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• • •• 

• ••-#• . • • 

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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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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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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* 


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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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- 

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 

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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" 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 

<^ 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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** 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 ticket s " 

<« 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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ping bis fingers derinvely in the landlord's iS^e, and foUowing 

*^ 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." 



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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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 

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


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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. 



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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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. 


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**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 

** 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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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 

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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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 

** 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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The wakH-ynagaaoB luatonanB of tlM war who swana in BniMek — the 
modkni Athenf, as far ai aaticMMj, mora!, and political turpitttde aie 
t aucmm i, — 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 nn d c i sta nd tiiat its honour is ooneerbed in going forth to die either to 
CTo t e et 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's e 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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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- 

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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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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*'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 pra y er s 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 

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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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. 
P reoea ti y 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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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 

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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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 

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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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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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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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 

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Of aB ihe firmt in Lcmdoo, tradmg at general merohanti^ metal and 
colonial laoker i dong nationg 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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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 
fom men ex yro e wo o ; '< he knows perfeetty well what he'* ebovt,'' was the 
eomownt mvariably made on William J laa dyeid e '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 

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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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 op p wtu nely in their favour, giving them the duone, just w hen 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 
mamifiwtu re, 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 

B 2 

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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. 



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 

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 

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- 

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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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 

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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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 

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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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 

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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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 

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

" 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 

''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 

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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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 

'' 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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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." 


'< 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 

^'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- niTie sa t hs 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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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 

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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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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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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'* 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 

''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« 

" '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 
a tt emp t , 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. 


" 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 

^ 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-diaooy Bfe d ta a certaintj 
through your want of caution." 

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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 €w nnwtie iy 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 G raysteo l» 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 aome thing else to tinnk oL To 
fii wp the time unfed there was a possibilify ef karmng the news fiaem 
ad, the namd a uauiawn was made to Watedoo. The summsr^ 

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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 

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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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 

<< 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 e xpr essed 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. 

*' 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 

▼01- Txxa. £ 

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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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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 
SB fPorting 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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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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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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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 c igh lee tt 
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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Joom. of Sftered lit, Julj, 1863.) Bir. Porier now giTM flodi a 
desoriptkm •£ the f i w i ifn 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 

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 
Smm u htMrnKk, 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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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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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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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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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, u nn e ceisa iy 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 aeco nli o tA — >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 fin a nd al i 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 gi s — d, m epite of «onstaat m 
mverUs'foaitiaa, 4md in the end iv pnbaUy «a«^^ 


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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- 

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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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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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 ptod m et s 
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 a ll 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, ims ii ce e ss fp L 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' convers a tion 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 r o ee i ve d an ap po in tment 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 det e c ti v e 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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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 

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 

stti ka .' 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 ha t 
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 appr oa ch ing 
engine warned those who had not taken their places that it was high 

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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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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. 


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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. brown i u g' 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 fo a ui t os «s a mme qud non to appredaAicMi, will diseo^ar beauties 
liiat kux uaaeen duriag a too cursory peraaal ; but the mast c ai ' 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 m im imum 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 

' ( nwt n filiniif 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 i hooOy to diow4iat 
when the fight begins within hiras^, a man's worth sw e th ing ? — 

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 Thurs daj'a th e 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. 

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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 

'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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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 Y MM w mm, '^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 olti ir 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«b Qolrstan - k ee p ei% 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 sewee ly 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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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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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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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 p ress u r e 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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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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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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Bt 0bA177OBJ> WlLBOSr. 



''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 ohar a ote i^- 
refleotsfe, genero os , 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 chee rod 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 w as ' 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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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 tu fc oahip 

m m p w wyin g a Vff!^ mtunog ; etniggled mta/Mij to keep 

abofe irateCy wmd iwbiiitT to the few comfbxti of thewiikHrs 

Two fmn p ai d by — two yeaa of patieBt lahovr, of i ne easau t 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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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. 


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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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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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 pro fe ssion 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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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 pati ence a nd 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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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 

^' 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 

** 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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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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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 pie se ut 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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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^ 

" 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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** 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 

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 

<' 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 

'* 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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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 ?" 


** 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." 


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

^ 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 m o r ro w 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 

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 com pet e nt 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 

^ 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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^ Tes,* mteffup ted 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^ 

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 be gun . 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 

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

'^ 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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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 

'< 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 

^* 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- 

<^ 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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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 

*^ 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 

" 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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*' 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 !** 

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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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. 



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 


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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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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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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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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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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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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. 

* "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^. 

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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 

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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<< 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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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 

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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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 


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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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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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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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served over and above tlie four goaraiitees. How can Bima be* 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- 

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 

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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- 

"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 ?** 


" 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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^ 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 

"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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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 

^ 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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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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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 

^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 

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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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 co r reg p onding 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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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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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" 


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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 So b ast o p ol, and Kxperienoes in Camp. London: CbapoW aad Hall. 

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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 

" 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 

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- 

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'' 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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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 

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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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 

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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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- 

* 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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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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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 cele brate d 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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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 oc eu ired 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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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 

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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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 

'^ 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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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 

* 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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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 

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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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 

" 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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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 

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 

<* 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- 

« 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 


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il» parftncn took cooofd togvthsr how best to effect ibmt iepartar* ham 
the Mel without beiog^ seen by the new comen, for wheth« G r ajete ^'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 aKne uaeed ^ 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 t uwiD g 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 a wna g o 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, — Butte r b ro t n aii gi ' 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- 

" His name is Die Kaisers-rube — the Emperor's-rest" 

'^ Well, then, the Emperor may rest by himsdf, we are not gdag there 


** 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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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 

"^ 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 


. 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 

" 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 

'' 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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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 

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. 


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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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 

'^AU things has he, which a rightly-minded man conmuts not, 

"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 

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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** 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 ; swi nd le d 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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^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 ytasc es t 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 

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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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 

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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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. 


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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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 Nettfcbat e l. 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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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 

TlMXHigh the haae ef <G&ennan deeeriptbeaese Mr. Woodman die eoy e rod , 
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 cha aoe of nabbing the peeoaat 
indmlosfb in their s lnmb et B . 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 S wita e i land, he, too, crossed over to Strasboorg, and falling in wiiii 

ose «f the Freoeh poHoe— a diffeaeot style of men £rom the German 
Poiia oi ob tained foU confirmation of his doohti : ahhough lihe fag i tifo e 
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 a p o c iiuuns , 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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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 aieU er * 
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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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 

** 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 in c r aa ea d 
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 
mas sa g e 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; 


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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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 
Gwu m nd 'hHf of Fielding^s "^ Historical Register ;** of Ma^in, that most 
enfiertainii^ of self-complaoent men; of Grarriok, never so efficiently 
c ffiti c is ed 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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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 


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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 a nd^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 mor ti fy in gly 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 re deem , 

* Nought shall offtad the flOroM's mn to-day, 
Which she might Uush to hear, or blash to si^, &e. 

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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 


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.* 

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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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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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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 

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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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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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 

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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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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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 '' r eple vin 
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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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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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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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 

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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? 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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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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an ineeamit small fire of ejngrams and insolting remarks, which his great 
natnral abilities generally enabled him to turn to the discomfiture of his 

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 


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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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tookitopftoefiectareooiioifiatkm, but at thoTerjiame that Beasmaidiais 
t b ooght 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 
gre a t e r 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 Creo l e 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 

N 2 

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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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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 

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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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 

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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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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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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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 

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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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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. 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 

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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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 

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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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 

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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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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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 

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 

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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** 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 

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. 

'< 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 

'< 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 
lettin g l odgings. 

^^ 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" 


'< 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 

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. 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 

" 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, 


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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 ninian g 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 

«<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 

^'I doD't wonder at Aat^ viMa itsuMflaaasaToury aayoun^'' lemaskad 

'*IlookedaKtdetoitaijP8dftO'^,aDdpatinabit€£thyme: thaftfs 
a giaat improeement,'' I aaid. ^ Don't yo« thidk so^ ma'am ?" 

'< I don't know,'* she anawered. ^Idoattyakw^eferpatthyswia 

<< 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 sehodroe m ^tabte, and Sarak, look- 
iB|^ as deaotve as if she an dw rsto od 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 

<« 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 


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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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 

** 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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^* 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* 

<' 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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** 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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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 
geeogn i ied 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 
enh ee e , 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 y e ico 
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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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 

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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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 fo cg W m 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, deg ant 
woman, with a bright sasile and haif^rhty eye. Sorely I knew the 
featu m 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 

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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By Cbawfobd Wilson. 


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 Ed ia b u t yh 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, som e w h at 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 i nten ded ?" 

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'< 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- 

*^ More than that— I have been honoured with a salute from himf** I 

** 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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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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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 eonge n ial 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 fa sa to 
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 * 


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 

« Offended ! I really fed tn^ grateful toyoo, Mc Cripps, for the ad- 
vice you so generously have tendered ne. I a p preci ate 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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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 

** 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 lefc e shm ents are not requued. Be advised 
by me, and never eate ed 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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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- 

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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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. 


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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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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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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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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 

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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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 

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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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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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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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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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 K eepe r 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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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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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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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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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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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 


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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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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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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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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- 

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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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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. 

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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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 

^^ 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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^^ 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 

" 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. 

^ 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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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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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 

** WeQ, PU do ray best,** the coachman replied, getting up 
sulkily. And followed ^by Tom Haddocks and the grooms, he 
vepaixed to the stables. 



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 

**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 

" 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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^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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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 

^ 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 

^^ 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- 

. ^^Well, I see no objection to that, ar," the old baronet re- 

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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'^ 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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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, 

« 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,?" 


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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 

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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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 j f mt o is j 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- 

*' 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 

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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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 

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. 


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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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 

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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anoAer pturcel, not newspspers tlii» Ime, hat cpHe a fUlferent 801% z 
< acti<yn V wkieh means ^ sfaarea^^- m » ProMban m an m nin ffdefbr 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 t r ans l ate d 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 St arte d^ for Lawsann by extra-post, which meaa^ 
a craay cab^ with a r^ of a horse that no Ijondon pe beom an 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 Haw d ysiA) 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 pa s s ed 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 
pa M p e it signed in fhris, and the other Monsiear also^ dated from the 
same pb iss^ thoiwh heceold not swear to it, as be had net seen it ; bear 
ifasy ati^ p wp so ewi od 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#W d«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% hai ia i er» 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 wo n» 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 e vi deBl, 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 e aU aa i 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 l agi a to Ta 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 aiooetars h ef 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, a Jdr eee ed 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 
ad i m a fcrwarf at any pkw^ but give iast iia j ti ona 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 plea san t 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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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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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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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 bi g se l f 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 e f eryw h er e, 
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 


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 g a am sd s» osc aa e a hn nan , 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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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 
pnsc m a n who nerer 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. th aaj ^ i i 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 
a plae aAis.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 i ag gin' 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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^* 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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<* 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, 

^ In the first place," observed Handyside, ** I object altogether to the 
circumstances of the arrest'' 

^No doubt on it," muttered Mr. Woodman; ^'prisners always 

<< 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 

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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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 sup prcescd 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 ee cnu e n ee 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 wai T anl 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 

" 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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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 iai s o d 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 n m na&l % proc ee d 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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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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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 

The judgment recorded against diem was : 


• ••••• 

^* 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;" 


Digitized by 




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 

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 

Digitized by 



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 


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. 


Digitized by 


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$. 

Digitized by 



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. 

Digitized by 


3S6 bill's chaucek. 

Wh&a that [ Afml | H with | Ui adiJhr | i($9 swf»Ce 
. Th« drSttglit I )(f Mftreke | JUUhpSr | cSdt5 | thS rOSte, 
And bH I tkiid 8re | Tj^ vC/Be | In swich | HcdOr, 
Ofdvhlch I ygrtae | &igen | drSd Is | th6 flOQr ; 
WliSn Z9 I phyms I Sek with | Ms swS ( tS brestii 
Enspl I r«d hlth | it Sve | ly holte | tod hMth 
Th«tfiaidr«cM»p|p^ted|the70a|g« sQaae 
Hftth In I thS Rim | his hil | fS cOIln | I-iOnme 
And smft J IS fdw I 1& mE I kSn mS | ISdie, 
Thit Bl9 f p«n il I thSnIglit | widi | pfo 5lie» 
SS prtk I «th hem I nitlkre | In hire | c&ages:— 
Thtone 10a I c&i ftlk 1 1» g<»n I te pa I grfmigw, Ac 

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 

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 ps rfa ae 

» " Homer and the HomcriclBe.'* Part IIL 
t See Athoioswhy^fi, 693 (1841). 

Digitized by LnOOQlC , 


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 

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 

Digitized by 


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 

* 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. 

Digitized by 


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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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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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 c o ulempofi y 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 celebr ate d Dominicai^ Las CasaSy who a ceo mp anied 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 circ um few u oe, 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 o s po ' 
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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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 

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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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 co uuti ynif m^ 

Tmk and oa the ihofea of ika Ijiguoa de TenaiiMt, ta the Bay of 


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 thems el ^a D 
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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GiarnLiL AUXBicA. MS 

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 

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 
h ai ^ 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 boe c an ce riny, 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 G i ey t o w n. 

^ 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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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 tH p - o stablish 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 in creas ed 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 po ss es sio ns 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, 


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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^ 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 re t o al s 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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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 inlcilM W wh h 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 p es ilkai 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 
obli ga tfc oH w w M IweoiilMKted by other states acceding to the coaven* 
ttooy and the gu v e r m aeitt 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 govew m ea t persists in vievmig the convention as havii^ a 
B e tiospesti i e 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 iu t e r pf s toti on 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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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 er ect ed 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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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 
ev e ry b o dy 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 pr e t t ie st 
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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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 unfoii unate , 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, 

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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^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 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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OOnO TO THB 6B0W8. 97$ 

tnm hat ■p e eA 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^ 

*< 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 

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 

^ 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 

^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 

Digitized by 


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 aus iw i i id ; '^ 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 bnwig ii i 
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 w hei HSfer 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 p t op e aiy 
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." 

Digitized by 


«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 the h oste toBl tswfl 
show y e ster da y, 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. 

Digitized by 


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 

<^ 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^ 

''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- 

" 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 anyw h ere 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 so me wii e re" 

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 

Digitized by 



^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 suppos e go t 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 

Digitized by 



*^ 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 re appai ^ t ha t 
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 

<< 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?" 

Digitized by 


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^ imposs ib le^ 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. 

Digitized by 



^ 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 

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 


I need not give the particulars of ihe examination, the reader being 
• . J^ - ^^ 

already in pos sessi on 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 cou r t locked in, I 
daresay. After ihatr-it was a long whi le ■ w e 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 rec m dled 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 

Digitized by 



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- 

** 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 

'' Bow is 4ie ?** I and Lacy eageriy asked. 

TOL. xxzix. u 

Digitized by 


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 moasl n 
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 d ra se cj 
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 p rcS s e d 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 

^ 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 

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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''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. 

Digitized by 



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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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 

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 
direa tio n i n d icated. ''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 

Digitized by 



Jbaibour and iecoim(ntre» and die returned in ihe aft eraooD, 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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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 

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, 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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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. 


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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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 

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 

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 

"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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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 p ropo sefl 
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 

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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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 

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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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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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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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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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 
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 

VhdarUtmAdf the Comte de Provence took the alosioB to a vile insect 


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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