did Thomas Elliot make a
simikr defence. To them he told the truth boldly — that he was in love

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TOM ELLIOTTS PRIZE. J97

with the young lady, and meant to marry her if Ae would wait lor
him.

His impudence struck Lawyer Freer speechless. " Sir," he stuttered
to the parson, when his tongue came to him, *< I insist upon it that yo«
find means to stop this presumption of your son's. You are a clergy-
man, sir, and must feel that it is a disgrace to him, to my family, and to
the age we live in."

*^rll talk to him," responded the parson^ meekly. <* I am sure he
will hear reason."

So he took his graceless heir all alone into the hedroom of the hotel
where he had put up, and did ^' talk" to him. But Tom remained as
bard as flint, protesting that no father had a right to control his son in
the choice of a wife.

" You will find they have," angrily replied Mr. Elliot, provoked to
warmth. "I forhid you — do you hear me — 1 forbid you. to think any
more of this."

" I shall he sure to marry her in the end, if it's twenty years to come,*
persisted Tom. " I have told her so."

" At your peril," uttered Mr. Elliot — " at the peril of disobedienoe*
And deliberate disobedience to a father never goes unpunished, re-
member."

" ril risk the punishment if ever I get the luck," dutifully concluded
Mr. Tom, to himself.

The Reverend Mr. Elliot returned to his home, and matters went oa
quietly for a week or two. Tom finding no opportunity of seeing
Louisa, except on Sundays ; when he went to St. Luke's, which wag
Mr. Freer*s parish church, and enshrined himself in a pew within view
of the lawyer's, always telling Mrs. Agatha, who expected him to go ti»
church with her, that there was an unusual press of in-door patients at
the infirmary. Meanwhile the affair was talked of abroad, and a countir
squire, who was intimate with the attorney's family, and very mtick
admired Louisa, came forward when he heard of it, and made her aa
o£fer, fearing he might lose her. All the blame, be it observed, was laid
by everybody upon Tom Elliot ; Louisa got none. The proposal was
complacently received by Lawyer Freer, for it was a first-rate match for his
daughter. He, like others, had not cast much reproach to Louisa, hia
indignation being concentred on the audacious infirmary pupil : and now
that the intimacy between the two was broken ofi^, the lawyer concluded
the affair was at an end, and so dismissed it from his mind.

^* If I could have chosen from all the county for you, Louisa, I should
have fixed on Tumbull," observed the lawyer to his daughters. *^ What
do you say, Clara?"

Clara said nothing : she was sulky and cross. She considered hervelf
much handsomer than that chit Louisa, yet all the offers were going to
her.

'^ His rent-roll is two thousand a year, all clear and unencumbered.
I had the settlement of affairs last year, at his father's death. You an
a lucky child."

*' I should not like to live in the country," tioudly remarked Looisi^
not daring to make any more formidable obstacle.

<< Not Hke— what, raise an objection to Tumbull Paris ! There's not

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m^ TOflU BLUOf s moL

wish / had the chance of HviDg there."

<" If Mr. Th<MM8 Elliai vem its omo^.wwa^hmtUm^iAimAm.
t» ^ liviag in the pwiir// '' ««fy ipittMly •rriaiMud ICai Fcmb.

""TkoiMtEliiatr reputed th0lMr]ra^''lMiig 11^^ He

kcAad i«qiiiiindl]r from <me to dw other : Qm'n ftee was pale aaii
severe, Louisa's Doming. ^' Harkee, young ladies,^ he sMd, " we waft
dkpanoe with the saaung of that peraoB ia fotim. Had Lauiaa not
given him up, I would have discarded her in disgrace. I woM^ «a WKf
arfamn word. Sfobe TamboH diaaa heoa to-BUHcraw, Qaz^ Lei Ae
dkmerhe haedflome.*^

Once aooie ware liie pufils asaamUed in a pcmia nncteai af the
infirmary. Their pots of porter were ahsent, but their

<< He is lata tfaia BMEning," ohMnred Jooea. ^ Won't we have Aahj
at him when he comes."

<" I wonder if he keowB it?"

'' Not yet/' answered little Dohhe ; «< Fll hat two bohe to ane Itt
deaai't It was only throagfa way maaat Blake drinkiBg tea Aena last
Bight tlM* it eame oet"

At this moment, Tom Elliot entered, with a cigar in his month.

*" Wall, Elliot," little DoUm cried, '<have yon heasd the nevar

" I've heard no news."

<' About a friend of yoiuB,'' Daniainteipoaed, " going to be werrieJ ?^

Mr. ESiUot pdEfid on apathetiedfy, aad made no veply.

^ I say, Elliot," began Jonea, again, "^do you know TucdMiU?"

"" I don't know any TombuD,'' responded Tom, who, aa liitk BoUa
phsaaed^it, seeaaed ^ cranky" that momiag^

<« TambuU of Tumbnll Faik. Diims iron-grey hecsea in his dngr ^

^Ob, that loil A short, atont cove, lodes aeaadidate &r apoplexy^
Splendid cattle they ase."

*^ He's going into the matiimoBial noose, Elliot."

^ He may go into another aooae if he likes. Who called hiaa a fiinni
of Mine r

<'No,dielady's your friend. A dipper ^ is, too."

<< Only Ellk>t does not Ihink io. Oh, no, not at all," died Mr. Dkshfaa.

^Cone, EUio^" Davis said, ""gnesswho Tandndl'a going «e aattna
wi*?"

''You, perhaM" was thesuflgr answer.

^rilbetheJbafhea«dit,"gnnBelD^vis,''beiaaoflBvaffn. B's your
IBia, Utde Lno f^eer."

<' What?" shrieked Elliot.

^Squiie Toadnill maniM Louisa Fiear. Setidements are being

« A lie r shouted ElHot

^k'snat," interonted Jones; ''ilTatnie. DobWs Cnuhr h«n had
the official an»enaea«ent, and ^"

They were interrupted by a low whistle frt>m Davis. ^^ flihnei> hay^
I hear Hishs eennng dewn stain."

Now I am not going to defend eiAhv Mr. Tom Elliet er Mias^ ]
Jfreec On the eantrarrv they deserre all the mproaeh diet ean be east
at them. They took alarm at the advances of Squire TumbuU, and

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' 1QKELLIOT*8 FBUEE. 019

pla«Md 9L RUMwaj iiMunriag«t tkoai|^ ham thej ooatrbred to meet wmk
coDSolty wm a natter of vosder, >fttr^mrd% to Neaifevd. Il probably
appeantd to badi ms tik» oolj oertoia way of ^adbnctimg Lowim, bvt a
more l—wtaMy iafruieait stop was never toiken.

Pradence, however, was no concern of Tom Elliot's : all he cavedl for
vas to g^ift accoffiiffahed, anil he weat to work ia a daring and umuual
way. He4etaiauaed to marry bar in her owa parish charch^aad he ran
«p to Loadea by the night mail, procoMd a lieense, and bpovghi a e(M»-
Mfitttial friead down with him, who entered with gvmko into the aeciel^
and enjoyed the fun. The incumbent of Si Lake's, a baeheVer, and etiH
a yoaag Biaa, was as nodi fitted £or a parsoa as I aas. He was givea to
foUowing the hounds voare than to fiollonring his parishioners, was €mm1 ef
g«ntlemen*8 afteiv&mer society, ba* patn^y awkward and nennons m
the piaseoce of kdies ; good-aatared, unaaspicious, the yery amn to ha
isBpeaed apoo by Tom Elliot.

in.

NsABFOSD aisixefl cane osi. And lato en the eventag of the first
day, Monday, a confidential note firom Lawyer Freer was delivered to
tlM Repeeenl SStaotk Whiiller, ealling apoa hiiD to perform the marriage
ceremony between his youngest daughter and Mr. Theoias Elliot the
Idiowiag mozaing at ten. Mr. Freer added a reaaest that ^e aiatter
might \^ kept strictly secret, for reaaons of whidi he woold himself ia-
form him whan diey met ^bft fbllowiag day. Ko«r, if the Rererend Simon
had aa objeetion to perform one past of his ekrieai daties, it was that of
tying the naptial kaot. Baptisnis he did not mind, hurials he was quite
at home in, hut a gay wedding was fab averaioa, for the kdies and their
fine elothes scared all his aerres aad set them shaking. So he gManad
akmd whea he read the lawver^s letter, but was foroed to resign Uaisalf
to what there was no help for.

On Tuesday asoraing, at twenty^-five minatos past aiae preoiselyy
Lawyer Freer bastbd into the tofwa-hall, ia the wake of two oouasellors,
specially letainad for Mra. AgsAaNeedhaak Thai kdy herself, eseerted
ay her asphew, and aficoatpanied by several maiden firieads, also airivedy
jast as the learned baron, who presided at Nki PrmHj took his aesA.
With difficulty places were found for Mrs. Needham's par^, for the
eourt was erananedy all the towa being anxious to hear the gi^ cause
tried.

^ And aowv aont, as yo« are <amfortoh^ ^<^ VVL he off to the in-
firmary for as hear, it's my day to go rouad die wards walh llis

'< Why^ Thomas !** aitemd the startled Mrs. Agatha, "* you'll new
think of leaving us unprotected ! Mr. Dicks will exeast yon en se iai*
pertaat aa occasion as thu. Those gsntWiasn ia wigs are staring here
yery unpleasantly already. How extremely ugly Aey are!"

^ Stalky are they r ofied Tom. «^ Til go and step that. Jast one
moment, asmt; yeo^ take no harm. 6a^ ia a hiaee of shakes.'*

At ten o'deek the Reverend Mr. WMsder was in Stk Lake's vssliy,
patting oa his surpfioe. He had not to wait long for the wedding pai^
It ooasisted ealy of Mr. EUiet, Lonisa Freer (m her eaery-day dethss^
and a thick black veil), and a strange gentleman as groomsman.

'< Thaais sad^r uaSortanate, Mr. WhMbr,.'' hegasi Toas, m hiseffJttnd

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580 TOM eluot's prize. '

manner ; '' my aunt*8 cause is on, and ererybody's at it Mrs. Agadia is
in court, Miss Freer, and other witnesses. Mr. Freer of course is obliged
to be there. He's excessively annoyed, charged me with his c(»npli-
ments to you, and trusted that his absence would make no essential oif-
ference.

The parson bowed, inwardly blessing the great cause, ** Newoome v.
Needham." He had anticipated a string of ladies as long as the aisle^
with a proportionate show of veils and feathers. He never performed
the marriage service so glibly in his life — and he thought he nad never
seen a bride tremble more violently.

The fees were paid, the reg^ter signed, and the parties left the church.
At the entrance, which was situated, like the church, in an obscure neigh-
bourhood, stood a post-chaise and four. Mr. Tom Elliot, clearing a way
through the collection of young nurses and infants there assembled,
placed his bride in it, followed her in, banged-to the door, and off dashed
the postboys at a gallop.

" Never accomplished a feat more cleverly in my life," chuckled Tom.
** Loo, my darling, all the fathers in Christendom shan't separate ns
now."

The stranger, meanwhile, after watching the chaise fairly away, re-
turned to the vestry, and addressed the clergyman.

<< Mr. Freer s compliments, sir, and he begs you will be at his hooae
at seven to-night, to celebrate the wedding."

Mr. Whistler replied in the affirmative, though not without hesitation.
He had a horror of evening parties, and concluded this was nothing less
than a dance. But he did not like to refuse on such an occasion.

It was seven that evening when Mr, Freer returned home, having
snatched a hasty dinner off a pocket sandwich in the guildhall. Clara
had got tea ready on the table, with a nice ham, for she knew what her
Bather's dinners on assize days were.

" Well, pi^a," she said, ** is it over ? How's the verdict ?"

'^' For Miss Needham, of course," replied Lawyer Freer, throwing aside
his wig and bag, for he was addicted, when fatigued, to sitting in private
life in his bald head. " I knew we should have it. There was a clap-
ping of hands in court when it was delivered. Just get me my sUppers,
Clara. Where's your sister ?"

*^ She went out after breakfast. Telling Nancy she was going to
court with Mrs. Stevens, and might not be at home till late."

** Told Nancy she was going into court T' repeated the amazed lawyer,
pausing in the act of pulling off his boots. '' my daughter to appear in

a public assize court I If Squire TumbuU should hear Good Heavens,

Ix>uisa must be out of her mind. And where were my eyes that I did
not see her ? Sing the bell, Clara."

'* I thought it very extraordinary, papa," rejoined Clara, not sorry to
get her sister into a row.

** Nancy," cried the lawyer, in a fume, when the housemaid appeared,
'< go instantly to Mrs. Stevens! Ask to speak to Miss Louisa, and t^
her it is my desire that she return home with you immediately. Stay —
call at Fold's and take a fly ; go in it and return in it A pretty mgfat
assize night is, for women to be in the streets," muttered the discomfited
lawyer.

No sooner had Nancy departed than there came a rat-tat-tat to the

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TOM eluot's pbize. 531

street-door, and in walked the Rev. Mr. Whistler^ ushered in by the cook,
who, to her own mortification, happened that day, of all days in the year,
not to have "cleaned" herself. The lawyer stared, and Clara stared, for
the parson had arrayed himself in evening attire, white kid gloves, silk
stockings, tights, and pumps. He went all over as red as his hunting-coat,
and sat down dreadfully embarrassed, feeling convinced he had mistaken
the night, and ready to swear — if he had not been a parson — at his own
stupidity. Clara asked if he would take a cup of tea, and he stammered
that he would, though he hated tea like poison.

'^ You must allow me to congratulate you, sir," he bec;an, believing
he was expected to say something about the wedding, and clearing his
throat to help overcome his diffidence. '^ I was sorry not to have had
that pleasure this morning."

Lawyer Freer knew of no cause for congratulation save the verdict in
favour of Mrs. Agatha Needham. " Thank you," he said, '^ it is not a
pleasant thing to lose a cause."

The parson expected his host to say daughter, and if the word sounded
to his ear like cause, he attributed it to his own bewilderment.

<' Indeed it is not," answered the parson. '^ I remember when my
sister was married, my mother and the bridesmaids cried all day."

The attorney looked up with undisguised astonishment, and Miss
Freer was certainly laughing. He felt sure it was at those wretched
tights, and pushed his legs back under his chair, as &r as he could, with-
out overbalancing himseB*.

" Were you amused in court to-day ?" was his next question, address-
ing Miss Freer.

" In court ! I !" cried Clara.

*^ It was her sister who went," broke in the lawyer—" my youngest
daughter. Clara would not have acted so indiscreetly. Louisa's not come
home yet."

"Your youngest daughter went to the hall to-day!" echoed the
clera;yman, staring in his turn. " That is rather — rather uncommon —
is it not?"

"Uncommon? It's unpardonable."

" And Mr. Elliot. Was he there too ?"

" Mr. Elliot !" roared the attorney, firing at the name, " I don't know
anything about Mr. Elliot. What's Mr. Elliot to me?"

" A — a — a — no quarrel, or misunderstanding, I hope, since the morn-
ing ?" cried the parson, hopelessly mystified.

" Not that / am aware of, sir,'^ coldly answered the offended attorney.

"I supposed they were leaving the town to-day," returned Mr.
Whistler. " Indeed, I believed they had left it."

Mr. Freer considered, and conducting the " they" must have reference
to the learned judges, he made no remark.

At that moment the cook put her head into the room. " Mrs.
Agatha Needham's compliments — she was sorry to trouble Mr. Freer on
the subject, but did he Imow anything of her nephew ? He had left her
in a mysterious way in the morning, as soon as she got into court, and
nothing had been heard or seen of him since.

"I know nothing of him," erowled the lawyer — ^^ nothing. My
resnects to Mrs. Ne^am herseli

Before the cook could turn away with the message, a fly was heard

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SS2 TOM SLUOlfB PBI2I.

Mttluig uf t» Ike doMT, and in came Nanoy. ^ Hn. Stcfwii^t kinil tb-
ravda to Mc and Min Fieen tfat huL been fl* inn» all 4afj IhA 7
LuitahadnotcaUad.*' Tha l»i^er was Mioiidj dirt«lie^

*' Yaa laay x^ npoB it, sis,'' kvtorpased dM ciergyaMO, '^tint
k soma miatidgiitaadiag, and tkej are gone."

""Go&el w]m> gone? goa» whcaa?" mhI tha lioat, in J
^ Were yaur fluni in a sane atatey j^va skonU be brought ta acawort for
yaor t^ inskaatwns."

<< You appear to take me far a aiadarai!, fir, but I dinky if wajkoifs
amdy k'fl yaafielf/* retarted Uie iiUigfBiMi, growing more paiplexed with
ererj seaAenoiw '^ I bi^Fe not inMiaated a breadi against jovr dMigktar.
Biit what mosa nataral than that ahe Aould le«fe town widi ber fa»-
band ?"

^ And pn^, sir," Ife. Freer med, with foroed t^alawaMi, "as yvm say
my daaghter bat got a bnsbandy perhi^ yoa wiH iaiaim me wbua aba
was married, and who married her ?"

<<Why / married bei^ m: aMnnied ber tbismoniini^ ta Mr. Tom
Elliot Maiziad ibeaa at your own recfaest, fir."

Lawyer Freer fat down in a.diair, and broka out into a white liuut,

*< What do yon tappoie, ar, beonght me beie to-night, in iheae kiak-
•bflw tbangSy" eried the unfaappy parson, ^ but jaar own iontalion to
ceiebrate their marrii^ ?"

«^Oh,papa,''a6renned€bMra,<aMeitaU! Tam Elliot and Lonaaa
are married."

^'Married, Mies Freer, what sbonU binder liiem? Here's yoor papa's
note — ^ Mr. Freer presents his compliments,' and so on — reqveeting me
to perform the ceremony at ten this morning which I (Ud," said Mr.
Wbotier, Anuting fait hands into hit podccts for the ne«e. AJas! he
wae in manvntary obJrriott of havii^ tpocted the waiiiearfintiiHe t^bte:
the note was in the pantaloons he had lefib at home.

Claca Freer went off into atrong hyttencs, and die lawyer into an
ejEpiosion of ttionger ejpktiree^ The dei^gyman cane im for bit ibare
of the latter. Mr. Freer insisting that he ought to have aaoertainad
whether the .note really came from bun, before Banying a dbUd like
Louisa to a graceless medical student.

^How could I antpect anything wraig?" bnatbly depracated the
Reverend Simon. ^ The bsn^riting was like a Itffirycr'a^ imd of oooxie
I tboagbt it was yonrt. I hettid aonie time aga that Mr. £lliot was
paying his addresses to one ef yoor dangfaten, aa tint when the note
am^ it JBtmid a natural se^penoa. I am veiy tony now, and would
join in andoing the waddim if I could. Is it my ate foUowii^ them ?
m go in pursuit for one» if yoa fike, iiz; My hunter's as bmtt as a
daisy to^mgbt."

" Pursuit !" reiterated the irritated Lawyer Faeexv ^ Eight o'elaek at
night, and tea hoars' start I what use do you dbink ponnit would be,
now? And I woold adfiie you, sir, as a lawyer, not to eonnteaaaoe
these tiamdettine matdiet in fotve^ or yoar bitbop aoay stof yoar power
to perfooa tbem^ in a way yon won't base."

<' I wish he would," answered tin broariieat |H»ionr-<< I with he'd
an&cenae Bt Ldce't for maniagtt^ I'd nAer do £%^ fanerab, al in a
day, than one weddiug. I would indeed.''

do Mr. l\xn Eliiat gnt ckv off wiiii Uafriaa.

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623

iUtiiglt-nimile hs ^WitiisjMfe.

GEOTES HIBTOET OF GEEBCE.*

The twelfth and coududing Yolume of Mr. Grote's admiraUe
Eiatary opens with the accession of Alexander the Grreat to the
throne of Macedon, The History of Greece proper may be said
to have dosed before that event. Before the death of Philip, the
Hellenic world, as Mr. Grote expresses it, has ceased to be auto-
nomous ; for though in Sicily the fireedom revived by Timoleon
has still a few years to run, all the Grecian cities south of Mount
Olympus have descended into dependents of Macedonia, and each
of them is enrolled as a separate unit in the list of subject-allies
attached to the imperial headship of Philip. Hence the history
of conquered Greece loses its separate course^ and becomes merged
in that of conquering Macedonia. Accordingly, the contents of
this last volume indicate but too dearly that Greece as a separate
subject of history no longer exists ; for one half of it is employed
in depicting Alexander and his conquests— ^^ that Non-Hellenic
conqueror into whose vast possessions the Greeks are absorbed,
with their intellectual brightness bedimmed, their spirit broken,
and half their virtue taken away by Zeus — the melancholy emas-
culation inflicted (according to Homerf) upon victims overtaken
by the day of slavery." J

The Greeks, we are reminded, to whom this History of Greece
has been devoted — those of Homer, Archilochus, Solon, iEJschylus,
Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, and Demosthenes — present as
their most marked characteristic a loose aggregation of autonomous
tribes or communities, acting and reacting fredy among them-
sdves, with little or no pressure £:om foreigners. The main inte-
rest of the narrative, the narrator himsell observes, has consisted
in the spontaneous grouping of the different Hellenic fractions —
in the self-promptM co-operations and conflicts — the abortive
attempts to bring about something like an eflective federal organi-
sation, or to maintain two permanent rival confederacies — the
energetic ambition, and heroic endurance, of men to whom Hellas
was the entire politicd world. But, as he goes on to remark, the

* HistOTY of Greece. By George Grote, Esq. Twelve Vols. John Murray.
1846-1856.

•|* rijinrv yap ^ af/mft mroatpvrm evpvoira Zcw

avfposp evT* ay fuv Kara dovXiov fjfuip tkjjo'iv*

Hew. Oi^Xfii 39S*

Jove iz'd It certain, that idiatew diy
Makes mam a slavey takes lialf his wokk airay.

Pope. (xvH 392.)
t Grote, XIL pp. 1, 2, 661-1

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534 GROTE's HISTOBT of QB££C£.

freedom of Hellas, the life and soul of this history from its com-
Hiencement, disappeared completely during the first j^ears of Alex-
ander's reign. During the eleven years of his Asiatic career, the
history of Greece is almost a blank, except here and there a few
scattered events — the Grecian cities dwindling into outlying ap-
pendages of a newly-grown Oriental empire — though at the death
of Alexander they again awaken into active movement. Now, as
regards the history of Greece, the first portion of Alexandei's
Asiatic campaigns (from his crossing the Hellespont, B.C. 334, to
the conquest of Persis, B.C. 330), though not of direct bearing, is
yet, Mr. Grote justly affirms, of material importance. The first
year of the reign of " Philip's warlike son" had sufficed to subju-
gate the Hellenic world. By these subsequent campaigns he had
really accomplished what the traditional policy of tne Grreat King
had laboured, with tremendous and repeated efforts, but all in vain,
to eflect, — the incorporation of Greece with the Persian monarchy,
the absorption of it as one little component part, as a " small frac-
tion into the vast Persian empire, renovatea under his [Alexan-
der's] imperial sceptre." So long, indeed, as Greece could receive
help from the native Persian kings, who flirted with her, and with
whom she coquetted, perilously for her peace, when the rough
wooing she suffered from Macedon was §oing on, — so long as
Grreece could hope to play off* the East against her too obtrusive
northern neighbour, there remained a chance for her, as a " person
of quality," of reduced circumstances, indeed, or of one who had
seen better days, and was now on the shabby-genteel list, un pen
pass^e and all that sort of thing, but still of independent means,
and, thanks to her connexions across the water, safe from too
aggravated assault and battery, much more from the extreme case
of rape and ravishment, on the part of that chartered libertine, the
Macedonian king. But when Persia became, to all intents and
purposes, the fee simple of that irresistible prince, — when the Blast
at large bowed and did obeisance before him, — then, at last, and
at once, vanished every chance for Hellas as such ; then was lost
any surviving hope, founded on foreign alliances, of Greece for
the Greeks. " All hope for Greece from without was extinguished,
when Babvlon, Susa, and Persepolis became subject to tne same
ruler as rella and Amphipolis — and that ruler too, the ablest
general, and most insatiate aggressor, of his age ; to whose name
was attached the prestige of success almost superhuman."* The
narrative, therefore, of Alexander's successes a^nst Babylon,
Susa, and Persepolis, is of immediate importance m regard to the
history of Greece.

Moreover ; though the expedition against Asia was, as Mr. Grote
describes it, really a scheme of Macedonian appetite and for Mace-
donian aggrandisement, it enters into the senes of Grecian events

* Ibid. pp. 528, 242 sqq.

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OBOTE S HISTORY OF GREECE. 535

under the Pan-hellenic pretence of retaliation for the long past
insults of Xerxes. Ages had rolled on since

Great Xerxes came to seize the certain prey.
And starved exiiansted regions in his way ;*

and anything like ^^ Pan-hellenic" resentment, and thirst for re-
venge, was by this time a sort of make-believe, or at best a vanish-
ing quantity. But as a pretence it would answer the purpose ; the
purpose of Alexander, it not of Greece. It is not to be forgotten,
nor does Mr. Grote forget to notice, that a deliberate scheme of
vengeance on Persia for the invasion of Greece by Xerxes, had
been cherished by the Spartan Agesilaus and by the Pheraean
Jason ; ^^ with hopes grounded on tne memorable expedition and
safe return of the Ten Thousand." The strange daring of that
anabasis, the stranger darings and endurances of that hatdbasisj
had shown what the free spirit of Hellas might do, and where the
weak side of despotised Persia might sufier. Isocrates had urged
such a scheme, as one of mark and likelihood, as feasible, eligible,
and pregnant with promise^ not only on Greece, while Greece was
represented by the free cities of Athens and Sparta, but on Philip
of Macedon, when his prowess had made him ^' master of the
situation." Philip was not the man to give the go-bv to any such
proposition. To be hailed as chieftain in the gathering of the
clans, in this enterprise against Asia, was quite to his mind. And
though he was cut off before it could be put into practice, the
scheme lost nothing by his death — taken up as it was, with yet
heartier emphasis, and carried out as it was, with yet larger powers,
by the most immediate to his throne, the world- wandenng, world-
subduing Alexander the Great.

Granting, then, that the " Pan-heUenic" excitement in favour
of avenging on Persia her long-ago insults to Greece, had long ^o
died away, and was now virtually a factitious feeling, or an artml
pretence, — such a pretence answered nevertheless two desirable
ends, in Alexander's policy as captain-general of the invading
force : first, in Mr. Grote's own words, " to ennoble the undertak-
ing in the eyes of Alexander himself, whose mind was very
accessible to religious and legendary sentiment, and who willingly
identified himself with Agamemnon or Achilles, immortalised as
executors of the collective vengeance of Greece for Asiatic insult
' — ^next, to assist in keeping the Greeks quiet during his absence.

• Johnson : "Vanity of Human Wishes."
So again Somerville, in " The Chase :"

" Nor was that host

More numerous of old, which the great kinff
Pour'd out on Greece from all the unpeopled East,
That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore,
And drank the rivers dry."

VOL. XXXIX. 2 N

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586 4}B0T£'S mSTOBT OF 6BEEGE.

He was Limself aware that the real sympathies of the Giedcs
rather adverse than favourable to his success.^

The Greeks were, in fact, aware that Alexander's success in this
eastern expedition, nominally undertaken in their name and as
their cause, would redound to his glory, not theirs, and would
secure fresh material guarantees for his supremacy, and agaiBSt
their independence. The historian compares their position, in
reference to Alexander's Asiatic conquests, to that of me German
contingents, especially those of the Confederation of the Rhine,
who served in the grand army with which the Emperor Napolecm
invaded Russia in 1812 : they had no public interest in the victory
of the invader, which could end only by reducing them to still
greater prostration. Yet was it the habit of both the Macedooiui
king and the French emperor, to assume the perfect identity ^
interests, on the part of their several contingents, Grreek asd
German, with those of their self-elected leader. And we find
Ni^oleon ^' drawing the same pointed distinction between the Rb»-
sian and the German prisoners taken, as Alexander made between
Asiatic and Grecian prisoners. These Grecian prisoners the Mace-
donian prince reproached as guilty of treason against the pro-
claimed statute of collective Hellas, whereby he had be^i deckred
general, and the Persian king a public enemy .^'*

On the first four years, th^fore, of Alexandei^s Asiatic expedi-
tion, as involving results of momentous bearing on the state and pios-
pects of the Grecian cities, Mr. Ghrote bestows considerable space in
this his concluding volume. The last seven he touches far more
li^htlv; for the analogous reason that with the events therein com-
prised, the Grecian cities were interested scarcely at all. ^^ The
stupendous marches to the rivers Jaxartes, Indus, and Hypbaaia,
which carried his victorious arms over so wide a space of Central
Asia, not only added nothing to his power over the Ghreeks, bat
even withdrew him from all dealings with them, and placed him
almost beyond their cognizance."t These latter campaigns do in-
deed deserve to be recorded, as examples of military skill and
eiaergy, and as illustrating the ^^ character of the most illustnooB
general of antiquity — one who, though not a Greek, had becoose
the master of all Greeks ;" but it is rather frcon their intiinaic
interest absolutely, than from their relative claim upon a writer of
Grecian history, that place ought to be found and will be aUowed
for them*

We have just seen Alexander deliberately Btyled by Mr. Ghrote,
" the most illustrious general of antiquity." The historian gives
all due prominence to the deeds of arms, the strategic skill and
original resources, upon which Alexander's title to such a distinc-
tion is based. He shows that it is not merely in soldier-like qua-
lities— ^in the most forward and even adventurous bravery — in

» Grote, Xn. pp. 69, 70. f Ibid. p. 243.

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indefati^ble personal activity^ and in endurance as to harddi^
and fatigue, — that Alexander stands pre-eminent; though these
qualities alone, when found in a king, act so powerfully on those
imder his command, that they suffice to produce great achieve-
jnents, even when combined with generalship not surpassing ihe
average of his age. ^^ But in generalship, Alexander was yet
more above the level of his contemporaries. His strategic combi-
nations, his employment of different descriptions of force conqdr*
ing towards one end, his long-sighted plans for the execution of
i^mpaigns, his constant foresight and resource against new diffi-
culties, together with rapidity of movement even in the Mvcast
country — all on a scale of prodigious magnitude — are without
parallel in ancient history* They carry the art of systematic a2td
scientific warfare to a degree of efficiency, such as even successors
trained in his school were imable to keep up xmimpaired."*

The personal valour of the Macedonian pnnce is familiarly
known. Some memorable examples of it occur in the course of
Mr. Grote's narrative. The foremost part Alexander played
in the battle of the Ghranicus, when forcing his way up the
hi^h bank to the level ground, and when fightmg that recurrii^
series of duels (with Mithridates, Rhoesaces, &c.) which, but for
good-at-a-blow and strcmg-i'-th'-arm CIeitus,t had ended in the
prince's death ; his forwardness to mount the wall at the storming
of Tyre ; his daring and wounds in the " imminent deadly breadi"
at G-aza ; his impatience in attacking the last stronghold of ibe
Malli,:( when, the troops with their 8oali]ig4adders not coming up
as rapidly as he would have them, he mounted on a ladder that
happened to be at hand, attended only by two or three eompanions,
and, having cleared the wall by killing several of its defenders, then
jumped down into the interior of the citadel, and made head for some
tame, nearly alone, against all within-— on which occasion he received
a bad wound from an arrow in the breast, and was on the point of
fainting, when his soldiers burst in, rescued him^ aiid took the
place ; — these and similar instances attest his possession of that
chivalrous courage, whidi Mr. Grote characterises as sometimeB
both excessive and unseasonable, so as to foirm the only miUtary
defect fairly imputable to him, but which, it is owned, must at tlie
time of these exploits (so impressive even when we read of them
now), have acted most powerfully upon the imagination of con-

♦ Ihid. p. 71.

•f .... Cleitus ! what was he P

Tlie faithfullest subject, worthiest counsellor.
The bravest soldier, he who saved thy life,
Fighting bareheaded at the river Granick, &c,

Lee's Aks^ander the QreeU, IV. 3.

X Supposed bj Mr. Coimingfaam and others to have been tiie modem city of
Mmtan.

2n2

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638 QBOTE'S mSTOBT of GREECE.

temporaries,* who would recognise in this doughty champion what
he himself aspired in good sooth to be^ the Achilles of the lUad
redivivus.

Thp celerity of his movements is one most mark-worthy parti-
cular in the catalogue of his distinctions as a great commander.
Thus, at the outset of his military career, when ho was already
within Thermopylae, before any Greeks were aware that he was in
march, or even (after his long absence in Thrace) that he was
aUve, — his arrival with Ws army before refractory Thebes, ^^ tdd
with double force on the Greeks from its extreme suddenness" —
his unexpected appearance in the heart of Greece precluding all
combinations, and checking all idea of resistance. Thus, too,
when the Uxii, in the mountainous region between Susa and
Persis, a race of ^^ rude but warlike shepherds, to whom the Great
BLing himself had always been obliged to pay a tribute whenever
he went from Susa to Persepolis," — when these exacting masters
of the pass demanded the like toll from that great highway pas-
senger, his Macedonian majesty, he replied by inviting them to
meet him at their pass and receive it, — but having in the mean
while discovered a new and little frequented mountain track, he
forthwith hurried a detachment of troops towards the villages of
the mountaineers, surprised them in medias res [angustas donu)^ and
thus not only opened the monopolised pass for the transit of his main
army, but so cut to pieces and humiliated the Uxii, that they were
forced to sue for pardon. Thus, too, in the case of that other and
worser pass, called the Susian or Persian gates, — being informed by
a Lycian captive, who for years had been tending sheep as a slave
on the mountains, of a track known only to himself, whereby the
satrap ( Ariobarzanes) might be taken in flank, Alexander set forth
at night at the head of a slender company, guided by the Lycian:
" he had to surmount incredible harddiip and difficulty — the more
so as it was midwinter, and the mountam was covered with snow ;
yet such were the efforts of his soldiers and the rapidity of his
movements, that he surprised all the Persian outposts, and came
upon Ariobarzanes altogether unprepared," — forcmg the satrap^s
troops to abandon the Gates, and almost exterminating them in
their efforts at resistance or escape. Another instance of the same
kind occurred in Alexander's pursuit of Bessus, whom he despaired
of overtaking, during his system of retreat by night-marches,
unless he could And some shorter road. Such a road was made
known to him, but leading through a waterless desert. By this
road, however, the Macedonian set out late in the day with his
cavahy, and "got over no less than forty-five miles during the
night, so as to come on Bessus by complete surprise on the follow-
ing morning;" — when the Persians, marching m disorder without
arms, and having no expectation of an enemy, were so panic-struck

• See Grote, XIL pp. 112^, 188-9, 194, 316, 351, 119.

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QROT£*S HISTOBT OF OBBECE. 539

at tlie sudden appearance of their indefatigable conqueror, that they
dispersed and fled without any attempt to resist.* It was during
this dispersion and flight that Bessus incurred

the deep damnation of the taking off

of Darius, after Alexander had made what Mr. Gxote calls the
" prodigious and indefatigable marches of the last four days, not
without destruction to many men and horses, for the express
purpose of taking Darius alive ;" whence we can infer the conque-
ror's bitter chagrin at being balked in the sole design of this
^^ ruinously fatiguing march," and can understand something of
the acharnement of his after-treatment of the regicide satrap.

Celerity of movement, then, is one main feature in Alexander's
strategy. But it is only one in the imposing aggregate. In many
points indeed he was, as the historian eloquently depicts him, a
reproduction of the heroic Greeks, his warlike ancestors in legend,
Achilles and Neoptolemus, and others of that -Sacid race, unpa-
ralleled in the attributes of force — a man of violent impulse in all
directions, sometimes generous, often vindictive — ardent in his
individual affections both of love and hatred, but devoured especi-
ally by an inextinguishable pugnacity, appetite for conquest, and
thirst for establishing at all cost his superiority of force over
others —

Jura negat sibi nata, nihil non arrogat armis —

like the paladins of the Iliad, pluming himself not more on military
directorship than on bein^ personally foremost in the fray. But
over and above— emphatically above — his resemblance to the
Homeric Achilles, Alexander, ^^ as a general, surpassed his age in
provident and even long-sighted combinations. With all his
exuberant courage and sanguine temper, nothing was ever omitted
in the way of systematic military precaution. Thus much hQ
borrowed, though with many improvements of his own, from
Grecian intelligence as applied to soldiership,"t — though it is
allowed that the character and dispositions, which he took with
him to Asia, had rather the features, both striking and repulsive^
of Achilles, than those of Agesilaus of Sparta orlEpaminondas of
Thebes. In the victory of Issus, the consummate excellence of
Alexander, alike as general and as soldier, stood conspicuous, not
less than the utter deficiency of Darius4 His tactics at Arbela
are pronounced the most signal example recorded in antiquity, of
military genius and sagacious combination : he had really as great
an available force as his enemies, simply because every company in
his army was turned to account, either in actual combat, or in
reserve against definite and reasonable contingencies. ^^All his
successes, and this [Arbela] most of all, were fairly earned by his

• Ibid. pp. 48, 231-2, 233, 250-1, 251-2.

t Ibid. p. 96, t Ibid. p. 170.

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540 CnOTE'S HISTOBT OF GSEECE.

own genius and indefatigable efibrt, combined with the admirable
oi^amsation of his army."* One of the most remarkable proofii of
his aptness for generalship, is seen in the success of his endeavoms
to raise and discipline new Asiatic levies — epiffoni, as they were
called — with whom, as heretofore with veterans of Macedonian
birth and breed, he might still ^o on conquering and to conquer :
these new levies were, m fact, found such ready (not to say ready-
made) soldiers, in spite of prejudices and antecedents, and the
^^ genius of Alexander for military organisation was so consum-
mate,"! that he soon saw himselt practically independent of his
older troops ; a galling truth which they too, so palpable was it,
could not but speedily find out.

Taking the view Mr. Grote does, of Alexander's military cspa-
<aty, it is natural that he should oppose the opinion of Livy and
all such orthodox good Komanists, as to the chances of Alexander
if he had attacked the people of the seven hiUs. Livy asserts that
Alexander would have been soundly thrashed, had be attempted
any such foolish display. Livy is sure that the pens toffota^ the
gentry that wore the toga, would have given a good account of the
mvader; and, like Cowper with a certain noxious intruder, would
have

-— taoght him never to come there no more.

Mr. Grote thinks otherwise. He mistrusts the abUiiy of the robust
Roman to cope with AJexander. HuNC tu Romane caveto.

Among all the qualities, Mr. Ghrote aflSrms, in his precis ot
Alexander's imrivalled excellence as a military man, — among all
the qualities which go to constitute this excellence in its hi^est
form, none was wanting in the character of this hero. Together
with extraordinary personal daring, " we trace in all his operations
the most careM mspositions taken beforehand, vigilant precaution
in guarding against possible reverse, and abundant resource in
adapting himself to new contingencies. Amidst constant success,
these precautionary combinations were never discontinued. His
achievements are the earliest recorded evidence of scientific mili-
tary organisation on a lar^e scale, and of its overwhelming efifects.
Alexander overawes the imagination more than any other person
of antiquity, by the matchless development of all that constitutes
effective force — as an individual warrior, and as organiser and
leader of armed masses; not merely the blind impetuosity ascribed
by Homer to Ares, but also the intelligent, methodised, and all-
subduing compression which he personifies in Ath^nfi." J

At the same time, Mr. Ghx>te is very far firom hero-worship as
regards his hero. Alexander commands his admiration in certain
respects, but by no means dazzles his eyes, or wrests his judgment^
in all or in any. He differs entirely from those authors, who give

• Ibid. p. 228. t ^i<i- P- 326. % Ihid pp. 351-2.

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Alexander credit for grand and beneficent views on the subject of
imperial government, and for intentions highly favourable to the
improvement of mankind. He can see no ground for adopting
this opinion. He sees nothing in prospect, supposing Alexander's
career to have continued, except years of ever-repeated aggression
and conquest, not to be concluded until he had traversed and
subjugated all the inhabited globe. '' The acquisition of universal
dominion— conceived not metaphorically, but literally, and con-
ceived with greater facility in consequence of the imperfect geo-
graphical knowledge of the time — ^was the masterpassion of his
soul." Mr. Grote refers us, by way of illustration, to the fresh ag-
gressions, quite indefinite in extent, which Alexander was com-
mencing, at the moment of his death, against the Arabians in the
south ; and the vast projects he is known to have formed against the
western tribes of Afnca and Europe, as far as the pillars of Her-
cules. The historian holds that Italy, Gaul, and Spam would have
been successively attacked and conquered ; that the conqueror would
have marched from the Danube northward round the Euxine and
the Palua Maeotis against the Scythians and the tribes of Caucasus;
and that, after this, he certainly would have invaded those Asiatic
regions east of the Hyphasis, which his soldiers had refused to
enter upon, and which, for that very reason, would be the more
tempting to one who could so ill-brook the frustration of any once
determined plan. What though this ^' sound like romance and
hyperbole"? It was nothing more, the historian maintains (and il
a raison)y than the real insatiate aspiration of Alexander, who
looked upon every new acquisition mainly as a capital for acquiring
more. Every such new station in his progress was, and in an in-
definite series would be, a terminus in the sense only of a terminus
a quo : the terminus ad quern was, and for ever would be, ad-
journed, removed onwards ad infinitum.

The world's great conqueror would his point pursue.
And wept because he oould not find a new ;
Which had he done, yet still he would have cried.
To make him work until a third he spied.*

So sings, or proses, Edmund Waller; and indeed Alexander crying
for another world to conquer is one of the common-places of poets
and poetasters. Sometimes they picture him in the act with re-
spectful admiration — sometimes with satirical mirth. Now an
Oldham congratulates Homer on the glory of having instructed
the prince in " the art of reigning and the art of war;" adding.

And wondrous was the progress which he made.

While he the acts of thy jjreat pattern read.
The world too narrow for his boundless conquest grew.
He conquered one, and wished,, and wept for new.t

Now a Butler laughingly demonstrates that

» Waller : " Divine Poems."

t John Oldham : " The Praise of Homer.*'

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542 GBOT£*S HISTOBT OF GREECE.

The whole world was not half so wide
To Alexander when he cried.
Because he had but one to subdue.
As was a paltry narrow tub to
Diogenes ; who is not said,
For aught that ever I could read,
To whme, put finger i' th' eye, and sob.
Because h* had ne'er another tub.*

In the gallery of the old palace at Florence, Addison saw what
he calls a " beautiful bust of Alexander the Great, casting up his
face to heaven with a noble air of grief or discontentedness in his
looks, I have seen," adds the Right Honourable Joseph, *^ two or
three antique busts of Alexander in the same air and posture, and
am apt to think the sculptor had in his thoughts the conqueroi^s
weepmg for new worlds, or some other the like circumstance of his
history." t Antiqiie Romans indeed, as well as universal modems,
were Ibnd of this trite topic, which will never, perhaps, be too trite
for treatise and tractate, while the world wags. Moralists yet un-
born will continue to put, in their own way, the old query of
Seneca: *^ What matters it how far Alexander extended his con-
quests, if he was not yet satisfied with what he had? Every man
. wants as much as he covets; and it is lost labour to pour into a
vessel that will never be full"J — a phrase that reminds us of
lachimo's definition of "the cloyed will" —

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire.
That tub both fill'd and running.§

Mr. Grote's scepticism as to the beneficent intents or tendencies
of Alexander, as the world-conqueror, appears to us only too well
grounded. We find it difficult to sympathise with the feelings of
Dr. Arnold, whom Alexander at Babylon impressed as one of the
most solemn scenes in all history, and before whose admiring gaze
the vision of Alexander's career, even to the lively image which
he entertained of his youthful and godlike beauty,|| rose constantly

* '* Hudibras :" Part I., Canto IIL Goethe preaches on the same text in a
graver mood :

''What time Diogenes, unmoved and still.
Lay in his tub and bask'd him in the sun —
What time Calanus clomb, with lightsome step
And smiling cheek up to his fiery tomb —
What rare examples there for Philip's son
To curb his overmastering lust of swav.
But that the lord of the majestic world
Was all too great for lessons even like these !"

GtOEThb's Miiwr Poems,
t Addison's "Remarks on Italy."

I Seneca's Morals : " Of a Happy Life," Chap. xiL
J "Cymbeline." Act I. Scene 7.

II As m the words of Laone-^

•* Swift and strong

As new-fledged eagles, beautiful and young,
That float among the blinding beams of morning."

Shxllet: BevoU qfhUm. Canto Y. 53.

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gbote's histobt of OBEEGB. 543

as ^^ the most signal instance of the efiects of a good education
against the temptations of power; — as being, beyond anything re-
corded in Roman history, the career of ^ the greatest man of the
ancient world.'"* The best of latter-day schoolmasters had a great
right to his impression, and to the expression of it. Nor is he in
peril of being confounded with those old-world schoolmasters, against
whom Mr. Landor directs the (imaginary conversational) wrath of
Ludarif as worthy of flagellation by the hands of children, in good
old Roman style, for dehvering up the intellects of youth to " such
immoral revellers and mad murderers" as him of Macedon. " They
would punish," quoth the Landorian Lttcian, "a thirsty child for
purloining a bimch of grapes from a vineyard, and the same men
on the same day would insist on his reverence for the subverter of
Tyre, the plunderer of Babylon, and the incendiary of Persepolis.
And are these men teachers r are these men philosophers? are these
men priests? Of all the curses that ever afliicted the earth, I think
Alexander was the worst. Never was he in so little mischief as
when he was murdering his friends." t The real Lucian was
nothing like so severe on Alexander, when he made him and
Diogenes talk together in the shades below — the cjoiic now mock-
ing the hero with his n daxpvtis, a> futratt ; and now prescribing a
course of Lethe, to AtfBrjs vSa>p vu^ kcu, avBit vuy to counteract un-
pleasant spectra in the shape of KXeirov €KtivoPf km KaXXioBtinfy kcu.
oXXovff «roXXov£, J whose " blood-boltered" forms come to haunt and
harass the sometime master of the world, and king of men.

There was in the veins of Alexander enough and to spare of
the bad blood of his mother, Olympias. The hereditary taint of
cruelty and violence was strong in his mother's son. Olympias has
been already characterised in a previous volume of this Hi6tory,§ as
a woman who forms almost a parallel to the Persian queens Amestris
and Parysatis, in stormy temper, and in jealous, ruthless. Vindic-
tive disposition. She was the daughter of Neoptolemus prince of
the Molossi, and had been seen by I*hilip at the religious mysteries
in the island of Samothrace, where both were initiated at the same
time. " The Epirotic women, as well as the Thracian, were much
given to the Bacchanalian reli^ous rites, celebrated with fierce
ecstasy amid the mountain solitudes in honour of Dionysius.|| To
this species of religious excitement Olympias was peculiarly suscep-
tible. She is said to have been fond of tame snakes playing around
her, and to have indulged in ceremonies of magic and incanta-
tion."ir Mr. Grote adda^ that her temper and character became,

♦ Stanley's Life of Arnold. Chap. iv.

+ W. S. Lwidor's Imaginary Conversations : " Lucian and Timotheus."
"f, Lucian. Dial., Aioy€vov9 km AXcfavdpov.
§ See Part n. chap. Ixixvi.

n '' The BacchiB of jBuripides contains a powerful description of these exciting
ceremonies."
Y Grote, voL xL pp. 337 sq.

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544 OBOTE'S HISTORT of QBEECHfi.

after no long time, repulsive and even alarming to Philip. And if
it is true of r hilip himself, tJiat the basis of his character was Maoe-
donian, not Greek — the self-will of a barbarian prince— it is still
more true of Alexander, who ^^ inherited the violent tem|)erament
and headstrong will of his furious Epirotic mother Olympias."* As
soon as he beotme his own master (which in one sense lie periiaps
never did), he gave manifest proofs of his unscrupulous readiness to
shed blooa. It was by despatching rivals or dangerous malcontents
that he began to fortify his position on the throne. The maasaares
which he committed in the course of his campaigns confiim his
^^ bad eminence" as a barbarian by birth. Witness Ins skughter
in Sogdiana, of the Branchidse and their families^ whose anoe^ors,
a century and a half before, had yielded up the treasures of the
temple of Apollo, on Cape Foseidion, to the Persian king Xerxes,
and to whom that monarch had assigned lands in a distant part of
his realms. These Branchidae of the fourth or fifth g^ieration
were to be visited, by Apollo's vicegerent, it would seem^ for the
sins of their fathers. Glad at heart to find themselves once more
in commerce with Greeks, they poured forth, we are told^ at
Alexandei^s advance in Sogdiana, to meet and welcome him and
his army, tendering all that they possessed. ^^ Alexander, when
he heard who they were and what was their parentage, desired
the Milefflans in his army to determine how they should be
treated. But as these Milesians were neither decided nor unani-
mous, Alexander announced that he would determine for himself.
Having first occupied the city in person with a select detainment,
he posted his army all round the walls, and then gave ordeis not ,
only to plunder it, but to massacre the enlare population — ^men,
women, and children. They were slain without arms or attem|)t
at resistance, resorting to nothing but prayers and suppliant mani-
festations."! This massacre Mr. Grote pronoimces an example of
human sacnfice on the largest scale, ofiered to the gods by the re?
ligious impulses of Alexander, and worthy to be compared to that
of Hannibal, when he sacrificed three thousand Grecian prisoners
on the field of Himera, where his grandfather Hamilcar had been
slain seventy years before.

Of this barbarian element in the blood, we have instances, a^nin,
in Alexander's treatment of the governor of Gaza, Batis, wnose
energetic defence of that besieged town irritated the royal bedeger
to the last deffree. After the siege of Tyre, Alexander had sated
his wrath by nanging the surviving combatants, to the number of
some two thousand ; in the case of Gaza, there remained only the
single captive, upon whom therefore he resolved to inffict a
punishment, which the historian justly styles as novelj as it was
cruel. " He directed the feet of Batis to be bored, and braaen

• Yol. xii. p. 3. + Ibid. p. 274.

t An imitation, however, of Achilles, in nis treatment of Hector.

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QIOTE'S mSTOBT OF GBEEGE. 545.

rings to be passed throu^li them ; after which the nakecl body of
this brave man^ yet surviving, was tied with cords to die tail of a
diariot driven by Alexander himself, and dragged at full speed
amidst the triumphant jeers and shouts of the army.'' it is
observable that Alexander's fury a^dn^ Batis was increaaed by
the appearance of the man: ^^ an eunuch — ^a black man — tall and
robust, but at the same time fat and lumpish — and doubtless at the
moment covered with blood and dirt."* It was a fortunate thinff
for Porus, when he was brought before Alexander, that he had
gigantic stature and personal beauty to recommend him— physical
advantages that in fact then stood mm in capital stead. The same
savage taint of which we are speaking, is discovered again in
Alexander's crucifixion of the physician Glaucias, who had had
the honour and misfortune to prescribe for Hephoestion; and, in
wholesale developm^it, in ike general conduct of the bereaved
prince after the loss of this favourite, — when, after furious ebulli-
tions of temper, he at length ^^ roused himself and found his true
consolation, in gratifying the primary passions of his nature —
fighting and man-hunting," — the game consisting of certain tribes
called Cossoei, brave and hitherto unconquerable mountaineers,
whom Alexander tracked, with all the abandon of a keen sports-
man, into l^e loftiest and remotest recesses of their rugged haunts,
keeping up the hunt for forty days together, ^^ until the entire male
poinilation was 8lain"+ — a grand specimen of battue in the good
old times, when every Macedonian bagged his man, or men.

Many indeed are the ^^ tra^cal deeds" recounted in this history.
But there is none more revoltmff, by Mr. Grrote's estimate, thwi the
fate of Alexander's two generds, tarmenio and Philotas. Their
prince is truly said to have displayed on this occasion a ^^ personal
rancour worthy of his ferocious mother Olympias, exasperated
ratiier than softened by the magnitude of past services." Equally
true is the remark, that when we see the greatest officers of his
army directing in person, and under his eye, the laceration and
burning of the naked body of their colleague Philotas, and assassi-
nating with their own hands the veteran Parmenio — we feel how
much we have passed out of the region of Ghreek civic feeling, the
ingmium citnley into that of the more savage lUyrian warrior,
partially orientalised.^ Among the reproaches cast on him by
Cleitus, at the fatal banquet scene, and which ^^ stung him to the
quick," there was nothing so intolerable as the respectful sympathy
for Parmenio, which brought to Alexander's memory " one of the
blackest scenes of his life — and the reminiscence of ms preservation
at the Ghranikus, which lowered him into the position of a debtor
towards the very censor under whose reproof he was now smart-
ing." Another chai^ of the ugliest against him, is the fate
of Callisthenes the rhetor, Aristotle's nephew, who accompanied

♦ Grote, Xn. p. 196. f l^i^- PP- ^33 sq. J Ibid. p. 269.

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646 GROTE*S HISTORY OF GREBCE.

Alexander in his Asiatic expedition, and at first gratified the hero
by liberal flatteries, but latterly gave oflence by not increasing
them in the sort of geometric progression demanded by thrir
royal subject-object. Callisthenes declined to worship Alexander
as divine; he demurred to douleia or latreia in his system of hero-
worship. This hesitation made him a marked man. Opportunity-
alone was wanting to take vengeance on this heretic. It came, or
was found, in the afiair of Hermolaus, or the " conspiracy of the
pages." Hermolaus had darted his javelin at a wild boar, in the
act of rushinff on the king; and for this piece of loyal officiousnesB
was scourged Defore all his fellow-pages, and deprived of his horse.
Hermolaus, humiliated and wronged, brooded on rCYcnge, and
conspired with some other pages to put their master to death. The
conspiracy was discovered, and Callisthenes was arrested as an
accomplice, and, on grounds the most forced and flimsy, was
put to the torture and then hanged. How deep a sensation of
sympathy and indignant grief his fate excited among the philoso-
phers of antiquity, may be seen in various writings of Theophrastus
and Plutarch, of Cicero and Seneca. From a passage in one of
Alexander's letters to Antipater, there is reason to infer that
Aristotle the uncle, as well as Callisthenes the nephew, would have
sufiered, had he been within reach — at Bactra instead of Athens.

Unquestionably the king's character had undergone a consider-
able change, during the first half-dozen vears of his campaigns in
the east. But the change lay in a morbid development of existing
defects. He was now moved to strange excesses of violence,
vindictiveness, self-glorification; but he had alwavs been, in ten-
dency, violent, revengeful, greedy of applause. The sun and the
successes of Asia had heated him to fever-heat. Even in die first
year of his reign, we find him rufiled with the ambassadors from
the Gauls, because their answer, at the feast he gave them, to his
question as to what they most feared in this world, implicitly
excluded him, the questioner, in common with the rest of the sons
of men. His memorable correspondence with Darius, between
the battles of Issus or Arbela, shows, that all assumption of eyiality
and independence with himself, even on the part of other kmgs —
everything short of submission and obedience — appeared to him
in tiie light of wrong and insult to be avenged. When Darius
proposed that Alexander should become his son-in-law, the answer
was: " If I choose to marry your daughter, I shall marry her —
whetiier you give her to me or not" It appears to have been
merely to show off* his power, and out of impatience to opposition
even to his most extreme demands, that he undertook the ^^ politi-
cally unprofitable" step, of degrading and crushing Tyre. Bbaving
once secured the testimony of the oracle to his divine parentage, he
made a point of exacting firom all and sundry the homage due to
such pretensions. ^^ He had to look back to l^e heroic legends,

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OB0T£*S HISTORY OF GREECE. 547

and to his ancestors Perseus and Herakle& to find a worthy
prototype." When, therefore, the priest of Zeus Ammon pro-
claim^ him the son, not of Philip, but of Zeus himself, Alexander
quitted the oracle with a full and sincere faith in the truth of its
utterance ; and henceforth, though not absolutely enjoining the
duty of being addressed as the son of Zeus, he was gratified at
being so addressed, and provoked at non-compliance. The origin
of the bloody brawl with Cleitus is ascribed both by Curtius and
Airian to the ^^ extravagant boasts of Alexander and his flatterers,
and to their depreciation of Philip." Cleitus, and other veterans
who had seen service imder Philip, could ill endure this reflection
on their old master, and prostration before the new. Remorseful
as Alexander may have been after his murder of Cleitus, he
showed no disposition to abate his claims to divine honours, but
the reverse. It was at a banquet at Bactra, in the spring of the
following year, that the complaisant sophist Anaxarchus, in an
artfully elaborate harangue, extolled the king's exploits as "greatly
surpassing those of Dionysus and Herakles," and as already more
than enough to entitle him to woi-ship as divine. The Macedo-
nians, argued the orator, would beyond a doubt worship Alexander
after his death: why not set about it now ? Others followed in
the same tone; and some zealous partisans made no more ado, but
set the example on the spot, and tendered worship in due form.
Most of the Macedonian officers, however, "sat unmoved, dis-
gusted at the speech. But though disgusted, they said nothing.
To reply to a speech doubtless well-turned and flowing, required
some powers of oratory; moreover, it was well known that who-
ever dared to reply stood marked out for the antipathy of Alexan-
der. The fate of iOeitus, who had arraigned the same sentiments
in the banqueting-hall of Marakanda, was fresh in the recollection
of every one."* Then it was that Callisthenesf gave expression to
that plain-speaking which cost him so dear.

* Grote, vol. xii. pp. 35-6, 177-8, 190, 182, 200 sq., 285-6, 290 sqq.

f Nat Lee, who makes havoc of chronology and other good things, in his
ranting tragedy, introduces the following remarks by certain dangerous Mends
in council:

" Cos, At our last banquet, when the bowl had gone
The giddy round, and wine inflamed my spirits,
I saw Craterus and Hephesiion enter
In Persian robes ; to Alexander's health
They largely drank, and falling at his feet
With impious adoration thus addressed
Their idol god : Hail, son of thundering Jove !
Hail, first of kings ! young Ammon, live for ever !
Then kiss'd the ground; on which I laugh'd aloud.
And scofl^ ask d 'em why they kiss'd no harder ?
Whereon the tyrant starting from his throne,
Spum'd me to earth, and stamping on my neck.
Learn thou to kiss it, was his nerce reply,

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54B GROTE'S mSTOBY OF 6BBE0K.

General discontent pervaded the ranks of die Macedonians, at
the growing preference of their leader for Asiatic customs. The
^^ Aaiatiang intermarriages" which he promoted on a large scaler
gave great and wide offence, though Alexander proclaimea his in-
tention to discharge the debts of all such Macedonian soldiers as
would ^^Asiatise" in this matrimonial sense. The bribe took,
though not so easily or universally as was desired. A little later
we lutve a mortifying proof of Hellenic decadence and AsiatifiiTig
progress, in the fact, that when the Grecian legates met Alexander
on the road to Babylon, in 323 B.C., they approached him with
wreaths on their head, tendering golden wreaths to him — as if they
were coming into the presence of a god.* Too few and far be-
tween were becoming the sturdy remonstrants, Macedonian to tlie
backbone, which was too stiff to bend and bow in eastern adoration,
and of whom Cleitus is made a type by Nat Lee, in diction terse
in design and turgid in fact ; meant to be blunt, but ifisually limited
toUuster:

Urge me no more, I hate the Persian dress.

Nor should the king be angrj at the reverence

I owe my country — sacred are her customs.

And honest Cleitus will to death observe them.

Oh ! let me rot in Macedonian rags,

Or, Uke Callisthenes, be caged for life,t

Bather than shine in fashions of the east.

. . . ril go, my friend, in this old habit, thus.

And laugh, and drink the king's health heartily ;

And while you, blushing, bow your heads to earth.

And hide them in the dust— I'll stand erect,

8<3Wrht as a spear, the pillar of my country.

And be by so much nearer to the gods4

On the whole, ^nting, as Mr. Grote readily does, that Alex-
ander, in respect of intelligence and combining genius was Hellenic

While with his foot he press'd me to the earth,
Till I lay welterin«^ in a foam of blood.
** Pofy, Thus when I mock'd the Persians that adored him.
He struck me on the face.
And bid his guards chastise me like a alaye :
But if he 'scape my vengeance may he live
Great as that God whose name he thus profanes.
And like a skve may T again be beaten,
Scoff'd as I pass, and branded for a coward.
" Cas, There spoke the spirit of Callisthenes,*' Ac.

Lee's Alexander the Great. L 1.
♦ Grote, Xn. 335.

t Lee adopts the statement of those authors who affirm that Callisthenes was
put in chains, and carried about in this condition for some time; dying at length
of disease agsravated or induced by confinement. But the words of CurSns
are : " Callisthenes quoqne tortus int^t, initi consilii in caput regis innoxius,
sed haudquaquam aula et assentantium accommodatus ingenio,"-^efeiring to
the banquet oratory which we have previously noticed. 6o too Arian,, and
others.
t Lee's "Alexander the Great." Act IV. Sc. 1.

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CffiOTB'S HISTOBY OF QBSECE. 849

to the {v31; it must jet be contended, as Mr. Ghrote also contends,
&at the acts attesting Alexander's Oriental violence of impulse,
unmeasured self-will, and exaction of reverence above the limits of
humanity, are ample evidence that, in respect of disposition and
purpose, no one could be less Hellenic. ^^ Instead of hellenising
Asia, he was tending to asiatise Macedonia and Hellus. His
temper and character, as modified W a few years of conquest,
resaaered him quite unfit to follow the course recommended by
Aristotle towards the Grreeks — quite as unfit as any of the Persian
kings, or as the French emperor Napoleon, to endure that partial
£ru8tratioD, compromise, and smart from free criticiim, whidi is
inseparable from the position of a limited diief." *

The account of the death of Alexander in this history is im-
pressively told, without anything like an effort at " fine" writing.
Mr. Grote quotes, and sees no reason for discrediting (though some
modem critics treat it with contempt), the statement of Diodoms,
that Alexander^ on the second night of the revels which preceded
his fever, ^^ swallowed the contents of a large goblet called the cup
of Herakles, and felt very ill after it." The funeral of Hephoostion
was the occasion of these orgies ; and to drink to intoxication at a
funeral, was required as a last token of respectful sympathy to-
wards the deceased. Alexander, as chief mourner, was likely
enough to he primus inter pares in the drinking way, and to deal
as little in heel-taps as any of his compotators. If otherwise, pos-
terity wrongs him, even where most disposed to extol his greatness.
" He was," quoth Dan Chaucer,

He was of knyghthood and of fredam flour ;
Forttme him made the heir of his honour ;
Save w^ and wymmen, no thing might aswage
His heifi^h entent in armes and labour^
So was ne fol of leonjne corage.t

So again a Caroline poet, already quoted, and not much known:

Great Alexander, that biggest word of fame.

That fills her throat, and almost rands the same,

Whose valour found the world too strait a stage

For his wide victories and boundless n^

Got not repute by war alone, but thee, J

He knew he ne'er could conquer by sobriety.

And drunk, as well as fought, for universal monarchy. §

The Olynthian Ephippus dwells much on the unmeasured pota-
tions of Alexander— common to him, however, with other Mace-
donians.|| The king was always addicted to indulgences at the

* ** Alexander is indeed said to have invited suggestions from Aristotle as to
the best mode of colonising ; but his temper altered so mfuoh, after a few years
of Asiatic conquest, that he came not only to lose all deference for Aristotle's
advice, but even to hate him bitterly." Grote, XH. 357-8.

t Canterbury Tales : "The Monke's Tale."

i "Thee," sciL "ahnirfity wine."

§ Oldham's Poems, byBeil, p. 61. D Grote, XII. 340, note.

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550 GBOTE*S HISTOBT OF GBEECE.

table, Mr. Grote remarks,* whenever leisure allowedi and on occa-
sions of extra excitement these indulgences were both multiplied
and prolonged. At the banquet of Marakanda, his excesses led to
the murder of Gleitus. A little later they tended to ward off his
own; for the design of the pages to kill Alexander in his chamber,
on the first night when they were all on guard together, was frus-
trated by the accident, that Alexander continuS till daybreak
drinking with his officers, and never retired to bed at alLf To
recompense his soldiers for their sufiferincs in Gedrosia, he con-
ducted them for seven days in drunken pacchanalian proQession
through Carmania, himself and all his friends taking part in the
revelry.} In short, we can scarcely think, with a IdEuned essayist in
FroMr's Magazimj that Alexander has been very unjustly aspersed,
when represented in the " suspidious character^ of a "jolly fdlowf
BO certam this Alexandrine "apologist holds it to be, that if Alex-
ander ever exceeded at all, it was only when the duties of the day
were over, and never till the latter part of his life.§ The effect of
Mr. Grote's narrative is by no means " contrarious" to Sir John
Suckling's poetical licence, when, in a certain nunc est hibenium
song, that mercurial songster affirms, that

The Macedon youth

Left behind him this tmih.
That nothing is done with much thinking;

He drimk, and he fought.

Till he had what he sought.
The world was his own by haxd dnnking.||

There is rather more room for questioning the justice of accounting
Alexander an out-and-out transgressor in the second particular of
Chaucer's charge, about "wyn and wymmen." In r^rd to
women, he was, Mr. Grote observes, by temperament cold,1[ the
opposite of his father Philip; and the good old story about his
exemplary self-restraint, in the case of the Persian Statira for in-
stance, is virtually consigned to that collection of myths with
which the earlier volumes of this histoiy are so much concerned. —
But here we must pause for a good calendar month, for at present
time is up and space run out.

* Xn. 254. J Ibid. 299. % Ibid. 318.

§ " But it is possible," the essayist adds, " that the violences attributed to this
part of his career rose from ungovernable pride and unrestrained temper, rather
than from intoxication. It is certain that he was remarkable for his temperate
eating," &c. Frtuet^s Magazine, voL xliv. pp. 592 sq.

Il Song in Sucklinff*s play, " Brennoralfc,^ — a piece the world has agreed to
^forget (and no great loss), these two hundred years and more.

We must quote that man in buckram, poor Nat Lee, once again, in the way
of basso relievo, or piquant contrast, to prosaic matter of fast. Statira in the
tragedy exclaims,

" Oh ! I have heard him breathe such ardent vows,
Outweep the morning with his dewy eyes.
And sigh and swear the Ibtoniug stars away 1"

Act L So. 1.

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THE JOINT. STOCK BANKBB.

▲ TALE OF THE DAT.
Bt DUDLXr COSTELLO.

OHAPTn Tni.

▲ KIKD PATBOX.

If the ghost of the Marqaig of Weesex could hare obtained a *^ day
rule'' from whatever priion-house he occupies, to wander through the
chambers of his last earthly habitation^ now that it had become the head-
quarters of a Joint-Stock Company, the visit would have tended, in a
great deme, to reconcile him to tlie other world, ill at ease as, perad-
venture^ he might be in his new abode.

Those walls which he had hung with the choicest spedmens of Italian
art, those galleries which he had adorned with the rarest fragments of
antique design, exhibited splendour still, but not the splendour in which
his Soul had delighted. Deep in dilettante-ism and steeped in connois-
seurship, the Marquis had earned for Wessex House the reputation of
another Museo Borbonico, and for himself that of bebg a reer of the
very finest taste ; and yet he had some tastes which were not particularly
worthy of imitation.

In these, perhaps, the present chief occupant of the mansion emulated
him with tolerable success. Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones was also fond
of art, but his was the ** flare-up'' school ; he made hb collection with a
drae-net, filling his rooms from the shop-windows of Bond-street, and
confiding its distribution to the genius ot the upholsterer. There is no
denying it, Wessex House was desecrated, — ^though that was of very little
consequence to the Chairman of the Bank of Central Africa ; it exhibited
all the external signs of opulence, and he desired no more. Moreover, it
met with the approval of all his colleagues on the great day of inaugura^
tion.

That was, indeed, a day to be remembered by a great many. The
*' Central African" had found fieivour in the public mind, — the prospects it
held out were so alluring, the directors were so highly respectable, there
was so much certainty i£out it (die public thought), that Uie shares went
rapidly up to a condderable premium, and when the Bank opened to do
bunness the crush of customers was quite without parallel. It was really
a matter for the gravest consideration of the Conmiittee in the parlour
whether they should take all the accounts that were offered, and not the
least commendable feature in the conduct of Mr. Meredyth Powell Jonea
was the caution he recommended in all the operations of the Bank. So
deeply, indeed, were the Directors impressed with the value of their
Chainnan, that already they began to talk of a testimonial, and Lord
LeatherfacMad — at the private suggestion of Mr. Rigby Nicks — actually

VOL. TXTIT, 2 o

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552 THE JOINT-STOOK BANKER.

mooted the qaestion, and only consented to withdraw his proportion oa
the understanding that he should hare the honour of laying it before the
whole body of the proprietors at the first General Meeting. Such hannoaj
was delightful ; everybody was in spirits, and the happy event was made
not less ha|B|>T l^ a miignificent dKmier^ at wkieh Lord Leatberfaead, in
the name of nis brother Directors, acmn expressed his unbounded confi-
dence in the *^ worthy Chairman.* Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones relied
to this declaration in a speech that drew tears £rom every one present^ —
types, it may be, of those which were to flow hereafter, reople are nerer
so much sonened as when, with wine in their heads, they contemj^ate
their own excellence ; and a greater amount of excellent qualities than
were combined in the persons aff tka iaclraduals before him, the Chair-
man assured his hearers it had never before b^n his good fortune to meet
with. Nor was their sense of their own high moral value diminished by
die reflection that avary aaan preetat waa on the high mad to br^aoe,
aw>ther faet to i^di Mr. Mtfedyth FomU Jones at iwhaMlitri^Jy
^edged himfl^ In ihar^ ikm ianw Amkit Ungdan— the Cavt of
biMcton-^and iha cater barbariaoa — iha Fahlie— wwe e^
raptured wi& d^ Joint-Stock Banker, and even Ephxaun
smilingly approved his scheme and daMblod a httie m " Ceataal 4

Aiiiongst the aiakilQde who put hUk in the new tpaoalalMn van one
vary poor man, who gave credit to it^ p*<rtlT becaote he am no grant
geographer— a leasen with many — and partly beaaase he waa n haktiar
m every kind of laveation, though of eoarse he prefrrred his own to afl
others. This was Moasiear 6ueta?a Lepage, who, on the dqr aft» tha
inauguratioQ of the Join^Stoek Baak c^ Central AMca, waited hf a»-
pmataMnt on Mr. Meredyth Fowali Jones, in St. Jacob*»^aarab Ua
was there to unfold his grand prof et, which, if approved e^ tae

abls BMmber for Aber-Paadywoahl take aaderhia patronage, and heetow

'Cmtaal Afcieaae*-«i tka

in exchange a fortuaa— moat Hkdky in
inventor.

Whk high hopes and a quidkty tbrobbtag heart Monsieoc Lepage
knoeked at the private door of the Bank^ a fiiU qnaitar of an konr kefim
the time appointed, though he had walked aiz timea rawnd the sijaw^n to

prevent himsetf firom being too soon, it waa opaaed hj a portar in the
proud livery of ^ Jonesee — leek*green iMk aomat insnig% and a goat^a
head 00 every golden battoa, — im> treated bun in tiie atnal sapewlkwis
manner of the porters in parvenus* houses, and lef^ him standing in the
«<'A]r while he sent ^'aonebody" to aee «'if Master wm hi^;" after
which he retaraed to his eaey-<£aur to read the BMmiag papsR The
threhbiag heart beat, perhapa, a litlfo qaialonr aft tk» neepte^ and tha
risiog hopes, it may be, were soaftewhat eheoked in their iigkt; bat no^
he wouMxKit take offence nor €mI disappointed: ha lad pvoanaed Lionie
a real snccess tlua time, and it waa for aer sake^ afbr aAl^ that ka had
come. So he fixed his thoughts upon hb inventioi^ and vary soon htgok
the recuaabent presenoe of the green and scaalet porter, wilk his goat's
heads and yellow buttons* At length, aa intimakien readttd faiaa Som a
smug footman in a momiag jacket, who eaaie toppiag down the j

^t he was to Mhw tfiat iadividnal, *^ Master ** keiag now liaaii

He was shown into a weU^aiaad Kbenry, the only dsfivt in nhiek war

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IBB MIKT-SirOCS BAirKOl. 553

J at Ud w» «o# WW «mI teo £aiB, Mi finnd Mr. Mm*
4ytb f #irel JtMfy vmyed in dw gwg^oai dreMii^;wgown ipluh iiv^
Vav Amij etmt «i Mhsib^ OiMe aM Bneook'Sy undrkig « ogw^

4lie lov« of it w« too cUcply ingniiieds bat there wm ttotimtg enbuiife
in kit flMMMT iMfaidi tke poor fer«igiMr: on tbe ooolrans he adTantel
ai OMt towmvds him, shook hamisy md foMmg to the hreakfasi-tcbk^

^Qitid aesp of ooflheb

'Ittnkyo«»8M«^''ntmrMdth«]ittkFr«neiBD«ii,«IhKf« tareakfiMt

«']iithitoMe,''saidhislMt,''w«wiHiMioeritDbMD68im8«Km m
jcm please. If I gtAenA year meeaJDygigirtiy the kvt time I sow yvo^
jonr iBTentien has aeoiething to do wMi an imprereannt hn the manage
nMol of hattoeos, so as to zeg;ahite Aeir flifht, oontnol tbeff 4mctki%
ftad eefoith. Yoo areawaie thatkhid efespsnmeatthas hesn «ttemplei
bjr <^hen before yoa?"

" Ah, yes^ san, I kneir dat^ hot itj me ignonat, dose pec^e, who
wadeietand ootii^ about de matter. On de eontvary, I have me myself
«p greatly to dis study, and at lost I have socoeed to make fann pemct
Mt pef^/ed, nre, deie is no deoht."

)fe. Mere^th Powell Jeses smiled ; bat he was net die nan to dis-
Doomge any project that Iwd a bright side to it.

"'Aad that bos," he said, '^oontains, leimpeM, m model?''

''Ah, yesi*^ lupiied Meo^eor Lepage, ^ot course I bring him whs wm,
I am iHiat yoa call hers « praolick mm. Fiiet I pkm my invetttioa m
my bead ; 1 have it in my slecn^ in my waking, in all my taogte. When
I uure conaider bim weU, den I proeeed to his oonStraotwn and make ex-

s, twO) tree, ever eo many time — tin I yanqoish aU diffi-
eolify. Be persnade^ mtre, deie is netii^ a asan tink% bnt one day or de
oder he shall knew to dew Oar tai»ht is de seed» oar veck de harvest
Leek, sare."

Monsieur Lepage had been busy, while he was speaking, with the
etrinp that iutened a pastebeavd box wUeh he held in one hand, and
mkUk had probdbiy helpsd to inereoe the snperciiioasDess iji the green

scarlet pertsr. He now o^ed it, and carefully taking o«t Us
model, placed it open an wnoccopied table. It was themost ingenioiishp-
oontrived toy that ever was seen. Then wis » silken iphae of tne
three cekars so dear taev«ry FreDohmaa, — hy whose domil needle liie
segotents had been sewn together need haidly he sud; and the suae
httidiwaek mas not to be nn^ahen in the gold^ network which coveted
Ae balkxm and sestaioed the car. fiat aU this was mere enfimtiUage in
Msosioui' Lepage's estinattion, pretty to look at, necessary if yea Hke,
but not solid, lira fiie sorpiising machine, the car itself, whioh was Ae
romlt of his meditotisM. Itet, indeed, was a trhnnph e£ invenlm
skilll

If Monsiear would bat do hbn the honoar to cast his eyss upon that
delicate Archimedean eosew, ohserre how it vrorked upon that honaontal
wheel, how their esmbiaed actien brought into plqr the ganis flinii which
wm attoehed to the sides of the ear, and opened and shot I&e the imgs
ef • Urd, now famad to the wind, now tuniagwidi a ftrthewid edge^

2o2

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j{54 THE J0IHT-8T0CK BAHKSB.

now folded altogetber ; if Honsieiir would bat pennit himself to nottoe
Uie eztraordiiiary ease winch aocompaiued ereiy moyement of the madii-
pery; ah, he should he charmed if his woik merited the approbation of
Monsieur: that would be worth to him more than a brevet ^wvenOon.
Tes, there were all the appliances ! Now he would give it motion. It
was true, in that room there were no currents of air, but these could be
supplied. If Monneur would do him the honour to blow that pair of
beuows, steidily, so. See, the balloon is liberated from the litde plat-
form, it reachies the current of air, it is carried away by it. But no,
with that small cord which he leaves hanging outride and whidi occupies
the place of a pilot inride the car, he releases the Archimedean screw;
the cord is no longer wanted, the machinery turns, the balloon's pi-ogieas
is arrested ; now the &ns are at work, they beat in a contraiy senee to
the current, the motion is no lonfi;er onward, it is retrograde ; anodier
pdl at the cord and the balloon shall be guided rideways. Ah, DiaUe !
that pu£f was too strong, the car is upset, the valye is left open, ^le
whole concern collapses and tumbles amongst the cups and saucers !

Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones laughs heartily at this result, but the
inrentor is no whit disconcerted. Monrieur could bear witness that llie
experiment up to a certun noint had been entirely successful ; if it had
not been for that little acrident, quite unforeseen, the balloon would at
ibis moment haye been sailing round and round the room. Ah, Diable !
he had ^scorered the reason, the cord had made a turn over the screw
and stopped its action. That could not haTO happened if his model had
been lam enough to admit of a Kving man being in the car to guide it ;
ihe mechanism itself was perfect ; was not Monsieur of that opinion ?

As Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones was not gmng to lay out a fortune on
Monrieur Lepage s invention, and as he had a motive for humouring the
inventor, he suppressed his real thoughts on the subject, and said he made
no doubt, if the machinery could be constructed on an adequate scale,
and not too heavy, that parties might be found to bade him up and cany
it out.

Oh, with respect to the weight, Monrieur Lepage was quite safe ; he
had a method of supplying buoyancy to any given quantity of material ;
all he asked was the opportunity of bringing his invention fairiy before
the public. There was nothing, he sua, which could not be accom-
plished by balloons under hb system of managfemmt. Ships would
cease to be employed, railways would go out of use, there would be no
further occasion for horses, all the merdiandise of the worid mi^t be
transported by their agency. Printing was somethmg, he admitted, and
the electric telegraoh, and photography ; but one grand feature ik his
scheme was that all these operations might be effi^ted simultaneoudy
with balloon-suling. He did not exactiy show how all this was to be
effected, but he said it could be done, and, moreover, he believed what
he said. Still, like the great geometrician, whose screw he had imported
into his idea, the '< man of practick" wanted a place for his lever— or ratfier
he wanted ihe lever itself — ^in other words, he had no money.

The Chairman of the <' Central African Joint-Stock Bank" was well
aware of all this — nobody more so. The project might be utteriy incon-
gruous, altogether imposrible — ^but what of that ? It would make as good

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THB JOINT-STOCK BAISTKEB. 555

ft bttM whereon to build ft CounMUiy as any of the thoneand eohemeB that
a^t^ted and engrossed the manet Call it ^* The Air Transport Associ*
alion,'' or by any other attraoti?e name that oonToyed a notion of some*
thbg beio^ done^ and there was a public quite reftdy to adopt it Was
there no £inger of its interfering with the << Central African?'' Not
the least in the world. If you can get the world to credit one enormous
folly, be sure that you may impose upon it as many more as you please.
Taking tlua Tiew of the question, Mr. Meredyth rowell Jones resoWed
to support the ardent Frenchman. He would, he sidd, talk the matter
over with his fiiend Mr. Rigby JSlcks ; he would see what was the feel-
ing in the city; Lord Leatherhead, he was sure, would lend his name and
influence ; in the mean time he should be hi^py to assist Monsieur
Lepage with an advance ^^ to a certain extent,"— just to set the thing
going, and give him the means of employing himself on his invention
until the time arrived for making it of general utility. There was a
fifty-pound note quite at Monsieur Lepaffe's service, until it perfectly
suited him— say when the Company was formed — to repay him.

The inventor could scarcely beheve in his good fortune. Since he
quitted Bordeaux he had never, at one time, been master of half as
much. With twenty pounds of that money — ^thus ran hb rapid cal-
culation— he could buy L6onie a new shawl, a new dress, a new tx>nnet,
— all she wanted : his sister, too, several things she had desired might now
be hers ; for him9elf— why, yes — perhaps it would be as well to take that
opportunity of securinff a substantial pair of boots : those he had on were
all but worn out Then L^nie might put by her perpetual task, and
take some recreation put of doors ;— die was a thought less rosy of late,
and scarcely so gay as usual ; constant confinement, no doubt. Another
twen^ pounds would meet the rent and living for some weeks to come
—and with the remainder he would improve his already perfect ma-
ohineiy, and render feilure quite impossible. These conclusions arrived
at in a moment, he thanked Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones, and frankly
accepted his offer.

But the honourable member for Aber-Pandy was apparontly one who
never did thmgs W halves. Independentiy of patronising Monsieur
Lepitte's invention, he took a personal interest in ms wel&ro.

^* I shall be elad to see you here," he sud, *^ whenever you please ; you
will always find a knife and fork at my table. As you live en gargan^
I suppose, it will save you the trouble of dining at a bad restaurant; our
London imitations aro poor things after Paris."

Monsieur Lepage roplied wim a shrug; he could not help admitting
the feet, but was fer too polite to say so. Tfaero was, however, an error
on the part of his kind friend.

^' Dieu merei !" he said, '< I am not altcjeether alone. I have no vife,
it is true, but I have a shild and a sisterro.^

^< Lideed V* exclaimed the honourable member. '* What, a littie boy,
perhaps, that your sister takes caro of?"

'< I^ot a boy, sare, but a young person. Ah, my L^nie has twenty
years!"

^< You surprise me. At your age — at least the age you appear to be--*
I should not have supposed that possible."

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JMt TBB J0INT4»0CK AUnUK.

'B«itedHM"

nfaffwotJ, Mi MmU m fiMi|r-«x|«

^ And hmm kagr 1mup» yott beMi an

Ltek ^w km ^ am am

' bag 1mup» yott 6e«i an Eogkod?"

<* I am Mim in A ^wntiy ien are aiod santiM. Twnhha «f ]
HM dw FtMMu Ak, it it moimMBy to )iw9 in Londoa vithMii aai
a ftattv n^ett #e pas?"

^ A frafatnon. No»—- not aiay. But j«a h&m ftieads j
oaaatrrncii, m imkiJ'

^ Aiai I mj hwmi§ ai« not maaj kcre.''

^ Yaw &D^s^iter» tkan,— aod yo«r aister, wmA fral tka
liaafy a& tkar bands, withovt sanetj."

^ AK my Ltenia is too good to «are abovt h«adf : ay airten% t«\
k a bma womao, wia a Ktt^ hnaaour now and den* Byt L^onie i
idl ting ihaerful ; ^a eft ai douee, ai boBM^ — ah, smu DianT

«< I aat •zpeoting,'' said A» kind patron, "^ a feoude selnli?^ oC
in London Terj alurtiy ; an exoaUent lady, who Uvns at a irvry f
plaoa in the aonn^, caUed Cotswoldham, mote like a Fianch town tiian
an English ona; I am sura, from your d«scriptk)% that Aey wo«U ha
charmed to make the acquaintance of yovr daughter — and joor sister. I
mast persnade yon to hrmg them here when my consin am^as."

" Ahf saroi yon have too mmsh goodness. Dey wiM be wm hsfm:.
Kow^ asrs^ I take my leave. I shall greatly pcc^y myasif via m$

«" Geed by,"* said the hononrahle men^Mr, shaking hands wA Ma
near Lepage ; ^ lemembcr yonr peamise^ — and pray, ofiv my ]
year ^biogntsr — and your sister."

'' I shaft tell dem yomr kindness vidoat huaiL To soi yon
sareT

And, in an ecstasy of delight Monsieur Lepage bownd and i
taking his model widi him.

"To see me again!" repeated Mr. Meredyth PoweU Jonca,
^ To see ker again j And when I see her» how to eiOBaso aijaelf ! Bat
she will overlook that when Ae knows I am h^ father's Miefisetoa. I
must bind him to me by his iateceata. He is pertly hired ahnady. If I
oaald think less ahoat her! At any rate, I mnst eeeare Martha*s
assislaace. She will give it me now% Onosi perhaps^ — hat her jsakas
days are eirer. Who's there ? Coste in."

<*A deputation from the City, sir/' said a servaati entsnag wiA
acard.

^ Desire them to walk up. Ah, gentlemea, I am rejoiced to see yo%
I have excellent news for you. The Chancellor, I thmk, will entertsin
my pfopfMitkm. Fray be seated. This, then, is the state of the ease."

I shsdl not enter into it, but dose the door on the deputation and the
bonoatable member for Aber-Fandy. The sabjeei that interested diem
was only the formation of another new Company.

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me JoanHsroeK BAHKis. 587

AH OL» AOQUAINTAXCB.

Al.f»0O6B tbt 4iitaiofcioli «f dui Imm neiper been sabjeeted in Wales
M in die HigUftnds ef Seotkod—mt leMt siiice dw twie of Darfdd «p
Gkirf^rdd, or amm Moh eelebMled iaoimtoIi— the prinoi]^ of ''^Mnily,''
m I faaiFe atkiwpled to shovr in die first obapter of tMs luflHoiy, fan
alwmys been pveserved, and eveiTbody tlteie b» eomebody to refer to^ <Ke>-
liogiiiilMd &v bbiod if adt Inr taoDej.

Tbe keneankUe aember te Aber-Paadj njoieed, as we bare seei^ in
At namn of Jeaes. Now the Joneses are as ceaimon as camomile ; tfaey
are to be feaad fron one ead of the Pi«ici|iaiit j to the other; and to we
WBmntfy a Jenes per se^ does not neeessarily imply dbdagiashed birllL
Oa tb otherbandy the Joneses are *< as good** — ^to use the common phraae
'—as the Mergaas^the Tbomieos^ the LewisM, or any Dnadieal race jan
eaa meadoo, and like all the vest, haire their aUiaaoes. The conditieB of
descent may be tenitoiial or aoadeataL One bcanch of the famii j tiae
aattiag itself the parent stem may stitt oonttnae to flovrisb, while other
branches, decayed, have dropped into the dust; or the head of die hoan
may have fifidlen ia love with a pretty £Me at a cottase-deor, and — matri-
m^j •Mutkv-n.ythos, in tWVwa «.t«>a^oiWW»IM .D tfe
beaaty'a kith and kia. The gieater part of dwse oonaexions are^ how^
ereiv only reeogaised on one ssde, wbk^ yoa may be save, is not the

It was through an accident of the kind just mentioned that the
iuimUe aMeraey of Aber-Paady daimed alliaaee widi the rich Mr.
Vai^^ of GlA»JLlya, a fiaaous fadamter, iHio, in his hoi yoath,
had beea eapdvated by the ehanas of the glowhig daug^iter of the
laadlovd of *'The Cross Foxes," a little roadside inn, about tea
miles hem Aber«Piaidy, where he pat up Us tired horse for the
night Tlaa damsel was the only sister to Mr. Bferedyth FoweU
Jones; bat as Squire Yaughaa Irved in a distant com^, being only
on a viot when his enthralmeat took plaoe, he carried dw lady away, when
he married her, and being teminded by' his pedigree over die dining^
veom fimplaee (not that he oyer stood in need ci any remiader, the sab*
ject heii^ always npperrooet in hts thoughts) diai he was a lineal de-
soendant ef the great Owain Glyndwr, hb interdicted his wife's intca-
oonne with her r^ations and cut the connexion altogether. Several at-
tempts were made by the yonng attorney to ingratiate himself with his
rich relative, but a chilling silence repelled even his advances, and the
pretty innkeeper's-daughter having died childless within two yean of
her marriage, the proud Mr. Yaughaa took ante himself a second wife, ef
las own rank in U^ and resolved to sweep the name of Jooes dean fiom
the table of las memory.

He persisted in this resolve for neariy five-and-twenty years, and it h
hkely eaongh he vrould have eondaued to do so tffl he was gathered to
Us fodiers, but aboat the period named sa opiakm began to be wid^y
enteitained that Wales had at last produced an uaeominonly great nam.
This individual, who had suddenly risea into aetoaety as oae «f dm

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958 THE jonrr-STOOK biitkek.

riehert and most enterprirag capitalists of theday^wastheoooncglcciaJ
attorney of Aber-Pandy, Mr. Meiedyth Powell J<nes.

Mr. Vanghan's second marriage had so hat difiered from his first that
he was now the Mber of a nnmerons fiunilj, and tlioi^ his estates
were large, his income did not suffice for ms expenditiire so wM as
formeriy. Speealati<m is no longer confined to die areas of Omd-coori
and the Stock Exchange, hot peeps from between the rose-lniea cortams
of die countess's boudoir, and sits in council with the coontry gentlemsn
as he sips his claret in his ancestral halls. The desire to add to their
^realth— " for the sake of their chiMren"— inflnenced both Mr. and Mrs.
Vanghan. It was so long ago now, that the lady had qoite fctgotleu
how she had made a bumt-ofiering of the portrait of her predecessor when
firrt she was installed the mistress of Glas-Uyn. Her hosband, on the
other hand, b^pan to remember that really he had always nndentood Ua
first wifo's bromer was a very clever follow, and, indeed, though he did
not actaally belong to any of << the old families," was Teiy respectably
connected ; as to the ^' Cross Foxes,'' it might have bean a coat of anns
instead of an ale-house sign ; at all events, it was as well to ignote that
and every other inconvenient antecedent, and, putting his pnde in his
pocket, pay court to the nauveau riche^ who^ it was said, could make
any man's fortune he diose.

Mr. Yaughan, ther^ore, magnanimously determined on recognising
the former family tie, and wrote Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones a very coo*
dliatory and plannble letter. That gentleman, who had no objeetioo to
strengthen his hand in all quarters, and particularly ooveted tlie support
of ^ the landed interest," replied in terms quite as conciliatory and opa^
as plausible.

He was about, he said, to solicit the suffirages of his nadve plaoe^— •
several English boroughs were open to him, but he was above all things
a Welshman, and to devote sucb poor abilities as he possessed to the
cause of Wales, in the sinele hope of increanng her prosperity, was the
object that lay nearest his heart: notluDg, consequently, could have
gratified him more than the flattering proposal of a gentleman of so
much weight and influence as Mr. Vaughn, and if he miffht presume
to request so great a 6,vour he would adc him to honour rlas-y-Jones
with nis presence, now that llie election for Aber-Pandy war at hand.
Anything that so humble an individual as he, Mr. Meredyth Powell
Jones, could offer in the way of service to so distingmshed a personage
as Mr. Yaughan, of Gl&s-Llyn, was at all times at the command of the
latter; and he hinted, in condusion, that out of his practical acquaint*
ance with affwra something might possibly arise not unworthy of Mr.
Yaufffaan's attention.

This politeness was responded to by an eager acceptance of the prrf-
fSered hospitality. Mr. Yaughan went over in great state to Plas-y-
Jones, — appealed everywhere with him in public, exerted himsdf im-
mensely at the election, and returned to Gl&s-Llyn a Croesus in expecta-
tion, with a thousand shares in the Biyn-Mawr Mining Assodation in
his pocket, and a firm reliance in his mind on the assurance of his
gtumdam brother-in-law that he should be put up to every ''good
thing" that was likely to come into the market— a promise wfaidi Mr.
Meredyth Powell Jones very foithfolly k^

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THE JOHTTHBTOCK BAXOStL. 580

. It has been meniioiied that Mr. Vaugliaii <^ GH^Uyn liad a good
many children. His eldest son, HMbert^ was a very fine joxmg man of
abont thiee-and-twen^, on whose education some pains had neen be-
stowed, with a view to his figuring some day in public fife : that was his
modiolus ambition, whose personal tendencies were, like those of her
family, pofitical. He had accordingly been sent, first to Rugby and
then to Oxford — ^not, however, to Jesus College, once the inevitable fkte
of every Welsh student. Herbert Yaughan went through the Uniyersitjr
with great credit : he rode well up to hounds — (that, peihaps, was his
father's share in him), pulled stroke-oar at Henley Regatta, did not
make love to the Junior Proctor's fourth daughter, gave unexceptionaUe
wine-parties, spent his money freely, but left no Ulls — to speak of — ^behind
him, and in the midst of all these occupations which engross ihe attention
of most under-graduates (who generally include tM imiior proctor's
daughter and tb IhIIs), found time to quali^ himsdf for a double first
dass, which he astonished all his compeers by taking. He then went
abroad for a year or two, and travelled far and wide, returning home a
short time amr the Aber-Paody election. He found evexythinff at Gl&s-
Llyn in commotion in consequence of that event. His fawer could
taik of nothing but his *' friend" Jones,— mines, railways, docks, com-
mercial ventures of every description ; his mother's language was more
deeply pofitical than ever : Herbert must get into Parfiament, take a de-
cided hue, above all things, — and this was reiterated by his father ; —
above all things cultivate the acquaintance of ** tiie man of the day," for
such in her opinion — and she modestiy admowledged she was never
wroDg^was Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones.

Herbert Yaughan, fike a dutiful son, promised alt the obedience that
eould be desired, though his inclinations were neither commennal nor
pofitical. He accepted a week's shooting at Ty-Gwyn, but at the end of
that time was not so much enamoured of the lord of the manor as his
father, who took him there, and pleading the necesrity of keeping a pro-
mise to an old college friend with whom he had msde an engagement
to pass the autumn in the Pyrenees, took leave of bis host and set out at
once.

It was not his intention to have lingered anywhere en rouie^ but some
acddental matter compelled him to remain a few days vd London, and
while there, a circumstance occurred which materially interfered with the
projects of his father and mother. It was in itself an occurrence of the
very sfightest texture: a casual conversation with a foreigner at the
FroDch eafi in the Haymarket, and an impromptu dinner-party at
Richmond. But '* the beet-laid sdiemes" are constantiy overturned by
impromptus^ and dinners at Richmond, innocently-pleasant as they seem,
may yet prove dangerous fare. Periiaps the terrace-walk afterwards
beneath the beeches in Richmond Park may be more dangerous tiian the
dinner itself; but whether the cause was Mr. Ellis's sunerlative cham-
pagne, the charm of tiiat delicious autumn evening, or the sweet voice
of the beautiful girl beside whom he walked a little after the rest of the
parhr, or all these things comlnned, I will not undertake to say, — ^but this
much is certain, that Herbert Yaughan thought he had never passed four
such ddightfiil hours, nor had he ever re^«tted anythmg so much as
die necessity he was under for pursnbg his journey on tiie following

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iM IVSJOBIT-^KKiK

Thne noadii wemihj, mdBxAa^Ymui^im^ mgmi ml
B4 wtiiM ki^ ntttiwA MMh MOMT, b«t fer dM dsD^mis i^
feitni, iribidi drtMPti ki» m iitM^b moatk Omthbi

mg aftMr Ub airml b« was <» his iray to Jus Ckb, mwavdlj *
tk* ooUiy NMT Baoeabar weaAet witb wkai ai wm tW nTOBJM ml lUdf^
hmm^ i«d wtniana^ whedMT «lunot woaU ever fgan him die opyof*
tm^ of flMioff dM bMiridfol LJODW OMM OMife, vhen i^ alHalj be
•Mosater Wi htr &thcr. Thij wivt bodi m afaiocbed to dMvghi «b«l
A«j akMirt JM agimai 4Mli otMr,

«' Mooaew Lt]^r oMUnei Hei^

« All, mM Dim, ifaoMiur Von 1" ntyned die imnte.

Metaal «MigniMatioiif took pleoe^ end Herbert ktcmed i
UOf mftor Madsme fiieckarti eoMewbat ieeoeelj w&Bt Ai
beeM e£ die party^-aidier deudly eftar Mademei "
mtaeat efter Meesievr L tfmwtfs frmmdpre^.

IMea jMrai! diqr were ell weU, and for hk ioEMitMB, dnii wm %fmi
mttmK^plix Y^ he imm edy duit mooMBt on his way hoBMwaid from aa
iateriew ynik die xachett man in Sngiandt who b]id|iiat wilmiuaul Ibe
moii tTJampbaiit eaferiflDeBi dmt ever wae ailenpted wkk a aaedUL
(Heae he patted dm liAde cortmi which he oaciwd under Ue eloak, U
indmato die nature of Imfmdeam.) That ndOkmrnawe was piifaili/
aachantod widi hia invention ; be had promoed to iuppoft it fay all tlie
maapsinhia power} Moaaicur I'ifMiffe dMught it very nrobahle he waa
akeady on his way to die City to 1^ Im adbjert ba&ve na Lovd Mayoa>
tbegiiaieat peraenage in dm JwJm, in bis and everr other Fnoaabman'g
idea. Yea» he wash^ppy te teil Monaiear Van that forhimaaif newafldm
daiknem ef the fatoie was diasiaated ; his fMtaae was an aasiiiiid thh^
and Bodiing weald saaiaim for Urn to do after that bat to pvaeare tke
re-eatabJaabamnt of hkpditiedHghta and zetwntehia native laid. Bei
he sheald never laqget £B^land» irinch had been to bam a hoaw, nor the
bindmwB and sympathy <rf liondeor VoDy whom againherimek heaadlj
by the hand.

jQerbertei^iieased hia meqoivoeal delight at heaiiag maA good news,
and aahad hiifc who the patron waa that had piaaiiaed fia aaaJatattae?

The anveator was not fiMoeoa for his prenqnciadon ef English :
-*few of hia ooantrymenaro and ueplicd that it waa die great Mi
Poljoae, who lived in a miMrn^ment heum in the sqaare hm-by.

Herbert waa no wiaer aner this intimadon than he had bean
Mx. Peljone*a name was qaite anknown to him ; botthat mi^vary wd
U^ as he hadlitde or no aoqnaaattmce wkh aty ama. The leaiqwaada^
however, w« whether or not the itUUiommirt waa able to do what he

Ols of dmti Monsiear Lepage eamesdy said, there oonld sat be dM
slighteet doubt. He wws a grmnd bamgmer, a member dF the OhasabeiV

a ** Shareman" of ndHway (whaeh he was in a very extended eenae), and
many ether mtplmi he hekl, of whieh Moaaieaur Lepi^ had no itmem

If Herbert had net been dnnbiag more of Lfanie than ef 1
thas^ iailwiadiiiia might have enlightased hmi at mi

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t wliMi MoMMP h&jpagt fek ww so •videai ia hit nmwteamce
tkst ke anwreted Aki# niber thmi lin wovcl% and agMi dwkfd kcnr

happj he was to know the inyentor's labours were in tohitttk way al baing
BA^qmdbfiLy wmmeA^ He trartad he skoatd bear tliat tha aflbir made

E.^

ograM, and gtiiag hia card to MoMtatar Lepage, hoped he wauld do

■ the fimwr to o^ upon hia^ before be left towa, wbneh the Hittle aiaa
jeyfutty agaead to do. Tbej thaa •epazatad, and it waald haiw been
daffionk to saj whose sfintSy of the two, were the l^;bt68ir

Within fira miantea of ^ last mtarnaw, Meaateur Leai^ waaittatilj
vdfeiBg ap and down in iim lodging m Soho^ navra^g no avanti of Htb
BMnBdng ; Aaor was barhiog ten times mora than was his ooslom (ha
knew ^kare was aooMthing axtiaofdnuBy going os); Jfadama Broebart
vas saoldiag the IMe dog in her loodest Yoiea, and aandst all the din,
Ukmimf looking up from her work, was trying to hear her fiitlisf^ storj.
So ta&ed ra^^j and ioeoherentl^ for a »w laimrtai^ then stof^ed
anddaidy, looked his daagfater fall m ^e £sce^ pa* the fiftj-pooad note
aad Herbert's card into L^onie's lap, triad to speidt agam, ftilad, and
throwing bmself into her arms bant into a passion of tears I

The taasolt of feeling ar«r, die inysnior kissed bis daogktar, aad
Madame Brochart stndcad the head of Aior, who had Isfk off barking and
S]ffnpathetieally begim to wfasa^er; and wiping his own ejes prepared to
give a more lucid aeeoaa* of hss meninges empkijmeBi dum he bad jot
bean able to impart*

StiU his emtemeai was too great to admit of his msloBg etety^iiDg
dear at once, and Madame Bn^har^ whohad tnkien tempocai^passession
of the moaiej and the eard, ooidd nmke nodung at aM of the lalter, bat
daanfindad repaatedlj, to tha gtaat intarraptBon and eaafcsioa of her
hfothn^s nairatife, who was Moasienr Herbert Yo<gaa? L^onie coidd
hafie gifOtt one snswar to the faestion, bat Ibr soma espaoal leassn sha
remained parfcetlT silent, aad left her iidier to esfdain as best he might.
He snceaeM at last in maldag his sister semprehead that ha had fmtj
dispoaed of hia invention, that the fifty^ponnd note was an earnest of th!e
fitft ; dmt unbounded riches were (withoat donbt) in prospective^ and that
he faftd renewed his aoqnaintanoe with the gentleman iHm> had giran them
so agreeable a dbner at RidaMnd.

L6onie had no small reason for rejoicing at the impro^eaMai in her
fiubhcf^s affiars; bat if her hswrt had been miestioned altlMii moment, per-
hapa it might have cmiiesBed for her duit die last words wbssh Monaenr
L^pi^ nttined were the asest weleome te her ears.

AvTXS all the phases ndneh "^ die handsome Morgans" had gone
through, it would have been a great discredit to them had Gfa&teaa Bel-
mont not proved a suecesa

If " LaiamsalW* were not actnaUy wnttsn over the pcatak of the
dU^tean, die meaning of that compound word was per&edj andssaload
within.

''Soaet}'" was ^ h«e held oat to theaei^ caaU aflEord to pqrforiW
and vary firatrrate aocis^ disBS was afitakind.

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062 THB JOINT-STOCK BANKER.

It coQSftod of a << adeot aide," wfaoae namber ▼tried aeoordiDg td
ciroimiitaiieet, and at the time I speak of the eetaUUiiiient oompriaed the

The widowed^t etiU briUiant Cottnteif of Carmine, who, nnoe the
death of "her lord"— «iid preyioiisly— had neter eooe to court; her
nieoe, Miss FUrtwell, equally brilliant, and who^ in all probability , would
obsenre the tame — ^if no other ooeliifton ; the Hon. Mn. Spenoer
Hamilton, a lady who lived ^* apart" from her husband, ^' Us furious un-
gOTerftaUe ten^»er^' bong*, she said, the only cause ; Lend Fastand-
looie, a nobleman of the first water — o?er the water ; Sir Chaties and
Lady Ea^, who had seen a great deal of continental life — profiting' by
it, as they thoa|^ht; Colonel Walker, a decorated offieer, once employed
oa^tL seeret mission" in South America, whidi he kept so secret that he
never was heard to n^ntion the state to whidi he had been accre£tod ;
Captain Shuffle and Major Punter, gentlemen frequently seen at Homboi^
ana Baden-Baden ; Baron von Livonwiti, of rdand, or Hni^[ary, or
Bohemia — none could say exactly whidi country had the honour; and
the Reverend Albert Snowdrop, who^ purity itself, ''diriiked people
that were strait-laced," and set the worid an example of what a libml
Churchman, ^one who ^^ detested humbug"— ought to be.

It was said of old, at a glorious period of Irdand's history, that "all
her daughters were virtuous, and all her sons were brave." If the same
collective remark could not be applied to the inmates of ChlU»au Bel-
mont, it might yet, with equal truth, be observed, that all the ladies there
were ^ accomplished," and all the gentlemen " distinguished." To live
an the world as well as in it was the creed of the neater part, and to
keep their hands in they practised occasionally on each other. Not that
any of them wwe witnout means; that would have been a certain dis-
qualification for admission to Ch&teau Belmont ; but such means as they
possessed were— for the greater partr-derived from oc^askmal sources.
It was not always that "rascid stewards" paid up their rents reg^ularly;
'< remittances from abroad" would now and then fiEdl ; '* trustees" some-
times oljected to the sale of certain property ; but, on the whole, the
Ch&teau-Belmontese were tolerably flush of cash when they came to
pass their annual two, three, or four months — as the case might be — at
Cotswoldham«

It was, indeed, a necesrity for them to have their purses well lined to
meet the terms of Madame Bedeck, who, by the way, had Gmmanised
her English name of " Ruddock," to produce a more imposing eSeet,
She kept a carriage, with liveried footmen, for the use of ^< die inmates ;"
her house was pmectly mounted, her dinners were excellent, her $oir6e9
— at which there was a litde play and a little flirtation— charming ; and
the whole affiiir was so remarkably well ^t up that the Baron von Uvon-
wits detfared he desired no greater enjoyment than to stay there the
whole year round.

There was a bare possibility of realiring this idea, and the baron had
only been at ChAteau Belmont a week bmre he made the attempt But
Mskdame Rodedc was not matrimonially inclined, and if Rosina Morgan
entertained any particular views with regard to wedlock — which she had
no .great care for in the abstract — it was not upon a Hungaro-Bohonian-
Poiuh baron that her choice was likely to ML These truths Von Livon*'

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THB JOINT-STOOK BAnmU S6S

wits was made verr deaily to nndentandi with the additioii that it was
expeeted ht thoola sptna mone^, not make it, at the expense of the
ladies of Ch4teau BeUnoDt» let him get it where he might The baron
made a grimace, snuled with an aigre^dotue expreesion, and took his
reyenge at icarti out of Sir Charies Easy, who, notwithstandinff his
continental experience, was no match for the " distidgoished " foreigner.
It is highly creditable to the sagacity of the noble baron to be am to
say that he neyer tried the experiment of relieving either Major Ponter
or Captain Shuffle of their superflooos cob. These gentlemen both said
they aid not understand iearii^ and the baron perfectly understood what
they meant There is a proverb which says, '^ Dog don't eat dog:" it is
current all the worid oyer.

It must not be supposed that Ch&teau Belmont was a mere tripat
without the fjffiehe: gaming there was only an incidental feature ; the
main purpose of its conductors was to offer pleasure to those who were
not too scrupulous as to the way in which it was attained* If you chose^
in addition, to lose your money at (day, that was your look-out Madame
Rodeck herself never touched a caiti, and rather discouraged the practice
— ''only gentlemen wooMf** and, of course, if thcU was the case, there
was no preventing them«

'* After all,** she used to say, with her lood-vcnced bonhomie^ or what
seemed like it — '' afW all, nothmg signifies, so long as you can make
people happy ; don't you think so^ Lady Carmine ?"

And Lady Carmine, who liked nothing better than the quiet Uu^
iete with the Reverend Albert Snowdrop, which Madame Rodeck in-
variably contrived to secure for her, was quite of her opinion*

The severe morality of Lord Fastandloose found nothing either to
condemn in arrangements which gave him the opportunity of taking
Lady Easy a daily drive in his phaeton ; nor could Miss Flirtwell, though
she called herself '' a poaitive nrode," find fault with a system whidi
allowed her to change the object of her meditations as often as she
thought fit And we Honourable Mrs. Spencer Hamilton, who only
liked dancing for the sake of the exercise, could ofier no objection to the
nightly waits with Colonel Walker, if Madame Rodeck saw no harm in
it Poor thing 1 her life. Heaven knew, had been wretched enough —
little happiness had she seen ; yet she could forgive the past if — - But
that was impossible— what was gone was irrevocable— imd so forth ; and
irith these sentiments on her lips, from which they fell like snow-flakes
on the stream, she glided gently, gently, to the softest music, encircled
by the arm of the gallant diplomatist

It needs little more than this outline to convey to those who know
the class of people, what kind of life it was they led at Ch&teau Bel-
mont Madame Rodeck was at last in her real element ; nor was Rosma
Morgan out of hers. Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones's advice and assist-'
ance — afier that first untoward event — had been the making of them,
and nothing of course could exceed their gratitude to him. They were
the more gratefnli perhaps, because he had not yet been repaid the sum
he advanced to set them up, for though Chllteau Belmont brought in a
large income, a great deal of it had found itself wings by the time the
yearly balance was struck. This mattered nothing, however : they had
found ^* the golden secret }" to them the apostrophe of John Knox^ ** Ah,

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M4 tbb;

Miei^ iUs MM a pUwant wmU» if k ewM kifc far«Mrr«MM
amiAoe ; M loBfi^ «• otrUin pMpl« kad cttteim with pa tofialiij^ 4k«»
iMft BO £nr of ihcur apaculatinn profiiiff a fiHlcmk.

N# ODe was nore pleaM^ whk ^ letnlt Hmm ]>Uwdyib PomA
Jonei^ ka aU th« adrai^age U imiglil dedve from Ghlit««Belao^
8lnidc him, till he poadered over Ait wcmiamk way of gtirin^
Lepage iato his power.

Ai aU tiaMs a daagecoM peraoa to be aaer a yfna^ and
^Mature, the Uai few jean of MadaMe Redeek'e ife had qnaliiad ha m
a tenfold degree for the nMir wlMch he wwhed her mow to aaaraM.
If fhe oould wio the ooafidenee af Lieme^ eaerovid hmt by her eei^ aad
shake her principles by their example, the girl SMghi thea he wob. A
iMHie of diead would nneaetinw^ fill hie mind^ wkM he thuugk of her
ikther's possible veageanei^ for under Ae siaipla araee* ef the rhiMlilra
iaveDtor, he read a stroag purpeee of lectitode and eievatioa of •harartar^
whioh L^nie's assoTetatioQ had eoafinned; but ha disaiiMtiJ thie idea
with the refleotioQ that he ceold at any tiMe theew Moasieur Lspage
into gaol and keep bin thefe, siaee he had heeoaie hit ilahtor li wae a
worthy coosommatkm of the eiiaM over which he bioeded.

Having formed his resolution, Meredyth Pow^ Jooee did net ^

tiaae ia seeking to aofloaylish k. TiMe, indeed, he made it his haaet, he
""^ith a hunr

wasted. With a hundred speoaktiosM, &aii|;hl with naa to the
public, on his hands, hew he ooald relax far the ladalgcnea of pri^ato
vice seemed the only wondee. Bat he had seaicely bowed oai the City
dsfntotwMi with which we left hiia laei engaged, Ina ha set dowa to fan
desk, and wroto the fioUowiag letlet :

^'DsABBBT Martha, — ^Nothi^ gralifins »a aa maeh as to
VQur eentinaed wd£ue« Setlaag aeida these eeneoe pataaitB wl
iaipsmti?e to a man of my position aad hahifes, I hava had aa
narpoee all my life throagh thaa that of advaaeiag your iatoreefes.
have toiled rnuoh ita othwa, somewhat iat mymM; hut ia aeither ~ "~
hea the reward to my feelinirs beea aaythiBfr lika what I

i my feelings beea aaythiag J
a4ea some little good has aeeraed to you freaa eflbrta ef aiae. Tea
^eak in your letters of ^ giatituda.* Forget the weed aa i4 applies, ia
oar mutual rektieas, to mther yea ovme^ To serve eaeh ethsr wken we
oaa, and how we can, wiiktmi wf^rmce la aay eiAsr oeaatderaiiefv is
all we need think o£ Now it sa happens that I am geiag to eaaet — ao^
Aaiis not the ^irase — to daim, — aa yoa mi^it^ wsia oar situations

reversed, — something from you. I already hear year qaiok asssat to my
proposition. It is this: there is a yonag French lady, whose faher is.

in seme degree, a dient of mine that is to say, I am assisting hie views
ia aa object which he has madi at heart, — and I am dswoas that she
oheald niake year acquaiatanee, and aventaally join voar ciroleat ChAteaa
Befaaent. For diis purpose I wish yoa to ceaae to Lo8ide% ae aeaa aftir
the reoeipt of this letter as yoa ooaveaieatly eaa* Toa wSU fiad a van

comfortable saito of iqaartments in this heaee, vriueh, of eoarse, yoa
at all times coasidor yoar own whea ia town. The leagth of your stai

at all times consular yoar own waea m town, iae leagth af your stay
here iMist depend o» OMWMms<eisfas> I haofw you will be vanr aiueli
pleased with taia young hdy, aad / Acjse the mik h%, syaa% iimwmi

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TBS JOINT-STOCK BANKER. 865

wM^ou. She knows noihin^ of English habits or manners, lUid, I dare
say, will require a little tutoring before she perfectly understands them,
but you, I am conyinced, will do your best to instruct her. I enter into
no. further Mrticulars at present, as I expect so soon to see you. Give
my lore to Kosina, and don't put the enclosed in the fire without first
looking at it.

'' Yours erer affectionately,

« M. P. J."

The '' enclosed,'' a bank-note for a hundred pounds, was quite as sig-
nificant as a postscript. Madame Rodeck was not the person to bum it,
either before or after examination. She kissed the bribe, locked it up
earefully, and immediately wrote an answer. It ran thus :

" Oehsrous Fbiekd, — You have rightly judged my heart. There is,
indeed, nothing %n the world theU you could ask which I would not gladly
pefform. Command my services, therefore, in every respect I cannot
arrive in town so soon as this letter, because there are some arrangements
which must be made before my departure, but you may fully rdy upon
my being with you by dinner-time, unless the train breaiks down. I lone
to make acquaintance with your sweet young friend, and, believe me^ I
will do all that lies in my power to give her a knowledge of the world
and its usages. It is the poet Thomson, I think, — ^in his ^ Seasons,'—
who says something delightful on that very subject. The attractions of
€9i&teau Belmont — that home which I owe to your kind and prorident
foreright, and where, nightly, Rosina and myself offer up prayers for your
wdfiure— continue to increase. Our sodety is the envy of Cotswold-
bam, as we hear firom many^ many quarters — ^but such, %n this worlds is
always the attendant on the jpurest endeavours. I have long had a secret
wish, and something tells me it will one day, ere long, be gratified. Do
I misinteipret my own eager hopes in imagining that if the young lady
oomes to Ch&teau Bdmont you will pay your lone-promised visit ? But
this, and a thousand other questions wmch I am ^^ring to ask you, I shall
hear firom your own lips. I will not say adieu^ but au revoir.

<< Your own attached,

"M.R.

^ Ronna can and will be extremely useful. She sends her best love to
her dear protector.

" Why, why, did yon send me thcit f It was wholly unnecessary. But
you are so good, so thoughtful. Again and again I thank you. I shall
certainly be with you btfore six.^

** I thought," said Meredyth Powell Jones, when he had read this de-
voted stram, — ^* I thought I could not be wrong in calculating on Martha's
assistance. Th^ " pray for me," do they ? Well, if the prayers of the
righteous avail, I am in a fair way of salvation. But I must not quarrel
with mere figiues of speech. I nave secured the main point. So that
she moulds L6onie to my will, I care nothing about the process. The
more hypocrite she, the surer my success.

VOL. XXXIX. 2 F

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Ko MUflBft hM A* tnm-
w^M Ml OM tnmHiiig^ b^i
jMob^hf^ove Vfita iiKiu ikim «h» Iwd mlkipnliA

The MtiiblifliuBent bmg a ^Mbekir^B, flb» Ind m 8ye iv «fe
** ihe mM^ — ^o neMber kmmr nor cani iijtiiiM ah— ^<fc#
and took her maid — ** my lady's maid," as she called her — ^fbr i
and the appearaooe^ ol iin&m kdns cieatod quite a sensation in We
Home amongst the clerks, who peeped over die blinds from the buineis-
department, and the regular domestics on the private side : even the lasy
porter was roosed i» vnosval ilfo«stiatM».

l^at the ordus given bf Mr. MsuJiih Pbwell Joaw bad f

lieular, lor he was bent ob making dmiga plsawiiii ta bir aHb, aavlw

welcomed her famself with so nraeh
the lady's maid aforesaid, who witnessed the interview, was quite of
opinion, in ber own piiials naod; daifr '^ MbdaMV boor w«b €MM at
b^ and that '^Mr. J.** ms die happy nnB^-a seent bdnf wbiab dm
nmtsd that eveuiiig to Bfa*. J. s niuoeansMi, ana ■naa isbm hsrtw to
ber boeom friend, Mss Bawiiags^ tbe pnonpal yiHMae de dkwAm aft
CbAteaa Befanont, to whoai she wiafta nesift da^

There had, indeed, baen a tiaM wbea 1
the sane angury from her lauaptioa, but
bad tancbt hernet to baiM ber bowa on aavL What MsawTyUi w— to
Martha had loag been a settled uuistion with bias, and had hm me
their relMiva positions in die i^ht peinft of view bsfoasy A» au
whieb she was new eacaffed was not of a natose toadnift of aaffn
▲sher^'deanat fineaS,'^ ibetefote, she wauseJ him isf her awas» mA d»

first worn she uttQied, when uiey wen left awae togt Ibai >• qaato i

bint that be baJ notUng to h&t
jeakmsy.

Had saoh a freling-been: igoiislsacie it woaU aat, it i
sigaifiad to Meredy& PbweU Jones, batit was as wM, paibaaa bahad
so many iroaa m the Km daii be sboald aotbaar Ae traaiU af aaaBP*
ooanag aoropies oar remewriug iaapediBasato; aa ke^ toa^ aatatad^ '^aa
mati^re/' wbavdmr I^A^Mtewas fiMy eaCablisbai^ and a aanipktoalaa
of operatioRa wtm «bmwn op before the confederates parted for the ni^t

JUV via pauvre Lfonie ! That plan was fraught with much of dagger
to thee ! Thou needest aid more powerful to extricate thee from the
snare* that iff being-spread, than thy poor hAn, wUk aft bia iiaaa^ ean
offer.

And to wban elsa— aa?« to Heaaaa^— ianat than affa^^^

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GiUIZQTS BICHABB CBOMWECL.^

M. CrUizoT continaeB witnr unabatoa cmigfuce snd 8060689 his liiiiluii
cal stacRcB of English pofiticB, midway m the sovuiitoendi oentiinr* Ks
present contribution to iim wm& hmaaB ndtk the Pftotsetorate of Richard
Cromwell, and condwlar witli ti» ReatonUioa of GhMles the Second — a
portion of our lustoiy hritfnr tuna, aad sio^nlariy barren of great actors,
but worthy of deep attentfon, and, in spite of its want of dramatic nnity,
or of one central interest, a pecuGariy appiGpriate theme to * writer <^
M. Guisot's turn of mind and stand-point of obsenration. For, as he

mtya afc the rnj imtsii ef his mmnAfe, it i» * mehMiMiy b«4 vest in<

slafy,. whes aefolntion» am ^trgini^ toward* their deeKno^ to
the disapiKMBtHMst and angaish of thoiiift mea wh» lunm lomg^ bees
povpeiftil and triomphaot, but h«re at length reached the paned wheiiy
in just retribution <^ their faults, dominion escapes bom Aeir ffmjf^
leaving them still subject to the sway of their unenlightened and myin-
cible obstinacy. Not only, he remarks^ are they diyided among them-
selves, like all rivals who have once been accomplices, but tney are
detested as oppiessofs and decried aff visioniffiefr by the natioB ; and,
stnckm at onee wini powerlessnese and bitter surprise^ Biey bttmr with
mmgnation against iJieir eoimtry, which they aeouse' of cuwssdiee aod
ingrB^tiid^ sod striiggle vainly beneadi the mad of Grod, whose ohMtiee
mcnts* tney aase mdoneto understand*

'^Such, after the death of Cromwell, was the eondition of all Aose
par&r which, since the execution of Cbories I^ had been ooBtendbf for
the government of Eneland as estaUished by the RlBrvolainm : Bii«h>
ficsns and partbmns of the Protector, Parliamentarians' and sokhefs, fiuMi*
tics and political iutriguers,— all, whether sincere or cetnipt, werv in**
vdved in the same hAe"

Blchard Cromwell gives the name to this^histoij, but nounaal on^ b
the prominence his Highness can claim : he is no mere '* die hero of
the action, than is Henry the Sixth in ihe Shafespesanan trilogy to wfaidt
that pious imbecile len^ kis name. Oliver's son and heir might have
found many and many a f<^w*eountryman with less kindness to hi» pos*
sible virtires, and less biimhiesa to his evidtat foilings^ than this eonrteous
stiauger and foreigner* by whom his brief PiofeeetorsAe is now rsviewM.
What a dnng* it had been for Richard, par eannqfie, if Mr. Cariyle bad
undertaken to deal with him — dmt stem ScottiiBh iIm^vmpuw of the one
doctrine Kght makes Right whose principle and practioe it is, given a
man of might, say O^ver Cromwell, to magnify his diineiisiens by a
multiple' of the highest power ; but, given a **^ poer ereatvre, unohlrasifve
and moderate, meek and mild, none too strong in the upper story, aad
decidedly shaky in the lower extremities — given a speomen of the Didc
Cromwell genus, to reduce him to his lowest terms, or, indeed, not to
allow of terms at all witii such a vulgar fioaction, or a paltry decimal of
manhood, such a sorry cypher in the sixa total of humanity. Mr. Carlyle

* mstcffy oi BiohaEd Gromwell and the Restoration of Charles IL By M
Chnxot rnansUted l^ Andrew R Scoble. Tips¥gla Ryniy: IWk.

2p2

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568 GUIZOT^S RICHABD CROICWELL.

would treat old NolFs *^ heir apparent*** mpre cavalierly dum the CaTafien
themselves indmed to do, and with a more unparliamentary unpolitenesi
than the Parliamentarians themselves did. Oliver is the man after Car-
lyle's own heart, hecause Oliver had the will, and therewith the power, to
keep Cavaliers and Roundheads under his thumb, and, if need wex% of
turning the best part of them round it But Oliver off the stagey

Next him his son, and heir apparent
Succeeded, through a bune vioefferent.
Who first laid by the pjarliamen^
The only crutch on which he leant,
And then sunk underneath the state,
That rode him above horseman's weight.f

M« Guiaot describes Richard, in the crisb which led to his accession, as
having been neither a source of strength, nor a cause of embarrassment,
to his finends — ^without much desire to hold the supreme rank, but also
without aversion from it when £urly offered for his acceptance. So long
as Oliver had been sole

• monarch of all he surveyed,

Whose right there was none to dispute,

(or dispute only sotto iroce, and iub ros&y) — so long as the Head of the
FamUy continued in his pride of place, and could manage the aflbirs of
these nations better without Master Richard than with hun, — ^the latter,
young Hopeful, had taken his ease, eating, drinking, and making merry,
on his estate at Hursley, " very fond of horses and hunting, on intimate
terms with the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, nearly all of whom were
Cavaliers, disp^ed to adopt their opinions as freely as he shared in thdr
pleasures, and sometimes drinking with them to the health of ' their
landlord,* as they termed the King, whom they did not venture to name
openly.** Hence it came about that this Richard bonhomme^ this " idle,
jovial, and somewhat licentious country squire,*' was regarded by the
Royalist party as almost one of themselves ; so that they were not with-
out hope that, if he at any time attained the chief power in the States he
would use it to restore tiie Crown to its legitimate owner. Th^ looked
to see this Good-natured Man some fine day put the ** landlord' in pos-
sessbn. There was a story current, that, at the moment of the execution
of Charles L, Richard Cromwell, then a youth, filled with horror, had
thrown himself at his father's feet, imploring him to prevent the conunis-
sion of so heinous a crime. If the story was not vero, it was too 6en
travaio to be slighted at this juncture, and much was made of it accord-
ingly, and large conclusions were drawn from so pregnant a premiss.
Moreover, when OUver had summoned Squire Richard to Whitehall, the
transplanted provincial seems to have continued much in the same track,
disregardful of politics, following his own fancies, and doing all in his
power to serve his friends the Cavaliers, for whom indeed he strove to

* What* 8 worse. Old Noll is marching o^

And Dick, his heir apparent.
Succeeds him in the govemment,
A very lame vicegerent.

BuTLsa's RmuttHs,
t *<Hndibras,''partiU. canto ii

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OfJWCnfa filGHABD QBOKWELL* 590

seoure fttvoon faercmd hia power; it was not Us &iilt if Some of them
bad oause to quake at tlie name of Cromwell.

But these good offices were rather the result of personal kindliness, and
the expression of boon fellowship, than any tdcen of political prepossession.
Bichard was, in hct^ as M. Gi^t depicts him, a man of ttmidy yacil-
latin^y and undecided character, destitute of religious or political conyic-
tions or passions ; and though he had neyer reckoned upon inheriting his
&ther'8 good fortune, he complacently accepted it when the deed cl in-
heritance was made out, and was as little disposed to part with, as he was
individually capable of achieving it ^* It would even appear that, during
hia father's lifetime, and in the chambers of Whitdiall, he had stated what
the character of his Grovemment should be, after the storms of the pre-
ceding Administration — ' a golden mediocrity between a topping head and
a filthy tail' When he was left alone, and required to become the
arbiter of his own destiny, his conduct was the same as on all pre?ioas
oocamons ; he took things as they came, without mther offering resist-
ance or feeling confidence, and his father^s advisers made Richard the
Protector, just as Cromwell had made him a Privy CoundUor."

When Parliament assembled, dfU things were said of Cromwdl
Seoundus, or k Petit^ by divers kinds of men. Thurioe, that good ser-
viceable Cromwellian, began a speech by saying, ^' It pleased God to put
an end to his Highness's days : sad things were expected by that stKwek
Grod has g^ven that blessing of a son in hb stead, who has the hearts of
his peopLe, testifymg his undoubted riffht of succession*" Haslerig, on
the part of the Opposition — a man hot-headed, and (like Sir Toby's
g^er) hot i' the mouth too— owned the merit of Olirer^s son and heir:
" We have one that is our prince, PrincepSy our chief. I never knew any
gnile or gall in him. I honour the person ; I will say no more." The
Republicans held out, indeed, for a republic, but offer^ no opposition to
Bichard personally. *^ 1 hear not one man against a smgle person," said
Mr. Reynolds; << against the single person there is not one exception*
Not any other man in this nation would pass so dearly." ^* I confess,"
said Haslerig again, *< I do love the person of the Lord Irotector ; I ne?er
saw nor heard dther fraud or guile in him. I wish only continuance of
wealth, health, and safety to his family. I wish the greatest of honour
and wecdUi of any man in this nation to him and ma posterity." *^ I
would not hasard a hair of his present Highness's head," exclaimed Scott
— <<if you think of a single person, f would have him sooner than any
man aHve." ^* I never saw the Lord Protector but twice," said Mr.
Edgar ; *' I never had the least favour from him, and hope I shall never
deserve his frown ; but the sweetness of his voice and language has woo
my heart, and I find the people wdl satisfied with his government." If
a Lord Protector, or Princeps of some sort or otiier, must be put up
with, naturally the Republican party would be glad to keep one so
different from the last pattern. Richard might be a Rehoboun, in one
sense, coming after so wise a prince as Oliver ; but at any rate he was
no Rehoboam in having, or boasting^ of, a littie finger thicker than his
father's loins. Better a very disparate Richard, than some equtvaient
Roland for an Oliver.

lliere was no dispodtion on the part of the new government to carry
tiimgs vrith a high hand. Ridiard, says M. (hsaot, was ^^naturaliy

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by no othor unbitioii than to gvwni In

MdlbolMini

hmikmpt'Aamm mw, ^pMmg a preify

ia<i|^ad»m pait ^towt, '♦he Hmm <9Me'; ^ilvnOlmr wastekoi*!
iiiy,Mi aMirmAQr4Maattk«tiaw«rnotKMiM^
tiwrnliw weeof yarty^raa heaid «noa tnan> '
acHMMMii '4PoapB aKd *wan6 ^cobmihmiml

Witfttpdhlican -party iaiirted«ibeag¥atoiyity offe^
wig^atj |Miii«<«f «ifiqMfe, otaoatial and cachMiive, MMoaapfoauaag aad^oA-
oonditionaL Ma^mrerwaf iagituaato anlasa Aefaopk had cnated^
andalittiieUitmchaak. ^Jimdii»>Bmm'i^4C^mxmm,skatteihji^
BMple, irai ibeir <aaljr repaaaaatatiit, •ead -ma eutitlud ^ frBMiaa(i,aa

ayqr <fcc depowtariiei! of timo poawaii Tibkh it ^m oyjgind ta dakgala.
PiirliaoMnt^Rras ta^ftfataa, w^iohljif Bet«K{rfHntljCy wmfoptdit wmtlkL
9ha OraninpaUiaB party, haipwg, aaoonded ao aach |*"1iyy wpiaaikBi
tat^lie'Mae'aftheipeople. f^miaxpeneaeeaDdpottteaJinBiBeliiMlI.
Ckaaat^aagMli, ralhar liMn ^firaai any 'tslaariy iuid«afcoad maA dafiaite
pMciple, Ilia OroBMraUiang daataiaod to ^Im dactrioe that dw paapla
B'aapidile of ooadaeting tlw antira farvMnmeat a£ tke aaaaiiji^ mA
iiightMy aaHilAed .to deitaoy4aMl aaoaoatiliite it Jit AwrriliMBiH.
' to <their ww of the eaie, vliat govesaaaifrt nadU^ ^ ^he
I ofgood-ai^er in aoeiaty, i»aa ''aaniei
^idh<hoald hemaogiiiaad hy the paepla, hat afaouULiha i
IB aoaae mtaeofe, fitparior to Aeir aiataMe inM." Their
Ciaaawell, mkumtjuM dMmum they dueoitared in bit dtfm^i
had treated ^ntfamlWliafnent elected byiiie peojile, tbeyaaid/
eelidNiMMdy ■no leai for hie ^toooeffMr vam for hanael^ ve !Pb
gatiefnaMiit'and iti aonetituteen. Heiaai they leoogniaed tiuit^
and iadependeot poorer, epraBr *froai the eoaan «f 0veat8 and<aa* i
tfw ^^1 -of' the people whidi m people aaaldiu>t4b6tB(»y at r
iofe, any^MiediaB they kad«reated it it was the daty of the pa'np li,
Ihey laamtabed, tto admeidedgc thif great ifiKt, eitaUiahedaaikainni

iXkYy in tlM aaofte ot «n mviacible weeowHj, hf fta
ganiw of a great and Gad-aappartediBiaB; it «ae beyand-tfaeirpaiMnle
ealt it'itt'tpMetMn*

fieekbe'lheae #iro pattiee, BepablMan^nd Cmnnrettiaa, Aaaexae the
Royediels tte km tahan oHe apc<wnfr-Ht pawaeful WBte, and aiiihhaantfci

Whetiier it win or lose the game,

wfciahihad-phyadaiawagj^aaa» biifeM0«oonio4htiiBa«tl»

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% adniiv JMiiMr «Ui Ik SM^'iaaih»«Mi^mdi

Jl«ik. X#«MPre^ OMM wiikhit JUL ai jMMd^ the Itoy^

; JMiiAtfliMdArni'to its |KJitifld finth, and iifMtiof aUfae iitt
mmtti fcy ■ih»CoBMDOiifl»ihe«aMe-rftheiBfiiinMyty#fihi
fMfle, «ni tk aoMffd^MlaUishQd W dia MgicUiM in ^ amw tf
iiMrwi>i, at.nnngiwml aokgiliwiitn mtiMaifhatA^^Chuimfi^nmt,
iiie.liifnl Wirta A^.tkaanc^ jprraminff hi nrnMri" "giA itf tm Tfifwmm
ofAtlimwy ■mbicIm^^ lio Ae teidiiioiMd iavs «f Abe ^samitnr. BToir
ilMt tk Gromiiell ms ^aM, k nm ime iar JUjiaUafta to hoLmj^md
Maiaid thMft ; Adr fwiaa nnlKt be raiaad JiMr, aioiti jPMiJinting ^naiaaB
a»iiaaaidaniapdmoiiy,jM>dW*yawiiyclMM^

Aiolnd wai laoi the sHm io dftet » Aniyawtiiia between tbaee fian-
BkAigtmom. ^ IWwpm tbe aBtagoMstio AniMatatian of tl» Bapnhy
aa» |»%^apd lbecya%,bBataetiwnyiil]iiryaf tbaJaayai^
mawY aatraafgai man ^watl might be, fagplaBailiii thaiairtwimB. Beae««a
aiytbii^gbMttbeiighi3ManiDAei]igbt,pktB> XbaaqnacB JiwiJMig^
iatelbexMMdbi^ aad dMre tiat na a^jnstiiig tk» i^ anglea of dw
ane to Ae -euDrea ef tba ^atber^ Am% was no SGuaaiiar tbe cieoia.
^liianiahb aodaay in iBspn«rin«,«iAJa(tostiiy attafertaadaonfliBt, ha
imiiimiH ia liae«i waaaHty teaaas, mctA least at paana, witb all wttbuiiaai
bawbmqgbAiniaankaol^Midbe jmaAt it bis wwfaawflnT to laltoiet <r
Mlain tbaaa aaar bis Banoa» bjr ympaAisinywMi thsir vieiis erliaienii^
to IbairMUMris.'' Jfaayaf b»iylier'is^daii£riaMda(bi paiAiealar S^
' fifHiwfaiaif) bia baem vnan b^r bis modeaato man and baniM
; wbila bia asMtoaMtic tastos, Jiis ^aacly nMnnialiaaSj And ow
to do Aaaa ^mm^ haA i»«atved bim in intMWinjr anib net ft
fanr fiaiadifit whssa HMmmam an tbe^alfMct <^ Us istentiMMi ttirarda
CbMdsafilo«iketeland» » the bope, ya^i^a, ^ wsBomgUmiMi

tbe^iiaiing' atsn^gle <>f awties, .and, stall mm% after Ae atrajgie ■ban,
» to jariaas the Msal pfdBAbli

ie aanlt, the oU aoonaaaby ahanld

The Xing sbaaid enjoy his own Bgun.

lUchard's policy with the Cavaliers, then, was of the halt and loose
kind ; be wauUvse tfaemM well as he could, with a deuUe view; suid in
ftJouble asoseu Nor was be more Jincere or stc^btforward in bis de«
■fiSBWiir temiads tbe Beyihliaaran, whom he xea% disliked, And .from
whnm be bad nothing to ei^^t but ccoss-gzaiaed words and works*
^Ratwean UaLcnd -them there was constantly oiging a aecnet rivahv, an
vwaan- struggle for tthe sovwreipito. fiiobam oeuld command An auaost
certain munority against them m tne House of Commons ; but even when
TflTrrr^H, Aeyooptinuad as btractable, -arrogant^ and cif>tioasas«iier ;
ftodJia-was foBosd to aabiait in dlenpe to their nretensions And attack^
aaionaffte their pxatensians xemained barren and their attacks were not
TTTtflTrtr ** Be JWiie4 meanwhik^ with some eonfidenee on the Attacbqieot
af tbeABmy tobisoaMse aadname, if joot to bis fieiion. He tookiudns
toatandwell with the joUieii^ And laid himself ont to ^leaae them by
attaatkmi^ At zeview and on jparad^, as are jngposed to win tba
Ifile.

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672 aUU0T*8 BICHAID OBOKWBLL.

Hitiuooeif m thbe&dMnMir wasbvtindtflbreitt ^ A ttnniger all hb
life to the army, he exercbed no inflnenoe oyer it, and powewed lor it
no attraction." The veterans could not hail in him a comrade. TIm
republican part of the army grumbled at my Lord Ptotector, and eon*
ndered hit Highness as too high by &r. The Puritan purists taxed lum
with looseness of life and conversation. All amed in denonndng die
favour he accorded to the Cavaliers. *' Richard himself more Uiaa once
furnished some ground for these accusations by the disdainful levi^ witk
which he defended himself against them : on one occasion he sommooed
to Whitehall a subaltern officer, who had murmured against some promo-
tions which he had made, and having ascertained the cause of his eom-
plaints, ' Would you have me^' said he, < prefer none but the eodly ? Here
IS Dick Ingoldtby, who can neither pray nor preach; yet wm I trust bin
before ye all.' " On the whole, things were tending, and rapidly, to a
catastrophe. While Cromwell had been able, though with great diffi-
culty, as Guiiot explains, to caress and maltreat by turns the revofailiofi
which he had effected, and the army which he had led to victory— both
republicaDS and soldiers, whatever ill-feeling they might entertain to*
wards him, relybg upon him in the hour of danger, — both aooeptii^ him
as their arbiter, to whom they had both been forced to submit as thsir
roaster, — his son, on the other hand, was destitute of claims either on the
par^ whidi had overthrown the monarchy, or on that whidi had supported
the rrotectoral tyranny. '^ Aman may attain to power under the snadow
of a great name, but that name will not enable nim to exercise it ; both
in the Parliament and in the army, Richard met with a strong and jealous
opposition, whose passionate attacks were directed hx less against the aots
of his government, than against the constitutional system of which he
was the hereditary chief ; and when, aided by the appehoisions of the
moment and the servants of his father, he triumphed over his enemies^ he
had gained only a fruitiess victory, for that army and that ParKamant,
among whose members he had obtained a majority, were engaged in
mortal warfare with each other : placed between the two^ in the position
of a powerless arbitrator, he saw tne day inevitably af^iroaohin^ when he
would £idl a victim to the blows which the two great antagomsti *~'^~
changed, for he could neither reconcile them, nor choose between i
without danger to himselE"

Nevertheless, Richard would not give up without an effiyrt He
saw himself, indeed, almost a prisoner in Whitehall, and quite a non-
entity. But nonentity as he was, and though ex mhUo nikiljii, stiH he
indulged the hope that something would turn up, to better his proepeets^
and at least leave him in humdrum possession of the Ph>tectorate— no
such great thing after all, as the world ai large might see, with him for
Protector.

When the Parliament commissioned Haslerir to dbect him to leave
Whitehall, Richard, we are told, received both the message and the iiies-
seneer with disdainful hauteur. At the same time he lent a willing ear
to uie overtures of the Cavaliers, to whose instigations towards adopting
the royal cause he promised to accede, on condition that an annual income
of twenty thousana pounds and a large estate were secured to him. The
terms were agreed to ; but when the time came to conclude the agree-
ment, Richard drew back. Yet no sooner had he retracted, tiianhe was

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QUiaOI^S BIGHABD 0BOMWKLIi» 573

' tafiiifilliUei^gfageiiient — faUtml^ leproftdimg^ UniMlf for his poiil-
lanimity, and Tolimteering to enter mto new stipulatioDS in behalf of
Charles Stoart Masmn, too^ made propositions towards coming to an
undentaiidifig widi Ridiard, for the same purpose ; and these, also,
civilly •nong^ entertained when first advanced, and duly 'Wentilatod"
by time and meditation, came to nodiing.

The order Richard received from PariSamentto vacate the palace bebg
neglected, he was served with a more peremptory and pressing notice to

goit. He was treated with some harshness, M. Guizot says ; but it must
e owned that he manifested a reluctance to leave Whitehall, which,
though perhaps necessuy to his safety, was certainly undignified as re-
garded himself, and o£rensive to his conquerors, ^ome correspondence
enaued between him and die House, involving pecuniary questions, which
resulted in the Houses (1) referring the schedule of his debts to be eza*>
mined by the Finance Committee; (2) appointing a special committee to
consider '^ what was fit to be done as to uie settlement of a comfortable
and honourable maintenance on Richard Cromwell, eldest son of the late
Liord (xeneral Cromwell ;** (3) advancing him a sum of two thousand
pouids ** for his present occasions f and (4) again requesting him to
teare Whitehall.

** But Richard still remained there, either firom a weak-minded un«
williogness to tear himself from the last relics of his former greatness, or
because his palace was his only asylum against the creditors, who were
iDoesaantly demanding of him, not only the payment of his own debts^
but the balance which still remained due of the expenses of his father's
fianeraL Six weeks elapsed before the House, on the report of Haslerig,
resumed the consideration of the question, referred it to a special com-
mittee to inquire how much still remained due for funeral expenses, and
to provide for the pa3rment of the same by the Commonwealth ; exempted
Bachard from all arrest for any debt whatsoever during six months ; and
peronptorily required him to remove from Whitehall within six days.
Thus need from apprehension as to his personal liberty, Richard obeyed.''
We are told that while his servants were packing up his goods, he gave
them strict orders to be very careful of two old trunks that stood in his
wardrobe ; and a friend asking him what they contained, that he was
solicitous about them, *' Why," replied Richard, *^ nothing less than the
Uvea and fortunes of all the good people of England;" — the chests being
filled with the addresses which, at his accession, had been sent to him
from all quarters, placing at lids disposal the lives and fortunes of the
whole nation, whose safety, they said, depended upon his government

From Whitdudl his sometime Highness proceeded to £Uunpton Courti
there to await the decree of the House as to his final destiny. In a few
days the decree was passed. The will of the House was, that the Lord
General's debts should be paid by the Commonwealth, and Richard be
freed from all liability ther^ ; and that the said Richard should ei^oy
for life a yearly revenue of ten thousand pounds, lands of 1^ amnial
value of five thousand pounds being also settled on him and his heirs for
ever. These votes being made known to him, he gave up his last ''ma-
terial guarantee," residence at Hampton Coivt, and as good as retired
into private life.

A little later, during the confusion arising firom Lambert's ezpoUon

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S74

J llmt mm iif^giihef io
dt iimm squadrons m£ cmnkj^ ^ui ike
Coming Man was speedily at lihacty to
Ini • Mr ^ MOnre*' «f iftki oU iftHT, Immt

A king of Franoe, with twenty thousand men.
Masched up a hQl, and then—marched down again.

M,Qdbot.Mfcra JtMaadto toy owfc of aigi^ m iiMiiiiiiiiilj as

'^ ^ nor OMB to ten WMafumd «4o r '
orifai wsBWiir irf -Aai life wksekwasi

dfhteanth MOtory, «»d«f viMK datKas^ daya*«iMoaa^
hMi ^wn by fir Walter fi^tt m UsteigK, juid l^f fir JiiiliaBr

in (Ms niiiinftiiiih oa OmtgeMm^ M. Habarhai T ilini.toa
Inifa eatoat, ths BMkter nsMtiriiiBd in ike latter. saoiisa «f tlie 'aaak bafaas
as,'asktiDgtoil»IhMaio£ilieifaBStonkkaL fiat Aejteryaf the aMas
by which wat great national act was accomplished, is nowtoU wnA aaai-

a£ aoboriag, little of yivid faterattan, oral daseaaliva wi^oaiev ia ikaa*
faaas; Ihtle or aoae af aiua we do not look for in JL flwiafit's lasteaaai
tnttiaas. What w io look far^ Aeie is, tea aMaafaathr to he aawlaalrad ;

Msa «ad Aaur mfanaaate ana iMr laotBvas, a gnava thaaditfiilnaaiv aa^

iiCateaasdsMyife iwHiaiatlky of iha water, lAa is smakitiMlljr <5a
«< latallifMit fosaigasr^ ihM^lhiait^ in indtk «^
anai, as wdtt as (aehai ife oeitoi&ly aaeaa naverto fiBi|{B^ ihe toir^^
I^BSBflli statesman, and aaHaiaister ^ Loais Philinni/a lofaiga aAn

So Us saaaatM of ifaa Ftoteatorate of B^£iid Cii ill «id As

ftaaaaf Ae Bashiaalaai, lL.Gaiaatapps«b taty oofkssiailBsrisasfca
ihaoairssBandsBttaflf 4ie£BBni9kainbassadaria Loadan, JA.de f"
tvith Cardiaal liaiaan asd JL da JkMine daring tke
«s«, te««lhar with aosae donaMsits -idaA ifiisfaate
fosltiOQ aad iatealsans of the Coart of Spua ia ite t
The wJMk JOB tnaidated W Mr. aoofaK
laaihe aaaaa ampacity with aevflsal4tf M.«te

^apdwhoaaaaadsiii^ofthepaiaaaHTisteryi

fc he en|oya as an ananaipiishf d, iaenti .aad aaaafid iwulasteaiv <

ae enyoyaas an ananaipiishfd, iaanti .aadaaaaadiwuiasteaivpi
wiiiaai M. Qaiaot nsi^ ihe mare congrteaiate hansstf^ v^Hi f^^
4he gtaat MaaJakanhMt eaaa, ^ m flaymrd Maas Csoimraad
a^ aiifissdinjL to avhioh. X m take ^ nUaAirs viaai m Jmh

toavhioh,

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msaaisTSD gossip ebom tb£ oxbsb sum o? xbe

MQ FOJiTS.

BT THS AT7THOB OF ^ CUB OOEOBIN WKStCmO^

Wm $n mot irritbg-tor > Yiiitw fMit. limmiAiluttu
fcgt tqiMtatwut tA» wm mil Aowt jmntel^ ^Ue « iBoudMriMr
ImtoioMlTMiidboiitaHnMtf. % the way, tfasM TiaBMidMttio
liDeneef, wlMi s^rthe yetd of dM «MWilkr«Bd nikevogtMit a^i
m aU bo«ka«f Westentvaittl, are the legitunate^^nyirtii af alhiatyeeltM
fml aadti navraeoety. Where armr man kaaws all tfaeafidrs -ef fab
hdT-laaia aeighbeaffg froai hk 'ehildhead, itis nataial he AouU laA
beA kaewMg^ wfcereyer a dow Mbar-creatare ^hiXh m hm wqr. A*
m aoF presoit faUie if iiot ¥aiikee, wa aae bpr no biimm aoiioitoas te
eaplam the-veaeoas wUdi led m 4n>m aa Si^liA hoaw, ^ make^aiietr
aetiieMcnt in Ufe ona yeeo fiHie kiead inAe Adanlie,<friiiokia'ia dan-
cer of heeeaiiag tfawagheat itB ktaglfa aad hieadA (fi^Wen nilei kmf
%y thiao ^Bttles bread) the too pefalar ^mtenag^plaee af Tfaimariiait'Hi
NewrpQgtanditsaeaeen ape the fiwrourite thtaioD af -the ephe-
of AoMnoan literatare ; 70a find an av4aole apea 4beai .aeery
in jBbfjMrV Hmgrnakn or iteaaaf^tf MwMkg, Oorlif, 'die
Metraiji,aedile^AnteiBg at its tetterfy bals, iaqwlet Ms ptetty peit-
aeia apon his pen, dipped in aadld soMieii ^ oaaetie of ^^adkeany.
ikerynewspaper in eoiBBwr teeawaith Hewpert coneqieadenee^ and
Aeaoandef hiifoMieehaB goneaotMto aU worlde jy-wieane af aeeriee
af|Mqpenfram#ie'avaF*peiBtedfddpenof mien'Of the hems of Aitar.
Bat ^edo not pfopoae to lead aw laadow oiwr Ae Mane grooad. Wa
aeugfat eat Newport at a xendeaae. itf^iuhioBable naathf wa
ili dvawbadc •than its altiaetiea ^ «ad we dnfe it aaay he fennd
■0 eoanpare'tae'eiwi^'aay einenflDeeBotia^aaica'aaMiHr Of aBaQeia

hniily'at beaie.

TBetwaderjoiBB-aB, dneelwe, an heaid the ateaai 'hoat^^aag ai|jhmj
hetaetm New Yericairi Fdfl BWai^ OMvyiag paMngars 'te Bo^ea, aM
landing paasengers at Newport about one o'clock in the ni<
wMitni,"Biy4aarai^ IbiDtqfh^diig rtenaww; seal jeniaelf 1
aeUet «d reeawosd ehssa^ Yaa'haaa *'«Doi«eetaMsrep

morning,
''oaaiwof these
ealalkai'''^

Oeacral RsreaJn'topestij at yoar baA, aad thaoarpetisof the btightset
aalecaad vehret. Bafaycnaesftlhcdainnsh iaAeiadsse'/eabhrf Baetr
baflh isdnaadivilh a^rariedahadeafiibe same patlsni. Vheboatai
aaw, «Bd aael 40(^0m dolam (rememher t» ask the asat m -"'ilMse
Paited i^tahes** of niiPythaift jwmase; itbapwpar*aampiaaMit'toAe
awaer); aad rthe atisck of ftns'fine pays thirty par asat.4t»«iraryar^iBid
shasriasUsr. fWiat^eatsaTagaaoti ! sayyiaa? I^, ttaadoswoa paia-
eipfe as ffood aeoDsmy. Tolaoeo^chawiag dbadbariasv fines the Wastata

sit, andaespeet the aaagiSasiioe sTthe afholste^. flwasai >eeiy IfiS
idaek,Jwr4heeehaalsarehdltaaly«wraight tfawiWiag. Thaaalaen
' <tib fi4MleisMA ef the beat, jaKl isteflnm'thesniddb by
^dow *

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576 DiBJonrrsD eoSBiP from thb

intestines of the ship, and watch the throbbmgs of the migfalj pdse
of her polished steel machinery.

We are rounding Point Jadith. There is nothing now between vs
and the Coto of Cork but 3000 miles of desolate salt water. Tk» broad
Atlantic is playing pitch-and-toss with ns. It has the best of it, and
claims our forfeit. We haye just oonsdonsness enough to wonder whether
any personal reminiscence of sea-sidcness was in the mind of the Psalmist
wheuy in the course of that Psalm which wonderfully describes men as
going down to the sea in ships, he adds, " Their soul abh<»Teth all manner
of meat : and they are eyen hard at death's door." It is soon oyer. The
coloured steward, with his sof^ sweet, lisping negro yoioe, caU% '^ Pas-
sengers for Newport !" as the boat is rounding Fort Adamis, one of the
larmst fortifications in the United States, built for the protection of this
litUe-used but yery magnificent harbour. The finest naTy of the woild
could ride in safety in its waters, and enter them with any wind or tide.
One wonder it has not, which has been attributed to it in a book of
Chinesa geography, publi^ed, shortly before the nnouldeiing fires of
Celestial anarchy burst forth, by a singularly enlightened Mandarin. %
had been at Canton for some time, and tliere made the acquaintance of
an American missionary. To his surprise, on looking oyer his friend's
maps, he discoyered the rdatiye position of China to the yast extent of
the two hemispheres. He entered with ardour into the study of geogra-
phy (a yery useless study in the present day, for eyeiything gets altefod
that one learns about, and in the ** march of eyents they cuways seem
to pitch th^ tents in spots that nobody has ever heard of). Be this as
it may, our Mandarin haying learnt idl that the missionary could teach
him c« this science, retired to his proyince, and composed a w(^ the oljeot
of which was to teach that Cluna is not the biggest half of the tetra-
queous globe, and to enable future Clunese junks to find their way to
Grayesend witiiout stumbling by acddetit on tiie port of New York.
The book is far from a bad book, and contains, among other things, a
very good biographical sketch of General Washbeton. But in some
places the compiler's knowledge has become oonfrise^ espedally when be
confounds Rhode Island widi the Isle of Rhodes, and gives an dabomte
account of the Colossus striding across the entrance into Newport
harbour.

We crowd down to the lower deck before die great and nlent boat
has g^ded to her whar^ and find oursdves surround^ by merchandise, in
aidless tiers of clean white boxes of fredi deal, and horses tied up with
iheir heels outermost, and the deck passengers — how Irish mothers and
babes have contrived to snuggle themselves into berths they have con-
trived amonnt the rows of bales and boxes! Mxed in with them axe
negroes and mulattoes — second-class accommodations being emaaDr
intended for tiieir benefit The hatred between them and the IMtk is
intense ; as well it may be, upon their part, for the Irish immigration
has entirely changed their position and prospects in the Free States.
Every sbip-load of these Celtic immigrants telps to elbow some persons
of this unhappy race out of the means of getting an honest living ; and
whenever the occasion offers, the Irish are too glad to nuse a row and
come to fisticuffi with the '* nagurs." The presoit Know-Nothing nM>ve-
ment| which is excluding the Irish of all ranks from any claim to any

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(XTOEB MDB OF TEX BIO POKD. 577

pablie office, even ol the loivost Jcindf, is io libe adfantacw of ike omo^
nents of the Fngitiye Shtve Law. A United Statee maraoal in the ifew
EDgland States would nm a better chanoe of bringing his Tictim down if he
hunted with a pack of Irish beagles. In the Slaye States, where the n^roea
haTO decidedly the advantage over the Irish in houses, habits, and general
consideration, the scorn with which they look on them as ^< white treish,''
is exceedingly amusing. Nor is the feeling less keen in the Free JStates,
where social advantages are all on the side of the Irish population. ,We
were walking up a hilly street in Newport some time after our arrival^
when a party of little mulatto boys coming out of school were engaged
in blackguaraing each other : one at length used an epithet to which,
for a moment, his adversary could find no bad word strong enough to
reply ; when, trembling with rage, he shook his fist in his opponent's
fiice, and stammered out, " You — ^you Irish niggar, you T

Our reflections on the hebtry of the United States are broken in upon
by the captain of the boat, who opens the doors which have kept us
closely penned like travellers waiting in a French railway station, and
the passengers for Newport pour forth by the light of a few lanterns.
A hand is laid upon our shoulder as we step from the gangway.

^' My name is Pennifeather-»what*s youm ?** says a rough voice, not
unkindly.

Just fresh from England^ and perfect strangers to Newport and its po-
pulation, we are a litSe startled oy this stana*and*deHver demand upoa
our personality.

'^ Really,** we say, with English hesitation, << we don't know why you
want our name.'*

** Wal now !" says Pennifeather, putting his arms a-kimbo. " It's
as ytnt please, you know. Only if you was Miss Archer's relative that
she's bin speerin' out for for these two weeks, and if these here is your
folks and luggage, she sfud you was to git into my coach and let me
drive you."

Inimitable doctor! Prince of all hack^drivers! — dressed in a fEmoy
waistcoat ; in warm weather seldom covered by a coat, but gay with
massy chain and turquoise studs ! If the doctor does not wear a coat he
always wears his hat: paying visits in it when he comes to be paid, and
sits on the best chair in your drawing-room. Honest and kindly! Good
to man and beast — with a vein of Yankee humour which Haliburton would
*^ find it pay" to spend a season here and study ; the doctor is one of the
originals of the littie town. His veterinary practice eives him lus handle
to his name^ but that he is modest about assuming it is proved by a series
of new cards that have been printed of late-—

W. C. Pbnnifeatheb
(Commonly called the Doctor).

As we ride up the hill on wluch the town (mostly of wood) is built,
passing through Washington-sqtiare^ and past the quaint respectable
old Court-house, where Washington gave audience, and where a por-
trait of him which claims to be authentic is now shown, let us fill up the
time by giving you a few anecdotes of our coachman, which will give
you a better idea than any formal description, of the state of manners in

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I imm'*em up as mmlm Ikej iteppcd ob «lion tUb BMraki .

^JfTL pBiMfturiiM^ year bill ift mtm^," we ahalL BHoaric, om lOMt
fate{6 di^rflCaittliDgioUl team.

** Wal w Jiifl k nght jfoiMrit thpn> Ymi&£alb thail«u& tnHfc»
i I Mi'l.fl»pHlieidflr aboaiMUn' Mft a liill i^n ]^wl I have ggi to

an* iaai l.fl»p«noaur aboafalmi a«l a.faiU agin ymu I aa
Inap • pnt^ibvp lodk^t otf aaiM q£ the hoi^ Mka Aooglii.'

ae«» Ai)r ibnag the haai e£ ^avinm« a. hoai aad a hat wiU he pokad .
Aweghthe ihrobfaHy aito the madow ef onr iiwingwieom, with,

<< Wal now rfiMB to toll jnoi^ that yiaii can't have that cmxy : att
jmeent lev tUa a&aauon— ^mI Laia't gDkahoftthat'sfitfisa gplto
iiHTe." Andi with a atBowaroiiaof cigar HMke left behiad to tertify
tif yjat^ the eoBiaentiBM Qootor Jiaapi hie head ewb of the loonk

W» ncre telHng oor kinawnman of omr meetjng with him en the whaa^
and she gave a% as we aaer asa giving to the leader^ a good mai^ char
WHtenatw aneodetes which opened ew ejea to the natiae of the rh»aal«r
we had stumbled upon. Coming one day from Providence, and SMaed^ aa
aaaal). oik the whavr bf the daefaa, always on the loek-ei^ fior onpoteeted
faoMlea ^feBtle»en aiad the ladMS thej esoert he leaves to his anbeidi-
nate hack-driversl she was handed into a stage with some veiy implaei
aaat-lookiBg neofMeineneosBMCi The geattle lacty enduied it fior some
moments, ana then, beckoning to the doctor, said, unwilling to hmi the
fisdings of die people in whose oompaiij she fiMmdherse^

'^IthiokyaaiiiaeoBuiigeattoiaia^ I had rathtt have a olosar caniage
---een't yatuGml me anaP*

^ Ireeken lean,'' said PfwnihathsTy ktthiy down the steps with an
iron dang. *^ And jou*re about riefat about gittin* out o* this one ; 'ooa
I've got to tahftthem Mkatagad, and learn *em thaip^ afiReldnve
yaa.hoaMk"

Onr last aneodoto of PamiifraAnr' last toe in pcnnt of time^ £ar it

happened, net leng since— 4a a rerj rhaiTantoristio oneb

«« Ifrs. Archer ss7% Dr. Pennjfa^theff," said oor stfvant, << that the
leal time Toa asnt W a eaoiaffe the drivi

joa asnt uu a eaoiage the driver had oneHi old dirtv checked

eent^ and a Seotoh es|»,. while the eaoriageL and hones were
• andthatsheeai

enough ; and that she caanet dfive with suck a ahahhy-looking ceedi-
BMin 3 mi most send her a better Mie."

'' Wal now," said the dootoiv ''^^ I^Cm Archer FUdo aiv best. Bat
I don't know as I've got a man that's got a black hat and a blue coat.
My men ain't got no taato ia drees— and that's a fisict!— I often tell
'em so!"

We find ourselves standing on the porch of a small Grecian temde,
hoilt of wood, vridi green>biinde^ chimnej-aotSy and KghtningKoda ! The
flrstrnetbn of the Ameriean settien in thieeoantry, when, fisnin hnaiss
xephced the first Foeghhnte of legs, wne to bofldhmues waamandtight»

* B isa peenQerftv <^ Yankees who use the vulgnr tooffoe to say *<
of ««^lto.,^ when speidciag:ora manied wobmbi.

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•oonftift maik oC ■wnllh iiMiarfi ibhrany taUng MMa jmh^ nd
r oMpiaicr inia hia* foinfiki Ifo fMMrb is isoib thia dm
IMS "^ A omi »B8t Inild ooe hoiw tA Umq h<Mr to boBd

to do (of emxEm)r wHl «id hy> faoing omtr of » piWof i *

, OB wfauft oforr ogntii— it and iaiwiAiom tholktterUo OMTnatirl
lofvilbo ooramdoted. <'My fiilhor'»«o»ttr to Wo^ac

flrror beard of vil bo oaoomdatod. ''My hAm^mffskn^i
Aioyare oooo hiakauo tba» iw£»^n"M>d thoaao of osftc
aodharinna inAviduala.toa. aihooifelloiiiv. whoao pttvent wa* aMaBi{
Bml hbChinooiiCwioa <wotliic*Ya«kioo aboafetoau

^ What 10 be goiog^to potoa it m&w? Yo« got yomt oopokfiKod

^'Wol^Idos'tkHMPaBaollfviidMifeji iMii I boMd fintbar telling* MoilMr
loot nigh* that it nMgoing^Uva^ a.BMOtgflge om it."

T^^t^an adnHBoMo uninnawtoay on thooo h^ppy finas hy WaDorl-—

Ttjou. have theae w\nms of apartmenta and ^dena.

Of twice fifly acres yotdl ne'er see five fturthings ;

And in tou wffl be aeenl^ true gentlenuuf^nnte,

Bte yofTVe-finiakM jovat hooae 700II have spent joar ostalo.

Happily, aa entcmiaiag Yaokeo holds hit landed psoparty in tba
wcfldd of thooght^ and wlian ono bianoh of bpsinoia fiulaho " squats^ upoa
aome othev "notion.'' Ho haa the bone and sinew which Maoawbor
lacked^ and agreot back conntry, and '^Tom. Tidler's gnonnd" in whidi
to repair his broken fortunes; aftbongh it must be conceded that moav
mare £ortanes are lost than made io California— that Pandora's box, with
vbich. de&atod Mexico leyenged henelf upon her comfiierois^

Ta thoae wginal inrentioDa geiierally^ svocoeda a peciod of Gnciaa
architecfanro. Models of the Parthenon, ndth eaat^ison. railinga nnniag
sound, the soeond atory^ inserted half-way op the columna to be a sort of
bedcoom balcony* Afewjaars poaa, and a zoaction against Greeoetakea
{laoe. The roofii haie shot up into podnta and peaks^ the windowa hajro
ooKtaactedy and every house is a fresh specimen (o! the order of American*
Gothat,. improyed upon in after-supper dreama by soma inyantrva oas-
poAter. A&et this, wben there is wealthy and focogn. tra?dy aadgpod
taste, a reign of better thinga may be expected to begin. Stone houses
coma into fashion,, and architects to build them are feequontly employed.
It is. said that each, man haa bis stingy* poinl ^ his. old shoes, or his
caadle-endsy or postage^atamps, or letter-backay on whidh he likes to ex-
pend his penny wisd^n* The national ** stingy pointf' of an Amerinaa ia
alwajra ia invention. Why cannot he buUd JM^t aa good a bousar a&aaj
architect ? Why should he pay another man for '' notiona" when he haa
a beadrfoU of hia own.? With stone housea comes, in a taste for laid-
scape gardpTiing, which haa bean incfeasuig on. the aea^boosd o£ the
IJnitea Statea m the last twelve or fifleeiL years, and the' Ameritan

^&r upkolateqf atepain to injyo the frpah aimgliaity o£ maaq,

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MO iMBioamD GO0np rom tqs

«dk eotteg«, wkieh would look at lofwdj in toobi and white ]
jouog muden at her firat boH Newport is dotted with haac
ofallaortfof teatos and kinds, eadi prophesjring more aordy tiian pk]p-
siognomy at diets the teste and disposition of its owner. One of the most
home-like is that huilt by Mr. Bancroft, the historian and late ambas-
sador. It is a low, brown, inexpennTe wooden boose, commanding a
nobleariew of sea and di£P, of smf and facaakets, witb flower-beds, on
which great personal care has been bestowed, dopmg down to die very
e^ of the ocean. The land abng these cUflb has been a fittfeCafifionBa
to ite origbal prc^rietors. Withm seven years ite price has risen firom
200 dollftfs an acre to 3600 d<^lars. One eaose of this inflox of lidi
strangers is the superiority of the sonmer climate of Newport over timt
of any other on the AtUmtie coast The of^ressiye heiOs of sommer
rarely visit it Its nights are alwaysoool; its graas is <dwm freak ; and
at snnset there is always a sea-breeie npon its beadies. For tins fresh-
ness it is indebted, in a ^preat measore, to its heavy sea-fogs, whidi vnap
the island in a veil of mist, rolling npon yon doise as smoke, often with-
out ten minutes' warning. In the night unearthly soonds will often break
upon your rest : it is Uie steam-whutle, warning vessels comii^ on tiis
coast m one of these dense fogs of the nearness of the danger, lliess
foffs are destructive to pretty sommer muslin robes and neatljr staidied
shut-collars, while barege becomes as stiff as crinoline, and silk-gowns
creased and mottled by their clammy toaoh. They vint Newport cUefly
during the height of summer. And while the pavemento <a the cities
almost melt with fervent heat, Newport and its visitors are wramped in
the soft, grateftil dampness of a veil of fog. The early settlers mnded
that ihey found a resemblance in these fogs to the soft mists that shrood
the Isle of Wight, and named their dty *' Newport," afkw ite principal
town.

To return to houses in Newport Another peculiarity is their migra-
tory character. That a house should continue to stand many years in
the place where it was built is rarely contemplated bv the ^proprietor.
Often it is moved a mile. These operations mostly take place in spring
and autumn, when almost any day some street or other will be blocked
up by a tall house in trantUu^ generally with all the furniture standing
inside of it ; and occasions have been known of the fieunily sleeping in thrir
own beds every night during the journey. The stone roundation of the
house is abandoned, and a new one prepared. The frame-buildii^ is
loosened, lifted off, and placed on rollers. It is then worked slowly for-
ward by a windlass, turned by an old white horse, who has assisted in
the transport of hundreds of Newport houses. No rise seems to arrest
the emigrative propensities of these wooden buildings. A church was
cut into three suces, and moved piecemeal, within the last three montiis;
and an immense hotel, with one hundred feet of front, standing too doselv
upon the street for the teste of its proprietor, was lately moved bade
about twenty yards!

Come down on the beaches with us, reader— the glorious beadies on
whose shelving sand roller after roller of surf (often seven at a time) swdls
in its stetely march until it breaks, scattering its silver foam. See how
ihe opal edge of the great wave is fringed with silver light ftir one brief
moment^ ere it breaks for one long mile along the shore. We never walk

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OTHER SIDE OF THE BIQ POITD. 581

aloDg the Newport beach or on its diflb without an eeho in ov heart fipom
the pictare-page of Shelley :

I see the deep*s imtrampled floor

With green and pnrple sea-weeds strown ;
I see the waves upon the shore

Like Hght dissolved in star-showers thrown ;
I sit upon the sands alone.

The lightning of the noontide ooean
Is flashing round me, and a tone

Arises from its measured motion.

How sweet, did any heart now share in my emotion ! It cannot be
true, as we are told, that this verse was ^* written in dejection.'' The
sweet influences of th^ scene that it describes must have given a temporairy
happiness at least to him whose heart was open to such impressions. It
seems to have been written for Newport — for one of our halt-haiy autumn
days, when Nature lies at noonday half-asleep, enjoying some bnght day-
dream.

The nearest beach is three-quarters of a mile from the town, and they
are three in number. The first is a mile in length, the second a mile
and a half. They are divided by a tongue of land, the geolog^ical fea-
tures of which are said to be very curious. Here the devil, years ago,
pursued a wicked soul, and leh the print of his red-hot iron hoof upon the
rock, on which he stamped with all his force, and a yawning chasm let
him and his victim into the realm of purgatory. That chasm has never
closed, and like similar ones in the Swiss glaciers, no line has ever
sounded its depths, and no stone is ever heard to touch the bottom.

There are no houses built around the beach, as there would be in
England, no marquee with its circulating books, and chairs for those who
like to pass their morning on the sands, and watch the ebb or rinng of
the ooean. The reasons for this are various.. Firstly, this out-door life
is neither suited to an hotel belle, nor to the Marthas of American private
life, ^^ much cumbered" with domestic occupation. In the next place, the
great power of the sun would make sitting on a beach under nis glare
entirely impossible ; and, lasU^r, the bathing arranp^ements are such that
no one would desure a family view of the brach dunng the bathmg-hours.

No bathing-machines are used, but along the beach stand rows of littie
shanties, each a trifle larger than a sentry-box, just capable of accom-
modating yourself and a colony of spiders, every variely of which may
here be found. If you will go with us to the beach at 10 jlu» on a fine
day in August (the height of the Newport season), you may see issuing
forth from these frail tenements all the beauty and fashion of Newport,
the same that floated past you last night in the ball. <' Old men and
children, young men and maidens," in every variety of fancy tunio.^-
« Women in every description of bathing dress. Old women, young
women, thin women, thick women, big feet, littie feet, red feet, brown
feet, rushing about Carriages of all kinds. * Fast' men, fast horses^
universal confusion." Such is a description of Newport beach at bathings
time, and every visitor to Newport will bear witness to its accuracy,
Toung, pretty girb, dressed completely d la Bloomer, in scarlet, yellow,
blue, or orange serge, immensely full, with double, treble, and Quadruple
skirts, trimmed witii an endless number of yards of worsted galloon, and

VOL. zxxix. 2 Q

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Ml wBMvans^ 4k>8Bip wwm.

is i^uquBlfiiMj put on m nqr tdo«A ef tarkten or «f^ m^
owner danced the night hefore, are ronning mA hare feet into tW aaC
under the heads of hackmen's hoaae^ with acraama and dioata of meR|r
laughter. Their paiiaanB of tba niglrt befoie eaooit then into the waTea
as uiey did through the masea of mb coiMm.

Weill Hanisaiigmfmdypemef We may adapt to tlua order of
ihe Bath the motto of the Garter. We nnnt leaTe to every nation its
own customs. Camels and gnats are not all of Ae same size in eyeiy
country. Let us he thankful only that die women that hdong to us are
not partakers in this *' promiscuous" marine entertunment (against which
BO &90X has ever lifted aphis Aunderbdts); more especially siaee we iiaTe
heen ourselfcs aecosted hy Penaifeallier, who wants to know if we "ainlt
goin* into ihe hi^ and if we cannot find a hoose^ — *ooe" aod he
touches oor elbow wHh a -rndk^ tmd applies hb right eye to a craBtey m
Ae woodwork of a haAingp-hoK—** there is a gal in here 'moat rea^ to
come out ;** and be siq^gests that we can take possession of her wet floor
and treacherous chink so so6n as her toilet is completely orer. At twdie
o'clodc a red flag, hoisted at the end of ibe beadiy warns wemee from
die spot The b^Mh and hatlmig-koases are given up to bathers of die
other sex; and until the finaer-boar (two o'cmk) it may be nimsiicrsd
onapproaohable mr lacBes.

In the afleniooUy inien the trae serres^ the beadies are coveted wifli
earriages. They are die Rottee-rew of Transadantic CMJhsoB, witk
almost every advantage in thair favour, except hveries and oeeeoets.
Many of die caiiiages have four horses. Fast tandems are aftcttd hj
^* fast" youths driving ^ fast" giiis in open buggies. These baggies look
aU wheels, and are very diffiedt, indeed, to turn. The horaas are
generally more remarkaMe fer dior 2! 4& gait dnm lor fiitniBrtl ad-
vantages, lliey bdonr to diet breed which can go dvongh die ooantiy
80 fast, *diat youM dink, atiaugei, you was gma' thiaagh a grave-
yard. Yon wouldn't have no tdee ths^ the shmes you seen waa ns^
stooesr

The hotel seaaon lastflfrom themiddeof July todie Istof 8ept»Bber;
after whidi, for ten aaondu ef die year, dMae vast estabKslmientB (each
capable of receiving from a thonsand to €ve hundred guests) are deserted
ana dosed. During the asaswi there is alwajs an ezeeas of frem nz to
seven thousand persons over the indigenous populadon <^ thequaiaA, qoiet
town. On tihe 1st of September toe boats and carriages are not enough
to carry away the frshHrnaUe crowd. Oready have theb powers of
endurance been taxed by iU-cecJ^d fcod and scanty oomforts «oii^ the
oontinuanoe of the six weeks ^ season. Engagemeots crowd upon eaclt
odier. The ten-pin afieys,* bathing, mttUMes diansaiUsi, aseffuiiig
▼Mts, and ixianty nns^ oooupy die moramg hours until hdD-past two
o*olodc, which is die tisM for diuiwi ; after diis eomes a pubfic aa4 Tciy
pioBMscuous promenade up and down die haOs of iSb» hotsl, %e die
unheeded music of the best band in America. To this sbosm

d»

evening drive, followed by a eoneeit, ball, and petit mmper ^arri at aa
eadng-iiouae kept br a Chevalier of the Emperor Fanstin'a LsgioA
of Honour. Each iady must nmke at least lour tdkttea eveij day,

** A law in Bhodejaiand (adopted, we believe, 1^ most of the Kew Eofl^aad
States) fbrbids the iiitruducdoo 01 lime pnit; by the device of tni pins it lac

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onHiR ans «F THE Bid ^oam. • M$

elaboraMf ifcir Ae JUM to Im wite inipwtMii), Md tUt ia ft iittle
^tewaB&ed ceU hardly big^fgh t# i>»u->««dnk. A> lo-^^,^-

Leiflim is a irord of no mesoing in dw BocieiTf of lihe Kortkem States,
ftnd had better be expunged at onoe from lihe dictionaries of Webster and
Worcester. Hiere is the same bustle, rush, and eagerness to -go ahead
in pleasure as in business. In both, eagagements press upon yon bresth-
less, eaoh tveading oa ike heels of anethec. Amerioaos bawe an ex-
pression wUoh is in ooftstant ase nmong thoan. They talk <if being
'' driven,'' to ^inpioss that stale in iHaeh mey piess <m breatbUis tlwaugh
their days, and wearily drop down at night, withoot rest from the con-
tinual rush of oocupation. " Driren" is a wise word (and Tankeeisms
seldom fail to hit the bull's-eye of a ihought) ; it conveys an idea of a
state ef life, whether of recreatien or of business, when engagements
hunt their victiaM, fti the Camaocbes himt ba&lo upon a western
prairie ; the rushing, panting, stnisgiing herd pfeiing one apoa another
in the vaoe, uatQ at kst tiiey bUodly wuSke oae bonnd and disappaaf over
the precipice. Less happy than the buffalo^ perhaps, who break their
necks, the American man (or woman) so pursued during ihe season at a
watering-place^ is at onoe upon his feet again, ready for another race,
with business obligations to hany him.

The cottage residents of Newport, who pomain kmg aflter the feafaion-
able He^ift, beabow «0MidaraUe nnmpaianft, and a g^ deal of tUsgast,
on Aeiamales of tbaaekige hotels. T3m Ooeaa Hoase, wMi ite oalony,
the Ocean Hall, is the BMWt nurt, and fast, and Inhbiiable af these
establishments. The following effbrion, hj a snflferer of an order Tery
commonly to be found am<n^st its boaiden, is said to have been fotmd in
the pocket of an over-coa^ kft unclaimed last summer when the season

was over ;

Comrades, leava me hoe a little, ere ike moiaing comes aloi^;
Leave me here — and when yon want me, sound npoa the Oeeaai gong.
'Tis the street — sad all around me, as of old, the tbg does li^
Looming ronnd our homan birdoage, Ocean House and Oeesa EmUI,
Ocean House t^ in the distance overk)oks the Bati^iiw Beach,
And Gofs avenue of shanties, that you wade throng dust to reaeL
Many a night in yon peaked chamber, high up in the roe^ Tve lain.
Baking, roasting, tossmg; toasting, hoping dav would come again.
Many a night at hours mundy, groping in> with stumbling tread.
Have I ouned the men whoM £ken aU the candles up to bed.
Uf aad daan the catiy waadsred* trpig atesre my key wodld fit,
Peeci«gia thtoogh chinks and eranmei^ where I saw a cancye lit.
Often where aielW-boarder has been sunk in brief repose.
Giving evidence of slumber by loud breathing through nis nos^
Have 1 slipped into his attic — twitched his Utwel from the waflL
Filched his water, grabbed his table— lawful spoil at Ooean HuL
In the ** Bcaeoif' men aare starving. Charity bestows-^ grin,
And deoraes that every stnagw who arrives be '< taken in.''

• latke8ea8QahiiMper,darkaeiM,hesft.,andnoi8C^arebou^
In the season aiua is aater, air is dust, and both are gold.

. Then Mer cheek was paki; thinner, than shouhi be for one so young;
But she'd been at Ssuratoga, dandng since the heat begun.
In the Ocean Hall I saw her (Boosej introduced us two)^

' indlBtammerod^'Maylhave—tfi®— honour of a dance irith your*

2q2

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584 tfOSSIP FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BIO POND.

Standing where twelve brilliant burners had concentred all tluir i»ji»

In a roM of tnggied naim,aarme a la May<mm$e^

Choux-JUuTM that Martelle had famished crowned her brow and decked her hair^

And her conage f made by Steadman) had been dressed h la Maiert.

Boosey told roe tnat her father fMint, of Lamb, Mint, Sance, and Co.)

Had ei^ht hundred thousand dollars— might have more, he didn't know.

Love took up the gkss of hope, and turned it in his eager hands,

Every vision lightly shaken ran itself in golden sands ;

Love took up tnat book of music, where oank-notes akme are penned^

And atieenio marics each movement, till a crash winds up the end.

'' Speculation" it was lettered, but the careless world donH see.

How the " S " has been so blotted, that the word begins with '<?•"

Everv morning at the alley, where the ten-pins rattle down.

Did I meet her all that fortnight in an omelette-coloured gown, —

Every noon upon the beaches led her in a tunic red,

'Neath the heads of backmeu^s horses, drippine from a ** watery bed;**

Every afternoon I met her, round bj Bateman^ dusty reach.

Or in Pennifeather's coaches, creepmg o'er the Seoond Beadt ;

Every evening in the ball-room whirled we spinning through the throng,

TiU tne New York steamer's whistle ended off the eoHllom,

Oh! thou heartless Ann Eliza ! AnnElizadear no more!

Oh ! you dreary, dreary beaches !— oh ! you cold deserted shore !

Blacker than my pen can etch thee — fiedser than the notes you sunr.

Wherefore cut me dead last Mondav, smiling as you passed along?

"Was it right of you to cut me ? Having known me— was it fair

Thus to pass vour old ac<}uaintanoe with that cursed conceited air ?

Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! Woman's pleasure is man*s pam.

Nature cut them out for cutting — ^wherefore should a fool complain P

Belle ! A ball-room flirt is justly named a bell with empty head.

And a tongue that jangles duly when folks marry or are dead.

Oh ! to burst from Delles and flirting ! Will she mind it should she find

I am married to another P Will she wish she'd changed her mind P

I will seek some girl more handsome : there are plenty about town.

I will take some poorer woman, with a hundred thouMnd down.

I will take her out to Paris, give her gowns and jewels rare^

Till the envious Ann Eliza tc^ her bandeaux in despair.

Shall I seek Professor Lawton P Shall he teach me " hearts to win**

Through the columns of the Herald putting advertisements in P

What rash thing I'll do I know not, but farewell, thou Ocean Hall !

Not for me your band may jingle — not for me your fancy balL

There's another fog that's creeping from the marsh behind the bay.

And the fog-bell in the harbour warns the steamer on her way.

Let it fall on Ocean Hall — on Ocean Hall or fast or slow —

Hark 1 I hear the steam-boat's whistle — ^loud they call me, and I go.

We promised at the beginning of this gossip to give some aooonnt of
the domestic life of a small fiunil j ; but, to employ a phrase commoa
among the newspaper editors of America, all that we had to say upon
that subject has been ** crowded out by fashionable matter.'' If we are
permitted to have another chat vdth the English reader, we will endea-
vour to keep the current of our talk more nearly in its channeL We will
tell him certain stories about '^ help," American and Irish, a subject that
forms a most important feature in the female conversation of the com-
munity. Home-life in America is seen to perfectioa in our Newport^
after the season, where society is more varied in its elements than in the
larger cities, and where no great overshadowing local influence pievenfts
the growth of individual opinion, as. is alwayi <»e case in more exolwve
towns.

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595

A WINTEH IN KEIBTOH.

I MUST, in the first place, apologise to my readers for having delayed
so long in the fulfilment of my promise contained in the last paragraph
of a paper called *^ A Week in Constantinople;" the only excuse I can o£br
ia, t£at the blame does not rest with me, but absolutely with die clerk
of die weather, whoeyer that much abused and long*sufiering individual
may be* Nine times have I abready taken up my pen to jot down my
experiences of a winter in the Crimea, nine times lias a numbing stiffiiess
m my fingers compelled me to drop it again, and seek a welcome refuge
by the side of my stove. No doubt many persons will imitate the
example of P^fessor Koch, and write learnea treatises on the climate of
the Crimea, but as far as myself and winter are concerned, I can aptly
describe it in one short sentence : '* When it don't rain it freezes, when it
don't freeze it rains." However, as we have now had two consecutive
days of sunshine, and thb 13th of April appears the turning-point of the
year, I will venture to take up my narrative again, and proceed to de-
scribe in a rambling and desultory fashion our Winter in Kertch.

On the 10th of December I was landed at Fort Paul in charge of our
department, being responsible for their safe-conduct as far as Kertch.
The change was anything but agreeable ; it was nearly six, on a dark
'Winter's night, ere we were all lanaed, and standing up to our knees in
ihe loose washy mud, which represents the beach at Fort Paul. Add to
this, that several portmanteaux were dropped through the holes in the
rickety wharf, occasioning a considerable amount of bad language from
their owners, and it may be easily conceived that our situation was not
the most pleasant in the world. Bat this was only the beginning of mis-
fortunes : officers, men, and servants were huddled into one huge hut, and
left there for the night, without food, water, or light. The last we were
enabled to rectify by means of Clarke's candle-lamp — an invaluable com-
panion on a campaign ; but the other two appeared insurmountable dif-
ficulties. At last, one of our officers took heart, and set out in search of
water. He returned in about an hour, one mass of mud from head to
foot, but bearing triumphantiy a gutta-percha bottle, holding about a
gallon of the precious fluid. Eagerly did we produce our panikins, but
alas I woeful was our disappointment. The water was half- warm and in-
expressibly mawkish, and we found, on strict cross-examination, that it
had been obtained from a condensing machine erected on the beach by
her Majesty's steam-ship Niger. Supperless and quarrelsome we proceeded
to rig up our camp-beds, and after many mistakes succeeded ih rendering
them sufficiently strong to lie down upon, and we gradually dropped off
to sleep, 'with the pleasing consciousness that we should wake up in the
morning with an astounding rheumatism ; and such was the case. Thus
was spent our first night in the Crimea : the details may appear puerile,
but still I fancy them valuable, as proving that a campaigning life is not
all rosy-coloured ; for my own part, I can only say that I entertained
some veiT mutinous ideas, and would have gladly resigned all prospective
g^ory to be once more seated with our hospitable editor, doing justice to
die Mceellent &re of the National Club. However, it was too late to

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586 A WINTBR m KERTCH.

repine, and I was compelled, nolens voiensy to accept die sitaation. My
bed, I found, was not so downj as to induce me to oyersleep myself and
by six the next morniigp I badall Ae h^ggage iftcUed, and off we started
for Rertch, which we reached by t«), after wamng five miles through the
sliilwtraarfmCTSt imouinpiuimsHiy day t efersBwiniMT life*

Tfa? fcst Tiew of SLertdi is- certainfy Tery £!■•? Amu is a^^ spwHt if
sism d^oity n toe'n^ged, tKnesi^nnis, a4 vie'Wo^of woMfi' Ib9 tOTM
^Rtcns out m an ampnitiieatriBai rorm, and a pls8saii# eevtMrt v ooo^
SKwcu by tne white bousos, witn liMQr cheery greett Am refffoeAi ^Ni a
nearer appfoacn, this feenn^ g&^i wi^ to one of pmfuiiil ]
waoer nvst pardon ase, biit it was ny first uitrodiiCQeii to wb.9
ef war. In zm palmy days of Kerteh, trie Fort l^Rn road was
en one siae for nearly a mne by maguifieent storsnomes' aiM
Air these were now utterly and hopmessiy ruined. Jsioge
wa& ^wed tfie rtrAless passage of a mil, while the ahs
windows^ and eveiy partide of wood reyeated tnai ewu a motw cm^ Mt
BSn been at^ worh, m the shape er the barbarous Tnrh. £b tnrthy- na
words wonld be sumeientiy strong to portray wie desofartsDn wflash
ra^gned m Kertch on my first arriru. CTery where unghi be traiaosi tne
handiwoffk f^ an infidel and sanguinary band, who thought tiny w«i
doin^ Alhdi good sernce by despoffiag the Crinonr; and Mind to* Aeir
own comfort, or tfiat of thenr alfies (Heaven save d»e imnrk !)^ theit iMak
wns marked by wanton destraeton, releiraesa mffinnsn, and staned oa"
havdiery. Let it not be supposed that I am ezaggei sittug. i oMni an^
J woidd ten tales which would freeie ray reader^s Teiy laarraw, if tiii
tradi of which I emnot entertain a douM, bat th^ aw net auilad ten
magaaine, tfie object of which is to amuse, and not disgnst* Tbn waMt
of it was niat the Frenm thought themadves in honour hound In foApr
in the footsteps of the Turks; and diougfa not eommitUng the snnM «»-
eesses, they entertamed very imKstinet notioiis of the kwv of manns and
ikwn. Hence it was not surprising that the- more respeetnble nmlian ec
tfie popuhttAon should seek shelter in the interior, ana lenvn thek hsii
and penates to ihe tender mercies of Tartars and sdf emancipated sasA^
who sedulously comjueted tfao work or destmction by steaong and saamini^
everyil^ing^ which had by chance escaped ^be poliin nttendan sf Aa
Tuifo.

On arririnfi^'at Kerteh, I soonf>and the quarterasflotled to tfanofiooa
and men, and after a hard day's work retired to my own, whieh were «»>
oesBiTely comfortable, and, strange to say, had neariy half the y
entire. By the sacrifice of a few copies of the Timeti, I

keeping' at ^bay the wind, which was whistling raoretiwnsharciytlvongh
the streets.* After making myself as comfbrtoible as I oonid, I pincacdad
to look for dinner, and found a good Samaritsn in thn shape of a realnv'
rateur, who served you up what he caHed a dinner, mofenmmi^ for liha
sum of fifteen francs. With this the first day of my eampaignmg enM^
and I need not further allude to myself, except in so Adt aa my ]
compels me to spewc m the iinil person smgtnar.

Kerteh, when beUmging- to die Russians, must have been n i
clean and pleasant town, rt possesses excellent' fountaina, and 1
dance of suwei'age, until the French took it itHn uieir wne heads to I
itup, inpnnmitofhidden treasure. The town itasif inb«tei»i

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sax

icns^e «mI ike hmmm urn, tonowlly ky ml itata^ QOie
I AM wide and auy — rajhar tea inaeh la ki winlag^lwil tfasn k i
be raiMinbeied thai it ia aateariaily & wa)tering-ykce» aaA ady f

•ble ia the- aamiaer months* TUa faet is proved hf the liA^e anitea of
90oiB% JDBoaeat of stoves, to be f omd oa the shady ode of tthe Woran-
■effataeot, which fiffmstly aarrad for the dweltiogs of Ae Bunila
aobilit^ and aftarwaidsy hy sad mitatioD^ for legiaieQts ef Tmks. At
OB* extremity of the High-stieet is the market>pla>o» ft ciaale siwimaidad
hy ahofSy and on one side a magrffiaewt ught of steps led to the
winseum The entrance gate waaguagded hj a aeople of gnffuM».and th<
aasne devise may still be seeA ia a mntilataa bm on the bairier. gate of
die Arabat-road at the other extremity of the town. These steps are non^ ef
oe«an% nearly destroyed, but the Tnrics aie net eatiMJy to hfaune for this.
The soft stone of whioh thej are biaik is remarimhly niahle^. and leqeifea
ODBfltaat lec^dng aft^y for tne rain and frost eaase it to j^iae way imwit
jai a touch. Still I would not have it aeppoaad that the Tarks had oa
sibaie in the destmetioBy fat I saw them myself one aAemoon diligcntihr
engaged in upsettang one of the griffinS) and hua^ng inta laannnlwiUahM
afaoats of delig^ when it fell down and smashed to piaeea on the paif^
aaeot. I need not say that, on esr arrival^ the museom eontaiBad set
thfr slif^itest artide possssoing any intriasie valoe : FcMoh artjotie
aBoateuvs and Tnridsh ioonodasts kad removed evesythiag aeasee^ and
e»1y the dkfe^ia membt^ of some pre*Beman or Geneeae tomea showed
that ai^iqaities had once possessed at thia spot a local habitatieft aad a

On tbeextaceme summit of the hill teiwerii^ ever Ksrtoh, and ob the
Sfot called 3Cithndates^8 Chair, firoaa a popular sumeur that the gveat
^ palmei^ of the anci«its here reviewed nis fleets^ is to be found a small
templs^ sacred te the memory of aome Russian swell who desenred wd
ef hie eountryy and insoibed his name on the hearts of his loving eeaa*
patriots in the usual Russian faAion, namehr, by bullying the weabev
TtMsls> and letting off the lavrar cmas unteuched. However this may be,
hie Bumument has been gutted, and the Turke have o»preased thor de*
testation ef the Moscow Giaour in thrir usual piaetieal fiMhien. These, I
bcdiewo, are the only curioMtisa the town uoed to possess ; these aae^ of
eocuQse^ the usual Gtreds diurdies^ filled inth greasy pietures and stiH
greasior papas, but these are elements te be fouiid in any Russian towa*
And if I aJlude to die peeuliar frousy smeU pervading the houses of the
toamspeople, it is only as a proof that the Riueians remain true to thena-
aeWes even in this umma thuie of their gigantie empife.

But now to aUade to matten more nearly affecting the fortunes of the
Turkish Contingents We had hardly become eomllMrtaUy settled in ear
<|nBrtec% when the ahmn spread that our scanty cavalry had received a
aeveie blow and heavy cBseounigrasent at the handa of the Coasaeka.
Unfortunately we could not prove that the jade Rumour lied on thia
ecoaaien, for the news was eanfirmed that Captain Sherwood and foi^
six men had been killed by an overwbelmhfig body of the enemy. Thn
had advaoeed too lar up the country — lor what reason deponeoit sayetft
Boty aldioagh soose BeB|amin Baakhitsr stated they ware fosaging tan
toih^ ; but whatever the eaaac^ my snddeB^ found
auBOUBded^ and had no ethsa aUnisiatiwre IkssLta cut thaia

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088 A WmnR IN KSBTCH.

way baek. Poor Sberwood wat killed at the fint ohaige, but C^ptani
McDonald, the leoond in oommaiid, sueoeeded in fcHKang £» way tfaroagh,
widi the loss above detailed. How many Coeiaeks wete sent to their lait
acooont it is impossible to say ; but this much is certain, that had it not
been for the strange fatuity which had hitherto attended every movement
of the Contingent, and which very naturally accounts for the oavafar
ffoing into action without having their swords sharpened, the eoeniys
UMt would have been severe. Ti^s afiair cast a gloom over our Christ-
mas festivities; and, worse than all, the presence of the Cossadcs in our
immediate neighbourhood put us all on the gui vive^ and threw upon us
a great additional amount of most unpleasant duty in fortifyio^ the
town.

We had just retired to bed at a rather early hour of New Yeai^s-day,
after seeing the old year out, not forgetting to drink the health of sweeU
hearts and wives in merry England, when a breathless roessenc^ anived,
statin? that the walb — then only half completed — would be manned
at half-past three o'clock, and preparations made to take up the nege
guns without delay. This was not tne most pleasant information in the
world, but necesMty knows no law, and we all had too great a r^;ard for
our oazcasee to neglect a warning so pregnant of meaning. At the time
appointed we therefore set to work, and by twelve o'clock the next fore-
noon we had the satisfaction of knowing tiiat the enemy, if he came,
would meet with a warm reception. But, although he did not come, we
neglected no precaution, I am proud to say ; trenches were di^ all
around the town ; walb were built, by the simple process of pulling down
houses ; every aooessible point was defended by a gun, and we began to
breathe freely again, and refresh our exhausted frames with ration rmm.
But the danger was not yet averted, the Ides of January were not yet
passed, and on the 6th of that genial month was fought the tremendoua
engagement which will be known to our children's children under the
name of tiie battle of the Mosoov Yok.

Imagine the sensation which would be produced in a quiet coimtr|r
village, were a breathless messenger to enter the church on a Sunday
morning just as service was commencing, and announce with fooe aa
pallid as that which drew Priam's curtains at the dead of night, tiiat a
rampant tiger had escaped from Wonibwell's menagerie, and was quiedy
regaling on the parish bull just in front of the parson's bay-window;
Such a feeling, I can assure you, I entertained when I saw a booted and
spurred hussar enter our church at Kertch (generally supposed to have
boon the dancing-room of a boarding-school in the palmy days of the
town), and whisper mysteriously to his commanding officer. How much
was the feeling aggravated when the said commandinc^ officer quitted the
room, and the clergyman announced there would be no service that
morning ! On reaching the street rumours fell thick and fast, like leaves
on Vallombrosa, but the favourite one was that Fort Paul and Yem*
kaleh were already taken, and that the Russ was within half a mile of
Kertch. Endless were the gallopings of aide-de-camps about the streets ;
fearfol was the discord of the fifes and drums among the Turks ; diiefol
was the commotion among the European officers ; great was the glee of
the Russian inhabitants at the thought that the Csar would have his own
again* Unluckily, fears, hopes, agitation, and forebodings were deitined

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A WINTER IK KBBTCH. 089

to be equally inlinietiMnw ; no Romuubs made tfaor appearanoe^ «iid after
fear boon of aiudoiis anticipatioii the tfoops marohed down the hill again,
to enjoy their pillaff, and boast of the mighty deeds they wonld haye done
if the Kossianfl had only dared to attaei t»e oonqneron of the worid.
For my pari, I can only say I am deneedly glad they did not

Thus things went on through the month of January. Onr leaders
Tery wisely kept the troops on the qui vwe aod ready to torn ovt at a
moment's notice ; and if it did nothing else, it gaye them a healthy ocen-
pation, and opportunity to become acquainted with their European o£Bcers,
The only apprehenrion I entertained was that the cry of '* wolf nught
be raised too often, but I am happy to say I was agreeably di8app<nnted ;
at any hour of the day or night the Turks were prepared for a scrimmage,
and 1 dare say if the Russians had come they would haye fought bravely
behind the stone walls which they had so admirably constructed. From
all I have seen I should say that the Turks ought to make the finest
masons in the world ; their talent in building w^ls of surprising height
and thickness is truly wonderful ; and even if the said waUs were only
suited for an army of Brobdignagf^ans to fire over, still the Lilliputian
Turks had the advantage of being out of harm's way, and that feeling
bas a wonderful efiect in arousing the pluck of even the most t^mid,
whether Christian, Mohammedan, or Bhuddist.

All this time, however, the Turks were getting into a very efficient
state of discipline ; at fiivt, they had been difficult to manage, owing to
dieir preiudices running counter to their interests, but at last the latter
gained the day, and the victory was won — a harder matter, by the way,
than the capture of the Malakhoff. Their native officers, annoyed at the
subordinate position into which they were thrust, thwarted the European
officers in every possible way. Add to this the prevalent ignorance of
the language, and the foolish bullying of some European cmeerw, who
treated the Turics like a conquered nation, and there is very littie doubt
that we only owe our present existence to the marvellous foresight and
cool calculation of our much-beloved commander, General Vivian. But
to elucidate this matter I ought to give a short account of the formation
of the Contingent.

When it first' entered the wise head of Lord Stratford — a man who,
whatever his fiiults of temper may be, has the most perfect appreciation
of the Turkish character — that the Turkish army contained the elements
of success, although thwarted by the incompetency of the pashas and
native officers, he proposed that the Ottoman troops should be taken into
English pay at the same rate as the Turkish, but with the advantage that
they should be well clothed, well fed, regulariy paid, and be officered by
Europeans. The Sultan acquiesced, and with his peculiar Oriental slave
notions, handed over various regiments, principally mauvats sujets, who
were encamped at Biyuk Dereh, as the nucleus of the Contingent Most
of these men were Bedifs, or militia-men, who had already served their
time, and it is not surprising that the idea of being robbed of their liberty
and being commanded by infidels induced them to desert. And this was
the g^reat mistake in \he formation of the Contingent. Had they been
removed immediately to some spot where they could not have deserted,
much difficulty would have been avoided. However, they were at length
taken to Kertch, and then the process of reducmg them to a degree of

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gated ioaAtn. Jtmm
jnbel and nm MMflk, tM

•zftirpatoaiBuii7€ftl»iiifidika»1gb^««UL B«b
iHatuMLaad waa wdLmnmoak^ Wm

k tuM^ wmi waa velL wpfciitiJ by i . _

nellmfpmJLhmmmmntitni, I osKtm, iMjandkiai
^^Hir thna B«id» 1m aamsted a Botew bod J €f
•iite^ aiid PaUikiK kta a b^% di»|4iDad fime, aad tl^
widuMifetlMiligHMidkfaybaaca. Th»TittlE^liowev«r bigatod,b^» to
ifaida«l tiMi4» aMyqgh thraaid fiwy on ftemaaAwm imj natt
mf^ ftill it wai paid hina lylariy, wittMMfe auf poftiea a&migta 4m
iii^iii of tha paafai, and t£a wUmb ka nemwii wme &c oqpanor ta
mffkkag ba bad arer fatn ul bia bdovad StaaJwoL Add to «faat» At
iaa» oAena tveaiad bia aa a fcttow awataia : ba bad aofe ta cnad
t Ifaem aadbptoo at tf to a wMaffiMr bainy ;. bebad angbtafaofMl
It B^MtM% aiid be |^iM% awolM to a. peiatpiian «bat ke WM
MJfli».eBJoyiiig tha hicownga aad pri^jlggaa of aataae^ and ao laager da
slave to acodent and capnM^ Jiar% thaa» ifae oae gnat point gaiaadi
aadaltbaMane time dM power of tfaanativa oftoeia was nppad. Tbej
aaoldna longer tyranniea amsr and plnader the twwpe with impanifyy. and
alAon^tbair katnd af tiM EngliA waa aedaaUed, etill thiawaanMM
dM» eempenntai W the iateaet and effaetien tba lower oMbabeg^ to
fadinm

Tba diflWtaltiea the EiifCMoan efieeae bdl to eontend anth waaa net
riigbi; their igperaaae of tha langaega^ and being eompallad to tnet to
diMgnMeaei gwnMllji in. leagoa with tbaTtekiA ofteen, were a gseee
etawibling4>loels bat they UMnagad to dioih aver it, awing to tha paaahar
paeition they bdd. This I had better attempt to eaplein aa eonoiee^ as
peeribkfc

By Aa aoMtitotion eriginaUy given to tha Toekieh Gantii^jent, eaeh
r^meot consisted of eight companies, commaoded by tha atwal Taibith
o&ai% but theur ae^ne being eontroUed by three Eurapean offoMS —
tha fieto in uaBBMinlj tha seamsd in eammend^ a»d tha ad|wteat. By
dua peesBM the Bin<-beehi,. or Tarideh oemMendent, waa decided to m
fBorta phMe uetead of (ha fin^ and, indeed, baoame to eM intente and
pncpaeea a nonentity, eaaept aa ragarded the intenttl eJiiiiBirtseiien of
Iha raginwnt» for he was aonyertod into a speeieaof intenaediater between
the Bwmpean otteexa end the troepe. This natwally enongb gettad tha
haughty OemanK; hot dna was not tha woiat: in proeew of (una eupm
awnetiy captains weia attad^d to the regimenls, all of theaa daiiniag
andobtamingfankahoTatheTnrfciaheffieen. In point ef fiMt» the Baih
harin wnaaonaertad into what in the Median army is designated a.SdN*
Tha Tarkish oflfeers^ aa a natand oensemanoe, r

nsy and ipsald gkdly bava iodneed a neotiay, I am inehned to belioie;
bat they set to week too ktab By^tiM time th^'begaa to see thaana-
paeition tfaw were eaUed on to eesnme, tha EnBopaani <»ffeeB%
had aeociliatad Aa Tarks» who were wiUiay to fid-

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r k mm iwinaily Mind iuit the TwkUi affiasn wonU* 1
y wimttj! n mit i, 'ami. odter» mmA fa— i iim moka U> oeaapj \
MmA tfab ln«i itaimf I Imw no hmMiom ib cUdarinr tui Imt

Bmk. Hm aiaied «Aci prdheed bf di» pwetnfo of Euopmr eflbn

wa» MWi mofftt foninmr Aaa tlit physicit On finfe joininr At C«»-

! Iwaid ofiMHMWHa mnden and idbbcriet mMady conrnkted;

m dcatcrnlod) flud womoft Mnnwinnlfidy after beinff azposad to
SMii shooidag krii^intias. Bufe, aftavasboattpace^idl tttif ceaaadai
if by magic Greneral Vivian, by an aiicelkal a^rataaa ef firmnai bhaAd
mlh binAuM^ Aowid tfta tioopa Aai be wai datorauDed to pnnii k the
fvilty, and xaward tbe good, ki faet^ it aaoaoi be daniad that the TWk^
iBagaridad aa fcioldkir^ i§ the y^ best nop matetial that oaa be procaMd
It womU br difieok tt> find in aay amy aaldMn aa aiodatt in thdoE im-
ydremwitp as tiM Tarkisk, or any satiified with fo Ktila, or, indaad, mA
a^thiag at alL WHk a huap of braad» saaM sagar^ and ofaaeas^ m bk
peckat»tbifrieMierifilltBdantbagfaatBftMgQe; be will follow arilk-
on* • BiarBBar whatever bit leader may take Imn, aad whan utterly ta»

be Btcraitt bia stvingth by flinging one of the patriotie

wbicb gf ntally tbioar the Tarka ieto » tUte of <

JM » owuoua to wa*th» at I bannt dooay the vtter oontempt of dtath
with whiab the Tarbkh aoUier aaarriies to awat the foe; be knowa Aat
bit daatwy bat bats fiatd nnae the day of Ua birth; be knowa that ha
wmM Sm whaaerer bit time eoaie% and that a whole paric of artfflary
wooldaMmbuni if bit daakiay tadaaaaet it; finaflyy he knowt that^ if hie
Ml in battle^ he will go ttravhtwi^ to^PasacEte^— and wont be bebetttr
off theaa than m thit woild of tarea? The tame foaling, indeed, fUh
with the Torkt wheoayar die aparoaeb of dtath it folL I

haye taan them %iag htia in tht faoapktJt, and die ealmnem of

tne approaati
lotpkalt, andl

woaU thame many a ChiitiraD : let them onoe be pertaadtd
that they are beaked far am>lher wtaldt and the aurgeon amy knic ap In
aaedioamenta again — ^no pcaaatniim witt indnee the Turk to attempt te
froatrate the deiigna of Proeidenee.

Altboogh the pay of the ptiwtea only aaramtt to twenty piaakatt a
aaonth^ ttSl the taldien are so saying, and theirwanta to small, that Hit
aatply taffident for tfatm* Many ai them with whom I have opohta
appear to ptefer the old Taridth tysttaa o£ irrtgalar paymentt te onaa
In the fiast pkea, die Sohaa't tatmaty seryed ^m at a tpaaiaa af
savings bank, and relieved him of the necessity of carrying aboofr bia
little capitid in bit waist sear£ There is aaediar light, too, in wbieh the
tolditr mgaada die asatter: if he happent to fall in batde, and doaa mt
happen to eany bk mtsiay abaat with him, be it tam that it will not foU
into the baadk of die enemy after bk detidi; and at the ooaimon Tadk
k gtaanlW yety araving, or at katt highly eeeaomica], he Mrtmdly

Su» BU&mg a will m foveor of bk padWiah than of the doga ef
oy. I hagm met "RMb b^n^ng te the Contin^t who hate
r mff tavingt tathe afltoant of fiaa or tix hundred pnstnt, and bbi'
gatded wkh in<n|iiitiiliii dtight dm btridiks, or bmUfrnotes,

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ff93 A WDrisB nr kbstch.

earriad in front of tfian. If we dlealate that • mAdi» spenit abooft a
piaitre a month on himself— and few do more,— after fire yean* aen'we
he ean have saved at least fire hnndied piastres, or, aeeotding to IWldBk
notions, is a well-to^ man, with taking into CAledatioa the JatiiB baek-
sfaish which he manages to draw ont of Sie English offieers. Oneof dieir
principal amusements during the winter, when ihe ezdiaiiffe was «p at
147} was to stop us in the street with a ^ Sonmn, Johnnj," displ^rine' at
the same time twenty shillings in silver, which they were prepared te
exchange. We frequently humoured them, and no aoubt they made •
Tery profitable thing by it. In addition to his pay, the soldier reoeiTeB
an excellent ration ^ meat, bread, rice, and regetaUes, and, in tnitfa, has
not the sliehtest cause for complaint

When ^e Turks were first handed over to us by the padishah, nodiing
could hare furnished a more striking proof of the state of his ex^iequer
than their deplorable appearance. Even his crack regiments, Aat nad
fought so bravely at Silistria, were in rags, and armed with old flint
muskets. But English money soon made an alteralioa in this: any
quantity of new clothes have been issued ; and had the war lasted, tlie
whole of the Contingent would have been armed by this time vritfi Mini6
rifles, obtained from Balaklava, when the new Enneld Pritdiett rifle was
issued to the English army. And I must say that the Turkish soldieia
deserve good weapons : as a body they are the finest marksmen I ever
saw, as their tamts will abund^tly testify, and their care of Ibeir
muskets is beyond all praise. The sentries, when on du^, spend the
greater portion of thdr time in pdishing up thrir barrels witfi a pieee of
oiled rag, and rust is quite unknown amone them. Their great &ult,
however, is their unmilitary appearance^ poduoed in the following wi^:
no Turk was ever yet known to throw away a rag as long as it held
together, and, consequently, when new clothes were issued, the Turks

gut them on over the old ones, which did not produce the most soldier-
ke effect in the world. Great were the exertions on the part of the
English officers to rectify this, but I am afraid Turkish pejudioes for
dirt are imdicable. In troth, there never was a greater nUa^ propa-
gated than the one touching the deanlipess of the Turks. Tmy niay
use plenty of water in summer, but I have not yet had an opportunity of
seeing them at that season ; durinr the winter I can only say they
were fearfully suffering from hydrophobia. In fact, when we take into
oonsideration that a Turk wears his shirt till it falls off his back, there
can be little doubt as to the state in whioh he must be during the hot
weather ; and so, I dare say, from a motive of self-defence^ he indulges in
copious ablutions.

The Contingent affords any person of a speculative turn of mind amv
opportunities to realise the alterations made by Sultan Mahmud in ti
organisation of his army. The reform dates from the fall of the Janis-
saries : uniform, arms, and manoeuvres (partly) were borrowed from the
Europeans, and the government is still striring to perfect the process of
transition ; but the war allowed no leisure time to follow it up ; and A&
hatred of the Giaour, summoned up and fostered by the Mosoov, plaeed
the Turkish soldier in a state of unpleasant opposition to his external
^>pearance. The general spirit among the Niiam is, in one word.

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A WIHTBB IN KSBTCH. 503

hmrerr and Uind obedience^— wh^ nofeoa duty a somewhat exaggerated
emrcUauty between the privates and non-commissioned officers : the reason
is, becaose the latter are rery little abore the others in education.
Officers and privates sit in the same ooffde-hoose, and if a mulazim hap«
pens to come in late, and cannot find a seat on the carpets, he maj place
himself very contentedly on the bare ground, for he is quite certain
none of the men will move for him. And now for a word or two about
the officers*

The education of the real Turkish officer may be regarded as an un*
known quantity ; the few to be met with displaying any intelligence^
have been instructed in London, Paris, or Vienna, and these are cer-*
tmnly very polished and amiable men. Their scale of pay, especially
amons the non-commissioned officers, b very low : in the mfantry a cor-
poral has 30 piastres, a sergeant 50 piastres per month. A lieutenant
gets his 180 piastres, clothes and rations ; a captain 270 piastres and two
rations* From this point a strange discrepancy commences, for a colonel
receives 1800 piastres and 16 rations for man and horse, while the field-
marshal receives 76,000 piastres per month, and rations worth at least
50,000 more* The principle of giving pecuniary compensation for sur-
plus ra^ns has been maintained in the Turkish Contingent, and hence
arises the anomaly that the Bin-bashi is actually better paid than the
English adjutant of the raiment

One of the principal causes which has gained us the good- will of the
Turidsh soldiers, is the wonderful attention paid them by the Enelish
medical men. Any one at all acquunted with the utter ignorance of the
Turkish Haldm-bashis, can earily imagine the delight^il change the
Turks must experience in being attended by highly-educated men. And^
indeed, the medical officers have effected wonders : thev have overcome
prejudices which appeared, at first startbg, insurmountaole ; and though
they had been severely tried by a very dangerous outbreak of scurvy,
they were enabled (greatiy assisted by the juScious arrangements of the
purveyor to the forces) to check it, without any great loss of life^

Dr. MTherson, the inspector-general of hospitals, has been inde-
&tigable in bringing everything into good working order, and I am sure
he feels amply satiraed with the result. Nor have the Europeans of the
force been neglected : they had a fine hospital detached for their own use,
and Staff-Surgeon Irrine and Dr. Bogle have contrived to keep it re-
markably free of patients. In fact, the healthy condition of the Turkish
Contingent has been a matter of general remark at English head-quarters,
and the correspondent of the Ihnes spoke in high terms of commenda-
tion of the labours of our medical staff.

The amount of the Contingent at present quartered in Kertch, Yeni-
kaleh, and Fort Paul, is about 16,000 men, composing 16 regiments of
infemtry, 6 batteries of artillery, and 1 battery of horse artill^. The
latter is confiBssedly the crack arm of the Turlosh army, and the men we
possess do not bene their reputation. Thev perform their manoeuvres
most creditaUy, and I believe would fight bravely if an occasion pre-
sented itself. Indeed, diere is no fault to find with the Turks as far as
readiness to fieht is concerned ; and taking into consideration that they
have heoix in front of the enemy the whole of the winter, in daily ex«

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to tlMM pmoM wkTme fc«MBt iMfoi^ tiM 9ftli of
I to mat mk peonliar ^mhImmm teiHffdi Aam, I teiife»
fgKA\mauk of as iayiiiig tem •£ idbkI «aii yet ~
■Mfeter farfoie tke << Hooie."

finfc, after all, Kertek wai«ii whmmmMf dnll ]
■Mtttha: oae get tiied after a iddle of invaat^

occupation was gone there was nothing to be done. Salt parti toa^
pdMuipontkeaeoias, and fresh meat wu not to in luri, amiaff to the
tefMT fislt bj the Tartan af tU Biosians. Efapca tim uaiiwiiliaii of
psaservad meats was pnodigiooB : atill mom piodigioaB that of inadjw
and water and CaTendish tobacco. From dbeer want af aoaalittBg' to
do a man wovdd laYite his imads to a smoke, and Ae jesak waidd he a
SflppsK headache in the flmnuag. Oae tajernwiiag mdrndoal ianisttpd
aome soda water, lor whkh he oaly eharged 4l 6d. a faolde ; hi* As*
was BOOB disposed of, by the bottles bacBtuag frorn^e aoU, leaTinr Usi

a aoaskbrable loser by the tnansaetian. But, by Heafaaa ! liha
mAanse; a piercing eastsriy wind woaid bAaw §at weeks m i
and the bay woaU be eomplately froien oaec^ ao Aat at would i
aaaasy mattm to walk acroas right to Tsaam That, howam
aoaoa fdief to oar eamit, for at any xate we aoald ga an board aome aUp
for a change, instead of brooding round the atova. fiooha ansa at a
paaminm, aad newspapers pricelsss, for at tiaios no mail woald asnia for
a montfi, owing to the ioa^ aad we aould paaonK no iiifiwiaailMii asiistt
the lies the Tartan ohose to teU as. About Iho oaiddia of Jfsrdi aoma
onterprisiag ladividaak gat ap moea, which wodU have haan all the
ptoBsnnhwr had the weather been wanner; howoaeiv ^^ laolod Ibae
days, and a&rded a tome of eiimgraalion for aine^ so they wesa of i

in their maj. The only othor amaoeaiaat I aan apoeify i
^timewasariAsto Yeni-kaIoh,orFartFaBl,attho lattsr of
phKses a Tery ffood idea of oamp^e aoald ho obtained, as
all hutted, and aacoeisod nmay ingeniaos lodges in '
One of the host I saw was a wall af ampty hattko, aboai
height^ afl of whkdi the owner of the fant prided
onptiad in his abode. The French qaarten ase
foot of their hamff eneroisod their ingenuity in laving aat

tosraoes. I don't belief^ for my part, thai anythn^ ^

faanuiarook; bat still the idea was gaad.

Xeni*kaleh is a Tory poooliar litdo town -of aeiy dirty honses^ hoall
dor an M. Genoese iort. The streets are romariBaUe nr heiny qaifeo
impassable during the winter monlhs; being very •stoemthay an either
taa oTippery for loooaMition foosB the frosty or you sliak iq» to yanr knees
" imad, owti

, owing to a thaw: thooo appoan to ho no adrar altemaltva. I
should jay, of the throe posts of the Contingent, it aspnadto «ha aapop-
lativa de^ae of dnkifas One pooafiar foat I amy laetitnn ii^ that thesa
wnsnatarini^ female in <he town. Snshnnnl^asaCdeoolatSaa,toasa
the weeds of the poet^ maiv be imaginad, hat oaonitt he ~
snepan it over in momsifiu sUonoo. It was in Yoni Jrateh m<wa <
that the scurvy housed, aad the dioeaao at ana time wA
"^' 1 that it wns deemed adrisaUe to iflasava tile wont af Aa 1

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Owing UtbeiBe of lam qtMndtiM df me^

mtf9eMj aUieled, Ae cbnMe btoke MtiMtlnnt

fa^ ifanott» ndit was ii«t iin tke soMieM Imd

Hopped tini 117 kedl oould be nnde afHnt k. Nev tint '

wuiitlMii liM anivedy we«pe-q«ile deer of any diMMes of aa «p

■fltere, Bad I truat will vemaia to, altboagh the D— iniia ia iae teiva

IndoibewareoftbeldeB^rMi^. I eheold tfaiak tfani Kffttih ipobU he

a very aahealtfay phee ia the be^;ht of ranuaer ; Ifaeee aaa no taeee te
alfora aay shehier, and the dandnig white heaaea, ocMabined with ihe
da8t,*oaght, by all the laws of phytic, to have a laadaaay to ynaawta
opfadnhM; hot I traat we ri^ Ubm Hm mmamr

aets in with its usual intensity.

The newi of the anaiatiea^ it nay he aappoead, predaead a aery
agreeable change among us, and many paftiea were ipoedily famed te
mke fieioe atteoks en the haraa wiueh ware aaad to awam joat heyaad
aor outlying pieheta. Whea theContiayant fin* eaaw to fiekoh a gnat
nondber of owneriesa greyhoonda were pieked wp "by the TVahi, and now
eame into giaat reqmsitioa, <]uil^ at baej prioea. They are a
peooliar he^ of dog, vaeh kmr and more upaiaaful thaa Ae Eni
itlrUr. li

greyhound, with low briatfy hair. I ianey ney are ia aean way 1
to iie Peniaa dog of that faiaed. For enee, there was tnith in a raport
ariflbg in Kerteh: ihere were ooeaaa of haraa, eaaly o^itoeed, and the
oonseqoenoe was that the Coatiagent waa aeon euffwiag fcoaa a aai£att
of hare, Toasted, joeged, or baked. At the jane tian huge iooks <£
haetards wesa ioaaS^ hut they were veiy wary, and it was very zare te
briag one down. The other /ma mOmfm of tiua part of Ae r '
eonsiat of wild dadc, pigeons, hoepooa, and haks of bhabas
tioas. The fiaest diot vnde daring the anniBtiee was hy a
aMB, who hroaght down two large eaglet with one chorga e£ No. 6*
They ware nbadid bird^ and potttaaad of ezinerdiaarf litality, for
thoi^ eae of them had a penknife paaaed thioagh his fanin, kb hmi
enflioMBt atraagtL an hoar after to elatth ate by his taiaaa^ aad gitne aae
a vary eei«re £g, Anodisr anuiaement aa diauuauied waa te go aat
amoag Ae Tartar villages, and irv to frateraist with the ininibataatt, by

defoaring thair e^gs wl miik. Thepoor Mlowa areinahorriUefEight

Aey fully an

at the thooghti of peaee, for ^y folly antic^ate haiiag thair
aat by the Riaakaa. Thaee is probiUy teaie troth ia ihia etery, fiw wa
hare shipped to Staaohoal die vHiole of the Tatar aaKtm wa anhodnd;
and it ia very poaiihle that the Ceaawka aiqr Ml an iaelaaiiea to
ae^enge themadves oa their next of Ida. Theee Tartan, tluHlgi^ an a
wiatehed aet ; diey «a ihe biggest oowards en Ae Ian of the e«A, aad
the fear they eatertain of the Rnsians woaid be kMhonra% wan it aok,
jT, too wdi foaadsd. They lin in the extreme af pofnrty,

and rarely Imow what the taste of meat is ; the aaoat etnking psoaf of
<kaB is foaad ia Aon fdM haea '

been in oar oerfin dariag die wiataa^ .
aad an now so piamp that th^ coaki not he aeeegaised by their neatest
fiaends. The onhr extramgian they appon te iadalge in is dnn ;
Aey wear ktge iioatiag yewnt, n it ware^ atada rf nd aad yeBear
ati^ed ailk, and analy yoked, Uae stage troassM^ aatdikalpaksaf j4a-

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596 A Wmntl IN KEBTCH.

traiom lambskiiu The^ an yety food of ridioff afc a break-nedL mea,
and how ihey stick on is a mjsteiy ; their sad^e consisting of » iiard
leathern p^low, strapped on to a diabolical wooden framew<mc, and kMik-
ing like a patent meuiod to dislocate jonr limbs* Their horses are not
Tery bright specimens, being generally thin and badly groomed; im
short, I was matly disiqppointod with the Tartan, after all I had read of
them ; for I nad expected to find a race of men only sullenly yielding
allegiance to the Russians, while the bare truth was that they are so
frightened that they dare not say their houses are their own. vi pCTSoa
you find here and there some fine specimens, were it not for thw Mon-
golian eyes and flat noses, while the absence of beards among the
younger men gives them an appearance of effeminacy when compared
with the Turlash soldiers.

The news of peace being procbumed was a sad blow to the officers of
the Contingent ; for, i^Murt from the loss of any opportunity of trying
the metde of our troops against the enemy, it is mucn to be apprehended
that France and Russia may insist on our being disbanded. If so, many
of the officers will be heavy losers ; they have been to considerable ex-
pense in providing their outfit, and it b even a moot point whether we
shall obtam any compensation. I have hopes, however, yet : the Turkish
Contingent has cost so large a sum in formation that I do not think it
would be advantageous to dbband it, especially at a time when the peace
of Europe is fiir from being ensured. The great stumbling-block in
Turkey has been the inefficiency of the native officers, and now, wh&k
there is an opportunity to improve the Turkish army to a wonderfal
extent, I hardly think it will be let slip. At any rate, whatever be the
result of the next five mouths'- deliberation, I am sure many persons in
England sincerely regret that we were not sent direct to Ksrs, to the
relief of General WiUiams and his gallant troops, but I am convinced no
one can regret it more eamesUy than we do. Besides, it should be taken
into connderation that the Turkish Contingent is actually one of the
cheapest armies that ever was embodied ; the pay of the soldiers is rerr
trifling, and although the English officers are supposed to be overpaid, it
must always be borne in mind tiiat we possess no prospective advantagoe
like those enjoyed by the officers of the line. But a truce to politics.

April 17 th» — We have just been honoured by a visit from a Rusaisui
genmd, who came in to look after his property — poor, misguided indi-
vidual ! he literally did not find two atones standing on each other on the
ancient site of his domicile, but was shown them converted into the town
wall of defence. The look of consternation with which he regarded the
destruction is said to have been very great. What the Russians will do with
the town when it is evacuated by the Allies is difficult to say, but I should
advise, if tiiey have any regard to their own interests, that they should
desert it altogether, or else the stenches produced by the Turks will raise
them up a foe in the shape of fever, more deadly than were the bayonets
of the Allies at Inkerman. I think I may say, without exaggeration, that
there are not six houses in the town habitahle by ladies : windows and
doors were removed at an early date by the French Chasseurs, who
evinced a wonderful aptitude in appropriatmg everything that was not too
hot or too heavy, and even the few sticks of fumitore that had been

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JL WINTEE IK EBRTCH. 697

saved were in most instances conyerted into firewood. Of conrie, when
all the mischief possible had been done, strii^ent orders were issued to
put a stop to the 'Mooting;" and when our fellows left o£^ as in duty
ixrandy the ruffianly Greel^ and Maltese set to work on their own account!
How wdl thej succeeded may be seen £rom the fact^ that during the
whole of the winter pictures have been fot sale, evidently taken from the
Russian houses. Intrinsically they are of no great value, — ^the best I have
fteen was sold for forty-two guineas, being richly encased in silver-gilty
but they are interesting in consequence of their religious (?) character:
A saint averages in the market about five shillings ; a Bogoroditza about
seven-and-six ; while any allegorical picture, with a quantity of figures,
will fetch from fifteen to twenty shilHngs. They are all of a very
medieval character, and would gladden the hearts of the pre-Raphaelite
brethren, such impossible postures being only known to Byzantine artists.
But these Greeks have found other occupations besides picture*dealing ;
they have recently taken to midnight assassination, and in one week
murdered three unhappy wretches. All attempts to discover them have
been in vain,^and our only remedy is an increased amount of patroUing.

Since the proclamation of peace it is marvellous to notice the number
of persons who have made their appearance in the streets. It is cur-
Tently supposed they have been concealed in cellars during the winter,
wisely objecting to expose themselves, after past experiences, to the
tender mercies of the Turks. Shops, too, are being gradually opened,
and, v^t is more, are well stocked, though where the articles come frt)m
is unknown. But the character of the Russians appears to be conceid-
ment. By the word '' shop," must not be supposed anything like what
we see in civilised countries; they are generally gloomy holes, particularly
dirty? and guarded by a female Cerbenis, with her head bound in a white
napkin, and herself muffled up in a long black cloak, which appears an
heirloom, handed down through many generations. In feet, the only
way to describe a Russian logically is as a cloak-wearing being, fcir
they never leave off those garments winter or summer, and are popularly
supposed to sleep in them. But the horrible smell in their houses is past
hearing ; they are filthy in their habits, and do not possess even the
commonest articles of civilisation; and this rule is equally true both of
great and small. In feet, there is not a pin to choose between Turk and
Kussian in the matter of .dirt, except that when it is a wonderfully fine
day the Turk may be seen washing his one shirt ; but this I have never
witnessed among the Russians.

The Turks, as may be imagined, are in high glee at peace, and the
prospect of returning to their beloved Stamboul. Their notions of the
future of their country are, to say the least of them, curious. Yesterday
I was talking with a fiin-bashi, and he kindly volunteered to tell me the
arrangements the padishah had made. He stated that the Turks and
English were going to combine to kick the French (whom he remarked
parenthetically were ** chok fenai") out of Stamboul : that, after that, the
Turkish army was going to Inghilterra, and the English troops remain
in Turkey, and that peace and fraternisation would last between the two
nations for evert How it is the French have rendered themselves so
odious to the Turks, I cannot say : but we have derived one advantage
from the last war — ^if advantage it can be called — in making the Turks, as

TOL. ZXXIZ. 2 S

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898 A wmTEB m esbtch.

•body, love us, or oiir money. Tlie8ttnefiin4NidntoUiiieaiMi]Mrciirioat
tale as eumnt among his coimtiymeQ; namely, tfiat in. London ihcve
was a cave of fiibnlous proportkms, btimming fml of ^^ liras,'' and guarded
by an old woman of TineMT aipect ; and that n^tenerer oar aoHcnwaiiAed
a few millioai, he applied to the old lady, who aoeommodated him to any
amoant I fimoy I ure read diat diis story was also heard in China; i£
so, it is carioos to trace die tradition. It is ntte^ imposable^ by Ae
way, to eonvey to the Turiu any idea of onr braag goyemed by « safe*
reign lady ; if you try to explain it, they eridently mix her up with tfae
aforesaid old woman.

I am afraid my readers will find this artide very rambHng and desul-
tory, but it has one merit, that c£ being a futliful tanseiipt of my^ex-
penenoes during a winter at Kertdu I have omitted mxnk which is not
of general interest, but I can say that, on the TiAole, I have been very
comfortable in tibe enemy's country. Of course, there was a good deu
of gmmbMng at first, but it is surprising how soon one gets aoeostomed to
minor privations. Thus I am perfectly contented to eat hare, akhoa^
goosebenT*jam has to be substituted for enrrant-jelly ; nor do I tnm up
my nose becanse I am forced to satisfy myself with a caper-eaoee aa a
suooedaneum for lobster with my taibot

But I Aould be most ungratefol were I to dose my paper widioot le-
ferring to Commissary-General Adams and his stafi^ and thanlring theat
for the exertions they made on onr behalf. Not one ringle day have we
been on short rations, and &is was an astonishing feat, idien it is borne
in mind that for more than three months, off and on, there was no com-
munication seawards, owinr to the bay being feoxen over. We h%ve
confessedly been better fed Sum the army at Balakhnra even at tin beet
period, and we have experienced none <^ those privations whidi are gene-
rally enected on the organisation of a new force. So for, indeed, were
precautions taken, that salt pork was never once served out to the Tuxksy
and when we take into consideration that 16,000 or 17,000 men had to
be rati<med daily, it showed a wonderful amount of provision on the part
of Greneral Adams that all his arrangements were so well carried out

Nor have we been ov^rtroubled with red-tape, that usual corse of
armies : it is true that a few instances have happened, but the diqienaers
of tape were so heartily latched at, that Ihey were only too glad to fall
into tile customs of the rest. An excellent esprit de corps has been
maintained, and I may safely say that the Tnridsh Contingent, both
under General Vivian and his successor, General Mitokdl, has be^ ren-
dered a most efl&eient force. Whether it will yet have an opportonity
to display that effidency, rests with folk at home ; I can only wish tbnt
a commission m^t be sent out to in^>eet us, and I should not have the
slightest i^prehnision about our permanent estabhshmodt.

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THE PHTSICIAITS HOME.

Tm cold winter^ long and 8h«p ihMt yetr, had giten place to spring ;
but the momaigB and evenings were dteuy, mud the east irind, whieh
prerailed, penetated to the very wannest house in Wezboroogh-— a
fashjonahle town lor invalids, noted all over Enffbnd for its salmintj.
That east wind had stroek inflammation to the diest of a lovely chira,
and was qoickly carrying it away. It lay on its mother's knee befiwe
the ixB. 8hey the motMr, was young and very pr6tt]^» but deUcate and
cflrewonu' Her whole hevt was wound op in this cmld, and she wonU
not beliew bnt what it was recovering.

''Don't you think it looks a Etde better than it did this morning ?*
Ae anzioosly asked, ndsing hsv eyes to her hnsbaady who had come in,
and was standing near*

He made aa evasive replv» for he was a physician, and be knew that
the diild was dviag* At that BMMnent there was a knock at the front
door, and they ttend the nudd show the visitor into the consulting-rooBt.
llieir esily servant^ for they were very poor, the physician trying to
stnu^gle into praetiee#

'' It^e Mr. Faixfaxy sir," she said, entering the room.

Now Mr. Fairies was Dr. Elliofs lancUofd, and the phyticiany for
certain reasons^ woold rather have had a visit from any man, living or
dead, than from him. He broke oat into an impatient word, and de*
mnaded dunrpiy of the girl why d» admitted him. She was beginning
an explanation, but he woidd not stop to hear it

** Well, doctor," began Mr. Fair&x, who owned no end of property in
Waxbonmgh, '^ I am not come npon my usual visit, and that I told yottr
girl, for I saw she was preparing the old answer. You know that house
of nriae ia the Crescent, which was to be let famished ?"

"Yes."

''Well, it is Jet, and the people have arrived to-day. A lady and
geotleroan and seveond servants — plenty of money there seems to be,
there. The gentleman is in bad health, and they asked me to recom-
mend them a pl^cian. So I mentioned you."

" I am very much obli^ to you," said Dr. Elliot, with animation.

^ Yes, bat, doctor, we don't do nothing for nothing, in this world. I
shall en)ect part of the fees you'll get to be handed to me-^-for bask
vent. WitMut my recommendation you would never have got in there,
for I need not remind you that there are physicians in Wexborough
older estabtisbed and more popolar than you. Is it a bargain ?"

" It is," answered Dr. EUiot. " Honour bright"

" Then put on yonr hat, and go up at once. They want to see you
to-night. Nomber nine."

Dr. Elliot soon reached the Oescent His patient was seated in a
room aloM. One leg, caesd m flannel, was raised on a foot^rsst
Ghnses and dess^ were oa the taUe, though more from custom ihati
for use, just now. Dr. EUiof s card had preceded him, and the servant
pheedachsdr.

2b2

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600 THE PHTSICIAN'S HOME.

'< Th^ have brought me here for change of air,'' he said to Dr.
Elliot, amr speaking of his illness, '' bat I have UtUe faith, myself in
any change being beneficiaL Such a complication of disorders ! And
now this attack of goat, worse than any I have ever had. I am a yomig
man for goat, doctor ; bat it is hereditary in oar fEunily."

When Dr. Elliot was writing the prescription, it occurred to him that
Mr. Fairfia had not mentioned the name, so he asked it now. Tmn-
b^ry, he thoaght was the reply, bat his patient was taken with a fit of

cooghing at uie moment. He wrote it ^' Tamberry, Esquiie.''

As he was leaving the hoase a servant came up, and said his mistress
wished to see him.

The lady stood in the drawing-room when Dr. Elliot entered, the zsys
of the chandelier falling on her. He was struck with amasemoit at hter
beauty. A tall, stately woman of eight-and-twenty, her eyes hangkty,
her complexion brilliant, her features of rare contour.

She began to speak; he began to speak; but neither finished. Botii
stood, awed to silence, for they had recognised each other, and to neither
was die recognition palatable, at that first moment. It was Mrs. Tom-
bull, not Tumberry, and Dr. Elliot saw in her the eider sister oi his
wife, whom he had stolen away from her home and married dandestin^,
when the fiiends on both sides, his and hers, opposed their onion. iSSU
saw in him the handsome, harem-scarem young medical student, whom
she had admired, if not loved, before she knew ms heart was given to ha
sbter. That was eight years ago, and no communication had been held
between the fiunilies since. Dr. Elliot's friends had helped him, while
he finished lus studies and obtained hb diploma. Sinoe then he had set
up at Wexborough, and had been living on, he hardly knew how, waiting
for practice : his wife would have said struggling on.

Dr. Elliot held out his hand to Mrs. TumbulL <<May I hope that
the lapse of time has seined your feelings towards me ?" he saul, in a
low, persuasive tone^and none knew how to speak more penoanrely
than he. '^ Now that we have been brought together in this strange
way, let me implore a reconciliation — for Louisa's sake."

Mrs. Tumbull, after a moment's hesitation, put bar hand into his.
'' For Louisa's sdce," she repeated. '' Are you living in Wezboroagfa ?
Have you a flourishing practice?"

<<Not flourishing. Practice comes slowly to beginners."

<^ How is Louisa? Is she much altered?"

« Very much, I think. The loss of her children has had a great effect
upon her."

^' Ab ! you have children then I" An old jealoos feeling of bygone
days came over Mrs. Tombull. She had had none.

*' Yes, we have been unfortunate in thrai all, save the eldest. I have
left one at home now, in Louisa's arms, dying."

Mrs. Tumbull was shocked, and a better feeling returned to her. <' I
Bhould like to see Louisa," she exdumed. <' Suppose I go now ?"

*< Now I" cried Dr. Elliot, in a dismayed tcme, as he thought of the
inward sisns of poverty in his house, and its disordered appearance just
then, '^^t we are all at sixes and sevens to-night^ with tiiis dying
dbild."

<<0h, I can allow for that: I know what illness is. I have

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THE physician's HOME. 601

enongh of it once I mariied Squire TumbuU. Wait one moment, imd
I will go with you."

She nad poroessed a will of her own as Clara Freer, and she had not
parted with it as Mrs. Tumbull. She called for her bonnet and cloak,
and then went bto the dining-room to her husband. He looked sur-
prised, as well he might, to see her going out, at the dusk of erening, in
a strange town.

^^Did you recognise him?" she said, leaning oyer her husband's
chair.

'^Recognise him!" repeated Squire Tumbull, not understanding.
^^ He is a deyer man, I tmnk; seems to know what he is about. BSs
name is" — ^running his eyes over the card on the table — *' Elliot. Dr.
Elliot."

** He is metamorphosed into Doctor now. He was Tom Elliot when
he ran away with Louisa."

** By— jingo! it's never that Tom Elliot!" uttered the astonished
squire. *< Is he Louisa's husband ? Well, it did strike me that I had
seen his £ftce before."

^* He is Louisa's husband, and she is in trouble, he says. A child of
theirs is dying — now — to-night — as I understand. I fancy, too, they
are in poverty," she added : '* which of course was only to be expected,
acting as they did. But he asked me to let bygones be bygones, for
Louisa's sake, and I am going to see her."

" Bygones ! of course, let them be bygones," cried the warm-hearted
squire, "why not? I have always blamed your father for holding out
about it. It was done, and couldn't be helped ; and the only remedy
left was to make the best of it. A dying child ! poverty ! I say, Clara,
don't forget that we have abundance of everything, money included.
Let your hand be open, wife, if it's wanted. Poor Loi) !"

She went out, learing the squire to his reflections. They carried him
back, naturally, to that old tune, eight years ago. He had admired
Louisa Freer men, and wbhed to marry her, but Mr. Tom Elliot fore-
stalled him. He had then, after some delay, transferred his proposals to
the elder sister, and they were accepted. To be mistress of Tumbull
Park, and two thousand a year, was a position any lawyer's daughter
might covet. Clara did, and gained it

Jt was a strange meeting, the two sisters coming together, in that
unexpected manner, after so many years of estrangement. Oh! the
contrast between them I Mrs. Elliot pale, haggard, unhappy, her gown
a faded merino, and her hair little cared for : Clara, who had thrown off
her mantle, in an evening dress of black velvet, its low body and sleeves
trimmed with rich white lace, and gold ornaments decorating her neck,
her arms, and her luxuriant hdr: more beautiful, more beautiful she
was, altogether, than of yore.

There arose now, from a stool at his mother's feet, a lovely boy of
seven years old, tall, healthy, and straight as a dart, fixing his large
brown eye^ on the stranger's face. But he was not dressed very well,
and Dr. Elliot, muttering something about *' William's bedtime," took
him, out of the room.

" What a noble boy !" involuntarily exclaimed Mrs. Tumbull, gazing

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608 TBI FHimCIAB'8 BD)

after htm; **yrbai tn inteffigrat eoontommcel He it toot Meakf I
presume : and this was your youngcet."

JFasf She uncon0OK>ai]7 spoke of the infiait in Ae jnMi tenae^ far
she had noted its ghastly &os and laboured breathing. Yety, Tery fiuk
was its life ebbino^ now.

<*How many ^ildren have you?^ inquired Mis. EQioi.

'^ None." And there was something in the tone of the Aart anaafi
whieh told die subject was a sore one.

<^Tou are well off/' vehemently spoke Mrs. Elliot "< Better netar
hare them^ tiian haye them only to lose. WiUiam was bom aaoo after
oar marriage, in ten months, and then, far nearly three years^ I had no
more children. I cBd so wib for agirl — as dM my husbawL How I
loi^;ed for it, I cannot tell you. The passionate appeal of Badnl I
im£rstood then — < Give me efaildren, or dse I die.' Wd, a ^A was
bom ; but bora to die : then another was bom ; but bom to die : now
ibis one, who has stayed longer with me tiian dwy, fi» she ia fovteeo
months; now this one is abcmt to die ! You are well off.''

*' Is Dr. Elliot a good husband to you?" questioned Mrs, TwnbolL

'^ He is a kind htuband — ^yes — ^generally speaking,'* was the rtpiyof
Mrs. Elliot, whfle a vivid blush dyed her pale eheek. '< Dot he is ted
of pleasure — not altogether what may be called a domestie Iwhand
And nowy Clara, dare I ask you of my fiUher? Two veaia ago I heard
that he was living, and I see you are not in moamrag. '

'^He is well and hearty. As full of business as ever.''.

^Does he ever speak,^ hesitated Mrs. ElKot, ""of foigvvsag' me?"

^He has never mentioned you, never onoe. He was dread6dly
incensed at the step you took. And when offended, it is so hard lor him
to forgive. Yon must remember that, Louisa.'*

'< I wrote to him after Willy was bom. And again wheo I lost flay
first Utttoffiri."

^andeed!" cried Mrs. TumbulL <'He never told me. What waa
the result?"

« Both times the same. He returned the letters in a blank oorar.
It is not that I want assistance from him, but I should like toiginaiass.''

** But some assistance would not be miwalcome, I ptesame."

<' Oh, we can manage to get along. I suppose it is only right tlmt
straitened circumstances should follow such a mattiage as omsw If I
craved help for anythmg, it would be for the boy. He is a moat intal-
ligent child--*a0 you saw by his eyes and countenanee-- ean mad at well
as I can. But it is time his education was begun in earnest **

« Will you rive him to me T eagerly ai^ed Mrs. TumbolL ««I wUl
adopt him, and do by him as if he were my own. Unless 1 1
you are shortiy in expectation of another mfknt"

** It is so," answered Mrs. Elliot '< Night and day,
been a fear of losing this one, have I prated it may be a mL^

'< Then you can spare me the boy. Talk it over with Dr. ESaoU It
is only^ to fend him, you know, Louisa ; and remember, tiie advaotagas to
him will be great"

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THB fhthioiah's Hcacs. 60S

TwBLVE months passed away, and once more Squire Tumbull and his
wife came to Wexborough for dutnge of air for the former, bringing with
them William Elliot, who was now resident at Tumbull Park.

I^ot long had they been at Wexborough this second time, before a dis*
sig^reeable feeling, which during their former visit had stolen^ like a
libadowy oyer Mrs. £llk)t's heart, rose again. Like « shadow indeed ; for
she would not allow herself to notice it then, and with their departure
had dismissed it from her remembrance, never, she sincerely hoped, to
reool it. Yet now it was forcing itself upon her ^th redoubled vigour-—
the suspicion that her husband admired, not in too sisterly a way, Mrs.
Tumbull ; that there was too good an understanding between them. Not
ihat Mrs. Elliot feared anything like guilt Oh, no. Whatever opinion
she may have had cause to form of b^ husband's laxity of morak during
their married life, she was perfectly secure in her sister's principles ; but
that an undue attachment for each other^s society had grown up, wBa
very plain. On Mrs. Tumbull's part, it was probably nodiing but.
gratified vanity ; but Louisa had never foi:gotten how Clara had once,
when they were girls at home together, confessed to something, very like-
love, for Tom EUiot She, Louisa, had then thought that his love and
admiration were given to none but herself: she now knew that, at least,
his admiration was given to every handsome woman who came in his
way. Few had he &llen in with so beautiful tts Mrs. Tumbull ; he was
at no pains to conceal his sense of it, and she repulsed not the marked
attentions of the very handsome physi<nan. But aU this was disagreeable
to Mrs. Elliot, and as the weeks of the Tumbulls' sojourn at Wexborough
lengthened into months, and her husband passed more and more of his
time with Mrs. Tumbull, it jarred not only on her feelings, but on her
temper. Existence seemed to possess for her but two phases : passionate
love for her little baby-girl, and jealousy of her husband and dster.
Never yet had she breathed a word of this unpleasantness to Dr. Elliot,
but she was naturally of hasty spirit, and the explosion was sure to
come.

One afternoon, as she stood at her window holdmg her babe, she saw
her sister and William advancing down the street. Then she saw her
husband approach them, draw mrs. Tumbull's arm within his, and lead
her in. William came running up to the drawin^room.

^< Where is your aunt, Willy ?^ she said, as sto stooped to kiss him.

'' She's gone with pi^pa into hb consulting-room. Mamma, who do
you think is come to Uncle Tumbull's ?"

MiB. £niiot did not heed him : she was listening for any sound from
down stairs, jealously tormenting herself with cox^ectures what they might
be doing, what talking about. Mrs. Tumbull came up shortly.

^< I hsve had the greatest surprise to-day, Louisa," she exclaimed.
*' Who do you think came by tl^ mid-day coach ?"

Mrs. Elliot answered coldly — that she was not likely to guess.

« Ripa."

<^ Papa I" repeated Mrs. Elliot, aroused from her broodmr thoughts.

'^ Papa. I never was more surprised. We were at lundieon. The

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604 THB PHTBICIAN'B HOME.

servant said a gentleman wanted to see me, and in walked my &ther. It
seems he was at Widboroagh, on, business for one of his dientSy and
being so near, ran over here this morning. But he leaves to-morrow bj
the early coach, and is gone now to the Royal Arms to secure a bed*"

<'Did Willy see him ?" sighed Mrs. Elliot

** Yes. But papa took little notice of him : he never does when he

sees him at the Park. I afn gomg to leave Willy with you for the af^er-

.noon, for his presence always seems to cast a restraint upon my fiither. I

wish," added Mrs. Tumbull, <<you would g^ve me a glass of wine^ Louisa;

I am thirsty."

Mrs. Elhot laid down her infant, and brought for<li a decanter of port
M'ioe. It was the same as that in Mrs. Tumbull's own cellar. Squire
Tumbull having sent in a present of some to Mrs. Elliot

<< I am thirsty too," sfldd William. '^ Let me have a glass, mamma.**

" Wine for you !** exclaimed Mrs. EUiot ; " no, indeed, WiUy. When
little boys are thirsty, they drink water."

" What nonsense !" interposed Mrs. TnmbulL *' Give the child some
wine, Louisa."

A half dispute ensued, carried on good-humouredly by Mrs. TumbuD,
with bitterness by her sister. The latter handed William a tumbler of
water : Mrs. Tumbull ordered him not to drink it till his mamma put
some wine in it, and William Elliot, a sensitive child, stood in discomlort
his cheeks crimson, and whispering that he was not thirsty then. Dr.
Elliot came in.

" Did you 6ver know anything like Louisa's absurdity to-day ?• Mrs.
Tumbull said to him. ** Willy is dying with thirst : I say put a little
drop of wine into that water, instead, of letting him drink it cold, and die
won't g^ve him wine."

'< He shall not have wine," repeated Mrs. Elliot. << It is improper for
him."

<' Nonsense !" muttered Dr. Elliot, and poured some wine into the
water. His wife's face and lips turned of a deadly whiteness, with her
the sign of extreme anger ; she caught up the babe, and left the room.

'* I must be going, Louisa," called out Mrs. TumbulL *< My father will
have returned from the hotel. Good by." She went down the stairs, fol-
lowed by Dr. Elliot, and Mrs. Elliot saw them walking slowly up the
street together. She was boiling over with rage and indignation. Dr. Elliot
did not return to tea, not, in fact, till it was time to take William home,
and then came the explosion. The physician took it with provoking
coolness, began to whistle, and asked whether the boy was ready.

<< He never goes back again," said Mrs. Elliot *^ His bed is made up
at home."

'< There is no reason for the lad's interests to suffer because your tem-
per has turned crusty this evening," observed Dr. Elliot. *' He shall
certmnly go back to Squire Turabuirs."

^' When a woman can incite a child to disobey his mother, she is no
longer fit to hold control over him. Mrs. Tumbull shall have no more
control over mine."

*' Was it worth while to make a fuss over such a trifle ? As if a drop
of wine could hurt the boy ! Remember the obligations he is under to'
Mrs. Tumbull."

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THE PHYSICIAK*S HOMB. 605

. *^ Bemember your oblinttioDs to me, your wife. I have bome mucb,
Thomas, since we married, but I will not be domineered oyer by you botbi
conjointly, or tamely see your love given to her."

** Tamely I — lovel" uttered Doctor Elliot; "what nonsense, now,
Louisa ?"

*< Do you think I am blind ?" she retorted ; " do you think I am a stone,
destitute of feeling ? Is it not too apparent that all your thoughts, your
time, your wishes are given to Mrs. Tumbull ?"

** Oh, if you are going to begin on the old score of jealousy, I have
nothing more to say," ol^rved Dr. Elliot, carelessly, ** but I think you
might exempt your own sister i&om such suspicions. Harriet !" he called
out, throwing open the room-door, ^' put on Master William's things, and
send him down.**

^* I say the child shall not go back," passionately uttered Mrs. Elliot.

'' And I say he shall. When you have calmed down to soberness,
Louisa, you will see the folly of sacrificing^ his advantages of education to
your fancies, which are as capricious as they are unjust."

<* I will apply to the law — ^1 will apply to the nearest magistrate, rather
than have my child forcibly disposed of against my will," she vehemently
continued.

** My dear, the law is not on your side, but on mine. A father's
authority does not yield to magpistrates," laughed Dr. Elliot. To preserve
that nonchalant good-humour, was, in her present mood, as fuel heaped
on fire. She would rather he had struck her.

And the matter ended by his taking William back to Mrs. TumbuU's.
<< Loo's furiously savage," he thought to himself, as he went. "But she
should not "take such crotchets in her head.**

Mrs. Elliot certainly was " savage," as she sat alone that dusk evening.
Things wore to her jaundiced mind a worse appearance than they really
deserved. Her husband was magnified into a sort of demon Don Juan ;
her sister into a beautiful siren, who lived but to attract him, and rule
over her. " Oh ! the blind child I was, to fly in the fSftce of my friends,
and run away with Tom Elliot !" she bitterly exclaimed. " I suppose
the act is working out its own punishment, for what a life is mme!
Struggling with poverty — ^losing my idolised children — spumed by my
father — ^neglected by my husband — patronised by my sister, and com-
pelled to yield my boy to her charge ! His education — ^there it is. It
ought to go on, yet we have not the means to pursue it, and never shall,
it seems to me.

" Why not ask my father ?" The question came from her own heart,
but with a sudden intensity that startled her to believe one must be at
her elbow who had whispered it. " Why not go to him now, this very
moment, at the hotel, and press it on him ?"

Mrs. Elliot was in the excited state that sways to action. Calling the
maid to sit up-stairs, lest the child should cry, she put on her things and
went out.

The Royal Arms was not fsir off ; a handsome hotel with a flight of
steps and a blazing gas-lamp at its entrance. She turned her &ce
away from its light. The landlord himself happened to be crossing the
passage.

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606 TBB fEXmCiAJStB milB»

''Iiageirileiiia&t>f tkenane of Freer stoppuig hefef loqaired Mn.

"Freer? No, ma'am."

<< A fiaand of Mr. Turobviri in die Creseent,'' she co^Iaiaed. « He
came in this afternoon and engaged a bed."

" Ghf that gendesian— I did not know hia name. Wean m bag-wig,

'' The same."

<< He is not oome in yet"

But» as they stood tbterey some one else eame op the step% and ^
tfiem without notiee ; an old gentleman in a bop^'wig. The laodlocd
was pressing forward to mention Mrs* EUioiy hot she daqped his asm to
restrain him.

" Not here^ in diis publio passaffe," she wfaiqieied, shrinking into a
comer* << 1 will follow him to his bedroom. I snu his davtthter. Tfasre
has been a diffDrenoe between ns, and we have not met for yean. It
you have children you can leel for me."

The landlord lookei at her oompassionat^, at her pale face and
visible emotion. He stood before her till Mr. Freer haa reoetvad his
candle from the hands of the waiter and had gone up-stairs.

He was windins^ up his watch when Mrs. Elliot entraed. She dosed
the door and stood beiEbre him. He tamed round in suipiise^ but he did
not recognise her in the dim light. Her agitatk>n was greati ahe be-
came hyflterical, and fell forward at his foot.

^^Ohf fadier! forgive, forgive meT she sobbed out Mr. Fleer
started back from her, almost in affirigfat.

<< Louisa!— Elliot! you! yAai brings you here?' 13^ Christian
name had arisen invokmtarily to his lips. He seemed to add die odier
by way of coiinteracttng his familiarity.

*' Sorrow brings me here— misery brings me. Father, I cannot live
without your forgiveness. I think ^ou must have cursed me, and ihat
the cane is oihmD^ to us, for nothing has prospered with me nnoe I
left your home.*^

*^ I have not cursed you,** he said, still standmg aloof from her.

^' Will you accord me your forgiveness ?" she continued to ask.

** Yes ; if you can be satisfied with the letter and not tiie sjMrit.''

She lookea at Inm inquiringly, her lips parted, her thin white hands
dasped in supplication.

" K to say that I forgive you will avail, that forgiveness you may
take," he said, answering her look. '< But whtn you oast me ofl^ to
become the wife of Thomas Elliot, you put a bar to all future intevoourse
between us/'

'^ Your full and free forgiveness," she continued to impkre.

*< My firee forgiveness,*' he repeated, " but not my triendsUp. Tou
have your husbuid's."

'^ He has not been to me the husband I expected — ^hoped for," she
cried, sftving more than die would have said but for the jealous, angiy
feeling tnat was rifo within her, so especially on that nighU

TIm lawyer smiled, a grim smile. '< Few wives, when they many as
you did, do find their husbands what they expected."

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XHB FHTSIGIAN'S HOMB. 00?

'< Ofay fatiber, father, that I had nerer kA your homel*' ahe wailed.
<' At times I say to myself. Let me cheat my memory, and penoade it
that all these years liave heen a dream — ^that I diail awake and find
mysdf little Louisa IVeer 1"

*^ Ah," retnmed the lawyer, ^many a one would gi?e thair firee to
awake from the same dream."

<< It is not visited on him as it is on me," she added, her cheeka flash-
ing. ''Hour after hoar, niiile I am sitting alone, 1»ooding over the
past, striving to stave off present annoranoes, he ^ends away from me,
seelang only how he may amose hims^"

'< Nothing else could be expected, from a man of the disposition of
Thomas ElUot, but that he would seek his own amnsemont, manied or
single. I could have told you that, years ago."

^ I know you never liked him, papa, but will yon not be reoonoiled to
hiniP"

*^ Never," vehemently replied Lawyer Freer. ^ We will not speak
upon the subject."

*^ I came here to urge another plea," she sadly added, after an interval
of filenoe. ^' To ask you to help me : we are very poor."

*'It is waste of time," was the stem reiteration of Lawyer Freer.
'^ Thomas Elliot has no help from me, before my death or after it."

^' It is not for him," she eagerly rejoined, her eyes glistening with
excitement. " Father, I declare to you that I ask for it but to thwart
my husband, not to assist him. Yoa have seen a child of mine at Mrs.
Turnbull»s.»

^I have seen a child there," he coldly answered. **l beHeve my
daughter dnce mentioned that it was yours.''

My daughter! W^, ^ deservea it

'' It is my only boy : the rest were girls, and they have all died, save
one. Father, I named him William, iSifcer yon."

** I had been better pleased that you bad named him any other name,
to associate with that of Elliot," was the disheartening answer.

'< It is for him that I need assistance," she resumed. << I want to place
him at school. Oh, sirl if you knew all, perhaps you would aid me
to do it"

"What mistaken notion are you labouring under?" returned Mr.
Freer. << Help a child of Thomas Elliot's I Has he been sending you
on this strtoge ernmd?"

^< He does not know I am come. He was absent when I stole out of
my home to ask this. It would be against his will if the boy is placed at
school, for he wishes him to remain with Mrs. TumbulL Do yoa re*
member, £ftther, how Clara used to tyrannise over me at homo'-^how she
used to put upon me?'

" It may possibly have been the case. She was older than you."

*' Sir, you knew she did, though you may not care to recal it But
she does still, and surely she is not justified. I have not a will of my
own, especially as regards the boy $ every wish I express, she opposes,
and Dr. Elliot upholds her. I could bear this," passionat^y went on
Mrs. Elliot, disclosiug what she would have shrunk from idm in a
calmer moment*-^" I could bear her encouraging the child in disobedienoe.

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608 THE physician's HOME.

bat what I cannot bear is, that she shoald draw my husbands affeciaona
away from me."

♦* I do not understand," replied Mr. Freer.

<* Because you do not know Clara," said Mrs. Elliot. ** She was as
fond of Tom Elliot as I was, in those old days, but she had more woridly

Srudence. Who first encouraged him to our house ? She did. Who
irted with him and attracted him ? She did. And when ihe truth came
out, that he loved me, she betrayed the tale to you, in her jealous anger.
Then came forward Squire Tumbull. I was a young, frightened diild,
and I did not dare to object to him ; so to escape I rushed upon a worse
fate."

Lawyer Freer was knitting his brows. Parts of her speech had grated
on his ear.

'^ She never forgave me, firom the morning she knew Tom Elliot cared
for me and not for her ; she has never forgiven me yet. And now they
have learnt to care for each other : the time, the attentions, the love my
husband owes me, are given to her. Believe me or not, as you please,
sir, it is the disgraceful truth."

" Disgraceful, degenerate girls, both of you," he exclaimed, angrily,
'* to sufrer your minds to be led away by a man like him !"

<' So I come to you for aid," she continued ; '* and I have explained
this, not to betray her folly, but to justify my application. If I could
place the boy at school, we should no longer be under obligations to Mrs.
Tumbull, neither would the child be an excuse for my husband's visits
there. You cannot countenance such conduct in my sister."

^'I have nothing to do with Mrs. Tumbull's conduct. She is old
enough and wise enough to take care of herself, and I do nOt fear her
doing so. And for you — should you ever become a widow, then yon
may apply to me."

The tears were struggling down Mrs. Elliot's cheeks. She ventured
to touch, and take, her father's hand. ^' For my peace, and WDHam's
welfare, I implore aid," she said. "Not for Dr. Elliot."

Mr. Freer did not withdraw his hand, and he did not return her clasp ;
he suffered it to remain passively in hers. " You are asking what is not
in my power to accord, Louisa," he at length said. " When you \eh my
protection for Thomas Elliot's, I took an oath that he, and his, should
remain strangers to me ; that so long as he should live, diey should never
receive or enjoy aught of mine. As well ask me to break this hand —
and he held it out — as to break mv oath."

" So there goes another of my fife's delusions," she uttered, in a tone
of anguish, " nearly the last. Li my sadder moments, a beaming ray of
light has flashed across me — a vision of my being reconciled to my father ;
of his blessing me and my children, a blessing that might have been
worked out in life. How could I have expected it ? Father, farewell
God bless you, and pity me !"

" Fare you well, Louisa."

He took the candle and followed her to the door, intending to lisht
her down the stairs, but the rays of a lamp, hanging outside, rendered it
unnecessary. He stood there, and when she glanced back from the end
of the corridor, she saw him looking after her. Yearningly she strained

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THE FHTSICJAN's HOME. 609

ber eves to his, and her lips moved, and her steps halted. Perhaps she
woula have flown back to him ; she had it in her heart to do so ; to flEJl
upon his necky and with kisses and sobs, implore a more loving forgive-
ness ; bat he turned in and closed the door, even as she looked, and she
passed swiftly down the. stairs, with a bursting spirit. It was the last
time they met on earth.

III.

NsAKLT the last of her life's delusions, Mrs. Elliot had sdd. What
else remained to her P Her children. William departed, as before, with
Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull for Nearfordshire. With the latter's absence,
Louisa agun forgot her jealous troubles, and peace — rather cold perhaps,
but undisturbed by storms — was resimied between herself and her hus-
band. Upon her young child, the girl, every wish and hope seemed now
concentred. The love she lavished upon the in&nt was a matter of re-
mark to all who had an opportunity of witnessing it : they loved their
children, but not with an all-absorbing passion like this. Did Mrs.
Elliot ever hear that a check, sooner or later, always comes to love so
inordinate ? She would have known it, had she looked much into the
world. '^ Oh ! when my darling can speak, when it can answer me with
its dear little voice, I smdl be too happy," she was wont to say. *' My
father has abandoned me, my husband has forgotten his love for me, my
noble boy gladdens other eyes than mine, but m this precious child shall
be my recompense. Make haste, my darling, make haste to speak!"

But the child seemed backward in speaking, and in walking also.
Fifteen months old, and it attempted neither. Master Willy, at that age,
had gone with his sturdy legs all over the room, and made himself heard
when he wanted bread and butter. " Girls are not so forward as boys,'*
reasoned Mrs. Elliot

It was a pretty child, and would have been more so, but for an unusual
look about the forehead, and a vacant stare in its full blue eyes. Once
or twice, that vacant gaze had stricken a chill to the mother's heart, '
bringing with it a wild fear, a dread, which she drove back as some far-
off horror, that would kill her if ever it came near.

One afjiemoon the servant, Harriet, had the baby lying on her knee.
She had just come in from a walk, had taken off its things, and was now
looking curiously at its face, and touching its head here and there. Dr.
Elliot was stretched on the sofa, reading, as Harriet thought, but his
eyes were raised ove^ the book, watching her motions.

^' Harriet, what are you looking at?"

The quesdon was sudden, and startled the servant. She replied, in a
confused, vague manner, that she was looking at '^ nothing particular."

Dr. Elliot came forward, drew a chair in front of them, and sat down,
ga^ng first at her, then at the child. *' What were vou thinking of,
Harriet," he persist^, " when you touched the child's forehead ?"

Harriet burst into tears : she was very fond of the infant. ^^ I hope
you will not ask me, sir," she rejoined; '^ I should be afraid to tell."

** Afraid of a fiddlestick," returned Dr. Elliot " If you fancy there
is anything the matter with her, speak, and it may be" — be seemed to

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610 TBE PHTHCIAIS'S HOICE.

Ittdtaie Cbr a word—- *^ zemtdied. Maiijr an iataxA hm been raaed ftr
life tfiroQgh ill ailments not hemg known«"

*' It was not me^ sv/' began aarA/b, looking round at the door, wladi
was a^, to make sore her mistress was not uiere, though indeed At
eould then hear her Ofeiiieady in her own room. " If s true I hare won-
dered at the child*s being so dull, though I never thooght rnoch about it;
but this afternoon, as I was sitting on a bench in the promenade walk,
old Mrs. Chivers came up— she as goes out nursing."

<* I know," said Dr. ElUot. « WeU ?"

** She bad got ber daughtei^s diild with her, a Hvely litde thing of
de?en montfai. It was stepping abont, holding on bj oor kneei^ and

<< < That's what your poor little charge won't do on a avdden,' Ae
begins to me.

*" ' Why not?' says I. ' LiUle Miss Qara's backward, bat sben be
aU right when she gets her teeth.'

<< * Why, she's got her teeth,' zetums Nurse Chiyers. ' Hasn't she?'

<< < Only iixy' I said. ^ Many a child's more backward in wafldng
than she.'

'^ ' I don't say she won't walk in time,' went on Dame Chif«rB» ^ bat
yon can't have bandied that babby for fifteen months, and not hare foond
ont whaf s the mattw with it. Folks are talking of it in the town, aad
saying ' " Harriet stopped.

*' Go on," cried Dr. Elliot, witb compressed lips.

^' ^ And saying,' Nurse Chiyers continned, ' that the doetor most know
it, if hs poor mamma does not Though the look of the babby aaight
haye told eyen her that it is* — ^I don't hke," broke off Harriei^ widi re-
newed tears, ^^ to repeat the cruel word she said — thot^ Nnrse Chirets
was grieved herself, and did not mean it in cruelty. Bat if die's z%bt,
the dear infant will never have wit nor sense through fife, to eomfert na."

Tighter, far taghter, was the straining of his lipa, and a daik ibade of
min mariced his handsome face« He bent his head over bis dnld. It
Jay wide awake, but perfectly passive in ELairiet's lap, its lipe apar^ and
its glistening ejres staring upwards.

<< Oh, sir," sobbed Harriet, « is it true ?" And then she saw dM ex-
pression on the doctor's coontenance, and knew that the news was no
news to him. ^ Who ever will Inreak it to my mistress ?" she waSed.

*< It must be suffered to come npon her by gradual degroes," was has
answer. But had Dr. Elliot raised his eyes, ne would have seen that it
had come upon her, and not by gradual degrees. She had come softly
down stairs and inside the room, lest the baby slept, just in time to hear
the dreadful sentence ; and there she stood, transfixed and rigid, ber eyes
staring as wildly as the child's. That fer-off horror, seen but at a di»-
tanoe, had come near— into her yery home. Some instmct caosed Har-
riet to turn round ; she saw her mistress, and shrieked ont Dr. Effiot
raised his bead, bounded forward, and caught her in* his arms.

^< Louisat Good Heavens! I did not know yon were there. My
dearest wife I do not distress yourself; all will be wdi; it is not so bad
as these women think. Louisa! Loaisal"

No, no, the dreadful shock had come to her, and nothing coold soothe

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LAKZ irOAMI. Sll

or softm it When A% tecovered power of motion, sho took tbe iB-fiiledi
child from the serraB^ laid its cheek against hen, and moaned as tkm
swayed wiih it badcwaids and forwards. Soddeniy slie looked np at her
husband — ** If we could £e — I and she— both of ns !" she mnrmnred, in
a dcsfiairiog, helpless sort of way, almost as if her own intellects were
going.

It was indeed a fcarfol Tisitation, and it made itself heard in throbs of
agony. Her brain was beaitingy her heart was working : care upon care,
trouble upon trouble^ had followed her wilful marriage, and now the last
and greatest eomlort, ih» only joy that seemed lefl to her, had turned
into a thing to be dreaded worse than death. She had so passionately
wiAed for this child, and now that it was given, what was it ? Her
husband sat regarding her in eloomy silence, pitying her — she could see
that — pit]fing the ill^ated child. Oh, if she could but undo her work
and her ^sobedieneo- if she could but go back years, and be once more
careless, haj^y, dotifbl Louisa Freer! Not even Tom Elliot should
tempt her away then.

How many, as her father said, have echoed the same useless prayer,
ni-doinsf fir^ repentance afterwards ; but repentance can rarely, if ever,
repair m ill-doing. AU must bear the sorrows they bring upon them-
selTce, even though they may end but wil^ life ; but it seemed to Louisa
Elliot, in that &st hour of her full affliction, tiiat her punishment was
worse than had e?«r yet ftllen upon woman.

LAKE N&AMI.*

It is related — at least it is recorded in the archives of Cape Town—
that in the early days of that now prosperous settiement, when all the
larger quadrupeos indigenous to Southern Africa existed in the neiffh^
bourhood of Table Mountain, some labourers employed in a field ms*
covered a huge rhinoceros immovably fixed in the quicksands of the
Salt River, which is within a mile of the town. The alarm being given,
a number of country people, armed with such weapons as were at hand,
rushed to the spot with an intention of despatching the monster. Its
Af^warance, howeveiv was so formidable, that they deemed it advisable to
<^>en their battery at a most respectful distance. But seeing that all the
animal's efforts to extricate itself were firuitless^ the men gradually grew
more courageous, and approached mu<^ nearer. Still, whether from the
inefficiency of their weapons, or want of skill, they were unable to make
any impression on the tough and almost impenetrable hide of the beast
At length they began to despair, and it was a question if they should
not beat a retreat, when an individual more sagacious than the rest
stepped forward, and suggested that a hole should be cut in the animal's

* Lake Ngami ; or, Explorations and Biscoyeries, during Four Tears* Wander,
ings in the WUds of South Western Africa. By Charles John Andersson. Witfi
a Map, and numerous Illustraitiona Lcmdon: Hurst and Blaekett. 1856.

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612 LAKS NGAHI.

hide, by which means easr access nught be had to its vitalsy and they
could then destroy it at their leisure! The . happy device was loodtty
applauded, only the legend does not relate with what success.

What a change has come o?er the same country since Harris, Gordon
Cummine» Galton, Andersson, and his brother Northman, Hans LArseo,
have earned dismay and destruction into the interior wilds of Soathem
A&ica? Aiidersson has, during his wanderings in Africa, killed upwards
of a hundred rhinoceroses. Hans Larsen has, with his own hand* shoi
no less than nine of these gigantic animals in one day I

It is further related that when waggons were first introduced into
Great Namaqua-land, they caused many conjectures, and much astonish-
ment among the natives, who* conceived them to be some gigantic animal
possessed of vitality. A conveyance of this kind, belonging to the BerZ
Mr. Schmelen, once broke down, and was left stidcing in the sand. One
day a Bushman came to the owner, and said he had seen his <* pack ox"
standing in the desert for a long time, with a broken leg; and as he did
not observe it had any grass, he was a&aid that it would soon die of
hunger unless taken away 1

What a change also here p We have now German missionaries, settled
not only in Great Namaqua, but in still more remote Damaira-land,
toiling however, it is much to be regretted, in vain, among stubborn and
savage races of men. And while Galton showed the way for waggons to
the corn-lands of Ovambo, with their comparatively civilised inhabitants,
Andersson remained behind, and ultimately succeeded in also discovering
a waggon route to the celebrated Ngami — the mysterious lake of
Southern Africa.

'* An European," our Swedish traveller justly remarks, ^'can form no
conception of the impracticable nature of the country in these lands, and
the immense difficulties that must be surmoimted.'' To give a faint idea
of the obstructions of this kind of travelling, we will suppose a person
suddenly placed at the entrance of a primeval forest of unknown extent,
never trodden by the foot of man, the haunt of savage beasts, and with
soil as yielding as that of an English sand-down ; to tiiis must be added
a couple of ponderous vehicles, as large as the caravans met with in the
streets of London, only a great deal stouter — to each of which are yoked
sixteen or twenty refractory oxen. Let him then be told, <' Through
yonder wood lies your road ; nothing is known of it. Make your way as
well as you can ; but remember, your cattle will perish if they do not get
water in the course of two or three days.'*

These are, however, only some of the numerous and ever-alternating
charms and trials of African travel. There is the bush-tick, (or ex-
ample, with which Messrs. Galton and Andersson made acquaint-
ance on first landing at Sand Fountain, in Walfisch Bay. Its bite
was so severe and irritating, Mr. A. relates, as almost to drive them
mad. "To escape, if possible, the horrible persecutions of these blood-
thirsty creatures, I took refuge one night in the cart, and was coo-
gratulating myself on having, at last, secured a place free from their
attacks. !But I was mistaken. I had not been long asleep before I was
awakened by a disagreeable irritation over my whole body, which shorUy
became intolerable ; and notwithstanding the nieht air was very sharps
and the dew heavy, least off my clothes^ and roUed in the icy cold sand

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ini ilie blood flowed freely from eyery pore. Strange as it may appear,
I fbuod this expedient serviceable."

By the side of such grierons discomforts there was something to afford
pleasure to the sight Aromid, every little sand hillock was covered with
a creeper, which produced a kind of prickly gourd (called naras), of the
most delicious flavour. Not only man, but all kinds of animals, from
the fi^-mouse to the ox, and even the feline and canine race, devour it
with mat avidity* Birds are also very partial to it, more especially
ostriches, who, during the naras season, are found in great abundance in
the places where they grow. '* It is,** Mr. Andersson justly remarks,
** in such instances, more especially, that the mind becomes powerfully
impressed with the wise provisions of nature, and the great goodness of
the Almighty, who, even from the desert, raises good and wholesome
sustenance for man and all his creatures.**

Apropoi of ostriches, we cannot help giving a recipe for an Ostrich
egg-omelet : a hole is made at one end of uie e^^ through which is in-
tK^uced some salt and pepper. The egg is wen Well shaken, so as
thoroughly to mix the white, the yolk, and the several ingredients men-
tioned. It is then placed in hot ashes, where it is baked to perfection.
An egg thus prepared, although supposed to contain as much as twenty-
four of the common fowl-egg, is not considered too much for a single
hunery individual.

^e dangers arising from sun-stroke, from want of water, or from
poisoned waters — for the natives often poison the wells and pools to ob-
tain the carcases of wild animals — are almost trifles compared with the
constant annoyance of lions. No sooner had €ralton and Andersson started
on their perilous wanderings, than these tyrants of Africa killed a horse
and a mule, and shortly anerwards openly attacked the party. The stories
<^ our author's prowess against lions would fill a small volume — if not
so graphically related as the exploits of Jules Gerard, they are &r more
numerous, and characterised, if possible, by even greater boldness and
daring on the part of the Swede.

The natives, it appears, often deprive the lion of his prey, and actually
earn their main subsistence in this way, becoming a kind of biped
jackals. The poorer of the Damaras will also, when hard pressed for
food, eat the flesh of beasts of prey themselves, as of the leopard, the
hysna, and many others. Their prowess in hunting is not very remark-
able ; witness the following incident :

Some of the servants had gone into the bed of the river to chase away a jackal,
when they suddenly encountered a leopard in the act of springing at our goats,
which were grazing, unconscious of danger, on the rivers bank* On finding
himself discovered, he immediately took refuge in a tree, where he was at once
attacked by the men. It was, however, not until he bid received upwards of
sixteen wounds— some of wWch were inflicted by poisoned arrows — ^that life
becaune extinct. I arrived at the scene of conflict omy to see him die.

During the whole affair, the men had stationed themselves at the foot of the
tree— to the branches of which the leopard was pertinaciously clingmg— and,
having expended all Uieir ammunition, one of them proposed— and the sugges-
tion was ti^en into serious consideration — ^that they should poll him down by
the tail!

Andersson's ideas of ant-hills were for the first time realised at Schme Ws
VOL. xxzix* 2 8

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0U IME MhAdin.

Hop^ oDBci Out Geanofm wimomtf §Mm\n. Soioe «f Mm
this interesting, though destructiye iiHBOt^ nienwii»d m
huBdEed £Bet m ciwunifeiitiiQe «t ihe haM, «iii r«ee to .alMift fcii i ■% m
h^hti Wild bees make their nefts ia tbaee gigantic ctwMJlMigi of Ae
termUef, and dunng the sainj mmob nMuhroams giowaa grwt rtiil
aaoe on their jides, rnuoh tuperaor in tize and fHfomr to an^ £iaaad k
Emaope. Caution is neoassary, bowevar, as Mme earn fprnaaoam, iwiftii%
not so jmiob from -diflWiOfire of ^Muoes «s firam diffeaant fltf^gas «(
jjrovth*

At the ^t of the Onuitako monntain owr Mrther feU in widi ji ^aflil
.desonption of lion, called by the jmtivBS Oaauiiira^ wbiAjmamiUm ti»
puma; is nootumal in its haJbite, timid. And hacnleM, ^pnjmgAttim
moat part on small apecies of antelopes.

Tall and graceful fan-palms hesalded the entcanee iate Ovampc^ iwihasci
thej also fell in with a singular fountain, caUed O^ikalK), « Immii fril of
water in limastomp roek, suppliad by a enhkwfaneaa dumwel. Owr tn-
vellers swam into this oavern, and found la it owk and hata, aeme of ike
Jatter dead, and, indeed, mmnnufied, buta^l fiMnging to the rodba. Tbsif
also ^aii|^t sewal aceres of small fish, which weie very palatable, fiattaw
says ip his aoooont of this ^' wonderful freak of natme," that tiiegr had
'^.gMAt fun" At k^ afaootinr dftusks and doves^jmd natowishing AeaajwFBn
both by their swimming and shooting. (" The Narratiiatff an Fiplsiiif,*'
&0., pp. 201. .202.)

Ab they .appioaohad the.adebratad c«m<0onntiy af .South
Oalton's memotable diseovery — gaeuse bt^ffOi to abonnd, jnd af
^distinet kinds. At length xsane the liappy aftawient fAan, in firitan'a
woisd^ eom^ging out of the bnsfaasj the channing aeaMnntry 4[ the
Ovampo layyeUi>wAndhraad asAsealie&meAem. Rne deniaiimho
ix^eBf and inanmerable palms of all nzesv wane jnattarod 0v«r it ; part
was bare far paatvrage, part «aa thickly covavad wkh jhigh coanHrtnhbln ;
paliwadinga, eadi of wlnii^ endaaad ji hoaneataad, ^veve raalirwid anaii"
where over the country. '< It was a land of fioshan to am ; and 'Oian aaf
pU^matie wagmn-dtiirer busst oat into oiflaniationfi of diJighti'* aays
JCr. <jialton ; s^ we oan now let lus aicaUant tmi worthy eaaipanioBi»
Andetasao, also rdata hia aensatioas on £rst witnessing thia une^iootnl
visioi) of an agricultuial peoiple in Central Sonth Afsica^

The Snd of June will ever be iemambq.'ed by us. On the afteoBBoawC^hnt
day, we first set eve on the beautiful aadfert^ plsmsof Ondanga tin r rwniiy
of the Ovambo. Vain would be any attempt to describe the sensations of delkht
and pleasnre experienced by ns on that meaKMnbic-oacaakni^'orto^gspean idea
of w enchanting paaorainioseene that all at onee opened on aartriew. ^Miair
it to say, that iastaad of 1^ eternal junales, where «pay msaiintwe wen in
danger 4^ being drarnd out of onr sadcBes Iw themerodeas-thanH^ihekAd-
scape BOW preseniedan apparently boundless field of yellow oetn, dotted with
nmnerous jMaoeful hoaiesteads, and bathed in the aoft hght af a '^^'^^■^
tropical sun. Here Mid there, moreover, arose gigantic, wirhiia|Mnndiug, lait
darWblia^ timber and fruit-trees, whilst lanumenhle inftJike pafans, either
sin^ or m groups, oompleted the picture. To m it was a perfeot elyatam, and
wtfl rewarded us fer CTcnry former toil and disappointiaeat. My fiaend, who hail
tnwelled to and wide, oonfessedhebadaoferseenanythngtiiiatoonklheooBiX
pared to it. Often since have I conjured up to my ima^^tion this saenei, and
haye thov^ht it might not ipapily i)e compared to steppmg oat of a hot^ white,
and shadowless ro»a, into a park, freiAi wiwTerdfve, sod c^withilie nmfange
cast down by groups of reverend trees.

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LASKHGUXI. 6h5

Vfwaro, tile Ht km? of OrAinpo, was imgmUsA. witii iiis vinton be-
cause tney 17001(1 not IdH eleptmnts for Imn, ttod hence ther 'were obHged
to renounce an intended excursion to the river Cunen^, wlaaxAi flowed to
the nordi, ^and retrace their steps. Andersson justly snms up of this in-
tesesting comDonity^ existipg hitiherto unknown in the interior of 'South
Ahaotk — ''It is in vain tiiat poets and philaathropiBts endeavour 4o per-
suade ne liMt savage naiieasy who have had no |)fevious intefcovrse with
Bmopeans, are livmg nut-state elf tbe meflt^nriafale happnen and purity
— *where igooranee ts Tirtuous simplicity poverty, frugality and tenper-
Bnce — and indolence, laudable contempt for -weal^. Oi» single day
amoiig such people will be sufficient to repudiate these idle notions."^

On their my bafik they wese visited 1^ a flock of the Buphaga Afri-
oaMaiy wMoh, idigkting en the backs of the oxen for tiie purpose of
feeding en die ^ks vnih whidi thsir hides are eoveved, thiew tbem into
'cliaorder.

The journey eastward, made W Messrs. Galton and Anderseon as iar
as Tunobis on their way to Lake Ngami,is well known £rom Mr. Gidton's
previously publisbed account Mr. Andeisson, who peisevered, and after
refittine^ himself at the Cape returned to the same spot, says that Mr.
Galton^ decision was a wise and prudent one. " From after-experience,"
he says, '* I am quite confident that had we tried to push on ^t year,
nothing could have saved us and our beasts of burden m>m perishing £nom
thirst. It is curious that at the thne of Menrs. Galton and Andemson's
visit to Tunobis, game was so abundant that the party -shot upwards of
thirty rhinoceroses, Mr. Andersson slaying no less mtai eight in one mght
by himself; and the fountam, ahSiougfa a copious one, was almost nightly
drank dry ; yet on the latter traveller's return with his own email pafty
to the same spot, not a wild beast was to be seen, and all suffered in con-
sequence from the pangs of hunger. At Ghanz^ our iravefler was more
successftd, several rhinoceroses 'were shot, a£R)iding an abundance of
provision. Mr. Andersson relates a curious cireomstance here :

Almost the first animal I saw at this place was a djgantic "ti^r-woir," or
spotted hjsena, wWch, to my surprise, instead of seekmg safety m flight, re-
mained stationary, grinniDg m the most ghastly mamier. Having approaehed
witiiin trareoly paoes, I p^reaived, to my horror^ that his fore paws, and the «kin
ttad flesh of ms front 1^ had been gnawed away, and that he could scarcely
wgx9e fom the sjpot. To ehoiten the suflerin^ of the poor beast, J seized my
omKnrtaBity, aud knocked Jiim on the head with a stone ; and, catching him by
the tafl, dsove my hmsteine knife deep into Ms side. But I had to repeat the
opetBtiou more than onee belodre I could put an end to his existence. I am at a
loos kow to aeoount for his BSABgled condition. It certainly could not have been
from age, for Ms teeth were good. Could it be possible that from want of food
he had beeome too weak for farther exertions, and that, as a last resource, he
had attatdosd Ms own body ? Or was he an example of that extraordinary species
of tm^y said to be practised by the lion on the hysena, when the latter has the
insolence to interfere with the monarch's prey ?

'What the traveller is exposed to in exploring iliese wild regions is also
well exemplified by what occurred on leaving me same place :

in the early part of the dvr after our departure, I caused my horse to be
eaddkrd, mid rode off to h>ok for water. About noon, I reached a hdlow, of a
similar natmre as Ghanz^, but on a smaller scale. I thought I peioeived indica-
4«nift of 4ke enstenee <^ wator; and, lumng ''hobUor' the 8te04» went in

2s2

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616 LAKE NOAMI.

search of it. The elephants, howerer, had so Irampled the place, that» tlioirii I
coold not doabt of water being ihtxe, I soon found that it was onlj to benad
by a vast deal of kbour.

Whilst reflecting on what was best to do, whether to remain and dear out
the pit, or to i)Qsh on in hopes of finding another waterins'-place, I obeerred
several small birds flying in and out at a small crevice in Uie limestcnie-rodc.
Rnnnmg to the spot, I discovered a narrow, circular aperture, about two fe^
broad, and perhaps twice as much in de{)th, with something i^ the bottom re-
flecting b'ght. l^ing for granted that it was water whicm thus shone, ai^
being tormented with thirst, I leapt into the hole, and greedily swallowed a
large Quantity. I was too eager to be able to distinguish its taste ; but, havinr
soroewoat slaked my bunung thirst, my palate resumed its function, nttdi
thought I had never experienced so abominable a flavour. Ima^e my horror,
when, taking a small portion in the hollow of mv hand and holding it up to the
light, I found I had been drinking blood, mixea with the refuse of some wild
ammal ! I shall never forget the loathing I felt on making this discovery ; and,
though my stomach was presently relieved of its nauseous contents, I loog
retained a qualmish sensation. The mystery was, however, cleared up. 0^ a
more close examination of the aperture in question, it was found that a herd of
zebras had, like mvself, been looking for water, and, in so doing, one of tbem
had fallen in, and been found and killed by the Bushmen. Hence the blood and
offal of the unfortunate animal.

At page 414 we have) among other admirable illustrations, one of a
scene which all readers of African travel must often have pictured to
themselves, that of the congregation of wild beasts at night-time to drink
at a vley, or pool. The moment taken is that of the approach of ele-
phants, when most other animals, giraffes, zebras, and gnoos, retire to a
distance; hysenas growl, lions sulk, and even ponderous rhinoceroses
pull up short and listen. The whole scene is well rendered.

Andersaon's difficulties were much increased on his perilous journey by
a very severe attack of inflammation in his leg, which for a time put it
out of his power to kill game for himself and party, and yet this was
their only chance of subsistence. We must give some account of our
traveller's shooting exploits, for we do not hesitate to say that for variety
and interest they equal those recorded of any other African traveller or
sportsman:

From the constant persecution to which the huger game had of late been
subjected at Kobis, it nad become not onlv scarce, but warv; and hearing that
elephants and rhinoceroses still continued to resort to Ab^an, I forinwith
proceeded there on the night in question. Somewhat incautiously I took up my
position— alone, as usual— on a narrow neck of hind dividing two small pools ;
the space on either side of my " skarm'' being onljr sufficient for a large aninud
to stand between me and the water. I was provided with a bhmket, and two
or three spare guns.

It was one of those magnificent tropical moonlight nights, when an inde-
scribably soft and enohantii^i^ light is shed over the slumbering landscape; the
moon was so bright and clear that I could discern even a small animal at a con-
siderable distance.

I had just completed my arrangements, when a noise that I can liken only to
the passage of a train of artillery, broke the stillness of the air; it evidently
came from the direction of one of the numerous stony paths, or rather tracks,
leading to the water, and I imag^ed it was caused bv some waggons that might
have crossed the Kalahari. Raising myself partially from my recumbent poature,
I fixed mv eyes steadiljr on the part of the bush whence the strange sounds pit>-
ceeded; but for some time I was unable to make out the cause. All at onoe*

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ULCB NGAMI. 617

liowever, the mTstery was explained by the i^ppearance of an immenee elephant,
immediatelj followed bjr others, amountiiig to eighteen. Their towering forms
told me at a glanee that they were all males. It was a sjjlendid sight to behold
so manj huge creatures approaching with a free, sweepmg, nnsnspeoting, and
stately step. The somewhat elevated ground whence they emerged, and which
{pradiudly sloped towards the water, toother with the nustv ni^t-air, gave an
increased i^pearanoe of bulk and mightmess to their naturally giant stractnres.

Groaohing down as low as possible in the ** skarm," I waited with beating
heart and r^y rifle the approach of the leading male, who, unconscious of peril,
was making straight for my hiding-place, l^e position of his body, however,
was unfavourable for a shot; and, ciowing from experience that I had little
chance of obtaining more than a single ^ood one, T waited for an opportunitv to
fire at his shoulder, which, as before said, is preferable to any other part wnen
footing at night. But this chance, unfortunately, was not afforded till his
enormous bulk towered above my head. The consequence was, that, while in
the act of raising the muzzle of my rifle over the *' skarm," my body caught his
eye, and, before! could place the piece to my shoulder, he swung himself round,
and, with trunk elevated and ears spread, desperately charged me. It was now
too late to think of flight, much less of slaying the sava^ beast. My own life
was in imminent jeopardy; and seeing that, if I remamed partially erect, he
would inevitably seize me with his proboscis, I threw myselt on my back with
some violence; in which position, and without shouldering the nfle, I fired
upwards, at random, towards his chest, uttering, at the same time, the most
piercing shouts and cries. The change of position in all human probability
saved my life; for, at the same instant, the trunk of the enraged animal de-
scended precisely on the spot where I had been previously coud^ed, sweeping
away the stones ^many of a large size) that formed the fore part of my " skarm,
like so many peboles. In another moment his broad fore-feet passed directly
over my face.

I now expected nothing short of being crushed to death. But imagine my
relief, when, instead of renewing the charge he swerved to the left, ana moved
off with considerable rapidity— most happuy without my having received other
injuries than a few bruises, occasioned by the fedling of the stones. Under
Providence, I attribute my extraordinary escape to the confusion of the animal
caused by the wound I had inflicted on him, and to the cries elicited from me
when in my utmost need.

Immediatelv after the elephant had left me I was on, my legs, and, snatching
up a spare rifle lying at hand, I pointed at him, as he was retreating, and pulled
the trigger; but, to my intense mortification, the piece missed nre. It was
matter of thankfulness to me, however, that a similar mishap had not occurred
when the animal charged ; for had my gun not then exploded, nothing, as I con-
ceive, could have sav^ me from destruction.

During this incident, the rest of the elephants retreated into the bush ; but
by the tune I had repaired my ''skarm" thev reappeared with stealthy and
cautious steos on the opposite side of the pool, though so distant that I could
not fire witn any prospieot of success. As they did not approach nearer, I
attempted to stalk them, but they would not allow me to come to close quarters ;
and alter a while moved off altogether.

Whilst pondering over my Ute wonderful escape, I observed, at a little
distance, a huge wlute rhinoceros protrude his ponderous and mis-shapen head
through the bushes, and presently afterwards he approached to within a dozen
paces of my ambuscade. His broadside was then fully exposed to view, and,
notwithstandin|p I still felt a little nervous firom my conflict with the elephant,
I lost no time m firing. The beast did not at once fail to the ground, but from
appearances I had every reason to believe he would not live long.

SMToely had I reloaded when a black rhinoceros of the species Keitloa (a
female, as it proved) stood drinking at the water; but her position, as with the
elqphant in tne first instance, was unfavourable for a good shot. A9, however.

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sb»iftei>eiy BMr nM» i ttoghf I hm pretty am of bioWny Iwr kgjwdfc
ikereby diMfefaimg-her ; and ia. tnis I svaeteiiedL Mj^ dse atemdto Bwddflt kv :
she raabecl wMy ferwoioiLthite 1m^ when I ^ftve her&aoeMid shot^ thaa^
apperenUy with little oc M effiiet I U^ eeny at net heiay able to ead hor
sii£GBrin9B at once;, bu^ as I wee too* well aeqiMnt^ei wkk ika hahito-oi th*
rhmoeeros to yenfaire cat pmnnmw bee endfr the eigeianntnieiM, I detm ■■iwi to
waitpi^Mai%£i»da))di£^aAd.thmdeii^ B«^

it wae'iiottobei
As no mere eltphenta^ or other hocgB game. aapMied, I thei^^ 9&m e taee

it mu^be aa wm, to co in aeardkof the whito riiinoeere% prameelj wei
aadlwaBnothMijB^inmMtiQghiAQaBGeBe; for mf ball, aaisiiiipQaeOiad
his ahneatimmedti^deatiL.

laiLeadhie beck to my "akSkm," I aeotdeMfeelly: took a tmsi inrthe da
pmsued bjSie blaok skmoeaos^ and bj ill kdc, as th»event Bsoyed, ateasfr
encesBtered hec Sheweesttllonher legs, but her po8itieii»a» belaieyweeivar
favomable. Boping, however, to BMike her change it for a bcttoiv anAthMS.
enable me to dtsttoj her at onee, I took up at stsne aad faniled it athar wiftb all
my foiee; when, snortiBr hombk, eBeotsar her tail^ keafnng her headdeefttor
tM eroend, and reiaiiM|f donda or dual by ner feet» aAiem^ed^afc b» witkftas-
fal mry. I had only jnat time to level my nfle and fire befoos-she wae iipa»
me; and the; next inetant, wfailsii instiaetiYely tniaing reond for the pupoee^efi
nteetlng; dielaid me psostnteL Th^ahoekweeeoyiekntaato seailmf nii^
pnede^Jfish, and baU-pendH ae alee my oap, spinning into the air;. Hmg^mt,
indeed^ aa^aaeiwaid&asecrtained, to a cbntoMe of folly ten foot. Omtimbeaa^
ohM^fing me» it erossed my mind that udeaa gored at onee l^ horhesi^har
impetae woidd be snoh (alitor kneeking m&dewn, wbiehl took for gEBBtscT
be the case) as to caoy her beyond me, and I nu^t thns be a&wdedn
of eseape*. So, indeed, it happened; fier having tumbled me over (in ^~^

her head, and the forepart oi her body, owing to the violence of the ehaj^ wan.

half bned in the sand), and tnMnpIed en me yn/tk (nieet visknec^ her fore-
qnasterpASsadofermTDodm. Strug^ingft»^li€^Iaeiiedmy opporfaynty,, ~^
anahe was reeo^eiingheBBelf fon a i«ie«rnl ol the diaigf3, 1 c
between her hind legs..

ButtheemaAidbeBBthadnDt yet done wiihme! SeaiedyhadI] _
m^ feet before she atraek me doma a second time, and with her homoppadnBi
my right thigh (though not very deeply) from near thnknee to the-1^: wilk
h^ fere foet, motee^ery she hit me a tecrifie blow on the left skonlder neen the
' of the nedi. My ribs bent lader tiM enormous weight aftdproiBMe,4
I muet^ as I believe, hsffs. lost eeoaeionaieas — ^ oaveait-k

for a moment, I mmi, as I believe, have. lost eonaaioniees — ^ nave ait Jeaal
v«Ey indistinciaAtieos of what afikeiwarda took plaee. AU]sJECBMabertt»,ifca[ft
when I raised my head» I heard & fosoes snoiiing and pkiagxng aatovgat ikm
neighbouring bushes. I now arose» tbongh with great diffien%,. and mndn ay
way, in the oest nuttner I was able, towards it urge, tree nanr ai hand,, for
skelter; but this peeeantioft wee needkse; the boMt^ for the timet at. kaai^
skewed no inehnatioa farther to molest me. Either in the m0k^ or onaM t^
the eonfosioB^ eaosed by her wounds, she had lost sig^ of ms^ er she Mt
satisfied witk the revenge she had taken. Be that aa it ma(^ I eeoapad wiMk
life, though sadly wounded and severely braieedy inwhaeh dicsHtd atate I kai
gmt difSoulty in getting ba^ tomy "ikarm.'*

Bniing the greater pvt of the esi^liet I preaerved my nreecnoeol mind; kak
after the danger was over, and when I had leiaare to eoueot my loaJkisdaaii
coafosed seases, I was seued with a nsrveaa affeotfon, oaasiag & viefeat f

Iding. I have siace^ kifled mawy riunoeerosei^ as wdl for spoii aa feed;,
ore it

several weeks ekpaed b^re I eeidd sgain iditaek thear tiiMnak with say
coolness.
About sunrise, Eamapyn,.By haltottto boy, whom I hadleft on the
pcning about hidf a mile away,, caiae to the *'

away,, caiae to the ''skiimi" to eoavey my goaa
enoasspmeat. In few wocda^ I rektedtO'mDtkaaiB

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ia|k- gMritod'tbi^ SQ0» eonnnmd. kiia L iM» noi m joke.

I tMenmaiB dimsted JUBLtoitake one of ths gms and proceed in senrii of
tW wonmird rinnowgosy owitioaing Um to bo canfoi in apprawfaing the beaet,
'wiiiek L had neaoB to belies w» not jei dead. He had only been, abaani a.
few minutes, when I heard a oir of (fiatmB. SindkiDg my hand agatnat nvr £om-
htmA, I makmm^ " Cbed Gbdl the Inte hasateSwi the kd^ r

SttBDg hekl ofmyiafle^ I afanmbied thioqgh the bari»s as fas^ aa myoDqppied
conditacni would perinife; aDd,iriMaIhadpR>oeededtwo or tfanefanndiedyaads^
aaecnwMdihndypreaentaditaBlfthafc I aUU Tinridl|r nBeniba to the h»t d«pB
of lay rniitinafiL .^oaagsfe some bushci^ asd. within a^eeo^ of yards of eMh
oUMiV^atood ih» ihinoaeioa and thayoaor saiage; the ibmee 8sm>eiiing heneli
OKtinD5^h)0», oovend witk blood and uoth, aad sooztiiig in the moot fuioaa
mmner; the bittnr petrified with feaa^-BeeilAxymd, a» it were-^and liffiatMl to
titef flMt^ Gzeephig, thwafare^ to the aia& o£ tite rhinoeeiw, oppMite t» that
on whiidi'the hoj was standing, ao as to dcaw her atteatkni from mm, I lefeifed
aad-fised, on whidi ikm beast char^ wildly to and fro withoai any djatiaet
object. Whilst she was thus occupied I poem in ri»t^ a£ter ahot^ bat theaghi
she would never falL At lengtli, howerer, she sank ^wly to the ground ;. and,
imagining that^ahe was in her death-agonies^ and that all danger was over^ I
w«d&d: tmhesitetingly dose up to her, and was on the point of plaomg the muzzle
of nrf gun to her ear to gtYC ner the com de graee, when, to my horror, she once
ineuw^rsseon her lege. &king a hanriad aim, I polled the tzq^, and instantly
raiiwif'nd, with the beast is full pursuit. The raee^ however, waa a dKnit one;
for, just as I threw myself into a bush for safety, she fell dead at my Isety.so
near me, indeed, that I could, have touched her with the muzzle of my rifle !
Another moment and I should probahly have been impaled on her mumeroua
bonw which, though short, was snarp as a razor.

HHien refleeting on the wonderful and providential escapes I recmitly ezpe-
rieneed, I oould x^ hek> thinking that I had been spared for some good purpose,
bmL m? hsac^ was lifted in humble gsatitode to the Almi^ty whohad thus ex*
tumW over me Hia protecting hand.

The.aeoond da^ aner the scenes described^ my bruiics. begs& to ^ow them-
s^ea;

rea; and on; the third day they were fully developed: giving vq bocbr a bkck
and ;^dlow hue. 1^ far as I was aware, none of my boues were broken; but
burning and agoninn^ pains in the region of the chest were clearly ^mptomatic
of' servere intenial injury. Indeed, & first, serious apprehensions were enter-
tianedfer-n^ Mfe. After great suffering, however, I recovered; and, as my
shoeiiiig BMoia Iwd by this time somewhai cooled down, n^ hMq thovg^bta
WMt bwli en aeoBg- the KgamL Though my frasae waa qaitoune^yd to bear
fttjgiKV mj spirit would not brook loncer delay.

With the assistance of my men* I tberefiore mounted mv steed, on the 23rd
of July> and waa off for the Lake, leaarinjp my hnnting spous^ and other effectSb.
uBder the care of the Budunan-chief at Kobis.

Th^erowBiBg pesMtof all thie aaMiiioC penkrai adveotafo was a*
kagtk]

' The return of daylight found us agaia on the move^ The mominjg bung oooL.
and pleasant, and our goal near, the whole party was in hif h spirits, and we
mBOoeedad cheanly oa our road* I myaelf kept well ahead i& hope of obtaining
3b» fisstgUmpee of fiCgpiL The ooual^ hereabout waa finely imdiJated^ ana
ittOfeiT^ distaat vale with a cbfined boBdee I thou^ I saw a lake. At last» a
blue line of great ezieni i^ipeared in the distance^ and I made sore it waa th»
long-sought object ; but I was still doomed to disappointment. It turned out
to be merelv a liurge hollow in the rainy season fillea with water, but now dry
and covered by saune incrustations.. Several valleys, separated from each other
by ridges of sand, bearing a rank vegetation, were afterwards crossed. On

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02a LAK£KOAMI«

idudung the top of one of thetM) ridges, the natives, vho were in adYanoe of
party, suddenly came to a halt, an<C pointinj^ straight before them, exdaimed,
" Ngami I Ngami !" In an instant I was with the men. There, indeed, at no
Teiy fi;reat £stanoe, lay spread before me an immense sheet of water, aatr
bonneted by the horizon — the object of my ambition for years, and for which I
had abandoned home and friends, and risked my life.

The first sensation occasioned by this sight was very cnrions. Long as I bad
been prepared for the eyent, it now almost overwhelmed me. It waa a mixtme
of pleasure and pain. My temples throbbed, and my heart beat so violently,
that I was obliged to dismount, and lean against a tree for support, until toe
excitement hadsubsided. The reader will no doubt think that thus giving mj
to my feelings was v^ childish ; but ^' those who know that the first dimpse (h
some great ooject whidi we have read or dreamt of from earliest reooUectian »
ever a moment of intensest enjoyment, will forgive the transport." I felt nn-
feiflpnedly thankful for the unbounded goodness and gracious assistance, which X
had experienced from Providence throughout the whole of this prolonged and
perilous journey. My trials had been many ; but, my dearest aspirations being-
attained, the difficulties were all forgotten.

A great variety of animals were met with around the lake, as may he
naturally imagined, including elephants, rhinoceroses, buffidoesy giraffei^
koodoos, pallahs, &c, ; but the greatest curiosities were two new spedes
of water antelopes, called nakonc^ and lech^ ; they were like the water-
buck {aigocerus eUipsiprymnu^ and both large, beautiful, and very
interesting animals.

Mr. Andersson adds materially to the interest of his details concerning^
the lake, by a trip made for some distance up its chief feeder — the Teoge
-—on whose banks there was a perfect exuberance of animal life, and where
were also herds of buffaloes, animals that had not been met with beforor
but where also occurred that African ciurse of domestic animals, the tsetse
fly. The bite of this most noxious insect is fatal to the life of domestic
animals, yet, strange to say, does not appear to he so to wild beasts, for
they feed undisturbed in parts known to be infested by this most pesti-
ferous of insects.*

Mr. Andersson had reached Lake Ngami by means of pack and ride
oxen, but his collection of specimens of natural histor)^ ivory, and other
objects so increased there, that he was obliged to return to Namaqoa-Iaiid
for a wafi^gon to remove them. Of this journey, of his return to toe laket,
and of nis ultimate journey home he g^ves few details, the present
volume having, as he says, already swelled to such a bulk. He had, no
doubt^ much more to tell us than the fact of being woke out of sleep hj
a lion purring in his face, but we must be satisfied with this first instai-
Qient. Never has a more interesting or a more beautifully got up woric
of African travel been presented to the public ; it leaves one as if op^
pressed with a nightmare of elephants, lions, rhinoceroses, bdiemoths,
•and all the most uncouth and gigantic forms of animal life.

* While the ^terrible Tsaltsalya, or Zimb," of Bruce, the existoioe of wkldi
was so long treated as a fkble, is noticed in the last aud cheap edition of Kirbj
and Spence's Eatomolo^ (a great boon to the public), there is no mention made
of the fkr more terrible Tsetse, the most fatal of ail known insects.

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621

BT-WATS OP HISTOHT.
THE MOUENFUL MAKRIAGE OP SIR 8. MORLAND.

[nOORD FABT.]

We left this luckless hero at that point of distress at which Congreve
makes his " Old Bachelor^' express his willingness to ** loose leg or
MTvaj^ to suffer anything^ in £eust» in order to be — ** divorced fix>m his wife!''
whereupon his tormentors show him the way of release, and so ends the
stage jest. Sir S. Morland suffered the same torment, but obtained not
the same release ; hayins^ &llen foul of a ^* Scylla" wife, to escape her he
rushed in the '^CharybcUs" of the Consistory Courts in which, without
one tenable ground for a suit of *' Jactitation of Marriage," he floundered
helplessly for a lonfi^ period, making the public and sorry exhibition of a
^' biter bitten," in we attempt to swallow the rich portion of a ** virtuous,
pious, and sweet-dispositioned ladie."

Morland*s attempt to obtun the Ring's interference with his '^ proctor,
advocate, and judge," gives us a curious glimpse of that system of tamper-
ing with the administration of justice, from which the " great Revolution"
delivered us ; no one in our day and generation can even realise the idea
of invoking ** one word" fix>m the Crown to be whispered into the ear of
a Judge, in reference to a cause pending before him, and yet Morland
asks Pepys to obtain such an interference on his behalf, as if it were an
ordinary act of fiavour from king to courtier. He probably failed to
obtain it, for the next communication shows matters growing worse with
him, his arrears of pension still witliheld, and his suit going adversely :

<< ant 0* MOBLUfD TO MB. PEPT8,

" Monday Morning, 7 Nov., 1687.

^* Sir, — Soon after I waited on you last, I showed myself to the King,
who told me he would speak to the Lords of the Treasury, and the Tues-
day following I Dut a memorial into his hands, but since, word has beea
sent me that notnin^ was ordered me.

" In the mean time I stand excommunicated eince 40 days brfore
term, and a week since, Judge Exton gave leave to that woman* s proctor
to take out a writ against roe, which was done, and rude fellows em*
ployed, who threatened to take me dead or alive, so as I am shut up as a
prisoner in my own hutty near Hyde Park Gate.

" In the mean time, had I but 400/., or it may be 300/1, in ready
money, I could get the inarria|;e annulled, and will his Majesty let me
sink and perish for such a sum ?

'' If the King be resolved to give me no money, yet if he would grant
me a 'tally of anticipation for one year's revenue, I could msS:e a
shift.

'' If nothing be done in three or four daies time all will be lost, and
past being retrieved.

"S. MOBLAIVD."

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THE MOUBKFTJL MAffftfiWg OF SIR S. MORLAND.

It 18 probable that luckless Morland " made shifl" to get the moDey,
and to waste it in fruitless attempts to get himself free, for the following,
in six months after, sl^owt'tifeB-flport he loaior fiar ikm Philistines in cany-
ing out his notable deyice for getting his '* marriage annulled."

" MOMhMm} 9A. Mff TS.

<< 17 May', 1688.

'^ 9tBf — Being of late unaUe to goe abroad by reason of my lame faifi^
wkifih g^:«ea me great pain, besides that it would not be safe far me at
present by. reason of that strumpefs debts, I take the boldneaa to
^Ddxeat you, that acccffding to your wonted Esivours of the same kind^ joa
wo«ld be pleased at the* next opportunity to ^e the King the fbUowing'
aeoount.

" A litde befiore Chrigtmaa last,, being informed that, she was wining
for a auDL of money to confess a precontract with Mr. Cheeky and at the
same. time> assured both bj hers and my own^lawyers that bxkAl aoon^Msian.
would be sufficient for a sentence of nullity I dud deposit the money, aad
acfiOttlingjy a.di^ of trial was appointed, but a£ter the cause had been
pleaded, I was privately assured that the judge wm»noi at all mitisfiad
wiA smeh a amfrssion as hersy as to be a sufficient ground Sot hiaa to
nnll the marriage^ So that the design came to nothing,

** Thea I wa» advised to treat wiUi her^ and give her a prment.sm^
and. a fitture maintenance, she giving me sufficient seennl^ naim to
tsonUa maaore ; but her demands were so higkl I could not naiMsnt fea
t)iera»

^ After this,, she sent me a very submissiye letter by heEOwn-adyoflafca
I was. advised, both by several private friends and same eminemt dimnesL
to take her home, and a day of treaty was appointed for an accommo-
dation.

<^ In the interim, a certain genllenuBi eaifle on purpose to my house, to
assure me that *' / woa taking a snake into my bosom^^ forasmuch as she
had fbr six months past, to his certain knowledge, been kept by, and co-
habited with, Sir Gilbert Gerrard, as his wife.

^ Upon vnitch,. making further ntquiry, that gentleman uuiiished nw
wilih some witnesses, and I having found out others, I am this temt
endeavouring to prove adultery against her, and to obtain a <firoiCQ^
whu& is tfte present condition of your moat feitfaful aad humble serranl^

Here it would appear as if the hapless Benedick *' saw land" lynidst
tba ocean o£ tsouble around him. B^ adultery plea seemed to speed
better than his other devices; in less than three months he had gptteit
sentence of cQvorce pronounced, after ^' many hott disputes between tfie
doctors of the civil law," and ^^suhjeet to appeal mthiat 15 doffsr
Morland seemed quit of his Dalilah for life, with only the slight draw-
back of having to settle her *< little bills /" contracted from Sie day o£
marriage to the day of sentence, ''in which he saw a sufiuueocy of
troubl^.^ We have said that Morland seemed to be rid of his tormentor^
but it was m seeming only; the " Ides of March were come," but not

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6v gm & wnTiAiit QHI

. impk** ^im hmm

rto b«PB'thod|giiteithMidtriyt<>nMilii' all fait saatzMS Bmi ^aoMm,
periodicallj known to the King. But the king's own tioidiitts imm hf
this tima. fhwirMiing^ rooid knk; ho waft ak war with the Universities,
the iMWiB Bbhopft! the whole mind and energies of Protestant England,
and we may easily conceive that neither Pepys nor Pepys's master
hmkwBSHh atimdnn or eoiiii Aiirufcioa toi apaM^ fiordM-fiolbwiag^dalail
of^tbe fiwflh: SQBOW of tbk '^doited <M man:* Jmms^ wai^ iai&Bt, ak
tbiavtry mnnwtfrate tha tuemngt^nt of hia deata^. Smavtmg^inder
liis.dfl£BBt.in tha hisiMm' trials jm* fiMdwd in Weatniniter Haliy he^ asA
•" • • ErChaiittttavr "^ '" ' — "

hidbfVvbeatkigvhiBBpheflBiBgrGhaiMettav Jaffisya waBe-gDadui^tha^
CoBiniisaina Comri;'* ta hriog in the dargy a£ EagSiad^

lAiiifaDodowM tbaaa. ^at^ in SMh: a emma, Sb SaDMiftft MbrLmL oeold:
cwyy tbarthougirta o£ eitfcar cd tlia threa far a-akigh inrtaai. Howh
evHv ^^OM aafefial towage lua saitaausaaly in die foUoMi^ doknaiiaf

'^ant a. uobultsd^to vol vj&rra.

"28.JiiIy, 1TO8:

^ SiBy — Pxetaming that^yonir gr«a^ c^m will oblige yoa to be, wkL
the kiog^ at Windsor, and thai my Lord Chancellor (Jefi&eya]^ will ha.
thttta Ekawiae, I ba^ leave acqiiaiat you^ that since dia aentenfia of
^voroa waa solemnly fcoBonnced b^ the jp^[^ upon as &ir pcoof at ever
waa brooght into Doetess* Commons^ Sir GUberl Gerrard, who haa kept
her emc since Cfariatiiiaa last, and still keeps Imy and has hitherto, fee d
lawyeia to support has wijuat cauae against me,,haa praoaeded.to g^a
oectaiii psootor to ent^ axL appeal asainst tha sentence, and this morning;
word is sent me, that they either nava or will petition mj Laid Ghanr^
oellor to jpaiat a commianon of apj^eal, in pretending that thakine^s
advooate and proctor havepreoaeded diegally m this tryal, &c. Noop uia
very day the sentence waa pronounced, by waty <£ cautioa I put in. a
Caveat at my Lord ChaiiceIior'& office,, to pray that my Lord wouU not
joant a commission of appeal befera he had sent fbt the connael at both
aides,; and been informed howtmine had proceeded. And the feaour I
Bonc beg of yoiL isi, that yoa will be so kmd to move, the kins to qeak
ona wQ^* to. my Loid Chancellor to that effiect^. aathat I nuq^havaaema

* Moiiand'a incMwmt begging fikr ''one woid" fromTthe kmg in hia tmma
lemindli me to append a well-known and characteristic ''moe^ofoar '*']bm
IMlb^'* in TKf^T ^ ^^ uBupmieiiate but net improved relative;

"The Hon. and Bar.. , to the Duke of Wellington.

"Dear Duke,

•« * One word' from yon and I am » Biabop.

" Yours, &C.,

THB SBFLT.

"Dear ,

•* Not * one word' from

•* Yours, &C.,

"WatLnrGTOK.*

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6S>4 THE HOUBNFUL MABBXAOE OF SIB 8. HOBLAKD-

end of an my trouUea and vexatioDfy whidi lutTe almost utterly romed
me already, aMoring you that this is only a project of ihe adverse partj
to weary out by a continual exprnise^ as ^^guUa catfoi k^fidem^'* and at
last to insolt me.

^* Tour veiy hnmUe and faithful senrant,

« S- MOBLAHD.**

Here our luckless fortune-hunting; mromovent^ who ^< went out far wool,
and oame home shorn to the qnidc, disappears from the record. The
hwyen* '< long vacation^ hung up Us divorce suit^ appeal and all, and
when November term came, a greater divorce case— even the divorce of a
Dynasty from a Throne !— -engrossed the attention of all men. Jeffieja,
instead of issuing commissions of appeal, was himself in the guise of a
ooal-baigeman, with his fierce brows shaved o£P, appealing niteouiiy to
his mards '*for God's sake to lodge him in the Tower,^ and to ^keep
off we raging mob howling for his blood !" Of Morland's divorce bili we
hear no more, but it is probable that witii the Stuart ri^me fi^ their
pensions and charges on the revenue, and that Morland's wife and her
|^!amour, finding him no longer worih plundering, ceased to annoy him.
We can trace bim as living on, feeble and blind, to the year 1696;
one more glimpse we catch of him, as an author, so late as the year
before his death. There is a very small and curious volume, entitled
the ^^ Ubim of Conscience," by <* Sir Samuel Morland^ Knight amd
Baronet : London, 1695," — in which the author, adverting to his having*
been blind for the previous three years, puts forth many original and*
curious speculations on the state and prospects of human bemgs. He
also takes occasion to criticise '^ Milton's Paradise Lost," and ** Hobbea's
Leviathan," with equal severity; and three quaint but well-eompoaed
prayers at the end would seem to indicate as if the aged man had nMmd
it ^'fl;ood for him to have been afflicted."

I looked in vain through this little volume for any reference to any of
the former phases of his varied and eventful life, but could find nothin|^
more definite than the following apologetic confession, p. 38 :

*' Though I had frequent calls to labour in Crod's vinejnud, yet neverthe-
less I chose rather to gratify my own roving fancy, and satisfy my vain
curiosity, in ranging abroad and maldng inquiry into the manners and
customs of fbraigne countries, and then to enter t$Uo the secret intreagmes
and myeterioue transactions of my otony where I had opportunity to bear,
see, and observe many thmgs which must he buried in oblivion!^

The next year saw poor old Sir Samuel Morland cbntiffned to the
oblivion of the grave^ Uttie thmking, doubUess, how in anomer genera*
tion he was to be disentombed from oblivion, first in the £ary of lua
friend and patron ; and agab, by a ^' Paul Pry" in this exeursMS doifn
one of the ^< By-ways of Histoxy."

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625

ABCHBISHOP WHATELT: "THOUGHTS AND
APOPHTHEGMS/'*

His Eminence is not a title admissible in the hierarchy of our Church ;
else were it due, in no mere titular sense, to Archbishop Whatelj, who
stands out in high relief, pre-EminenUjr, the man of letten, a power in
fiteratnre^ from among his right rererend brethren. We may sererally
sympathise more with the 'Mews'* of other of the literary bishops ; widi the
higfa-and-dry tone of much-baited Bangor, or the stringent sacerdotalism
of undaunted Exeter, or the doughty Protestantism of bellicose Cashel,
or the seemingly high-and-low edectunsm of Samuel Ox6n ; but whatever
otir private leanings, in this direction or in that, we can hardly dispute
the daim of the Archbishop of Dublin, as an author of influence, to be
esteemed ybinfe prmceps on the episcopal bendu

In certain leading features of composition and habit of thought, there
is a pretty near affinity between this illustrious prelate and Archdeacon
Paley. both writers are distinguished by remarkable clearness of mental
vision, by a peculiarly English sagaci^ of judgment, by an exceptional
degree of libendity — some will say sheer fatitudinarianism — ana by a
felicitous mode of expresmon, enviably direct and lucid, and rich in illus-
trations of a sometimes racy and an always aidful sort
* But if Dr. Whately challenges notice on the score of what is welcomed
in him as '* practical shrewdness" and '^ sound common sense," he is yet
none of your merely practical and common-sense models. If he is liberal
to a rich and rare aeeree, he is not the latitudinarian that latitude-men
would have him to oe. Consult him, for instance, on the subject of
** common sense," and he will warn you, that, while the pedantry of
learning and science has often been dwelt upon, and deservedly ridiculed,
there is another danger on the opposite side, which is seldom, if ever,
mentioned, though it is a fbllv quite as great as the other, of a yet more
intolerable character, and still more hopeless — '' the pedantry of common
sense and experience." He will tell you that for one person who is over-
bearing you on account of his knowledge of technical terms, there are
five or SIX still more provokingly impertbent with their common sense
and experience. ^* Their common sense will be found nothing more than
common prejudice ; and their experience will be found to consist in the
fact that they have, done a thing wrong very often, and fancy they have
done it right. In former times, men knew by experience that the earth
stands stiU, and the sun rises and sets. Common sense taught them that
there could be no Antipodes ; since men could not stand with their heads
downwards, like flies. Experience taught the King of Bantum that
water could not become solid. And the experience and common sense
of one of the most observant and intelligent of historians, Tacitus, con-
vinced him that for a mixed government to be so framed as to combine
the elements of royalty, aristocracy, and democracy, must be next to im-

* Selections fh>m the Writings of Dr. Whately, Archbishop of DobliD, with his
Grace's Permisiion. Bentiey. 1856.

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626 ARCHBISHOP WHATELY: "THOUGHTS AND APOPHTHEGMS."

poanble, and that if such a one could be framed, it most inevitably be
yery speedily dissolved.** — Or, again, consult the Archbishop on therighta
and dntiM of fiaoe thoDgiht. No one more noted far Jtrennous opposition
to every tendency to cramp, confine, or hoodwink the nnnd oT man ; yet,
is he latitudinarian in any lax eeose, at the cast of Christian principle, to
the disparagement of its doctrinal Btandards? Hardly so, since he is
urgent to enforce such monitions as ibe Mlowing : ^ AJaj Clhntian
minister vi^o shodld confine himself to what are sometunes (eiioneoudy)
called *jpractical sermon^ — i.e. jnere morid essays, without uxy meuiiou
of the peculiar doctrines of Christianity— is in 1^ same coadtfion-wiAi
the heathen philotcipherB, with this difference, 6mt whstim 6iar4MK
fortune is his fawlf^ Or this caveat against a ^parlous wanf in IGas
Edgewortlfs fictions: ^^Those works of fiction are worse iiian tmpxo-
fitnble that inculcate morality, with an exchmon of all iefeieuce to
reli^ous principle. This is obviously And notoriously the chai'acter tsf
IKGss E^geworth*s moral tales. And so entire and resolute is this exdn-
sion, that it is maintained at the expense of what may be caflad poetieal
trufh^ it destroys, in many instances, the probability of 'flie tale, and the
naturalness of the characters.*' That Christianity does exist, he goes on
lo Bajf every one must believe as an incontrovex^Ie truth ; nor can any
one deny that, whether true or false, it does exercise, at least is suppoaed
to •exercise,'^ an influence on the feelings and conduct of some of ^tfie
bciCevers in it. Hence he maintains, ihat to represent persons of yariovs
ages, sex, country, and station in ^fe, as practising, on {be most trjiog'
occasions, eveir Kind of duty, and encountering every kind of danger,
£Sfficulty, and hardship, while none of them ever makes Ihe least reference
to a religions motive, is as decidedly at vaiiance wifli reafity — ^wfaat is
called in works of fiction unnatural — ^as it would be to represent Mahoraetf^
enthusiastic followers as rushing into battle without any bought of faia
promised paradise. So much on the mere charge of a bleuush in art^
perceivable by every reader, Whatever may be his religious or non-vdigioas
persuasion. But a hidier question than that of taste is inyolved — the
studious suppression of reference to the motive power of religisn. ^This
vital defect m such works should be constantly pointed out to 4ie jooi^
reader ; and he ^uld be warned that, to realise the picture of noble,
disinterested, thorough-going virtue, presented in sudi and soA an
instance, it is absolutely necessary to resort to those principles winch in
Ihese fictiorai are unnoticed. He should, in short, be rennnded Aai aR
those * things that are lovely and of good report,' whidi have been jylaced
before him, are the genuine fruits of the HcAy Land ; ihoogh -die spies
who liave brought them bring also an evil report of that land, «ttd wodid
persuade us to remain wandering in the wilderness.'' The greater stress
IS to be laid on passages to this effect, in the wntings of ArcAtfaishop
Whately, because it is not unusual to hear him spoken of as a type of in-
differentism in such matters — as though it were not possible to qualify an
ardent zeal for the free course of thought, and a decided stand against tiie
extravagances of dogma, by an enlightened jealousy of excesses in Ae
opposite direction, and a vigilant repression of reactionary licence.

The biblical illustration at the close of the passage just quoted, ex^-
^Cifies the happy maimer of the Archbishop in introducing a cimile.
Similes grave and gay, imaginative and homely, might be cited in utmost

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ARCHBISHOP WHATELY: "THOfTGHTS AND APOPHTHEGMS." 627

abundance from the volume before us. Of sophistry, he says, for instance,
that, like poison, it is at once detected and nauseated, when presented to
OS in a coBMOtrited ffliirm^whmBS a tillBey wlufth, stotied barely in a
few sentences, would not deceive a child, may deceive half the world, if
^uted in a ^foatto vohme. '^'ft is true, in a eonne df aigumeiit, as in
neehanies, ihait ^ nodmi^ is stronrer than its weakest part,^ and oome-
^ptontfy a^rfnon which has one fauny Hnk wHl break; but Huragh the
^witfber of "fihe soimd links adds nothing 'to the strefigth of "flie dndn, it
aiM mncii toihe chance of the fEralfy one's tieapmg ohtervaHkm^ He
eompttFes tiw attempt to improve, by mereased knowledge, a mfu& wiio
4oe8-not%naw liow to nifdn use of w4wt he jdready 'has, toan attempt ib
caWurge the -preepeet ^ a ^loit-stghted nan by ^aJdnr him to the top of
a hffl ; -and the teaching onewho has no curioaty to learn, teiiie sowix^
a field wi!tfMnirt> -ploughing it; and again, sueh tales as make a dirtct
•attempt at moral teaching, to those ok>bks -and watches which are eon-
<fWwmco

A double or a treUedebt to^ay ;

whkh, baiideB their legitimate otject, to shoiir the boor, tell you 'ibe day
ef the month or the week, give yeu a laadiettpe Cora dial*<plate, with ifaie
•«eeond4iaiidfQrmiag the sails of a windmiU, or have * barrel to plagr a
tnae, ar aa cdanun to zemiDd you of aa .oagagOBumt; all rtief good
dungs an thnr way ; but so it is, that these washes navsrt^ the tioMao
m§Xi as diaae in whioh that is the exclunve dbjeet of the maker. Every
additional movsmeat is an obstacle to the otigiaal design. — (Dr. Wbatefy
is eatremefy iqgenlDus in illvstaativo aids and fqpplmnoes of iSm ish
smptiiSL

•OesasiomUy, too, lihere is a etm^ta Jelioiiat of fihnse, snoftl^ of
.obiewatioii. ^'C3iildren,''hejays, <'aietheto«iaonowof •oeioly.'' ^^Col-
-ttvate," he sim, '* Aot only:the oocn<<fietd8 of yonraaiBd, bat 'the pteasaa-
^(sounds slao. He oxaels in a .certain pithy seBtSBtk>iMUBs, fl£' wMoh Ae
foUowing ajo SBDDiplss:-^'' He will please most who is wwiing, not ^
ffeam^ but 'to ^e pUature.'* ^^I£ me weald hnt My take case of
fthikjppii, groim .peopLB would geBonlly tnke eaw^f themseWasl" Nat
should we overloek his way of stating pleasant (or Mpleooant) tamtfas, of
the Jfiiad ^easuiag: ^* An eooempiary oharaeter, aoeoidior to thonotkmB
nf jome, is one whose ozam^ no oae is ^ipaatad.to foUaw." ^A^oA
4)011 ask move ifuastioas ihaa a wise man oan aniwsr; bnt a me nym
oannot ask meio ^aestio&s than Jbe will fiad a &q1 joady to aasmc''
'^ Jfaay a meandermg disooaise quo faeass, in wdbioh the ipraacher mam at
ootbiag, aad— hits it^

To sxy that we ovdiaily wish the i«ry laEi;ge8toiieidati0A to thisiitlfe
drolume of Thoughts and Apophthegms, isionly to iaofily onr interest m
the dissemination of sound iearmiig and religioBS pnaeiples, for it is a
book to be desired to make one wise, a gonuiae Aid to Aeflactioa, a very
jifamer of ^aetioal wisdom, shrowd ohsefvation, waighi^ oounsei, muL
si^ggestive seod-thoA^hts. £ven those who .possess the inisiiaal wEitingB
&Qm whose multifarious pages these '< Sdeetiens" are oalls^ will .he glad
of «a hand-book that bnngs togethmr so maii^ fffegnaat eacegpts, well
iiurtl^ to be hsd in present xomembiaaiiea.

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628

THE STOBT OF THE SEA ANEMONE.

These was once an Anemone that grew in a small nook between two
high sand-cliffs that Cetced the Ocean. A little rill came tumbling down
from above, or rather trickling over the side of one high sand-cliff, always
watering this spot before it moved onwards and found its way down the
. steep declivity on to the beach below* That was the reason why every-
thing here looked fiedr and beautiful. The wild dog-rose spread itself wr
and wide in a fresh carpet of prickly sreen, and the honeysuckle shot up
amongst it, puttine forth its fragrant blossoms, and, as the autumn came
on, showing its rich coronals of crimson berries. As for the Anemonee,
they crept close under the shelter of the gorse and reed-grass that hung
above, and bloomed and blossomed in tranquil security. The Anemone,
however, of whom I make particular mention, was a lady of ambition,
and had sprung up somewhat apart from the others, where, under the
protection of a clou of grass, she confronted all the sea-breesea and turned
her face, ever bright and beautiful, towards the glorious Ocean. How
she louffed to enter it, to bathe in those beautiful waters, which wkh
their sml-beginnine^, never-ending, voice of song, seemed to woo her to
their embraces, telling her grand, wonderful stories of the pearls hid in
their coral caves and beneath their floating sea-weeds. She oould not
sleep at night for thinking of them. When the other flowers folded their
leaves and shrank back modestly into the shadows of the cliffs, she was
listening to the light-minded ssephyrs, and envying the thistles whom she
knew were only waiting till their wings had grown to pull the shafts from
their bosom and float away on them to explore the Ocean. Why could not
she have wings also to sail away upon ? Her form was bent already widi
always leaning towards the Sea, and one of her leaves was beginning to
wither a little from premature old age and heat without shade to it. She
knew that she should be better if only she could get a dip in the Ocean.
Why the very Porpoises knew that, when they came roUmg in near the
beadi showing their backs of crimson and green, and splashmg the wateis
right merrily up into the air. If only the breeze would asrist her — she
knew that he could carry her off if he would, but then he was so ficUe-
minded he never blew twice exactly in the same direction— ehe should
never bathe in the great Ocean. And the Anemone trembled on her
pedestal, and shook off with anger a drop of the sea-spray that had lit
upon her. Meanwhile the bright days grew changeful and uncertain —
the sea made a dull monotonous sound and increased in fury, its '* hollow
ridges roaring into cataracts'* till it lashed its sides with rage and sent ita
foam, white and turbid, in trembling velocity out upon the grey- stoned
beach. The heavens looked dark and threatening, the winds rose wild
and fierce, and the rain came down splashing, pierong cold and deter*
mined. All the flowers folded up their leaves and shrank back into the
ridges of the cliff, wutine for better days ; but the Anemone stood aloot
The sea tossed dark ana heavily beneath her feet, but what recked die
of that ? She had looked down into the heart of its vraters when they
were clear and placid as the sur&oe of the lake, and she had seen the
beautiful jeUy-nsh idly drifting about with the motion of die tide ; and
one, the Purest and largest of them all, had spread itself out in the sun-

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THE STORT OF THE SEA. ANEMOHE. 629

shine, and expressed affection to her by keeping alwlstys within her sight,
and getting as close to her as it could with its brilliant reflexions and
prismatic colours. She was sure it was there even now, though the dark
heavy sea-weeds and the tossing foam kept it from her sight, and the
rain blinded her so much she could hardly open her petals to look out
upon the Ocean. But what is this ? The ground seems loosening from
beneath her feet, the little rill that trickled down so quietly in the spring-
tide has erown, and spread, and swollen itself out witn the rains, and now
it has qmte undermined the clod of earth on which she has been resting,
and lof the winds come hurrying up to see what is the matter, and,
sweeping in between her and the rill, they carry her off her feet with one
impetuous motion, and there she is on the beach before she can well tell
what has befallen her ! — On the beach, but with no resting-place for her
feet, no spot of earth to cover and protect her, no time either for reflec-
tion, for the winds carry her along as their plaything, dashing her beautiful
blossoms against the flint stones, and lifting her up rudely to bear her for-
ward again as she clings to some roue^h brown stone or mass of sea- weeds.
Is there no help for her ? The bla<^ waves of Ocean almost touch her
form, terrifying her as they do so, and the flowers from the cliffs above
nod and shake their heads as thoueh reproaching her for leaving them.
She thinks of her wish to bathe in the sea, and shudders at the dark
waves and howling blast. Is there no mercy left for her p Piteously
does she beseech the winds to bear her back aeain, but for all answer
they only lift her high in tiieir arms and whirl her forward in a wild,
fierce eddy. Where, oh where, 'are they taking her to? Over the
fece of the crested billows and the yawnine deeps. There is a huge
chasm just now opening before her, her shnek of misery is all unheara,
she is dashed downwards into its abyss ; but lo ! her lover, the jelly-fish,
is reposing at the bottom of it, and fainting, sinking, dying, the Anemone
is received into his bosom.

Some time ago a curious phenomenon was brought to light. Clinging
fast to the large rocks amid which the sea tides dash in so boldly, the
fishermen were surprised to discover a certain substance in shape like the
Anemone, in nature tiie same as the jelly-fish. At first it was supposed
to be purely a flower of a sea-weed nature growing in the salt water ; but
being transplanted firom its element, it was found that its colours faded,
its petals contracted, and like a very sensitive plant, it drooped and died.
Odiers of the same species being transplanted into larger tanks, kept
constantly supplied with firesh salt water, were observed silently and un-
obtrusively to put forth live feelers and spread themselves out like the
petals of a flower, but after the nature of a fish. So curious was the
combination, that it was at last agreed io give to this plant-animal the
name of the Sea Anemone, and so now for some time have men designated
it; but as it is not every one who may know its real history, I have been
induced to publish this little account of how one frul Anemone grew dis<-
contented upon the shore, and so carried by the weird wind into the arma
of her sea-lover, impressed his offspring with her likeness, and has trans-
mitted for ever to these denizens of the Ocean her own tender grace and
flower-like beauty.

VOL. xxxiz. 2 T

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630

H£B0INE*W0B8K£P«

Ws write the word with a fiJteriiig pen. An unpleasant unpnenoa
oomes oyer us that we stand commiuied on dassical grouDds to an in-
Testigation of the chaiacten of those ** wonderful women'* of aatiqui^,
whose interesting claims have heen so systematieally negleoted in the
eloquent discourses of Wordsworth and bulwer. We should as soon
dream of inquiring into the characters of anjr three close oolumne of those
unprotected females who daily run through the list of their qnalifieatiops
with such unadorned jet touching nmplicitj in the advertisii^p-eheet of
the THmes. Could we hope to do justice to the strong-minded Spartan
matron, whose laconic address to her son, on handing him his shield, has
always appeared to us to be a mistake of the early oommentatoa ? Could
we venture to suggest, without deprecating the deep diigust of the shades
of all departed editors and annotators — ^peaoe to their remains ! — that the
present reading is a corruption of a fond mother^s order to an attendant
helot to fiEisten the direction securely on her young hero's oarpet-bag f
What words of ours could paint in sufficienuy bright coloiifs the filial
devotion of that young lady, who supplied her reduced parent with the
nourishment which in the natoal order of thin^ is usually furnished by
the parent (maternal, of course) to the child, and thus turned the gushii^
spring of affection to some account ? No ! we wish to be distinctiy
understood as repudiatinfl^ all connexion with the ancients— or, at leasti
their heroines — during the present article. The Greek slave is admirable^
doubtless, as a statue, but we should feel a difficulty in presenting her,
as a Greek slave, in a drawing-room of the nineteenth century. So aie
we diffident of bringing prominentiy forward those gems firom the
antique* who, though always strictly classical, are not invariably correct.

Nor let it for a moment be imagined that we propose to lay bare the
middle ages (not of the ladies — Venus forbid that we should hint at such
a thing I), and evoke those heroines of history who^ or at lesBt whose
representatives, demonstrate practically that time is money, when they
condescend to be retained at an hourly salary by the historioelly-dispoeed
members of the Royal Academy. To this day we can reoal the pas-
rionate glances and moist hands with whic^ in early youth, we €aUowed
the fortunes of tiie persecuted Maid of Orleans throi^ her chequered
career of three long acts on the Astleyan stage— how we became eo ter*
ribly impressed with the reality of the property flames which raged (at
the cruel conmiand of the first villain) round her, that for some oonrider-
able time we were sceptical of her being identical with the phenomenon
who shortly afterwards went through a performance in which two bare-
backed-steeds and sixteen silver-paper-covered hoc^ (to us olgecti of
peculiar interest) were especially prominent — and how our juvenile adcHra-
tion for this m^den, whose lungs, if one might judge mm the vigour
with which she exercised them against her enemies, retained their power
even amidst the roaring flames, Wame suddenly extinguished during the
pantomime when the brilliant and fascinating Columbine bounded on ^
stage, and, with one electric glance at the pit, transfixed our suscsf»tiUe
heart in the boxes. True, the poetry of these associations has been long

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Hxaom^woisHiP. 0M

Moe dbptUad. W« have seen the eaptiTKliiif bbom «f tiM b<M»ds re*
eolve ilielf in the green-roonv^-oot exactly into diut and aabee, hwt tome*
tinng QDeomxiumly like them, and this perhaps not tibe greateet meta«
mor|9hQ0iB. B«it we are becoming wtrespeetiTe, and consequently (sub'
mittmg the point withal) a bore. Without denying any temporary
attachment that we may have cherished towards Joan of Aro» we beg to
state that we have not the smallest intention of reproducing her or any
other medieval heroine in this plaea. And we may at once dii|>ose of
the simposition that we intend to treat at these delicate and idl but
breathing creations in the world of fiction— *ia whom most of us probably
have at tones ^It a jealous interest that has attested the genius of th!e
hand which created them. These and their k&ndfed» among whom we
may reckon that wonderful and much«enduring creature, the heroine of
domestic drama — we speak of her as an abst^t^ idea Upart from her
professional representative'--a plant indigeneus to the great hot-houses
en the Surrey side of the Thames, but not altogether unknown to the
more aristocratic temj^ of Thespis on its norAem bank — we are reluO'
tantly compelled to pass by in silence. Our present purpose is with none
of these.

We have now probably reached a point at which we shall be somewhat
impatientlv assaikd with that pertinent yet apparently tautological ques^
tion^ ^ What next — and next ?^ It is easy to imagme that, as mvUisa*
lion advances, and the sphere of woman's mismon becomes more ex**
landed, a heroine, in the popular sense of one who dialingnishes herself
among her kind in some extnu>rdinarily masculine auuiimn; must become
every di^ a bird of greater rarity. Indeed, at the preeeotmomenti the only
kgi^mate field of action for heroines of ihii dass— widi all deAnreDoe be
it said— *seems to lie am<nig the side and wounded of their country's
ohaaopions, and even then the handmaid ot iBseafa^nus must be gined
with nerves of no ^fdtnary strength to encounter this ejpiaode ia the battle
of life with success. In the fiiU coosciousneai, theMwre, that the meii*
dian of the nineteenth century is passed, it is net altogether without some
flusgiving that we lend our mind's ear deferentiaUy to the sweetest «ul
asost musical of voices (pfaotograpbioaUy emblematic at its a#ner), eK"
•laimtttg, in aocents to wUoh a shade of impatieBce— 4be digbtest in the
world — only lends an additional diarm, ^ Who's your hardne ?'' Now«
without wishing fiar one moment to be waotiag in diai eaugtasy whtch
iwbida us to permit any lady to^ pansefora mply,'* wenmst be permitted
to aay a iiiw words in explanation ; and, lest wa should be frndemteod as
■sing this expeession in its pariiawnatnry seaae, of being totally tnrelevaat
te the matter m question, we herab^ distiartiy assure our seadeBi that
the explanation shdi lie strictly prduninary*

The remadEable and charaeteristie castooa wfakh has paerailed in Elng-
land lor some considerable period, of lueognismg the merits of distin*
guished men by inviting them to a public dinner, where the diairman
fovariaUv feels die highest gratification in rising to propose the toast of
the evenmg, appears, in its full stgnififiaooe, to have been unknown to the
andents No aecoonts of Anniversary Festivals at the Olympic Tavern
in aid of decayed gods and goddesses, with (on tUs oeeasimi only)
Jupiter in the chdr and Bacchus undnr the table ; or of banquets in snp"
^rt of Tbaatrical Funds, with iEsehyhis pnesidkig and lamendag—we

2 T 2

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632 HEROmS-WORSHIP.

libations, ineuiwhile» having been heavy — in sonorous iambics Ae define
of the Attic drama ; nothing of the sort» at least that we are aware o^
has been handed down to us by any contemporary reporter. Nor is this
to be wondered at In those primitife times the now-honoured names
of Bathe and Breach of the London Tavern, and Staples of Aldersgate-
street, were unknown terms — the cuisine of Soyer lay concealed in the
womb of the future; and bdngs, in the guise of men, were found suflSciently
barbarous and deg^raded to feed contentedly on the black bread and
stimulating broth of the Spartan tcUtle dhdte. Our refined method of
honouring our heroes being thus unknown to them, they devised a pkn
which has since been, under different auspices, somewhat extensively
practised. The andents canonised their heroes. Not from the feeling
immortalised in the pathetic ballad, '^ They're too good for this worid,
it's a pity thev're here ;" but sincerely believing them to be superior to
the common herd, they gave them a helping hand half-way up Olympus,
and thus — so to speak — the political career of their remarKable men ter-
minated with a sort of life-peerage in the upper house.

Now, what ^'hero-worship" was to the ancient Greeks, ** heroine-
worship" is to certain modem young ladies. Descrying, with the instinct
of their sex, in one among tnem a perfection of character — whidi they
very properly term ^* angelic" — their idol is straightway hoisted on to
a moral pedestal, and worshipped as a heroine accordin^y. It may be
that this devotional feeling struck its roots during their joint residence
with the instructress of their youth, and that the devotee can still recai
the proud moment when she concluded at parting that solemn compact to
interchange passionately-affectionate, but (must we say it) nninteUigibly-
crossed letters, with the object of her adoration. What touching speci-
mens of composition these are ! the caressing epithets — the fond repeti-
tion of the word '' dear"— the exhaustless supply of notes of admiration
— and the expressive underlining of the dioice sentences, giving ^e
note a general appearance of an unsteadily scored loin of pork. And
then the dreary blank, when the angel has left for the home of her
fathers (we need scarcely say that we use the plural poetically — the legal
presumption being that the young lady, however highly gified, would oe
entitled only to a single male parent), the associations conjured up by a
stray bit of ribbon or a disabled lace, and the tender recollections of
summer evening walks in that arm-ronnd-the-neck-or- waist communion
which raises a strons; inclination in the male outsider to try how it fe^
Eevolving years wm chasten the impetuous ardour of youth in most
cases, but here the devotion of the maiden knows no abatement widi
increasing age. Watch their meeting after a long separation — stand
aside for a moment, and you will see the bound of the worshipper upon
her idol, or, perdiance, from some retired nook, a sound like the opening
of distant gmger-beer botties — and a subdued murmur of ecstasy will steal
upon your senses, and become so provokingly suggestive as to induce a
sudden retreat. Then there is so much to say — so much to show — so
much to whisper (?}, that time £uls, and the last lingering moments
scarcely admit of tiie repetition of the ringer-beer bottle perfbrmanoe
even in the halL It may be remarked that in most instances the '^ heroine"
preserves her general superiority of character by the calm seieni^ with
which these outbursts of pious affection are received. It is, in net, of

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HKOINS-WOBSHIP. 638

the Tery essence of her position that she should not appear to show too
mncb emotion at these demonstrations. If the idol is not generallj a
favourite with the rougher sex, the reason may probahly be triused to this
cftose, and to the state of mind which the atmosphere produced by the
incense usually engenders. But for your life do not daro to hint such a
soapiinon to the dhfote^ for the meekest of her sex would became dan-
gerously ignited at the slightest whisper against her standard of perfeo-
tion. Say, however, but a word in her idol's praise— touch but howevw
lightly on this chord, and the rapturous enthusiasm of her eloquence
becomes perfectly delicious to listen to. We griere to add» that yoa
probably retire with the secret oonviction that no reality can ever
approach the beautiful ideaL

But difficult as it is to sound this feeling to its lowest depths, no one

can bope to form anything like a just appreciation of its intensity who

bas not seen it developed in its various phases on the wedding*day of the

adored object. Then, indeed, the prostration at the shrine is oomplete.

Wonderful is the oomplication of feelings with which the bridesmaid ex*

pectant looks forward to the eventful morning. An innocent and utter

disbelief that any man — ^be his qualifications what they may*— -can ever

be or hope to be worthy of her idol ; a sort of jealous dread (this is rather

indistinct) that the temple is being proEemed by the introduction of any

other form of worship ; but above all, the delight of anticipating how

beautiful (with a very strong emphasis) her darling will look in the bridal

properties — these, and a hundred other thoughts, which she scarcely cares

to define, distract the little fluttering heart sadly. Who shall count the

restless nights when the appointed day is drawing near, (many more, we

will venture, than the superior tone of the bride-presumptive permits her

to indulge), or the mysterious consultations toucmng a certain something

which is destined before long to sparkle on the isM neck of the elect ?

At church we have our own suspicions that the slim man with the watery

eyes, sanguinary tie, and jaundiced gloves, is not the object of interest to

her which he fondly imagines himself to be ; and the little colour she has

left comes and goes, in her agitation, when the officiating minister reaches

the critical part of the service, with such remarkable efiect as to elicit

the expression of sympathy from a friendly housemud who has run in

for a moment to an admiring cook, who has also looked in for an equally

brief period — ^^ the poor dear must have been disappointed herselfl'' Thai

the breakfast ! Up to this point she has at least conducted herself with

decorum, but now her behaviour generally becomes eccentric She bows,

and says, " With pleasure," when the imperturbable waiter — who has

officiated at many breakfasts, and knows the speeches — for the third time

extends a Berlin glove and its contents, in the feeble hope of attracting

her attention to a pate (TScrevisses en papUlote, whilst to the slim man

with the watery eyes, who has for the last ton minutes been audibly

hoping to have the pleasure of a little champagne with her, she coldly

replies, '^ Not any, thank you ;" which observation being somewhat in

the nature of a damper, reduces the slim man to a state of mind lyrder-

ing on desperation. But the severest blow of all she reserves for the

comic man. He had anxiously occupied himself during the ceremony in

church in elaborating a concerted joke, in which " Blue Bonnets** (our

bridesmaid is very fair, and wears blue) ^' over the Border" and " Gretaa

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fS4 HBBDdV^QinBIP.

Qtem*' w«fe to take the pRnoipdl pavtK ^Hie eoH _

aod hae leaefaed fak joke« The ivMe pomt mAvalfy tenia «a oar
krideamaad kxildiig oonaoioiiai and UualdD^ in liie meat nateral wmf i
tiMw^iU at the- proper {rfaoa. Kooe but thoae who fasre experia
the teniUe ageo j of ^at momeat can pieture hia diaBay, wfaao he
mirw hfl|r earneat gaae fixed «poB the Dnde^ aod her eiidentlj uttai
eonaeioaMieaa of ike one. The orator ia djanomfited ; he '

and iadolaea in genenditiea ; his diaeoarse growa feeonaaattd and
pointt and at length the obaervation, in an nnder tone^ whieh ia distiaedy
heard from the other end of the taUe^ that <« Joah ia flat tfaie i = — ^

kipels inm to ait down^ with a iMde anoie, amidat irooioal
But the pathos of the parental speech is fairly too nmak for her. Tba
hnghtest of tears haa been gltateniag on her eydaahea, like the earlj
dew, aiBee the morning, and when the hand of afirtheraottteshiahigU^
omaiawnted watateeat, and he refers in toudiing teme to the deaolatian
of hia hearth generally, even the- graoei^ ooospoaore of the bci^ ia
slightly distarfoedy and the enotioo of oor bndewnaid hacomea, w« mn
ashamed to a^, diatkictly aadiUe. Bnt the momeat of trial aaitraa^
when, after die temporary eclipae of the idd, she riitnes forth agam with
somewhat diminiahed s^endour, to say the parting worda. What a
struggle then there is to keep down the rising flood, imd what & ehokiay
and swdltn^ sensation in that white little throat darine the oooteeel
Well, Nature will haTO her way, and, with a passionate hunt of taB%
ahe olinga round hex worriiipped " heroine," to the astonidimeat of the
•atsiders^ who are unprepared for the display, and m^mlly uaafaie to
apdorataad what it all meaoa* Erea the oomic man is a aeeond tiaw
diaeonoerted, and forgets a humorous tag, whioh he had mpidiy pal
logrther ia referenoe to the <4d shoe. He is subeoqueatly heard to re-
m»k to an intimate friend, in an injured tone, that ^ it was raaliy haea
en a follow, yoa know^— now, inan't it?" And now the eaniagc^ with
ita — to her preeiQua freight, haa rattled off, and whilst the minatrela ia
the aquare are still committing the gross anaehroniam of performiag
** Haate te d» Wadding" with undtmiaiahed rigour hut unateady eaeeup
lion — the latter result being not improbably attributaUe to the preaeaca
ea dM creund of a brigade of pewters, with a potboy in eominaad(a
heauttfiu and adentifie illustration of cause and effect), the ahm aum^
partially leeovered, adTaoees,— his water}r eyes meanwhile overflowing
with sympathy,— -and with the beat intentions tenders some very dilutad
ooaaolation to the weeping bridesmaid. Say what yon will about the
fiEicDdirfi^) of man smrpasaing the love of woman, our fruth is e^ualfy
great in the devotion we have attempted to shadow forth. There ia a
popular and constitutional maxim, touching the infidlibility ef the Sove-
le^^ of this redm, whidi ia brief, but expressive, fiorrowii^ ita laa-
ffuage, we may shorty sum up their creed thus : ^' Our ^ heroine' eaa
do DO wreog."

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635

BE-OPiariNG OF HER MAJESTY'S THBATBB.

Iw a Fmnoh travelhr, whose las^ exp^«nce of Loadoa wai the aeMoa
of 186^ had been suddenly fefc down in Pall Mall about a quarto io

alt o'obek on the eveniBg of the 10th of laat month, he would pio-
Hr have addreoed the fint person whom he met somewhat afiter this
fiwhion : '< Pafdoo, Monsiew I Ditee-DUH, all tous platt» pouzquoi y
»-t*£l tant de monde dans ks rues ? Cette belle Exposition de Hydea
Wmetkf oe j<di Palais de Cnstal ezkte-i-il encore?" The answer wouU,
«( oourse, be in the negatii^ with this explanation : '' To-nifi^t» sir,
a ^preat e? eat tahes place. Her Muesty 'a Theaibfe, the legiUmate home of
tsbo Opem and the only abode of the Ballet, le-epens after an interval of
foor yeaarsL That is the cause of this stb in the world of fashion." ^* Le
bean moade a bien raison, Monsieur I" would the Frenehman reply ; and
ao tise two would part, the EngUshman most likely proceeding to the
fiskymarket, where we will take our seat, invisibly, bende him.

We enter hw die Charles-street Arcade, pleased to see the old official
faces still smiHng politely as of yore, and pleased no less, though mose
samised, to find, inside the vast areoa, that we had only been taking a
ratner long nap, without the consequences that befel the slumber of Rip
iran Winkle. He, on awaking, found everything changed ; we^ on the
contrary, could discover no alteration in the well-remembered scene.
There was the same beauty of decoration, the same thronging audience,
the sasM glad hum of expectation : nothiog, in short, presented itself to
produce the effect that Time had had its hsnds so full since last we were
there. The first thing, however, to remind us that somethiug had come
^ o'er the spirit of our dream," was the absence of Mr. Bal& from the
oadieaCra, and the substttution of Signor Bonetti as the conductor ; and
let us ai^, aa/Misiaiii^that the skill and energy which the Italian gentle-
man has shown since the musical baion has been thus placed in his
hands, leave us no reason to regret the change.

Bat the enrtain rises for the " Cenerentola," and who greets us oa
tiie stage ? Alboni, with that rare, unapproachable voice, sweeter than
ever; with a style more finished, an execution more perfect, a manner
more oichanting than we had supposed it possible to find in one whose
merits had been already so fully and widely recognised. There was aet
a note or phrase Uiroughout the evening's performance that was not
eagerly drunk in by every listening ear, and when she sang her final
mna of '^ Non pi& mesta," her triumph was compete. And worthily
throughout the performance was she supported by Calsolari, in whose
singmg this diange alone has been wrought since laist he was heard h»e,
tfiat what might then have been deem^ uncertain, — ^the possession by
him of one of the finest tenor voices on the stage, — ^is now an ascertained
£wt. Neither was novelty wanting to add to the pleasure of the ie«
msentatioD, Beneventano and Zucooni making their first appearance
before an English audience, and each laying the foundation of a repu-
takkm that is hkely to endure. It seemed hardly possible to make the
house seem fuller than it was during the performances of the (^»era, but
certain indioalioBs m the large emnibus^boxes tdd us, as the prelude to
^ Las Qnatre Saisons" began, that the baUa, as it exists nowhere ebe,

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636 BE-OPENING OF HBB MAJESTY'S THEATRE*

WM now expected. The programme had meotioiied four new datuetueBf
Mesdemoiselles Boschetti, Eatrine, Lbereau, and Bellon ; but tfaooffh it
had led us to expect that each differed from the other in style, it hinted
nothing of the surprise that was in store. If beauty of leatnrey sym-
metry of form, rapidity of action, precision of moTement, and tours de
farce acoomplbhea without the slightest apparent effort^ oonstitiite die
perfection of choregraphic art, then Mademoiselle Bosdietti is at onee
entitled to take her place in the foremost rank of its professors. There
are some points in her dancing — for instance, that flatter of limbs in the
air when her figure is upheld by the lightest touch of her deyer supporter
Mcmsieur Yandris — ^which we have never seen equalled. What time she
may have bestowed to acquire her art we know not — it cannot, however,
be much, she is still so young ; but this we know, that her fiune was
established at Her Majesty's Theatre in a moment. Mademoiselle Katcbiey
too, impressed the audience most favourably by a style that was eesen*
tially her own, in which extreme grace and flexibility mark eveiy slowly
measured movement ; she, too, has great beauty of ftoe. Tiie vigour
and perfect aplonib of Mademoiselle Bellon, and the finish of ]£kde-
moiselle Lisereau, reaped for them the most enthuaastic applaoae.

So much for the opening night, which was not sufiered by the aoAenoe
to pass away without a demand for the appearance of the indefiitigahle
impresariOf to whom for so many years the town has been indebted for
more enjoyment than it usually »lls to the lot of one man to be able to
procure for it. If Mr. Lumley has not forgotten his skill, neither have
the public lost iheir recollection of the many claims which he has upon
their sympathy and gratitude.

After ttie repetition of the *' Cenerentda" on the succeeding Tuesday,
came, on the next night, the ever-charming *' Barinere," with we Ro$ma
of Alboni and the Figaro of Belletti, whose re-appearance was welcomed
in the wannest possible manner. In a musical point of view, thefe was
nothing wanting to render the '* Barbiere" all that could be wished :
Alboni again ascended in the scale of public estimation ; Calsdaii main-
tained his position, and Belletti was, what he always has been, without
an artistic defect. What has happened since P Alboni has appeared
as Amina in the '^ Sonnambula," creating the part anew, by the mar-
vellous capacity with which she achieves all the triumphs of the most
celebrated soprani without sacrificing one iota of her ori^nal excellence.
It is beyond a question that she is now the queen of the lyrical drama.
If these three operas were all that the director of Uer Majesty's
Theatre could give to the public this season, they would suffice for perfect
enjoyment ; but even while we are writing the house is filling to witness
the debut of Mademoiselle Piocolomini in '< La Traviata ;" and there are
yet in store Madame Albertini's Leonora in <' H Trovatore," with Alboni's
first appearance as Azucena^ and the Romeo of Mademoiselle Wagner,
known only to a London audience at present by a feud, rivalling in in-
tensity that of the Montagues and Capulets, but happily ended without a
tragedy. In the bailet^ too, besides " La Manola," in which Made-
moiselle Bellon is wonderful, we are to have the superbly mounted
*' Corsaire,*' with Rosalie as the heroine, Medora ; and the attraction of
Marie Taglioni will be added to complete the brilliant eneemltiU, We may,
indeed, be glad on every account that Her Majesty's Theatre is once more
the cynosure of the London season.

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637

aSOTE'S HISTOBT OP GEBECE.

Aftsb Alexander, the two men who claim most interest^ as
prominent statesmen, in the closing volume of this History, ore
those widely-sundered fellow-citizens, opposed in temperament,

frofession, policy — ^but to some extent mournfully alike in fiate —
^hocion and Demosthenes. How well disposed Mr. Grote is
towards^ Demosthenes, the eleventh volume of this History gave
dear evidence so iar as it went In the twelfth, he has occasion
more than once to advocate the cause of the orator against charges
and insinuations of various kinds, and he ever stands forward to
do so with hear^ good*will.

As an instance of the charges thus preferred and thus con-
fronted, take the Athenian mission to Alexander, on the motion of
Demades, b.c. 336. During the consternation at Athens, occa-
sioned by Alexander's victorious march into Greece at the head of
a formidable army, and within a few weeks even of the death of
HiiliD, it was moved by Demades, in the agitated assembly, that
an address should be conveyed to Alexander, on the part of
Athens, apologetic and entbely submissive in its character — and
not only recognising him as chief of Greece, but conferring upon
him divine honoun, in terms even more emphatic than those
bestowed upon Philip. The motion succeedea, and the mover,
aooompaniea by a select deputation, carried the resolution to Alex-
ander at Theb^ by whom it was accepted for what it was, an act
of submission. One young spokesman at the assembly, Pytheas
by name, is said to have opposed the motion. It is not known
what side Demosthenes took in the debate, if anv; whether he
supported Pytheas, or whether he altogether hela his ^ce, in
dudgeon, or from expediency, or some other motive, simple or
compound. ^^ That he did not go with Demades on the mission to
Alexander, seems," Mr, Grote remarks, ^^ a matter of course, thou^
he is said to have been appointed by public vote to do so, and to
have declined the dutv. He accompanied the legation as fur as
Mount KithsBron, on tne frontier, and then returned to Athens."
Now this step was denounced by ^schines and his other enemies,
as a cowardly desertion — a reproach which Mr. Grote regards with
astonishment, since there could be no envoy so odious to Alex-
ander, or so likely to provoke refusal for the proposition which he
carried, as Demosthenes, the arch-agitator of Athens, the anti-
Macedonian Pan*hellenic orator

whose resistless doqaence

Wielded at will that fierce democratie,
Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece
ToMacedon.

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638 QBOTE'S HIST0BT OF 6BEECB.

To employ him in such a mission, the historian argues, would ha^re
been absurd ; unless indeed for the purpose probably intended by
his enemies — that he might be either detained by the conqueror as
an expiatory victim (just as Demadea himsdif waa^ some years later,

fmt to death by Antipater, to whom he had been sent as an envoy
rom Athens^, or sent back as a pardoned and humiliated prisoner.^
Again* la the spring of the following year, Darius appe«i»to
hme sent money from Persia to sustain the anti-MBcedoaian party
at Athens and dsewbere. It is^affirmed by two ornlors, at emntijr
with Demosthenes^ — by his leading rival jEsohines, and by Ddn-
archns — that the sum sent by Darius, consisting of three huadrecl
Identfl^ was refused by the Athenian people, but taken by Demos-
tiiene^ who reserved about a fourth part of Ae amount m hra own
pivate purpose. They add, that public inquiry was afteiwarJs
mstitated on tibe subject. Nothing, however, is shown to fas're
been made out; nor does it appear even that the assumed cu^yrii
was brought to any formal trial, much less convicted ukI con-
denmed. Mr. Grote observes on this topic, that supposing Demos-
thenes^ and probably other leading orators, to have received sndi
remittanees from Persia, no such personal corruption is theieiii
impUed as their enemies impute to them. ^ It is no way proved
that Demosthenes applied the money to his own private purpoee&
To reoeive and expend it in trying to orgshise combinations fisr
the enfranchisement of Grreece, was a proceeding which he would
svow as not only legitimate but patriotic. It was aid obtained
from one foreign prince to enable Hellas to throw off Ae wcnse
dominion of another.^t So c(mvinoed is the historian, that, at
this moment, the political interests of Perria weie reidl;^ at one
with that of all Greeks who aspired to freedom ; for while it would
be the purpose of a Greek patriot to preserve the int^rit^ and
self-government of the Hellenic world against all foreign inter-
fisrence, the Persian monarch's own sense of securi^ warned him
to i»x>teet Gbeeoe from being made an appendage of Maoedon, Us
Mm chance meantime of ba:K>ming master of Greece b^g nre^,
though his means of supporting her were ample. Mr. Grrote is
ready with the readiest to stigmatke as unwarrantable the invokinff
dT aid from Persia against Hellenic foes, — as Sparta had done boA
in the Peloponnesian war and at the peace of Antaksi^bs, and as
Thebes and Athens had followed her example in doing afterwards;
but equally he maintains, on the other hand, that to invoke the
same aid (from Persia) against the dominion of another foreigner
(Macedonia), at once nearer and more formidable, was open to no
blame on the score of either patriotism or policy. " Demosthenes
had vainly urged his countrymen to act with energy against Philip^
at a time when they might by their own eflforts nave upheld the
existing autonomy both 6xc Athens and for Gbreece generally.

♦ Grote, HL 16 sq. f Ibii 27 sq.

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QlOTl'8 HISTOBir OF QfiBBOB. 689

Me now leeoBded or inrited Dariusy at a time wh&a Grieece dnffla-
lianded had becckme incompetent to the struggle a^unst Alexanoer,
the eommon enemy both of Grecian liberty and of the Persian
empire. Unfortunately for Athens as well aa for himself, Daiius,
"With full meaaa of resistance in his hands, played his game against
Aliexander even with more slupidby and imfux^videnoe than Athens
hadpUyed hers against Philip.''*

.^S^iune^ sgftin, accuses Demosthaies- of having by his perverse

* Mr. Grote exposes the inoon^tency of Darius Codomannus at Tarious
stages in his condact of the war, with a severity of plain-speaking that may jar
on the nerves of those, fancy-fed and Dryden-led, wno cherish an ideal of

"—— Darius, great and good;"

and who, inspired with ''soft uitv" by the same ''mounifal Muse" that eat
inspired Timotheus, at the roval Kast for Persia won by Philip's warUke son,
lament the Orsat King as fallen

''By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen.
Fallen from his hi^ estate,
And weltering in his bkod."

The death of that far-sighted and ready-witted general, Memnon, is shown to
have been a fbtal blow to the interests of Danus^though the full value of
that loss was better appreciated by the intelligent enemy whom Memnon opposed*
than bgr the feeble master lAom he served. Memnoa's plans were dMiidoiksd
by Darius at the piecise moment when they mioht have been most safely and
completely executed, and this abandonment was the turning-point of the besotted
monarch's fbture fortune. As for the battle of Issus, which Darius has been
blamed for fighting at Issue, within a narrow space, instead of waiting for
Alexander on tiie spacious plains beyond Mount Amanus^— ^ilw, M^. QrotQ
Qontends, was compuratively mmiateriai, whatever stress Arnan and the othar
historians may lay upon it ; and in confirmation of his view he points to the
fact, that Arbela proved the Persian army under Darius to be hardly less unfit
for a pitched battle in the open plain. The real imprudence, accordmff to Mr.
Grote, conskted simply in fifl;hting the battle at all, to tiie neglect of Memnon^a
military forewarainek " Mountains and defiles were the rc»I strength of tha
Persians, to be held as posts against the invader." (XH. 149.) If Dariua
stands in humiliating contrast to Alexander in the matter of generalship, so does
he in the quality of personal courage. As soon as the Asiatic hoplites on his
left gave way at the cattle of Issus, the king, who was in his cnariot in the
omtre, seised with panic, caused his chariot to be turned rcmnd> and fled with
ail ^peiad among the foremost fugitives (p. 163). In his tenor,

"Mantle, and shield, and bow he flung aside,
Intent on flight, alarmed for life, dear life"-—

Nor does it apjiear that he eave "a single order or made the smallest effort t«
repair a first misfortune." This craven flight lost him the confidence of several
of his most valuable servants (p. 206). At Arbela again, that " death-bbw of
the Persian empire," which converted Alexander into the Qreai King, and
Darius into nothing better than a fugitive pretender, — at Arbela, as at Issus,
among all the causes of the defeat, "the most prominent and indisputable was
the cowardice of Darius himself" (p. 336\ Again tiie chariot was tamed
round, and again the king's philosophy taught by example tha propriety of 9aw>e
fuipeut, or Ahrimanes take the hindmost ! Nevertheless, there are few subjects
m history, as Mr. Grote himself allows, better caloulaied to move with tragic

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640 OBOn'S mSTOBT of 0B£B(^

backwardness brought about the ruin of Thebes. He allies that
Demosthenes, having in his possesnon three himdred talents from
the Persian king, to instigate anti-Macedonian moyements in
Qreece, was supj^oated by the Theban envoys to furnish money,
for the purpose of enabling the Arcadian generals to bring up their
troops to the aid of Thebes, and of inducing the foreign mercenaries
who garrisoned the Cadmeia to deliver up that fortress,— -but that
Demosthenes refused the request, kept the money for himself, and
thus prevented both the surrender of the Cadmeia and the onward
march of the Arcadians. The chaige here advanced against De-
mosthenes, is regarded by Mr. Grote as utterly incredible. He
dismisses it with the remark, that the entire history of the anti-
Macedonian orator belies the sup]K)sition that anti-Macedonian
movements counted for so littie in his eyes.

A more serious matter is that which occasioned the trial, con-
demnation, and exile of Demosthenes, on the ground of corrupt
appropriation of the money of Harpalus, the fugitive satrap^
B.C. 324. The orator himself—" unquestionably,** says Mr. Grote,
" the ^atest orator, and one of the greatest citizens, in Athenian
antiquity" — denied the charge ; but as neither the specification of
the eviaence against him, nor his personal defence, is extant,
adequate means for forming a decided judgment on tiie case are
wanting. At the same time, Mr. Grote sunnits, judging from the
circumstances as far as we are acquainted with tiiem, there are
several which go to show the defendant's innocence, and none
which tend to prove him guilty. True, there is a story told by
Plutarch, that Demostiienes b^an by opposmg the refugee Har-
palus (who came with a present of some seven hundred talents to
Athens, to ask shelter and protection in that city, from the ven-

Seance of Alexander on his ostentatious prodigalities in tiie East),
ut that presently the orator was fascinated by the beauty of a
golden cup among the Harpalian treasures, — insomuch that H^-
palus took care to send him the golden cup on the night following,
together with twenty talents, which Demosthenes did him the
honour of accepting. A few days afterwards, the story goes on to
say, when the cause of Harpalus was again debated in uie public
assembly, Demosthenes was to be seen witii a portentous series of
"chokers" about his neck — ^indicative of influenza, perhaps, or
possibly of a golden cup and twenty talents, at any rate si^ficant
of his having lost his voice, which noble organ had been lifted up,

pathos than the narrative of the last days of Darius — the shame and sufferings
ofhim who lately

" High on a throne of royal state," —

(so £nnly planted, it might have seemed, so imposingly reared,)

" — ^where the goi^^us East with richest hand
Showers on her kmgs barbaric pearl and sold,
. . . Exalted sat."

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QBOTE'S mSTOBY OF CFBBECB. 641

on the last occasion^ against Harpalus^ but could hardly^ if the
parable of the talents was true^ adopt the same tone in the fH'esent
instance. That Demosthenes should be at the meeting and not
speak, was about as pure and simple a solecism then, as it now-a-
days would be for Lord Palmerston to hold his tongue at a
Idansion House dinner, or Mr. Layard to hang fire at an Admi-
nistrative Reform meeting, or Elihu Burrit at a Peace congress, or
J. B. Gough at a Temperance tea*party. So, in spite of the woollen
wrappers around his throat, and the deprecatory aspect ce makule
imaginaire may be supposed to have put on, there was a call for
Demosthenes. The call was general, and lusty: Demosthenes I
The soyereign people not only will be heard, but will hear, when
the fit is on tnem. Demostnenes comes forward, gesticulates,
mutters something hoarse and inarticulate, and no doubt appeals
with due dumb show to the investiture of his throat. And then,
no doubt, the cry is. Speak up ! That is, of course, out of the
question. Eventually, it is explained that the orator is really and
wholly disabled from speech-making to-day, accustomed as he is to
public speakin^,-^being hoarse enough to be literally speechless.
Nevertheless, there are some discontented fellows in the throng
who tell you, maliciously enough, that it was no common hoarse-
ness Demosthenes caught last night, but a hoarseness brought on
by swallowing gold and silver. The mot spread, and told ;
cfTfo nT€po€pra of tnat kind generally do. At the next public ap-
pearance, therefore, of the suspected statesman, the converse order
of things occurred : this time Demosthenes was eager to speak, in
his defence, while the people were resolved not to hear him.
Clamour drowned to-day the voice that yesterday was choked
by woollen wrappers. One man, indeed, stood up to claim a
hearing for the speaker, but with the mischievous intent of the
"good-natured fiiend" class, for his ironical appeal was, *^Will
you not listen to the man with the cup ?" — a tart witticism that
would mightily tickle the popular palate, as alluding to the right
of the guest into whose hands the loving cup had passed, in its
post-prandial transit, to claim the attention of his fellows while he
delivered himself of a sentiment or a son^. For once, the man
with the cup^ it was carried by acclamation, had no right to be
heard ; hear Demosthenes the Amenians would not, and there was
an end of it — or rather the beginning of the end.

But not every good story in JPlutarch will stand critical scrutiny.
And this one, imfortunately for the lovers of scandal, turns out to
be demonstrably untrue. Demosthenes may, indeed, says Mr.
Grote, have been disabled by sore-throat from speaking at some
particular assembly ; so far the story may be accurate ; but that he
desisted from opposing Harpalus (the real point of the allegation
against him) is certaimjr not true ; for we know, from his accusers
Deinarchus and Hyperides, that it was he who made the final

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64S COKOT^fi HISTOBT Ot GBmcn.

motion for impriBotiing Harpahifl and sequestratiB^ ^e Haipalkii
tveftBore in trust for Alexander ; in fitot, Hyp^idee Umidf de-
nounoed Demoedienes, as having, from subsernenoe to Alescandei^
dosed the door against Harpahis and his prospects.*

This, however, does not meet the entire charge ajganst De-
mosthenes. It tends to refute the charge of receiving money
directly from the wealthy refugee ; but how about Ae corrupt ap-
propriation of it, after the satrap had made it over to Athens?
^ Had Demosthenes the means of embezzling the mmey, after it
had passed out of the control of Harpahn ?''•<— this is the questioii.
And to this also Mr. Grote^a answer is in the negative, with the
boution, ^^ so far as Athenian practice enables ns to judff^ — into
the details of which practice he enters at some length, deducing
from them a plausible case in favour of his client. He appeah,
too, with force and confidence, to the accusatory speech of
Deinarchus, ^^ which is mere virulent invective, barren of &cts and
evidentiary matter, and running over all the life of Demosthenes
for the preceding twenty years ;** to the similar oharaeter of the
speech of Hyperides, judged by the fragments! stiU remaining ;
to the like absence of racts in the report made by tiie Areopagus, —
and again, to the way in which Hyperides met the demand of
Demosthenes ^a demand which every defendant would natumlly
make), that the charge against him should be proved by some
positive evidence, by setting aside tJie demand as noAing better
than cavil and special pleading.

^ One further coxoideration remains to be noticed. Only nine
months after the verdict of the Dikasteiy agaxnst DemosUienes,
Alexander died. Presently the Athenians and other Greeks rose
against Antipater in the struggle called the Lamian war. De-
mosthenes was then recalled; received from his countrymen an
enthusiastic welcome, such as had never been accorded to any re-
turning exile once the days of AJcibiades ; took a iea£ng part in
the management of the war, and periled, on its disastrous ter-
mination, along with his accuser Hjrperides.^

To so speeajy^ a revolution of opinion about Demoaliienes, Ifr.
Ghrote app^ds, m confirmation of the ccmclusion he dsaws from the
other circumstances of the case^-that the -verdict against die orator
was, in reaUty, not judicial, but political; growing out of the em-
barrassing necessities of the times4 ^^ ^^ view, it was a pohfooal
rather than a judicial sentence which the Areopagites pronounced,
when, at the end of ox months, they presented their report on the
Harpalian affair — and they singled out Demostfienes, aooordingkr,
as a victim highly acceptable to Alexander, and as a man who

* Grote, Xn. 408.

t Lately edited hj Mr. Chnioliill Babiogton, and used to some puxpoae bgr
Mr. Grote inhis dosing yolome.
t Grote, xn. 407 sqq.

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GoxmiB KxsToirr ot obexwb. d4S

happened to be unpoyrakr at that crisis irith both the ragning
pwrtieB; -with the philo-MacedoBianSy from long date, and not
^without fuffioient reason ; with the anti-Maoedonians, because he
kad stood prominent in opposing Harpalus. His aoooseis, Mr.
Ghote continues^ ^ count upon the hatred of the former against
him, as a matier of course ; th^ recommend him to the hatred of
tiie latter, as a base creature of Alexander. The Dikasts doubt-
less included men of both paities ; and as a collective bodj, they
might probably feel, that, to ratify the list presented by the Areo-
pagus was the only way of finally dosing a subject replete with
OBBger and discord."*

Such appears to Mr. Grote the probable history of the HarpaHan '
transactions — and it leaves Demosthenes innocent of corrupt profit,
not less than Phocion, while it is the reverse of creditable to the
Athenian politicians generally; exhibiting, as it does, the judicial
conscience of Athens as under pressure of dangers irom without,
worked upon by psrty ihtrigues within. It may be added that
Mx. Grote p*8ws over lightly the exculpatory testimcmy of the
admiral, Phnoxenus, cited in Fausanias, in favour of Demosthenes,
n^ch Bishop Thirlwall has laid considerable stress upon, in his
narrative of these troublous times.

There is an unwonted warmth in the eulogy Mr. Grote -passes on
the great orator, when called upon, in the course of evente^ to
record the death, and sum up the characteristios, of that illustrious
patriot. We axe reminded that thirty years before his death,
which occurred at the age of sixty-two, Demosthenes, in his first
Philippic, took a sagacious and provident measure of the danger
which tlureatened Grecian liberty from the energy and encroadi-
ments of Philip; that he impressed upon his countrpnen this
coming danger, at a time when the older and more influential
poUticians either could not or would not see it— calling aloud upon
his fieUow-citizeiis for personal service and pecuniary contributions,
and oiforcin^ tiie call by all the artifices of consummate oratory,
when such distasteful propositions only entailed unpopulari^ upon
himself.

^ Throughout the whole career of Demosthenes as a public ad-
viser, down to the battle of C%sroneia, we trace the same combina-
tion of earnest patriotism with wise and long-sighted polii^.
During the three years' war which ended with the battle of
Chaeroneia, the Athenians in the main followed his counsel ; and
disastrous as were the ultimate military results of that war, for
which Demosthenes could not be responsible — ^its earlier periods
were creditable and successful, its general scheme was the best
that the case admitted, and its diplomatic management universally
triumphant." t

So much for the later^ stage of the orator's statesmanship. As

♦ Ibid. 416-6. t Ibid. 443*

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644 qbote's history of gbbegs.

for the earUer, the period of his first Philippic (b.c. 352-1), which,
be it remembered, was long before the fall of Oljmthus, Mr. Grrote
is fully convinced that the power of Philip (then {^iilip{ucised for
the first time), though formidable, might have been kept perfectly
well within the limits of Macedonia and Thrace ; and that it pro-
bably would have been so kept, had Demosthenes possessed then aa
much public influence as he had acquired ten years later: ten
years later, and perhaps eight or nine too late.

The peculiar grandeur which, in the historian's judgment, en-
nobles the purposes and policy of Demosthenes, is, that they were
not simply Athenian, but in an eminent degree Pan-heUemc also.
His cry was something more than Athens for the Athenians!
if not more than Hellas for the Hellenes, Greece for the Grreeksl
^^ It was not Athens only that he sought to defend against Philip,
but the whole Hellenic world. In this he towers above the greatest
of his predecessors for half a century before his birth — Perikles,
Archidamus, Agesilaus, Epaminondas ; whose policy was Athenian,
Spartan, Theban, rather than Hellenic. He carries us back to the
time of the invasion of Xerxes and the generation immediately
succeeding it, when the struggles and sufierings of the Athenians
a^inst Persia were consecrated by complete identity of interest
with collective Greece.'*

Then again, as to the part Demosthenes played in the Lamian
war: though not of his suggestion, since he was in exile at its
commencement, he threw himself into it with unreserved ardour,
and was greatly instrumental in procuring the large number of
adhesions which it obtained from so many Grecian states. There
was no excessive rashness, the historian maintains, in calcularing
on distractions in the empire left by Alexander, on mutual
hostility among the principal officers, and on the probability of
having only to make head against Antipater and Macedonia, with
little or no reinforcement from Asia. ^^ Disastrous as the enterprise
ultimately proved, yet the risk was one fairly worth incurring,
with so noble an object at stake ; and could the war have be^
protracted another year, its termination would probably have been
very different." &]t this is speculation ; and there will be those
to whom Mr. Gxote's a^logy for the Lamian war, as feasible and
promising, will, considenng the issue of that strife, invalidate his
opinion as to the feasibility of opposition to Philip, when De-
mosthenes first came out as opposition leader.

Melancholy as are the circumstances attendant on the death of the
great orator, — ^though, after a catastrophe which extinguished free
speech in Greece, and dispersed the citizens of AlJiens through distsjat
lands, he " could hardly have desired, at the age of sixty-two, to
prolong his existence as a fugitive beyond sea," — ^there is some-
thing more melancholy still, the historian reckons, in the prolonged
life of Phocion. Phocion, a man of war, had played the man of

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OROTE'S HISTOBT of GREECE. 645

and, 08 every believer in Demosthenes must hold, not
"Wiady, but too well — ^for the invader. None, however, distrust
the integrity of Phocion's purpose, or suspect trie incorrupt single*
ness of his motives,

with whom Athenian honoars sank,

acoording to the poet of the ^^ Seasons,^

And left a mass of sordid lees behind ;

Phocion thx good ; in pubHc life severe.

To virtue still inexorably firm ;

Ent when, beneath his low iliustrioos roof.

Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd lus brow.

Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind.

But to zealous anti-Macedonians the rdle assumed by Phocion, as
agent of Macedonian supremacy in a city reft of half its citizens,
does seem in character only with that of

a very foolish fond old man.

Fourscore and upward, —

the 'actual age at which he had now arrived, though they cannot
add that,

to deal plainly.

They fear he was not in his perfect mind,

but in a state of ^^ second childishness and mere oblivion," the con-
sequence of attaining to such years of indiscretion, — since the
policy Phocion adopted as an octogenarian was but a continuation
of what he had all along sanctioned by precept and example. Of
course he is, politically, no favourite with Mr. Grote, who always
does justice, however, as well to his public probity as to his private
worth. Hie story of his condemnation and death is tola with
impressive simplicity. His last sayings and sufferings, so cha-
racteristic of the man, and of those who judged him, are once again
recorded, which they never can be without efiect : how he ex-
claimed, when a heanng was refused him, " For myself, Athenians,
I plead guilty ; I pronounce against myself the sentence of death
for my political conduct ; but," pointing to his friends, who, like
him, were cried down with tumultuous clamour, — " but why are
you to sentence these men near me, who are not guilty?" And
the bitter answer was, *^ Because they are your friends, Phocion P'
— ^how, when one brutal mobsman planted himself in front of the
hooting ranks, through which Phocion and his friends had to pass
on the way to prison and to death, and there aspired to a "bad
eminence" among the throng by spitting upon the aged statesman,
the latter turned to the public officers, and exclaimed, " Will no
one check this indecent fellow?" — and how, being asked whether
he had anything to tell his son Phocus, Phocion replied, " I tell
him emphatically, not to hold evil memorv of the Athenians."
This bequest of pardon and good-will to Athens was a very
YOL. xxzix. 2 IT

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M6 aBOTB'S EISTORT Of GKXEOk

maritati saJmtmtiO'-^ju^ before the hemlock was administeied to
him in the condemned cell. He was tibe last of the five to
dnnk it As it was for treason they sufifered, the bodies of the
prisoners were excluded from burial within Attica; ^nat were
Phokion's friends allowed to light a funeral pile for the burning of
his body; which was carried out of Attica into the Megaris^ by a
hired agent named Konopion^ and there bomt by fire obtainea at
Mejgara. The wife of Fhokion, with her maids^ poured libauons,
and marked the spot by a small mound of eardi; die also collected
the bones and brought them back to Athens in her bosom, during
the secrecy of night She buried diem near her own domestic
hearth, with this address — ^B^ved Hesda, I confide to thee the
relics of a good man. Restore them to his own family yault, as
soon as the Athenians shall come to their senses.' ^ Fintarch teOa
us the Athenians did soon come to thdr senses : they discovered
that Phocion had been a faithful and excellent public servant, diey
repented of their severity towards him, ibm celebrated his funeral
obsequies at the public expense, they erected a statue in his honour,
and tney made an examnle of his adversaries.

All this Mr. Grote aamits, except the involved infereaoe tJhat
the Athenians had come to dieir sctiscs. Plutarch's fiicts he
accepts, but Plutarch's philosophy on the subject he rejects. The
real explanation of the change, according to Mr. Gbot^^lies in
this— wat within two or three months aft^ the death of Phocioiiy
Cassaad^ became master of Athens, and the ol]^g;archical or Flio-
cionic part V again got the upper hand, — Demetnus the Fhalerean
bei^g recalled from exiloi and charged with the govemm^it of the
ci^ ttader Cassander, pastas Phocion had governed it nxider Anti*

5ter. The anti-Phocionites were i^gain under a cloud; it was not
' act or deed of theizs that Phocion ww now honoured-^j no
reaotfton m their feelings was his memory now otnonieed* in die
city that had coademned him not many weeks nnoe. Pmtufch's
aocoont implies a spontaneous ofaanse of popular opinion respecting
him. and this is what Mr. Grote wiU not allow. ^< I seeno reason^
he declares, ^ why such change of f»pinion should have occorred,
nor do I bdieve that it did occur.'' For tiie historian is of ofnnioa
thai the dem9$ of Athene banished and d^Kurted in masfl^ had the
best ground for hatii^ Phocion, and were not likely to beoouAe
ashftmed of the feelus^. He recogmises the virtues of Phodcm, his
penonally mild and incorruptible duractery-^but can see no benefit
uat the people o£ Athens ever derived from these good a uafities in
the miaiiter: to them it was of little moment that he shoald
steadily ivfttse all presents from Andpat^, when he did AndpatePs
week gratuitously. £Le might defiver his own eonl by this supe-
riority to oomiption; but they, meanwhile, were in the flame
position as though he wete the sold, salaried^ servfle tool <^ the
Maeidonisni

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colon's UX8T0EI OF OBOKX* 647

'Heoeef m roBazknig on the eondenuMition of Pbocion hj iSkm
JkOtnimm^ while Mr-Cbote ownt that^ considered ei ajuotcid
trul, that hot soene before the people in the dieatie is ix>thiaig
better than a cnid impoetare^ he is yet caxeftil to add, Aat om-
*i as a maiofiBita^a of public opinion already seitledy it is

one £at whidi the £m^ <^ the past supplied ample wammi. He
fiaeely «id feelini^y coafesBea how inpoanUe it is to zcaid, without
painful ffjrmpathy, the narrative of an old BMm abore eighty — per-
sonally Draye, mild^ and superior to all pecuniary seduction —
{perishing under an intense and cmahing storm of popular execra-
tion. But he contaidsy on the other hand, than wn^ we look at
the whole case, and survey, not merely the details of Phocion's ad-
ministration, Iwt the mmd pubEc objects which those detaih sub-
served, and towEUids which he conducted his fellow-citizens, we shall
see that this judgment was fully merited. '' In Phokion's patriotum
— for 80^ doubtless, he himself sincerely conceived it — no account
was taken of Athenian independence; (^ the autonomy or self-
management of the Hellenic world; of the conditions, in reference
to forei^ hings^ under which alone such autonomy could exist.
He haa neither the Pan-heHenic sentiment of Aristeides, KalS-
loatide^ and Demosthenes — nor the narrower Athenian sentimen(^
fike the devotion of Aj^laus to Sparta, and of ]&)aminondas to
Thebes. To Fhokion it was indifferent v^ether (xreece was an
aggregate of autonomous cities, with Athens as first or second
among them — or one of the satrapies under the Macedonian kinga.*^
Now thii^ in the historian's frequently and earnestly enunciated
vkw of the case, — a view of capital interest, of essential moment to
a History of Greece, in any large and lofty and liberal sense.—
ihis unpatriotic patriotism, this indifference to the fiee foatj
whether of Hellas in general, or of his own Athens in particular,
was among the most mtal defects o£ a Grredan public man. By
Ais view, had Themistocles, Aristides, and Leonidas resembled
Pfaocion, Greece would have passed quietly under the dominion
6f Peraa, and the brilliant, though chequered, century and more
of independent politics which succeeded the repulse of Xerxes
would never have occurred. And reviewing tne fifty years of
Phodotfs political and military influence — a naif century durin^^
which the Greeka were d^raded from a state of fireedom, and
Athens firom ascendancy as well as freedom, into absolute servi-
tude—tiie historian avers, that in so far as this great pubHc mia-
fbrtune can be imputed to any one man, to no one was it more
aacribable than to Phodon. ^ He was strat^gus during most of
the long series of years when FhiHp's power was growing; it waa
his duty to look anead (or the safety of his countrymen, and to
combat the yet immature giant He heard the warnings of De-
mosthenes, and he possessed exactiy those Qualities which were
wanting to Demosthenes — military energy and aptitude. Had he

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648 GBOTE'S mSTOBT OF GBEBCE.

lent his influence to infonn the shortd^htedneff, to rtamnlate tiie
inertia^ to direct the armed efforts of his countrymen, the kinsB q£
Macedon might have been kept within their own limitB, ana the
future history of Greece might have been altogether di£ferent.
Unfortunately he took the opposite side. He acted with JBachines
and thePhilippizers; without receiving money from Philip, he did
gratuitously all that Philip desired/' It is granted, as respects the
btter half of his life, that Phocion

Not less, though dogs of faction bay,

• Would serve his kind in deed and word ;

that he contributed to lighten the severity of Macedonian dominion,
in Ghreece; that he always refrained from abusing the marked
favour shown towards himself by the Macedonian princes, for
purposes either of personal gain or of oppression over his fdlow-
citizens.

While the Lamian war was running its disastrous course, Phocion
remained at Athens, and gave free expression to his disapproval of
that struggle. At its close, he ^^ undertook the thankless and dis-
honourable function of satrap under Antipater at Athens, with the
Macedonian garrison at Munychia to back him," — thus becoming
the locum tenens of a conqueror, who ^^ not only slaughtered the
chief Athenian orators, but disfranchised and deported the Demoe
in mass." In this phase of his career, a strong case is made out
against the a^ed viceroy, who having thus accepted partnership
and responsibility in these strong measures, was no longer safe,
except imder the protection of a foreign prince; and who, accord-
ingly, on the return of the banished demosy had to seek safety foe.
himself by making interest (in one instance by what Mr. Grote
calls ^^ that treasonable connivance" * with Nicanor) with successive
and opposed arbiters of the city's fate. ** A voluntary expatriation
(along with his friend the Phalerean Demetrius) would have been
less dangerous, and less discreditable, than these manoeuvres, which
Still fuither darkened the close of his life, without averting from
him, after all, the necessity of facing the restored Demos," This
said demos was almost demon-iac in vehemence of wrath against
him. The spectacle is pronounced by Mr. Ghrote " instructive,"
though " distressing." It was directed, he says, " not against die
man or the administrator — for in both characters Phokion had
been blameless, except as to the last collusion with Nikanor in the
seizure of the Peirseus — ^but against his public policy. It was the
last protest of extinct Grrecian freedom, speaking as it were firom
the tomb in a voice of thunder, against that fatal system of mis-
trust, inertia, self-seeking, and corruption, which had betrayed the
once autonomous Athens to a foreign conqueror." f

* Referring to Nicanor's seizure of the Peineos.
t Grote, 3&I. 477—86.

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QBOTB*S BISTORT OF GREECE. 649

' The affidrs of Sicily have ihrdugliout been treated by Mr. Grrote
-wiUi great fulness, and made at once more important and interest-
ing tmin is common with his predecessors. The concluding volume
contains a very animated narrative of the career of Agathocles^
that soldier of fortune, who raised himself from the meanest beii^-
nings to the summit of political power, and approved himself a
thorough adept in that art at which all aspiring men of his age
aimed— the handUng of mercenary soldiers for the extinction of
political liberty and security at home, and for predatory aggran-
disement abroad. Scipio Africanus pronounced the lelder Diony-
sius and Agathocles the most daring, sagacious, and capable men
of action within his knowledge. Apart from this enterprising
genius, employed, Mr. Grote adds, in the service of unmeasured
personal ambition, we know nothing of Agathocles except his san-
guinary, faithless, and nefarious dispositions; in which attributes
also he stands pre-eminent; though, in spite of his often-proved
perfidy, he seems to have had a joviality and apparent simplicity of
manner (the same is recounted of Caesar Borgia) which amused
men and put them off their guard, throwing them perpetually inta
his trap. At the death of A^athocles^ the historian of free-acting
Hellas loses sight of the Greeis of Sicily.*

In taking leave of Mr. Grotc, we cannot but cast a longing,
lingering look behind, at the way by which he has led us, these ten
years past, — a guide of such rare intelligence, persevering endea-
vour, honesty, and general ability. The History of Greece, from
first to last, has occupied us with strangely-shifting scenes and
brilliant dioramic effects. There is the mythical and legendary
period, on which he has so ingeniously elaborated his views, to the
non-content of that class of conservative readers, who can digest a
hundred myths better than one such theor}^ of the myth, and who,
regard with more than suspicion the generic race of Wolf, and all
such wolfish slaughterers of the innocents, — or Heyne, and all such
heinous digressors from the old ^mtlis. Mr. Grote, for his part,,
prefers the literal belief of the Claviers, and Larchers, and Raoul
Rochettes — which has at least the merit of consistency — to what
he calls the interpretative and half-incredulous processes &ppli^ by
abler men, such as Niebuhr, or O. Mueller, or Bishop Tnirlwall.
His resolve to decline problems so insoluble as the genesis of the
Pelasffi, for example, he justifies by appropriating tne remark of
Herodotus, respecting one of the theories then in vogue for ex-
plaining the inundation of the Nile by a supposed connexion with
the ocean — that "the man who carnes up his story into the in-r
visible world, passes out of the range of criticism." But his
philosophy on the subject hinders not his exposition, very fully
and veiy perspicuously, of the legends themselves ; and we read in

• Ibid. pp. 609 sq.

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SSO (MOfOtS HDTCMT OP CdEBBCB.

Ub piges ai pndfldj at thot:^ lie aocepled tbem ereij irhk| Ae
eUcBl of old-iraid stories sbcmi Zeus and die Htus, Aras aii4
Aphioclitey AtliQW and Poseidon,— ^tlw wondroos tale of Pr»-
me&euL

-wiAWtt

TiuiiMf^hU^ of adsnaBtiiie ff^iupTt
Tsstencd agamst the beetling predpiee-*

and that <^ Deucalion^ andf^Thesem^ and tfioee Aigommti iriioai
an Bdinburgli Beriewer is ^^oontent to abandon," as a sort of ideal
impersonation of the first rode attempts at naTi»tion bejrond the
more sonnj surfiu^ of the ^^fean, into ike dark and poiloas le-
nK)ter seas; and die legend of the primitive H^ou^ — JMivm,
Donaoky and Icmic; and of Ocrwe^ who, coming to Attica firoea
I^Tpty before the time of Moses himself occuiHed that rock iHndft
a^wards became the eitadd (Acropofis) of Athens, and coasei
crated it to his native ddtj, that African Neith whose name ikonU
one daj be dianged into Athene; and of CSadnraa^ a leader of the
immigrants who first broi^t Gh:eeoe the liters and the rcligiuea
rites she was to tmrn hereafter to such aocoont; and thetiueof
Danans, and the tale of Qrpheos, and, above all,

The tale of Tioj divine,

from which time downward, as Hermann remarks, the HeUenea
always looked upon thems^es as one people. Yet ihst Tngaa
war IS, in ^ eyes of Mr. Grrote and ^^ modem inqaiij,^ essentiiuly
a I^end and nothing more — thoogh so Uterauj befieved, re-
verentially cherried, and irambered am<xi^ the gigantic pheno-
mena of the past, bj the Grecian poUic. if be is M^ed imedier
it be not a t^end embodying portions of historical matter, and
raised upon a Msis of tmth, — ^whether there may not really have
occorred at the foot of the hill of IHum, a wfT perdy hnrasn and
political, widioixt gods, withoat heroes, without Helen, widioot
Amazon^ witlioat Ethiopians nnder the beautifbl son of Kcs, with-
oat the wooden horse, withoat the characteristic and eipiessife
fintnres of the old epical war,— ^Eke the mutilated trank of I>d-
phobus in the nnder-world, — if he is asked whether ^ere was noi
really some sudi historical Trojan war as this^ his answer ia^ that
as the possibility of it cannot be denied, so neither can the reaKtf
of it be affirmed. ^^ We possess nothing but the andent ^lo
itsd^ withont anv independent evidence: had it been an age ci
records, indeed, we Homeric epic, in its exquisite and onsuspect-
mg simf^city, wotdd probably never have come into existence.
Wnoever, tlierefore, ventures to dissect Homer, Arktinns, and
Lesch^ and to pick out certain portions as matter-of-fitct, while
he sets adde the rest as fiction, must do so in frill rdianoe on hia
own powers of historical divination, withoat any means eidier of

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mm%'B HISfOIT OF OUICiU 6S1

|iioviBg CMT venf jiBg bk coiidusioiis.'' * In other wQr<i%ftclil0aina
SI proroeed bcftwemi abtohite soepdciaa oa the oae hand, and a
Jie «o» sic jmb$o self^ii&cieiM^, an igpas dixk Sir OiaclB^piy on
the otber. Ghooae joor honL

MoTiag onwards, ire amre at die oonqnesfe of thePekpoonea^v
aad the temtorial diyiaioiit of die conquest; we witnen the iBBti-
tntion of die AnmhietTonks and the four great national Games of
Oreeoe-^-games of which Bulwer has aud, that diey efiected Sat
the maaj what chivahy did for die few, ^^ diej made a kniriidiood
of a poG^;'' and we aie told the ^land <dd leraid of Codrus;
and we ipdl our waj throng blood in the laws <^Diaco; and we
stady die legislatiaa of Sotai,

-— who bsilt las eonnon-wBil
Qa equty't wids baM; \j tender laws

A limy peopla embii^ vet nadamp'd,
Preserring still that quick peculiar fire,
Tffaenee in llie laorefd fida <^ finer aits^
And of bold ^eedom^ tbej unequal'd dune; —

and we watch the fortunes of the Peisistratidfl^ of whom it has
been said, duit so long as one of their race still swayed the desdmes
of Atheni^ so long was it still possible that Greece would have
been without a head, without a hearL without a voice ; — and anon
we come to the ^^ atormj sunshine'' of the wars widi the Great Sang
— and see fought o'er again, once more, that battle of Macathon
which grave judges have pronounced to be, even as an event in
English historv. more important dian the batde of Hasdngsf — and
see the Great King sit on the rocky brow diat o'erlooks sea-girt
Sakmis — and gaze on the procession of mortal-immortals who pass
in majesdc pomp before us — ^Leonidas{y

As at Tbammpf^ ho i^rioaa Idl;

and the '^honest fronf of Arisddes, ^to whom di' nnHattering
vmce of freedom gave die noblest^name of Justf Perides, die Mag-
nificent ; and Cimon. ^ sweet^BOuFd, whose gemns, rising strong,
diook off the load of yonn^ debaudi,** and on P^an insc^nce
^ flamed amazement ;" and die great sea-captain Themlstodes ;
and the brilliant, ci^ricious, impulsive Alcibiades ; and from
Sparta come Lysander and Agesilaus; and from Oorindi, Timdeon,
** wTio wept the brodier while the tyrant bled f and from Thebe^
die ^singular good" dual, Bpaminondaa and Pdofttdas— not
Arcades amboy but Bceodans both — ^though ^snre inch a paix^
rwidi a Pindar to boot) might stuldfy d^ sneer, Oan any good
thing come out of Bceotia ?

♦ History of Greece. Part. I. chap. xv.

J For, says an Edinburgh Reviewer, *' if the issue of that day [Mari^hon]
been different, the Britons and Saxons might still have been wandering in
the woods." Forcible, it may be thon^t, and— far-fetched.

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652 orote's histobt of gbeece.

And ihvm we travel on, through fiEur weather and foul,-
under Athenian ascendancy, now Spartan, now Theban — pMsing
an review the reverses and convulsions of the Peloponnesian War,
Corcyra in sedition, Scione in revolt, Amphipolis lost and won,
and that awful night-battle of Syracuse, called by Mt. Grote ^' the
most picturesque battle in history," fought as it was within the still
waters of the land-locked bay, tl^ glory of andent harbours— %lie
long, low barriers of Epipolse and of the Hyblsean hills encloang
the doomed armament as within arms of stone — the white peak of
Mta% brooding over the scene from afar, like the guardian spirit
of the island — while the infinite variety of human emotion in the
groups along the shore, closing with the close of the battle in one
universal shriek of despair, has been described by the histcxian's
eloquent critic in the Quarterly Beviewy as only equalled by that
which went up from the spectators on the hills round about Jem-
salem, when the last crash of the burning temple announced that
their national existence was at an end. But this reverse only
served to elicit the indomitable energy of the suffering people —
cast down but not destroyed; and the History rather swells than
declines in interest at this turning-point, and maintains its hold of
us ^^ to see the end," through subsequent years of comparative dul-
ness, and decadence the most evident, foreshowing and forerunning
the death-in-life period of Hellas in extremis^ of n'ee-acting Greece
in ariiculo mortis.

Mr. Grote had promised a critical risume of the philosophies of
Plato and Aristotle, to form part of the closing volume. But as
his History at large, so this volume in particular^ outgrew his good
intentions, and we are now to look forward (and marry we wm) to
the publication of this philosophical conspectus in a supplementary
or complementary volume, the appearance of which, it may tie
presumed, will not be very long deferred. We tender our best
congratulations to him, at parting, on the manner in which he
has been enabled to carry through his grand enterprise. At
Athens itself, within these few months, he has been lauded by a
native Professor (Constantine Paparrogopoulos) as tw yxyaof hyfkiw
i(rTopurypa<f>op FEfiPnoN TPOTE. His own countrymen have reason,
as well as himself, to be proud of a work which, to the erudition
and patient investi^ition supposed to be monopolised by our Ger-
man cousins, adds me practiced shrewdness and sober s^dty of
the English publicist. Mr. Grote is, like the best of the Germans,
a man of books; unlike a good many of them, he is something
more: a man of thought, a man of sense, a man of action, — ^in
fine, and m h-os iimw^ a man of men.

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INDEX

TO THE THIRTY-NINTH VOLUME.

ADTsimrBZS of Benjamin Bobbin the
Bagman. By Crawford Wilson, 76,

Adyentnre, Lncy*s, 416

Ainsworth, W. Harrison, Esq. The
Spendthrift: a Tale of the Last
C«itniT, 10, 117, »W, m, Ml

Alison's E£fth Yohmie, 40»

AiMcica, Cc»iia]» ^0

Amt, Tbe, IxpMKtion tothe^ 299

Archbishop Whately: '' Hwugbte^aad
Apofkbfthtgns,'' 825

Art, DeooratiTe, in iBgkBflb ^^

Austria, The Court, Anstooraoyv n^

Beanfield, A Glimpse at. By J<^
Stebbing, 502

BeaoBUurclAis and His Times, 171, 293

Bell's Chaucer, 252

Bei4axBin Bobbin the Bagman^ Adren-
tures ot Br Crawfowl Wilson^ 76,
199

Browning's " Men and Women,.'* 64

Bttshfef,Mrs.» The Ohl and the New
Year : a Song from the Danish, by,
96

Bywwap of Histoij. Wilmor's '*De
Homine Eepkjg^iando," 165. The
MournM Mama£^ of Sir S. Mar-
land, 4«1, 621

"CwcMHf,'' Mbnt 9t. MLchd aitd its,
131

VOL. XXXIX.

CaK^iaig^, Omer Basha'a, 507

Central America, 260

Ckaueec, Bell's, 2fi&

Cheshai^, 'Die Prxnie TbeabassBkk st,
161

Constantiiiopto, A Weak ia* By Laft-
oellM Wraz£ai,.304

Costello, Pud%— The J«Bnt-^tock
Banker: aTaldof theDagr. Chaa.Ii
—The Man of tha Be^e. itr-
Modem Speoxilation^ TTT.-^A^Ta,
ventor. IV.— The New Bank, 346.
v.— A Loan Transaction. VI.—
Messrs. Oriole and Peacock's £sta-
bUshment. YII. — ChltooiBdmoot;
47L Vm.— A Kind Patron. K.
— An Old Acquaintaace.. X.^A^
Ally, 551

Cdetdlo, Mas, '*Lay of tiie Btodk;''
615

Court, Aristociacyv and Bif^inai^of
Austria, The, 454

Damascus and its Neifl^bMriioodb 4S
BecoQiAiTe Ait in T8»^imJ, 4M
Differences, The, with the Hailed

States, 221
Disjointed Gossip from the other side

of the Big Pond. By the Author o£

" Our Cousin: Veromca,'* 575
Dock Warrants, The : a Tale of the

Times. By Dudley Gt)5tello„ 31, 13^,

Diidiey<>>steUo— TfLeJDockWamolBB :

a Tale of the Tiam, 31, 139, 236l
Dynasty, Imperial, Peace and tfae„ 381
2x

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654

INDEX.

El Medinah and Meocah, 366
Engluid, Beooiatiye Art in, 406
Essayists and Beviewers, Frosings by

Monkshood about. VU. — Charles

Lamb, 430
Exhibition, The Boyal Aoademy, for

1856, 487
Expedition, The, to the Amnr, 288

VI.— Messrs. Oriole and Feaoook's
Establishment. YIL— Ghton Bd-
mont, 471. Ym.— A Kind Pakon.
IX. — ^An Old Aoqoaintanoe. X. —
An AUv, 651
Journal, Baikes's, 387

Kertoh, A Winter in, 586

Fidsehoods and Bealities of the War, 19
Fielding, Lawrence's Life of, 154
fifth Volume of Alison, 408
Ford, Mother. By Charles William
Jayne, 485

Glimpse of Beanfield, A. By John

Stebbin^, 502
Goethe, I^wes's life and Works of.

New Books by Monkshood, 96
Going to the Shows, 273
Gossip, Disjointed, from the[other side

of the Big Fond. By the Author of

**Our Cousin Veronica," 575
Grote's History of Greece. Mingle-

Mangle by Monkshood, 633, 63/
Guizors Biohard Cromwell, 567

Her Majesty's Theatre, He-opening of,

635
Heroes, How we treat our, 270
Heroine-Worship, 630
History;, By-ways of: Wihner's "De

Homine Ecplegiando," 165 ; The

Mournful Marriage of Sir S. Mor-

land, 401, 621
Sstory of Greece, Grote's. Mingle-

Mangle by Monkshood, 633
Home, The Fhyaician's, 699
How I grew into an Old Maid, 83
How we treat our Heroes, 270
How we went to see the Militia Ee-

▼iew, 74

Jayne, Charles William, Mother Ford,
by> *85

Joint-Stock Banker, The. A Tale of
the Day. By Dudley Costello.
Chi^. I.— The Man of the FMple.
n, — ^Modem Speculation. III.^
An Inventor. lY.— The New Bank,
846. Y.— A Loan Transaction.

Lake Nsami, 611

Lamb, Charles. Frosings by Monks-

hood about the Essayists and Be-

Tiewers. VII. 430
Lawrence's Life of Fielding, 154
''Lay of the Stork," Miss Costdb's,

615
Lewes's Life and Works of Goethe.

New-Book Notes by Monkshood.

96
Lodgers, Our First, 186
Lucys Adventure, 416

Ncw-

Macaulay*s History of England. K<
Book Notes by Monkshood, 206

Man in the White Hat, The: a Sketch
from Bailway Life. By a Seami
Ticket, 57

Materfamilias, Miseries of a Wet Day
in the Country, by, 384

Meccah, El Medinah and, 366

Medwin, Cwtain, the New Simonides,
bv, 383

" Men and Women^" Browning's, 64

Militia Review, How we went to see
the, 74

Milman's Latin Christianitr. New-
Book Notes by Monkshood, 316

Minehead Pilots, The, 204

Mingle-Mangle by Monkshood. Grote*s
ffistory of Greece, 533, 637

Miseries of a Wet Day in the Country.
By Materfamilias, 384

Monck, Mary C. F. The Old Year's
Death, 71

Monkshood, New -Book Notes by.
Lewes's Life and Works of Goethe,
96. Macauky's History of Eng-
land, 206. Mihnan's Latin Chris-
tianity, 316

Monkshood, Mingle - Mangle by.
Grote's History of Greece, 533, 637

Monkshood, Frosings by, about the
Essavists and Reviewers. \iU —
Charles Lamb, 430

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INDEX.

666

Morland, Sir S., The MournM Mar-
riaffe of. By-ways {d History^ 401,

Mont St. Michel and its ''Cachots,"

131
Mother ForcL By Ghailes William

Jayne, 485
Mournful Marriage of Sir S. Morland,

The. By-ways of History, 401,621

New -Book Notes by Monkshood.
Lewes's Life and Works of Qoethe,
96. Maoanla^ History of Enjf^-
land, 206. Mihnaa's Latin Chris-
tianity, 316

New Sunonides, The. By Captain
Medwin, 383

Nffami, Lake, 611

Night or two in Paris, A, 376

Baihray Life, A Sketch from. The

Man in the White Hat. By a Season

Ticket, 57
Be-opening of Her Majesty's Theatre,

635
Biohard Cromwell, Guizofs, 567
Boyal Academy Exhibition, The, for

1856, 487

Sea Anemone, The Story of the, 628

Sebastopol, 122

Shows, Goingto the, 273

Simonides, The New. By Captain

Medwin, 383
Spendthrift, The : a Tale of the Last

Century. By W. Harrison Ains-

worth, Esq., 10, 117, 227, 337, 441
Stebbing, John, A Glimpse i^ Beanfidd,

by,502
Summer Days at Tenby, 495

Old and the New Year, The. A Song
from the Danish. By Mrs. Bushby,
95
Old Maid, How I grew into an, 83
Old Year's Death, The. By Mary C.

E. Monck, 71
Our First Lodgers, 186
Omer Pasha's Campaign, 507

Paris, A Night or Two in, 376
Peace and the Imperial Dynasty, 331
Physician's Home, The, 599
Pilots, The Minehead, 204
Present Aspect of Affairs in relation to

the War, 5
Private Theatricals at Cheshant, The,

161
Prize, Tom Elliot's, 519
Prosmgs by Monkshood about the

Essajifits and HcTiewers. VII.—

Charles Lamb, 430

Q.
Question of the Day, The, 111

Baikes's Journal, 387

Tenby, Summer days at, 495
The Story of the Sea Anemone, 628
Thoughts and Apophthegms, Arch-
bishop Whately's, 625
Tom EUiof s Prize, 519

United States, The Differences with
the, 221

War, Fabehoods and Realties of the,
19

War, Present Aspect of Affairs in Re-
lation to the, 5

Week, A, in Constantinople. By Las-
ceUes Wraxall, 304

Wet Day in the Country, Miseries of
a. By Materfamilias, 384

What we are All About, 1

Wilmer's " De Homine Replegiando."
By-ways of History, 165

Wilson, Crawford, Adventures of Ben-
jamin Bobbin the Bagman, by, 76

Winter, A, in Kertch, 585

Wraxall, Lascelles. A Week in Con-
stantinople, 304

END OF THE THIRTT-KINTH VOLUME.

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OCT 16 1931

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