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BENTLEY'S 


MISCELLANY. 


.^^ 


VOL.  XXXIV. 


LONDON: 

RICHARD    BENTLEY, 

NEW  BURLINGTON  STREET. 

1853. 


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,<-'0H  LIB  •'W^ 

(.ore  18  '•''r.    j, 


LONDON: 

rilntod  by  Woodfall  and  Kixpm. 
Angel  Court,  Skinner  Street. 


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CONTENTS. 


fAGt 

Aspen  Court,  and  who  lost  and  who  won  it*    A  Tale  of  our  Own  Time. 

B^  Shirley  Brooks,  .  .  1,  119,  3)9.  S48, 467 

Loitering  among  the  Bayarian  and  Tyrolean  Lakes,  in  the  Years  18dl 

and  1852,      .  .  . 

Chloroform,  •,.••. 

The  Duchess  of  Orleans,  *  .  .  , 

Adyentures  of  a  First  Season, — Coming  to  Town, — Lovers, 
The  Crisis  of  My  Existence.    By  an  Old  Bachelor, 
Reminiscences  of  Henley  Regatta.    By  an  Oxford- Man, 
TuriLey,  its  Hopes  and  Perils,       .... 
The  Last  Years  of  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth.     By  F.  A.  Mignet. 

89,  182,  254 
A  Journey  from  Westminster  Abbey  to  St.  Peter's,  .  96,  174,  804,  888,  506 
Life  of  an  Architect, — London  again, — 1  become  professionally  engaged, 

—My  Sojourn  at  Bath,— Mr.  Soane,  .  .  .107,402,541 

Contemporary  Literature,  .••••. 

Uemorkls  of  Indian  Gorernment ;  being  a  seleetion  from  Uie  Paper*  of  Heniy  St. 
Oeoige  Tucker,  late  Director  of  the  East  India  Company.— Memoirs  and  Cor> 
respondenoo  of  Dr.  Henir  Bathurrt,  Lord  Bishop  of  Norwich  — Narratfre  of 


17 
83 
43 
50 
58 
65 
70 


115 


leniT  B 
an  Explorer  in  Tropical  South  Africa.  • 
a  Hnntcr  in  the  Prairies. 


-Solitary  Ramblea  and  AdTentoiet  of 


qui 


By  Jerman 


Dining-out  for  the  Papers.     By  W.  H.  Russell,  .  ,148 

Camps  and  Bivouacs,  at  Home  and  Abroad.    By  Mrs.  Ward,    .  .       151 

Sonnet.     By  Cuthbert  Bede,        ......       156 

India  and  its  Administration,        .  .  .157 

A  Railway  Incident.    By  One  of  the  Old  School,  .  .  .165 

Russia,  its  Court  and  Cabinet,     .  .  •  .  .  .193 

Charade, — Wine  and  Water,— Pleasant  Days, — k 

M.  A»  B.,  ..... 
The  Peace  of  Europe  and  the  Balance  of  Power, 
Lord  Chesterfield,  .... 

Intermittent  Rhapsodies  on  the  Quashee  Question. 

the  Unintelligible  Philosopher, 
Luther  in  China,  ...... 

The  Weird  Man, 

The  Dead  Sea  and  the  Bible  Lands, 

Chaka— King  of  the  Zulus.    By  Angus  B.  Reach, 

Practical  Jokes.— Ben  Backstay.     By  Mrs.  Moodie, 

Notes  on  Foreign  Literature,!       .... 

The  Crisis  in  the  Affairs  of  the  Lord  of  Misrule  . 

The  Rooks,  the  Raven,  and  the  Scarecrow.    A  Fable, 

A  Gossip  about  Laurels  and  Laureates, 

A  *  Joicy  Day'  in  Kensington  Gardens.    By  Alfred  W.  Cole, 

Reviews :— l-acts  and  Faces,^Van  Owen's  Decline  of  Life, 

Camps  and  Manoeuvres,  ..... 

A  Gossip  about  New  Books,       .... 

Journals,  and  Journal-keepers,     .... 

Slavery  in  New  England.     By  Miss  Sedgewick, 

Miss  Barbara  Bliss  and  her  Miseries, 

Original  Anecdotes,  Social  and  Political,  collected  during  the  last  Half 

Century.    By  a  distinguished  French  Authoress,     .  .  .482 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


la  Faute?    By 

207,  342,  540,  653 
.      208 
.      222 
Jumbell, 

.   22^ 

.   245 

261,  375 

.   273 

.   292 

299,  410 

.   312 

324 

.   328 

.   330 

.   339 

341 

.   359 

.   367 

.   397 

.   417 

.   425 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


A  History  of  Tennis. 
London  Homes,  » 
Reviews,  . 


By  EdwardJesse, 


PAGE 

443 
452 
455 


*  There  and  Book  again  in  aeareh  of  Beanty.'*^*'  Raymond  de  Monthaolt,  the  Lord 
Marcher.    A  Legend  of  the  Welsh  Borders." 


An  Incident  of  Australian  Life  —  a  Tale  of  Twenty  Years  ago.     By  , 

G.  C.  Mundy,  Author  of  "  Our  Antipodes,**  .  .  489,  607 

Mount  Lebanon,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .      519 

Random  Recollections  of  Campaigns  under  the  Duke  of  Wellington,    525,  665 
The  Box  Tunnel.    By  the  Author  of "  Christie  Johnstone/'      .  .      549 

Art :  a  Dramatic  Tale,    .......      633 

To  the  Cypress,  ........      554 

Campaigns  of  Turkey  on  the  Danube,     .  .  •  .  555,  575 

My  Monkey  Jacko,       .  ......      565 

St  Peter's  to  St.  Januarius'         ......      584 

Marguerite  Devereux;  a  Trufe  Story,     .  .  .  .  .621 

The  Darien  Ship  Canal,  ......      654 

A  Tyrolese  Legend,        .......      602 

Letters  from  Spain  to  his  Nephews  at  Home.     By  Arthur  Renyon,      .      605 
Lord  Byron  at  Venice.     By  M.  T.  Tuckermahn,  .  .  .      676 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Day  Out       . 

Portrait  of  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield 

An  Incantation  Sc^ne 

A  Friend  in  Need 


1 
222 
229 
343 


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BENTLEY'S   MISCELLANY. 


ASPEN  COURT, 

AND   WHO   LOST   AND   WHO    WON   IT. 

Si  IMt  of  out  iSton  Stme. 
Bt  Shirley  Brooks, 

AUTHOR  or  "MIS8   TIOLBT  AND   HBK  OFFSM." 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THS  PBKIL8  OP  THB  DBBP. 

It  is  dae  to  onr  frieml,  Mr.  Paid  Chequerbent,  to  say  that  when 
he  sat  down  to  the  banquet  which  he  gave  to  himself  and  Miss 
Livingstone,  in  honour  of  his  triumphant  acquittal  at  the  bar  of 
justice,  he  fully  intended  to  depart  into  the  country  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  But  a  dinner,  even  such  a  one  as  can  be  procured  in 
London,  too  frequently  changes  a  man^s  course,  and  converts 
intentions,  which  might  become  the  basis  of  very  meritorious  ac- 
tions, into  a  portion  of  the  pavement  whereof  the  Spanish  proverb 
tells  us,  and  which,  if  such  proverb  represent  fairly  what  is  going 
on  elsewhere,  must  be  in  as  constant  a  state  of  disarrangement  as 
the  pavement  in  onr  own  metropolis.  Mr.  Chequerbent,  yielding 
to  the  spirit  of  the  convivial  board,  at  which  all  man's  best  feelings 
possess  him,  expressed  his  conviction  that  the  kind  attention  Miss 
Livingstone  had  shown  him,  at  a  period  when  such  service  was 
most  valuable,  deserved  some  otner  recognition  than  a  mere 
dinner,  and  that  a  very  poor  one,  and  he  justly  remarked  that  so 
few  people  behaved  properly  in  this  world  that  virtue  ought  not  to 
go  unrewarded.  He  therefore  demanded  what  Angela  would  like 
as  a  memorial  of  the  day  which,  if  justice  were  done,  would  go 
down  to  posterity  with  that  of  the  acquittal  of  the  Seven  Bishops. 

"  Seven  bishops  !  whater^  were  they  tried  for  ?"  asked  Angela, 
whose  reading  on  such  matters  was  restricted  to  the  memoirs  of 
the  Scotch  gentleman  with  roses  tull  his  shoon.  Jack  the  painter, 
Suil  Dhuv  the  coiner,  and  such  other  historical  personages,  whose 
cases  have  been  reheard  at  the  foot-lights,  and  reproduced  in  penny 
feaiUeionSj  with  a  coloured  frontispiece. 

"  They  were  obstinate  parties,"  said  Paul,  "  who  always  voted 
against  King  Charles  having  any  money  for  his  ships,  so  one  day 
he  came  down  to  the  House  of  Commons  and  seizea  them,  saying, 
*  Take  away  those  baubles.'  The  ladies  in  the  ventilator  called  out 
that  the  king  ought  to  have  had  too  much  sensq  to.be  thece,  on^ 

VOL.  xxxrv.  / 

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2  ASPEN  COURT. 

which  Oliver  Cromwell  held  the  Speaker  down  in  his  chair,  and 
told  the  soldiers  to  fire  at  the  ladies.'' 

"  Good  business,"  said  Angela,  whose  theatrical  eye  saw  a 
tableau  at  once ;  **  of  course  the  manly  soldiers  refuse  to  fire  upon 
helpless  women,  but  let  fly  at  the  bishops,  who  fall  on  the  ground 
in  white  dresses  left,  ladies  shrieking  in  gallery  opposite  prompt, 
red  coats  of  soldiers  right  upper  entrance,  king  with  crown  and 
robes  in  centre.  Suddenly  the  parliament  bursts  into  flames,  and 
curtain  down  on  red  fire.  I  wonder  if  old  Muzzy,  who  does  our 
first  pieces,  ever  read  of  it.  Write  down  for  me  where  the  story  is 
to  be  found." 

This  litde  parliamentary  episode  being  arranged,  Panl  reiterated 
his  demand  to  know  what  Angela  would  like. 

"  O,  never  mind  anything  now,  Paul,  dear,"  said  Miss  Living- 
stone, "  the  weather  will  be  finer  soon,  and  then  you  must  get  me 
up,  regardless  of  expense,  to  go  to  Hampton  Coiut  and  no  end  of 
places,  but  my  bonnet  looks  very  well  at  present,  and  so  does  the 
blue  plaid,  especially  since  I  have  altered  the  sleeves,  and  quite 
fit  to  go  out  in." 

*'  Then  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  said  Paul,  "  one  day  more  will  not 
make  much  difierenoe  in  my  going  away,  and  we  'U  have  an  out 
io-anorrow." 

^^  But  you  are  sure  you  wont  getinto  any  trouble  by  it,"  said  Angela, 
''  because  that 's  all  nonsense,  you  know,  for  the  sake  of  a  holiday. 
I  am  sure  I  often  look  at  the  bright  sky  of  an  evening,  about  six, 
and  think  how  nice  it  would  be  to  go  and  walk  quietly  in  the  firesh 
air,  instead  of  turning  out  of  the  sunlight  into  a  den  where  one 
must  spend  seven  or  eight  hours  in  the  heat,  and  dust,  and  smell, 
and  gaslight,  exerting  and  exciting  myself  till  I  am  ready  to  drop; 
but  I  never  was  forfeited,  for  all  that." 

^^  I  should  be  forfeited  about  twenty  times  a  week,"  said  Mr. 
Chequerbent,  "  and  I  only  wonder  why  you  professionals  are  so 
loyal,  knowing  liow  particularly  quickly  managers  pitch  you  to  the 
deuce,  if  they  can  get  hold  of  anything  likely  to  be  more  profit- 
able." 

"  Some  do,  some  don't,"  said  the  little  actress:  "  at.the  Frippery, 
where  I  sprained  my  ankle,  they  were  very  kind,  and  sent  me  wine 
and  jelly,  and  a  railway  ticket,  when  I  got  better,  for  me  to  go  to 
my  aunt's  at  Sevenoaks." 

^^  They  could  afibrd  to  do  that,"  said  the  sceptical  Paul,  ^^  never 
paying  any  salaries  to  anybody  who  is  well." 

"  Ah,  some  people  are  paid  there,"  said  Angela,  "  though,  of 
course,  for  appearance  sake,  they  are  bound  to  deckle  they  never 
get  a  shilling.  Fancy  Placket,  for  instance,  as  selfish  an  old  card 
as  lives,  stopping  there  all  this  time  without  his  money.  It^s  only 
the  poor  things  who  can't  help  themselves  that  are  not  paid." 

"  I  can  tell  you  something  about  that,"  said  Paul,  "  but  now 
look  here — where  shall  we  go  to-morrow?" 

*^  All  places  suit  this  child,"  said  Angela,  smiling,  ^^  provided  she 
is  taken  the  greatest  care  of,  and  everything  of  the  best  is  provided 
for  her." 


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AMBEB  couxar.  3 

*^^  It  ibas  been  Tery  bot  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Cbeqoerbent.  ^  If  it 
m  like  this  to-morrow  we  11  go  on  the  water.'* 

^  I  am  agreeable,^  said  the  young  lady.  *'  But  now,  will  you 
■und  doing  me  a  finrour  ?*" 

*^  Will  yon  do  me  ithe  favour  of  naming  it  ?"  said  oar  Paul, 
pditely. 

^  Pechqps  k  will  bore  yon,  but  never  mind  for  once.  I  want 
yon  to  let  Mrs.  Bong  go  with  us.  She 's  a  good  old  soul,  and 
behaved  very  well  to  me  when  I  was  out  of  an  engagement,  and 
hardly  knew  which  way  to  turn.  It  would  be  such  a  treat  to  her. 
Do  yon  mind  very  much  ?^ 

^I  donH  mind  at  all,''  said  Paul,  who  was  good-nature  itself; 
^  bnt  she  will  look  such  a  thundering  Quy — won't  she  ?" 

^  Not  at  aD,"  eaid  Angela ;  "«he  looks  very  respectable  in  pri- 
vate life,  and  sometimes  smartens  herself  up  prodigiously,  if  she 
happens  to  hove  an  extra  shilling,  poor  old  thing.  Once,  you 
know,  she  was  a  very  fine  woman  indeed." 

^  I  don't  know  it,"  said  Paul ;  ^'  bat  my  father  may  have  heard 
his  grandfirther  eay  so," 

^  Nonsense,  now,  Paul.  When  she  was  Miss  Stalldngton  she 
was  greatly  admired  by  the  Duke  of  Cumberiand." 

^  I  know,"  said  Paul,  ^^  but  be  broke  off  with  her  before  he 
fought  the  battle  of  CuUoden  in  seventeen  hundred  and  forty  some- 
thing, about  a  hundred  and  ten  years  ago.  It  was  very  cruel  of 
him — ^but  that  was  his  nature, — and  she  has  never  heard  from  him 
sinoe.  However,  she  shall  go  with  us,  if  it 's  only  to  comfort  her. 
Where  does  die  Uve  ?" 

^^'Over  ibe  water,"  said  Angela.  "  I  will  send  her  a  note  to- 
night, and  we  will  fetch  her  in  the  morning.  Shall  I  meet  you  on 
Ae  bridge?" 

^  On  Hangerford*  Bridge,  at  eleven.  Miss  Livingstone,"  said 
Paul ;  ^  and  be  good  enough  to  remember  the  right  one,  as  I 
knew  an  engaged  couple  who  made  a  similar  appointment,  and  one 
of  them  mistook  the  bridge,  so  they  walked  up  and  down  in  par- 
allel lines,  for  m.  hours,  one  on  Hungerford,  the  other  on  Water- 
loo, actually  within  sight  of  one  another,  if  they  had  thought  of 
looking,  and  then  rushed  home  and  indited  furious  fereweUs  for 
ever.  So  think,  if  you  please,  of  being  hungry,  and  of  fording  a 
river  without  your  shoes  and  stockings,  which  no  young  person 
could  better  cdSTord  to  do  than  you." 

*^  How  shockingly  rude  you  are  !"  said  Miss  Livingstone,  with  a 
little  imitation  of  prudery.  '^  And  now  put  me  into  a  cab  and  send 
me  away  to  my  work.  No,  I  will  not  have  any  coffee,  but  I  will 
have  some  maraschino  before  I  go." 

How  Paul  passed  that  night  matters  not.  He  had  his  own  reasons 
for  keeping  away  from  that  part  of  town  where  he  was  likely  to 
encounter  acquaintances,  and  there  is  some  reason  to  think  that 
he  beguiled  the  hours  by  visiting  a  series  of  very  ungenteel  enter- 
tainments of  a  musical  and  dramatic  nature,  the  prices  of  admis- 
sion to  which  varied  from  twopence  to  sixpence,  and  at  most  of 
which  he  followed  the  customs  of  the  place  by  taking  a  great  deal 

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4  ASPEN  COURT. 

of  miscellaneoiis  refreshment.  At  length,  which  may  mean  to- 
wards two  o'clock,  he  judged  it  time  to  go  to-bed,  a  feat  which  he 
performed  at  a  auaint  old  inn  looking  upon  Smithfield,  and  much 
patronized  by  farmers  and  other  non-fastidious  persons,  whose 
business  is  transacted  upon  the  death-place  of  Wallace  and  Wat 
Tyler.  In  the  morning,  after  an  economical  breakfast  in  a  room 
much  like  a  vault,  into  which  huge  men  in  rough  coats  were 
perpetually  tramping,  and  demanding  Muster  Boggles,  Muster 
Whawp'n,  and  other  fHends,  and  drinking  stimulants,  on  the  chance 
of  those  gentlemen  coming  in  (which  they  never  did),  Paul,  feel- 
ing a  good  deal  soddened,  and  not  over-delighted  with  himself, 
made  his  way  westward.  It  was  a  lovely  morning,  but  the  sun 
shone  rather  more  brightly  than  seemed  to  Paul  in  good  taste  — 
a  fault  which  people  who  spend  the  over-night  as  he  had  done,  are 
apt,  I  am  told,  to  find  with  weather  which  makes  the  virtuous 
quite  radiant.  Little  Angela  was  very  punctual,  and  they  set  off 
into  the  wilds  of  Surrey  in  quest  of  Mrs.  Bong. 

In  a  tiny,  ill-built  cottage,  in  the  middle  of  a  large,  dreary 
nursery-garden,  Mrs.  Bong  resided.  As  they  entered  the  gate, 
which  was  an  enormous  distance  from  the  house,  a  tremendous 
voice  came  down  upon  the  wind,  and  bore  a  greeting  which  might 
have  been  heard  through  a  storm.  Angela's  pleasant  little  organ 
was  exerted  in  return,  but  was  utterly  inaudible  by  her  friend  until 
the  space  between  them  had  been  diminished  by  a  good  half, 
when,  by  dint  of  extreme  straining,  Angy  contrived  to  say — 

"  Sorry  you've  got  such  a  bad  cold.    You  can  only  whisper." 

^^  Come  along,  yon  saucy  thing,"  roared  Mrs.  Bong,  with  a 
kindly  smile,  strangely  at  variance  with  that  portentous  voice. 
And  as  they  approached,  Paul  could  quite  make  out  that  she  must 
have  been,  as  Angela  had  said,  an  exceedingly  fine  woman  in  her 
time.  The  commanding  figure  was  not  entirely  unpreserved,  and 
the  face,  worn  as  it  had  been  by  a  hundred  troubles  and  a  thou- 
sand coats  of  bad  rouge,  retained  a  pleasant  expression.  The 
eyes  were  still  bright,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  melancholy  anima- 
tion which  seemed  to  say  that  the  poor  woman  was  heartily  tired 
of  life's  drama,  but  that  she  would  play  her  part  with  spirit  until 
the  last  long  "  wait." 

'^  And  so  you  have  found  the  old  lady  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Bong, 
whose  voice  toned  down  to  manageable  thunder  as  soon  as  she 
got  her  visitors  into  the  smallest  room  that  ever  held  a  sofa  bed- 
stead, a  great  black  chest  of  drawers,  and  a  mighty  arm-chair, 
besides  some  ordinary  and  puny  furniture.  ^'  And  now  sit  down  ; 
you  get  upon  the  sofa,  sir,  and  you  here,  Angy.  And  now,  will 
you  have  some  beer  after  your  walk  ?  Don't  say  no  if  you  'd 
rather  not." 

"  We  don't  know  the  liquid,"  said  Angela.   . 

"  Never  heard  of  it "  said  Paul.  "  But  still  one  would  like  to 
learn,  and  if  it  is  anything  cool  and  refreshing,  we  are  not  too 
proud  to  try  it." 

In  a  minute,  a  not  over-clean  but  handsome  lad  was  vigorously 
dragged  from  an  outhouse,  a  squealing  dusty  kitten  was  torn  from 


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▲SPKN  COUKT,  5 

one  of  his  hands,  and  a  jag  thrust  into  the  other,  before  he  could 
well  shat  his  mouth  after  his  first  astonishment,  and  his  aunt's 
finger  indicated  a  solitary  house  with  a  new  blue  sign-board  ap« 
pended  thereto.  He  was  started  at  full  speed,  but  Paul  suddenly 
dashed  after  him. 

^  Halt,  joung  Shaver,**  cried  Mr.  Cheauerbent,  arresting  him, 
and  putting  a  shilling  into  his  hand.  ^  Mind  you  say  that  the 
beer  is  for  me,  the  Right  Reverend  the  Lord  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, and  give  them  this,  and  then  you  11  get  it  good.  Now, 
cut.**  And  he  went  back  to  the  room,  to  which  his  hostess  had 
not  yet  returned. 

^  What  were  you  saying  to  the  poor  boy,  Paul?^  asked  Angela. 

**  Oh,  nothing ;  onlv  one  don't  want  the  old  girl  to  be  spending 
her  money  for  us  ;  I  daresay  she  has  not  too  much  of  it.  But  teU 
her  to  maJce  haste  and  get  ready  .'^ 

*^  Put  a  pin  through  your  nose  and  look  sharp,  aunty  Bong," 
cried  Angela.    ^^  1 11  come  and  quicken  you." 

Left  to  himself,  Paul  took  a  survey  of  the  contents  of  the  apart- 
ment. On  the  walk  were  likenesses  of  the  Reform  Ministers, 
published  at  the  time  they  earned  that  imposing  name.  The  Lord 
Grey  was  scowling  frightfully,  and  menacing  the  throne  with  a  huge 
roll  of  parchment,  inscribed  the  bil;  the  I^rd  Brougham,  in  a 
wig,  was  waving  over  his  head,  as  beseemed  his  energetic  nature, 
another  roll,  lettered  whole  bil  ;  while  the  Lord  John  Russell  was 
indignantly  slapping  his  bosom  with  a  third  vast  parchment, 
marked  and  nothing  but,  three  Parliamentary  feats  which  Mr. 
Hansard  shamefully  omits  to  chronicle.  The  room  was  littered 
in  every  conceivable  way.  Half  a  dozen  yellow  covered  play- 
books,  much  worn,  lay  about,  and  all  the  lines  belonging  to  Mrs. 
Bong's  parts  were  scored  under  for  convenient  study.  There  was 
a  dream-book,  stated  to  be  a  correct  reprint  fix)m  one  which  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  always  consulted  on  the  eve  of  battle,  and 
therefore  especially  useful  to  a  lady ;  and  there  were  some  treatises 
on  crochet,  improved  by  the  various  figures  being  filled  up  with 
eyes  and  noses,  and  adorned  with  legs  and  arms,  by  the  amateur 
labours  of  visitors.  And  the  apartment  was  further  enlivened 
with  a  mass  of  tarleton,  soUed  satin  shoes,  dress  linings  with 
diread  all  over  them,  play-bflls,  pink  stockings,  various  belts,  half 
a  cookery  book,  a  basket  of  greens,  and  some  gold  and  silver 
trimming,  divers  ginger  beer  bottles,  and  a  few  other  trifles.  But 
presently  the  Shaver  returned  with  the  fluid  he  had  been  sent  to 
fetch,  and  looked  very  wistfully  at  the  wet  halfpence  constituting 
the  change,  which  he  honestly  paid  over  to  Paul. 

**  You  may  keep  that,  sir,"  said  Paul,  reading  the  boy's  look  ; 
^but  conditionally,  mind  me,  on  your  not  laying  any  of  it  out  in 
jewellery  or  race-horses,  which  bring  so  many  young  men  to 
destruction." 

The  Shaver  grinned  prodigiously,  and  again  rushed  ofi*,  and 
fi-om  his  walking  about,  late  in  the  day,  with  no  eye-lashes  to 
speak  of,  it  has  been  surmised  that  he  effected  an  ineligible 


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6^  iiMBXf  C09K12. 

iiiTestinent  in  gunpowder.    B«t  be  was  seen  no  moie  until  aftsD 
his  aunt  and  bar  visitoBS  departed. 

Paul  and  his  companions  nttde  for  the  Borough^  where  he  ia- 
sisted  on  stopping  to  buy  himself  a  flat,,  shining,  sailor^s  hat», 
leaving  his  own  in  the  vender's  care.  They  reached  the  London 
Bridge  railway  station,  and  then  Mr.  Chequerbent  announced 
that  he  proposed  to  go  to  Gravesend,  and  demanded  what  time- 
bis  ftiends  must  be  in  town  to  disobai^  their  duties  to  the  public. 
Mrs.  Bong's  theatre  did  not  open  for  the  season  until  next 
Monday,  so  she  was  sorry  to  saff  she  was  her  own  mistrasev 

^'  So  am  I,''  said  Angela,  ^^  for  a  wonder,  for  thece  is  a  ben  to- 
night, and  I  am  int  neither  of  the  pieces.'* 

«  Who 's  Ben  ?"  asked  Paul,  puzaled, 

'^  I  am  not  sure  whose,"  replied  Angela,  not  seeing  that  he  was- 
mystified,  ^^but  I  think  it 's  the  Jovid  Vaeoinators  and  Friendly: 
Confluent  Scarlatinas  who  have  taken  tbe  house  betweem  them, 
and  they  have  got  up  the  Surgeon  of  Paris^,  the  Blaxfk  Doeiory. 
and  the  ballet  of  Si,  VitwCs  Dance,  as  appropriate  to  the  occasion. 
They  always  have  a  good  benefit." 

^^Ben — benefit-— t*M{eo,  carpo^  twiggo^"*  said  Paul.  And  away 
they  went  for  the  city  of  shrimps. 

^^  And  how  are  you  getting  on,  aunty,"  adced  Angela,  as  soon  as 
she  was  ensconced  in  a  comer  of  one  of  the  large  casriages  hj 
which  the  North<  Kent  directors  have  done  their  best  to  destroy 
the  comfort  and  privacy  of  first-class  travelling,  and  which  entail 
upon  the  unfortunate  passengers  near  the  door  the  necessity  of  a. 
fight  at  every  station  to  prevent  twice  the  proper  number  fiNMn* 
being  forced  in  by  the-  officials. 

^^  Oh !  pretty  well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bong,  in  deep  and  mo^ 
lancholy  tones.  ^^  The  money  is  regular,  such  as  it  is.  But  it  is 
hard  work  to  earn  it.  For  the  last  six  weeks,  and  till  we  closed,  I 
headed  a  conquering  army,  and  also  a  band  of  brigands,  every 
night,  with  five  fights ;  but  that 's  nothing.  But  I  had  to  be  car- 
ried over  the  rocks,  tied  on  a  wild  horse,  which  with  my  weight  is 
rather  nervous  business ;  and  I  have  had  to  double  a  part  which 
poor  little  Mrs.  Scurohin  was  obliged  to  give  up,  being  as  ladies  do 
not  wish  to  be  when  they  have  to  ride  on  an  elephant,  and  slide 
down  by  his  tnink.  Then  we  have  a  nautioal  piece  three  nighl»  a 
week,  and  I  have  rather  a  tiresome  bit  in  that — I  have  to  hang 
Irom  the  mast,  in  a  storm,  while  the  ship  rolls  and  pitches  up  and 
down,  and  this  goes  on  as  long  as  the  applause  comes ;  one  evening 
they  kept  me  swinging  for  ten  minutes — and  the  week  before  last 
the  thing  broke,  and  I  fell  through  a  trap  and  bruised  myself  sadly. 
I  was  obliged  to  lay  up  one  night,  but  they  stopped  my  salary,  and 
that  won't  do,  you  know,  with  five  mouths  to  feed,  so  I  crawled  to 
work  again  directly.  And  our  rehearsals  are  very  heavy,  with  so 
much  spectacle ;  and  I  fully  expect  to  break  my  limbs  one  of 
these  mornings  out  of  a  cockle-shell  of  a  car  which  they  are  try- 
ing to  make  six  horses  bring  in  on  their  backs,  at  an  awfiil  height, 
and  me  in  it — the  poor  things  kick  so  and  get  so  unmercifiilly 
beaten ;  but  Brax  swears  it  is  as  safe  as  a  cradle — a  cradle  on  the 

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AfiPBN '  couBrr.  T 

tree*4ep  I  teH  Mim.     Bowerer,  it's  only  slarery  fbr  lifej  tbat^s  one 
coafoit^  and*  itH  be  s£  tbe  same  a  biindied  jeanr  Bence,  that  V 

aDWH^iLB 

*•  By  Jbw,''  fuut  Paul.  And  he-  became  thongfatAd  for  full  three 
mmiiteB,  considering  how  hard  some  people  worked  fbr  a  morsel 
of  bread.  Bnt  his  meditations  did  not  last,  and  he*  rallied  away 
in  Me-Qsoei  styfe  until  they  reached'  Ghravesend. 

"  We  Tl-  dine  at  Wates's,"  said  Mr.  Cheqnerbent,  **  and  in  the 
meantime' we  11  embark  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep.  I  hope  yov 
are  good  sailers." 

Having  ordered  dinner;  Pknl  sallied  forth  opon  the  little  pier  ixL 
£ront  of  the  hotel,  and  was  beset  by  half  a  dozen  owners  of  boats, 
eiwh  of  whom*  widi  Ifiat  good  feeling  peculiar  to  the  race,  assured 
him  that  erery  one  of  the  rival  candidates  was  a  xascal,  had  no 
number  or  Ifieence,  kept  an  unsafe  vessel,  and  was  generally,  hope^ 
lesely,  andniteiiy  worliiless.  But  Ptal-  knew  his  men,  and  speetfily 
dMEiged  them  into  tolerablie  silence.  He  made  choice  of  a  clean: 
boat!,  headed  the  ladies  in,  and'  immediately  became  intensely 
nautical. 

*^  Yoe  nwgr  sheer  off,  skipper,"  he  observed  to  the  boatman,  as 
soon-  as  the  sail'  was  set,  **^I  shan't  want  you;" 

**'Good  gracious^  Paul,"  said  Angela*,  "you  mean  to  tdce  the 
iinm>  I  hope.  I  «m  certain  you-  can't  manage-  the  boat.  O  law  !^ 
and  she  really  looked  fUghtened. 

**  f  *d  better  go  with  you,  sir,"  sidd  the  man*. 

"  Nonsense,*^  said  Mr.  Chequerbent,  indignantly.  ^  Do  you- 
Ainft  I  can't  manage  a*  bit  of  a  boat  like  this.  I  'd  sail  her  to 
Margate  wiA  my  eyes  sBut.**  And  he  persisted  in  turning  out  the 
man,  and  FtiiA  talong'  the  tiller  in  hand,  the  boat  glided  firom  the 
pier. 

**  No  luck  dkKmt  her,"  shouted  one  of  the  disappointed'  candi^ 
dates.     "  Find  her  way  to  the  bottom,  I  should  say." 

Angela  heard  the  speech,  and  looked  so-  discomfited,  that  Paul 
stood  up  in  wrath,  and  solemnly  promised  the  fbUow  the  best 
punch  in  the  head  he  had  ever  received  when  they  should  return, 
and  took  note  of  the  man's  appearance  with  the*  fhll  intention  of 
redeeming  his  pledge. 

A  Hght  breeze  caught  the  sail,  and  they  went  pteasantiy  enough 
down  Uie  river.  The  roar  of  a  Scotch  steamboat  was  Angela's 
first  fright;  but  Paul  mimaged  to  give  the-  monster  a  wide  berth, 
and  they  danced  gaily  in  the  waves  of  her  wake.  And  he  got 
pretty  decently  away  from  the  dark  hulk  of  an  emigrant  vessel 
lying  near.  Paul  began  to  be  convinced  that  he  was  a  first-rate 
pilot,  and  proceeded  t©  discourse  very  learnedly  to  the  ladles  upon 
tke  mysteries  of  navigation.  He  pointed  out  the  various  craft, 
explained  the  characters  of  schooners,  barks,  brigs,  cutters,  and 
yachts,  and  was  quite  eloquent  about  luffing,  tacking,  hauling 
your  wind,  putting  up  your  helm,  and  so  forth.  He  was  a  litde 
taken  aback  by  Mrs.  Bong,  who,  finom  playing  in  nautical  pieces, 
had  learned  about  as  much  as  many  yachting  men  know  on  such 
subjects,  Mid  who  ventured  to  correct  his  allegation  that  port  and 

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8  A8PBN  OOUBT« 

starboard  were  the  same  thing,  and  that  larboard  was  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  vessel ;  but  as,  according  to  his  custom  when  con- 
fused, he  offered  a  bet  on  the  subject,  Angela  would  not  believe  him 
wrong.  On  went  the  little  boat  merrily,  and  a  little  nautical  song 
from  the  pretty  actress  was  introduced  with  much  appropriateness. 

^^  How  glorious  to  be  upon  the  waters,  and  feel  that  you  ride 
them  as  their  master,*^  said  Paul,  heroically.  ^^  After  which  senti- 
ment I  will  refresh  myself  with  a  cigar — smoke  not  disagreeable 
to  you,  Mrs.  Bong— rather  like  it  than  not,  of  course— so  do  you. 
Miss  Livingstone — veiy  good. .  Then  here  goes.^  And  he  made 
£eist  the  tiller,  while  he  went  forward  to  get  his  paletot,  which  he 
had  tossed  into  the  bow. 

As  he  was  fumbling  for  his  light,  a  tremendous  shout  from  Mrs. 
Bong  came  upon  his  ear,  and  it  was  followed  by  a  scream  from 
Angela.  He  leaped  up,  and,  to  his  especial  dismay,  beheld  a 
steam-tug  dragging  along  a  huge  vessel,  and  beanng  directly 
down  upon  them,  while  a  perfect  storm  of  curses  broke  from  the 
deck  of  the  tug,  with  an  order  which  would  have  been  perfectly 
intelligible  to  a  seaman,  but  which,  in  PauPs  state  of  fluster 
sounded  only  like  a  command  to  go  to  a  very  bad  place  indeed. 
Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  tug,  Mrs.  Bong  Plundering  her  man- 
dates to  it  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  Angela  screaming  and 
clutching  at  evervthing  in  turn  in  the  vain  hope  of  doing  some 
good.  Paul  made  a  leap  at  the  main  sheet,  but  missed  his  foot- 
ing and  fell  down,  and  Angela,  seeing  what  he  intended,  instantly 
grasped  the  rope,  and  pulled  it  into  an  unmanageable  knot,  at 
which  Paul,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  himself,  hauled  and  swore 
in  vain.  Then  was  a  moment  of  intense  terror  for  them  all,  and 
the  next,  the  tug  struck  the  boat  amidships,  and  a  crash  was 
heard,  at  which  Mrs.  Bong  literally  roared  in  her  fright,  while 
Angela,  white  as  ashes,  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and  Paul,  in 
a  mingled  state  of  wrath,  remorse,  and  fear,  stamped,  raved,  and 
looked  helplessly  around.  In  another  instant  they  would  be 
under  the  roaring  paddles  of  the  steamer.  It  was  but  a  moment, 
however,  for  the  tug's  men,  not  altogether  unaccustomed  to  such 
scenes,  were  on  the  alert,  an  enormous  grappling  iron  was  dashed 
into  the  boat,  and  she  was  brought  up  alongsiae.  But  the  crash  had 
been  so  severe,  that  she  was  no  longer  seaworthy,  and  the  water 
began  to  pour  in  through  the  fissure. 

"We  are  sinking — ^we  are  sinking!  Save  us !— oh,  save  us, 
if  ye  be  men  and  sailors!''  exclaimed  Angela,  her  stage  recol- 
lections coming  back  to  her  in  the  hour  of  need. 

They  told  better  on  the  Thames  than  in  the  magistrate's  room, 
and  the  captain  of  the  tug,  sorely  reluctant,  however,  issued  the 
orders  to  ease  and  to  stop  her.  Ropes  were  thrown  out,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  party  had  scrambled  upon  the  dirty  deck  of  the 
tug.  Angela  immediatelv  fainted,  and  Paul,  in  his  efforts  to 
restore  her,  lost  a  considerable  part  of  the  sarcasms  which  were 
lavished  upon  him  by  the  crew  of  the  tug.  But  as  the  pretty  girl 
gave  signs  of  returning  animation,  he  said  spiritedly, 

^'  Now,  be  good  enough  to  hold  your  tongues  on  the  subject. 


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A8PKN  OOUBT.  9 

Yon  will  not  lose  by  civility,  but  you  may  by  insult.  The  affidr 
was  an  accident,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it  When  can  you  put 
us  ashore  ? '' 

'<  To-morrow  some  time,  perhaps,**  said  the  captain.  ^  There 
goes  your  boat,  you  see.'' 

And,  truly  enough,  there  was  the  boat,  filling,  and  in  a  very 
fidr  way  to  rerify  the  prediction  of  the  discontented  mariner  on 
the  pier. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
ulun's  whiti  ctmclb. 

EusTACB  Trevelyan  was  the  third  member  of  the  group 
assembled  in  the  drawing-room  at  Lynfield  Magna  on  the  day  of 
Carlyon's  first  visit,  and  he  was  alluded  to  by  Mr.  Heywood, 
in  the  subsequent  and  memorable  interview,  as  one  whose  con- 
sent must  be  obtained  to  the  engagement  of  Lilian  and  Bemajrd. 
If  the  death-like  ashiness  of  that  man's  features  be  remembered,  it 
is  probable  that  his  history  will  be  read. 

Well-bom,  Eustace  Trevelyan  was  the  son  of  parents  whose 
property,  though  considerable,  was  not  so  large  as  to  enable  their 
sons  to  dispense  with  professions.  Sensitive  and  amiable,  but 
remarkable  neither  for  high  intellect  nor  a  vigorous  frame,  Eustace 
passed  the  ordeal  of  a  public  school  with  considerable  suffering, 
and  without  gaining  the  mental  or  the  physical  distinction,  either 
of  which,  attained  in  that  noble  but  perilous  arena,  sends  forward 
the  young  victor  with  so  proud  a  step  to  the  sterner  battle  of  life. 
He  was  weak  at  wrenching  out  the  nch  meaning  from  the  subtle 
Greek  chorus,  slow  at  planting  the  rattling  facer  which  brings  out 
those  shrill  plaudits  from  the  schoolboy  ring.  His  nature  was  to 
avoid  competition  of  every  kind,  and  he  would  make  way  for  the 
youngest  rival  who  displayed  pluck  and  push.  The  boys  des- 
pised, the  masters  tolerated  him.  He  was,  of  course,  taken 
in  hand  three  or  four  times  by  teachers,  who  can  do  and  will 
do  so  much  for  a  boy  with  capabilities,  but  on  the  non-elastic 
nature  of  Eustace  the  most  earnest  effort  was  wasted.  It  was  found 
useless  to  apply  the  ordinary  awakening  process  which  so  often 
makes  a  neglected,  spoiled,  or  careless  lad  discovar  how  much  he 
can  do,  and  how  particularly  essential  it  is  to  his  comforts  that  he 
should  do  it.  Eustace  wept,  and  struggled  to  please — for  it  was 
bis  tutor's  smile  more  than  bis  praise  that  the  boy  desired — but  it 
was  not  in  him,  and  a  night's  toil  produced  nothing  but  English 
that  was  vicious,  and  Latin  that  was*  downright  criminal.  The 
kindliest  remonstrance  was  urged,  the  most  patient  assistance  was 
given,  and  Eustace  felt  grateful,  wiped  his  red  eyes,  and  went 
humbly  to  work,  but  Juvenal  became  aimless,  and  Sophocles 
meaningless,  in  the  mouth  of  their  feeble  interpreter.  Punish- 
ment was  inflicted,  not  wantonly,  but  as  one  of  the  experiments 
which,  when  all  else  has  failed,  it  is  but  justice  to  try  —  Eus- 
staee  writhed,  but  the  stimulant  put  no  new  energy  into  him. 
Then  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter — he  was  let  alone ;  and 
simply  cared  for.    What  more  can  a  teacher  do  with  such  a 

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16  AWBN  cointT, 

mtinl — a  teacher  with  a  hundred  minds  to  cultivate  ?  For  ninety- 
nine  of  that  hundred,  the  diseipHne  of  the- great  school  is  salutary 
and  bracing — Eustace  was  the  hundredth,  and  the  exception. 
The  great  school  did  Him*  no  good,  and  it»  system  embittered  his 
young  life.  When,  in  after  years,  he  reflected  upon  this,  he  had 
not  the  philosophy  to  be  consoled  by  the  recollection  that  all 
systems  must  woA  unpleasantly  for  somebody,  and  that  so  small 
a  minority  as  he  represented  ought  to  rejoice  that  the  msgority 
was  so  large,  instead  of  complaining  of  its  own  unhappiness — 
but  then  it  has  been  said  that  he  was  not  remarkable  for  his 
intellect. 

Eustace  was^  happier  at  Oxford^  as  was-  natural.  There  the 
mildest  man  can*  remain  unmolested,  if  he  pleases,  and  Eustace* 
was,  by  dint  of  hard  teaching,  a  proficient  in  the  art  of  keeping 
out  of  the- way  of  other  people.  The  caitn,  grand  old  university 
was  vevy  kind*  to  him,  in*  the  way  he  most  wished^  that  is,  he  was 
not  troubled.  At  school,  he  had  been  compelled,  at  times,  to  run, 
to  row,  and  even  to  fight,  bet  at  college  there  is  no  compulsion  to 
become  athletic  agahist  your  will.  He  neither  read  hard'  nor 
gBLve  wine^parties — was-  neither  medallist  nor  pugilist— neither 
wrangled  nor  chaffed.  H*e  was  simply  quiet  and  inoffensive,  and 
he  was  alliowed  to  remain  so.  Lord*  Algernon  St.  Agincourt 
(himself  screwed)  screwed  up  Eustace's^  door  once,  and  the  present 
excellent  Bishop  of  Beldagon  occasionally  threw  a  cat,  adorned 
with  crackers,  in  at  his  window,  bat  these  were  the  only  perse- 
cutions which  he  had  to>  recoixl  during  his  college  Ike. 

A  profession,  as  has  been-  said,  was  necessary  for  him,  and 
there  was  a  &nnly  Kving,  of  some^  value^  marked  down  as  his« 
He  duly  received  holy  orders^  and  was  as  duly  inducted.  And 
sdthougfa  the  Itev^rend  Eustace  Treyelyan  was  not  the  man  to 
fight  the  Chosch's  battles^  to  clear  new  areas  of  action  fbr  her,  snd 
to  maintain  them  against  all  comers^  qualities  which,  it  would  seem, 
become  day  by  day  more  necessaiy  io  the  servants  of  the  altar, 
which  must  be  missionary,  or  ruins,  his  gentle  nature  and  con* 
cifiating  disposition  made  Ac  qaiet  duties^  of  hi»  rural  parish 
pleasant  enough  to  the  meek  priest.  Yet,  even  in  the  retired 
district  committed  to  him,  there  occurred  scenes  which*  he  would 
^adly  have  avoided,  strife  which  disquieted  the  interposing 
pastor  more  than  the  brawling  rivals :  death-beds,  where  his  calm* 
formulas  and  common-place  consolations  became  mockeries  in 
the  presence  of  solemn  scepticism  and  of  maddening  remorse. 
Eustace  would  retice  fVom  such  conflicts,  consoions^  that  he  had 
been  neither  (KgniAed,  nor  wise,  nor  successful,  and  with  a^ 
bewildered  brain  and  flutteiing"  nerves,  would  fling  himself  down 
in  his  garden  and  repine  that  antagonism  was  a  condition  of 
useftd  existence^  and  a  condition  that  even  nselessness  could  not 
eseapev 

But  a  more  perturbed  lot  was  destined  to  Eustace*  Trevelyan, 
and  in  due  time  it  fell  to  his  hand^  The  petty  irritations,  the 
darker  incidents  of  his  ministration,  troubled  him  but  for  a  time, 
for  the  same  nature  which  bade  him  shun  conflict  bade  him  also- 


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ASPEN  COURT.  II 

slum,  its  memories^  and  he  gradually  tcaiaed  himarif^  net  nnaue- 
cessfidl;,  to  the  habit  iriiich  diamiaaea  the  things  of  yeaterday,  and 
looks  fonaaEd.  He  waa  oalniy  bat  not  content.  He  distmated 
himself^  his  intellectt  ^^^  ^i^  eneigieay  and  at  tunea  he  even  found 
a  humiliatrng  comfort  in  the  eonfiideradon  of  hia  own  inaig* 
nificance.  He  waa  nothing — he  waa  nobody..  This  waa  at  leaat 
a.  pledge  that,,  acquit  himself  poorly,  meanly  as  he  augbt^  them 
was  no  circle  of  ^>ectators  to  shout  decision  at  Ima^  no  grave 
aapexior  to  regard  lum  with  pitying  contempt.  He  wa»  no  longer 
at  school.  He  lived  on  as  it  were  by  sufferance,  bu4  be  waa 
imwatohedy  except  fay  hia  own  oadung,  self-repEeaehing  spirit, 
which  brought  va^e  chacgea^  ogaiosd  iteelf,  hinta,  and  whispers, 
and  an  ever-recuning  oonsciousneas  o£  short-comings  and  unr- 
wortfainess*.  Nor  had  die  priest  yet  learned,,  even  in  the  place 
whence  he  taught^  how  all  such  vinaea  can  be  silenced.  Ha 
pitKlaimed  the  language  of  the  oracle,  hut  ii  fell  meauin^esa 
upon  his  own  ear.  During  dua  period  o£  hia  Ufo,.  Eustaee's  being 
WEas  an  unhealthy  stagnation,  at  times  disturbed,  but  only  that  tha- 
stagnant  waters  mi^it  again  sleep  in  their  sullen  repose. 

But  the  waters  were  troubled  at  last,  though  not  for  heeding. 
There  letumed  to  his  estate  in  Trevelyan's  parish  a  gentleman 
who  had  long  resided  abroad,  that  his  property  might  recover 
itself  from  the  effect  of  the  share  its  owner  had  taken  in  certain 
revels — &ishionable  when  a.  Regent  set  the  fashion.  The  pro- 
perty was  by  no  meana  cleaor  again^  for  Sir  Frederic  Larrendon 
had  essayed  to  live  with  his  betters)  and  Corinth  is  an  expensive 
locality.  But  there  was  enough  for  the  diattered  man,  once 
a  blood,  and  twice  a  dandy,  but  now  a  querulous,  chaUsatony  vale- 
tudinarian— enough  for  his  beautiful,  black-browed,  black-eyed, 
Fjaenchified  daughter,,  who  came  with  no  good  grace  fbom  her 
Boulogne  circle  of  scampish  pleasMitness  to  raistieate  in  an.  Eng^ 
lish  conatry^honsa.  Flora  Larrendon  liked  adoration  murmured 
£rom  under  moustache^  and  forgave  it  for  being  acented  with 
cigar  smoke  and  seasoned  with  double  tntendme.  Fearless,  unhe^ 
sitating,  and  unabashed,;  she  waa  die  star  of  a  French,  watering*- 
place,  with^  its  iccarUy  intrigue,  and  shiftiness,  but  in  an  En^ish. 
country  town — all  propriety,  spite,  a^d  Sunday-schools — Flora's 
splendid  black  hair  streamed  liker  the  hair  of  a  comet.  The  senr- 
sation  made  by  the  daaking  Miss  Liurenden  waa  pain&l,  and  the 
sentunent  she  excited  was  something  like  that  of  the  foahionahle 
young  woman  in  the  '^  Speetator,"  who  went  to  a  qiaiet  chuoch 
in  such  style  that  ^^  one  very  wise  old  lady  said  she  ought  to  have 
been  taken  up.'' 

Flom  Lan^ndon  waa  doomed  to  her  sural  seclusion,  at  least 
un^her  wearisome  and  exacting  fother  should,  like  other  wicked, 
be  at  rest,  or,,  at  all  events,  cease  from  troubling.  But  amuaar 
ment  was  necessary,  and  she  looked  round  for  it.  £ler  state  mual 
have  been  de^erate  when  she  could  find  no  better  game  than  the 
poov  clergyman.  Really,  however,  she  was  reduced  to  Eustace, 
or  plain  and  ornamental  needle-work,  for  there  was  nobody  else  te* 
q^k  to.    The  doctor  of  the  town  was  sixty,  and  of  the  twa 

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12  ASPEN   COUBT. 

lawyers,  who  were  gentlemen,  one  had  six  children,  and  the  other 
was  newly  married  to  a  wife  whom  he  liked.  There  were  no 
country  houses  within  reasonable  distance,  and  in  fact  Eustace 
was  the  only  educated  man  within  reach.  Flora  turned  her  superb 
eyes  upon  Eustace,  and  almost  felt  compassion  towards  him  for  the 
extreme  helplessness  with  which  he  instantly  dropped  at  her  feet. 
As  usual,  the  man  made  no  fight  at  all.  It  was  really  no  victory 
for  her ;  it  was  the  poor  racoon  on  his  tree,  calling  to  the  never- 
missing  American  sportsman,  ^'  O  !  is  it  you  ?  you  needn't  fire,  I'll 
come  down." 

All  that  Eustace  wanted,  and  felt  he  wanted  in  himself,  he  found 
in  Flora  Larrendon.  His  slower  intellect,  his  timidity,  his  uncer- 
tainty, were  all  rebuked,  but  not,  poor  fellow,  unpleasantly,  in  the 
presence  of  her  quickness,  courage,  and  decision.  She  read  him 
at  a  glance,  and  needed  not  to  notice  twice  his  nervous  entry  into 
her  presence,  his  colour  heightening  at  the  shortest  notice,  or  his 
woray  and  unprecise  speeches  (so  different  from  our  epigrammatic 
snip-snap,  nous  auires  Franfais),  to  see  how  fragile  a  person  was 
her  spiritual  pastor  and  master.  Her  real  difficulty  was  to  avoid 
firighteniog  him  by  too  much  encouragement,  for  she  had  quite 
perception  enough  to  know  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  sensitive, 
and  that  a  very  little  extra-demonstration  would  scatter  the  flirta- 
tion to  the  winds.  But  the  good  Flora  managed  very  well,  and 
Eustace  loved  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  his  life.  I  wish  that 
Flora  had  been  a  better  girl,  for  she  did  great  good  to  Trevelyan. 

The  passion  awoke  him.  He  had,  hitherto,  been  little  better 
than  a  maundering  boy ;  he  became  a  man.  He  turned  a  new  face 
upon  the  world,  and  confironted  that  which  the  world  turned  upon 
him,  physically,  as  well  as  morally.  The  step  grew  more  steady, 
the  eye  more  resolute,  the  voice  more  decided.  The  moral  nature 
hardened  into  firmness.  Eustace  began  to  do  his  duty  as  one 
who  had  himself  to  answer  to,  but  who  was  not  afiraid  of  the  tri- 
bunal. He  submitted  less  to  dictation  from  others,  and  insisted 
more  upon  his  position  and  dignity.  The  priest  asserted  himself, 
and  demanded  reverence  for  his  credentials.  The  change  was 
sudden,  and  though  there  were  few  subtle-souled  psychologists  in 
his  parish,  the  effect  was  noted.  In  a  less  sensitive  nature  than 
that  of  Trevelyan,  it  would  have  been  less  observable.  This  eleva- 
tion and  improvement,  Eustace  owed  to  Flora  Larrendon.  But  in 
her  presence  there  was  little  of  it  seen.  There,  Eustace  was  what  he 
had  been  on  their  first  interview.  It  would  seem  as  if  they  had 
then,  and  at  once,  fallen  into  relative  attitudes,  which  were  not  to 
be  disturbed,  and  this  Eustace  himself  felt,  and  would  not  have 
changed  it  if  he  could.  He  knew  that  he  was  stronger  as  against  the 
world,  and  he  was  content  to  owe  that  strength  to  the  woman 
before  him.  He  loved,  and  yet  was  grateful ;  the  paradox  was  in 
his  nature.     It  will  not  be  found  in  that  of  many  men. 

Far  less  strange  was  the  fact  that  his  love  re-acted.  When  the 
flirt  took  the  parson  in  hand,  it  was  a  heartless  snatch  at  a  victim. 
When  Flora  and  Trevelyan  became  intimate,  and  frequent  inter- 
views enabled  the  gentle  priest,  in  some  degree,  to  unveU  the 


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A8PEK  OOURT.  IS 

betler  part  of  his  nature.  Flora  Lanrendon,  in  her  turn,  was  re- 
buked. It  bad  so  cbanced  tbat  in  her  life  she  bad  never  come  in 
contact  with  a  character  like  Trevelyan^s.  Its  externals  were 
ridiculous,  especially  to  a  girl  educated  as  Flora  had  been,  but, 
when  these  were  penetrated,  there  was  something  better  beyond. 
She  had  read  through  the  diamond  cement  with  which  various 
other  natures  had  been  faced,  and  had  found  rubbish  behind  the 
glitter.  Breaking  through  the  opaque  crust  which  surrounded  the 
real  character  of  Eustace,  she  found — among  other  trifles — a  heart 
As  with  the  name  of  the  architect  of  the  Pyramid,  graven  on  the 
marble,  over  which  lav  the  plaster  inscribed  with  ^e  title  of  the 
tyrant  who  commanded  the  edifice,  when  time  had  removed  the 
worthless  inscription,  the  writing  worthy  of  honour  was  revealed. 
And  Flora  read  it,  and  her  old  solace,  her  French  novels,  were 
somewhat  neglected,  and  she  began  to  speak  more  gently  to  that 
good-for-nothing  old  father. 

Here  might  have  ensued  a  pleasant  story — how  the  two  spirits, 
mutually  improving  and  assisting  one  another,  became  one,  and  how 
the  two  faiths  were  pledged,  and  how  Eustace,  growing  more 
manly,  and  Flora  more  womanly,  they  married,  and,  presenting 
nearly  the  best  type  of  marriage  and  its  object,  made  each  other^s 
happiness  thenceforth,  and  until  the  passing  bell.  But  it  was  not 
to  be  so. 

Tbey  were  all  but  formally  plighted.  Flora  met  him  on  his 
ministerial  rounds,  in  the  peasants  cottage,  in  the  village-school, 
by  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  was  zealouslv  taming  her  wild  heart 
to  his  loving  hand.  One  day  he  had  ridden  to  some  distance  to 
visit  a  brother  clergyman,  and  was  returning  home  somewhat  rapidly 
in  the  twilight,  when  his  horse  started  and  flung  away  from  an 
object  lying  in  the  road.  Trevelyan  had  reined  in  and  dismounted, 
to  make  out  the  cause  of  the  animal's  fear,  before  he  noticed  that 
a  gate  which  opened  into  the  road  had  swung  across  it,  and  that 
the  field  was  one  of  Sir  Frederic  Larrendon's.  Flora,  a  fearless 
rider,  had  been  aware  of  the  hour  at  which  he  would  return,  and 
had  set  out  to  meet  him.  It  could  be  but  matter  of  surmise  that 
she  had  dashed  across  the  field,  instead  of  taking  the  bridle-lane, 
that  she  had  put  her  horse  at  the  gate,  and  that  he,  deceived  by 
the  approaching  shadows,  had  struck  it,  and  it  had  swung  open. 
At  least  so  said  those  who  sought  to  disengage  the  body  of  Flora 
from  the  clutch  of  the  half  maniac  priest,  kneeling,  raving,  and 
blaspheming,  if  the  wild  noises  wrung  from  torture  have  a  guilty 
meaning. 

"  The  hair  is  long,  and  thin,  and  grey,  but  its  greyness  and  a 
stoop,  manifest  even  while  he  is  sitting,  seem  the  traces  of  suffer- 
ing rather  than  of  age.  But  the  strangest  characteristic  of  his  face 
is  its  utter  bloodlessness.  Its  whiteness  is  startling,  and  troubles 
the  eye.  It  is  a  nearer  approach  to  the  ashiness  of  death  than  we 
might  deem  that  life  could  make  and  live.^  So  was  Eustace  Tre- 
velyan described,  but  many  years  had  then  rolled  over  his  head. 

There  were  new  phases  of  trouble  for  that  man.  Strangely,  as 
some  may  think,  when  the  first  shock  and  agony  were  over,  Eustace 

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U  A8PBN   OOUBT. 

^fegained  kk  calmness  witih  so  long  delay.  Heiroidd  not  leaire 
bis  parish,  though  an  exchange  was  offered  him,  and  though  his 
duties  would  daflylead  him  where  ike  memories  of  his  sorrow  must 
{jpriog  up  at  ereiy  turn.  He  spoke  much  and  ofteii,'and  aever  hesi- 
tated to  speak  of  her  who  was  gone,  or  even  to  dwell  upon  the  fear- 
ful event.  Her  tonfb  was  his  especiaJ  charge,  and  he'  covered  it  with 
inscriptions.  These  were  all  in  Ihe  ancient  languages,  and  were 
read  by  few  in  that  obscure  country  town ;  but  one  who  could  in- 
terpret them  would  have  found  that  ihey  all  spoke  of  gloom,  of  sad- 
ness, and  of  terror.  The  grave  for  him  who  traced  these  lines, 
was  the  mansion,  not  the  door.  One  hue  was  repeated  on  all  four 
sides  of  the  tomb — >it  was'diis,  Verd  tremendumegt  fnoriis  sticrct- 
mentum.  But  there  was  no  one  to  ponder  on  the  words,  or  to 
muse  on  the  process  which  might  be  seething  and  rending  the 
brain  which  had  suggested  Ihem. 

The  pastor  did  his  work,  and,  as  it  appeared  to  'ihose  among 
whom  he  laboured,  well.  The  sick  were  tended,  the  poor  were 
visited,  and  the  (Eternal  Truths  were  spoken ;  nor  did  £ustace  shun 
the  secular  portion  of  a  country  clergyman'^s  duty  :  offenders  were 
pointed  out  to  the  law,  and  the  hardness  of  those  who  would  grind 
the  faces  of  the  pauper  was  checked  at  the  instance  of  his  spiritual 
protector.  And  when,  after  about  a  year-s  time,  it  was  suddenly 
bruited  about  that  Mr.  Treveljan  had  crossed  the  country  to  his 
bishop's  palace,  and,  entering  his  lordship's  presence  in  his  sur- 
plice, had  slipped  it  off  before  his  bewildered  superior,  and  casting 
himself  on  his  knees,  had  prayed  to  be  relievea  of  his  ordination 
vows,  none  were  more  astonished  than  the  flock  which  had 'beheld 
him  doing  his  pastoral  work  40  regularly  and  eflSciently. 

Such  a  scene,  however,  did  take  place.  Eustace  had  thrown 
himself  at  the  feet  of  his  Inshop,  and  implored  that  hands 
which  had  bound  on  .earth  might  loose  on  earth,  and  that  the 
credentials,  by  virtue  of  which  he  spoke  with  authority,  might  be 
cancelled.  The  good  bishop  was  puzzled,  for  diough  the  prayer 
was  wild,  and  its  being  granted  was  impossible,  the  reasons  the 
suitor  assigned  were  «udh  as  no  man  could  treat  lightly.  Had  he 
uttered  one  incoherent  sentence,  the  bishop  could  have  summoned 
assistance,  but  Trevelyan,  at  the  episcopal  foot,  spoke  better  than 
he  had  ever  spoken  in  his  life,  and  the  kindly ^natnred  prelate  had 
something  of  the  sensitiveneas  of  Eustace  himself,  and  recoiled 
from  the  idea  of 'transferring  to  a  mad  doctor  a  man  who  in  admi- 
retble  and  earnest  language  was  pleading  to  have  a  weight  taken 
off,  which  he  felt  was  crushing  him  —  to  be  relieved  of  a  Nessus 
robe,  which  was  burning  into  his  vitals.  His  lordship  could  only 
raise  Eustace  from  tiie  ground,  and  beg  him  to  take  advice  as  to 
the  state  of  his  nerves. 

Eustace  TrevdlyanwBs,  however,  mad. 

He  was  watched,  and  finally  placed  under  restraint,  but  it  was 
one  of  the  mUdest  kind,  for  he  had  always  been  gentle,  and  his 
phase  of  insanity,  as  it  developed  itself,  was  one  of  sadness  and  fre- 
quent terror.  The  thought  of  his  ordination  vows  came  upon  him 
but  seldom,  for  a  newer  and  a  more  material  fact  had  been  super- 
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icBPEN  C0URT.  15 

added.  It  was  .the  fear  •which  had  crouched  and  wthiipefed  in 
diese  dead  languages  on  the  tomb  of  the  loet  one —  the  fear  of 
Death.  To  tins  terror  he  yielded  himsdlf  with  a  species  of  invo- 
JUBtary  readineis.  He  «poke  of  it,  he  read  of  it,  he  surrounded 
himself  with  all  that  might  remind  him  of  it,  and  yet  it  would  throw 
lam  into  paroxysms  like  those  which  ahahe  the  frame  of  the  vidim 
to  hydrophobia  when  the  plash  of  water  is  heard,  or  its  surging 
«6en.  It  was  the  fear  of  the  death  itself,  and  .not  of  what  might 
be  beyond,  that  tortured  him.  He  would  sit  for  hours,  reciting 
passages  with  which  his  religious  avocation  had  stored  his  memory, 
and  in  which  the  tomb  is  sp<^en  of  as  a  ipnsoB-houae,  as  a  pit,  as 
a  place  of  daikneas  and  forgetfulness.  And  these  'he  would  vary 
with  verses,  sung  in  a  .moaning  key,  and  ouUed  from  all  those  grim 
bymns  with  which  unauthorized  ei^pounders  have,  durough  years, 
terrified  young  and  sensitive  minds,  :by  a  cruel  mingling  of  the 
material  and  the  spiritual ;  ^ose  lyrics,  too  coarse  for  the  Greek 
mythology,  too  grovelling  for  the  worshipper  of  Odin,  but  ac- 
cepted as  Christian  intei^retations  of  the  most  refined  and  most 
exalted  mysteries.  These  Eustace  Trevelyan  would  mutter  and 
moan  over  for  houns.  But  he  was  not  content  with  mere  words; 
be  would  eagerly  select  pictures  and  other  representations  of 
mortality,  and  with  these  he  would  adorn  his  apartment,  to  the 
very  curtains  of  his  bed,  making  gentle  reproach  H*  any  one  sought 
to  remove  them ;  and  the  relics  of  moxtality  itself  liad  even  a 
greater  .attraction  for  the  diseased  .brain.  At  first  it  was  thought 
well  to  oppose  this  morbid  taste,  but  the  extreme  sufiering  into 
which  the  poor  creature  was  thrown  by  any  iiuch  demonstrations, 
and  the  abject  weakness  with  which  he  petitioned  to  have  back 
his  ghastly  toys,  prevented  any  prohibition  being  continued. 

Do  you  jremember  the  skeleton  which  sat  in  Aspen  Court  ? 

Not  that  Eustace  Trevelyan  sank  into  imbecility.  When,  for  the 

time,  he  was  relieved  from  the  death-terror,  ihe  was  calm  and  mild 

in  his  manner,  neither  isolating  himself  £:om  those  with  whom  he 

dweh,  nor  abiding  silently  among  them,  as  is  the  manner  with 

many  who  are  similarly  afflicted.     The  original  character  of  his 

intellect  seemed  to  be  preserved  in  its  ruins.     Eustace  still 

shunned  all  opposition,  and  in  compliance  with  the  wish  of  others 

would  remain  with  them,  converse  with  them,  and  even  bear  his 

part  with  a  semblance  of  cheerfulness,  which  sometimes  deceived 

a  casual  observer.    But  it  was  sorrowful  to  note  that  all  that  he 

did  seemed  prompted,  not  by  his  own  will,  but  by  an  instinctive 

desire  to  avoid  offending,  and  even  more  sonrowfol  to  watch  the 

furtive  glance  which  he  would  direct  towards  the  feoe  of  any  of 

his  companions,  if  he  imagined  that  he  had  done  anything  to  cross 

their  wishes.     When  he  passed  into  the  charge  of  Lilian,  under 

circumstances  wMch  will  be  explained  by  and  bye,  it  became 

a  study   and   a  duty  with   her  to   observe   these    eager,  timid 

glances,  and  to  meet  them  with  a  ready  and  reassuring  smile,  until 

at  length  poor  Eustace  acquired  a  child-like  habit  of  looking  to 

Lilian  for  approbation  of  his  acts  and  words,  a  habit  hardly  less 

piteous  than  his  previous  apprehensions.      Mr.  Heywood  also 


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16  ASPEN  OOaRT. 

treated  him  with  exceeding  consideration,  but  then  the  feminine 
tenderness  and  the  vigilant  watch  were  wanting,  and  at  times  the 
intellectual  man  forgot  the  need  of  his  helpless  brother,  and  the 
full^  proud  eye  fell  coldly  on  Trevelyan,  who  would  quiver  under 
its  gaze.  But  never  was  an  unhappy  and  bereaved  man  more 
kindly  cared  for  than  Eustace  under  the  guardianship  in  which 
we  found  him. 

One  feature  more  in  his  insanity  was  connected  with  his  terror 
of  death,  and  that  was  his  clinging  to  what  seemed  to  hold  most 
promise  of  life.  To  the  young,  and  especially  to  children, 
Eustace  attached  himself,  as  if  in  their  society  were  some  charm 
against  what  he  dreaded  so  deeply.  His  gentle  manners  easily 
won  the  youngest  to  his  side,  and  if  permitted  he  would  sit  for 
hours  in  such  companionship,  soothed  in  being  allowed  to  hold 
some  little  hand  in  his,  and  almost  happy  if  a  joyous  child  would 
nestle  by  him,  or  make  a  pillow  of  his  knee.  And  it  was  chiefly 
to  children  of  that  nature  that  his  affections  swayed — those  whose 
life  was  most  a  sport,  and  in  whose  veins  the  healthful  blood  ran 
merriest.  For — and  more  than  one  pang  was  caused  by  the 
strange  antipathy — he  would  withdraw  from  the  caress  of  a  child 
whose  pallor  or  pensiveness  seemed  to  give  note  that  its  days 
might  not  be  long  with  us.  And  slight  as  was  the  manifestation, 
and  timidly  as  Eustace  would  edge  away,  his  gesture,  which  might 
have  something  of  prophecy  in  it,  would  set  a  mother^s  heart 
throbbing  wildly,  and  send  her  from  his  presence  in  a  passion  of 
tears. 

His  history  has  been  sketched.  In  himself  a  man  of  no  mark, 
Eustace  might,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  have  plodded  his 
undistinguished  way  through  life,  neither  honoured  nor  happy, 
but  with  perhaps  something  more  and  something  less,  of  suffering, 
than  falls  to  those  at  once  less  sensitive  and  less  forgetful.  But 
his  being,  alternately  agitated  and  stagnant,  was  once  stirred  to  its 
depths,  and  its  vitality,  suddenly  put  fully  forth,  vindicated  itself 
for  that  once,  and  then  ceased  for  ever.  In  some  old  book  of  sea- 
travel,  there  is  a  story  which  may  parallel  the  case  of  Eustace 
Trevelyan.  Becalmed  at  evening  in  one  of  those  western  seas, 
and  beguiling  the  weary  time  as  they  might,  the  sailors  brought  on 
their  deck  a  vessel  of  the  phosphoric  water  in  which  they  were 
floating.  The  luminous  appearance  ceased  on  the  withdrawing 
the  water  from  the  deep,  and  the  vessel  stood  dark  among  them. 
But  there  was  a  chemist  on  board,  who  fetched  from  his  chest  a 
phial  of  some  potent  acid,  and  poured  it  into  the  black  water.  In 
an  instant,  and  roused  into  an  intolerable  agony  by  that  deadly 
liquid,  the  chaos  of  sea-insects  in  the  vessel,  put  forth  their 
myriad  lights,  united  in  one  intense  and  lustrous  sparkle — and 
were  dark.     No  chemises  charm  could  ever  wake  them  again. 


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17 


LOITERING  AMONG  THE  BAVARIAN  AND  TYROLEAN 
LAKES,  IN  THE  YEARS  1851  and  1852. 

"  I  WAS  awakened  last  night — were  not  yon  ? — ^by  the  firing  of  a 
gnn — ^we  are  now !  heaven  preserve  ns  !  in  a  land  under  military 
rule." 

Thus  spoke,  with  a  sigh,  a  gentleman  (who  appeared  to  me  to 
hare  seen  half  a  century),  one  of  those  chance  companions  whom 
one  picks  up  somewhere,  and  sets  down  somewhere  in  travelling, 
with  about  as  little  concern  as  one  contracts,  or  as  one  shakes  off 
the  dust  on  one's  cloak ;  yet  we  had  been  on  terms  of  intense 
intimacy  for  some  days.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  seem  to 
have  began  a  journey  with  a  store  of  regrets  for  the  land  they  are, 
of  their  own  me  will,  calmly  quitting,  and  to  keep  adding  to  their 
collection  of  prejudices  at  the  end  of  every  day's  pilgrimage. 

This  voluntary  exile  addressed  himself  to  a  partv  of  somewhat 
timorous  ladies,  seated  round  a  breakfast-table  m  the  Crown 
Prince,  at  Ulm,  who  had  slept  there  last  night,  unconsciously 
happy  to  have  reached,  after  a  long  journey,  the  dominions  of  the 
King  of  Bavaria. 

Some  of  these  ladies  had  also  heard  the  report  of  a  gun.    The 
waiter,  who  entered  just  then  with  an  innocent  dish  of  eggs  in  his 
handy  was  appealed  to. 
**  Only  a  convict  escaped  from  gaol,''  he  calmly  informed  us. 
^  Sir !"  said  the  grave  man ;  ^^  only  !  ladies ;  this  is,  indeed,  a 
land  of  despotism." 

^^  Caught  in  the  leg,  sir,"  added  the  waiter,  with  an  unruffled 
brow,  and  a  cold,  blue-eyed,  German  gaze,  and  then  left  us  to 
digest  the  fact. 

Such  was  our  first  night  in  Bavaria,  where  we  found,  for  two 
years,  a  tranquil  residence,  and  discovered  that,  in  spite  of  military 
discipline,  a  mild  beneficent  sway  prevailed. 

We  ran  hastily  over  the  exquisite  Protestant  cathedral  of  Ulm, 
lingered  awhile  over  the  curious  monument  of  the  Besseref  family, 
and  were  punished  for  our  dilatoriness  by  being  late  in  setting  out 
for  Augsburg.  For  we  had  an  object  in  going  to  Munich.  We 
were  travellers  in  search  of  a  home — wherefore,  matters  not  to  any 
one  —  but  ill  health  and  education,  the  two  great  causes  for 
change,  had  much  to  do  with  it. 

^  Farewell,"  said  our  grave  fnend,  as  he  handed  us  into  a  huge 
travelling  vehicle,  at  the  door  of  the  Crown  Prince ;  "  I  don't 
expect  you  will  like  Munich.  I  should  not  wonder  if  you  were 
coming  back  soon  this  way,  not  that  /  shall  see  you,  for  I  am  sick 
of  travelling  already.  You'll  not  be  able  to  dine  on  the  road,  and 
you  11  not  reach  Augsburg  till  ten,"  he  added,  with  an  awful  smile; 
**  for  me,  I  shall  linger  a  Utde  while." 

^  Among  the  tombs,  I  dare  say,"  cried  one  of  the  liveliest  of 

VOL.   XXXIT.  Digitized  by  ObOgle 


18  LOITEEING  AMONG  THE 

our  party,  as  tbe  carriage  drove  off,  and  the  last  sentence  was  lost 
amid  that  conglomeration  of  sounds  which  attends  a  departure. 
"  And  long  may  he  stay  there,"  added  another. 
We  did,  however,  dine  on  the  road;  but  not  here  shall  I  remark 
upon  the  extent  of  our  appetites,  nor  the  smallness  of  the  cost ; 
and  we  reached  Augsburg  in  time  for  a  good  night's  rest.  We 
were  not,  as  our  mournful  campagnon  de  voyage  had  predicted,  too 
fiitigued  to  see  that  antique  town,  with  its  fountains  aiul  iis/t§ggereiy 
its  old  churches^  and  its  sovkewbti  stately  stceets ;  not  too  moch 
exhausted  to  feel  all  the  liveliness  of  first  impressions  of  thooo 
diversified  costoauea  with  which  we  became  afterwards  so  fanuliar : 
tlie  round  fur  cai>s>  tho  square  bodices,  docked  with  amaU  coins^ 
the  huge  sleeves,  and  amplo  aprons  oif  stuff  or  silk,  or»  for  the 
better  classes,  the  silver-wrought  bead-^resaea,  frstened  on  by  pim 
of  delicate  filigree  £br  those  a  little  higher  in  dieir  sphere ;  and 
then,  around  the  throat,  we  observed  a  collar,  composed  of  innn* 
nerable  silver  chains^  fastened  by  a  lar^  clasp ;  again,  as  if  in 
stem  contjsast  to  all  this  bravery,  comes  a  group  of  femileB  in 
head-dresses  of  black  ribbon  and  lace,  fastened  ovev  a  hi|^  comb, 
and  fidling  in  long  ends  ovev  the  neck  and  shoulders. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  moumfiil  {dain  which  ono 
crosses  between  Augsburg  and  Munich,  was  dotted  over  with  these 
peasant  women ;  and  their  accompanying  cavaliers  who  rejoiced 
in  hats,  garnished  with  small  gold  tassels,  and  whose  long  coals 
almost  touched  their  ankles.  And  the  DuU  FlatZy  at  Munich, 
trough  which  we  drove  after  quitting  the  railway,  was  also  aoal- 
tered  over  with  peasantry,  who  had  come  into  the  ci4y  for  their 
holiday. 

I  do  not  know  whether  people  feel  as  I  do  on  entering  tbe  Hdtel 
de  Bavi^re,  at  Munich,  that  they  have  bid  adieu  to  rest,  and  begmi 
an  apprenticeship  to  monnting  stairs ;  never,  surely,  was  an  hotel 
so  adapted  to  wear  down  one's  physical  force  by  the  aid  of  inces*- 
sant  climbing  to  one's  aerial  salon^  as  this  handsome  and  well-ar«* 
ranged  boteU  built  under  tbe  express  superintendence  of  the  ex- 
king,  the  benevolent  Ludwig  of  Bavaria. 

Russians  and  Americans  are  sure  to  monopolize  the  best  rooms 
everywhere,  and,  after  groaning  for  some  days,  and  in  vain  endea- 
vouring to  ascertain  when  a  Russian  princess,  who  had  taken  one 
side  of  the  hotel,  was  to  return  to  her  native  snows,  or  a  party  of 
Americans,  who  filled  all  the  best  bed-rooms,  were  to  move  on  to 
Vienna,  we  sent  for  our  host,  and  begged  him  to  reconmend  us 
some  furnished  lodgings,  as  we  meant  to  remain  in  Munich. 

I  thought  the  good  little  man  (who  has  now  left  that  establish- 
ment) would  have  fainted  at  the  easy  way  in  which  we  expected  to 
step  into  handsomely  fiirnished  apartments  at  once.  ''No,'*  ho 
told  us,  mournfully,  *'  you  must  take  an  unfurnished  house,  yon 
must  hire,  or  buy  fiimiture.'* 

It  was  for  us  to  iaint  then.  To  hire  !  how  degrading ! — to  buy  ! 
how  expensive !  but  the  sad  truth  caae  out  at  last  There  dwells 
in  Munich  a  character  whose  name  I  shall  not  hero  specify,  but 
who  supplies  veteran  furniture  at  a  cost  suitable  to  his  ideas,  and 

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BAYABIAN  ANl^  TYMLBAlf  LAKES.  19 

act  to  tBBMrelfora  in  aaoroh  of  «  hove.  Pooc  aouls  \  1m\  Imtmt 
is  aabavd  as  his  softe  !  One  word  about  tkk  distuiguUhad  pcoh 
sonage.  He  it  ip«»  who  fitted  up  kn  Lola  Montaa  Uio  beautkU 
liMiaa  given  her  by  King  I^dwig.  For  tbsee  rooaia  in  it».esqui- 
aislely  ^ded,  paint«d  and  lomiBhtd^  he-  ohaiged  Ae  eaormoiis 
nam,  for  Mimich»  of  twelve  Aouaaiid  gikkoK,.  ar .  a  Aonsasd 
pounda  Ea^b.  Tba  long,  indignant  at  this^  exorbitant  demaad, 
xefbaed  to  pay  the  biB,  aad  Lola,  with  her  wonted-  energy^  accsaoto- 
panied  bet  remooflHaQce  by  throwing  aonaething  beaivy  ai  At 
ufdioktera^s^  head.  '^  Very  well^  nMdam,**  said  tfie  offended 
trndiwwn,  ^theee  rooma  will  coat  you  aaore  than,  a  tboniaad 
gildera."  Tha  feai&l  exitia  of  1848  waa  at  Imnd^  Our  beaa 
augmented  every^  diaeoiitant  by  eiveitlating  reporta  of  Lc^'a  m*- 
pacity  and  the  king'a  larak  impradsoee  on  ber  aeoaunt.  Tbo 
late  dm  demand  ofi  die  opbelsterer  waa  paid ;  but  LoIa  bad  sMin 
the  seeda  of  revolt^  and,  as  she  aowed^  so  did  she  reap.  I  wiU  not 
Toocb  for  the  trutb  o£  this  aneodbte  ;  bull  certain  is  it  thai  the  ra- 
Yofaition  in  Baraiia  originated,  with  tbe  shopkeepers  of  Munich^ 
maiifr  of  whom  owed  their  prospeiity  to  King  Lndwig; 

Not  attmeted  by  the  idea  eildier  ef  hiring  or  buying^  wo  asked 
oar  boat  where  we  could  find  ahonse  for  the  summer.  He  told  us 
of  lak^  and  baths  of  which  we  had  scaiedy  heard;  spoke  gloriously 
of  Togem-^ee,  aa  o£  ^a  little  Paris;''  nsore  calndy  of  Stambei^;^ 
which  he  described  aa  ^^  emsty  that  is>  I  presume,  triaie,  but  the 
waters  of  the  Wura  See,,  on  whieh  the  idllage  of  Stttrobeqp 
staadsy  weie>  he  added^  £unoua  for  their  aoftaeas  and  purity. 

And  here,  en^  p€u»amty  I  must  temaork  that,  aa  in  Ais>  instaaoa^ 
so  in  all  others  in  Germany,  we>  aa  inesperieQeed  traTeUers,  found 
a  degree  of  courtesy,  good  faith»  and  eren  seal,  among  hotel 
keepers  in  that  nation,  which  ws  shall  always  recall  with  gratitude. 

I  remember  few  things  with  more  pleasure  than  tbe  exploit  ef 
getting  away,,  at  that  time>  from  Mumch ;  a  city  to  whieh  we  be- 
eame,  as  all  persons  who  remain  in  it  long  eventually  do^  ex- 
tremely attached  It  was  during  Whitsun-week  that  we  left  tt» 
and,  after  drifing  through  a  stteYgfatc  road,.fimoed  on  each  sidb  bgr 

foplaors^  we  found  oufselvesr  again  in  something  like  the  eountiy* 
or  the  plam  between  Augsburg  and  BaTai!i%  fiat,  ill-drained^ 
even  boggy,  and'  partially  cultivated,  affords  no  features  of  an 
agreeable  lancbcape,  if  we  except^  indeed,  the*  ginndeat  ci  ail 
features,  those  pespatual  glimpses  of  a  diatant  range  of  snowy 
mountains^  which  attracts  yeur  eye  at  every  moment^  and  seem 
temptingly  accessible  to  a  noaBor  approaek  So  clear  are 
tbey,  so- close  seem,  they,  that  you  almost  fimcy  that  the  bsaeae 
bovrows  its  aharpoesa  from  tbe  icy  ravines  between  dioae  frozen 
heists:  never  shall  I  fodrget  the  {Measure  with  which  I  firs^  gaaed 
upon  them,  nor  the  reluctance  with  which  I  bade  them  what  well 
must  prove,  I  fear,  a  final  adieu. 

As  we  drove  along^  the  extreme  beauty,  and  lavirii  abmidance 
of  the  gentiaoy  throwing  up  benealh  Ae  blue  sky  its  deep  avure 
flowers^  ev^Q  amid  tbe  brownest  loohing  blades  of  withered  grass 
Umt  I  mm  saw,  called  forth  expressions  of  pleasure.   I  have  never 

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20  LOFTERINa  AMONG  THE 

seen  that  flower  so  fine  in  colour,  so  large  in  its  form,  as  in 
Bavaria,  where  it  seems  both  to  gloiy  in  the  barrenness  of  the 
plain,  and  to  flourish  in  the  richly  enamelled  meadow. 

It  was  nearly  evening  when  we  changed  the  nakedness  of  the 
plain  for  a  road  cut  out  of  one  of  those  dense  forests  which  still 
cbaracteriza  the  vicinity  of  Munich,  even  within  twenty  miles  of 
that  ci^  of  the  Arts.  The  road  was  bounded  on  either  side  by  a 
broad  band  of  close,  fine  turf,  and  beyond  ifhich  a  dense  mass  of 
pines  permitted  not  a  ray  of  light  to  pass  between  their  branches. 
Here  and  there  the  deer,  with  which  this  royal  forest  teems, 
broke  the  almost  solemn  stillness  by  suddenly  bounding  upon  the 
turf,  and  then  disappeared,  and,  with  incredible  ingenuity,  wound 
their  way  back  again  into  the  recesses  of  the  forest.  Tlie  deep 
silence  of  those  gloomy  glades  has  sometimes  appalled  me,  as  I 
bad  occasion,  often  and  often,  to  retrace  that  road  to  Munich. 
All  signs  of  human  existence  seem  lost,  when  suddenly  the  open- 
ing of  a  grass-grown  alley  to  the  right,  and  of  another,  corre-  . 
spending,  to  the  left  of  the  high  road,  discloses  the  traces  of  the 
celebrated  Roman  road  between  Augsburg  and  Salzburg,  a  fact  of 
which  the  traveller  is  informed  by  a  notice  inscribed  on  a  post  by 
the  wayside.  Many  were  the  beautiful  vistas  which  soon  opened 
to  view  as  the  extreme  denseness  of  the  forest  appeared  to  have 

{ielded  to  the  woodman^s  axe.  A  dark  winding  pathway  on  one 
and  led  to  the  Sammer  Kellar  (summer  cellar),  a  sort  of  sylvan 
resiaurationy  deep  in  the  recesses  of  the  wood ;  and  here  the 
students  of  the  university  of  Munich  on  J^te  days  repair,  some- 
times walking  fix>m  their  Alma  Mater,  sometimes  going  forth  in 
grand  processions  of  Jiacresy  clad  in  their  ancient  costume  of  short 
velvet  coats,  leathern  small  clothes,  great  jack-boots,  with  a  sword 
by  their  sides,  and,  not  unfirequently,  a  feather  in  their  caps.  How 
their  laughter,  and  not  very  polished  language,  used  to  scare  the 
deer,  and  outrage,  as  it  seemed,  the  good  manners  of  the  quiet 
tenants  of  the  groves;  yet  an  outrage  of  that  sort  was  the  only  one 
of  which  I  ever  heard  that  they  were  guilty,  during  my  residence 
in  Bavaria.  The  proud  spirit  of  the  Munich  student  in  bygone 
days  was  auelled,  since  1848,  by  the  dissolution  of  their  clubs,  or 
ratner  by  tnose  same  clubs  going  out  of  fashion,  for  some  distinc- 
tion of  cap  continues.  Their  esprit  de  carps  has  not  the  same 
vitality  as  that  of  the  students  of  Bonn  or  Heidelberg,  and  their 
swords  are  seldom  used  for  any  other  purpose  than  decoration. 

I  was  never  sorry  in  performing  the  six  stundetiy  or  eighteen 
miles,  between  Munich  and  Stumberg,  to  emerge  from  the  soli- 
tudes of  that  forest-road  into  a  pleasing,  varied,  rural  country,  and 
to  pass  through  a  sort  of  hamlet,  and  to  see  the  great  Buch-hof 
farm,  with  its  stacks  of  wood  and  its  hay-ricks  near  it,  and  its 
mistress,  in  her  every,  day  head-dress  of  a  black  silk-handkerchief, 
tied  in  a  single  knot  round  her  head,  standing  before  the  door  of 
what  had  more  the  appearance  of  a  great  mansion  than  of  a  farm- 
house, to  enjoy  the  gaieties  which  a  high  road  in  Bavaria  offered, 
for  the  sieie  wagen  and  the  post  wagen  used  to  come  rattling  down, 
the  giafid  event  of  the  evening  being  over  when  they  had  passed  by. 

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BAVARIAN  AND  TYBOLEAN  LAKES.  21 

And  then,  with  what  pleasure  we  used  to  behold  the  first  open- 
ing of  the  lake,  after  our  long  and  dusty  drive,  and  never  did  the 
aspect  of  that  calm,  fresh  scene,  more  please  us  than  after  our 
fint  sojourn  in  Munich ;  for  we  had  been  alarmed  by  rumours  of 
fever,  and  libels  upon  the  sanitary  characteristics  of  the  capital. 
We  caught,  therefore,  gladly,  the  breezes  of  the  Wunnsee,  and 
the  view  of  the  snowy  mountains,  which  we  had  lost  in  our  forest 
route,  rising  above,  though  far  distant  ftt)m  the  blue  waters, 
seemed  to  assure  us  that  the  pure  air  of  the  lake  and  mountains 
would  dispel  every  lurking  miasmay  and  such,  undoubtedly  is  the 
case ;  and  yet,  at  the  shallow  end  of  most  of  the  Tyrolean  and 
Bavarian  lakes,  there  is  a  long  tract  of  marshy  land,  in  which 
fix>gs  vociferate,  and  over  which  birds  are  seen  skimming,  and 
dipping  to  catch  insects.  Yet  these  marshy  lands  do  not  appear 
to  breed  miasma.  The  lake-breeze  passes  over  those  regions, 
and  they  can  be  approached  with  safety  according  to  the  common 
belief  of  the  country  people,  which  seldom  errs  on  these  points. 

At  last  the  full  expanse  of  the  lake  was  spread  before  our  view. 
The  first  expression  was  one  of  disappointment.  Sternberg 
boasts  of  no  romantic  beauties.  The  shores  of  the  lake,  which  is 
sixteen  miles  in  length,  are  only  slightly  elevated  on  either  side : 
yet  to  the  south  rise,  in  the  distance,  a  range  of  snowy  summits, 
far  distant  mountains,  clothed,  summer  and  winter,  with  snow ; 
these,  as  we  descended  gradually  towards  the  water^s  edge,  were 
seen  lighted  up  with  the  most  exquisite  flame-coloured  tint; 
whilst,  in  the  foreground,  the  blue  waters  of  the  lake  lay  in  depth 
of  shadow ;  sparkling  only  here  and  there,  as  by  some  ripple  on 
their  calm  surface  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

Yet  not  always  are  the  singularly  pellucid  waters  of  that  lake 
so  calm.  Sternberg  has  its  frowns  as  well  as  its  smiles.  Often 
sudden  gusts  of  wind  come  driving  firom  those  far-distant  moun- 
tains, tearing  up  the  tranquil  glassy  waters  with  fury :  every  white 
sail  is  driven,  now  here,  now  there :  small  boats  are  tossed  about ; 
the  trees  near  the  brink  of  the  lake  are  bowed  down  almost  into 
the  waves — firoth  and  foam  are  soon  seen  in  white  patches  scud- 
ding before  the  wind.  The  lake  is  wide  across :  the  currents  are 
numerous,  and  have  a  peculiar  fancy  for  turning  the  boats  round 
and  round :  and  then  those  very  boats  are  made  in  such  a  fashion 
that  they  stand  high  above  the  water,  so  that  one  seems  to  skim, 
rather  than  to  plough  the  element. 

That  evening,  however,  all  was  calm.  High  above  a  straggHng 
village  of  white  houses  rose  the  residence  of  the  Landesgericht^ 
the  local  judge  of  the  district.  It  is  a  many-windowed  ungainly 
building,  half  mansion,  half  prison,  standing  somewhat  apart 
firom  other  houses,  in  a  small  pleasure-ground,  and  lording  it  over 
the  village.  The  house  is,  critically  speaking,  wholly  devoid  of 
style  or  symmetry.  Relatively  speaking,  the  general  efiect  of  that 
huge  object  is  good.  It  seemed  to  ofier  a  type  of  feudal  days  and 
of  seignorial  rights,  happily  enough  long  gone  by,  not  pleasant  to 
realise,  but  curious  to  dream  about.  It  implies  protection  of  the 
weak;  threatens  evil-doers — with  its  long  lines  of  staring  windows 

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as  lOiraSINO  AMOaiG  Tllfi 

-^^Rridi  rammaiy  jmtioe :  utd  gires  to  Btenribe^  Hie  nopoitant 
air  of  being  large  enotigh  atid  busjr  ^iiocigh  to  faorbour  nntscreants. 
B«t,  to  Bay  tlie  tnilh,  <he  ^putn^fe  irbicfa  tthe  Laddesgeridbt  of 
SvenriMrg  accosts,  amd  the  cottphdnts  to  which  he  listeng,  «re  not 
qyile  so  iutrieate  -tttd  intarostiiig  as  the  <}au9e8  C4i^Bs.  Suits  of 
great  heat  mi  Tiolence  aoe  often  pursued  abotit  matters,  the 
value  ctf  whidi  oaafnat  esoeed  a  iew  flottns;  and  feods  are 
qacdied,  whidh  barve  •often  no  deeper  snuroe  (than  the  eictortions  «f 
a  doctor,  who  chains  more  than  die  legal  cweaty-fonr  Imeutai^s, 
or  etgbtpetiee  «  visk,  or  Che  misdemeaaenrs  of  a  boatman,  wiio 
has  exai^feed  more  thau  a  penny  ^for  the  passage  from  one  shore  of 
the  lake  to  4bt  other. 

We  drerve  gaiij  thioagh  ibe  hmftr  end  of  the  Tillage,  and 
alighted  at  Ae  TWfe/iit^er  ffef,  a  hvrge  iim  with  e^viery  window 
and  door  wide  open— -and  a  trsmeudous  noiee  issuing  from  every 
(Mftlet  We  found  >we  had  made  -a  grei^  mietsAce  in  not  stopping 
at  the  Fost  Inn  ;  for,  although  both  these  establishments  belong 
to  the  same  propiietor,  the  '^itsliager  Hof  iiappened  ihat  day  to 
be  in  an  uproar.  A  cooiple  were  celebrating  the  amriversary  of 
Aeir  twen<^jM&Ah  nuptial  day — their  silver  wading,  as  it  is 
cfiAled:  they  were  wakaring  awwywitfa  no  very  steady  «teps;  the 
wtnn^n  in  the  for  caps,  '#bich  form  the  holiday  head-dress  of  the 
female  Bavarian  peasawtry,  the  men  in  jackets,  and  shorts  of 
\^veteen,  with  here  and  there  a  J&ger,  or  sportsman's  dveas  of 
{(Pey,  with  a  green  collar  interspersed.  The  yelU  of  joy  which 
they  uttered — no  other  term  can  express  the  sounds— terrified 
us ;  and  we  gladly  accepted  the  offers  of  a  man  who  assumed  the 
airs  of  a  lac^jmais  de  plmccy  to  conduct  us  to  some  of  llie  Airoished 
apsitmentsc^  the 'Village:  yet  we  needted  not  to  have  been  alarmed. 
I^d,  talkaHire,  coarse,  the  Bavarian  peasantry  are  rarely  mde  to 
those  wbesnthey  designate  Herr-Schaft.  Hey  are  naturally 
ocmrteous  and  good-tempered ;  and  whilst  they  drink  limmense 
quantities  t)€  ibeer,  have  an  invnlnerability  of  constitution  which 
pveseires  them  from  fntoxicatian.  This,  I  suppose,  is  owing  to 
the  calm  slow  nature  of  their  feelings,  which,  certainly,  may  be 
said  to  cream  and  mamde  tfte  a  atanchng  pool  We  then  com- 
mcmoed  the  weary  task  of  searching  for  a  summer  abode,  where 
we  nrigbt  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  bathing  in  the  lake — for 
Sternberg  is  a  lake  made  on  purpose  to  bathe  in,  its  waters  ave 
so  pure,  so  soft ;  and  were,  aftei*  the  1st  of  June,  so  cold  as  to 
dMN  one,  y«t  retaining,  duifing  the  most  fervid  heat,  a  freshness 
that  veminded  me  of  the  baths  at  Malvern. 

We  soon  found  a  lodging.  It  was  in  the  house  'of  a  silver 
arbekefiy  one  of  those  cunning  artificers  who  produce  the 
beawtilul  stiver  filigree  woric  of  fiavaria.  His  konse  was  as 
humble  as  \m  pos^on ;  but  fi^om  its  low  wtodows  we  cmild  see 
the  snowy  irange,  and  watch  die  ^effi^Tts  of  the  changing  atmo^ 
sp4i«re  t&pon  these  distant  moumains*  Sometnnes  standing  out 
clear,  as  |Jk>U||^  engraved  tipon  the  deep  blue  aky,  the  peaks  pre- 
sented a  thowand  beantifiil  bift  deetiiig  hues;  sometimes  they 
were  keif  veiled  by  ieaiing  clonds,  through  which  they  waoa 

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BAVAUJOr  AXm  XYBOLEAV  LAKES.  tt 

Hajfy  oodmetl ;  BOMetfaMS  tbey  wBfe  wd  wKh  the  gorgsoiui  imi* 
letft  of  ^dMtt  MHnoier;  ^muMaam,  when  the  daric  tinmder-cloudit 
iMKg  over  iheai,  of  a  deep  neotcal  tint,  in  wUcb  ell  tvmoe  of  their 
nowy  covering  wes  lost  Oir  neerer  vie^  was  a  green  aocliritjr^ 
en  dteMOMDit  of  wlneh  stood  a  large  eycamore  tree,  encinded  witb 
a  seat,  the  tfarotmte  lounge  of  tfaoee  who  took  a  day'a  feature  at 
SMrnbetg;  and,  befond  this,  was  a  asiaU  bMt  well-placed  riUa 
belonging  to  Pimce  JKarl,  the  tinole  of  the  reigning  King  of 
Beefnria.  TUe  waa  generally  cioeed  ;  for  there  are  painfal  asao- 
eimiimm  with  the  tpot.  It  was  the  lavonrite  resioence  of  the 
wife  of  Pmce  Karl,  a  ladj  to  whom  he  wns  united  by  a  Jdorga* 
natic  marriage.  Her  death,  which  had  oocnrrtd  aome  years 
before  I  visited  Sternberg,  left  her  royal  hnsband  inconsolable. 
To  her  memory  he  erected  a  simple  mausoleum,  standing  a  little 
way  from  the  road,  amid  glades  and  groves  so  rich  in  verdure  and 
wild  flowers,  as  to  justify  the  partialis  which  the  lamented  lady 
had  always  expreesed  for  the  spot.  And  there  her  remains  are 
interred. 

Deserted  as  it  was»  we  profited  by  open  gates,  and  enjoyed 
many  sen  hour  amid  the  repose  of  Prince  Karl's  shrubberies* 
They  opened  into  meadows,  then  adorned  with  aD  the  gorgeous 
garniture  of  wild  flowers,  such  as  that  marshy  half-drained  land 
produces  in  abundance.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  gentian ; 
its  luxonance  in  the  openings  of  the  forest-land  about  Sternberg 
is  something  inconceivable.  It  is  succeeded  bv  the  blue  Salvia 
in  large  masses,  as  if  some  careful  gardener  had  chosen  the  spot 
whereon  it  could  best  be  reared.  Campanulas  enrich  the  careless 
beauties  of  the  parterre.  Orchises  throw  up  their  curious  pyramids 
of  diversified  form  and  hue ;  and,  as  you  turn  into  the  woods^ 
lilies  of  the  valley  would,  if  you  please,  complete  your  nosegay  of 
wild  flowers.  And  thus,  sauntering  along,  entranced  bv  what  yo« 
tread  upon,  so  rich  is  the  enamelling  of  Nature's  hana,  you  may 
atroU  on  by  the  woods  to  Possenbofen,  without  counting  the 
lime  yon  take  in  that  long  ramble. 

Here  resides,  in  summer,  another  branch  of  that  numerous  and 
royal  family,  the  daughters  of  which  have  been  so  prized  as  wives, 
so  exemplary  in  every  relation  of  life  in  the  various  unions  which 
the  House  of  Bavaria  has  formed  with  other  German  princes. 

At  Possenhofen  Maximilian  Duke  of  Bavaria,  the  coumn  of  the 
reigning  King,  has  a  handsome  chdieau^  close  upon  the  shores  of 
tbe  lake,  where  a  large  family  of  sons  and  daughters  have  hitherto 
passed  their  summers.  But  we  were  almost  continually  tempted 
to  avail  ourselves  of  the  skill  of  the  capital  boatmen  of  Stem- 
be^  and  we  soon  became  acquainted  with  every  object  upon  the 
slxMre. 

One  night  we  were  rowed  over  to  Leoni.  It  is  a  straggling 
hamlet,  upon  the  very  brink  of  the  lake,  and  just  opposite  to 
Poaenhofen.  A  lew  detached  houses,  let  for  the  season,  and  a  sort 
of  gast-haus,  corresponding  to  our  old-fashioned  tea-gardens,  ex- 
cepting that  no  tea  was  ever  made,  drunk,  or  dreamed  of  there, 


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24  LOITEBINO  AHOKG  THB 

composed  Leoni.  We  landed,  and  stood  for  some  minutes  to 
admire  the  fresco-painting  on  the  exterior  of  a  farmhouse,  which 
was  characterized  by  all  the  inconsistences  of  a  Bavarian  domi- 
cile. Over  the  front  were  fresco-paintings  of  great  merit,  and  of 
sacred  subjects,  which,  I  have  been  told,  are  the  performances  of 
the  elder  Ikarlbach,  now  the  most  eminent  artist  of  his  day,  in 
Munich.  At  the  other  extremity  of  the  abode  there  is,  annexed 
to  the  house,  a  huge  cowhouse,  in  which  the  kine  are  kept,  winter 
and  summer;  for  one  great  drawback  to  the  scenery  in  the  low- 
lands of  Bavaria  is,  that  no  cattle,  nor  sheep,  are  to  be  seen  about 
the  meads,  or  even  on  the  common  lands,  as  in  smiling  England. 
We  sauntered  along — 

"  By  the  margin,  wfllow-veiled," 

of  the  transparent  lake,  and  found  a  pathway  to  the  royal  gardens 
of  Berg. 

An  open  wicket  gave  us  entrance;  for  to  the  meanest  of 
his  subjects  the  demesnes  of  the  King  of  Bavaria  are  open. 
There  were  no  officious  gardeners  to  challenge  our  rights  as  pas- 
sengers, and  we  threaded  a  walk  amid  dense  woods,  over  which 
the  gloom  of  evening  was  already  stealing.  But  Nature  had  lent 
one  of  her  most  fanciful  modes  of  illumination  for  that  season. 
It  was  then  June;  the  day  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  was  near 
at  hand ;  and  the  fire-flies,  endowed  with  their  temporary  bright- 
ness by  him  who  was  the  messenger  of  the  Messiah,  were 
abroad  upon  their  insect-mission  of  commemoration.  For  it  is  be- 
lieved among  the  peasantry  that  St.  John,  happening  one  evening 
to  walk  abroad,  and  crossing  a  brook,  observed  one  of  these  in- 
sects, then  not  endowed  with  the  gift  of  brilliancy,  and  took  it 
into  his  hand  to  examine  it.  The  blessed  object  of  his  atten- 
tion, as  it  flew  away,  displayed,  for  the  first  time,  that  star- 
like ray,  which  ever  afler,  on  St.  John's  eve,  distinguishes  its 
course ;  illuminated  by  the  honour  which  it  had  received,  year 
after  year,  century  after  century,  the  resplendent  little  harbinger 
of  the  Sainf  s  holyday  comes  to  light  up  woods  and  meads ;  a  fit 
accompaniment  for  a  midsummer's  night-dream.  How  we  used 
to  watch  them  clustering  in  the  dark  hollows  of  the  groves,  then 
on  the  stems  of  the  fragile  grasses,  now  mounting  aloft  on  the 
wavy  branches  of  the  forest-trees,  now  preceding  our  very  path- 
way in  their  indescribable  brightness — a  brightness  so  peculiar,  so 
unlike  any  radiance  known  to  man,  that  one  might  almost  fancy 
that  the  legend  was  true,  and  that  Heaven  had  lent  one  of  its 
smallest  gleams  of  ethereal  light  to  these  creatures  of  earth,  to 
these  poor  little  creatures,  in  form  resembling  one  of  the  humblest 
of  our  insects,  a  beetle,  but  brown,  and  small,  carrying  their  mys- 
tical lights  in  both  the  head  and  the  tail,  as  far  as  we  could  ascer- 
tain, and  extinguishing  Uiem  at  pleasure.  They  fiutter  for  a  few 
weeks  after  the  Baptist's  day,  and  then  their  glory  is  extinct  until 
the  following  year.  Never  did  I  see  them  in  such  myriads  as  in 
the  gardens  of  Berg  ;  probably  from  those  gardens  being  near  the 
lake,  and  also  but  little  intruded  upon  by  visitors. 


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BAYABIAN  AND  TTBOLKAN  LAKES.  26 

We  passed  the  Chdteau  de  Plauance^  a  mass  of  unaigbtly  an- 
tiquity;  tall,  unadorned,  oommodious :  but  the  renovating  taste  of 
King  Max  was  even  then  devising  improvements.  At  each  angle, 
turrets  were  being  constructed :  and  a  garden  in  better  style,  and 
adapted  to  the  cultivation  of  flowers — ^which  few  Bavarian  gardens 
aspire  to— was  even  then  planned.  I  trust  it  has  been  formed, 
and  carried  out  in  that  sweet  spot — that  it  flourishes  in  those 
scenes  where,  so  often,  in  such  varied  modes  of  thought,  I  have 
sought  a  solace  from  vexation  in  the  groves  of  Berg.  We  passed 
a  bfi^n  formed  of  stone,  in  a  sort  of  little  bay,  out  of  the  lake 
where  the  young  and  lovely  Queen  Marie  of  Bavaria  has  her  bath. 
It  is  approached  by  an  arched  walk  of  syringa,  which  was  then 
in  bloom,  and  the  archway  was  a  mass  of  white  blossoms.  At  the 
shore,  we  called  for  a  boatman,  in  place  of  whom  appeared  an  old 
woman  about  sixty.  She  and  her  husband  had  long  owned  the 
principal  boats  at  Berg;  when  her  helpmate  was  engaged  she  took 
his  place,  and  as  we  were  then  a  party  of  ladies  only,  we  had  no 
scruples,  but  much  reluctance,  at  allowing  her  to  row  us  across. 

She  was  a  stem,  hard-featured  old  woman,  weather-beaten,  and 
anxious  looking;  and  her  features  were  not  softened  by  her  coiffure. 
She  wore  the  Bavarian  fur  cap,  which  was  almost  as  worn  and 
aged,  and  miserable-looking  as  herself.  The  lake  was  five  miles 
across :  I  trembled  lest  she  should  not  have  strength  to  take  us 
safely  to  Stembeig.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  the  expanse  of 
waters  rejoiced  as  it  seemed  in  her  friendly  beams.  It  was  long 
since  the  bells  of  Sternberg  Church  had  rung  the  curfew.  I  ven- 
tured to  hint  to  our  old  woman  that  it  was  late — she  would  there- 
fore soon  be  fatigued ;  even  if  she  took  us  safely  across,  how  was 
she  to  return  ?  She  cast  upon  me  a  look  of  inefiable  scorn,  and 
answered,  that  it  was  for  that  reason  she  had  undertaken  to  ferry 
us  across,  for  she  was  stronger  than  her  husband,  who  was  gone 
to  bed.  Having  condescended  thus  much,  she  relapsed  into  a 
haughty  silence;  but  she  had  performed  what  she  had  undertaken 
admirably.  We  were  landed  safely,  after  a  delicious  hour,  spent 
in  the  languid  enjoyment  of  another  person's  trouble.  She  would 
have  been  contented  with  twenty-four  kreutzers,  or  eightpence — 
but  I  gave  her  a  florin,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  smile 
upon  her  grim  face.  We  stood  some  minutes  on  the  shore  to  see 
her  put  off  again ;  and  soon  she  was  to  be  observed,  toiling  away, 
in  the  midst  of  the  moonlit  waters,  her  boat  and  herself  seeming 
but  a  speck.  I  afterwards  heard  that  she  and  her  husband  had 
accumulated  by  their  industry  the  sum  of  eighty  florins.  With 
the  suspicion  of  old  people  they  kept  their  treasure  under  their 
bed.  One  night  their  poor  home  was  broken  into — they  were 
spared,  but  their  money  was  carried  off.  This  occurred  in  the 
dreary  summer  of  1848,  when  the  worst  characters  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood were  let  loose  upon  society. 

But  Sternberg  was  now  becoming  fashionable,  and  the  charms 
of  its  lake  were  all  annihilated  by  the  clusters  of  Bavarians— 
chi^y  baurgeoisief  who  amused  themselves  on  the  shore,  or  sat  in 


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96  xonsEDW  AMone  tmt 

Gastliaiis  GmtAcoBy  oiafkhig,  mud  cbaiteriBg,  or  a  worse  Mcrilege, 
kaunted  the  exqoiBite  walk  amid  the  somcee  'Of  the  Seven  SptiqgB 
{Sieven  MeUen)  which  flow  dHroogh  a  leafy  vale  m  Priaoe  Kail^ 
^easare-groandfi. 

Here,  one  xaoniiBg,  as  I  sat  readiog,  I  srade  aoquaiatODce  wi(k 
two  laches  from  the  north  of  Grefnany,  who  wore  making  aa  an* 
naal  jomney  to  rarious  baths,  having,  for  a  Ubk,  taken  ap  Ibeir 
residence  at  Bambourg.  As  they  were  not  inapt  spednieiM  of  a 
daes  of  vieilleg^ttes^  which  we  know  little  of  in  England,  I  was 
aoHised  in  specalaling  upon  their  history.  One  of  tbem  had  boem 
dmne  d'hoMneur  to  a  Grerman  princess,  who  had  £ed,  and  left  her 
attendant  nothing  bnt  the  empty  honour  of  ta&ing  of  ^  na  prin«> 
oesse,''  and  some  little  stipend  npon  which  these  good  ladies  Ate 
and  drank — for  to  say  lived  is  too  genenons  a  term— -dressedy  and 
danced,  and  travelled,  and  were  genteel. 

Their  travels  were  often  performed  on  foot*  They  were  im- 
mense \^'alkers,  fomidable  talkers,  very  civil,  very  loud,  and  very 
good*Datured.  I  think  I  see  Aem  jmiw^  sitting  and  knitting 
nnder  the  plane-tvee  where  1  then  left  them,  chatting  to  the  next 
comer  about  ^*  ma  princesse,''  &c.,  protected  by  the  dead  bones» 
as  it  were,  of  that  good  lady — for  the  €Uune  d'kanneur  takes  all 
the  dignity  of  a  married  woman,  without  the-tisoid>le  cf  having  a 
hu^Mmd^^-sitAing  down  to  dinner  in  the  gavdens  of  a  gasthaus, 
and  rowing  on  the  lake  in  the  evening,  in  large  hats,  whilst  merry 
voices,  not  the  clearer  for  sundry  potations  of  Bai^arian  beeri  aniee 
in  chorus  around  them. 

Stimulated  by  the  peripatetic  example  of  these  kdiea,  whose 
ancestry  and  position  put  mine  to  the  btuali,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
sainted  memcMry  of  ^  ma  princesse,'"  we  set  out  to  wa&  to  Wolfrats- 
hausen,  being  assured  tlu^  we  were  doing  nothittg  vulgar  in  jnak^ 
ing  use  of  our  feet,  instead  of  geing  a  great  round  Iffy  the  road. 
We  crossed  the  lake,  therefore,  and  taking  fot  our  gnide  an  aged 
man  from  Berg,  who,  in  additieo  to  his  alacrity  in  wheeling  our 
higgage  in  a  wheelbarrow  all  the  way,  proved  intelligent^  and  had 
been  a  soldier  in  Napcdeon^s  time.  Traversing  an  unfrequented 
morass,  studded  over  with  mounds  of  turf,  where,  our  guide  told  us^ 
the  French  had  been  encamped  under  Moreau,  we  reached  Wolf-* 
satshausen^a  pkoe  not  large  enough  to  be  esteemed  a  town,  but 
too  large  to  be  termed  a  village,  and  therefore  styled  by  Bavarians 
a  '^  maikt.*'  It  consists  of  a  long,  irregular  street  of  curious  old 
houses,  with  impending  rooft.  It  is  situated  in  the  rich  plain  of 
the  Iserthal,  bounded  on  the  south  by  the  same  range  of  moun* 
tains  that  we  saw  at  Sternberg,  and  almost  encirckd  bj^  two  wind*- 
ing  rivers,  the  Loisach  and  Uie  Iser.  The  varied  foliage  about 
the  rising  grounds,  on  ste|>pes  above,  would  have  reminded  me  of 
Derbyshire,  had  not  the  scenery  round  this  flourishing  place  been 
on  a  far  bolder  scale  than  any  in  England.  And  here  we  rested 
some  days.  Our  host  was  named  ''•Gracchi,"  of  Italian  origin ; 
his  undassical  trade  was  the  sale  of  those  handsome  silver- 
mounted  Ba^-arian  jugs,  made  to  contain  beer,  but  adapted,  from 


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BAYARtAK  AHB  TYIKRLBAN  hAKES.  27 

thuii  bcMlty,  m  some  iosUtBCCS,  to  ^qiNff  BeoUir  froni--«ry  at  snj 
m%e,lo  liold  generous  irhie.  The  ^Gimcchi^irerB  ci^,  derer, 
proBperotts;  and  we  Baw  with  regret  oar  ganant  vaiturier  from 
MvDich  dnre  up  to  oar  door  one  fine  evening,  to  take  m  away 
irvm  their  peaccrol  home. 

One  wora  about  travelling  in  Bavaria.  It  is  exquisttelj  cheap 
— forgive  Ike  word.  Oar  carriage,  an  open  landau,  held  four,  wim 
a  modente  6npplj  of  luggage ;  and  for  an  expenee  of  ten  florins  a 
di^,  we  joonaeyed  almost  luKuriouslj  through  the  magnificent 
soeneiy  ch  the  Tjiol.  Our  party,  I  ought  before  to  have  men- 
tioned,  was  now  augmented  l^  a  young  Camab.,  devoted  to 
AeCching^yet  in  the  ividBt  of  bis  enthusiasm  rarely  forgetful  of 
kia  dinner — uid  by  a  still  younger  Oxonian,  addicted  to  newly- 
fledged  attempts  at  rovinng,  in  the  coarse  of  which  he  had  neariy 
oonaigned  a  whole  ftmily  to  join  odier  ^  treasures  ^f  the  deep,'* 
in  the  depth  of  tiie  lake  of  Sternberg;  and  tbis,  I  orast  say,  for  the 
time,  made  me  •somewhat  shy  of  lakes,  and  not  Sony  that  at  Wolf- 
ratsdiansen,  Ae  Iser  **  flowing  rapidly,"  and  the  Loisach,  being 
very  shdlow,  the  science  ^f  nangation  ^as  not  practicable  on  a 
smdl  scale. 

We  traivelled,  however,  cheerfolly  along  the  bigh  Toad,  which, 
aAer  leaving  Wolfratshausen,  passes  through  Benedict-cavern;  and 
thercfby,  the  day  after  we  had  left  Wolfratshausen,  reached  a  smafl 
h^,  which  lares  the  sides  of  those  precipices  called  the  Benedict- 
wand;  this  was  the  Kochelsee;  one  of  the  sweetest  spots  that  we 
had  then  seen  in  Bavaria:  secluded  and  tranqinl,  yet  bearing  traces 
of  fcnrmer  conventual  importance,  which  had  caused  that  part  of 
Ae  country  to  be  stylea  the  Priests^  corner;  and  boasting  a  sort 
of  Bchloss  -from  a  mound,  where  we  looked  dawn  into  tbe  cahn 
water;  in  the  depth  -of  shadow,  under  the  highcHfiB  to  the  east, 
a  little  doff,  spreading  its  white  sail,  formed  the  only  movin|; 
otnect  • 

Though  Kochelsee  is  one  day^s  journey  from  Municb,  I  counsel 
every  one  not  to  do  as  we  did— not  to  sleep,  or  rather  to  attempt 
to  sleep  at  it,  but  to  stop  at  Wolfratshausen,  and  merely  to  rest  an 
hour  or  two  «tt  Kochelsee.  Oh,  the  horrors  of  that  low-browed 
and  k)w4)red  inn,  of  the  dirty  floors,  dirty  table-cloths,  dirty 
persons,  that  it  presents— to  say  nothing  of  the  consequent  state 
of  temper  which  h  betrays  one  into.  We  rose  at  five:  and  whilst 
the  dew  still  hung  on  every  leaf  of  the  forest  librough  which  we 
passed,  and  the  rosy  morning  cast  her  glow  over  the  glassy  lake 
and  daik  rocky  point — the  '^iS  had  disapjjeared — we  ascended 
the  steep  pass  of  the  Kesselberg,  over  whicb  poor  inglis  has 
described  Ms  soKtsry  and  pedestriatn  excursion.  I  know  not  wby 
I  should  ^c^Sl  bim  poor  Inglis,  for  with  such  a  rare  appreciation  of 
nature^s  -delights,  with  so  stored  a  mind,  to  say  nothing  of  legs  so 
capable  to  wrik,  be  ought  not  to  be  termed  poor.  But  be  is  dead — 
his  fate  was  untimely — ^his  circumstances  were,  possibly,  not  bril- 
Saat.  There  is  someUiing  mournful  in  tracing  the  steps  of  one  whose 
pith  ^as  solitar}',  and  amid  scenes  whic^  certainly  require  compan- 


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28  LOITERING  AMONa  THE 

ioDship.  Full  of  him  in  my  memory,  I  tracked  the  same  track, 
picked  the  same  flowers  that  he  has  so  accurately  enumerated,  and 
by  which  he  could  calculate  on  the  height  of  the  mountain,  or  the 
depth  of  the  valley;  and  mastered  the  ascent  of  the  Kesselberg 
on  foot,  out  of  pity  for  our  horses,  who  had  been,  nevertheless^ 
relieved  by  the  aid  of  a  vor-spann,  as  the  Germans  call  it,  of  two 
other  steeds.  As  we  began  to  descend  the  winding-way,  which 
had  been  all  overhung  by  the  rich  foliage  of  those  undisturbed 
forests,  the  first  view  of  Wallersee,  or  Walchensee  broke  on 
our  view — it  lav  before  us,  summer  on  one  side  of  the  lake,  winter 
on  another.  The  woods  grow,  to  the  north,  even  to  the  water'^s 
edge.  The  mountains,  to  the  south,  clad  in  snow,  rise  just  opposite 
to  the  very  shades  formed  by  leafy  beeches  and  larches.  It  is  this 
inconsistency  of  nature  in  the  Tyrol,  this  mixture  of  sweetness 
and  sternness,  that  constitutes  an  unspeakable  charm.  At  one 
extremity  of  the  lake,  a  bold  point,  clothed  in  woods,  jutted  for^ 
wards — the  turbulent  waves  foaming  around  it,  and  scattering  their 
spray  on  the  underwood.  For  the  Wallersee,  as  it  is  usually 
called,  is  one  of  the  most  unruly  of  lakes ;  noted  for  the  perils 
which  attend  those  who  venture  on  it,  and  dreaded,  because  when 
it  overflows  its  banks,  as  it  sometimes  does,  all  the  country  sufiers. 
When  we  afterwards  appealed  to  our  German  ser\'ant  as  to  the 
familiar  pronunciation  of  the  name  of  this  lake — whether  "  Wal- 
lersee, or  Walchensee?*'  she  answered  that  she  thought  it  must 
be  "  Wallersee;^  for  that  prayers  were  annually  offered  in  some 
of  the  churches  of  Munich,  imploring  that  the  watera  of  the  Wal- 
lersee might  not  again  overflow  ;  for  that,  years  ago,  they  had  so 
swelled  the  Iser,  that  many  had  perished,  and  much  mischief 
had  been  done  by  the  inundation.  As  we  descended,  we  were 
charmed  by  the  grandeur  of  this  scene  of  deep  seclusion.  Inglis 
has  described  it,  however,  in  too  gloomy  colours :  there  are  gleams 
of  delicious  and  cheerful  vales ;  there  are  vistas  gorgeous  in  all 
the  gay  foppery  of  spring.  A  forester's  house,  built  since  Inglis's 
time,  stands  near  the  shore  as  you  approach  the  small  village,  and 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  church.  And  that  day,  the  bells  of  the 
church  were  ringing,  and  the  southern  end  of  the  lake  was  tracked 
by  a  large  ferry  boat,  and  peasants  were  coming  over  in  their  best 
attire,  from  far-distant  chdlets — for  it  was  the  celebration  of  the 
Tete  Dieu,  which  takes  place  at  different  days  in  the  Tyrol — and 
these  animated  groups  were  strangely  contrasted  with  the  wild 
majesty  of  the  mountains  around. 

A  large  old*fashioned  inn,  an  important  host,  who  has  rooms  to 
let  just  opposite  the  inn,  and  almost  in  the  lake — a  handful  of 
houses,  amid  which  the  j'ager'^s,  or  forester's,  is  noted  by  its  antlers 
over  the  porch — compose  Wallersee.  It  stands,  nevertheless,  on 
one  of  the  high  roads  between  Munich  and  Inspruck,  but  is  usually 
avoided  if  possible,  on  account  of  the  steep  though  gradual  ascent  of 
the  Kesselberg.  We  ordered  breakfast — fish,  of  course  the  famed 
Renchen,  which  the  Kellnerinn,  a  female  waiter  and  tapster,  caught 
in  a  sort  of  preserve,  in  her  hand,  from  the  lake,  ana  honey,  and 


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BAYABIAN  AND  TYROLEAN  LAKES.  29 

coffee,  and  sausages,  and  white  rolls;  all  set  out  in  a  large  pa- 
nelled room,  from  which  we  could  gaze  upon  the  lake,  which,  frt>m 
a  respect  for  the  day,  I  suppose,  was  calm — and  could  note  down 
at  all  erents  in  memory's  page  the  matchless  beauty  of  many 
points  of  view,  whilst  the  repose  of  the  scene — for  by  this  time 
the  whole  of  the  population  of  Wallersee  was  collected  within  the 
church — had  an  effect  on  the  imagination  which  only  the  true 
lovers  of  mountain  scenery  can  comprehend.  Then  we  hurried 
out  to  see  the  procession  which  wound  round  the  pathways 
beneath  the  hills  behind  the  Inn ;  and  amid  the  grandest  of  His 
works,  the  praises  of  the  Creator  were  suur  by  the  simplest  of 
His  creatures,  the  pious,  honest — if  you  will,  the  superstitious- 
Tyroleans  ;  for  here,  or  nearly  here,  begins  the  Tyrol,  although 
we  were  still  among  the  subiects  of  Maximilian  II.,  King  of 
Bavaria.  I  must  own  the  Wallersee,  with  all  its  evil  propensities 
to  overflow,  is  one  of  my  favourite  lakes ;  it  has  the  peculiarity  of 
being  the  highest  in  situation  in  the  Tyrol.  Its  waters  are 
always  too  cold  for  bathers ;  provisions,  except  from  the  Inn,  can 
onlv  be  obtained  from  the  Kochel  See,  two  hours  distant;  if  we 
omit,  indeed,  the  wild  venison  of  the  forest,  the  delicious  Rae  of 
the  Tyrol,  water-fowl,  game,  the  partridge,  and  the  Spiel  Henn, 
a  sort  of  moor-fowl  of  parti-coloured  flesh,  excellent;  but  for 
butcher's  meat,  the  jager  told  us,  it  would  be  necessary  to  have 
it  once  a  week  from  Kochel  and  bury  it,  and  keep  it  in  interment 
till  wanted.  Then,  the  nearest  post-town,  Mittenvald,  is  twelve 
miles  off;  letters  to  be  had  only  when  sent  for.  All  these  things 
are  obstacles  to  the  popularity  of  Wallersee,  and  it  is  still  the 
wildest,  loveliest,  loneliest  of  scenes  imaginable,  untraflScked 
upon  by  speculators. 

We  pursued  our  route;  wildness  and  fertili^  still  mingling 
around  us.  As  we  journeyed  towards  Mittenvald,  until,  as  we  drew 
near  that  pretty  town,  the  last,  on  that  side,  in  Bavaria,  the  wild- 
ness alone  prevailed  ;  not  an  habitation,  excepting  here  and  there 
a  forester's  home,  perched  aloft,  is  to  be  seen  the  whole  of  those 
twelve  miles.  Then,  the  cliffs  and  ravines  become  wholly  bare, 
the  country  wears,  indeed,  a  savage  aspect,  and  in  a  vale  where 
scarcely  grass  seems  to  grow  of  its  own  accord,  Mittenvald  is 
seated.  Yet  I  have  rarely  seen  in  Germany  a  cleaner,  more 
habitable  town.  I  attribute  the  prosperous  air,  the  weU-cared- 
for  houses,  to  the  humanizing  effects  of  music.  The  Mitten- 
valders  are  makers  of  cunning  instruments.  They  are  also  per- 
formers. Their  guitars  and  violins  have  long  been  celebrated, 
and  where  nature  is  so  inharmonious,  human  ingenuity  rises 
triumphant  over  situation. 

The  inn  is  good,  for  the  Tyrol  very  good.  I  advise  those  who 
are  difficiles,  to  sleep  there  rather  than  at  Seefeld,  and  certunly 
there  in  preference  either  to  Seefeld  or  the  Wallersee. 

I  can  nardly  look  back,  without  smilbg,  to  our  first  sensations 
on  entering  Austria,  and  on  taking  leave  of  the  Bavarian  blue 
and  silver,  and  hailing  the  orange  and  black  of  the  officials.    The 


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80  i.onaKiNir  ^hoko  tbb 

veiy  sig^  of  thftt  dmibb-heaileiL  etgle,  mA  its  ovlBpTOftd  wingfl; 
made  oe  look  •at  for  iiB|^diiBents  to  our  aauJI  selves ;  bot,.  tbaks 
tOk  our  wBAmportanee^  we  narer  mH  with  an  obeta^lio  ;.  and  thanks 
to  our  air  of  deferance  to  an  avtborify  to  which  aome  la^  ttavel* 
lees  fiitileljr  oppoaa  themsrii^es,  we  found  during  our  residence 
aftevwaids  in  Tyvol,  and  Ausilria  proper^  nothing  but-  couctcsyi; 

I  huny  ovear  (on  papear)  our  journej  to  and  from  S^efald:;  although 
we  were  then  passiqg^  over  a  Boman  road«  the  seene^  o£  many  a 
fierce  encounter  in,  earBeff  and  later  agea.  I  pass  over  die  curcum* 
stance^  which  we  much  boasted  of  at  the  time  to  sundrj  Ghennan 
friends,  that  the  pass^  fbrmerlj*  called  Porta  Clauden^  was  defended 
ag^st  the  French  by  an  Enghshman^  who  commanded  a  garrison 
of  Auatrians,  and  was  taken  prisoner ;  his  name  was  Swinbumo. 
But  I  g}ance  at  it  just  to  remark  that,  during  the  campaign  of 
184&>  another  act  of  valour,,  acazcdy  less  re«art:able,  wan  per- 
Harmed  by  an  English  youth,  just  seventeen,  wha  had  been  only 
seven  weeks  in  the  Austrian;  serriae^  the  son  of  Mr.  Gibbon,  for* 
merly  of  Aberdeen.  This  young  officer,  together  with  Count 
Spaur,  an  Austrian^  followed  by  thirty  men  cmly,  stonned  a  breach 
at  Bivoli>  and  carried  it,  driving  back  a  considemble  force  who 
were  defending  it.  To  the  young  ensign^  who  was  instantly  pro* 
moted  for  his  gallant  conduct,  was  due  the  orecBt  of  having  pro*- 
posed  this  daring  exploit  to  Count  Spaur.  Mir;  Gibbon  escaped 
unhurt,  but  Count  Spaur  received  many  wounds.. 

The  afiair  was  hif^ly  praised  in  the  German  papers,  and  £ng* 
land  may  be  proud  of  the  spiiitad  bo^y  for  so  he  then  was,  who, 
just  emerged  from  the  Universi^  of  Heidelberg^  attained  such 
distinction. 

We  had  slept  at  Seefeld,  and  quitting  that  wild  region,,  found 
ourselves,  whilst  the  meming  was  still  cool  and  the  mista  still  hung 
en  the  mountaia-topS)  beginning  lo  deseend  towaids  the  valley  of 
the  Inn.  We  found  the  desoeni  so  steep  that  we  preferred  fol- 
lowing the  windings  of  that  admuraUe  road  on  foot,  so  that  we 
came  gradually  on  the  moat  Various  of  aM  prospecta.  Bekvw  ua 
lay  a  long  and  broad  valley,  watered  by  the  Inn  ;  sodded  with 
villages ;  its  fidds  in  high  cultivfttioa ;  and  in  the  distsnce  rose 
the  towers  and  sjnres  of  Innspmck..  Before  us  was  the  precipice 
of  the  Martin's-wand,  hait  crag,  h^  forest,  the  careless  forest-treea 
being  in  their  richest  verdure..  To  the  souA  we  behdid  distincdy, 
for  the  first  time»  that  range  of  mountaina  on  which^  the  snew  is 
never  thawed 

**  Eternal  wiDAer  settles  on  their  head." 

At  each  extremity  of  the  valley  the  mountoins  dosey  fooning  the 
most  perfect  and  picturesque  points  that  artist  could  desire.  Again 
Ike  peculiar  charm  of  Tjrrol  is  apparent:  Nature  retains  die  garb 
of  summer  even  whilst  winter,  in  his  sternest  aspect,  hovers  above. 
We  were  lost  in  delight  \  Some  sat  down  to  rest  and  to  gaze^ 
onben  stood  on  rocky  points.  All  were  silent,  and  nothing,  ex- 
cept the  sound  of  our  carriage<-wheels>  which  preceded  vm,  were 
heard,  when  suddenly  another  caniage  made  ita  appearance  y  it 


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BAYABUK  AND  TYBOLEAIT  LAKES.  SI 

a  Gearman  ein  spammer ^  a  cvaoy-looking  ttitle  cabnoletyinoiuited 
ini  the  lii^^ieat  of  high  wheels^  drawn  by  one  horw.  It  ift  pecnlkut 
la  the  Tyxol  and  Salgtamrocargiit^  aod  holds  one  «c  tivo  pemma 
and  one  or  t^Ki  carpei4>a9s.  The  home  has  the  d^nity  of  bekiq^ 
lug  io  the  poatiag  eataUishmaat,  which  pocevaila  oFer  all  Gennany, 
aad  is  ehanged  at  tvetf  post  A  smart  Tjrndeaft  lad  drrres  jirom 
«^  hiU  aad  dewa  dale>  ajid  yon  seem  to  fly  whilst  others  creep, 
aiad  yoa  ehaage  year  ^ne  horse  ia  a  few  minatas  and  go  off  again 
in,  glee,  and  tglerable  aecniity,  for  ibe  man,  the  honrse,  and  tbs 
casriage  are  ta  die  raoimtaina  hi^d. 

The  eiimp€mm^y  howevei,  has  not  an  aristocratic  appearanoe, 
nor  had  the  traTeller^  who^  on  this  occasion,  presented  htauet^  to 
oar  Tiew  en  the  Maitin^s-wand.  It  was- oar  old  friend  of  moum- 
M  ttemary^  from  whom  we  had  paited  at  Ulm.  He  atcqiped  to 
gPN«ias. 

^  So  yea  are  hese !  it  i&  enough  to  kiU  one,  isn^t  it  ?  Such  a 
pass !  and  no  remrais,  after  all,  or  next  to  nothilDg,  of  what  I 
came  to  traoe ;  the  fortificatioBS  they  talk  so  much  of  cm  ^na 
}ieiglit,  quite  a  take*m«^ 

^^  Sir !"  cried  our  Cantah,  who  had  brought  out  of  hts  pocket  a 
celoar^'box  wiA  flowing  colovm  in  tiny  flasks,  and  was  dashing^  in 
oa  a  block  a  thundering  sky — ^^  this  is  reaUy  saperb.  Cox  wmld 
make  a  great  deal  of  this.'' 

^  I  d^e  say  he  wonld^"  answered  our  finend^  looktsg  sUghlly 
back.  ^^  But  you  should  go  to  Gratz  for  scenery  "  (be  abrays 
named  seme  impossible  place).  ^^  G^od-dby — the  young  ladies 
quite  knocked  up  yet  ?-*-blistered  feet,  hey  r  Yon  'H  get  nicely 
fleeced  at  Immpmck,'*  he  eiied,  his  nords  dying  away  on  the  ear 
as  he  drove  off;  ^^  and  soeh  inaolenoe  too,"  he  shouted^  ^^  io  this 
land  of  despot — ^' 

We  heard  no  more;  but;  foefing  as  if  a  bird  of  ill-omen  had 
crossed  our  path,  mounted  into  our  vehicle,  and  were  glad  to 
arrive  at  a  dirty  cheap  inn,  and  to  eat  even  a  dirty  cheap  breakfast 
at  Zirl. 

Ah,  me !  that  I  must,  in  conscience,  hurry  over  Innspruck, 
because  the  world  knows  it  as  well  as  I  do  ;  that  I  cannot  linger 
amid  the  ever-varying  beauties  of  its  vicinity,  loiter  upon  its  fine 
bridge,  and  be  weak  enough  to  say  a  good  deal  about  the  band  of 
the  Kaiser  Jager,  that  fine  regiment,  in  its  picturesque  hat  and 
pinmes,  its  pale  grey  uniArm,  and  its  gentlemanly  young  oflBlcers^ 
so  well  regulated,  that  those  who  are  not  devoted  to  Mather  hats, 
need  never  fear  a  rudeness,  unless  they  first  commit  one.  Why 
cannot  I  say  all  I  would  wish  to  say  about  the  matchless  tomb  of 
Maximilian  the  First  ?  which  gives  one  a  more  solemn  impression 
of  imperial  dignity,  than  perhaps  anything  living  could  produce ; 
(whilst,  among  those  majestic  personages  in  their  colossal  effigies, 
you  glory  to  see  the  figure  of  Arthur,  King  of  England),  neither 
must  I  stop  to  tell,  to  go  from  the  great  dead  to  the  great  living, 
how  we  were  obliged  to  go  to  the  Golden  Sim,  because  King  Ludwig 
of  Bavaria  had  taken  up  the  greater  part  of  the  Hotel  d'Autriche; 


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32        THE  BAYARUN  AND  TYROLEAN  LAKES. 

how  the  sirocco,  which  then  blighted  the  valley  of  the  Inn, 
enervated  and  enfeebled  us,  so  that  we  left  at  daybreak  one 
morning  for  Schwartz,  breakfasted  nnder  the  roof  of  one  of  the 
Tyrolean  Singers,  Rainer,  and  sped  on  to  Achen-see. 

Wild,  lovely  lake !  How  sublime  is  the  approach  to  it  from 
Jen-bach !  How  we  ladies  trembled  as  our  carriage  drove  along 
the  unprotected  road  beneath  the  rock,  expecting  every  instant 
to  be  m  the  depths  of  the  lake  itself.  Whilst  our  young  men 
rashly  took  a  boat  at  the  southern  end  of  the  See,  and,  a  sudden 
gale  arising,  were  shaken  about  as  if  the  boat  had  been  as  light 
as  a  shuttlecock,  and  driven  from  point  to  point  of  the  pre- 
cipitous shore. 

One  habitation  alone  humanizes  the  Achen-see.  It  is  a  goodly 
house,  standing  close  to  the  delicious  waters,  and  reserved  for  the 
monks  of  Schwartz,  who  have  alone  the  right  of  fishing  in  Achen- 
see.  Not  knowing  how  it  was  tenanted,  we  were  bold  enough 
to  ask  there  if  we  could  have  rooms  in  that  wild  spot  for  the 
summer.  It  is  a  gloomy,  roomy  collection  of  almost  unfurnished 
chambers,  with  a  bed  or  two  here  and  there,  as  if  the  Franciscans, 
in  their  brown  vestments,  had  bestowed  themselves  occasionally 
for  a  night  or  two  at  a  time.  I  shivered  to  think  of  their  gloomy- 
looking  figures  in  the  silent  corridors ;  but  below  was  an  oratory, 
a  snug  parlour,  a  good  kitchen,  and  a  cheerful-looking  Tjrrolean 
maid-servant,  who  quitted,  or  was  presumed  to  quit,  when  the 
monks  made  their  annual  visitation. 

So,  after  all,  that  lone  house  opposite  the  bare  and  craggy 
heights  of  Achen-see  may  sometimes  resound  to  voices,  not  so 
mournful  in  their  tones  as  the  wailing  of  the  winds  which  re- 
sounded through  the  conventual  fishing-lodge,  when  it  was  visited 
by  the  loiterers,  who,  despite  the  dread  of  serge  gowns,  shaved 
heads,  and  pious  firauds,  would  fain  have  lingered  there. 


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3S 


CHLOROFORM. 

Here  Lethaigy,  with  deadly  sleep  oppressed. 
Stretched  on  his  back,  a  mighty  lubbard  lay, 
Heaving  his  sides  and  snoring  night  and  day ; 
To  stir  him  from  his  trance  it  was  not  eath. 
And  his  half-opened  eyne  he  shut  straightway ; 
He  led,  I  wot,  the  softest  way  to  death, 
And  taught  withouten  pain  and  strife  to  yield  the  breath. 

Castle  of  Indolence. 

The  desire  to  drown  pain  has  existed  from  the  time  that  suffer* 
ing  became  the  inheritance  of  fallen  man ;  and  the  discovery  of 
means  by  which  it  can  be  averted  has  justly  been  regarded  as  one 
of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  modem  science,  for  in  it  are  alike  in- 
terested high  and  low,  rich  and  poor;  and  it  is  this  general  interest 
which  leads  us  to  draw  aside,  in  some  degree,  the  veil  from  the 
chamber  of  suffering  for  the  comfort  of  some,  perhaps,  and  the 
information  of  many  who  are  desirous  of  knowing  in  what  way 
people  are  affected  by  Chloroform. 

The  most  usual  effect  is  to  produce  a  profound  sleep ;  so  pro- 
found that  volition  and  sensation  are  alike  suspended,  and  this  is 
often  attended  with  a  symptom  very  alarming  to  relatives  or  by- 
standers unprepared  for  it ;  we  allude  to  a  loud  snoring  or  ster* 
torous  breathing  which  conveys  the  idea  of  much  suffering  to 
those  who  are  not  aware  that  in  itself  it  is  direct  evidence  of  the 
deepest  unconsciousness.  It  is  not  however  invariably  produced : 
we  have  seen  a  fine  child  brought  in — laid  down  with  its  hands 
gently  folded  across  its  body — have  chloroform  administered--un- 
dergo  a  severe  operation,  and  be  carried  to  bed  without  once 
changing  its  attitude,  or  its  countenance  altering  from  the  expres- 
sion of  the  calm  sweet  sleep  of  infancy.  Sometimes,  however, 
strange  scenes  are  enacted  under  anaesthetics,  one  of  which  we  will 
describe.  The  uninitiated  have  a  vague  idea  that  the  operating 
theatre  of  hospitals  is  a  very  dreadful  place ;  certainly,  patients 
having  once  given  their  consent  to  enter  it  may,  so  far  as  escape 
goes,  say  in  the  words  of  Dante, 

'  Lasciate  ogni  speranza  voi  ch'  entrate/ 

but  every  consideration  is  shown  to  soften  down  as  much  as  pos- 
sible the  terrors  inseparable  from  a  chamber  of  torture. 

Imagine  then  a  lofty  semicircular  apartment,  lighted  from  above, 
with  a  large  space  railed  off  on  the  ground,  and  railed  steps  in  tiers, 
sweeping  half  round,  and  affording  standing  room  for  more  than  a 
hundred  spectators,  principally  students,  who,  conversing  in  low 
tones,  are  awaiting  the  expected  operation.  In  the  centre  of  the 
open  space  is  a  strong  couch,  or  table,  now  covered  with  a  clean 
sheet,  and  beneath  its  foot  is  a  wooden  tray,  thickly  strewn  with 
yellow  sand.  On  another  table,  also  covered  with  a  white  cloth, 
are  arranged,  in  perfect  order,  numerous  keen  and  formidable  look- 

VOL.  XXXIV.  J> 

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34  ^     CHLOBOFORM. 

ing  instnimeDtSy  the  edge  of  one  of  which,  a  long,  sword-like,  dou- 
ble-edged knife— a  gentleman  with  his  cuffs  turned  up,  is  trying,  by 
shaving  off  little  bits  of  cuticle  from  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  two 
or  three  assistants  are  quietly  threading  needles,  and  making  other 
preparations.  The  gentleman  with  the  knife  being  satisfied  as  to  its 
condition,  gives  a  glance  round,  and  seeing  everything  in  perfect 
readiness,  nods,  and  a  dresser  leaves  the  room.  After  a  minute  or 
two,  a  shuffling  of  feet  is  heard,  the  folding  doors  are  thrown  open, 
and  a  strong,  surly-looking,  bull-headed  "navvy,"  whose  leg  has 
been  smashed  by  a  railway  accident,  is  borne  in  and  gently  placed 
on  the  table.  His  face  is  damp  and  pale,  he  casts  an  anxious — 
eager  look  around,  then  with  a  shudder  closes  his  eyes,  and  lies 
down  on  his  back.  The  chloroform  apparatus  is  now  applied  to 
his  mouth,  and  a  dead  silence  marks  the  general  expectancy.  The 
man's  face  flushes — he  struggles,  and  some  muffled  exclamations 
are  heard.  In  a  minute  or  two  more  the  gentleman  who  has  charge 
of  the  chloroform  examines  his  eyes,  touches  the  eyeball — ^the  lids 
wink  not,  the  operator  steps  forward,  and  in  a  trice  the  limb  is 
transfixed  with  the  long  bistoury. 

Some  intelhgence  now  animates  the  patient's  face,  which  bears 
a  look  of  drunken  jollity.  *^  Ha !  ha !  ha!  Capital !''  he  shouts, 
evidently  in  imagination  with  his  boon  companions,  ^^  a  jolly  good 
song,  and  jolly  well  sung!  I  always  knowM  Jem  was  a  good  un  to 
chaunt !  I  sing  !  dash  my  wig  if  I  ain't  as  husky  as  a  broken^ 
winded  'os.     Well,  if  I  must,  I  must,  so  here  goes." 

By  this  time  the  bone  has  been  bared,  and  the  operator  saws, 
whilst  the  patient  shouts 

"  *  'Tis  my  delight  o'  a  moonlight  night—* 

whose  that  a  treading  on  my  toe?  None  o'your  tricks,  Jem! 
Hold  your  jaw,  will  you  ?  Who  can  sing  when  you  are  making 
such  a  blessed  row  ?  ToU-de-rol-loll.  Come,  gi'e  us  a  drop,  will 
ye  ?  What !  drunk  it  all  ?  Ye  greedy  beggars !  I'll  fight  the  best 
man  among  ye  for  half  a  farden  !"  and  straightway  he  endeavours 
to  hit  out,  narrowly  missing  the  spectacles  of  a  gentleman  in  a 
white  cravat,  who  steps  hastily  back,  and  exclaims,  ^^hold  him 
fast!" 

The  leg  being  now  separated  is  placed  under  the  table,  and  the 
arteries  are  tied,  with  some  little  difficulty,  on  account  of  the  un- 
steadiness of  the  patient,  who,  besides^  his  pugnacity  in  general, 
has  a  quarrel  with  an  imaginary  bull-dog,  which  he  finds  it  neces- 
sary to  kick  out  of  the  room.  He,  however,  recovers  his  good 
humour  whilst  the  dressings  are  being  applied,  and  is  borne  out 
of  the  theatre  shouting,  singing,  and  anathematising  in  a  most 
stentorian  voice;  when  in  bed,  however,  he  falls  asleep,  and  in 
twenty  minutes  awakes  very  subdued,  in  utter  ignorance  that  any 
operation  has  been  performed,  and  with  only  a  dim  recollection  of 
being  taken  into  the  theatre,  breathing  something,  and  feeling 
"  werry  oueer,"  as  he  expresses  it. 

Now  this  scene  is  a  faithful  description  of  an  incident  witnessed 
by  the  writer  at  one  of  our  comity  hospitals  to  which  he  is  attached, 


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CHLOBOFORM.  85 

and  those  iw-ho  hare  seen  much  of  the  adnunistnttion  of  ether  and 
chloroform  will  remember  many  resembhng  it  The  man  was  a 
hard  drinker,  and  a  dose  of  chloroform  which  would  have  placed 
most  persons  in  deep  sleep,  deprived  him  of  sensation,  but  went 
BO  further  than  exciting  the  phantasms  of  a  drunken  dream. 

A  \%Titer  in  the  North  British  Review  says  that  *^  experience  has 
fully  shown  that  the  brain  may  be  acted  on  so  as  to  annihilate  for 
the  time  what  may  be  termed  the  faculty  of  feeling  pain  ;  the  organ 
of  general  sense  may  be  lulled  into  profound  sleep,  while  the 
organ  of  special  sense  and  the  organ  of  intellectual  function  remain 
wide-awake,  active,  and  busily  employed.  The  patient  may  feel 
no  pain  under  very  cruel  cutting,  and  yet  he  may  see,  hear,  taste, 
and  smell,  as  well  as  ever,  to  all  appearance ;  and  he  may  aJso  be 
perfectly  conscious  of  everything  within  reach  of  his  observation 
— able  to  reason  on  such  events  most  lucidly,  and  able  to  retain 
both  the  events  and  the  reasoning  in  his  memory  afterwards.  We 
have  seen  a  patient  following  the  operator  with  her  eyes  most  in- 
telligently and  watchfully  as  he  shifted  his  place  near  her,  lifted 
his  knife,  and  proceeded  to  use  it — wincing  not  at  all  during  its 
use ;  answering  questions  by  gesture  very  readily  and  plainly,  and 
after  the  operation  was  over,  narrating  every  event  as  it  occurred, 
declaring  that  she  knew  and  saw  all ;  stating  that  she  knew  and 
feh  that  she  was  being  cut,  and  yet  that  she  felt  no  pain  whatever. 
Patients  have  said  quietly,  *  You  are  sawing  now,^  during  the  use 
of  the  saw  in  amputation;  and  afterwards  they  have  declared  most 
solemnly  that  though  quite  conscious  of  that  part  of  the  operation 
they  felt  no  pain."  We  may  here  remark,  that  a  very  common, 
but  erroneous  supposition  is,  that  sawipg  through  the  marrow  is 
the  most  painful  jwt  of  an  amputation  ;  this  has  arisen  from  con- 
founding the  fatty  matter  of  the  true  marrow  with  the  spinal  cord — 
a  totally  difierent  thing — thesensation  of  sawing  the  bone  is  like  that 
of  filing  the  teeth,  and  is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  first  inci- 
non^  which  is  very  much  as  if  a  red-hot  iron  swept  round  the  limb. 

When  ether  was  used,  such  scenes  as  that  described,  occurred ; 
but,  with  rare  exceptions,  chloroform  efiectually  wipes  out  the  tab- 
lets of  the  brain,  and  prevents  any  recollection  of  the  incidents 
that  occur  during  its  influence ;  we  have  often  heard  a  person  talk 
coherently  enough  when  partially  under  its  influence,  yet  afterwards 
no  efibrt  of  memory  could  recall  the  conversation  to  his  mind. 

An  able  London  physician.  Dr.  Snow,  has  paid  great  attention 
to  the  administration  of  chloroform,  and  has  satisfied  himself  by 
actual  observation,  that  when  there  are  obscure  indications  of  pain 
during  an  operation,  there  is  no  sufiering,  properly  so  to  speak,  for 
sensation  returns  gradually  in  those  cases  where  complete  con- 
sciousness is  regained  before  the  common  sensibility.  Under 
these  circumstances  the  patient  when  first  beginning  to  feel,  de- 
scribes as  something  pricking  or  pinching,  proceedings  that  with- 
out anaesthetics  would  cause  intense  pain,  and  does  not  feel  at  all 
that  which  would  at  another  time  excite  considerable  suflering. 

The  disposition  to  sing  is  by  no  means  uncommon  during  the 
stage  of  excitement ;  we  well  remember  the  painful  astonishment 

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S6  CHLOROFORM. 

of  a  grave  elderly  abstinent  divine,  who,  on  being  told  after  an 
operation  that  he  had  sang,  exclaimed,  ^*  Good  gracious,  is  it  pos- 
sible !  Why,  my  dear  Sir,  I  never  sang  a  song  in  my  life,  and  is 
it  possible  I  could  have  so  committed  myself — ^but  what  could  I 
have  sung  ?^  A  little  badinage  took  place,  it  being  insinuated  that 
the  song  was  of  a  rather  Tom-Moorish  character,  till  his  horror 
became  so  great  that  it  was  necessary  to  relieve  his  mind  by  telling 
him  that  ^^  Hallelujah'*  was  the  burden  of  his  chaunt. 

The  general  condition  of  the  patient  as  regards  robustness  or 
the  contrary,  has  been  found  by  Dr.  Snow  to  exercise  a  consider- 
able influence  on  the  way  in  which  chloroform  acts ;  usually  the 
more  feeble  the  patient  is,  the  more  quietly  does  he  become  insen- 
sible ;  whilst  if  he  is  strong  and  robust  there  is  very  likely  to  be 
mental  excitement,  rigidity  of  the  muscles  and  perhaps  struggling. 
Dr.  Snow  has  frequently  exhibited  chloroform  in  extreme  old  age 
with  the  best  effects,  and  does  not  consider  it  a  source  of  danger 
when  proper  care  is  taken  ;  old  persons  are  generally  rather  longer 
than  others  in  recovering  their  consciousness,  probably  because, 
owing  to  their  circulation  and  respiration  being  less  active,  the 
vapour  requires  a  longer  time  to  escape  by  the  lungs,  and  it  may 
be  remarked,  that  chloroform  passes  off  unchanged  from  the  blood, 
in  the  expired  air. 

The  usual  and  expected  effect  of  chloroform  is  to  deprive  the 
individual  of  consciousness ;  but  it  occasionally  fails  to  do  this 
and  gives  rise  to  a  very  remarkable  trance-like  condition.  We 
were  once  present  when  chloroform  was  administered  to  a  lady 
about  to  undergo  a  painful  operation  on  the  mouth ;  the  usual 
phenomena  took  place,  and  in  due  time  the  gentleman  who  admi- 
nistered the  vapour  announced  that  she  was  perfectly  insensible ; 
the  operation  was  performed,  and  during  its  progress  the  by- 
standers conversed  unreservedly  on  its  difficulties  and  the  pros- 
pects  of  success. 

When  the  patient  ^  came  to,'  she,  to  our  utter  astonishment,  as- 
serted that  she  had  been  perfectly  conscious  the  whole  time,  though 
unable  to  make  the  least  sign  or  movement,  had  felt  pain,  and  bad 
heard  every  word  spoken,  which  was  proved  by  her  repeating  the 
conversation  ;  she  stated  that  the  time  seemed  a  perfect  age,  and 
that  though  hearing  and  feeling  what  was  going  on  she  lived  her 
life  over  again,  events  even  of  early  childhood  long  forgotten,  rising 
up  like  a  picture  before  her.  It  is  said,  and  truly,  that  in  the  few 
seconds  between  sleeping  and  waking,  some  of  the  longest  dreams 
take  place,  and  that  a  drowning  man  has  just  before  the  extinction 
of  consciousness  reviewed  as  in  a  mirror,  every  action  of  his  life. 
So  in  the  case  of  this  lady,  years  appeared  to  move  slowly  on  and 
to  be  succeeded  by  other  years  with  all  their  events,  each  attended 
with  corresponding  emotions,  during  the  few  minutes  she  was 
fairly  under  the  chloroformic  influence:  yet  with  all  this  the  pro- 
minent feeling  was  an  intense  struggling  to  make  us  aware  that  she 
was  not  insensible ;  of  which  condition  there  was  every  outward 
indication. 
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CHLOBOVOBM,  87 

with  the  mimosa  pudica  or  sensitive  plant ;  now  it  is  a  carious  fact 
that  the  influence  of  chloroform  is  not  confined  to  the  animal 
kingdom,  but  extends  to  the  vegetable  world,  for  Professor  Marcet 
of  Geneva  has  ascertained  that  it  possesses  the  power  of  arresting 
for  a  time,  if  not  of  altogether  destroying,  the  irritability  of  the  sen- 
sitive plant.  Thus  we  find  from  time  to  time  striking  illustrations 
of  the  identity  which  exists  in  the  irritability  of  plants  and  the 
nervous  systems  of  animals. 

Among  the  ancients  the  mandrake,  or  mandragora,  held  a  high 
reputation  for  utility  in  drowning  pain.  Pliny  tells  us  that  ^'in  the 
digging  up  of  the  root  of  mandrage  there  are  some  ceremonies  ob- 
served ;  first,  they  that  goe  about  this  worke  looke  especially  to 
this,  that  the  wind  be  not  in  their  face  but  blow  upon  their  backs; 
then  with  the  point  of  a  sword  they  draw  three  circles  round 
about  the  plant,  which  don,  they  dig  it  up  afterwards  with  their 
face  into  the  west.  •  •  It  may  be  used  safely  enough  for  to  pro- 
cure sleep  if  there  be  a  good  regard  had  in  the  dose,  that  it  be 
answerable  in  proportion  to  the  strength  and  complexion  of  the 
patient;  it  is  an  ordinary  thing  to  drink  it  against  the  poison  of 
serpents;  likewise  before  the  cutting  or  cauterizing,  pricking  or 
launcing,  of  any  member,  to  take  away  the  sense  ana  feeling  of 
such  extreme  cures:  and  sufficient  it  is  in  some  bodies  to  cast 
them  into  a  sleep  with  the  smel  of  mandrage,  against  the  time  of 
such  chirurgery."* 

The  discovery  of  chloroform^  as  an  anaesthetic  agent,  was  made 
by  Dr.  Simpson  of  Edinburgh,  and  was  attended  with  some  very 
amusing  circumstances,  as  narrated  by  Professor  Miller.  Dr.  Simp- 
son had  long  felt  convinced  that  there  existed  some  ansBsthetic 
agent  superior  to  ether,  which  was  then  all  the  rage,  and  in  Octo- 
ber 1847  got  up  pleasant  little  parties  quite  in  a  sociable  way,  to 
try  the  efiects  of  other  respirable  gases  on  himself  and  friends. 
The  ordinary  way  of  experimenting  was  as  follows.  Each  guest 
was  supplied  with  about  a  teaspoonful  of  the  fluid  to  be  experi- 
mented on,  in  a  tumbler  or  finger-glass,  which  was  placed  in  hot 
water  if  the  substance  did  not  happen  to  be  very  volatile.  Hold- 
ing the  mouth  and  nostrils  over  the  open  vessel  inhalation  was  pro- 
ceeded with  slowly  and  deliberately,  all  inhaling  at  the  same  time, 
and  each  noting  the  efiects  as  they  arose.  Late  on  the  evening 
of  the  4th  November  1847,  Dr.  Simpson,  with  his  two  friends  Drs. 
Keith  and  Duncan,  sat  down  to  quafi*  the  flowing  vapour  in  the 
dining  room  of  the  learned  host.  Having  inhaled  several  sub- 
stances without  much  effect,  it  occurred  to  Dr.  Simpson  to  try  a 
ponderous  material  which  he  had  formerly  set  aside  on  a  lumber 
table  as  utterly  unpromising.  It  happened  to  be  a  small  bottle  of 
chloroform,  and  with  each  tumbler  newly  charged,  the  inhalers 
solemnly  pursued  their  vocation.  Immediately  an  unwonted  hila- 
rity seized  the  party— their  eyes  sparkled — they  became  exces- 
sively joUy  and  very  loquacious.  The  conversation  flowed  so 
briskly,  that  some  ladies  and  a  naval  officer  who  were  present  were 

*  Philemon  Holland's  Translation  of  Plioy.    Part  II.  p.  335. 

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at  GHLORQF&BJf. 

quite  ehanaied.  But  suddenly  there  was  a  talk  of  sounds  being 
heard  like  Ihoae  of  a  ootton-mil),  louder  and  louder — a  mo- 
ment more — a  dead  silenocy  and  then  a  crash  !  On  awaking. 
Dr.  Simpson^s  first  pereeplion  was  mental,  ^^  this  is  far  stronger 
and  better  than  ether,**  said  he  to  himself.  His  second  was  to 
note  that  he  was  prostrate  on  the  floor,  and  that  among  his  friends 
about  hiin^  there  was  both  confusion  and  alarm.  Hearing  a  noise, 
he  turned  round  and  saw  Dr.  Duncan  in  a  most  undignified  atti*^ 
tude  beneath  a  chair.  His  jaw  had  dropped,  his  eyes  were  start- 
ing,  his  head  bent  half  under  him  ;  quite  unconscious  and  snoring 
in  a  most  determined  and  alarming  manner — more  noise  still  to  tb« 
doctor  and  much  motion -^-disagreeably  so — and  then  his  eyes 
overtook  Dr.  Keith's  feet  and  legs,  making  valorous  efforts  to  over-^ 
turn  the  supper  table,  and  annihilate  everything  that  was  on  it. 

By-and-by  Dr.  Simpson's  head  ceased  to  swim,  a^d  he  regained 
bis  seat;  Dr.  Duncan,  having  finished  his  uncomfortable  slumber, 
resumed  his  chair;  and  Dr.  Keith,  having  come  to  an  arrange- 
ment with  the  table,  likewise  assumed  his  seat  and  his  placidity ; 
then  came  a  comparing  of  notes  and  a  chorus  of  congratolation, 
for  the  object  had  been  attained  ;  and  this  was  the  way  in  which 
the  wonderful  powers  of  chloroform  were  first  discovered  and  put 
to  the  test  It  may  be  added,  that  the  small  stock  of  chloroform 
having  been  speedily  exhausted,  Mr.  Hunter,  of  the  firm  of  Dun- 
can, Flockhart,  and  Co.,  was  pressed  into  the  service  for  restoring 
the  supply,  and  little  respite  had  that  gentleman  f(»-  many  months 
from  his  chloroformic  labours. 

According  to  our  own  experience,  chloroform  is  by  no  meanci 
disagreeable.  Circumstances  led  to  our  taking  it,  and  as  far  as  we 
remember,  our  feelings  were  nearly  as  follows : — the  nervousness 
which  the  anticipation  of  the  chloroform  and  the  expected 
operation  had  excited,  gradually  passed  away  after  a  few  inhala- 
tions, and  was  succeeded  by  a  pleasant  champaigny  exhilaration ;  a 
few  seconds  more  and  a  rather  unpleasant  oppression  of  the  chest 
led  to  an  endeavour  to  express  discomfort,  but  whilst  still  doing  so 
—or  rather  supposing  we  were  doing  so — we  were  informed  that 
the  operation  was  over.  Utterly  incredulous,  we  sought  for  prooj^ 
soon  found  it,  and  then  our  emotions  of  joy  were  almost  over- 
whelming. In  tmth,  we  had  been  insensible  fuU  five  minutes; 
but  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  chloroformic  unconsciousness  being 
the  obliteration  of  memory,  the  person  is  carried  on  from  the 
last  event  before  the  full  efiect  of  the  chloroform,  to  the  return  of 
consciousness,  as  one  and  the  same  current  of  ideas. 

An  important  point  in  connection  with  chloroform,  is  the 
possibility  of  its  illegal  use  for  the  purposes  of  robbery,  &c. 
About  two  years  ago,  several  cases  occurred,  in  which  it  was  said 
to  have  been  employed  for  that  object,  and  so  serious  was  tl^ 
jnatter  considered,  that  Lord  Campbell  made  it  the  special  subject 
of  a  penal  enactment.  There  are,  however,  something  more  tbim 
grave  doubts  on  the  minds  of  those  best  acquainted  with  the  sub- 
ject, as  to  whether  chloroform  has  not  laboured  under  an  unjust 
accusation,  in  some,  at  leasts  of  the  cases  aHuded  to ;  and  as  it  is 


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CHLOBOrORM.  8» 

rerj  possible  tbd  tbe  qnestion  way  from  Iniie  to  time  be  nuted^ 
we  will  state  the  gromkls  on  which  Dr.  Snow,  a  pscoltarly  eom- 
pelent  antbority,  arrived  at  the  opinioQ  that  chloroform  caDnot  be 
used  with  effect  in  street  robberies. 

When  administered  graduallyy  chloroform  can  be  breathed 
easily  enough  by  a  person  wiUing  and  anxious  to  take  it ;  but  he 
has  to  draw  his  breath  many  times  before  he  becomes  uncon* 
scions.  Dnring  all  Uiis  intenral  he  has  the  perfect  perception  of 
the  impression  of  tbe  raponr  on  his  nose,  mouth,  and  throat,  as 
well  as  of  other  sensations  which  it  causes ;  and  every  person 
who  has  inhaled  chloroform,  retains  a  Tecollection  of  these 
impvessions  and  sensations.  If  chloroform  be  given  to  a  child 
whilst  asleep,  the  child  awakes  in  nearly  every  instance  before 
being  made  insensible,  however  gently  the  vapour  may  be  insi* 
Buated,  and  no  animal,  either  wild  or  tame,  can  be  made  insensible 
without  being  first  secured;  the  chloroform  may,  it  is  true,  be 
suddenly  applied  on  a  handkerchief  to  the  nose  of  an  animal,  but 
die  creature  turns  its  head  aside  or  runs  away  without  breathing 
any  of  the  vapour.  If  a  handkerchief  wetted  with  sufficient  chlo- 
roform to  cause  insensibility,  is  suddenly  applied  to  a  person's 
face,  the  pungency  of  the  vapour  is  so  great  as  immediately  to 
interrupt  the  breathing,  and  the  individual  could  not  inhale  it 
even  if  he  should  wish.  From  all  these  facts,  it  is  evident  that 
chloroform  cannot  be  given  to  a  person  in  his  sober  senses  with* 
out  his  knowledge  and  full  consent,  except  by  main  force.  It  is 
certain,  therefore,  that  this  agent  cannot  be  employed  in  a  public 
street  or  thoroughfare ;  and  as  the  force  that  nxHild  be  required  to 
make  a  person  take  it  against  bis  will,  woi^  be  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  effect  a  robbery,  and  enough  to  effect  any  other  felony  by 
ordinary  means,  it  would  afford  no  help  to  the  criminal  in  more 
secluded  situatioas.  Supposing  that  the  felon,  or  felons,  could 
^icceed  in  keeping  a  handkerchief  closely  applied  to  the  face,  the 
person  attacked  would  only  begin  to  breathe  the  chloroform  when 
dioroughly  exhausted  by  resistance  or  want  of  breath,  and  when, 
in  fact,  the  culprits  could  effect  their  purpose  without  it 

A  proof  of  these  positions  was  afforded  by  the  circumstances 
attending  a  case  in  which  chloroform  really  was  used  for  the 
purpose  of  committing  a  robbery.  A  man  contrived  to  secrete 
Imnsdf  under  a  bed  in  an  hotel  at  Kendal,  and  at  midnight  at- 
tempted to  give  chloroform  to  an  elderly  gentleman  in  his  sleep. 
The  eflfect  of  this  was  to  awaken  him,  and  though  the  robber  used 
such  violence  that  tbe  night-dress  of  his  victim  was  covered  with 
blood,  and  the  bedding  fell  on  the  ffoor  in  the  scuffle,  he  did  not 
succeed  in  his  purpose ;  the  people  in  the  house  were  disturbed, 
the  tlnef  secuved,  tried,  and  punished  by  eighteen  months^  hard 
labour. 

When,  therefore,  we  hear  marvellous  tales  of  persons  going 
along  the  street  betng  rendered  suddenly  insensible  and  in  that 
state  robbed,  it  may  fiiirly  be  concluded  that  att  tbe  facts  are  not- 
staled,  and  that  chloroform  is  brought  forward  to  smother  sem»> 
thing  which  it  may  not  be  convenient  to  make  knowui. 

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40  CHLOBOFORK. 

The  conclusion  so  eagerly  jumped  at,  that  because  people  had 
been  robbed  in  an  unusual  manner,  they  had  certainly  been  chlo- 
roformed, reminds  us  of  a  story  of  a  very  respectable  quack,  who 
was  in  the  habit  of  listening  to  the  statements  of  his  clients, 
and,  under  pretence  of  retiring  to  a  closet  to  meditate,  there  opened 
a  book  which  contained  cures  for  all  diseases,  and  on  whatever 
remedy  his  eye  first  fell,  that  he  resolved  to  tiy. 

On  one  fine  morning  he  was  summoned  to  a  girl,  who,  being 
tickled  whilst  holding  some  pins  in  her  mouth,  unfortunately  swal- 
lowed one,  which  stuck  in  her  throat.  The  friends,  with  some 
justice,  urged  the  doctor  to  depart  from  his  usual  custom,  and  do 
something  instantly  for  the  relief  of  the  sufferer;  but  the  sage 
was  inexorable,  and  declined  to  yield  to  their  entreaties,  though 
their  fears  that  the  damsel  would  be  choked  before  the  remedy 
arrived  were  energetically  expressed.  Happily  they  were  ground- 
less, for,  on  his  return,  the  doctor  ordered  a  scalding  hot  poultice 
to  be  applied  over  the  whole  abdomen,  which  being  done,  an 
involuntary  spasmodic  action  was  excited,  the  pin  was  ejected,  and 
the  doctor's  fame  and  his  practice  greatly  extended.  ITie  remedy 
had  certainly  the  charm  of  novelty,  but  will  scarcely  do  to  be 
relied  on  in  similar  cases. 

A  very  remarkable  difference  exists  between  persons  as  to  their 
capability  of  bearing  pain  ;  generally  those  of  high  sensitiveness 
and  intellectuality — whose  nerves,  in  common  parlance,  are  finely 
strung,  evince  the  greatest  susceptibility.  To  them  a  scratch  or 
trifling  wound,  which  others  would  scarcely  feel,  is  really  a  cause 
of  acute  pain.  The  late  Sir  Robert  Peel  presented  this  condition 
in  a  marked  degree ;  a  slight  bite  from  a  monkey  at  the  Zoolo- 
gical Gardens,  some  time  before  his  death,  caused  him  to  faint ; 
and  after  the  sad  accident  which  took  him  firom  among  us,  it  was 
found  impossible  to  make  a  full  and  satisfactory  examination  of 
the  seat  of  injury,  from  the  exquisite  torment  which  the  slightest 
movement  or  handling  of  the  parts  occasioned.  Some  serious 
injury  had  been  inflicted  near  the  collar-bone,  and  a  forcible  con- 
trast to  the  illustrious  statesman  is  presented  by  General  Sir  John 
Moore,  who,  on  the  field  of  Corunna,  received  his  mortal  wound 
in  the  same  situation.  The  following  is  the  account  given  by 
Sir  William  Napier. 

*^  Sir  John  Moore,  while  eamestiy  watching  the  result  of  the 
fight  about  the  village  of  Elvina,  was  struck  on  the  left  breast  by 
a  cannon-shot  The  shock  threw  him  from  his  horse  with  violence, 
but  he  rose  again  in  a  sitting  posture,  his  countenance  unchanged, 
and  his  steadfast  eye  still  fixed  on  the  regiments  engaged  in  his 
firont,  no  sigh  betraying  a  sensation  of  pain.  In  a  few  moments, 
when  he  was  satisfied  that  the  troops  were  gaining  ground,  his 
countenance  brightened  and  he  suffered  himself  to  be  taken  to  the 
rear.  Then  was  seen  the  dreadful  nature  of  his  hurt.  The 
shoulder  was  shattered  to  pieces,  the  arm  was  hanging  by  a  piece 
of  skin,  the  ribs  over  the  heart  were  broken  and  bared  of  flesh, 
and  the  muscles  of  the  breast  torn  into  long  strips,  which  were 
interlaced  by  their  recoil  from  the  dragging  of  the  shot.    As  the 


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GHLOROFOBM.  41 

soldiers  placed  bim  in  a  blanket,  bis  sword  got  entangled,  and  tbe 
bilt  entered  tbe  wound.  Captain  Hardinge  (tbe  present  Lord 
Hardinge),  a  staff  officer,  wbo  bappened  to  be  near,  attempted  to 
take  it  off,  bnt  tbe  dying  man  stopped  bim,  saying,  ^  It  is  as  well 
as  it  is :  I  bad  ratber  it  sbould  go  out  of  tbe  field  witb  me  :*  and 
in  tbat  manner,  so  becoming  a  soldier,  Moore  was  borne  from  tbe 
figbt.'' 

From  the  spot  wbere  be  fell,  tbe  General  was  carried  to  tbe 
town  by  a  party  of  soldiers,  bis  blood  flowed  fast,  and  tbe  torture 
of  bis  wound  was  great,  yet  sucb  was  tbe  unsbaken  firmness  of  bis 
mind,  tbat  tbose  about  bim,  judging  from  tbe  resolution  of  bis 
countenance  tbat  bis  burt  was  not  mortal,  expressed  a  bope  of  bis 
recovery;  bearing  tbis,  be  looked  steadfastly  at  tbe  injury  for 
a  moment,  and  tben  said,  ^'  No,  I  feel  tbat  to  be  impossible.** 

Seyeral  times  be  caused  bis  attendants  to  stop  and  turn  bim 
round,  tbat  be  migbt  bebold  tbe  field  of  battle,  and  wben  tbe 
firing  indicated  tbe  advance  of  tbe  Britisb,  be  discovered  bis  satis* 
faction,  and  permitted  tbe  bearers  to  proceed.  Being  brougbt  to 
bis  lodgings,  tbe  surgeons  examined  bis  wound,  but  t^ere  was  no 
hope,  tbe  pain  increased,  and  be  spoke  witb  great  difficulty  *  *  *, 
His  countenance  continued  firm,  and  bis  tbougbts  clear;  once 
only,  wben  be  spoke  of  bis  mother,  be  became  agitated ;  but  be 
oflen  inquired  after  tbe  safety  of  bis  friends  and  tbe  officers  of  bis 
staff,  ana  he  did  not,  even  in  this  moment,  forget  to  recommend 
those  whose  merit  had  given  them  claims  to  promotion.  His 
strength  failed  fast,  and  life  was  just  extinct,  when,  with  an 
unsubdued  spirit,  he  exclaimed,  *^  1  bope  tbe  people  of  England 
will  be  satisfied — I  bope  my  country  will  do  me  justice  1**  And 
so  be  died. 

It  is  to  be  boped  tbat  intense  mental  prei^>ccupation  somewbat 
blunted  the  sufiferings  of  the  General,  but  a  strong  bigb  courage 
prevented  any  unseemly  complaint.  We,  ourselves,  have  seen 
many  instances  in  an  operating  theatre— a  far  severer  test  of  true 
courage  than  the  excitement  of  battle  —  wbere  mutilations  the 
most  severe  have  been  borne  witb  unflincbing  courage ;  more 
frequently  by  women  than  by  men.  Perhaps  the  coolest  exhibi- 
tion of  fortitude  under  such  a  trial  was  exhibited  by  a  tailor,  who 
effectually  cleared  bis  profession  of  tbe  standing  reproach,  showing 
nine  times  tbe  pluck  of  ordinary  men.  This  man's  right  leg  was 
removed  below  the  knee,  long  before  chloroform  was  known ;  on 
being  placed  on  the  table,  he  quietly  folded  bis  arms,  and  sur- 
veyed tbe  preliminary  proceedings  witb  tbe  coolness  of  a  disin- 
terested spectator.  He  closed  his  eyes  during  the  operation,  but 
bis  face  remained  unchanged,  and  be  apologized  for  starting  when 
a  nerve  was  snipped.  When  all  was  over  be  rose,  quietly  tbanked 
the  operator,  bowed  to  tbe  spectators,  and  was  carried  out  of  tbe 
theatre.  We  grieve  to  say  the  poor  fellow  died,  to  the  regret  of 
every  one  who  witnessed  his  heroic  courage. 

Tbe  most  remarkable  account  of  indifference  to  pain  witb  which 
we  are  acquainted,  is  tbat  by  Mr.  Catlin,  of  the  self-imposed  tor- 
tures of  tbe  Mandan  Indians,  in  order  to  qualify  themselves  for 

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4^  GHLOROFOBSf • 

the  honoured  rank  of  warriors.  ^'  One  at  a  time  of  the  young  fellows 
already  emaciated  with  £Eisting,  and  thirsting,  and  waking,  for  near- 
ly  four  days  and  nights,  advanced  from  the  side  of  the  lodge  and 
placed  himself  on  his  hands  and  feet,  or  otherwise,  as  best  adapted 
for  the  performance  of  tlie  operation,  where  he  submitted  to  the 
cruelties  in  the  following  manner.  An  inch  or  more  of  the  flesh 
of  each  shoulder  was  taken  up  between  the  finger  and  thumb  by 
the  man  who  held  the  knife  in  his  right  hand,  and  the  knife  which 
had  been  ground  sharp  on  both  edges  and  then  hacked  and  notched 
with  the  blade  of  another  to  make  it  produce  as  much  pain  as  pos- 
sible, was  forced  through  the  flesh  below  the  fingers,  and  being 
withdrawn  was  ibllowed  by  a  splint  or  skewer  from  the  othor,  who 
held  a  bundle  of  such  in  his  left  hand,  and  was  ready  to  force 
them  through  the  wound.  There  were  then  two  cords  lowered 
down  from  the  top  of  the  lodge,  which  were  fastened  to  these 
splints  or  skewers,  and  they  instantly  began  to  haul  him  up  :  he 
was  thus  raised  until  his  body  was  just  suspended  from  the  ground 
where  he  rested,  until  the  knife  and  a  splint  were  passed  through 
the  flesh  or  integuments  in  a  similar  manner  on  each  arm  below 
the  shoulder,  below  the  elbow,  on  the  thighs,  and  below  the  knees. 
In  some  instances,  they  remained  in  a  reclining  posture  on  the 
ground,  until  this  paidFul  operation  was  finished,  which  was  per- 
formed in  all  instances  exactly  on  the  same  parts  of  the  bodies 
and  limbs ;  and  which,  in  its  progress,  occupied  some  five  or  six 
minutes. 

^^Each  one  was  then  instantly  raised  with  the  cords,  until  the 
weight  of  his  body  was  suspended  by  them,  and  then,  while  the 
blood  was  streaming  down  their  Hmbs,  the  bystanders  hung  upon 
the  splints  each  man^s  appropriate  shield,  bow,  quiver,  &c.,  and  in 
many  instances,  the  skutl  of  a  buffalo,  with  the  horns  on  it,  was 
attached  to  each  lower  arm,  and  each  lower  leg,  for  the  purpose, 
probably,  of  preventing,  by  their  great  weight,  the  struggling 
which  might  otherwise  take  place  to  their  disadvantage  whilst  they 
were  hung  up.  When  these  things  were  all  adjusted,  each  one 
was  raised  higher  by  the  cords,  until  these  weights  all  swung 
clear  from  the  ground.  *  *  The  u&flinching  fortitude  with 
which  every  one  of  them  bore  this  part  of  the  torture  surpassed 
credibility.f 

Happily,  in  this  country  at  least,  torture  is  now  only  made  sub- 
smrient  to  the  restoration  of  health  ;  and*  more  than  this,  the  most 
timid  may  survey  an  expected  operation  with  calm  indifference — 
so  far  as  the^  -pain  is  concerned :  the  terrors  of  the  knife  are  ex* 
tinguished,  and  though  the  result  of  all  such  proceedings  rests 
not  with  man,  it  is  permitted  us  to  apply  the  resources  of  our  art 
for  the  relief  of  suffering  humanity;  and  the  afflicted  can,  in  these 
tiBEies,  avail  themselves  of  surgical  skill,  without  passing  through  the 
terrible  ordeal  which  formerly  filled  the  heart  with  dread,  and  the 
contemplation  of  which  increased  tenfold  the  gloom  of  the  shadow 
of  the  dark  valley  beyond. 

t  "  Notes  on  ^  North  AaMrican  ladiaiis.'*    YoL  IL  p.  170. 

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48 


THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORLEANS.* 

A  WORK  on  the  reign  of  Louk  the  Foarteentb,  in  two  Yolumee, 
writtoB  bj  a  iDMi  who  figured  at  the  time,  and  of  whom  Madame 
SeTigiie  remarked  that  he  possessed  considerable  wit  and  intel- 
ligence, will  well  repay  a  careful  perusaL  Tbe  first  impression 
OD  looking  into  Cosnac'^s  ^^  Memoirs"  is  that  they  do  not  pro- 
mise to  afford  much  that  is  new  and  interesting,  and  that  cer- 
tainly they  do  not  answer  to  his  reputation,  it  is  only  slowly 
as  we  proceed  that  we  begin  to  be  aware  he  has  materially  in- 
formed us  on  many  points,  and  enabled  us  to  judge  more  clearly 
respecting  some  matters  which  previously  presented  themselves 
obscurely  to  our  minds.^  In  the  present  instance  I  intend  to 
select  for  discussion  the  most  beautiful  and  fascinating  person 
wbon  he  paints  in  his  ^  Memoirs ;  **  I  allude  to  Madame,  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans,  to  whom  Cosnac  had  the  honour  of  devoting 
himself  from  pure  attachment,  and  for  whom  also  he  had  the  honour 
of  suffering.  His  portrait  of  her  does  not  lose  any  of  its  attractions 
when  placed  near  those  which  are  more  imposing,  and  we  turn  to 
this  sketch  with  pleasure,  even  after  reading  Bossuet's  celebrated 
^*  Funeral  Oration,*^  for  it  forms  an  agreeable  addition  to  all  that 
has  been  written  by  Madame  La  Fayette,  Choisy,  and  La  Fare. 
Madame  La  Favette  furnishes  us  with  some  very  interesting  par- 
ticulars concerning  Madame  Henriette;  these  present  her  to  us 
exactly  in  the  light  in  which  a  refined  woman  and  a  princess  at 
heart,  would  wish  to  be  viewed ;  many  were  written  after  intimate 
conversations  with  Madame,  and  were  destined  by  Madame  La 
Fayette  for  her  perusal. 

The  young  English  Princess  was  educated  in  France  during  the 
misfortunes  of  her  house,  and  her  hand  was  promised  to  Monsieur, 
tbe  King's  brother.  Immediately  after  the  youthful  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth married  the  Intanta  of  Spain,  and  precisely  at  the  time  when 
Charles  the  Second  was  restored  to  the  throne  of  bis  ancestors.  She 
paid  a  visit  to  London  with  her  mother  to  see  her  royal  brother, 
shortly  after  his  restoration,  and  there  she  succeeded  in  winning  all 
hearts,  and  effectually  felt  the  power  of  her  charms.  At  this  time  she 
was  not  more  than  seventeen;  ^she  had/'  says  Choisy,  "brilliant 
and  expressive  black  ejpes,  and  so  full  of  fire  that  it  was  impossible  for 
any  man  to  resist  their  attraction ;  never  was  princess  more  engag- 
ing.'* On  her  return  to  France  she  became  the  object  of  general 
homage ;  Monsieur  was  also  among  those  who  offered  it  at  her 
shrine,  and  till  the  day  of  her  marriage  never  ceased  paying  her  the 
most  marked  attention,  though  love  was  wanting  to  make  it  accept- 
able; the  miracle  of  inflaming  this  Princess  heart,  however,  was  not 
to  be  accomplLriied  by  any  woman  in  the  world.    Among  the  persons 

*  TVaotlated  and  adapted  from  tbe  FiQDch. 

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44  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORLEANS. 

who  moved  in  Monsieur's  circle  was  a  young  nobleman,  who  was 
bis  cbief  favourite;  ibis  was  tbe  Count  de  Guicbe,  the  handsomest 
man  at  Court,  the  proudest,  tbe  bravest,  as  well  as  the  noblest  in 
appearance ;  he  wore  besides  an  air  of  dignified  self-possession, 
which  always  pleases  a  woman,  inasmuch  as  it  carries  out  their  ideas 
of  a  genuine  hero  of  romance,  and,  according  to  everybody's  opinion, 
the  Count  de  Guicbe  was  a  perfect  hero.  Now  Monsieur,  without 
being  in  love,  was  very  jealous,  which  is  not  at  all  an  uncommon 
case,  but  unfortunately  he  did  not  become  soon  enough  so,  for  the 
Count  de  Quiche's  peace  of  mind.  He  had  himself  introduced  the 
Count  to  the  Princess,  and  encouraged  their  intimacy;  conse* 
quently,  he  placed  him  in  a  position  admirably  calculated  for  be- 
coming fully  aware  of  all  her  charms. 

The  years  1661  and  1662  were  spent  in  all  the  enjoyment  of 
youth  and  freshness,  and  might  literally  be  called  the  spring  of  Louis 
the  Fourteenth's  reign;  gaiety,  gallantry,  and  ideas  of  love  and 
glory,  as  well  as  wit  and  talent,  calculated  to  foster  all  these  feelings, 
reigned  supreme  at  this  period.  As  soon  as  Madame  was  married 
and  emancipated  from  her  mother's  control,  by  whom  she  had  hitherto 
been  kept  in  leading-strings,  it  was  quite  a  discovery  when  it  was 
ascertained  that  she  possessed  as  much  intelligence  and  affability  as 
anybody  else.  Shortly  after  her  marriage  she  took  up  her  abode  with 
Monsieur  at  the  Tuileries,  and  when  later  she  quitted  this  residence 
she  removed  to  the  Palais  Royal,  so  that  she  was  indeed  a  Parisian 
Princess.  Monsieur,  although  excessively  indolent,  prided  himself 
on  being  popular  in  Paris  ;  when  the  Court  was  not  there  he  used 
to  delight  in  making  journeys  to  and  fro,  and  short  stays  in  the 
capital.  He  even  felt  a  malicious  kind  of  pleasure  because  he 
imagined  that  these  visits  were  displeasing  to  the  King,  ^<  but  in 
fact,^  says  Cosnac,  <<  be  was  enchanted  at  holding  a  court  of  his 
own,  and  was  perfectlv  in  raptures  when  there  happened  to  be 
a  large  assembly  of  the  fashionable  world  at  the  Palais  Royal, 
for  he  said  they  came  in  honour  of  him,  though,  in  reality,  Madame 
was  the  attraction.  He  was  careful  to  make  himself  agreeable 
to  everybody,  and  it  might  easily  be  observed  that  he  was  more  or 
less  lively  in  proportion  as  his  little  court  was  much  or  little 
attended.  But  as  I  did  not  perceive  that  these  visits  produced  the 
effect  which  he  seemed  to  desire,  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  I  saw 
from  what  he  himself  told  me  that  at  first  his  Majesty  had  been 
annoyed  by  them,  and  afterwards  had  ridiculed  them,  I  could 
never  gratify  him  by  applauding  his  conduct,  and  I  told  him  that  I 
did  not  think  it  prudent  of  him  to  afford  even  the  slightest  grounds 
of  displeasure  to  one  who  had  it  in  his  power  to  show  it  very 
seriously;  but  Monsieur  was  so  delighted  at  being  able  to  say 
quietly  to  about  ten  or  twelve  persons  on  the  evenings  which  he 
spent  in  Paris,  *  Well !  have  I  not  a  large  assembly  to-night  !*  that 
to  tell  him  such  truths  was  to  oppose  his  pleasure,  and  in  his  mind 
pleasure  always  took  the  place  of  more  important  things." 

Monsieur,  father  of  the  Orleans  branch,  generally  so  weak  and 
unworthy  a  father,  loved,  like  his  successors,  to  hold  his  Court  at 
the  Palais  Royal  and  to  share  some  of  the  King^s  popularity. 


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THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORLEANS.  48 

though  really  a  noDentity,  vanity  with  him  answered  the  purpose 
of  wisdom  and  penetration  in  political  matters. 

But  let  us  return  t^  Madame.  Shortly  after  the  commence- 
ment of  the  year  1661,  she  was  installed  in  the  Tuileries,  and 
there  she  made  choice  of  her  ladies-in-waiting  and  her  friends. 
Madame  la  Fayette,  who  was  one  of  them,  mentions  the  others. 
^^  All  these  persons,*'  says  the  amiable  historian,  *^  spent  the  after- 
noons in  Madame's  apartments,  and  they  had  the  honour  of  accom- 
panying her  in  her  airings.  On  returning  from  the  walk  supper 
was  taken  with  Monsieur,  and  after  supper  all  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Court  joined  the  circle,  the  programme  of  the  eveninff's  entertain- 
ment was  varied  by  acting,  playing  at  cards,  and  musical  perform- 
ances, and  everybody  was  thoroughly  amused,  so  that  there  was 
not  the  slightest  mixture  of  ermui.'*  The  King,  who  formerly  had 
been  little  pleased  at  the  idea  of  marrying  Madame,  <*  felt  as  he 
became  more  acquainted  with  her,  how  mistaken  he  had  been 
in  not  thinking  her  the  most  beautiful  person  in  the  world."  And 
here  the  romance  begins,  or  rather  many  romances  at  the  same 
time,  Madame  became  the  Queen  of  the  moment,  and  this  moment 
lasted  till  her  death.  She  gave  the  ton  to  the  whole  of  the  young 
Court,  and  arranged  all  the  parties  of  amusement :  these  were 
really  proposed  for  her  sake,  and  it  would  seem  that  the  King  only 
took  pleasure  in  them  in  proportion  as  she  enjoyed  herself. 

Madame  la  Fayette,  who  thus  furnishes  us  with  the  frame 
of  the  picture,  offers  us  also  a  peep  behind  the  scenes.  She 
describes  the  King  as  more  captivated  than  a  brother-in-law  should 
have  been,  and  Madame  more  touched  than  was  proper  for  a  sister- 
in-law  ;  then  she  speaks  of  the  budding  La  Valliere,  who  oppor- 
tunely prevented  them  from  becoming  still  more  deeply  attached 
to  each  other;  of  the  Count  de  Guiche,  who,  at  this  precise 
time,  was  making  the  same  advances  in  Madame's  favour,  as  La 
Yalli^re's  was  in  the  King's.  Then  follows  an  account  of  those 
jealousies,  suspicions,  rivalries,  and  deceptions  of  confidants,  who 
made  themselves  useful  and  were  found  to  be  treacherous,  which 
always  form  so  prominent  a  part  in  the  history  of  young  and  loving 
hearts.  But  here  we  have  to  deal  with  royalty  as  well  as  youth, 
and  royalty,  too,  which  shed  a  lustre  over  the  most  glorious  reign, 
history  finds  a  place  for  them,  and  literature  has  consecrated  their 
memory  though  poetry  has  not  recorded  their  praise.  In  order  to 
comprehend  fully  how  Madame  remained  faithful  to  her  husband 
in  the  midst  of  so  many  snares,  and  was  able  to  say  truly,  on  her 
death-bed,  **  Monsieur,  I  have  never  forgotten  that  I  was  your 
wife,'*— the  difSculties  of  her  position  must  be  borne  in  mind  as 
well  as  her  age  and  that  kind  of  innocence  which  generally  accom- 
panies youthful  imprudence.  When  the  Count  de  Guiche  was 
exiled  in  1664,  Madame,  who  was  then  twenty  years^  old,  had 
become  more  guarded  in  her  behaviour. 

'<  Madame,^'  says  Madame  la  Fayette,  ^Mid  not  wish  him  to  bid 
her  good-bye  because  she  knew  that  everybody  was  observing  her, 
and  she  was  no  longer  young  enough  to  think  that  that  which  was 
most  hazardoos  was  most  agreeable.^ 

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46  THE  DUCHESS  OF  OKLEANS. 

The  Count  de  Guiche'^s  exile  made  considerable  sensation,  and 
gave  birth  to  one  of  those  libels  printed  in  Holland,  of  which 
Bussy-Rabutin  had  the  miserable  honour  of  setting  the  example  in 
his  *^  Histoires  Amoureuses.^  Madame,  who  wns  fortunately  in- 
formed of  it  in  time,  dreading  the  effect  it  might  have  on  Mon* 
sieur's  mind,  applied  to  Cosnac  to  break  the  matter  to  this  Prince, 
and  to  endeavour  to  soothe  his  resentment;  she  was  more  par- 
ticularly grieved,  because  the  libel  was  already  printed  (1666). 
Cosnac  undertook  to  have  the  copies  destroyed,  and  to  prevent 
any  from  being  issued;  consequently,  he  sent  M.  Patin,  son  of 
Guy  Patin,  and  a  very  intelligent  person,  into  Holland,  in  order 
that  he  might  visit  all  the  booksellers  there  who  were  likely  to 
have  the  book  in  their  possession. 

^  M.  Patin  so  thoroughly  succeeded  in  his  mission,^'  says  Cosnac, 
<<  that  he  obtained  an  act  which  prevented  its  being  henceforward 
printed.  And  brought  away  eighteen  hundred  copies  of  it  already 
prepared  for  circulation.^ 

This  affair  increased  Cosnac's  intimacy  with  Madame,  and  from 
this  period  it  will  be  observed  that  he  espoused  her  interests  on  all 
occasions.  While  he  was  in  civile  at  Valence,  Madame,  who  was 
more  and  more  appreciated  by  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  was  selected 
by  him  to  negotiate  with  Charles  the  Second,  her  brother,  with  a 
view  of  inducing  him  to  break  off  his  alliance  with  Holland,  and  of 
persuadinff  bim  to  declare  himself  a  Roman  Catholia  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  was  not  so  anxious  on  the  latter  head  as  on  the 
former.  The  negotiation  was  in  so  advanced  a  stage,  even  as 
concerned  the  most  delicate  portion  of  it,  namely,  the  declaration 
of  Roman  Catholicism;  Maaame,  too,  imagined  it  would  be  so 
soon  concluded,  tiiat  ^e  thought  she  might  venture  to  apprise 
Cosnac  of  a  present  and  a  surprise  which  she  had  in  store  for  him, 
be  received  the  following  letter  from  Madame,  dated  from  Saint 
Cloud,  June  the  10th,  1669. 

*^  There  is  unfortunately  much  sorrow  for  the  injustice  which  is 
done  you,  for  which  it  is  almost  impossible  that  your  friends  can 
offer  you  consolation.  Madame  de  Saint  Chaumont  (governess  of 
the  Duke  of  Orleans'  children)  and  I  have  resolved,  in  order  to  do 
something  towards  enabling  you  to  support  your  disgrace,  that  you 
shall  have  a  Cardinal's  hat ;  this  may  at  first  appear  to  you  a  mere 
dream,  considering  that  those  persons,  from  whom  come  these  kind 
of  iavours,  are  quite  unlikely  to  bestow  any  on  you  ;  but  to  be  able 
to  comprehend  this  enigma,  you  must  know  that  among  Uie  multi- 
tude of  affisiirs  which  are  now  in  treaty  between  France  and  Eng- 
land, one  of  them  will  render  the  latter  of  so  much  consequence  at 
Rome,  that  it  will  only  be  too  glad  to  oblige  the  King,  my  brother, 
and  will  refuse  him  nothing,  so  I  have  already  applied  to  him  to 
ask  for  a  Cardinal's  hat,  without  mentioning  for  whom;  he  has 
promised  to  do  so  for  me,  and  therefore  you  will  have  it  you  may 
depend  upon  it." 

The  allusion  to  this  Canlinars  hat,  as  on  the  point  of  being 
presented  to  a  man  in  disgrace,  produces  a  singular  efiect  on  our 
minds,  and  one  feels  sure,  aftef  reading  this  letter,  tbat^tbere  was  a 

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THE  IXICHS8S  OF  ORLEAl^  47 

fittle  indulgence  of  finicy  in  it,  sudi  as  the  most  intelligent  women 
willingly  mix  with  ^eir  political  affaire.  It  mast  be  said,  in 
justice  to  Cosnac,  that  be  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  dazzled  by 
the  prospect;  be  was  more  gratified  at  this  mark  of  esteem  on 
Madame^s  part  than  anything  else. 

^  However  ambitious  I  may  have  been  thought  by  the  world,  I 
can  say  with  perfect  sincerity  that  what  pleased  me  most  in  this 
letter,  was  the  assurance  of  Madame's  increased  friendship  for  me, 
it  was,  in  fact,  the  diief  honour  which  I  coveted.  During  her 
Tisit  to  Dover,  whither  she  had  gone  to  see  her  brother,  the  King, 
in  order  to  make  him  sign  the  treaty  with  Louts  the  Fourteenth  (June 
Ist),  she  had  borne  ce  pauvre  M.  de  Valence  in  mind.  On  her  return 
irom  the  journey,  on  the  S6tfa  of  June,  and  four  days  before  her 
death,  she  wrote  to  him  as  follows : — 

^^  ^  I  am  not  at  all  siurprised  that  you  expressed  pleasure  with 
regard  to  my  journey  to  England,  it  was  indeed  a  very  agreeable 
visit,  and  however  certain  I  felt  before  of  the  King,  my  brother's 
affection  for  me,  I  found  it  was  greater  than  I  had  even  expected 
it  to  be ;  consequently  I  found  him  ready  to  do  all  I  desired,  as 
far  as  depended  on  him.  The  King,  too,  on  my  return  to  France, 
treated  me  with  marked  kindness,  but  as  to  Monsieur,  nothing  can 
equal  his  eagerness  to  find  cause  of  complaint  against  me ;  he  did 
me  the  honour  to  say  that  I  was  all  powerful,  and  I  could  obtain 
whatever  I  liked,  therefore,  if  I  did  not  get  the  Chevalier  recalled 
(the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  exiled  by  order  of  the  King),  it  would 
be  because  I  did  not  care  to  please  him  (Monsieur).  He  then 
proceeded  to  load  me  with  threats  if  I  did  not  succeed.  I  endea- 
voured to  make  him  underetand  bow  little  his  recall  depended  on 
me,  and  how  little  influence  I  really  possessed,  since  you  were  still 
in  exile.  Instead  of  seeing  the  truth  of  the  case,  and  becoming 
softened,  he  took  this  opportunity  of  doing  you  all  the  harm  he 
could  in  the  King's  mind,  as  well  as  brewing  a  great  deal  of 
mischief  about  me.' " 

Another  letter,  which  we  will  here  transcribe,  betrays  a  sorrow 
which  must  have  been  keenly  felt  by  a  mother.  Cosnac  had 
written  a  short  note  to  Madame's  daughter,  who  was  then  eighteen 
years  of  age,  about  whom  he  felt  some  interest,  as  he  had  seen  her 
at  her  governess",  Madan^  Chaumont  This  letter,  which  was 
forward^  with  the  greatest  secrecy,  produced  an  unfortunate  effect, 
and  Madame  therefore  says, — 

<<  I  have  blamed  you  many  times  for  the  affection  which  you 
entertain  for  my  daughter;  in  the  name  of  goodness  get  rid  of  it  as 
fast  as  possible,  she  is  a  child  who  is  quite  incapable  of  appre* 
dating  it,  and  who  is  now  bang  taught  to  hate  me.  Be  satisfied 
in  lovinfl  those  persons  who  are  grateful  to  you  as  I  am,  an.d 
who  feel  as  much  grief  as  I  do  in  being  unable  to  extricate  you 
from  your  present  position.** 

About  three  days  after  this  letter  was  written,  on  the  ^th  of 
Jane,  Madame,  who  was  staying  at  St  Cloud,  asked  for  a  glass  of 
iced  chicory ;  she  drank  it,  and  nine  or  ten  hours  afterwards  ex- 
I»ved  in  all  the  agony  of  the  severest  attack  of  colic    The  minutest 

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48  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORLEANS. 

details  have  been  furnished  of  her  last  moments,  and,  though  death 
came  upon  her  so  suddenly,  she  retained  her  presence  of  mind  ;  she 
recollected  all  things  essential;  God,  her  soul;  then  Monsieur,  the 
King,  her  family,  and  friends,  and  addressed  to  everybody  words  of 
truth  and  gentleness  in  the  sweetest  manner,  and  with  becoming 
seriousness.  When  she  was  first  taken  ill,  Docteur  Feuillet  was 
sent  for ;  he  was  Chanoine  of  St.  Cloud,  and  a  man  of  the  greatest 
austerity;  he  did  not  attempt  to  soothe  the  Princess,  nay,  he 
spoke  almost  harshly  to  her.     But  let  us  hear  his  own  account. 

^^  I  was  sent  for  in  great  haste  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night 
When  I  reached  her  bedside  she  requested  everybody  to  retire,  and 
then  said — 

^^  <  You  see,  monsieur,  to  what  state  I  am  reduced  ! ' 

"  <  To  a  very  fortunate  state,  madame,'  replied  I.  *  You  will 
now  be  ready  to  confess  that  there  is  a  God  whom  you  have  very 
little  known  or  served  during  your  life  ?^ " 

He  then  told  her  that  all  her  past  confessions  were  as  nothing ; 
that  her  whole  life  had  been  one  great  sin.  He  assisted  her  as  far 
as  time  would  permit,  in  making  a  general  confession;  this  she 
made  with  every  symptom  of  piety. 

Her  ordinary  confessor  was  by  her  bedside  as  well  as  M.  Feuillet. 
This  good  man  was  anxious  to  address  her  also,  but  he  was  so 
lengthy  that  the  Princess  turned,  with  a  look  of  suffering  resigna- 
tion, to  Madame  La  Fayette,  who  was  present,  and  then  turning  to 
her  old  confessor,  she  said,  very  gently,  as  if  afraid  to  hurt  him — 

**  My  father,  permit  M.  Feuillet  to  speak  now.  You  shall  talk 
to  me  afterwards.^ 

M.  Feuillet  still  continued  to  address  her  very  severely,  and 
aloud — 

^' '  Humble  yourself,  madame !  Behold,  by  God's  hand,  all  this 
empty  pomp  is  fading  from  you !  You  are  nothing  but  a  miserable 
sinner,  but  an  earthen  vessel,  which  will  shortly  break  to  pieces ! 
Of  all  your  greatness,  not  a  trace  will  be  left.' 

*^  ^  It  is  true,  oh  God  ! '  exclaimed  she,  agreeing  humbly  to  all 
that  the  good,  though  austere,  priest  told  her,  and  saying,'  as  was 
her  nature,  somethmg  amiable  and  kind  in  return." 

M.  Comdon,  Bossuet,  was  also  summoned  from  Paris.  The  first 
messenger  did  not  find  him  at  home,  and  a  second,  and  a  third 
were  hurried  off,  for  madame  was  now  in  extremity,  and  had 
received  the  viaticum. 

Here  the  severe  Docteur  Feuillet's  manner  in  describing  the 
scene  evidently  softens,  and  in  mentioning  Bossuet's  arrival,  he 
says : — 

**  She  was  as  much  pleased  to  see  him  as  he  was  afflicted  to  find 
her  in  the  last  struggle.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  ground  and 
uttered  a  fervent  prayer,  which  touched  me  exceedingly.  He  spoke 
encouragingly  of  faith,  love,  and  of  great  mercy." 

When  Bossuet  had  finished  speaking,  or  even  before  he  had 
finished)  Madame's  first  lady-in-waiting  approached  her  bedside  to 
give  her  something  which  she  required,  and  Madame  took  the 
opportunity  to  whisper  to  her,  in  English,  in  order  that  M.  Bossuet 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


THE  DUCHESS  OF  OBLEAK&  49 

might  not  hear,  thus  preserving,  eyen  to  the  last,  that  sense  of 
delicacy  and  politeness,  to  which  she  was  always  so  aliye : — 

^  When  I  die^  give  M«  Comdon  the  emerald  which  I  have  had 
set  for  him." 

Bossuet,  in  his  ^*  Funeral  Oration,"  alludes  to  this  circumstance : 
— **  That  art  of  bestowing  anything  in  the  way  which  was  most 
agreeable  to  the  person  to  whom  it  was  offered,  which  could  not 
fail  to  be  remarked  during  her  life,  she  retained  even  when  at  the 
point  of  death,  for  of  this  I  can  myself  bear  testimony/' 

It  is  the  fashion  of  the  present  day  to  say  that  Madame  Hen- 
riette  was  not  poisoned,  and  it  is  now  considered  an  established 
fact,  that  she  died  of  the  cholera-morbus.  The  official  examina- 
tion of  the  body,  which  was  thought  desirable  for  political  reasons, 
seemed  to  prove  that  this  was  the  case.  The  tirst  idea,  how- 
ever, was,  that  Madame  had  been  poisoned— she  said  so,  indeed, 
before  Monsieur,  begging  at  the  same  time  that  the  cup  from  which 
she  had  drunk  might  be  examined.  *^  I  was  standing  by  Monsieur 
in  the  ruelle,'*  says  Madame  La  Fayette,  ^*  and  though  I  felt  it 
quite  impossible  that  he  could  have  committed  such  a  crime,  a 
natural  sensation  of  astonishment  at  the  malignity  of  human  nature 
caused  me  to  observe  him  attentively.  He  was  neither  moved  nor 
embarrassed  at  what  Madame  had  said ;  he  only  ordered  that  the 
remainder  of  the  liquid  should  be  given  to  a  dog.  He  agreed  with 
Madame,  that  it  would  be  better  to  send  immediately  for  some 
antidote  to  remove  so  disagreeable  an  impression  from  Madame's 
mind.*^ 

In  this  temperate  and  cautious  manner  does  Madame  La  Fayette 
clear  Monsieur.  The  letter  which  was  addressed  to  Cosnac  on  the 
26th  of  June,  describes  him,  however,  as  being  more  bitter  than 
ever  against  Madame,  and  as  threatening  her  with  regard  to  the 
future.  In  another  letter,  which  was  written  the  evening  before 
her  journey  to  England,  Madame  expresses  her  fears  and  her  sad 
forebodings : — 

<^  Monsieur  is  still  highly  irritated  with  me,  and  I  may  expect 
much  sorrow  and  vexation  on  my  return  from  this  journey.  Mon- 
sieur insists  upon  my  getting  the  chevalier  recalled,  or  else,  he 
declares,  he  will  treat  me  as  the  worst  of  women." 

Reflect  well  concerning  the  manner  of  her  death,  and  note,  too, 
that  almost  immediately  after  it,  the  chevalier  reappears  at  court. 
It  does  not  appear^  however,  from  Cosnac*s  letters  that  he  enter- 
tained my  suspicions  of  foul  play ;  they  only  express  bitter  grief. 

Madlime  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  after  having  been  for 
nine  years  the  very  centre  of  attraction  at  the  Court  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  and  of  its  brightest  ornament  at  the  most  brilliant  por- 
tion of  his  reign.  Though  his  Court  was  afterwards  distinguished 
by  more  pomp  and  splendour,  it  lacked  perhaps  much  of  that  dis- 
tinction and  refinement  which  then  characterized  it. 


VOL.  XXXIV.  Digitized  by  Gi)OgIe 


fiQ 


ADVENTUBS&  OF  A  f IfiSX  SBASON*. 


COHnrG  TO   TOWN. — LOTIBB. 

Six  moDtha.  had  ekspmAf.wnd  I  Iwd  left  the  detf  old  bomei  with  the 
acacias  that  waved,  hdfore  the  door.  I  had  taken*  a  pathetic  leave  of 
the  great  Newfeundland-dof  ^-X  bad  bid  a.  long  farewell  to  the  copaa  and 
ita  verdant  walkt — oyershadowed  with  shady  bou^^ha — ^to  the  desolate 
park,  and  the  wild  gravel-pit,  and  I  had  s^ed  when  I  remembered  that 
spring  was  af^nroaching;  and  that  the  flowers  would  blossom  in  all  their 
glbrious  tints,  but  that  I  should  be  ikr  away,  unable  to  admh«r  th^rn,  or 
to  watch  the.  multitude  of  bees  and  gaudy  butterflies  as  they  chased  m«ii 
otiier  from  sweet  to  sweet.  • 

I  was  now  in  London,  anc^  truth  to  tall,  had  somewhat  AiiguU.%n>my 
quiet  Kfb  at  home.  Books  and  flowers^  and  the  charms  of  springs  weiB- 
temporarily  obliterated  by  tlie  novdty  and  plsMnues^  of  a  first  bcbsobe  in 
town,  and  all  the  delightful  excHement  theseunto  banging*'  We.wssa. 
eitebHshed.  in  a.small  hoase  in  a  fashiewd)l»  nti|^ibourhwd  ;  our.  mcaaa 
tassng  liiBited»  as  I  did.  not  come  into  pssasasisn  of  tny  fortune  until 
after  one-and-tweatyt  uid  my  motherV waano^ iSor^ 

Of  course  all  my  wardrobe  had  undeigene  a  thorough  revisioB^  and. 
being  deliveEed  over  into  the  merdleas  hands  of  a  fashionable  dress- 
maker, my  garments  were  reformed  ia  the  most  complete  manner* 
Commencing  with  those  necessary  but  unmentionable  *'  supports/  that 
as  often  destroy  as  improve  the  female  figure,  I  was  placed  in  the  midst 
of  whalebones,  and  laoed  until  I  absolutdy  believed  myself  in  a  prison  of 
iron ;  but  my  loud  lamentations  were  only  met  with  assurances  of  the 
great  improvement  to  my  figure,  and  exhortations  to  draw  in  any  waist 
rather  more— advice,  I  need  not  add,  I  cared  not  toeenply  vritk.  Then' 
r  was  consoled'  by  the  arrival  of  baskets-Coll  ci  new  dressc*— wfaxle^ 
spetless>  degant  ball-dresses — light  aa  a  zephyr.  Blegant  dinnac  cos- 
tumes of  siUc  or  fancy  materials,  and  morning  toilettes,  quite  tt  rmoir. 
My  vanity  was  tiekled,  and  so  I  patiently  bore  the  inaction  of  the 
internal  stocks,  until  I  suppose  I  grew  to  them»  £br  I  felt  tham  no 
more. 

All  this  display  of  dress,  was  duly  admired  and  commented  on  by  a 
good-hearted  little  country  maiden  that  had  accompanied  me  in  the 
capacity  of  maid ;  but  who,  poor  innocent  soul,  knew  as  little  about 
adorning  a  young  debutante  as  I  did  myself.  She  could  only  stand  by 
and  wonder,  and  clap  her  hands  at  the  notion  of ''  Missy  '*  being  so  smart. 
But  she  was  otherwise  of  infinite  use  to  me,  for,  being  the  only  person  as 
ignorant  as  I  was  myself,  I  could  freely  wonder  and  converse  with  her  of 
^  strangeness  of  all  we  saw.  Then,  when  tired  of  doing  company  in  the 
drawing-room,  or  of  driving  in  the  carriage  round  that  wearisome  Hyde 
Park,  what  romps  we  used  to  Iracvel  Good  heavens !  if  I  Hved  to  the 
age  of  Methuselah  can  I  forest  how,  retiring  to  tht  uppermost  story  of 
the  house,  and  shutting  all  tfae  doors,  we  foi^^ht  and  struggled  with  eaeh 
other  like  schoolboys,  by  way  of  proving  which  was  the  strongest,  or, 
spreading  the  feather  beds  on  the  floor,  we  made  believe  it  was  a  hay- 
cock, and  rolled  in  them  until,  what  with  the  previous  fight  and  the  heat, 
we  were  so  exhausted  and  tired  that  neither  of  us  could  move,  but  lay  there 


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ov  M  Fmr  flUflosL  ffl 

hni^ing.  at  eadi  othor  IBc*  ikcwipfa  of  hanpjF finds  w  wv'wem.  (Htl 
what  merry  jovial  days  of  fun  I  One  half^ioitr  e£  fneh  gBB«wa  aiirth 
#tftweighaeeptum»efrtig-etiittd  ibw— nciiti  wlure  Nstnre  bwlong  been 
fitffvtteDinfii^oiiref  bar  nviil  Alt)  and  whewy  lifce  tfaa  dcdli  m  a  t>ieat» 
afVintociBiy  people  all  Bwve  on  eartaa  MitriMiAort  and  af^paafed  spcingi 
(ofaetion). 

Bnt  witk  all  thia  ladulgHioa  of  aeartaui  nmaia  hoj^ennni,  I  leally 
ivaa  beceme  tomawfaBt  Tsned  in  seoietj^  and  ikradd  lie  lenger  ha^e  lad 
an  admixiog  krd  inCa  a  gnvri*^t  by  way  of  a  paatini^  ot  med  beeaoa 
Iw  woidd  not  admire  il  ai  mudi  as  I  did.  No  one  would  haTe  leeofi' 
niiad  ti»  (Mmitmt^  whose  fortune  was  pedtiTely  stated  to  be  10,00<M. 
«.  year  (tba  wtiai  figure  of  all  hetresssa  befoim  naniage),  in  the  ron^ 
wiio  ieli»d  to  tha  attisa  in  order  to  let  off  tbe  steam  of  superabundant 
goad  spirits  in  wdent  romps  with  a  little  rustie.     But  so  it  was* 

Hien  I  waa  so  nalested  with  ioasrs  or  admirers  (always  reaians^ 
ber  of  my  fortune  for  I  was  not  sndi  a  ftK>l  as  te  be  deoeiyed.  in  what 
was  the  object  of  tiirar  \fx^\  that  I  was  at  tnnea  driimi  quite  beside 
myself  and  used  fiaily  to  cut  and:  ran,  learing  mamma  to  entertain 
tinee  inbsBSSting*  yaunf  gentfemen ;  I  hated  them  all  sare  ome — but 
ef  him  more  hereafter.     Ha  shall  not  be  miasd  op  with  the  ff>mmfa 

Tber»  waa  aiwag^  the  little  aristocrat  grown  prouder  and  more 
nffinted  tium  eror.  Of  course  all  that  noble  family  wore  in  town^  and 
my  litde  gentlsroan  waa  f&  the  party,  having  left  Eton  and  altered  en 
his  town  earsecr  We  met  occasionally-— never  when  w«  oeald  h^  it 
But  soaiethnes^  by  tin  united  effiHts  of  papa  and  liie  two  mannnas^ 
were  forced  to  be  civil  and  walk  amHn-«rm ;  a  real  infiiotion  to  us  both; 
finr,  since  the  graveUpit  walk^  mutual  indifference  had  givoi  birth  to 
a  kind  of  hatred^  at  least,  I  can  answer  for  my  own  cordial  antipathy. 

The  most  trsuUeeome  of  my  swains,  neatly  as  numerous  as  those  of 
the  witty  Venetian,  the  heirssa  of  Drimont,  was  a  ontain  young  derg^F 
nnn  of  good  fiuaily  and  high  conneziens^  but  who  pentively  had  not  a 
pemy  to  blesahinadf  widud.  Witiurat  any  depth  of  character,  he  was 
agrsMtUe  and  good-Batmsd.  Perfoetly  self-satisfied,  and  never  dreaming 
that  his  attentions  nn^t  be  diiagrseable,  his  audacity  was  quite  curioue; 
nothing  put  him  down.  He  hui^ied  and  talked,  and  called  and  offered 
his  ann  %f  a  walk,  or  as  an  escort  at  the  ]day*  with  a  happy  assumnoe^ 
that  neither  utter  silence,  cool  looks,  or  shOTt  rejoinders,  in  ai^  way 
alfected.  Hy  mother,  considered,  when  necessary,  a  kind  of  domes^ 
gevemor,  and  nick-named  Queen  Boadiaea,  as  being  ofa  stem  and  war- 
like complexion,  in  vatn  brought  all  her  artillery,  and  dignified  reserve^ 
and  black  looks  against  this  shred  of  the  garment  of  Aaron«  He  was 
invubemble,  and  came  in  next  day  rubbing  his  hands,  smiling,  and 
afferii^  his  services,  as  if  be  wem  wdl-assured  that  he,  and  he  only,  was 
tha  wdoome  beau  whan  I  expected.  At  hist  I  really  began  to  adnure 
hia  ne¥er-fii2ing  goed^nature,  it  was  like  an  inexhaustible  spring,  that 
flows  and  fiows  ui^  it  becomes  so  troublesome  that  people  are  obliged  to 
attend  to  it. 

The  worst  of  the  matter  was,  that  this  hero  had  a  mamma,  a  venera- 
Ue  lady  whom  I  really  bved.  But  she  loved  her  son,  her  youngest,  her 
penailen ;  the  eldest  was  a  baronet,  and  well-nurried  to  a  rich  widow ; 
as  she  loved  him  with  all  the  doting  fondness  of  age,  she  fancied  all 
the  worki  must  love  and  admire  him  as  much  as  she  did;  the  oenp 
sequence  of  whidi  wa^  that  all  my  affection  and  all  my  attentions 

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62  ADYENTUBES  OF  A  FIBST  SEASON. 

shown  to  her  were  eonstrued  by  them  both  as  a  plain,  though  covert 
encouragement  of**  dear  Charles." 

If  I  pressed  her  to  yisit  me  often  (which  I  did»  as  I  delighted  in  her 
calm  gentle  conversation,  anecdotes,  and  reflections  about  by-gone  years^ 
like  a  chapter  out  of  an  amusing  memoir ;  for  she  was  a  woman  of  consi« 
derable  acquirement,  and  had  mixed  a  great  deal  with  the  wits  of  her  day, 
and  had  been  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  many  a  celebrated  character, 
whose  name  is  canonized  in  the  world's  breviary) — well,  if  I  pressed 
her  to  visit  roe,  strai^tway  was  this  construed  into  a  decided,  though 
delicately  expressed,  desire  on  my  part  to  see  her  "  dear  Charles.**  S>, 
accordingly,  to  my  great  annoyance,  no  sooner  had  I  greeted  my  agree- 
able old  friend,  than  I  perceived  the  tall  figure  of  the  darling  boy  ad- 
vancing behind  her,  and  saw  the  happy  gratified  look  with  which  the 
kind  old  soul  turned  towards  him,  saying — "  Dear  Charles  could  not 
think  of  letting  me  come  here  alone  (with  an  emphasis),  and  has  accom- 
panied me.     I  know  he  will  be  welcome." 

Who  could  have  the  heart  to  undeceive  her,  or  sadden  by  one  look  her 
maternal  pride?  Not  I,  at  any  rate.  So  I  smiled  a  &]se  smile  of 
&l8e  welcome  to  the  tall  parson,  and  impressed  a  true  kiss  of  real 
affection  on  the  sunken  cheek  of  his  aged  parent. 

She  used  on  these  occasions  to  look  so  happy !  Already  by  those 
very  false  optics  (more  deceptive  than  the  most  partially  coloured  specta- 
cles), *'  the  mind's  eye,**  all  very  well  for  the  guidance  of  such  a  genius 

as  Hamlet,  but  quite  delusive  to  poor  old  Lady  C >  she  saw  her  son 

already  possessed  of  10,000/.  a  year,  my  positively  stated  fortune  (not  a 

groat  less,  my  dear  fellow,  I  assure  you.  Miss  has  a  round 

10,000/.,  said  Captain to  his  friend  Jack  Spanker  at  the  club). 

She  saw  him  emancipated  from  the  humiliating  trammels  of  a  poor 
country  curacy  of  lOOL  a  year,  where  he  was  forced  to  catechize  dirty 
children  who  won't  learn,  scold  their  mammas,  and  exhort  their  papas, 
who  delisted  in  cursing  rather  than  in  blessing,  and  loved  the  beer-shop 
fiir  better  than  the  church.  Where  he  had  to  christen  young  children 
in  cold  and  frosty  seasons  at  inconvenient  hours ;  which,  as  they  always 
roared,  and  he  hated  babies,  was  a  sad  infliction.  To  marry  dirty 
clod-hoppers  to  rustic  Nancys,  perhaps  the  very  day,  the  very  hour  at 
which  he  was  invited  to  join  in  a  InOtue  at  a  great  duke's  some  four 
miles  off.  Which  was  a  grievous  bore,  for  who  knew  what  such  a 
man  as  dear  Charles  might  do?  what  impression  he  might  make  on 
some  magnificent  peer  possessed  perhaps  of  first-rate  patronage,  to  say 
nothing  of  my  lord  duke  himself  who,  after  seeing  him  a  few  times, 
could  not  fail  to  be  struck  with  his  superior  attidnments,  and  deter- 
mine on  making  the  fortune  of  so  talented  a  young  man.  All  this 
was  vexing  in  the  highest  degree,  but  nothing  to  being  called  away 
from  the  county  ball,  where  he  might  be  dancing  with  the  belle  of 
the  room,  and  flirting  as  well  as  dancing;  for  dear  Charles,  according 
to  his  mother,  was  such  a  sad  flirt  that,  as  she  told  me,  she  really  was 
wretched  when  she  thought  of  all  the  hearts  he  had  broken.  To  be 
called  away,  I  say,  in  the  very  hour  of  glory  to  pray  beside  the  bed 
of  some  wretched  pauper,  long  an  inmate  of  the  parish  poorhouse, 
whose  soul,  fluttering  between  time  and  eternity,  desired  consolation, 
yet  lay  so  steeped  in  ignorance,  as  scarcely  to  comprehend  the  gracious 
message  that  was  conveyed  to  it.  For  even  the  frivolity  of  Charles 
could  not  impair  the  grandeur,  the  sublimity  of  that  beautiful  service 
appointed  by  our  church  to  soothe  the  dying  hours  of  the  peasant  who 


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ja>vE!rnjBB8  of  ▲  fibst  season.  53 

dehet  in  the  damp  ditofa»  and  the  mighty  monarch  who  holdi  three 
kingdoms  in  her  8way  1 

This  was  had  enough,  in  Charles's  opinion,  and  it  did  seem  very  hard 
that  Goody  Jones  should  have  got  worse  that  very  night,  and  that  the 
matron,  taJdng  it  into  her  stupid  head  she  was  dying  (when  he  was  sure 
it  was  all  a  false  alarm),  should  send  for  him  away  irom  the  ball  which 
was  held  only  four  timee  a  year  in  the  county  hall  at  R . 

But  this  was  a  trifle  to  what  dear  Charles  had  to  endure  at  the 
burials,  which  were  pretty  frequent  in  his  parish.  Sometimes,  for 
instance,  in  a  cold,  mizzling,  wet  day  in  January,  Charles  had  martyr* 
dom  to  endure,  according  to  his  mother.  With  ice  and  melting  snow  all 
around,  and  a  thin  rain  falling  that  penetrated  the  skin  and  froze  on  the 
hair  and  clothes  in  small  icicles,  which,  melting  with  the  breath,  gave  a 
double  wetting;  one  of  those  regular  English  winter  days  in  that  cold 
wretched  month  in  which  the  New-year  insists  on  being  bom  in  the  pre* 
tent  century. 

After  sitting  shaking  in  a  miserable  vestry  without  a  fire,  where  the 
walls  had  become  green  with  damp,  for  upwards  of  an  hour,  while  the 
mournful  and  squalid  procession,  bearing  poverty  to  its  last  home,  was 
slipping  and  sliding  through  the  snow  in  the  neighbouring  lanes, 
Charles  at  last  was  informed  that  the  corpse  was  m  sight.  Upon 
which  enlivening  announcement,  rising  from  the  old  arm-chair  where  he 
had  vainly  striven  to  catch  a  nap  in  order  to  foiget  the  cold,  Charles, 
with  many  a  sigh  and  a  most  dolorous  countenance,  proceeded  to  clothe 
himself  in  the  orthodox  garments,  assisted  by  the  clerk.  Then,  book  in 
hand,  he  must  perforce  proceed  to  the  porch,  and,  after  one  dismal  look 
on  the  dreary  scene  around,  emerge  bare-headed  into  the  chilling  rain, 
and  proceeding  down  the  path,  receive  the  procession  with  those  inspired 
words  of  divine  promise  and  never-dying  hope,  that  speak  the  immortal 
quality  of  our  internal  essence.  Any  heart,  but  one  so  vain  and  foolish 
as  that  of  Charles,  would  have  forgotten  self,  the  past,  and  the  present, 
in  the  future,  which,  looming  through  the  chances  and  changes  of 
this  mortal  life,  rises  in  gigantic  form  aloft;  visions  might  have  been 
evoked  by  such  a  scene  as  should  have  raised  his  spirit  towards  those 
everlasting  realms  whither  had  already  fled  the  soul  of  this  poor  peasant* 
But  Charles  of  the  ^  earth  earthly**  possessed  not  a  mind  of  this  stamp. 
He  looked  at  the  ram  dripping  on  his  book  and  pouring  on  his  head ;  he 
felt  that  he  was  cold  and  chilled,  and  dreaded  intensely  having  an 
attack  of  influenza :  all  which  thoughts  passing  through  his  mind, 
caused  him  to  read  ill  and  hurriedly.  So  he  concluded  as  he  had  begun, 
without  attention,  and,  hastening  to  the  grave,  closed  the  scene  of  earth 
to  earthy  and  dust  to  dust,  with  irreverent  precipitation,  and,  shutting 
his  book,  hurried  home. 

Who  on  such  occasions  can  describe  the  solicitude  of  his  manuna — ^the 
lamentations  with  which  she  received  her  darling  I  how  she  grieved  over 
him,  and  actually  abused  the  cause  of  his  suflerings  1  Who  can  describe 
the  care  with  which  she  prepared  his  dry  clothes,  and  pressed  him 
to  bathe  his  feet  in  hot  water,  or  the  inexpressible  comfort  of  the  snug 
little  parlour  at  the  vicarage,  where,  after  discussing  a  simple,  but  well- 
cooked  dinner,  Charles  having  imbibed  with  much  relish  a  glass  of  brandy- 
and- water,  prepared  by  his  mother's  own  hand,  and  rather  stiff  in  quality, 
he  sank  to  sleep  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  under  the  united  influence  of 
«  blazing,  cheerful  fire,  a  good  dinner,  and  a  most  soporific  beverage ! 

No  one  can  wonder  that  with  such  a  mother,  and  leadmg  the  life  of 


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M 

ndrigmoe  he  did,  -Ofanles'^  nstunlly  genenai  homt  dioold 
clouded  with  selfishness,  and  all  noUe  aspirations  or  manly  impulMB  i 
dwarfed,  and  finally  destroyed  by  selMi  frivolity  and  woildiiaess.  He 
looked  on  hiaiaelf  at  last  as  a  victim,  because  bis  laetber  (n^^iooe  nalur- 
ally  strong  sense  was  clouded  by  maternal  afiection)  was  everlasting^ 
pitying  and  pampering  him. 

Such  was  the  hiBband  whom  this  modier  had  selected  Snr  me ;  nor 
eould  I  bhune  her,  ibr  she  firmly  beKeved  him  to  be  the  first  of  his  «ex, 
a  Tory  Orandbon, — or,  if  my  reEuia»  axe  not  acquainted  with  that  an- 
tique and  inimitable  novel,  and  the  perfections  of  its  super-humaa 
iiero,  let  me  seek  in  the  catalogue  of  modem  romance  for  an  example, 
and  say  a  Bertiam — Harry  Bertiam,  alias  Vanbeest  Brown,  the  pupil  of 
the  renowned  Dominie  Sampson,  and  the  lover  of  that  delicious,  romanoe^ 
loving  shrew,  Julia  Mannering. 

Lady  C— - —  saw  her  son,  as  I  have  said,  possessed  of  that  magic 
sum  of  10,000/.  a-year,  the  same  as  appropriated  by  the  celebrated 
Tittle  Bat  Titmouse  of  immortal  memory,  delivered  from  all  the  tor- 
tnenis  of  that  dreadful,  insufferable  parish — ^rid  of  births,  marriages,  and 
burials,  and  placed  as  a  bright  porticular  «tar  in  his  own  sphere  of  life, 
moving  in  the  society  of  hn  grand  relations,  from  which  he  was  now  per 
force  much  excluded,  and  attracting  universal  admiration.  She  also  saw 
me  his  happy  wife,  ddighted  at  having  been  able,  at  what  shcq^keepers 
abU  **  a  ruinous  sacrifice,"  to  secure  such  a  jewel  for  a  husbuid,  and 
proud  and  delighted  to  display  my  dioioe  before  the  worid.  fio  fixed 
•was  the  good  old  lady  in  this  idea,  that  nothing  could  undeeeive  her 
abort  of  a  flat  refusal ;  so  that  now,  when  Charles  had  temporarily  dis- 
^posed  *'  of  that  bore  his  parish,"  and  come  up  to  town  prinopally  to  see 
me,  and  prevent  any  London  beau  from  running  away  vrith  me,  I 
never  could  accomplish  seeing  her  alone.  Spite  of  my  coolneM  and  evi- 
dent annoyance,  and  mamma's  ominous  distance  and  reserve,  die  would 
insist  on  always  bringing  ^'  dear  Charles  ;"  and  when  he  positively  eouM 
mot  come,  she  then  contented  herself  with  incessantly  talking  of  hhn  to 
me.  Never  was  such  a  dead  «et  made  at  an  unhappy  girl ;  and  wiiat 
vrith  love  for  the  old  lady,  who  was  delightful  with  all  her  feibles,  and 
distress  at  the  idea  of  her  bitter  disappointment,  I  really  think  she 
would  have  ended  by  working  on  my  goodnature,  and  making  me,  nolens 
^wdem^  marry  her  '<  dear  Charles  **  after  alL 

But  events  intervened  which  made  me  aoon  foiget  this  nonpareil^ 
whose  bachelor  career  unhappily  ended  by  marrying  a  country  miss  as 
penniless  as  himself;  an  imprudence  that  necessitated  his  continuing  in 
the  galling  tnunmek  inf  clerical  eountry  practice  all  his  life,  to  the  eternal 
extinction  of  those  brilliant  virions  formed  by  the  poor  old  lady,  idio  did 
not  long  survive  this  disappointment ;  added  to  the  rapid  birth  of  two  or 
three  grandchildren,  who,  to  her  mind,  ensured  the  poverty  and  ruin  in 
•tore  for  her**  dear  Charks." 


As  yet  I  had  not  been  presented,  but  as  mamma  waa  only  awmting 
the  pleasure  of  our  all  gracious  lady  the  Queen  to  please  to  have  a  draw- 
ing-room, on  which  occasion  she  was  to  present  me,  I  was  considered 
eligible  to  make  my  iqypearance  in  public  so  far  as  to  go  to  parties,  4se^ 
It  was  about  this  time  that  I  went  to  my  first  London  ball,  and  great^ 
WBB  my  trepidation  on  fmdmg  myself  entering  with  my  mother  an  im- 
mense laloon,  at  midn^,  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  Mtd  with  a 


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4!B 

eivwd  of  Ihe  most  d6pBrfly«dwwgd  rnnpaay.  The  floor,  pwfrod  for 
teicing,  ^pf«B  «o  ^Hj^Kiytliat  I  coukl  aeareefy  stand, -Bnd  ofttrtmne  wilb 
my  own  ^wektrie,  Bnd  ooutcious  of  my  cxtfoms  rmlitily,  wbA  onliie 
jguoiauce  of  ttll  itie  myitones  piwetised  in  Boch  a  high<bom  iMcnibli^i  1 
was  glad  to  sink  quietly  on  a  seat,  and  obe^ve  from  an  obscure  oomsr 
tlie  fldtteroig  crowd  axovnd  me.  Seen  -for  the  first  -time  «f  wm  a  study. 
I  httd,  for  RMtanse,  been  taught  to  dance  in  the  country,  and  at  the 
•eadsmy  where  I  leemt  was  eoimdered,  and  -esteemed  myself  no  umbii 
prefisient  in  ihe  art ;  htft  the  stiding,  shadowy  soft  of  moToment  with 
whi^  the  ladies  glided  about  here,  was  semetiimg  utterly  dissimilar  to 
the  good  jcunping  steps  and  Tigorous  advanees  and  retreats  in  TOgt» 

among  the  young  ladies  of  B .    I  folt  it  was  a  diffisrent  scknce,  and 

trembled  at  ihe  notion  of  exhibiting  my  performance  on  this  slippery 
floor,  amid  all  those  graceful  forms  that  fluttered  every  instant  by  in  a 
hatf^glidiRg,  hidf-flighting  movement,  that  I  longed  yet  dared  not 
attempt  to  knitate.  I  was  wonderfully  astonished,  too,  at  the  sump- 
tuous toilettes  of  the  more  eldedy  wallflowers  that  sat  around,  among 
wham  were  nombeied  many  a  dame  of  high  degree.  The  Yoluminooa 
hats  -tiien  in  foefaion,  with  masses  of  long,  sweeping  fea^MTs,  had  to  ray 
sniad  a  most  imposing  appearance ;  the  splendour  of  the  jewek^the 
richness  of  the  silks — and,  above  all,  the  calm  and  immoveable  dignity  of 
the  wearers,  whose  eonntenanees  expressed  that  composure  almost  inva- 
TiaMy  -seen  in  persons  of  high  rank  and  higher  breeding,  astonished  me, 
and  read  me  a  lesson  in  manners  worth  a  year's  preaching  and  exhorta- 
tion *^to  be  quiet "  from  my  mother. 

As  to  the  men,  they  all  leoked,  I  thought,  prodigiously  alike,  except 
that  some  were  young  and  others  old — end  they  interested  me  very 
little,  because  knowing  no  one,  I  never  dreamed  of  dancing  that  night, 
snd  -exeepting  as  partnem,  I  never  did  particularly  admire  the  spectacle 
of  men  figuring  in  a  balWoom.  To  me  it  appears  beneath  the  dignity  of 
the  lords  of  the  creation  to  kick  their  heels  and  dance, — if  they  perform 
111  they  appear  awkward  and  ungainly,  and  if  well  frivolous  and  un- 
manly— at  least  to  my  notion.  As  I  sat  gazing  with  intense  curiosity 
en  the  scene  around  me,  a  couple,  fiitigued  by  the  dance,  sat  down  near 
me,  and  began  the  following  conversation. 

*'  How  fiill  the  rooms  are,  it  is  impossible  to  dance,'*  said  the  lady. 

**  Quite,"  r^tiied  the  gentleman  ;  **  but  with  such  a  companion  as  yMi 
that  is  rather  an  advantage,  for  we  ean  talk.  How  do  you  think  Lady 
F— f— 1  loois  te-night  T 

"  Extremely  pretty, — that  dress  of  black  lace  trimmed  with  oerise 
•nits  her  admirably,  and  shows  off  her  lovely  complexion ;  she  is  cer- 
tainly a  sweet  creature,  but  I  prefer  Lady  M — y  G — t  j  it  is  a  giandsir 
style  of  beauty," 

**  Oh,  eertainly,  she  is  taller  and  {aWer  in  figure,  and  has  an  air  about 
her  tlmt  is  quite  her  own ;  but  to  my  mind  she  wants  the  sweet,  be- 
wttdung  charm  of  Lady  F — g — ^1.  Those  blue  eyes  of  hers  do  sad 
nnsehief.  But,  by  the  way,  have  you  heard  that  there  is  a  little  heuress 
here  to-night,  just  come  up  from  the  country,  and  not  yet  presented,  who 
they  say  is  immensely  rich — 10,000/1  a-year  down ;— Jack  — -,  of  the 
Bloes,  told  me  all  about  her,and  he  says  she  is  the  greatest  catch  of  the 


"  Have  you  seen  her  T  adced  the  lady. 

*'  No— mid  I  cannot  find  any  one  that  has ;  though  Lady says 

^  is  here  to-night.  I  have  been  on  the  lookout  for  something  ex« 
tremely  rustic,  and  as  yet  see  nothing  like  this -new  atssvaL" 

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56  ADVENTUBE8  OF  A  FIRST  SEASON* 

*^  Ah|  even  if  she  is  ugly  or  awkward,  or  both,  she  is  certain,  at  least, 
of  all  the  gentlemen's  attention,"  said  the  lady  rather  tartly.  *'  Poor 
little  thing  1  I  suppose  she  will  be  sure  to  be  sacrificed  to  some  &mi]y 
compact,  and  forced  into  a  mariage  de  convenanee,  and  is  sure  to  become 
miserable." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  A —  B — ,  who  knows  her  well,  and  has  pro- 
mised to  introduce  me,  says  she  has  a  great  deal  of  character,  and  is 
quite  an  original  A —  B —  has  hopes  himsdf,  I  believe, — ^but  all  his 
talents  will  not  fill  his  purse.  Besides,  they  say  she  is  engaged  to  the 
Marquis  of  — >'s  youngest  son,  before  she  came  to  town.  Here  are  not 
so  many  couples  now  dancing,  will  you  like  to  take  another  turn  T*  To 
which  the  lady  assenting,  they  rose. 

I  need  not  say  with  what  attention  I  had  listened  to  this  conversa- 
tion :  from  the  moment  I  found  that  I  myself  was  the  subject  I  scarcely 
breathed,  and  my  heart  beat  so  violently,  I  fancied  the  speakers  must 
hear  it.  So,  then,  my  introduction  had  become  a  matter  of  general  dis- 
cussion among  people  whom  I  had  never  seen,  and  was  pointed  at 
as  something  remarkable  by  elegant  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  fright- 
ened me  out  of  my  wits.  Of  course,  I  knew  it  was  all  the  money — ^the 
charming  sum  of  10,000^  a-year;  but  then  it  was  gratifying  thus  to  find 
oneself  remarked  and  talked  about,  and  I  determined  to  make  the  most 
of  my  position,  as  I  gradually  began  more  fully  to  appreciate  its  ad- 
vantages. The  idea  of  my  interesting  such  a  grand  pair — ^poor  little 
me ! — ^it  did  seem  droll ;  and  visions  of  my  life  at  home  floated  for  a 
moment  before  me ;  bat  it  was  only  a  moment — the  band  struck  up  a 
lively  gallop — I  felt  my  colour  rise,  and  my  feet  involuntarily  move — I 
had  grown  quite  bold  since  overhearing  this  conversation,  and  now  actu- 
ally whispeied  to  mamma  how  I  should  like  to  dance  I 

The  wish  was  soon  gratified-— a  lady  whom  we  knew  advanced  to- 
wards us,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  particularly  gentlemanly-looking 
young  man,  whom  she  begged  to  present  to  me  for  the  next  waltz. 

I  started  with  pleasure,  and  hastily  accepted  him  ;  indeed  I  was  just 
^n  the  point  of  telling  him  how  much  I  wished  to  dance,  and  how 
^obliged  I  was  to  him  for  asking  me ;  but  as  the  words  were  on  my 
tongue,  I  stopped  just  in  time ;  though  I  believe,  if  I  had  committed  such 
an  impropriety,  he  would  not  have  misinterpreted  my  simplicity,  so 
-good-natured  and  amiable  did  he  look.  He  seated  himself  beside  me, 
awaiting  the  change  of  dance ;  in  a  few  moments  they  began  to  play  a 
waltz,  and  I  found  myself  launched  into  the  infinite  space  of  a  London 
ball-room. 

Now  all  my  fears  and  timidity  returned.  I  foigot  I  was  the  heiress 
talked  of  by  the  Blues  as  the  catch  of  the  season,  and  I  remembered 
nothing  but  that  I  had  never  danced  on  waxed  floors  before— that  I  did 
not  know  how  the  waltz  was  managed  in  London, — ^that  I  felt  terrified 
and  strange — and  clinging  to  the  arm  of  my  partner,  heartily  wished 
myself  again  in  my  quiet  seat  with  mamma.  He  remarked  my  embar- 
rassment, and  good-naturedly  endeavoured  to  relieve  it,  by  first  leading 
me  round  the  room,  and  remarking  on  various  persons  among  the  com- 
pany. Afler  all,  it  really  was  something  delightful  to  make  one  among 
that  brilliant  circle,  to  feel  oneself  even  an  unit  among  those  hundreds  of 
beautiful  women.  The  animation  of  the  fine  band — the  gorgeous  whole 
— ^transported  me  out  of  myself,  and  I  dashed  off  into  a  waltz  with 
strange  confidence.  On  the  whole  I  got  on  pretty  well,  with  the  ex- 
.  €q>tion  of  nearly  slipping  once^  but  the  dexterity  of  my  partner  saved  me, 
jmd,  to  all  appearances,  I  pasted  muster  tolerably* 

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ADYENTUBBS  OF  A  FIBST  8BA80N.  57 

I  was  charmed  with  this  same  partner^  he  was  so  kind  and  gentle,  so 
considerate,  and  when  I  had  time  to  observe  him,  yery  good-looking 
also ;  somewhat  short,  but  well-made  and  well-dressed,  and  with  such  a 
gentle  Toioe  it  was  quite  pleasant  to  hear  him  speak. 

We  were  soon  the  best  of  friends*  I  had  informed  him  it  was  my 
first  ball,  and  that  he  was  my  first  partner ;  a  piece  of  information  he 
acknowledged  with  a  low  bow,  and  many  civil  speeches  as  to  his  hopes 
that  it  might  not  be  the  last  time  he  should  enjoy  that  honour. 

'*  As  to  its  being  my  first  ball,  that,"  he  smilingly  said,  *'  he  saw  it 
was."*  Upon  which  I  blushed  crimson,  as  I  remembered  how  verdantly 
^een  I  must  appear  to  him.  To  the  waltz  succeeded  a  quadrille,  and 
again  we  danced  together,  which  afforded  ample  opportunity  for  conversa- 
tion. Again  I  awkwardly  stumbled,  and  aeain  he  assisted  me ;  he  had 
quite  constituted  himself  my  protector,  and  I  folt  most  grateful  to  him 
for  his  delicate  kindness. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  last  dance  I  retreated  to  my  mother,  attended 
by  my  new  beau,  who  seated  himself  at  my  side. 

*'  Allow  me  to  remind  you,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  twice  prevented 
you  from  falling.  I  only  mention  this,  in  the  hope  that  you  will  think 
of  me  with  goodwill  in  consequence." 

**  Oh,"  said  I,  *'  indeed  I  do  thank  you  so  much — you  have  been  so 
goodnatured  to  an  awkward  country  girl,  and  I  have  so  much  enjoyed 
my  dance  witfi  you,  because  I  was  not  firightened." 

"  Let  me  hope,  then,  soon  to  enjoy  a  similar  pleasure,**  (I  bowed). 
•'  Do  you  go  to  the  Opera  often  ?  " 

'*  Yes,"  md  I,  «*  we  are  going  to-morrow  night" 

*'  May  I  be  allowed  to  look  into  your  box  ? " 

**  I  have  no  doubt,*'  said  I,  remembering  all  the  lessons  about  the  pro- 
prieties I  had  received,  '^  that  mamma  "  (with  an  emphasis)  **  will  be 
happy  to  see  you." 

When  we  departed  he  handed  me  to  the  carriage,  and  I  went  home, 
truth  to  tell,  frill  of  my  new  friend,  who  I  felt  had  a  certain  sympathetic 
attraction  about  him,  that,  somehow  or  other,  caused  him  strangely  to 
run  in  my  head.  He  was  neither  proud  like  the  young  lordling,  fnvo- 
lous  like  the  parson,  or  worldly  like  A —  B — ;  and  during  that  one 
evening  he  had  made  more  impression  on  me  than  the  others  all  united. 


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58 
THE  »CaaSIS  OF  MY  EXISlSa*CE. 

BY  AN  OLD  3AGSEL0R. 

I^M  not  a  sentimeatal  man  now.  I  iutve  passed  that  state  of 
existence  Icmg  since,  as  a  man  whose  whiskers  have  got  bushy 
while  the  hair  on  liis  crown  has  got  thm,  and  whose  eyes  are  snr- 
roonded  by  little  nascent  crows'  &et,  decidedly  ought  to  have 
done.  I  confesB  Aat  I  porefer  a  ^eod  dinner  to  the  most  enchant- 
ing of  balls,  claret  to  polkas,  and  a  jolly  bacchanalian  ditty  to  the 
pretty  smell  talk  of  die  Biost  -Amtf  damsel  that  ever  floated 
through  a  quadrille  in  ringlets  and  clear  <mnslin. 

"  Horrid  wretch !"  I  hear  some  young  lady  reader  exclaim,  as 
she  peruses  this  confession,  and  prepares  to  ^ow  down  the  book 
in  disgust.  Stay  one  moment,  fair  lady,  I  beseecli  you,  and  you 
shall  have  a  little  genuine  sentimental  reminiscence  of  my  ^^  days 
of  auld  lang  syne" — and  then — then  you  may  thiow  down  the 
book  if  you  please  and  call  me  a  *^  horrid  wretch"  if  you  can. 

What  a  pretty,  little,  gauzy,  fiadry-like  creature  was  Angelica 
Staggers  when  first  I  met  her !  The  very  recoUeodon  of  her  at 
this  moment  makes  a  faint  vibration  of  my  heart  perceptible  to 
me,  while  then  the  sound  of  hear  name  would  startle  me  like  the 
postman's  xap  at  the  street  door.  Bill  Staggers  (it  isn't  a  pretty 
name.  Staggers — ^but  then,  Angelica !)  was  a  schodfeUow  of  nnne. 
Schoolboys  don't  talk  much  abontliieir  sisters, -because  they  get 
langhed  at  if  they  do :  so  that  I  knew  little  more  than  the  bore 
fact  that  Staggers  had  a  sister.  In  after  years  when  we  left  school, 
and  Staggers  went  into  his  Anther's  counting-house  m  the  city,  and 
I  into  my  father's  office  in  Gray's  Inn,  -flie  matter  was  different. 

Staggers  introduced  me  to  his  fiennily.  This  consisted  of  his 
papa,  a  pompous  old  fellow  who  always  wore  a  dress  coat  in  the 
street  as  well  as  at  home,  and  whose  pendant  watch-seals  would 
certainly  have  drawn  him  under  water  if  he  had  ever  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  tumble  overboard  from  a  Margate  steamer ;  of  mamma, 
who  was  a  lady  of  vast  dimensions,  with  the  usual  superfluity  of 
colour  in  her  cheeks  and  cap  ribbons  on  her  head ;  of  a  sister  of 
Mr.  Staggers,  senior,  who  might  have  been  agreeable  if  she  had 
not  given  you  the  idea  of  being  pinched  everywhere — pinched  in 
her  waist,  pinched  in  her  nose,  pinched  in  her  mouth,  and  pinched 
in  her  views  of  things  in  general ;  and  lastly  of  the  daughter  of 
the  house — the  divine  Angelica  herself. 

How  shall  I  describe  Angelica  as  I  first  saw  her  one  fine  sum- 
mers' day,  about  two  o'clock  in  the  aflemoon,  dressed  in  the  most 
charming  of  muslin  negligee  dresses,  reclining  in  a  large  easy 
chair,  and  embroidering  on  a  frame  a  pair  of  worsted  slippers  for 
her  papa?  How  shall  I  ever  give  an  accurate  picture  of  her 
beautiful,  light,  golden  hair,  that  literally  glittered  in  the  rays  of 


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QP  MT  EKHRdiOC  *5B 

il»  wamAkke  AM  imaAo  tlicir'wmj  fcrovgh  ihe  InJC^Arawn  green 
qooBotnii  UnMb  of  Ae  nmdoir  by  lAndi  die  «at,  in  the  drawing- 
sBom  ef  ikmt  AAif^tM  vSUkmi  PedEfaamlfaat  looked  out  on  to  the 
mmmatMy  sfasvea  iawn  irith  ^die  tatrge  wnhing 'basin  of  a  fish  ponA 
im  it,  GGotainbig  mefr  so  mxnj  iftiiHnigB*  worth  of  g6ld  and  ^ritrer 
ihih  ?  I  «ui^  d^  it.  J  fa»i«  let  oH  njr  poetry  ron  to  eeed,  end  I 
^ml  mjmUwm  inoompelent  to  do  justice  to  the  charms  of  AngeKca 
as  a  sign-psinlerwMihl  be  to  copy  a  Madonna  of  Raphael,  or  a 
•stnetbaUed  aawmiser  to  sing  the  ^stabat  mater**  of  Boasini.  i 
nmst^ve  op  Ae  attempt :  -bot  cannot  the  veader  help  me  ^nit  of 
.the  difficult  byimagiBiiig  aomething  very  fair,  pink  and  white, 
-v^siy  alil^it, inqr  aaioarted,  and  very  e«iieiaai4ooking  ahogetber-? 
Of  coarse  he  can ; — then  there  is  Angelica  "flteggers  before  his 
^fCB  diioody« 

FxMD  tbemoment  I  saw  her  I  fek  that  my  doom  was  fixed,  and 
snj  heart  ^l>aai'hied.  I  adnired,  I  loved,  I  adored  her,  and  the 
-veiy  atmosphere  that  snnwmded  her  (I  don't  mean  r^e  smell  of 
^voest  dn<^  that  was  steaming  np  from  the  kitchen)  seemed  to 
breathe  of  paradise*  Aocmr^gly,  as  a  veiy  natural  consequence 
of  this  feeling  of  mine,  I  behavad  very  sheepishly — bhnhed  and 
■aiiiMiK  red,  and  tore  off  the  bnHoas  of  my  gloves,  stock  my  legs 
JBta  ateurd  positicms  from  not  knowing  what  the  denoe  to  do  with 
Jfaem,  stumbled  over  an  ottoman  as  I  took  my  leave,  and  to  save 
.my  own  &U  cangfat  at  a  china  card-tray  and  smashed  it — effecting 
any  retmat  at  len^  in  « ^state  of  tremor  mifficiem  to  Imve  brought 
(on  a  Berrans  feaer. 

My  friend  IStaggen'qmnEed  me : — 

**  Why.,  Jones,  1  -never  saw  yousM)  quiet.  1  always  bought  yon 
such  a  devil  of  a  fellow  among  the  ladies.  YoaVe  lost  your  tongue 
to-^y:  wfaatisiti** 

What  k  it !  As  if  I  wave  gaing  to  tell  Atm  what  itiras.  Sup- 
^poauag  I  ind  told  him  that  his  sister  ipas  an  angel,  l^e  fellow  would 
iiave  giinned  and  tfaoaght  I  was  mad.  Men  never  do  believe  in 
:d»  divinity  iji  thenr  ststers ;  Aey  are  lAmost  as  incredulous  as 
IwydaindB  tonohnag  their  wives.  The  last  man  in  the  world  I 
'would  select  as  the  confidant  of  my  love  affaifs  would  be  the  bro- 
ther of  my  adoiad  one.  I  should  know  that  he  would  annoy  me 
.by  tke  most  auti-fomantic  anecdotes  of  his  sister's  childhood,  and 
tease  her  to  death  by  frightful  stones  of  myself.  And  so  I  in- 
^vented  excuses  ab«it  being  ^  out  of  sorts  "  and  that  sort  of  thii^ 
to  aacooit  ior  .my  nnwcmted  taciturnity  and  embarrassment  at  this 
»y  fimt  interview  with  Angelica  Staggers. 

I  was  soon  a  very  frequent  visitor  at  the  Peckham  Villa,  and! 
JMd  season  to  suppose  that  I  was  a  welcome  one.  The  old  gentle- 
maniias  ¥eiy  civil ;  mamma  was  pressing  in  her  invitations;  ihe 
^aaaiden  amt'^affible  m  Ae  extreme;  and  Angelica  always 
received  me  with  a  smile,  that  1  valoed  at  a  higher  price  than 
California  and  JkattraKa  together  eonld  pay. 

SCbe  fitaggere  ftnAy  led  a  quiet  life,  wilji  the  exception  of  B31, 
■who  hamrtftri  iheasies  and  cyder  cellars,  and  liarmonic  meetings, 
.  as  diffieepatable  an  existence  as  a^ilyderk  well  eoidd. 

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60  THE  CRISIS  OF  MT  EXISTENpB. 

I  seldom  met  any  one  at  the  Peckam  Villa  but  the  family,  and 
occasionally  a  Signer  Fidilini,  who  was  Angelica's  music  and  sing- 
ing master,  and  was  sometimes  invited  to  tea  in  the  evening,  that 
he  might  delight  Papa  Staggers  by  playing  and  singing  duets  with 
Angelica.  I  can't  say  I  liked  his  doing  so  myself,  and  I  always 
considered  his  double-bass  growl  spoiled  the  silvery  notes  of  his 
pupil's  voice;  and  then  I  had  a  great  objection  to  seeing  his 
jewelled  fingers  hopping  about  and  jumping  over  Angelica's  on 
the  piano,  in  some  of  those  musical  firework  pieces  they  played 
together.  But  he  was  a  very  quiet,  gentlemanly  fellow,  and  re- 
markably respectful  in  his  manner  to  Angelica,  so  that  there  could 
be  no  real  cause  for  jealousy — but! — the  word  seemed  quite  absurd 
to  use  in  such  a  case. 

My  father  pronounced  me  the  idlest  clerk  he  ever  had.  I  am 
not  sure  that  he  was  quite  wrong,  but  he  little  suspected  the 
cause.  While  I  ought  to  have  been  drawing  abstracts  of  title,  I 
was  drawing  fancy  portraits  of  Angelica;  while  I  should  have 
been  engrossing  brief-sheets,  Angelica's  form  was  engrossing  my 
thoughts ;  instead  of  studjring  declarations  at  law,  I  was  cogitating 
a  declaration  of  my  attachment.  To  plead  well  my  own  cause 
with  herself  and  her  father  was  the  only  sort  of  pleading  I  cared 
for ;  while  the  answer  I  might  get  to  my  suit  was  of  ten  thousand 
times  more  consequence  in  my  eyes  than  all  the  answers  in  all  the 
fusty  old  Chancery-suits  in  all  the  lawyers'  offices  in  the  world. 
As  for  reading,  Moore  and  Byron  supplied  food  to  the  mind  that 
ought  to  have  been  intent  on  Coke  ana  Blackstone.  Apollo !  God 
of  Poetry,  and  Venus,  deification  of  Love,  answer  truly  ! — ^is  there 
a  more  wretched  being,  a  more  completely  fish-out-of  water  indi- 
vidual than  a  lawyer's  clerk  in  love  ? 

After  long  and  painful  watching,  I  became  convinced,  in  spite 
of  a  lover's  fears,  that  Angelica  was  not  insensible  to  my  attach- 
ment. The  little  bouquets  I  bought  for  her  at  Covent  Garden 
Market  were  received  with  a  look  that  thrilled  through  my  very 
soul.  (I  hope  that  is  a  proper  expression,  but  my  poetry  having 
grown  rusty,  as  I  before  mentioned,  I  am  in  some  doubt  about  the 
matter).  There  was,  or  I  dreamt  it,  a  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand 
as  we  met,  and  as  we  parted  that  could  not  be  accidental,  and 
could  not  be  that  of  mere  friendship.  There  was  a  half  timidi^ 
in  the  tone  of  her  voice  as  she  addressed  me,  different  from  the 
self-possession  she  displayed  in  conversation  with  others.  In 
short,  there  were  a  thousand  of  those  little  signs,  visible  though 
indescribable,  that  Angelica  Staggers  knew  that  I  loved  her  and 
was  gratified  by  the  fact. 

Now  most  men  would  have  thrown  themselves  at  her  feet  and 
made  their  vows,  in  such  a  case ;  but  1  was  doubtful  whether  that 
was  the  most  safe  course  to  pursue  in  order  to  secure  the  prize. 
It  struck  me  that  her  father  was  just  one  of  those  crusty  old 
gentlemen  that  look  on  a  young  fellow  as  little  better  than  a  pick- 
pocket, who  dares  to  gain  a  daughter's  affections  without  first  ask- 
mg  her  pq)a's  permission  to  do  so.  On  the  other  hand,  I  was 
quite  aware  that  young  ladies  don't  like  to  be  asked  of  their  papas 


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TflB  CBI8I8  OF  MT  BXI8TEN0E.  61 

b^ire  they  are  asked  themselres ;  there  is  too  much  of  the  Ma- 
hometan and  of  the  Continental  style  in  snch  a  proceeding  to 
please  ottr  free-born  island  lassies.  Still,  I  might  get  over  that 
difficulty  by  explaining  how  hopeless  I  believed  it  to  be  to  secure 
her  fathers  consent  at  all,  unless  I  got  it  Jirst.  I  was  right ;  and 
so  I  resolved  to  have  an  interview  with  Mr.  Staggers,  and  explain 
my  sentiments. 

Did  any  one  of  my  readers  ever  drive  in  tandem  two  horses  that 
had  never  been  broken  to  harness  ?  Did  he  ever  let  off  a  blun- 
derbuss that  had  been  loaded  for  ten  years?  Did  he  ever  walk 
through  long  grass  notoriously  full  of  venomous  snakes  ?  Did  he 
ever  ride  a  broken-kneed  horse  over  stony  ground  ?  Did  he  ever 
take  a  cold  shower-bath  at  Christmas  ?  Did  he  ever  propose  the 
health  of  the  ladies  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies  themselves,  and 
before  he  had  at  all  ^^  primed*^  himself?  Did  he  ever  walk  across 
a  narrow  greasy  plank  placed  across  a  chasm  some  hundreds  of 
feet  in  depth  ?  If  he  has  done  all  or  any  •of  these  feats,  I  can  bear 
witness  to  the  fact  that  he  has  had  some  experience  of  nervous 
work ;  but  if  he  has  never  been  back-parloured  with  a  grave, 
pompous  old  father,  of  whom  he  is  about  to  ask  his  daughter's 
nand,  thenj  I  say  his  experience  of  real,  genuine,  ^^  nervous  work  ^ 
is  but  infantile  after  all.  Making  a  declaration  to  the  lady  herself 
is  nothing  to  it,  though  a  little  embarrassing  too ;  but  then  you 
know  that  the  fair  one  is  in  as  much  trepidation  as  yourself,  and 
not  watching  you  with  a  cold  calculating  eye,  weighing  your  ex- 
pressions, and  drawing  conclusions  perhaps  prejudicial  to  your 
^reputation  for  sense  or  honesty.  I  declare  that  I  would  not  go 
through  that  ordeal  again  for  the  wealth  of  the  Antipodes  (that 's 
the  last  new  phrase) :  and,  between  ourselves,  that  is  the  very 
reason  why  I  remain  to  this  day  a ;  — but  stay  —  I  am  anti- 
cipating. 

I  cannot  give  an  account  of  my  interview  with  Old  Staggers, 
because,  even  half  an  hour  after  it  was  over,  I  had  but  a  confused 
recollection  of  what  took  place  at  it.  I  only  know  that  it  haunted 
my  dreams  like  a  nightmare  for  nights  after.  I  was  eternally 
jumping  up  in  my  bed  in  a  cold  perspiration,  with  my  hair  half 
thrusting  my  night-cap  off  my  head,  in  the  midst  of  *^  explaining 
my  intentions."*  However,  a  great  point  was  gained — ^Mr.  Staggers 
agreed  to  offer  no  opposition  to  the  match,  provided  my  father 
consented  also. 

*^  I  shall  call  on  him  to-day,  my  young  friend,^  he  said ;  '^  so 
dine  with  us  at  Peckham  at  six,  and  you  shall  know  the  result.  I 
don't  forbid  your  going  there  earlier,  if  you  feel  inclined  to 
do  so." 

This  was  handsome.  I  expressed  my  gratitude  as  well  as  I 
was  able,  and  at  once  took  a  Peckham  omnibus,  and  hastened  to 
Angelica. 

^  Missus  is  out,  sir ;  and  so 's  Miss  Staggers :  but  Miss  An- 
gelica  's  in  the  drawing-room,  sir.'* 

**  Very  well.    Ill  go  there — ^you  needn't  show  me  up.** 

So  saying,  I  sprang  lightly  upstairs,  and  was  in  the  drawing- 


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62  TBB  mn»op  we 


one — met  m^f  earfraft  I  entaBed,  and  I  aair  Si|^or  FidfliK  i 
bia-  arm  veiy  haalilgK,  as  if  it  hadf  baeiriift  fiuroloaer  pronmiigr  te 
tffte  wairt  o£  Aii§dic%  wbo»  waa  aib  t&e  piaao^liai^  i  rinidd  hsPtt 
conaideied  at.  all  neceaaaiy  ia  aa  aoAnarfr  musie:  la— lu.. 

^^Oh  dear,  1Mb.  Jones !  hcnr  yeoididstaiAkt  w;''  cruBd-iongelica^ 
blushing  terribly,  as  she  rose  to  shake  bands  with  rsm.  ^  I  didn't 
bear  yoa  comkig  at  aU^  I  asattra  jmMk^ 

I  didn't,  need  that  a8annince>.aBd.  li  bdicpe  I  saicL  somalliing^  af 
the  sort. 

*^  Mees  Ang^ea  so  fiaaredvdaa.I  pBl7  ona  mj  aEB  to  stop  bar 
fidl  off  from  da  stoid,"  said  Fidilmi.;,  and:  be  foalml  so*  pedeetljr 
tttttl^ul  and  ambaaraaaed  aa  ba  apaira,.  that  mj  draadfiil  anspiciaoa 
began,  to  ba  aUagred. 

'^  I  feel  qaite^  nenwMU  at&tiua^pBasena  mnmen^'*  saM  Aagslicak 
^  Indeed^  SignoivyoiL  mnsttuot  aak  ma  tm  taiut  anfrmora  musiiK 
lessons  to<>dayv.^ 

Signor  Fidilini.  bodied  gracaMly  faift  aaant^  and:  1  cast  a  de^ 
lifted  look  at  Angelica;  for  laaa  she  noa  getting'  rid  of  tfaair 
Itraaeme  muHC-master  fbc  nofi  mkai-  Fsdalmtt  pacltedi  np  bia 
gemun^aausage  roll  of  maaic,  andy-faiddiBy  «i  goed-dqr,  hoim[ 
himself  ouit  o£  tha  loon;. 

We  were  alone !  We  kohod  uncprnfrrtahle,  and  we  ftlt  so— I 
am  sure  of  it  in  her  ease  aa  wdlias  mji  own.. 

^^  Angelica !  ^  L  exriaimeA 

She  started^  and.  looked  sarpnaadi. 

*^  Angeliea,.  L  lo^e-  yon— you  know  it  t  bn^  yw  dto  not  know  kom^ 
deeply  and  haw  devotedly,"  &e.  &£.  I  suppose  is  is^  quite  unne- 
oessary  for  me  to  gtve  the  remaioder  of  the  dedantion,  booanse 
no  one  can  be  ignorant  of  the  nsool  form  of  the  words  in  these 
cases.  It  is  as  *^  stereotjrped^  as  an  Admiralty  Secretary'^  letters 
— but  I  suppose  it  meanaalitde  more,  or  iriu^adeal  of  fibbing 
lovers  must  be  goiltf  of  when  they  eorae  to  t&s-  grand  scene  €i 
the  domestic  drama,  of  ^*  love  !** 

Angdica  bung  her  head,  and  bludied;,.aadt  panted.  I  &lt  she 
waa  mine,,  and  1  scoosd.  bee  hand  and.  began  Id  cover  it  widt 
hisses,  when  Ab  matched  it  from  me  ia  sneh  haste,  diat  bev 
diamond  and  pead  ring  acratrfacd  my  finges..    I  was  amased ! 

^'  Mr.  Joaes>  I  eaa  listen  m^  more.  I  aaaure  you  I  mmtt  listen 
no  more." 

^'  Why  so  ?    Your  &tber  will  not  oppose  n^  wishea  for — ^ 

*'Itis  no^thaiy^sir:  it  i%  that  I  cannot  noiprocate  the  attach- 
ment you  profess  tat  me." 

"  Oh !  do  not  say  so— do  not — ^*' 

**  If  you.  have  any  generositjir  im  your  heart,  Mr.  Jonea,  you 
will  cease  this  strain  at  onoe^  You  have  mistaken  my  feelings 
altogether." 

^^  It's  that  cursed  Fidilini !"  I  cried  in  a  rage,  forgetting  my 
good-breeding. 

"  I  begy  sir,  that  you  will  not  use  such  language  in  my  pre- 


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sence,  especially  with  reference  to  a  gpiliMiMin  foe  wIknb  I  eater- 
tain  a  feeling  of—" 

^  Low!"*  I  saicl^  irilh  m  ttopidly  iBdiganiti  lan^^  and  an 
attempt  aa  am  air  of  ftragadf.  '^  &iti  L  aara  imhL.  1  will  sliootbia 
within  twenty-foiMh  oa ha  abaH  aboai  ne^T  tmi  I  slaiitad  to-  ny 
feet  with  a  thorough  determination  to  call  out  Fidilini  witbout  an 
houEi^  ddaf. 

**  For  heaven's  sake  don't  speak  ao/'  oried  Ajigalicai.  ^*  There 
waflbaiHMiiiii  ;.  1  know- ha  11  &|^  aad^yocL  ought  lull— ^ 

^  Tfank  yanf  I  might  kill  iU«— yes :  youi don't  aaam  to  hara 
any  fears  lest  he  should  kill  me.  However,  he  shall  have  a 
chflBce/"  aad  I  strode  toward*  tba  door.. 

"Stay,"  cried  Angelica:  and  she  seized  my  arm:  "stay,  you 
akafthaivf  my  secret,. and  then^I  ttmawmymit  asLyowFgmeaamky. 
Hei^fliyAtiakMui!" 

"  Fidilini  ?— the  devil ! "  I  exclaimed. 

^Wa*  are  privately  maraed^'  aaid  AagBlca,,  "hul»  fos  the 
jflam^  do  not  kt— '' 

Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  and  Mis* 
%^£>gniiii^  who  entered  the  iooa,.ta  our  gpaai  discoHifiUuDe.  Aoge- 
fisa,  widi.aniappai^g  loaktowaods  ma,  bumadly  left  the  roonu 

if  aver  a  poor  wvetohfidt  himself  iaan  uncoBafortahla  pankimi^ 
I  did  at  that  moment,  and  during  the  rest  of  that  evenings  Mo. 
Staggers  brought  home  a  city  friend  with  hini^  obmiusly  to  areid 
a  iHe-ortite  with  me  after  dinner,  but  he  took  care  to  inform  me, 
in  a  whisper,  that  his  negotiation  with  my  &tber  had  failed.  I 
diBB  say  he  wttai^ij^  maak0Bq>Eiaad4at  the  cool  indifftrance  with 
wfaieh  I  refawrnd  tfai»-  pieee  of  informotioiv  fi>r  ha  little  hnaw 
hair  woxddesa  ware  the-  caneanta  af  the  pagas.  in  the  present 


Of  aU  the  artfiiL  little  hoariea  that  ev«  livad^  decidedly  that 
gill  is  dia  moateomplate !  thought  I,  afr  I  wainhad  the  quiet  and 
msmffomdi  maanar  in  which  Angaliea.  behaped  during,  dinaary  and 
the  eveiniif.  which  foUoived.  She  plajied  and  sang  as  fkealy  as 
ever,  and  even  expressed  her  sonrow  that  Sigpoc  Fidilini  was- not 

E resent,  that  she  might  sing  one  of  her  papa's  favourite  duets.  If 
e  h€ui  been  present,  I  believe  I  should  have  strangled  the  fellow 
against  all  resistance. 

How  I  passed  that  night,  I  wont  say,  but  I  did  not  sleep. 

Next  morning  I  was  at  the  office  as  usual,  and  really  trying  to 
work  hard  to  keep  niy  thoughts  from  dwelling  on  Angelica.  About 
ten  o'clock,  my  father  rushed  into  the  room  where  I  was  seated  at 
the  desk,  in  company  with  Mr.  Staggers^ 

**  Villain  !"  cried  Staggers,  to  me. 

^^  You  young  scoundrel ! ''  screamed  my  father. 

I  was  really  alarmed,  for  I  thought  that  both  those  respectable 
elderly  gentlemen  must  have  gone  mad.  I  stared,  in  open- 
mouthed  astonishment. 

"  Where's  my  daughter  ?"  bawled  Staggers. 

'^  Answer,  sir ! "  shouted  my  father,  as  1  looked,  if  possible,  still 
more  surprised. 


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64  THE  CRISIS  OF  MY  EXISTENCE. 

"  I  don't  know,**  I  replied. 

"  You  lie,  sir,**  cried  Staggers. 

'^Yoa  are  quibbling,  sir,**  added  my  father;  ^^we  don*t  ask 
where  she  is  at  this  very  moment;  yon  know  tvfiat  we  mean.'* 

"  Is  she  married  ?  **  said  Staggers :  "  answer  that.** 

"Really,  I—** 

"  Answer  plainly,  sir,  and  without  shuffling,**  cried  my  father. 

**  I  believe  she  is,*'  I  answered. 

"  Believe  !  why,  you  young  villain,  when  you  litotes  whether  you 
have  married  her  or  not,  how  dare  you  talk  about  what  you 
believe?^ 

"/  marry  her!  Pm  not  married  to  her!**  I  cried,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"What  the does  all  this  mean  ?**  exclaimed  my  father, 

losing  all  patience.  "  Miss  Staggers  has  run  off  from  her  father's 
house — with  you,  it 's  suspected." 

"  Indeed  !'*  I  exclaimed,  interrupting  him ;  "  then  I  suppose  I 
may  tell  the  truth;  no  doubt  she  is  gone  with  her  husband, 
Fidilini.'* 

Never  shall  I  forget  old  Staggers*  rage  and  surprise  when  he 
heard  my  simple  story;  nor  his  savage  indignation  when  my 
£Bither  (thinking  only  of  his  own  son  being  out  of  a  mess)  ex* 
claimed : — 

"  I  *m  deuced  glad  of  it.** 


I  am  going  to  the  christening  of  Madame  Fidilini*s  seventh 
child  to-morrow.  They  like  an  old  bachelor  for  a  godfather  some* 
times,  because  he  has  no  other  children  than  god-children  to  pro- 
vide for.  Grandpapa  Staggers  will  be  there,  and  so  will  grand- 
mamma and  grand-aunt;  and  the  latter  will  be  very  attentive  to 
me,  but  8he*s  more  pinched  than  ever,  and  looks  like  a  dried 
herring  in  figure  and  complexion.  I  shall  dine  with  old  Staggers 
afterwards,  and  he  has  some  superb  claret,  much  better  stuff  than 
— ^well,  never  mind,  I  have  done  ! 


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65 


BEMINI8CENCES  OF  HENLEY  REGATTA. 

BY  AN  OXFORD  MAN. 

~  I  HAVS  made  it  a  role  nerer  to  allow  public  erents,  whaterer 
AeiT  magnitade  or  moment,  to  interfere  with  my  private  amnse- 
ments;  and  so,  though  I  have  no  doubt  that,  to  use  the  regular 
ilietorical  phrase,  ^  we  are  slumbering  on  the  brink  of  a  volcano,^ 
I  was  not  deterred  by  the  Russian  uUimaium  from  enjoying 
myself  during  Ascot  week.  It  is  scarcely  possible  to  realize  the 
prospect  of  war,  in  such  fine  weather  as  this,  unless  it  be  the 
mimic  hostilities  on  the  plains  of  Chobham.  On  a  warm  June 
diay,  with  excursion  trains  (on  which  accidents  are  no  longer  of 
daily  occurrence)  tempting  one  from  metropolitan  duties  to  eveir 
kmd  of  ruralizing,  it  is  difficult  to  feel  tbat  excitement  which 
should  stir  all  well-regulated  minds,  on  the  ultimate  chances  of 
any  alteration  taking  place  in  the  mode  of  worship  under  tbe 
dome  of  St  Sophia,  or  the  effects  of  the  '^  Eossack  watering  his 
steeds  in  the  Khine.''  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  dangers  im» 
pending,  and  am  an  enthusiastic  believer  in  ^the  balance  of 
European  power  ^*  and  the  ^'  faith  of  treaties.^  I  would  not  fiddle^ 
like  Nero,  when  Rome  was  on  fire,  nor  did  I  ever  in  any  way 
encourage  those  eccentric  philanthopists  who  annually  celebrate 
the  downfidl  of  Poland  by  a  civic  ball.  But,  during  this  week,  in 
spite  of  Prince  Menschikoff,  and  his  modest  proposals,  ^  the  Greek 
waters  ^  and  the  squadrons  cruising  in  them,  ainl  the  fall  of  funds 
here,  there,  and  everywhere,  I  have  been  unrestrainedly  enjoying 
myself  at  Oxford,  Ascot  and  Henlev.  I  need  not  tell  my  readers^ 
who  were  all  there,  of  the  style  in  which  Teddington  won  the  plate 
of  the  "Emperor  of  all  the  Russias,**  or  how,  on  the  banks  of  Isis, 
the  vociferous  undergraduates  cheered  and  mobbed  Mr.  Disraeli, 
until  they  fidrly  drove  him  out  of  the  town. 

To  all  Oxonians  and  Cantabs,  and  to  the  people  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, this  Regatta  has  become  what  the  "  limes''  news- 
paper calk  "  a  great  fact.^  In  the  town  itself  it  is  looked  upon  as 
an  institution.  To  the  influx  of  cash  during  the  aquatic  week  the 
hotel-keeper  and  the  publican  (not  to  mention  sinners  of  other 
callings)  look  forward  as  a  compensation  for  the  unremunerating 
quiescence  of  the  remainder  of  the  year.  Local  scullers  and 
rowers  impatiently  expect  a  triumph  in  their  own  **  reach.**  The 
belles  of  the  place  choose  their  muslins  in  May  with  an  especial 
view  to  undergraduate  admiration,  while  their  maiden  aunts  and 
citizen  fathers  are  haunted  by  dismal  forebodings  of  disasters 
which  may  happen  to  their  knockers,  and  tremulous  anticipations 
for  their  window-panes. 

Well,  my  dear  boating,  or  non-boating  reader,  suppose  us  to 
have  arrived  together  any  regatta  day  during  the  last  five  or  six 


yean  at  this  fine  old  town  on  the  banks  of  Father  Tha, 

VOL  XXXIV.  ""''^'''"^ 


66  REHINISCBNGES  OF 

will  not  imagine  it  to  be  a  wet  day,  because  that  is  not  the  nonnal 
state  of  the  aflair.  At  any  rate,  it  is  not  what  it  should  be,  for 
rain  is  as  hostile  to  the  true  interests  of  regattas  as  to  that  of 
pic-nics.  It  may  be  here  renarited,  that  it  doey  raim  oo  the  re- 
currence of  this  great  event  about  once  in  three  or  (perhaps  to  be 
more  accurate)  three  times  in  five  years,  and  it  rains  on  only  one 
of  the  two  days,  and  on  that  day,  although  the  company  is  some- 
what select  and  limited,  and  includes  only  those  who  are  aquati- 
cally  earnest,  yet  the  sport  is  always  good.  Well,  I  said  just  oow^ 
we  would  si^)pose  ousselves  to  have  arrived,  but  it  is  perfectly 
clear  that  we  must  have  previously  started,  and  therefore  one  word 
on  that  W^,  then,  granted  fine  weather;  myself  up  early  (not 
often  the  case),  break&st  comfortably  over  (by  the  by,  they  an» 
always  uncomfortable)  at  my  chambers  in  the  Temple,  and  yoa 
having  declined  to  brealdast  with  me  (in  which  you  showed  your 
•good  taste),  punctually  meeting  me  in  time  for  an  early  train  at 
the  great  railway  terminus,  Faddington.  Granted  also  a  great 
rush  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  men  of  all  sorts  and  seniorilyw 
There  is  the  badly  dressed  freshman,  whose  apparel  is  a  sort 
of  mixture  between  fast  and  slow;  the  noisily  attired,  but  yet 
xnare  congruous  and  confident  under- graduate,  who  has  not  long 
achieved  Uttle-go,  and  is  not  yet  victimized  by  thoughts  of  degree; 
there  is  the  unmistakable  difierence  between  Oxonians  and  Can- 
tabs,  which  an  experienced  eye  can  always  see.  Some  are  read^ 
ing  the  '^  Times,^  one  or  two  (I  am  sorry  to  say,  but  they  are  the 
aons  ef  country  gentlemen  of  Sibthorpian  calibre)  the  ^'  Morning 
Herald;^'  a  great  many  are  making  small  bets  very  laigely;  a  few 
that  have  come  together  are  chatting,  while  others  are  wishing  to 
talk  to  their  neighbours,  but  dare  not  trample  on  university 
etiquette,  for  they  have  not  been  introduced.* 

Granted  also,  that  we  stop  at  a  country  town  on  the  river,  not 
many  miles  from  Henley,  and  that  we  pass  through  this  placa 
(which,  by  the  by,  is  like  many  other  country  towns,  for  it  has  a 
church  with  a  clock  that  never  goes  right,  a  town-haU,  a  pump,  and 
a  post-office),  and  call  at  the  house  of  some  very  charming  and 
hospitable  friends  of  mine,  to  whom  we  mention,  quite  cursorily, 
that  we  are  presently  going  to  drive  over  to  Henley,  and  are  imme^ 
diately  invited  to  accompany  them  in  their  carriage.  Granted,  in 
fine,  that  we  have  had  a  very  delightful  drive,  fallen  very  much  ia 
love  with  the  young  ladies  of  the  party,  who  are  very  pretty,  and 
(as  we  at  first  imagined)  taken  up  a  good  position,  with  the  car- 
riage in  the  centre  of  the  bridge  which  commands  the  magnifi- 
cent reach  of  river,  where  the  contests  will  take  place.  In  an 
instant  twenty  ragged  rascals  surround  us,  and  demand  vocifer- 
ously theii'  seversJ  rights  to  take  care  of  the  carriage  and  horses. 

•  There  is  a  very  old  story  of  two  men  of  the  same  college  meeting  on  Moot 
Bianc  and  not  speaking ;  and  it  is  still  better  authenticated  that  an  Oxford-man* 
some  years  ago,  seeing  another  drowning  in  the  Isis,  passed  by  like  the  Priest 
tmd  Levite  iti  the  parable,  and  afterwards  regretted  very  deeply  to  a  mutual 

friend  that  it  was  quite  out  of  his  power  to  save  poor  ,  ht  they  had 

never  been  introduced. 


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If  7  fiiands  have  faiMiglii  Ibeir  <iwb  Mrrasta  wkh  ilMm,  but  itiH 
tkne  tattaed  kaipies  pnew  thf— Cilypt  nlo  the  samoa,  a^d  poll 
tba  lionet  keads  i^boat  ontil  we  aie  backed  a^^Bit  a  aeiglibottr^ 
img  dog-caxt,  to  tbe  ^adangeriag  of  the  shafts  tbenaof.  Befosa 
tbeae  iellovs  ane  dnFon  off  by  our  unkod  efforts,  thiee  gjrpsies  ana 
OBeacb  side  of  the  canii^pa»  noisily  iwyiestiag  that  their  ha»ds  may 
bo  crosaed  with  EslweXj  and  Areateaing  «s  oae  and  all  with  the 
kmgeviij  of  Methuselah^  aiMl  an  ofbpmig  proporlioaately  naaaer- 
ona.  Before  I  can  get  my  purse  out  to  bcibe  them  to  move  on, 
the  prapbeteas  nearest  me  has  staled  most  audibly  that  I  love  the 
prettf  lady  (Miss  Arabella),  that  tbe  pretty  lady  loves  me,  that  we 
shall  be  married  in  three  months,  and  that  Providence  will  twice 
bless  ns  with  twins,  and  these  only  four  of  a  goodly  heritage  of 
thisleen  children.  Miss  Arabella  blushed  hot  I  am  a  shy  young 
man,  and  so  looked  away  very  confiisedly,  i^tempting  to  make  an 
WBunportant  observation  on  the  probability  of  there  being  a  shower, 
thero  not  being  at  tbe  time  a  chance  of  anything  of  the  kind* 

Before  we  have  recovered  firom  the  effects  of  this  most  improper 
vaticination,  a  stout  man,  in  a  blue  jacket  and  flannel  continua- 
tions, observes  to  me,  in  a  confidential  tone,  that,  for  half  a  csown, 
he  will  <hve  off  tbe  bridge  into  tbe  river.  From  a  aoit  of  uncom- 
foctable  and  malicious  wish  to  get  xid  of  him,  even  by  seeing  him 
drown  himself,  or  almost  equally  in  hopes  of  his  starting  off  with 
the  money,  I  reply,  in  a  whisper,  that  I  am  preparod  to  advance 
the  sum  required.  To  my  astonishment,  instead  of  clutching  the 
coin  himself,  he  sequests  me  to  deposit  it  in  tbe  hand  of  a  by- 
stander, ascends  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  and,  to  tbe  confusion 
of  the  young  ladies,  divesting  himself  o£  tbe  blue  jacket,  and 
indeed  eveiytbing  except  the  aforesaid  continuations,  and,  to  the 
alarm  of  their  mamma,  rapidly  becoanng  hysterical,  goes  off  head- 
long into  the  river.  Scarcely  able- to  conceal  my  exultation  at  the 
fisioetious  expenditure  of  my  halfwsrown,  I  fortunately  detect  in  the 
crowd  my  fiiend  Tomlinson,  who  was  one  of  my  set  at  Oxford, 
BXkd  who  has  now  a  curacy  in  the  neig^bouriiood  of  Henley.  I 
drag  Tomlinson  over,  introduce  him  to  Arabella,  and  then  run 
across  the  road,  to  ask  Spankey  and  Trevor,  who  are  both  making 
books  on  the  regatta,  what  tbe  odds  are.  I  take  this  opportunity 
of  strolling  down  with  these  two  sporting  worthies  to  the  river 
»de,  while  the  Rev.  Tomlinson  is  making  himself  agreeable  to 
the  fair  occupants  of  the  carriage.  On  the  way  we  are  requested 
te  indulge  in  the  pleasant  pastime  of  stick-plajring,  and  win  in- 
nwnerable  useless  toys,  which  we  throw  to  a  crowd  of  small  boys, 
who  scramble  for  them.  Then,  in  despite  of  constables,  tbe  ancient 
game  of  thimbk-rig  is  being  clandestinely  carried  on  in  comers 
and  quiet  nooks  on  the  side  of  the  bank.  While  we  are  watching 
a  freshman,  who  is  always  quite  confident  that  he  knows  under 
which  thimble  tbe  pea  is,  and  see  him,  in  spite  of  his  acuteness, 
lose  three  half-sovereigns,  our  attention  is  attracted  by  three 
Henleians  running  past  us  in  a  frantic  manner,  cheering  a  sculler, 
who  is  progressing  very  slowly,  and  in  such  zig-zag  fashion,  that 
you  think,  for  a  moment,  that  the  wind  is  ahead,  and  he  is  tacking. 

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68  BBMINISCENCES  OF 

The  cause  of  exaltation  to  the  three  pedestrians  on  the  bank  is 
the  fact  that,  in  the  aooatic  straggle,  their  friend  Popjoj  has  dis- 
tanced, bj  some  lengths,  his  local  rival  Pedder.  The  excitement 
is  maddening.  Pedder  has  four  friends  running  by  his  side,  rend- 
ing the  air  with  their  shouts  of  encouragement  Popjoy  growing 
elated  with  victoiy,  becomes  careless,  and  standing  rather  too  long 
on  one  tack,  runs  bis  skiff  head-foremost  into  the  bank,  and  there 
sticks  &st  Pedder's  backers  yell  with  malignant  joy,  and  he, 
gathering  fresh  courage  from  his  antagonist's  mishap,  jerks  his 
skiff  forward  (this,  my  non-boating  reader,  is  called  ^^  putting  on  a 
spurt**),  and  runs  the  stationary  Popjoy  down,  in  rowing  phrase- 
ology, '^  bumps  ^  him.  ^^  A  foul  ^  is  claimed  for  both  parties ;  the 
dispute  grows  warm,  and  Popjoy  and  Pedder,  with  tneir  several 
friends  and  patrons,  rush  off  to  the  umpires,  before  whom  they 
cany  on  the  controversy.  The  umpires,  one  of  whom  is  classics, 
and  quotes  three  times  ^'Non  nostrum  inter  vos,**  &c.,  while 
another  of  satirical  vein,  calls  them  ^^  Arcades  ambo,**  and  trans- 
lates it  (aside)  **  both  are  cadf^  at  length  give  a  decision,  but 
what  it  was  I  really  never  cared  to  inouire,  and  cannot  therefore 
inform  my  reader.  I  leave  Trevor  and  Sparkey  betting  about  a 
trick  with  three  cards,  which  a  vagabond  was  displaying  to  a 
select  knot  of  men  round  him,  much  to  his  self-aggrandizement^ 
and  return  to  the  ladies  on  the  bridge.  The  Rev.  Tomlinson,  who 
is  very  strong  in  small  talk,  is  still  there — the  ladies  are  all  laugh- 
ing. It  is  perfectly  clear  that  I  have  not  been  missed,  and  need 
not  apologize  for  my  absence.  But  Tomlinson,  of  course,  rallies 
me,  and  says  that,  auring  my  wanderings  on  the  bank,  it  seemed 
to  die  ladies  ^'  the  bridge  of  sighs.'*  ^^  Pons  asinorum,'*  I  retort,  in 
a  low  voice,  to  the  reverend  wag.  He  takes  forthwith  to  conun- 
drums, informs  the  ladies  that  there  is  a  connection  between  the 
spirit-rappings  and  table-moving,  because  he  says  the  table,  as  it 
goes  round,  is  a  circulating  medium.  He  asserts  that  when  the 
spirits  do  not  reply,  it  is  because  they  do  not  care  a  rap  for  the 
interrogator,  and,  waxing  classical,  avers  that  the  Horatian  reason 
for  table-moving  is  ^^Solvuntur  risn  tabuls.'*  I  finish  the  line 
to  him,  ^*  tu  missus  abibis,**  and  Tomlinson  thinking  that,  after 
his  jokes,  he  can  make  what  is  called  a  ^^  strong  exit,**  takes  off 
simultaneously  his  hat — and  himself. 

By  this  time  the  bridge  looks  gayer,  the  river  more  beautifrd, 
and  the  whole  scene  more  exciting.  The  bands  are  playing 
popular  polkas  and  stirring  waltzes  on  the  barge;  the  church 
bells  are  ringing,  the  sun  comes  out  brightly,  and  the  wide  reach 
of  river  sparkles  below  us :  the  two  university  eight-oar  boats  pass 
under  the  arches  of  the  bridge,  on  their  way  to  the  starting  post* 
Every  one  is  lunching  on  the  carriages,  although  the  dust  is  blow- 
ing into  the  champagne  and  the  lobster  salad.  The  gipsies  are  as 
troublesome  as  ever.  Universi^  men,  in  neck-ties  of  dark  blue 
and  light  blue,  many  with  *^  zephyrs,*'  a  few  with  white  bats,  and 
many,  I  fear,  smoking,  pass  to  and  fro.  The  little  iron  steamer 
from  a  neighbouring  town,  runs  up  and  down  the  river,  with  its 
Lilliputian  funnel  puffing  and  snorting  most  hilariously ;  on  the 

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HENLET  BEGATTA.  69 

left  bank,  some  people  enjoy  the  Regatta,  in  a  haughty  and  exclu- 
ttTe  manner  from  their  own  windows  and  gardens ;  the  right  bank 
IS  crowded  with  spectators,  and  with  the  green  fields  behind,  and 
the  well-wooded  hill  above  them,  there  lies  before  ns  such  a  sight 
as  is  not  elsewhere  to  be  found. 

Bat  the  race  of  the  day  will  now  take  place.  Popjoy  and  Pedder 
are  forgotten.  A  contest  between  a  college  at  Cambridge  and  the 
Corsair  Club  has  gone  off  without  enthusiasm,  but  now  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  with  picked  river  heroes,  will  strive  for  aquatic  pre* 
eminence  Now,  plaunble  young  gentlemen,  of  a  sporting  turn, 
with  book  and  pencil  in  hand,  ask  if  you  will  lay  the  odds  on 
Oxford.  Of  course  you  reply  that  you  expect  he  will  lay  theqi 
on  Cambridge ;  a  small  bet,  on  even  terms,  is  concluded,  and  you 
feel,  for  the  time,  very  sporting  indeed.  Tbe  boats  have  started ; 
not  three  or  four,  but  three  or  four  hundred,  shouting  maniacs  rush 
along  the  river  side ;  Tomlinson,  who  passes  me  at  the  moment, 
observes  drily  that  there  is  ^^  a  run  on  tne  bank."  I  have  so  often 
run  over  people,  and  been  run  over  at  Henley,  that,  on  this  occa- 
sion, I  stay  with  the  ladies.  It  is  a  stoutly  contested  race.  If 
you  want  a  description  of  it,  read  the  fifth  i£neid,  or  ^  Bell's  Life." 
In  the  latter  you  may  find,  some  two  or  three  years  back,  pro- 
foundest  criticisms  by  Charon,  and  slashing  letters  from  Menippus 
— Cerberus  also  had  his  bark.  Su£Sce  it  Uiat  Oxford  wins — I  am 
in  ecstasies.  From  the  combined  effects  of  the  champagne  and 
the  victory,  I  feel  almost  maudlin  with  sendmental  joy,  and  so  I 
stroll  up  the  town  by  myself,  and  muse  over  past  Regattas.  There 
stands  the  balcony  of  the  inn  where  I  was  introduced  to  the  crowd 
of  small  boys  as  Feargus  0*Connor — a  frolic  long  ago  chronicled 
in  ^  Bendey's  Miscellany.''  There  is  the  long  room  used  on 
Sundays  for  schismatical  teaching,  which  we,  with  daring  pro* 
fenity,  turned  into  a  theatre,  and  in  it  played  classic  tragedy, 
travesties  most  laughable,  and  screaming  farce.  Which  of  us 
does  not  remember  the  pidpit  in  the  green  room  ?  who  can  forget 
how  Stapyldon  and  I,  who  were  noble  Greek  youths  in  the  tragedy, 
had  but  one  pair  of  sandals  between  us,  and  how  he  went  on  in 
his  stockings;  how  I  had  to  borrow  a  sheet  from  the  hotel  for  a 
toga;  how  Herringham,  having  to  pronounce  a  benediction  in 
blank  verse,  on  the  youUiiul  hero  of  the  play,  put  his  hand  upon 
his  head,  and  losing  his  presence  of  mind,  said,  ^^  God  bless  you, 
my  boy;**  how  Stapyldon,  having  appointed  his  man-servant 
check-taker,  the  said  check-taker  got  drunk,  and  when  a  great 
civic  authority  presented  an  order  for  admission,  signed  by  Staply- 
don,the  inebriated  treasurer  first  denied  him  entrance,  and,  on  his 
remonstrating,  thrashed  him. 

Next  I  pass  a  spot  where  we  pulled  down  a  pignsty,  and  erected 
a  barricade,  but,  as  Cicero  says  of  Athens  ^'  quacunque  ingredimur 
in  aliquam  historiam  vestigium  ponimus;**  and  as  I  should  only 
grow  more  sentimental  as  I  think  over  those  days  of  reckless 
jollitv,  I  win,  therefore,  cry  **  vive  valeque  ^  to  my  reader,  and 
tell  him  that,  though  I  still  go  to  Henley,  I  am  now  a  wiser  and 
a  sadder  men. 


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70 


TURKEY,  ITS  HOPES  AND  PERILS. 

The  spirits  aad  the  powers  of  North,  East,  and  West,  the  South 
beiDg  identified  with  the  East,  meet  at  that  central  point  of  the  old 
continent,  the  Bosphoms,  and  carry  on,  as  they  hare  done  for  cen- 
tnries,  an  inveterate  straggle.  Greece,  Persia,  and  Scythia  met 
and  fought  there  in  the  time  of  Herodotus.  The  fortune  of  the 
enarrel  has  since  then  gone  every  way,  yet  been  never  definitely 
decided.  Grreece  conquered  Asia,  and  Asia,  in  turn,  conquered 
Greece.  Turban  has  succeeded  helmet,  the  crescent  the  cross. 
Now  the  cocked  hat  must  have  its  day,  and  the  Papas  threaten 
to  make  short  work  of  the  Mufti. 

Nations  will  never  want  pretexts  for  interfering  with  one  another^ 
In  the  olden  times,  it  was  a  plain  stand  and  deliver  quarrel, — the 
strong  came  to  strip  and  enslave  the  weak.  Novv-a-days,  con- 
querors come  forward  with  much  more  politeness  in  their  mani- 
festos. They  are  never  actuated  by  avarice  or  ambition — oh,  nol 
it  would  be  a  very  castt9  belli  to  suspect  them.  Sometimes  the 
wolf  says  to  the  lamb,  you  are  troubling  the  popular  waters,  you 
are  too  noisy,  too  democratic,  and  I  will  devour  you.  But  even 
this  is  growing  exploded,  and  now  the  pretext  is  humanity.  Eng- 
land, with  great  philanthropy,  has  coerced  the  whole  world  to  join 
the  crusade  against  black  slavery.  And  now  Russia  says,  she  w31 
not  have  Christians  maltreated  by  Mahomedans.  The  Czar  stands 
forth  as  the  patron  of  all  the  Greek  Church  in  the  Ottoman  em- 
pire, and  demands  to  be  recognised  as  such. 

Hereupon  all  the  press  of  London  and  Paris  set  up  a  cTamour, 
that  Russia  demands  the  sovereignty  over  the  twelve  millions  of 
Turkish  Christians,  leaving  but  two  millions  of  Turkish  Mahom- 
edans for  the  Sultan  to  reign  over.  This  is  such  a  misrepresenta- 
tion of  the  case,  that  it  had  better  be  rectified  at  once.  However, 
the  Christians  of  Turkey  in  Europe  may  be  twelve  millions  to  three 
or  four  millions  of  Mahomedans,  counting  the  Amauts  ;  in  Asia 
there  are  ten  or  eleven  millions  of  Turks  to  one  or  two  of  Chris- 
tians. Then,  again,  the  Christians  of  Turkey  in  Europe  are  con- 
glomerated in  the  northern  provinces :  four  millions  in  Bulgaria,, 
four  millions  in  Wallachia  and  Moldavia,  one  million  in  Servia. 
With  respect  to  all  these,  Russia  makes  no  demand  beyond  the 
aiaiu  qtco. 

But  before  proceeding  to  give  such  local  and  personal  sketches 
as  may  pourtray  the  seat  of  strife,  and  aflford  some  acquaintance 
with  its  dramatis  persona^  let  us  state  the  case  and  the  quarrel 
briefly  and  impartially  and  truly,  without  either  bowing  the  knee^ 
or  blowing  the  trumpet,  as  is  the  necessity  of  diurnal  writers. 

The  gallant  and  prominent  part  which  France  took  in  the  great 
crusades  is  well  known.  It  is  well  known  also,  that  French  and 
other  knights  established  kingdoms  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  as  an 
adjunct  to  those  kingdoms,  founded  convents  and  Latin  churches. 


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TURKEY,   ITS  HOFBB  AND  PERILS.  71 

die  IdmgJoMi  w&ie  oTertbrowB,  tke  €«ifeat»  snd  Amniim 
xemained.  The  French  made  what  teiMS  Aey  eeiAi  for  tfien, 
—iOMitiiiy  ndeed  to  mere  eo«ipliiiB«Bt»r7  wardt^  wmch  at  tht  giv* 
isg  them  the  kejrs  of  the  Church  of  the  Hotj  Sepulchre,  leiaw 
wfaieh  the  Turks  soen  forgot.  When,  bofrerer,  Francis  the  First 
Bnde  jm  aflf  of  the  Turk  agwnst  Us  great  riral  Charles  the  Fifth, 
the  Freoeh,  natiindlj  in  fiEiroiir  at  Cosstaiiltiiopte,  nade  we  of  it 
to  procure  protection  for  the  convents  and  chmdiies  of  the  Holj' 
iiOiid  and  of  the  Archipelago. 

A  centmy  later,  the  French  sought  to  make  actire  use  of  their 
priTilege,  md  wader  the  inflaence  of  Mary  of  Medicis,  the  Jesuits 
wen  despatched  to  Coastantinojde,  as  well  as  to  the  islands  of  the 
Arehtpelago,  to  gain  a  footing.  In  diese  attempts,  the  French  were 
opposed  bj  the  envojs  of  Venice  and  of  £ngland,  who  represented 
the  Jesroits  not  only  as  disturbers  of  the  peace,  but  as  enussaries  of 
Span.  A  Greek  priest,  of  the  name  of  Metaxa,  at  this  time,  hod 
set  up  a  printing-office  at  Constantinople,  for  the  circulation  of 
religious  works,  and  the  strengthening  of  the  national  creed.  The 
Jesuits  got  up  a  tumult  and  intrigue,  had  Metajia  sent  to  prison, 
nod  his  books  seized.  But  Sir  Thomas  Roe  defeated  this  con* 
Mfmcjy  and  laboured  so  effectually,  that  he  procured  the  complete 
expulsion  of  the  Jesuits,  noft  only  ftcfm  Constantinople,  but  from 
8cH>,  from  Naxos,  and  from  Jerusalem.  Not  all  the  efforts  of  De 
Harlay,  the  French  ambcesador,  though  aided  by  the  Austrian 
enrey,  could  reverse  the  victory  gained  by  the  envoys  of  England 
and  Venice  over  the  Jesuits. 

The  French  journals  have  been  trumpeting  the  great  respect  paid 
at  Constantinople  to  the  envoys  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  Yet  the 
eUer  Kipriuti,  when  Grand  Vizier,  ordered  M.  de  La  Haye,  the 
French  envoy,  to  receive  the  bastinado.  The  very  same  envoy 
returned  in  1665,  when  the  Grand  Vizier  refusing  to  rise  as  the 
ambassador  entered,  the  latter  flung  the  Capitulations  at  his  feet. 
Whereat  the  Vizier  called  him  a  Jew,  the  chamberlain  took  the 
stool  ftotn  under  La  Haye,  and  began  to  thrash  him  with  it — ^La 
Haye  drew  his  sword,  when  a  tschaonsh  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear; 
and  the  Vizier  Kipriuli  ended  by  shutting  him  up  for  three  days. 
The  whole  story,  with  the  references,  will  be  found  in  Hammer 
(Book  55.)  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  however,  avenged  this  insult ; 
or  conpeHed  the  Turks  so  fer  to  make  reparation,  as  to  receive 
with  great  honour  another  French  ambassador.  The  Capitulations 
were  renewed ;  the  Latins  were  placed  in  possession  of  the  Holy 
Sepnlchre,  and  as  no  Power  of  any  importance  then  supported  the 
claims  of  the  Greek  Church,  whilst  Austria  and  France  sustained 
the  supremacy  of  the  Latins,  the  latter  pursued  their  advantages  at 
Jerusalem.  The  French  renewed  their  Capitulations  in  1740,  and 
even  later.  But  with  French  philosophy,  and  the  revolution  which 
it  produced,  the  anxieties  of  France  were  little  turned  towards  the 
Holy  Land.  BonaparteV  expedition  to  Egypt,  and  attack  on 
Acre,  left  the  French  small  chance  of  preserving  influence  or 
privilege  at  Jerusalem.  And  Poujonlat,  the  great  champion  of 
French  rights,  admits  that,  when  he  visited  the  Holy  Laxm  some 


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*lt  TUBXBT, 

twenty  or  thirty  yetn  since,  there  was  not  a  single  French  asonk 
or  ecclesiastic  in  Palestine. 

Daring  a  quarter  of  a  century,  France  had  waired  the  right  and 
lost  the  habit  of  being  the  first  Cathdic  power,  and  a  Bonaparte 
had  few  claims  to  the  inheritance  of  sovereignty  from  Grodfirey  of 
Bouillon.  Daring  that  long  suspension  of  the  religious  zeal  and 
influence  of  France,  the  Greek  Church  had  grown  in  power  and 
numbers  at  Jerusalem.  An  Emperor,  professing  the  creed  of  this 
Church,  had  sprung  to  the  first  rank  in  the  East  and  in  Asia.  In 
1808,  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem  was  burnt 
It  was,  of  course,  the  Greelis  who  rebuilt  it  The  French  were 
absorbed  in  other  anxieties  and  struggles.  At  length,  in  1814 
and  1815,  the  Most  Christian  King  of  France  owed  his  throne  in 
great  measure  to  the  Czar  of  Bussia.  He  could  scarcely  in 
gratitude  proceed  to  dispute  the  ascendancy  of  the  Greek  Church 
in  Jerusalem.  What  was  gained  by  the  French  was,  in  fact,  craved 
and  won  from  Russians  condescension. 

Under  the  reign  of  the  House  of  Orleans,  the  French  goyem- 
ment  pursued  a  double  mode  of  recovering  ascendancy  in  the 
Holy  Land.  It  at  the  same  time  supported  Mahomed  Ali  in  his 
project  of  getting  possession  of  Syria,  and  supported  the  Maronites 
in  their  scheme  of  becoming  independent  In  this  double  purpose 
the  French  were  totally  defeated.  But  as  they  persisted  in  convert- 
ing their  ancient  Catholicism  into  political  capital,  England  and 
Prussia  appointed  a  Protestant  bishop  at  Jerusalem.  And  thus  were 
the  three  great  Christian  princes  represented  in  the  Holy  Land. 

It  was  an  unwise  policy  of  the  French  President  to  stir  that  ques- 
tion of  rivalry  with  Russia  at  Jerusalem.  The  hope  of  rendering  the 
Latin  or  Italian  church  predominant  in  the  Levant,  or  in  any  part 
of  it,  is  futile.  If  Christianity  survive  east  of  the  Bosphorus  and 
the  Mediterranean,  it  must  evidently  be  in  some  form  of  the  Greek 
or  old  Oriental  persuasion.  In  Jerusalem,  however,  and  for  the 
church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  there  was  certainly  a  difficulty. 
The  Greeks  not  only  claimed  to  worship  there,  but  claimed  also  the 
right  of  performing  an  annual  miracle,  that  of  getting  down  the 
sacred  fire  from  heaven,  which  illumes  that  tomb.  This  sacred  fire 
is  in  reality  the  act  of  a  guardian,  who  introduces  a  lighted  candle 
into  the  aperture  at  the  right  moment  The  Roman  Catholics 
and  Jews  would  not  consent  to  be  parties  to  such  a  mystification. 
But  the  fees  were  enhanced  and  produced  by  it,  and,  therefore, 
the  Greeks  could  not  dispense  with  it.  Hence  the  struggle  for  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  of  which  it  might  be  truly  said,  as  of  tbe  Temple 
of  old,  that  the  House  of  Prayer  was  converted  inro  a  den  of 
thieves. 

The  French  Government  thought  that  if  it  respected  the  demar- 
cations and  the  treaties  of  Europe  in  great  Uiings,  it  might  at  least 
show  its  zeal  and  gain  advantage  in  small  ones.  To  recover,  at 
least,  a  parity  of  right  with  the  Greeks  in  Jerusalem  seemed  one 
of  these  humble  questions,  which  might  be  pushed  to  any  length, 
and  which  would  vastly  flatter  Rome,  without  offending  Vienna  or 
St.  Petersburg. 


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m  HOPES  AND  PERILS.  79 

A  nugQlar  ambastador  was  chosen  for  the  purpose.  Ereiy  one 
ii  Paris  knew  the  Marquis  of  Lavalette,  who,  notwithstanding 
Us  iMUtte,  was  no  connection  of  either  the  famous  commander 
«f  the  Knights  of  Mdta,  nor  of  that  foUower  of  Napoleon,  whom 
43ir  B<4»ert  Wilson  sared.  The  Marquis  of  Lavalette  was  rather 
known  for  being  an  impassioned  admirer  of  Fanny  Elsler.  His 
fifst  employ  in  diplomacy  was  that  of  Secretary  to  Monsieur  de 
Seroey,  who  was  sent  by  M.  Thiers  or  M.  Guizot,  ambassador 
to  Persia.  M.  de  Sercey  seeking  to  present  himself  in  his  most 
imposing  manner,  sent  his  Secretary  on  before  him. 

It  happened  that  the  Shah,  who  expected  the  French  ambassador, 
meot  a  dignitary  to  meet  him,  and  he  having  met  the  Secretary 
Laralette,  i^lendidly  clothed  and  accompanied,  took  him  for  the 
ambassador,  and  made  him  all  the  presents  and  courtesies  pre- 
pared for  the  envoy  himself.  When  M.  de  Sercey  arrived,  there 
was  nothing  left  for  him.  M.  de  Lavalette  had  already  got  the 
honour  and  the  shawls.  M.  de  Lavalette  was  afterwards  em- 
xiojed  in  Egypt,  and,  finally,  having  married  a  rich  widow,  found 
hiiDself  installed  in  the  French  embassy  at  Constantinople. 

At  the  time  when  this  change  took  place,  the  Russian  and  Austrian 
jonbassadors  had  withdrawn  themselves  within  their  country-palaces 
at  Buyukdere,  highly  indignant  at  the  protection  which  the  Porte 
liad  siisrorded  to  Kossuth,  and  the  full  freedom  of  action  which 
JSngland  had  procured  for  that  personage.  They  never  went  near 
either  the  Sultan  orReschid  Pasha,  and  M.  de  Lavalette  imagined 
he  had  got  a  nice  quiet  opportunity  for  pushing  his  point  of  put- 
ting the  Latins  on  an  ecjuality  with  the  Greeks  at  Jerusalem. 

Here  begins  the  duplicity  of  the  Russian  diplomatists.  There 
is  not  a  doubt  that  if  M.  de  Titoff  had  come  forward  at  Constanti- 
nople, and  explained  to  Reschid  Pasha,  that  Russia  would  not 
mJkr  France  to  obtain  advantages  at  Jerusalem,  at  the  expense 
of  the  Greeks— had  the  Russian  envoy  told  the  Turkish  minister 
this  —  not  a  doubt  but  that  Reschid  would  have  made  use 
of  the  pretext  to  refuse  M.  de  Lavalette  his  demands,  and  thus 
the  cause  of  complaint  would  have  been  avoided  on  both  sides. 
But  M.  de  Titoff  remained  silent  The  English  envoy  would  not 
interfere.  And  Reschid  seemed  to  have  no  reason  for  refusing 
the  demands  of  M.  de  Lavalette,  but  his  own  ill-will.  Lavalette, 
therrfore,  went  with  his  impatience  and  his  complaint,  to  the 
foentain-head,  the  Sultan. 

The  Sultan  is  a  very  sleepy  man,  who  loves  to  repose  on  soft 
•coshions — and  Reschid  Pasha  is  one  of  those  cushions.  Reschid 
JPteha  is,  in  the  Sultan's  eye,  his  bond  and  his  security  fsr  the 
support  and  alliance  of  France  and  of  England.  Reschid  was 
weH  calculated  to  fill  this  part,  and  he  urged  the  Sultan  to  do  all 
that  is  required  to  preserve  the  quiet  friendship  of  the  powers  of 
the  West.  But  Reschid  is  not  young,  and  loves  to  slumber  too. 
And  in  this  mood  Lavalette  found  the  Grand  Vizier,  in  his  new 
palace  on  the  Bosphorus.  Reschid  Pasha  pooh-poohed  the  fiery, 
fidgety^,  little  Frenchman,  who,  in  his  impatience,  went  across 
the  water  to  Beglierbeys,  and  awoke  the  Sultan. 


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74  TITBKSr» 

Tber»i8Mtfltiig^liiftliiMia«ck  somicb  &uSke»  as  U>>W  obliged 
I&  qail  tfte  kav8iB  ibv  tlM  pahct  of  Mcq^tion.  He  there  learned 
tbaiilmrvehieiH  Reschidrnslead  of  seevring  to  bimtfke  firmMlsUp 
of  Firance  ami  Enf  Itod,  had  aetuelly  affirewbed  and  twmed  ooe  of 
these  Powers^  or  il»  reprcaevMiiTe,  iato  «  foe.  What  do  jou  want  i 
said  the  Saltan  to  M.  de  Lavaletle.  Kre  centvnee  ago,  M.  de 
LaTaletle  would  hanre  feplied,  the  head  of  Reaehid  Pasha.  B«t 
it  behig  DO  hNiger  id  fashioo,  e^en  at  Constantiaople,  to  ask  for 
a  man's  head,  M.  de  LavaJette  cootd  ooitj  ask  for  his  place.  It 
was  but  a  few  weeks  beftnre  that  the  Sultan  bad  gfren  bis  davgbler 
hi  HHnrriage  to  a  son  of  Resdtid's.  It  mattered  not,  tbe  Saltan 
had  been  awaked,  and  was  impetaoas.  Sir  Stratford  CaaniBg, 
eould  he  have  been  gotten  to  interfere,  could  hare  sared  Resehid 
a  hundred  times,  ^t  Rescbid  had  cparrelled  with  the  Engbsk 
ambassadov;  he  prored  very  katy  in  furthering  some  iarourite  ideaa 
and  reforms.  A  road  frcMm.  Tvebizond  towards  EraerviB  was  a 
IhTOurite  preset  of  the  Englisb  envoy  to  facilitate  the  way  far 
English  commerce.  Reschvd  could  not  be  got  to  provide  funds 
and  facilities  far  the  read.  Sir  Stratford  would  not  aid  Rescbid, 
m&e  riak  a  qnarrel  with  France  in  his  behalf.  So  the  fat  and 
liberal  minister  fell,  and  went  famentiDg  about  hts  unfinished  villa 
mid  his  pet  farm. 

Resehid  was  succeeded  by  Ali  Puiha,  little  Ali,  well  known  on 
the  Botdevards  of  Paris,  and  in  the  clubs  of  London.  He  waa 
reiy  much  terrified,  but  M.  de  LavaJette  gave  him  courage  and 
confidence  by  assuring  him  that  he  would  commnnicate  to  bim  a 
Tast  deal  of  political  sagacity,  and  thai  between  tbem  they  woidd 
do  wonders  with  the  Ottoman  empire.  Lavalette  and  Ali  Pteha 
are  two  pretty  little  fellows — to  whom  a  prudent  man  would,  at 
nwst,  give  hk  shoes  to  black.  Fate  and  the  Sultan  chose  to  give 
them  the  reina  of  the  Ottoman  empire.  Of  course  they  agreed  to 
kick  Greek  and  Russian  out  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepukhre, 
as  if  that  were  the  easiest  and  most  innocent  thing  imaginaUa. 
Russia,  they  imagined,  was  asleep,  and,  to  aH  appearance,  indeed, 
M .  de  Titoff  was  in  as  profound  and  nonchalant  a  slumber  as  tbe 
Sultan;  Not  satisfied  with  having  laid  a  mine  at  Jerusalem,  ca- 
pable of  blowing  up  the  peace  of  the  whole  East,  this  worthy  pair 
resolved  to  settle,  in  their  own  fashion,  the  still  more  difficult  and 
ddicate  matter  of  the  Turkidi  Exchequer. 

They  resolved  to  raise  a  loan,  a  thing  unknown  in  Turkey,  and 
in  order  to  have  the  pickings  and  patronage  accruing  frcnn  it 
ail  to  themselves,  they  resolved  not  to  have  recourse  to  tbe 
London  market,  but  to  do  the  whole  business  in  Paris.  When 
Turks  manipulate  money,  a  great  deal  of  it  sticks  to  their  fingers. 
Therefore  at  tbe  first  rumour  of  the  loan  every  Turk  said,^  AK 
Pasha  is  going  to  make  his  fortune  and  that  of  his  brother  mini- 
sters. As  we  are  not  to  have  a  share,  we  must  stop  it.^  And  so, 
from  the  Sheik  el  Islam  down  to  the  Bimbachi,  all  declared  that 
the  loan  was  not  only  a  bad  speculation^  but  an  impiety.  The 
clamour,  which  hereupon  arose,  again  found  its  way  into  the  palace 
of  the  Sultan,  and  aroused  hint  to  the  anxieties  of  government. 


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ITS  HOPES  AND  PERILS.  75 

]£«  HigbncM  no  socoey  lodt  cogntaanee  ot  the  naltor,  tbaa  h% 
again  sacriiced  hit  HnDtstiy,  and  mined  eut  Kttfe  Afi;^  wa^  tiM 
newljr-pi'iiiled  scrips  whidi  so  HUffij*  had  sold  at  a  premram^  was 
declared  to  be  waste  paper. 

Thvs  did  tke  sapient  M.  de  Lavaktte,  haring  upeet  tile  chief  of 
tke  Sefomers  fbr  Teftiskig  him  the  ttejs  of  the  Mofy  Sepnichre, 
iq>Toot  and  qect  A«  last  of  tixe  Referm  party  bjr  iadtveing  him  to 
contract  a  kaa,  without  co&eiKatmg  an j  of  the  nonerous  person^ 
ages  wfaoee  assent  and  support  were  mdispensable. 

AB  th»  tine  dbe  Rasoan  and  Aualrtan  envoys  remained  tramp* 
9fmi  at  Bajafcdere,  and  gare  do  sign  even  of  Hie.  The  Sukan,  feel- 
hig  diat  he  had  oflfencted  both  Bogland  and  I^nmee,  bj  ejecting 
^Kaschid  and  then  Ali  Ttoha  &om  oAce,  Sir  Stratford  Canning 
baring  gone^  and  M.de  Lavalette  being  edions  to  him,  thought  he 
wooM  gratify  Russia  and  Austria  by  calling  to  farour  all  their 
aid  cronies. 

Whoever  wants  to  get  a  smamarj  history  of  the  state  of  polities 
and  personal  influence  at  Constantinople,  has  nothing  more  to  do 
than  to  take  an  intelligeirt  boatman  to  row  him  up  the  Bosphorus. 
The  ritores  of  that  fer-ikmed  strait  be  will  observe  covered  wkh 
pidaees,  some  just  erected  and  quite  new,  others  <Kogy  and  tum- 
Uing  into  ruin.  Let  him  ask  the  names  of  the  owners,  and  be 
will  find  that  the  mined  and  tottering  mansions  belong  to  ex- 
ministers,  the  new  and  the  rising  edifices  to  those  in  the  force  of 
inftience  and  power.  Of  these  one  of  the  most  splendid  has 
been  bcih  by  Fuad. 

When  the  events  of  1848  aroused  a  spirit  of  insurrection  in  Mol- 
davia and  Wallachia,  tiie  Russians  marched  in  to  suppress  it.  But 
ttom  die  other  side,  Suleyman  Pteha  marched  in  also,  not  so  onieh 
to  suppress  the  insurrection  as  to  regularize  the  liberties  demanded. 
Rittsia  forthwith  denounced  Suleyman  Pasha  as  a  revolutionist 
and  a  disciple  of  Pahnerston.  The  Porte  was  weak  enough  to 
Asplace  hiflB,  and  Fuad  Efendi  was  sent  in  his  stead  to  conciliate 
Russia.  The  result  was  that  Convention  of  Balta  Liman,  on  which 
Russia  at  the  present  moment  rests  her  right  of  interference  and 


^eo  the  Russian  envoy  was  sent  to  demand  so  perempte^- 
rSj  the  extraxfitien  of  Kossuth,  and  had  received  a  firm  refiisal,  it 
waa  thought  aeeessacj  to  conciliate  the  Caar  by  an  embassy.  Bat 
Ibe  case  waa  hopeliess;^  no*  one  liked  to  undertake  it,  for,  in 
troth,  M^  one  tiiought  that  asything  could  be  made  of  it.  Even 
tl»e  Pashasy  who  were  anxious  to  favour  Russia,  declined  facing 
eoldnesa  and  aftront  on  the  part  of  the  Court  ef  St.  Petersburg ; 
and  dM  onssien  was  handed  over  to  Fuad,  who  had  so  well  eue- 
ceeded  in  concifiAthsg  Ruasia  by  sacrificing  the  principdities. 
Certani  it  is,  that  Fuad  waa  not  ill  received  at  St  Fetersburg ; 
qvite  the  rcrerse.  He  was  fited  and  welcomedi  The  Czar  did 
not  visit  upon  Faad  bis  indignation  against  the  Porte;  on  the 
contrary,  he  dissend^led,  received  tile  envoy  with  great  politeness, 
oitertaiBed  hhn  in  a  princely  way,  and  dismissed  him  with  prooft 
af  soch  manifiaeafee  as  quite  astounded  Fuad,  and  weighed  down 
not  only  his  heart  with  gratitude,  but  his  saddle-bags  with  gifts. 

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76  TURKEY, 

Fuad  returned  to  Constantinople  and  built  himself  the  most  mag- 
nificent palace  which  was  ever  beheld  on  the  Bosphorus. 

These  things  are  not  secret  to  Turkey,  nor  are  thej  a  crime. 
The  Sultan  was  well  pleased  that  a  servant  of  his  had  found 
iavonr  with  the  Czar;  and  on  concocting  his  new  ministry  his 
Highness  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than  conciliate  Russia 
by  the  appointment  of  a  person,  whom  it  so  treated  and  liked,  as 
Fuad.  How  Prince  Menschikoff  treated  Fuad  the  other  day  is  in 
every  one^s  recollection.  Neither  Russia  nor  Austria  was  to  be 
conciliated.  Deeply  affected  and  discomfited  in  the  affair  of  the 
refiigees,  which  had  checked  their  influence  and  humbled  their 
pride,  they  silently  awaited,  each  of  them,  a  convenient  oppor- 
tunity for  breaking  forth,  playing  the  insolent,  and  humiliating  the 
Porte.  The  affair  of  Montenegro  afforded  Austria  the  cue;  and 
conflicting  orders  to  Jerusalem  giving  preference  both  to  Greek 
and  Latin,  gave  to  Russia  that  pretext  for  intervention  which,  after 
Count  Leiningen  had  performed  his  part,  brought  Prince  Men- 
schikoff to  Constantinople. 

More  recent  demands  or  events  it  is  useless  to  recapitulate. 
They  are  before  every  one ;  the  insolence  of  Prince  Menschikoff, 
the  firmness  of  the  Sultan,  the  return  of  Lord  Stratford,  the  restora- 
tion  of  Reschid  Pasha  and  of  his  son,  and  the  union  of  all  Turkish 
political  parties,  to  resist  the  dictation  of  Russia  and  follow  the 
councils  of  England  and  of  France.  Never  was  a  more  noble  op- 
portunity offered  for  reforming  the  great  abuses  of  the  Turkish 
governments,  putting  the  Christians  at  length  on  the  footing  which 
they  ought  to  hold,  yet  enabling  the  Turk  to  maintain  that  supre* 
macy  and  that  government,  which  they  alone  can  carry  on  for  the 
present,  with  any  hope  of  prolonged  amity  and  peace  between 
creeds  and  races. 

JPeople  talk  of  crushing  the  Turks,  of  their  empire  felling  to 
pieces  of  itself,  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  those  who  would  succeed 
to  that  empire  the  mere  trouble  of  picking  up  the  fragments.  This 
is  a  very  grave  mistake.  The  Turks  are  still  a  brave  and  enthu- 
siastic race,  which  has  so  far  allowed  their  religious  prejudices  to 
die  out,  that  they  no  longer  have  a  thirst  for,  or  a  pleasure  in, 
blood,  and  are  by  degrees  coming  down  to  the  admission  that 
Mahomedans  may  and  must  come  to  a  level  with  Christianity. 
Time  and  peace  are  doing  this  for  them.  But  if,  instead  of  allow- 
ing time  and  peace  to  do  their  work,  the  Russian  bayonet  under- 
take to  do  it,  then  all  they  do  fanaticism  will  counteract.  The 
most  ignorant  and  ferocious  spirits  of  the  race  will  come  to  domi- 
nate the  civilized  and  the  cultivated,  and  the  result  will  be  a  civil 
war,  extending  firom  the  Danube  and  the  Drave  to  the  Euphrates, 
and  of  this  struggle,  even  if  the  Christians  and  Mahomedans  of  the 
Turkish  empire  were  left  to  themselves,  the  mutual  sacrifices 
would  be  dr^ful,  and  the  result  doubtful.  The  Christians  of  Asia 
Minor  would,  it  is  to  be  feared,  be  destroyed  to  a  man ;  Asiatic 
hordes  would  cross  the  Bosphorus  to  take  their  share  in  a  war, 
which  in  the  mountains  of  Albania  and  Bosnia,  at  least,  would  be 
prolonged  far  beyond  a  campaign.    If  Christian  powers  took  part 


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rrs  HOPES  AND  PERILS.  77 

with  the  Turks,  the  conquest  would  be  infinitely  longer,  sod  the 
result  most  dubious. 

Humanitj,  therefore,  would  dictate  a  preservation  and  c<nitinu- 
ance  of  the  power  of  die  Turks,  the  Sultan  and  the  class  of  poU- 
ticians  around  him  being  bound  and  interested  to  lessen  in  erenr 
way  the  remaining  prejudices  of  the  race,  which  prevent  its  amal- 
gamation with  men  of  other  origin  and  creed.  If,  whilst  Turks 
were  allowed  power  on  such  conditions,  the  Christians  were 
secured  in  their  rights  of  property  and  personal  fireedom,  as  well 
as  in  certain  habits  of  municipal  and  provincial  self-government, 
soch  as,  indeed,  the  edict  of  Gulhan6  laid  out  for  them,  this 
would  be  the  state  of  things  to  be  desired. 

Unfortunately,  all  the  experiments  that  have  been  hitherto 
made,  have  proceeded  on  the  |)rinciple,  that  it  was  necessary  to 
separate  Mahomedan  and  Christian,  taking  it  for  granted  that  the 
races  could  never  live  together.  Thus,  when  Wallachia  and  Mol- 
davia were  destined  not  to  be  under  Turkish  suzerainty,  but  under 
their  own  government,  it  was  stinulated  that  no  Turk  should  ever 
rende  north  of  the  Danube,  and  tnat  all  Turks,  having  property  on 
that  side  of  the  river,  should  sell  it  within  a  certain  time.  With 
xespect  to  Servia  it  was  the  same,  except  that  the  Turks  were 
allowed  to  garrison  the  fortresses,  a  proviso  rendered  necessary  by 
the  circumstance  of  the  high  road  to  Europe  from  Constantinopte 
passing  through  Servia. 

In  Greece  Ute  same  maxim  was  adhered  to.  All  Mahomedans 
were  ordered  to  sell  their  properties  in  Greece.  This  ejection 
and  repudiation  of  Mahomedan  by  Greek  and  Sclavonian  Chris- 
tians from  the  territories  declared  to  be  in  the  independent  juris- 
diction of  the  latter,  has  greatly  increased  the  mutual  inveteracy 
of  the  races,  and  instead  of  facilitating  or  advancing  the  improve- 
ment or  settiement  of  their  provinces  of  mixed  races  which  lie  be- 
tween the  Balkan  and  Albania,  it  has  for  a  century  retarded  them. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Russia,  in  her  present  demands  upon  the 
Porte,  goes  upon  the  old  principle,  upon  which  European  powers 
have  always  gone  in  their  treaties  with  Turkey.  They  have 
always  supposed,  that  the  races  could  not  amaJgamate,  that  a 
Turlush  governor  of  a  province  could  never  be  generous  or  just, 
that  a  Turkish  judge  could  never  be  expected  to  give  a  fair  sen- 
tence. No  matter  how  liberal  the  laws  may  be,  a  Christian  can 
never  depend  upon  diem  with  security,  invoke  them  with  success, 
or  be  protected  from  the  oppression  of  the  Turks,  unless  he  have 
an  armed  and  powerful  protector  near,  such  as  a  European  consul, 
or  a  Christian  Patriarch. 

When  Russia  makes  these  demands,  Turkey  replies,  that  had 
she  conferred  independent  and  semi-sovereign  rights,  under  Rus- 
sian guarantees,  upon  a  Greek  Patriarch,  it  would  have  been 
of  littie  matter  formerly,  when  a  vizier  could  cut  off  a  patri- 
arch's head,  and  send  an  ambassador  to  the  Seven  Towers; 
but  that  now  it  would  be  not  merely  lowering,  but  abdi- 
cating, the  sovereignty  of  the  Sultan.  The  Patriarch  of  Con- 
stantinople wields  an  immense  power,  and  raises  a  large  revenue, 

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t8  TVMXSX^ 

m  he  -enjoys  a  tenih  cf  all  the  eiaolMmflyitfl  of  ihe  l^gher  dergjr. 
From  the  exclusive  power  of  solemnizing  XBaniages^  and  by 
llie  rigid  belief  of  tbe  members  cf  |Jm>  Gteek  Chiupcli  in  the 
terrible  efficacy  of  excommnnicttliop,  Ibe  patriarob  and  tbe  clesg|r 
possess  vast  authority — an  autboiity  wbicb  is  as  flmch  abttsed 
as  tbat  of  tbe  Pasba.  So  BMofa  'did  Ibe  Ewpeior  of  lUiasia  fear 
tbe  powers  of  bis  own  Patoareh,  tbsi  be  nude  himseilf  tbee 
chief  of  bis  religion,  and  sul^ected  tbe  synod  to  bis  controL 
A  striking  proof  in  wbat  light  politicisjis  «f  tbe  Anssian  scboal 
regard  tbe  cbofcb,  is  to  be  fiMind  in  tbe  -conduct  of  Count  Capo 
d'Istrias,  who,  when  placed  pemaoenily,  as  be  imi^ned,  at  Uie 
bead  of  Greece,  passed  a  decxee,  giving  Uaiael^  as  civil  goveraoi^ 
supremacy  over  tbe  Greek  CbHuch  within  bis  dominions.  When 
tbe  Russians  occupied  Wallaofaia^  and  Moldavia,  libeir  first  8tq» 
was  to  dismiss  tbe  acchbisbop,  *GTegory,  who  apposed  tbesi. 
Tbe  Emperor  Nicholas  now  demands  the  Sultan  to  bestow  pn- 
vileges  and  power  on  the  Patriarch  of  Ccmstantinojde,  that  ke^ 
Nicholas,  will  not  bestow  on  tbe  Bussian  PatriamJ^  preciseljr 
because  be  knows  tbe  .political  use  to  wfaidi  patriarchal  pow>er 
can  foe  converted.  * 

Instead  of  such  ancient  jurisdiction,  wbat  tbe  Saltan  and 
Beschid  Pasha  proposed  for  tbe  government  of  pvovinces  coosist* 
ii^  of  mixed  races,  is  to  be  found  in  the  edict  of  Gulban6.  Aic- 
cording  to  this  edict,  every  province  is  to  have  its  civil  governor, 
its  fis^  receiver,  and  ils  military  chief.  Tbe  latter  is  to  con- 
fine his  jurisdiction  to  tbe  amy,  and  lead  bis  aid  to  tbe  civil 
chief.  The  governor  is  to  take  &e  advice  of  a  covnciL,  which  is 
to  consider  and  discuss  administrative  affiurs,  as  wdl  as  give 
decisions  in  judicial  reports,  especially  in  the  composition  and 
contents  of  tribunals.  It  is  even  to  act  as  a  tcibuiaal  in  ceitein 
cases.  This  Me^ili  or  provincial  council,  was  ordained  to  o«i- 
sist  of  the  -ciTil  govtemor,  tbe  fiscal  receiver,  the  Greek,  or  Arme- 
nian Bishop,  or  the  Rabbi,  tbe  especial  delegates  of  the  nmnici- 
palities,  and!,  finally,  vu^fouks,  or  deputies  from  the  entire 
population. 

Were  such  a  oouncil  as  this  estaUisbed,  according  to  tbe 
intention  of  Beschid  Pasha  and  the  edict  of  tbe  Snltan — were 
its  sittings  permanent  and  publicly  open  to  the  appeals  of  all  who 
were  wronged,  such  institutions  could  not  but  regenerate  Turkey, 
and  put  Christian  and  Turk  on  a  fair  equality,  giving  that  con- 
fidence and  security  to  the  former,  the  want  of  which  paralyses  his 
industry  and  fosters  his  discontent 

The  best  of  legislation  may,  however,  be  turned  to  a  bad  pur^ 
pose.  And,  we  regret  to  say,  that  however  sapient  in  theory,  and 
liberal  in  intentions  were  the  Befbrm  party  in  Turkey,  they  were 
by  no  means  so  active  and  courageous  in  carrying  out  their  plans 
and  enforcing  their  lows,  as  in  drawing  them  up  and  promul- 
gating them.  The  same  edict  of  Gulhan^  is  an  instance.  It  was 
no  sooner  issued,  than  steps  were  taken  for  dividing  the  financial 
and  military  authorities  in  the  provinces.  A  fiscal  chief  and  a 
Pasha  went  down  together.     Now,  there  was  not  tbe  least  use  in 


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ITS  HOPES  Airo  PERILS.  79 

J  «  finincial  IwoticHMny,  and  teUiag  4be  Patba  to  •confine 
luBBself  to  okilitaiy  afaifs,  itDless  the  Padu  wm  of  Mme  other 
Hum  tbe  «MMud  kiaJ,  wfa#  have  Dot  a  |Mtfw  «l  the  tiaae  of  IfaW 
appouitiBeBt,  wbe  are  obliged  to  borrow  SMoey  of  the  Anaeaiaa 
Wuvers  to  equip  themeekee,  and  who,  «f  course,  c«diio4  dispeiiM 
wich  the  usual  apeliation  of  ibe  pnovmces  km  e«der  to  r«|iav^  the 
AfltDeniaiis.  The  Paaba  oould  not  wak  for  hit  salary  and  ap- 
jf^m^meui  till  4he  ooUector  bad  money  to  spam.  He  set  about 
levyiiii;  for  htmself^  contrary  to  law.  fint  be  had  an  excnae,  and 
there  was  as  yet  no  aidhority  for  the  oppseased  f>opalatioa  to 
a|»peal  to.  This  was  tbe  atato  of  things  in  Bulgaria  subse^foeDt 
to  the  issuing  of  the  edict  of  Ghilban6.  Tbe  nn^dnnato  villa^^ 
nnd  inhabitants  had,  in  a  long  series  of  years,  become  accustomed 
to  the  rapacity  of  the  Pashas,  and  knew  bow  to  resist,  bow  to 
haffle,  how  to  -conciliato,  how  to  componnd.  One  brig^  memii^ 
they  aM  told  that  tfaie  system  of  oppresston  is  at  an  end,  and  that 
lliey  are  to  pi^  their  tribute  to  a  regular  tax-gatherer.  Delightod 
at  tbe  nen's,  the  villagers  and  their  chiefs  hasten  to  pay.  But  a 
mosMth  has  not  elapaed,  when  down  comes  the  Pasha's  officers  and 
^  tooops,  demanding  payment  over  again  ef  the  same  tax.  In  vain 
Hd  the  Bulgarian  villagers  protest,  rarely  did  tbe  prodocing  tbeir 
seoeipts  avail  to  stop  compulsion.  Most  of  them  had  not  kept 
the  written  veceipl^  or  cared  ibr  it  Tbe  land  was  ooveivd  by 
violence  and  extortion.  There  were  wars,  and  mmonrs  of  wars. 
Cannon  sounded  on  the  coast  of  Syria,  where  Chiislian  pop«« 
lationa  w^e  resisting  Mnssalman  troops.  The  signal  was  suffi- 
cteat  The  Balgariaos  rose  in  insurrection.  The  Pasha  had  no 
legttlar  troopa.  How  eonld  the  government  send  him  any,  or 
give  him  any  orders,  save  to  call  npon  the  irregular  hordes  of 
Albanians,  on  the  condition  that  they  sbonkl  pay  themselves  in 
snppresaiog  the  vebdlion,  by  tbe  plunder  of  tbe  inhabitants.  Tbe 
fi^e  Amauts  demanded  no  bettor  hargsin.  They  descended 
from  the  mountains,  crushed  the  puny  efibits  of  the  Bulgarians  to 
lesiBt,  and  laid  wasto  tbe  country  with  fire,  sword,  and  rapine. 
There  was  an  end,  for  many  a  long  day,  to  Medjili  in  Bulgaria 
ear  its  confines,  or  even  in  Roumelia.  And,  from  that  time  to  this, 
the  £dict  of  Gulhane  has  remained  pretty  much  of  a  dead  letter 
in  even  the  European  provinces  of  Turkey.  Let  us  not,  tbere- 
fere,  be  violently  astonished  at  JElassia\i  invoking  some  other  gua- 
rantee for  the  Christians,  than  the  reform  laws  or  intentions  of 
Bescbid  Pasha. 

M.  Guizot  who,  soon  after  the  insurrection  of  Bulgaria,  suc- 
ceeded to  ministerial  power  in  France,  was  locked  and  affected 
by  tbe  sufferings  of  the  Bulgarians.  Having  already  run  a  muck 
for  the  Egyptons,  it  was  difficult  for  Louis  Philippe  to  veer  round 
and  run  another  for  the  Bulgarians.  However,  M.  Guizot  thought 
that  he  would  at  least  send  to  inquhrehow  the  Bulgarians  were,  and 
what  they  waiHed.  Accordingly  he  looked  around  him,  and  diose 
one  of  the  Potest  members  of  the  Institute,  who  knew  no  language 
under  the  sun  save  French,  but  who  was  a  political  economist,  to 
travecse  Bulgaria,  and  make  him  a  rq>ort  thereon.    M.  Blanqui 

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80  TDBKET, 

set  forth  in  the  costame  of  a  ChoMeur  d^AJHfue,  and  trarened 
the  high  road  from  Belgrade  to  Constantinople.  He  visited  ibe 
seyeral  Pashas  as  he  journeyed,  and  one  of  them  forwurded  lAn 
on  his  exploring  journey  in  a  hen-coop,  to  which,  on  a  eertaiD 
occasion,  a  dozen  Christians  were  harnessed  for  the  pnrpose  of 
dragging  the  Cha$9ewr  (fA/rique  over  the  Balkan.  HusBeitt 
Pa^a,  who  gave  this  order,  must  have  had  a  shrewd  vein  for 
satire,  hus  to  have  forwarded  a  French  philanthropist  in  mililarf 
costume  athwart  the  difficulties  and  amenities  of  Turkish  travel. 

M.  Guizot  was  right,  however,  in  the  object  of  his  inquiries^  for 
if  Russia  is  to  be  prevented  from  establishing  herself  at  Constaa-' 
tinople,  and  dominating  Turkey  in  Europe,  Bulgaria  is  the  only 
bulwark  that  stands  in  her  way.  Roumelia  has  no  popnlation  of 
more  account  than  the  sands  of  the  sea.  The  GredLs  are  to<r 
distant  and  too  scarce,  whereas  the  Slavonian  popnlation  of 
Bulgaria  is  dense,  is  numerous,  numbering  more  millions  than  the 
Greeks,  very  industrious,  excellent  agriculturists,  and  the  most 
independendy  inclined  of  all  the  Slavonians.  They  do  not  forgel 
that  they  once  had  a  kingdom  and  a  king  of  their  own;  thai  they 
formed  a  nation,  whilst  that  of  Russia  was  not  even  in  the  sbeQ;  ^ 
and  that  it  was  they,  in  fact,  whose  arms  brought  the  Gredc 
empire  so  low,  that  she  was  at  last  unable  to  resist  the  attack 
of  Mahomet  die  Second.  If  the  western  powers  of  Europe 
desire  seriously  to  preserve  Constantinople  from  Russia,  they  wm 
raise  Bulgaria,  or  restore  it  rather,  to  be  a  separate  kingdom  or 
country,  and  guarantee  its  independence  by  a  solemn  treaty.  Vnlem 
some  such  bold  and  decisive  step  is  taken,  all  Uiat  is  doing,  and 
vapouring,  and  expending,  is  merely  the  throwing  away  of  spirit 
and  pounds  sterling  for  nothing.  If  the  Porte  can  constitute 
Bulgaria  under  its  own  sovereignty,  in  tlie  enjoyment  of  freedom 
and  comparative  independence,  it  would  be  still  better,  as  we 
before  said.  It  shoula  be  observed,  however,  that  the  Porte  has 
no  time  to  lose,  for  if  it  does  not  accomplish  this  at  once,  it  will 
soon  be  too  late,  and  other  powers,  in  default  of  Rosna  herself 
must  undertake  it 

Recurring  to  the  system  of  provincial  assemblies,  and  to  some 
other  forms  than  that  of  the  Turkish  Pashas  of  the  old  schooL 
surrounded  by  Turkish  followers,  we  come  to  the  grand  necessity 
of  the  Turkish  Government,  that  of  raising  Christian  troops,  and 
having  a  Christian  force  to  depend  upon.  The  Edict  of  Gulhan6 
meditated  the  extension  of  the  conscription  to  Christians.  It 
was  found  unpopular  and  dangerous  to  execute,  so  that  there  stand 
the  Turkish  population  armed  and  enregimented  on  one  side;  the 
Christian  population  disarmed,  and  of  course  occupying  an  in- 
ferior position  on  the  other.  This  ought  to  be  remedied.  Austria 
raises  Italian  soldiers  as  well  as  German,  but  does  not  station 
Italian  regiments  in  Italy.  Why  should  not  a  Greek  regiment 
serve  at  Trebizond  or  Kutayieh  ?  Why  should  it  not  be  in  the 
power  of  a  reforming  Turkish  governor  to  depend  upon  such  aid, 
if  necessary,  against  a  fanatic  population  such  as  that  of  Da- 
mascus ?    It  may  be  delicate  ground,  but  that  measure  is  indie* 

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ITS  HOPES  AND  PERILS.  81 

pensable,  for  if  the  Turkish  Goyemment  caaaot  inrent  ipme 
mode,  by  which  thej  may  make  use  of  soldiers  and  civilians  of 
the  Christian  races,  the  empire  will  not  last  long  enough  V> 
regenerate  itself;  it  will  fall  a  prey  to  Russia* 

The  enterprise  is  worthy  of  a  great  military  governor,  if, 
indeed,  the  Turks  possess  one.  The  Turkish  race  have  never 
produced  any  successful  commanders.  Their  great  Viziers  and 
conquerors  were  almost  all  of  Christian  descent.  In  order  to  do 
anytiiing  with  Turkish  troops,  or  with  the  population  of  the 
empire,  a  great  military  authority  is  requisite.  And  for  that  the 
presence  and  power  of  the  Sultan  or  one  of  his  family  would  be 
requisite,  llie  Viziers  once  could  make  themselves  instantly  and 
properly  respected;  but  that  was  done  by  means  of  acts  of  cruelty 
and  ferocity,  such  as  cannot  now  be  practised.  Such  men  as 
Tahir  in  trie  fleet,  and  Khosrew  as  Seraskier  were  of  this  kind ; 
these  old  contemporaries  of  Mehemet  AH  were  not  to  be  trifled  with. 
But  such  men  have  died  out.  And  although  their  school  and 
party  were  lately  restored  to  place  and  favour,  and  to  the  council 
of  the  Sultan,  not  one  of  them  shows  that  courage  and  presence 
«  of  mind,  which  would  prompt  Abdul  Medjid  to  trust  them.  They 
even  quailed  and  hesitated,  and  it  became  a  necessity  to  send  for 
Reschid  Pasha. 

The  first  genius  of  a  gpreat  military  commander  is  not  to  ma- 
ncenvre  in  the  field  of  battle,  nor  yet  to  conceive  a  skilful  plan  of 
operation  for  a  campaign ;  these,  however  important  and  requisite 
to  generals  in  command,  are  but  secondary  to  the  great  science 
of  organizing  a  military  force.  To  fit  and  fashion  an  army  for 
conquering  is  more  difficult  than  to  conquer  with  it.  This  was 
shown  in  the  career  of  the  great  Frederic,  of  Napoleon,  and  of 
Wellington.  The  Russians  have  fought  well  in  the  field,  and  their 
generals  have  not  been  deficient  in  the  science  of  tactics.  But 
there  has  been  no  genius  in  Russia  for  organizing  afn  army  since 
the  days  of  Peter  the  Great.  We  have  but  to  read  Muflling^s  work 
to  appreciate  what  the  Russian  army  and  generals  were  in  1813 
and  1814.  In  1829,  the  efforts  of  Turkey  and  Russia  were  those 
of  children  rather  than  the  hostilities  of  two  great  empires. 
Turkey  never  brought  more  than  40,000  regular  troops  into  the 
field ;  and  the  Russian  general,  when  he  crossed  the  Balkan, 
and  occupied  Adrianople,  did  this  by  stealing  a  march  on  his 
adversary,  and  pushing  forward  not  more  than  40,000  men. 
Tlie  very  Turks  would  have  slain  and  beaten  them  there,  if 
the  diplomatists  had  not  been  frightened,  and  patched  up  a  preci- 
pitate peace.  The  war  cost  the  Russians  from  sixty  to  an  hundred 
thousand  men.  And  when  we  know  that  the  other  day  the  siege 
of  Venice  cost  the  Austriansa  loss  of  20,000  men,  we  may  imagine 
how  defective  in  military  skill  and  appurtenances  are  even  the 
best  regulated  armies  of  the  east  of  Europe,  and  how  fatal  a 
determined  resistance  even  upon  one  point  or  in  one  fortified 
town,  may  be  to  the  strongest  military  empire. 

If  an  organizing  and  regenerating  genius  is  wanting  for  the 
Turkish  army,  it  is  still  more  wanting  for  the  fleet,  which  lies  at 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Digitized  by  SoOgle 


St  TUBKBT, 

anchor  all  the  winter  at  ^be  GeMen  Hotd,  and  all  the  aiuniisr 
at  the  month  of  the  BospfaoriM,  without  stirring  a  rope  or  unfivl^ 
ing  ar  sail.  This  jear  it  did  not  even  go  into  the  sea  of  Marmonu 
There  is  never  anydihig  seen  bat  a  sentinel  on  the  forecastle. 
This  fellow,  as  soon  as  a  boat,  n<H  merely  approaches,  bnt  appears 
at  half  a  mile  distance-  with  a  dignitary  on  bo«ud,  gives  the  alam, 
tnms  ont  the  gsard,  and  you  see  forthwith  a  score  of  bayonets 
and  fezes  upon  deck,  while  the  dnims  beait  a  salute.  To  tins 
the  Pasha  or  tile  Bey  and  his  eigfat-oared,  or  Us  nx-oared 
caique  returns  a  salaam,  and  the  Turkish  sailors  go  back  to  their 
prayers  and  pipes,  till  the  next  boot  of  a  dignitaxy  appears,  whidi 
will  be  in  a^out  five  mimrtes,  so  that  the  entice  day  of  a  Tovkisli 
man-of-war's- crew,  off  the  GoldeB  Horn,  is  passed  in  salaaaiog 
and  salutreg. 

If  one  wishes  to  have  a  high  idea  of  Turkey  as  a  foonxdable 
military  power,  one  should  not  visit  Turkish  camps,  batteries,  or 
barracks,  but  cross  the  frontier,  and  contemplate  the  immense  pre*- 
parations  which  the  neighbours  of  Turkey  have  made,  nominally 
for  defence — really  for  offenee.  Almost  the  entire  of  the  Austrian 
iirontier,  adjoining  Turkey,  or  a  wide  belt  of  territority,  is  devoted  , 
to.  a  soldier-population.  A  soldier  tills  the  ground,  sows  the  grain, 
amasses  provisions  and  materials,  learns  and  practises  the  arts  of 
war,  and  teaches  it  to  his  children.  The  simple  produce  of  these 
regions,  instead  of  going  to  landlords  in  the  shape  of  rent,  pajw 
officers  of  regiments,  who  exercise  the  entire  administration  and 
judicial  authority.  Austria  has  seventy-five  thousand  wen  in 
thef^e  military  colonies,  who  add  nothing  to  the  amount  of  its 
war  budget. 

Austria  may  have  some  excuse  for  these  great  military  estab^ 
lishments,  for  Bosnia  is  still  feudally  organized ;  its  landed  pro- 
prietors are  bound  to  nraster  their  vassals  to  arms,  and  lead  them  for 
expedition  or  a  foray.  But  Russia  can  have  no  defensive  pretext  for 
the  large  military  colonies,  which,  in  rivalry  more  of  Austria  than 
of  Turkey,  she  has  of  late  years  established  on  the  Bug.  These 
fixed  and  colonized  regiments  of  Russia  are  all  cavalry,  whHst  th* 
Austrian  grenzers  are  all  infautfy.  The  soutiiem  Russians,  being 
most  of  the  Cossack  race,  accustomed  to  a  life  on  horseback,  and 
living  amongst  deep  pasturages,  necessarily  suggest  a  cavalry 
rather  than  an  infantry  force.  But  horse  is  much  more  aggressive, 
much  better  fitted  for  invasion,  and  for  overrunning  the  countries 
to  and  beyond  the  Danube.  This,  indeed,  offers  a  recreation  and 
an  advantage,  that  Russia  takes  care  to  procure  fiir  her  soldiefs 
every  five  or  six  years,  a  pretext  being  never  wanting  to  pour  this 
avalanche  of  Russian  horse  into  the  rich  fields  of  Wallachia  and 
Moldavia. 

But  in  addition  to  her  military  colonies,  Russia  keeps  a  laqpe 
force  in  the  southern  provinces,  where  sustenance  for  man  and 
horse  is  more  abundant  than  in  any  part  of  Europe.  A  Russian 
soldier  costs  less  than  one-fourth  of  an  English  soldier,  so  that 
500.000  Russian  troops  are  maintained  at  the  same  cost  as  our 
100,000.    The  most  insolent  and  significant  of  Rusrian  military 


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ITS  BOVn  AlCD  PERILS.  M 

prpcaiiiioBS  n,  how^erery  i&e  surintenance  of  a  pemnciient  esmp  of 
l6fiM  nvfn  at  SebMtopol,  in  eontigirity  with  the  fleet  of  yessels 
reqtnred  to  transFport  Uien.  It  is  calculated  tfmt  Aese  f6,0M 
men  xrcvMii&spme  t\ira  days  la  evbark,  and  bat  forty -four  hoars 
in  addftioD  lo  he  wafted  to  the  nicpvth  of  the  Bosphoras.  And 
irhilst  these  preparations  aire  patent  and  arowed,  Russia  has  had 
tbe  conseisnce  and  tiie  address  to  ohtaon  of  the  Porte,  that  no 
SoTopem  fleet  or  ressel  of  war  shall  enter  the  Dardanelles,  the 
mouth  of  which  is  sixteen  or  eighteen  hoors^  sail  or  steam  from 
Constantinople. 

We  need  not  say,  how  ranch  it  is  the  interest  of  all  European 
powers,  that  Constantinople  skonid  l>e  in  the  hands  of  a  power 
not  actoated  by  the  spirit  of  military  aggrandisement,  bat  govern- 
ing its  eondact  and  its  poficy  by  the  afrts  of  peace,  corntnerce, 
and  interchange.  If  Russia  had  Constantinople,  she  would  in  two 
years  baTe  it  a  fortress  bristling  with  cannon.  The  Dardanelles 
confined  in  the  smne  strait-waistooat  of  artiHery  would  be  impas- 
sable. The  Blaclc  Sea  would  be  converted  into  a  dock  for  the 
formation  of  a  Russian  nary,  destined  to  make  the  Mediterranean 
a  Russian  not  a  French  lake,  and  prepared  to  establish  a  like 
sftprenwiey  oyer  the  ocean.  The  war  tnat  would  be  ineritably 
necessary  to  resist  this,  would  be  ten  times  more  dangerous,  more 
m«rderous,  and  more  expensive,  than  any  little  war,  or  menaces  of 
it,  or  preparations  towards  it,  undertaken  to  maintain  the  inde- 
pendence of  Constantinople  and  of  Turkey  from  the  hands  of  any 
of  the  great  military  pcmers. 

To  keep  the  Black  Sea  and  the  Baltic  open,  by  maintaining 
the  straits  which  lead  to  both  seas  in  the  hands  of  a  power  of  no 
oiyerwhelming  force,  is,  we  all  knew,  one  of  the  first  principles  of 
European  politics.  Some  allege,  in  contradiction  of  this,  that 
Russia  is  too  strong,  that  nothing  ean  resist  her  progress.  But 
after  all,  three-fourths  of  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea  are  Maho- 
metan, and  it  requires  nothing  bat  a  daring  spirit,  in  whom  all  the 
races  of  that  creed  might  put  trust  and  feel  proud,  in  order  to  do 
ftr  more  than  resist  Russia.  When  it  is  considered  what  a  barrier 
the  Circassians  have  presented  in  their  limited  mountain  territo- 
ries, it  may  be  imagined  what  Mahometan  i^sistanee  would  be, 
if  Tartar  and  Kurd,  Turk  and  Persian  j(»ned  in  it 

FroBi  Odessa  to  the  mouth  of  the  Danube,  Hes,  in  fact,  the  only 
portion  of  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea  that  is  Christian.  The 
provinces  which  rise  fmm  the  Black  Sea  very  gradually  towards 
the  interior,  nnite  two  extremes,  seldom  found  together,  of  being 
a  rich  alluvial  deposit,  and  at  the  same  time  being  subject  to 
terrible  droaghts.  Such  large  alluvial  plains  and  pastures  are 
generaflly  at  the  foot,  or  at  some  distance  from  ranges  of  moun- 
tains, which  keep  up  the  supply  of  moisture,  or  lie  in  the  midst 
of  winding  rrvers,  which  exnde  their  superfluous  waters  through 
the  fidds.  But  in  Bessdn*abia  and  the  adjoining  province,  the 
abundance  of  moisture  which  pre^'ails  in  spring,  and  makes  the 
whole  country  a  rich  and  verdant  pasturage,  disappears,  and  the 
svliriiiess  of  autumn  leaves  a  bare  and  arid  soil,  on  ^hich  men  and 

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84  TUBKET, 

animals  are  burnt  up  in  certain  years  with  famine  and  with  pesti- 
lence. Such  is  the  country  by  which  any  military  expedition  of 
the  maritime  powers  must  penetrate  into  Russia  from  the  South. 
In  such  a  country  the  population  is  naturally  divided  into  lord  and 
serf.  For  the  larger  proprietors  alone  can  provide  for  the  barrage 
and  keeping  of  the  waters  on  the  high  grounds,  as  well  as  for 
proriding  in  a  bad  season  for  the  sustenance  of  the  families  de* 
pendent  on  them.  Thus  some  estates  will  be  found  flourishing, 
others  a  desert,  according  to  the  skill  and  care  shown  and  applied 
by  the  proprietor. 

The  countries  beyond  the  Pruth^  those  of  Wallachia  and  Mol- 
davia, are  far  superior  to  the  ones  north  of  it,  which  we  have 
described.  And  hence  the  natural  desire  of  the  possessors  of 
Bessarabia  and.  the  Ukraine  to  extend  their  dominion  south. 
The  principalities  have  mountains,  mines,  varied  climes  and  soils, 
all  the  capacities  of  a  fertile  and  self-dependent  country.  The 
Danube  offers  them  a  high  road  to  the  world  and  to  its  markets. 
And  the  independence  in  which  they  have  ever  lived,  for  the  Porte 
never  completely  subdued  them,  has  given  a  spirit  adapted  to  such 
circumstances  and  recollections. 

Two  centuries  ago  the  Tartars,  Mahomedan  Tartars^  were 
masters  of  the  country  from  the  Sea  of  Azof  to  the  Pruth,  and 
these  Tartars  were  in  subjection  to  the  Porte,  aiding  the  Turkish 
regiments  in  their  war  with  Poland,  and  their  princes  not  only 
ruling  over  the  Crimea,  but  sometimes  appointed  Vaivodes  of 
Wallachia  also.  Nevertheless  this  dignity  was  in  general  con- 
ferred on  some  of  the  great  Greek  Byzantines,  or  Fanariot 
families,  Dukas,  or  Cantacuzeni,  or  Sontzo.  For  the  Greek  no- 
hleaae  of  Constantinople  had  no  connection  with  what  we  consider 
Greece  Proper.  Their  power  lay  on  the  Danube.  There  the 
Turks  did  more  for  the  remnants  of  the  noble  Greek  race,  than 
either  Russia  or  Austria  had  done.  The  Turks  made  them 
princes,  as  well  as  gave  them  high  dignity  and  employ.  Since 
European  states  have  interfered  there,  they  have  perished.  And 
Wallachia  and  Moldavia,  which  remained  Greek  under  the  rule 
of  Turkey,  was  fain  to  become  Muscovite  under  the  protection 
and  interference  of  Russia. 

There  exists,  however,  in  the  principalities,  as  in  Servia,  a 
national  party,  as  well  as  a  Russian  one.  The  truly  national 
party  is  anxious  to  make  use  of  Turkish  protection  for  the  pur- 
pose of  founding  a  Rouman  independence ;  for  Rouman  is  the 
appellation  of  race,  which  they  prefer,  as  indicating  a  more 
honourable  descent  than  Slavon.  If  the  western  powers  of 
Europe  were  to  interfere  boldly  and  liberally  in  the  Danubian 
prinapalities,  they  could  easily  give  life  and  consistency  to  this 
party,  not  merely  amongst  peasants,  but  with  the  boyards,  who, 
during  last  year,  have  been  made  to  feel  Russian  tyranny,  and  it 
is  long  since  they  have  experienced  any  wrong  from  the  Turks. 

We  are  forgetting,  however,  as  Europe  herself  is  apt  to  forget, 
that  Turkey  is  much  more  assailable  from  Austria  than  from 
Russia.    A  coup-de-main  might  be  made  from  sea  at  Constan- 

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ITS  HOPES  AND  PERILS.  86 

thioide,  but  the  Turks  ought,  with  their  fleet,  and  artillery,  and 
no  very  large  land  forces,  to  be  always  able  to  rerist  this.  In  a 
land  invasion,  Russia  has  the  Danube  to  cross  in  the  face  of 
Its  foe,  and  afterwards  the  Balkan,  erery  pass  of  which  is  well 
known  and  fortified.  Austria  could  at  any  time  throw  a  large 
army  across  the  Danube  into  Servia,  far  from  any  possibility  of 
being  disturbed  by  Turkish  resistance.  The  high  and  the  plain 
road  to  Constantinople  runs  through  Servia,  avoiding  the  dif- 
ficulties of  the  Balkan^  and  reaching  Constantinople  without  an 
impediment.  If  there  is  danger  from  Bosnia  or  Albania  on  one 
side,  these  can  always  be  paralysed  by  an  Austrian  army  fi'om  any 
part  of  Dalmatia^  the  possession  of  which  lies  open  to  the  side 
of  Turk^.  It  is  well  known  that  Napoleon  pnzed  above  all 
things  his  hold  on  Dalmatia,  which  he  wished  to  extend  over 
Albania,  as  giving  him,  he  said,  a  complete  prize  over  the  Turkish 
empire,  whenever  it  became  his  interest  or  humour  to  attack  it 
But  Austria  is  a  kind  of  star-fish,  all  limbs  and  no  body,  obliged 
to  spend  its  energies  in  keeping  these  limbs  together,  without 
using  ihem  for  any  common  or  extrinsic  purpose.  If  it  has 
recently  reconquered  the  leading  position  in  (jermany,  it  has 
only  achieved  that  by  Russian  support.  It  can  only  oppose 
Russia  by  regaining  German  confidence.  And  such  a  political 
task  as  that  is  not  performed  by  a  superannuated  court  and  an 
unwieldly  empire  in  a  day. 

What  is  to  be  expected  from  Greece  in  any  crisis  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire?  Greece,  since  it  was  erected  into  an  inde- 
pendent kingdom  by  France  and  England,  contributed,  in  1829, 
to  the  humiliation  of  Turkey  by  the  Russians.  Greece  then  kept 
a  threatening  corps  of  observation  on  its  most  western  frontier, 
and  prevented  the  Mussulman  levies  of  that  region  from  march- 
ing, as  they  were  expected  and  ordered  to  do,  to  the  defence  of  the 
Balkan.  Had  this  not  been  the  case,  the  Russians  could  not  have 
passed  the  Balkan,  nor  succeeded  in  dictating  the  terms  of  peaca 
at  Adrianople.  So  much  for  Greece  twenty  years  ago.  Wou^d 
it  behave  better  now  ?  Certainly  not.  King  Otho  and  his  Court 
have  but  one  idea,  that  of  an  onslaught  upon  Turkev,  whenever 
the  fitting  opportunity  may  occur,  in  oroer  that,  when  Russia 
knocks  down  ihe  quarry,  the  jackal  may  be  allowed  to  feed  on  the 
offal.  With  this  view,  King  Otho  has  attached  to  his  court,  and 
made  personal  friends  with  the  most  objectionable  of  the  moun- 
tain chiefi,  with  men  most  famous  for  rapine  and  murder,  and  for 
little  else.  King  Otho  looks  upon  them  as  likely  to  be  bis  more 
useful  friends  and  most  practical  servants.  He  infinitely  prefers 
Grivas  and  Colocoironi  to  orators  and  constitutionalists.  By  such 
ccmduct  Otho  is  ruining  the  Greek  cause.  The  western  powers 
of  Europe  have  to  choose  between  the  Rouman  and  the  Greek, 
between  the  Fanariot  and  the  Bavarian.  However  inclined  they 
might  be  to  favour  a  really  constitutional,  pacific,  Greek  Po- 
tentate, they  have  no  respect  for  the  arbitrary,  the  corrupt,  the 
lapine-loving,  murder-stained  Palikar.  By  identifying  himself 
with  the  latter,  Otho  forfeits  that  claim  of  his  race,  and^  unfortu- 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


99  TVUBT, 

attclf^  of  his  natuMi  tvtr  to  oeotipy  ByzaiilMitn^  to  lestave  W 
Cbrbtiaii  <wonbippeni  Saa  Sopkia^  and  aoe  bimsdf  aft  tba 
sacooMor  of  (ke  Ottanmn  on  the  fiaAtem  thfooe* 

Th9  fate  of  Tudcey,  or  rather,  ol  the  Turka,  BMMt,  like  that  of 
ererj  other  imce,  depend  leas  upon^  the  oooduct  of  ekber  6ieiida  or 
foes,  tbam  upoo  the  peoqule  themaelFes.  Caa  theji  by  jretaiaing 
their  dd  f anaiicigm  aod  their  old  spirit,  pvevail  agaiaat  tJbe  lailU 
taiy  actence  and  di»ei[diae  of  ^arope  ?  Imposaible.  Can  they 
adopt  Eusopeam  habits  so  fiar,  ae  to  gire  aeourity  to  the  Chria^ 
turn  i  aXkm  tftiam  to  be  indaatrieiis  and  to  Aeeumulata  wealth  i 
Can  they  give  to  Tuiks  tbemaelvee  the  bleasiftga'Of  aa  adBunislra-* 
tton  fboDded  upon  justice,  workisf  upaa  same  other  spring  thaa 
fear,  and  attowing  aoetety,  like  a  weUUreguIated  machine,  to  per- 
fbna  its  fonctions  of  itself?  Gaa  Turks  be  tolecant  ?  Can  they  in 
a  pablkc  office  display  thai  honesty  which  marks  ihem  in  private  i 
Can  they  become  hnmani  Caa  they  be  ever  bvoagbt  to  restoee 
wonaa  to  her  rights  ?  For  if  this  caarnot  be  done,  the  Tuika 
Mst  perish,  pkyaically  and  niora%. 

All  this  may  be  done,  if,  aa  we  kave  said,  theie  was  aay  aa&a- 
rky  or  power  to  do  it.  B4at  bow  is  that  to  arise  and  to  be 
ae<pitrtd?  The  Sultan  isnot  powerful  ettoag^,atiU  less  theGrsoMl 
Vixiei^  with  all  Keaohid's  lalenU.  It  caaaoft  heexpeeied  of  MuOi 
or  of  Sheik  el  IskHa;  stiM  leas  would  a  dervish  do  it.  Time 
reform  can  only  be  undertaken  and  carried  throngfa  by  a  Saltan  or 
a  Vizier,  wlio  shall  have  gained  asoendanoy  by  suocess  ia.arms. 
If  one  of  the  old  Ttaidsb  heroes,  who  led  Spahis  aad  Jaaisaacies  to 
victory,  were  again  to  arise,  he  might  make  use  of  his  power  to 
reform  the  army  and  eivil  admiiiiatration.  He  aleae  could  cona* 
pel  the  uleans  to  serve  hink  If  Sakaa  Mahaieud  had  pMved  aa 
suceeasfiil  against  the  Russians,  aa  he  did  agaiast  the  Jaaisaa* 
ries,  he  migfat  not  merely  have  iaaugaiated,  bat  coa^^leted  relbna. 
Military  talent,  howevar,  cannot  be  improvised^  it  is  only  to  be 
had  by  practice ;  and  that  army  will  have  the  nsoat  of  it  wJaeh 
have  most  faught.    I^is  was  libe  eecret  of  Ibrahim's  saccesa. 

There  aie  no  better  aoldiers  than  the  Taurks  ane  capable  of 
becominf,.na  worse  soldiers  tkaa  Uiey  wrndd  be  foaadin  afirat 
adioa.  It  ia  to  be  feaiad,  that  even  tkia  chance  does  ^not  fie  open 
to  the  Turka^  for  siaee  they  hanre  learned  to  trust  to  some  Earo- 
pean  power  ia  order  to  resist  others^  they  «eeai  to  luwe  abandoned 
eren  the  aim  of  reform. 

The  fortresses  of  the  Danube  weia  declared  the  otiter  day  to  be 
omapletely  dismai^ed«  Formedy,  Siliatria  alone  would  haxre  de« 
kyed  an  invadiag  enemy  tfaeee  asontha :  now  it  is  aa  open  town. 
Howover,  dkeee  is  ceotainly  a  naadber  of  officers  abaat  to  isaoa 
horn  the  military  schools,  as  well  aa  fcom  courses  of  study  in 
EuTopeaa  capitals.  Amongst  them  maybe  found  dtsttagwished 
awn,  in  the  mititary,  as  ia  other  careers.  One  arast  wiait  to  aee 
what  the  y^ouag  generation  cffiefoimcrs  will  produce,  ere  deciding 
that  its  -fraits  are  likely  to  pnoive  wontfalesa. 

OiM  regrets  to  find,  and  to  have  to  say,  that  amia  ia  to  be  hoped 
of  youag  men  faiad  in  Turkey,  tbaa  of  thoaa  ad>o  have  frofaented 

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«iber  tbe  -gelMMilfl  e«  the  Aooiety  of  JLoodao  •r  Paiis.  Tbe  young 
Tmsk,  iajigfiwosly  owaJFod^  if  bie  yetaio  same  of  the  ignocauce  of 
kis  race,  has  also  ils  Bf^iit  The  FmiJdfied  young  Turk  may  have 
mfkk^  but  it  li«»  ne  longer  that  old  spicit,  auMog  half  from  fana- 
tecuDiy  half  irom  a  aeaae  of  superiority,  which  disliuguisbed  hia 
fevefalLher.  Tbe  yeiuig  Euiepeaa  is  hooorable  and  faffave,  what^ 
evec  be  hoB  natneal  tflnperaneBL  He  partakes  of  the  natufe  and 
ihe  sanlunente  of  th^  soosetyia  which  he  bvea,  and  whose  maojr 
eyes  aie  on  htm.  The  youag  Europeaii  Tuj?k  would  acknow- 
ledge the  aame  law^  if  he  continued  lo  live  in  the  West  But  at 
ff^nrtantinoplft  there  is  no  society,  no  public,  no  people.  These 
are  merely  the  Sultan,  and  the  high  functionaziefy  to  whom  it  ia 
neceesary  to  pay  court,  and  whom  it  is  neceesaiy  to  please.  There 
is  no  bsMd  p«li^,  before  .whose  august  preeence  a  noble  part  ia 
to  be  played,  and  a.  high  eharaeter  maintainod.  There  being  no 
pttblie  to  appeal  te,  or  whose  respect  is  worth  preserving,  the 
yoiiag  Turk  seeks  merety  to  please  those  who  can  advance  him. 
He  can  do  this  without  moofa  effort  of  virtue  or  of  learning. 
There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  put  that  check  u(K>n  lusuiry 
md  epicureeiusm^  wfaioh  is  requisite  in  Europe*  There  are  no 
g^ealer  sesiauaUstfi  in  Constantinople  than  those  TAirks  who  have 
keen  bied  in  the  vu^  of  EMVope. 

There  is  one  thing  which  pieeenjt  events  have  hvouc^  about» 
that  may  have  some  effect  This  is  the  mingling  of  the  Turkish 
and  Egyptiaii  forces.  Abba  Pasha  has  sent  an  auxiliaiy  army,  as 
well  as  a  fleet.  The  soUUera,  sailors,  c^&cera,  and  boys  of  the 
tiro  raees  mast  meet  and  get  thrown  together,  and  being  engaged 
in  a  comHMm  cause^  those  most  behindhand  will  see  in  what  their 
felkwr^Mussalmane  surpass  them.  Should  war  spring  up,  and 
both  take  the  field  against  tbe  Busaiana,  the  Tucka  will  hnd  in 
tbe  S^^9B9  a  system  of  discipline  and  tactics  more  perfect 
than  their  own,  and  more  a]:]^oachiug  tbe  £uio>pean  model. 
Gfeat  hopes  wore  formerly  entertained  of  an  amalgamation  of  the 
Tork  aad  Arab  by  meana  of  Arab  conquest.  It  would  be  more 
desirable  to  haine  that  amalgamation  take  place  whilst  reiustiog 
a  common  enemy,  than  by  the  results  of  a  civil  war. 

It  mtjier  jars  with  modem,  at  least  modem  English  ideaa» 
to  lay  so  much  stress  upon  military  Deform  and  upon  warlike 
stvength.  But  the  scymetar  ia4be  only  sceptre  of  the  East,  where 
it  is  respected,  not  merely  as  the  symbol  of  force,  but  of  divine 
power  and  sanction.  The  divine  right  of  the  East  is  not  that 
of  birth,  b|it  of  conquest.  The  only  way  to  win  the  heart  and 
bow  the  heada  of  such  a  people  is  by  being  victorious*  No 
one  imdevstood  this  better,  or  acted  upon  it  more  completely,  than 
Mahomet.  He  founded  bis  religion  upon  the  sabre.  That  was 
aot  only  his  sceptre,  but  his  logic.  It  was  his  basis  of  morals^ 
aad  the  proof  of  bis  being  a  prophet.  The  sabre,  therefore,  is  as 
necessary  in  the  East  to  moral  change  and  legislative  reform,  as  it 
is  to  the  founding  of  territorial  empire. 

One  of  the  greatest  changes  in  a  state,  is  to  allow  any  one  power 
or  profession  alone  to  form  a  corporation,  handing  down  its  spirit^ 


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88  ^  TUBKSY,  ITS  HOPES  AND  PERILS. 

its  wealth,  and  its  influence  from  generation  to  generation.  The 
church  was  one  of  the  corporations  in  Western  Europe,  but  there 
were  the  feudal  nobleuej  and  in  some  countries,  as  in  France,  an 
organized  body  of  lawyers  to  counteract  it.  At  present  in  Turkey 
there  is  no  great  corporation,  save  that  of  the  Ulemas.  There 
was  formerly  the  feudal  and  military  class  to  counteract  them, 
with  the  formidable  Viziers  and  Pashas.  The  Sultan  had  the  power 
even  to  decapitate  the  MufU  that  displeased  him.  But  the 
Sultan  no  longer  cuts  off  heads.  And  there  is  no  longer  a  military 
corporation,  feudal  or  otherwise.  The  Pashas  are  litde  more  than 
civil  govemers ;  there  is  no  esprit  de  corps  amongst  them,  nor  are 
the  troops  attached  to  them. 

Russia,  the  great  antagonist  of  Turkey,  and  which  boasts  to  be 
so  superior  in  civilisation  and  organisation,  is  in  short  nothing  but 
\  military  power.  There  is  but  one  apprenticeship  and  existence, 
one  avenue  to  life  and  rank  in  Russia,  Uiat  of  the  army.  The  son 
of  the  highest  noble  is  nothing  until  he  has  served.  The  empire 
is  a  camp,  and  every  man  of  education  and  worth  an  officer  in  it. 
It  counts  a  million  of  soldiers,  while  the  Sultan,  with  such  a  wide 
and  certainly  as  rich  a  territory,  has  not  more  than  a  150,000. 
This  military  organisation  has  not  prevented  Rus«a  from  enjoy- 
ing most  of  the  blessings  of  advancing  civilisation.  It  has  not 
checked  industry.  Had  the  Sultan  a  similar  system — ^had  he  more 
soldiers,  less  laws  and  lawgivers,  priests  and  fanaticism,  he  would 
be  as  much  advanced  in  the  path  of  civilisation  as  Russia,  and  be 
as  well  prepared  to  defend  his  independence. 

The  laws  which  confine  the  males  of  the  imperial  family  to 
the  harem,  preclude  the  possibility  of  a  warlike  Sultan.  When 
of  old,  the  Sultans  used  to  entrust  provinces  and  expeditions  to 
their  sons,  Turkey  never  wanted  a  powerful  sovereign.  Since 
Sultans  have  been  the  disciples  and  the  companions  of  women,  till 
they  are  dragged  from  the  women'^s  apartments  and  placed  upon  the 
throne,  the  Mussulmen  have  never  had  a  chief  worthy  of  them. 
Mehemet  Ali  managed  better.  The  heir-apparent  of  the  throne 
of  Egypt  commands  its  fleet,  and  has  learned  to  know  and  to  rule 
over  his  feUow-men.  The  Sultan,  besides  his  young  children,  has 
a  brother,  who  is  heir  to  his  throne.  No  one  has  ever  seen  or 
spoken  to  this  brother.  It  is  not  supposed,  that  even  the  brothers- 
in-law  of  the  Sultan  have  made  his  acquaintance.  The  Mahomedau 
law  sets  aside  hereditary  right,  and  places  the  crown  on  the  uncle's 
head,  rather  than  on  that  of  the  deceased  Sultan's  son,  because 
maturity  is  indispensable.  And  yet,  at  the  same  .time  that 
maturity,  which  mingling  in  the  world  and  its  business  gives,  is 
rejected  and  rendered  impossible.  Insolence  and  cruelty  were  once 
the  maxims  of  Turkish  rule.  Humility,  humanity,  and  fear — fear 
both  of  Turks  and  foreigners,  and  even  relatives — have  taken  their 
place,  and  rendered  the  Turk  in  spirit,  as  in  real  power,  but  the 
shadow  of  his  former  self. 


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89 


THE  LAST  YEARS  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES 
THE  FIFTH.* 

BY   F.  A.  MIGNET. 
AUTHOE  OF  **TB1  HI8T0ST  OT  MAST,   QUBBN  OF  ICOTS.' 

Befobe  Charles  the  Fifth  left  Flushing  and  sailed  towards 
Biscay,  Philip  the  Second  had  announced  to  the  Princess  Donna 
Juana,  who  was  Regent  of  Spain  in  his  absence,  the  approaching 
arrival  of  their  father  the  Emperor.  On  the  27th  of  July,  he 
had  written  to  her  to  send  to  the  port  of  Laredo  an  alcalde  of 
the  Court,  named  Durango,  with  sufficient  money  for  the  pur- 
chase of  all  the  provisions  and  the  collection  of  all  the  means  of 
transport  which  would  be  required  at  his  arrival,  and  during  his 
journey  across  the  north-eastern  provinces  of  the  Peninsula. 
Durango  was  fturther  to  bring  with  nim  the  pay  of  the  fleet,  and 
six  chaplains,  whom  the  Emperor  desired  to  meet  on  his  dis- 
embarkation. On  the  28th  of  August,  the  day  on  which  Charles 
the  Fifth  left  Ghent  for  Zealand,  Philip  the  Second  sent  a  second 
letter  of  instructions  to  his  sister ;  and,  on  the  8th  of  September, 
he  wrote  to  her  a  third  time : — 

^^  Most  serene  Princess,  my  dear  and  beloved  sister,  my  lord 
the  Emperor  .  • .  who  is  in  good  health,  thank  God  !  will  embark 
on  the  earliest  day  ...  in  order  not  to  cause  you  any  incon- 
venience. His  Majesty  has  resolved  to  lodge  at  Valladolid,  in 
the  house  of  Gomez  Perez  de  las  Marinas,  where  Ruy  Gomez 
nsed  to  live.  You  will  order  that  it  be  cleaned  and  arranged, 
that  furniture  be  bought,  and  that  every  preparation  be  made; 
that  the  apartments  may  be,  with  great  celerity,  rendered  fit  to 
receive  his  Majesty,  who,  on  disembarking,  will  send  before  him 
Roggier,his  aposentador  cfepaZacto  (harbinger  of  the  royal  house- 
hold), to  make  ready  his  lodgings  on  the  road,  and  to  arrange  his 
apartments  according  to  his  will  at  Valladolid.'*"  Not  satisfied  with 
entering  into  all  these  details  to  secure  his  father  a  comfortable 
reception  in  Spain,  Philip  the  Second  wished  that  he  should 
be  paid  those  attentions  and  receive  those  honours  with  which  he 
was,  for  his  own  part,  anxious  to  dispense.  For  instance,  he 
adds :  ^'  Although  bis  Majesty  has  made  no  allusion  to  this  point, 
it  would  be  fitting  that  some  of  the  principal  personages  and 
gentlemen  should  repair  to  the  port  at  which  he  means  to  dis- 
embark, and  that  they  should  be  accompanied  by  a  bishop  and 
six  chaplains,  whom  I  have  already  mentioned  to  you  .  .  .  His 
Imperial  Majesty  is  on  board  the  ship  Bertendonay  in  which  an 
apartment  has  been  fitted  up  for  him  with  every  convenience. 
You  will  provide  for  the  wants  of  this  vessel  and  of  the  rest  of  the 
fleet,  the  crews  of  which  must  receive  that  part  of  their  pay  which 

*  Condnaed  from  p.  668,  vol.  zzxiii. 

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90  THE  LAST  YEARS  OF 

is  still  due  to  them^  without  fail,  and  you  will  please  to  infonn  me 
of  what  bas  been  done." 

After  having  received  this  letter  on  the  17th  of  September,  the 
very  day  on  which  the  fleet,  which  was  to  convey  the  Emperor 
into  Spain,  left  the  povt  m(  Rammeken%  d»  P]iio<i6as  Domna 
Juana  hastened  to  execute  ithe;  orders  of  the  Eong,  her  brother. 
She  directed  that  the  house  of  Gomez  Perez  should  be  prepared 
for  his  reception  at  Valladolid,  wbieh  was  then  the  residence  of 
the  Court  and  the  seat  of  the  G0vemn»a9t  She  again  com- 
manded the  alcalde,  Durango,  to  proceed  with  his  alguazils  to 
Laredo,  and  to  perform  the  duties  which  she  had  ea^usted  to  him. 
At  the  same  time,  she  ordered  that  public  prayers  should  b« 
cAbred  for  the  safe  arrival  of  the  Emperor:;  she  directed  th« 
Constable  and  Admiral  of  Castile  to -hold  themselves  in  readiness  to> 
go  and  congratulate  him  on  reaching  Spain  ;  and^he  requested  Don 
Pedro  Manrique,  Bishop  of  Salamanca,  and  chaplain  to  the  King^ 
to  start  without  delay  for  Laredo :  "  I  know,**  she  said,  "  tiM^ 
his  Majesty  will  see  you  with  greater  pleasure  l^n  any  other  -pet* 
son,  as  he  will  be  deUgfated  to  meet,  on  his  arrival^  so  old  and 
so  ftdthful  a  servant.'' 

But  the  measures,  suggested  vnitih  sudr  providest  urgeaoy  fay 
Philip  the  Second,  and  dWecfted  with  such  afiectionate  zesd  by 
his  sister,  were  executed,  for  the  most  pert,  with  true  Spanash 
slowness.  At  that  time,  and  in  that  country  especially,  nothing 
was  ever  done  quickly,  and  actions  always  lagged  v«ry  far  behind 
orders.  Everything,  therefore,  was  not  ready  when  Charles  the 
Fifth  appeared  off  Oie  coast  of  Biscay.  His  voyage  hatd  been  sne« 
cessful  and  tolerably  rapid.  The  vessel,  of*  505  tons  burden,  on 
board  of  which  he  travelled,  and  which  he  entirely  occupied, 
was  arranged  solely  for  his  service,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
render  his  passage  down  tJie  Channel  and  across  Uie  G^lf  of 
Gascony  less  painful  to  his  infirmities.  On  the  upper  deck,  be-^ 
tween  the  mainmast  and  the  poop,  were  the  imperial  apartments^ 
consisting  of  two  rooms  and  two  closets,  flanked  by  an  oblong 
room,  which  served  as  a  corridor  for  ingress  and  egress,  and  sur- 
rounded by  three  other  small  chambers,  intended  for  his  body<* 
servant,  his  chamberlain,  and  an  assistant  {ayuda  de  cmmarei^* 
They  were  handsomely  carved  inside  and  hung  with  green  cloth ; 
draughts  of  air  were  carefuHy  excluded,  and  eight  glass  windows 
afforded  views  over  the  sea.  The  Emperor's  bed,  and  several  other 
articles  of  furniture,  were  suspended  from  the  ceiling  like  swings, 
and  &8tened  by  wooden  props,  so  as  not  to  follow  idl  the  move* 
ments  (rf'the  ship,  and  to  remain  tolerably  still  while  it  was  tossed 
about  by  the  force  of  the  waves.  The  other  end  of  the  deck, 
near  the  prow,  was  occupied  by  the  gentlemen  in  the  Emperor's 
service.  The  lower  deck  contained  the  pantry,  the  kitchen,  the 
store-rooms,  the  cellar,  and  the  apartments  of  all  the  officers 
belonging  to  these  departments  of  the  household.  Finally,  the 
provisions  for  the  journey  and  tire  sup|)ly  of  fresh  water,  which 
vras  contained  in  enormous  earthenware  jars  with  pacKocked  lids^ 
were  deposited  in  the  hold. 


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THE  EMJMMft  OHAKL£S  Jtm  FIFTH.  H 

HmAg  elaand  the  dmn^nNwe  MmLbulu  of  Eeidand,  da  the 
I7$h  «f  SefAewbiTy  im  iwry  ine  woalbext  the  fliei  and^edy  aa  the 
Mttiy  b^ween  Dover  and  Cakie,  wheee  jin  JEofllih  admiral  duee 
eat  with  five  sbipe  to  ealote  the  £iUher  of  hit  king,  and  kisa  hie 
hands.  The  EmpeBec  did  not  gel  o«*  of  the  Channel  ail  the 
Sted.  On  4h«l;  day,  leaabg  on  the  right  hand  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
which  had  at  first  been  fixed  upon  as  a  haltuig-.place,  and  profit* 
ing  by  a  iavaiiaaUe  wind,  which  keted  ihtovgb  the  Toyaget,  the 
fleet  iMde  all  eail  teiwaeds  Spain,  and  CM^tbe  28di  arrived  at  the 
pest  «f  Lcmdo  at  Tather  a  late  hfwr.  The  EoiperDr  went  on 
shore  the  aame  oreniagj  and  net  one  of  theae  who  accompanied 
htm  taw  him  kite  the  gteond  on  laiadingt  or  heard  hiai  utter  the 
warda  aacribed  to  hiai  by  Strada  and  Bobortaoa, — ^  O  oemmoa 
aaether!  naked  came  I  fiNrth  freaa  thy  wamb^  and  naked  am  I 
aheut  to  xetnm  tUther^"  He  foond  no  eae  at  Laiedo  bat  the 
Bkhop  of  Salamancay  and  the  Court  Alcalde,  Danm^Eii  whe  had 
aat  yet  reeetv^ed  the  money  neeeatary  for  the  anply  o£  the  Em- 
pcror'a  wants  and  far  the  paym^M  of  the  fleet*  He  was  greatly 
ictitated  at  tki%  and  Martin  Gai^n.waDie  ihna  to  Vaae[uez  die 
MoMna,  theSeereteey  of  State :— 

^  Hki  Bfajeaty  ia  angry  at  the  neg^tigeace  ditplayed  in  net 
pKOiriding  certain  thiagt  which  it  wat  befitting  to  prepare,  and 
which  the  King  had  (M^aaned.  The  aiX'  ohaf  laiaa  who  en^t  to 
have  oeme  to  serve  him,  are  all  the  more  wanted,  becanae  thoae 
whoBD  he  brought  with  him  are  ill,  and  it  is  neeeatary  everf 
dby  te  go  in  aeasch  of  a  pnest  to  say  masa.  He  it  in  want  also 
of  two  fhyumaoBy  becanse  half  the  peoiDle  in  his  fleet  are  iU, 
and  seven  or  eight  of  his  servants  are  dead»  The  poetmattca 
aaght  to  have  aeBt:an  oUcer  of  ceariem  for  his  service ;  he  has 
Mt,  and  still  Itelt,  the  priivation  very  muck.  If  the  Bishop  of 
Salamanca  had  net  pvooumd  him  cevtaia  cnmmedhiet,  he  woaU 
have  ibund  nothing  on  ^  spot  anitahle  to  a  majesty  like  hit*  No 
oae  hatwritten  li^  a  tingle  letter,  or  sent  te  inqnkre  how  he  ie 
eoatiag.  All  this  dionU  have  been  done  tamvltaaeoualy  at 
fiantander,  Coranaa,  and  here.  Thete  aia  the  things  of  wfaidi  hm 
eomfdaint;  and  he  saya  other  thinga  ef  a  very  sangaiaaxy  cha* 
xaetec;'' 

Hut  ill-explaiaad  delay  in  .the  escacutaan  ^the  owden  of  Fhili|» 
the  Second,  and  this  ill-judged  expreaaion  of  ike  diasatiafaetioii 
ef  Charlee  the  Fifth,  hare  been  tranaCormed  into  am  act  of  iagra- 
titade  on  the  part  of  the  one,  and  a  token  of  regret  on  the  part  of 
the  oahor.  Most  historians  have  aseerted  that,  on  the  very  day 
after  hit  father's*  abdioation,  Phthp  the  Second  had,  .if  not  refoseoi 
at  least  neglected  ta  place  at  hw  ditpotal  a  hundred  dioasand 
golden  crowns  which  the  £aq3enar  had  jreterved  for  his  own  naa 
in  hit  xetkementr  Nothing  of  the  Idbad  was  the  case.  There  is 
DO  alhmian  whatever  in  the  letter  we  have  qaoied  to  theae  bun* 
drad  thontand  arownt.  The  Bmiperor's  .comfTJaiatt  bam  sefaseaoa 
to  the  preparalioos,  whieh  bad  been  made  ntither  toon  enongh, 
nor  eompl^eiy  enong^  for  hit  amval  in  Spain ;  and  he  it  far 
ftom  throwing  any  blame  upon  hia  ton,  who  had  oaaaaanicated. 


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92  THE  LAST  TEARS  OF 

his  wishes  on  this  point  several  times,  in  the  most  peremptory 
and  precise  manner.  The  Court  of  Valladolid  itself  had  been  not 
so  much  negligent  as  taken  by  surprise.  Charles  the  Fifth, 
whose  return  had  been  announced  and  postponed  so  often,  was 
not  expected  so  soon.  Besides,  it  was  always  very  difficult  in 
Spain  to  find  money  at  the  right  time,  and  to  ensure  obedience  at 
the  necessary  moment. 

On  the  1st  of  October,  as  soon  as  the  Princess  Donna  Juana 
was  informed  of  the  Emperor's  disembarkation  by  Don  Alonzo  de 
Carvajal,  who  had  been  dispatched  to  her  from  Laredo,  she  sent 
a  supply  of  money  for  the  fleet,  and  provisions  of  all  kinds  for  her 
father.  She  hastened  to  write,  on  the  same  day,  to  Luis  Quixada, 
who  was  at  his  country-house  of  Villa-Garcia.  ^^  This  momiug,'* 
she  says,  ^^  I  received  information  that  my  lord  the  Emperor,  and 
the  most  serene  Queens  my  aunts,  arrived  on  Monday  last,  the 
eve  of  St.  Michael,  at  Laredo  ;  that  his  Maiesty  went  on  shore  the 
same  evening;  that  my  aunts  disembarked  the  next  day,  and  that 
all  are  well.  I  have  rendered  hearty  thanks  to  Our  Lord  for  this; 
and  it  has  caused  me,  as  in  reason  it  should,  extreme  joy.  As 
the  Emperor  will  have  need  of  you  for  his  journey,  and  as  it  is 
important  for  me  to  know  the  exact  time  at  which  he  will  arrive 
in  this  city,  I  beseech  you  to  set  out  as  soon  as  you  receive  this 
letter,  and  to  travel  postrhaste  to  join  his  Majesty.  As  sood  as  you 
arrive,  give  him  an  account  of  the  two  sorts  of  lodgings  which  you 
know  he  can  have  here,  and  inform  me,  with  all  diligence,  which 
of  the  two  his  Majesty  prefers,  and  whether  4ie  wishes  that  stoves 
or  any  other  things  should  be  placed  in  the  rooms,  so  that  all 
may  be  in  readiness  when  he  airives. 

**  I  beg  you  also  to  inquire  of  his  Majesty  whether  he  desires 
that  I  shall  send  him  a  guard  of  infantry  or  cavalry,  for  his  own 
escort,  or  for  that  of  the  most  Serene  Queens,  my  aunts.  Whether 
he  wishes  that  any  grandees  or  gentlemen  should  come  to  form  his 
retinue.  Whether  he  wishes  that  any  reception  should  be  prepared 
for  his  Majesty,  or  for  my  aunts,  at  Burgos,  and  in  this  city ;  and 
what  kind  of  a  reception.  Whether  he  commands  the  prince,  his 
grandson,  to  come  to  meet  him,  and  where.  Whether  he  thinks  it 
desirable  that  I  should  do  the  same,  or  that  the  councils  which  are 
at  VaIIadoli4  should  do  so.  Inform  me  diligently  aud  particularly 
of  his  will  in  all  these  matters. 

^'  I  charge  you  also  to  take  care,  during  the  joumev,  that  his 
Majesty  is  abundantly  provided  with  all  things  of  which  he  may 
have  need,  as  well  as  the  most  Serene  Queens,  my  aunts.  Acquaint 
the  Alcalde  Durango  of  what  he  will  have  to  procure,  that  nothing 
may  be  wanting,  and  let  me  know  what  I  must  send  from  hence. 
By  doing  all  this,  you  will  give  me  great  pleasure." 

She  sent  Don  Enriquez  de  Guzman  to  congratulate  the  Emperor 
in  her  name ;  and  on  the  following  day,  young  Don  Carios,  who 
was  then  eleven  years  of  age,  wrote  a  letter  with  his  own  hand  to 
his  grandfather  to  inquire  his  orders:  **  Sacred,  Imperial,  and  Ca- 
tholic M^esty,  I  have  learned  that  your  Majesty  is  m  good  health, 
and  I  infinitely  rejoice  to  hear  it,  so  much  so,  that  I  could  not 


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THE  SKnOtOB  OHABLES  THB  FIFTH.  9S 

possibly  be  more  delighted.  I  beg  your  Majesty  to  let  me  know 
whether  I  am  to  come  to  meet  you,  and  how  far  ?  I  send  to 
yon  Don  Pedro  Pimentel,  a  gentleman  of  m^  bedchamber^  and  my 
ambassador,  to  whom  I  beseech  your  Majesty  to  give  orders  of 
what  is  to  be  done  in  this,  that  he  may  write  to  me  about  it.  I 
kiss  the  hands  of  your  Majesty.  Your  Miyesty's  very  humble 
son,  the  Prince.'' 

Qnixada  started  from  Villagarcia  on  the  morning  of  the  2nd  Oc- 
tober, and  arrived  at  Laredo  on  the  5th.  His  presence  was  a  source 
of  great  satisfaction  to  the  Emperor,  who  began  his  journey  on  the 
6th, — the  Alcalde  Durango  having  succeeded  in  collecting  together 
ail  that  was  necessary  for  the  route.  Quizada  announced  to  the 
Secretary  of  State,  Vasquez,  that  the  Emperor  expected  to  reach 
Medina  de  Pomar  in  four  days,  and  to  arrive  at  Valladolid  in  about 
seventeen. 

Charles  the  Fifth  would  not  allow  any  solemn  reception  to  be 
prepared  for  him,  either  on  the  road,  or  at  Valladolid.  He  formally 
expressed  his  wish  that  Secretary  Vasquez  should  not  leave  his 
business  to  come  to  meet  him,  and  that  the  princess,  his  daughter, 
should  await  his  arrival  in  her  palace  at  Valladolid ;  but  he  gave 
permission  to  his  grandson,  Don  Carlos,  whom  he  was  anxious  to 
embrace,  to  come  and  meet  him  at  Cabezon. 

The  Emperor  journeyed  slowly  through  the  Asturias,  travelling 
only  a  few  leagues  daily.  Although  his  suite  was  not  very  numerous, 
he  was  obUged  to  divide  it  into  detachments,  while  in  this  sterile  and 
rugged  province,  on  account  of  the  badness  of  the  road  and  the  diffi- 
culty of  obtaining  lodgings.  His  litter,  by  the  side  of  which  rode 
bis  chamberlain  Quixada, opened  the  march,  which  was  continued, 
at  a  day's  interval,  by  the  litters  of  his  two  sisters,  and  terminated  by 
his  gentlemen  and  mounted  servants.  The  baggage  was  carried  on 
mules.  As  his  only  guard,  the  Emperor  had  the  Alcalde  Durango, 
who  preceded  him  with  his  five  alguazils,  armed  with  their  staves 
of  office,  so  that  they  seemed  much  less  to  escort  a  sovereign  than 
to  accompany  a  prisoner.  He  was  carried  over  the  steep  moun- 
tain passes  in  a  hand-chair.  He  halted  on  the  first  day  at  Ampu- 
ero ;  on  the  second,  at  La  Nestosa,  where  he  met  Don  Enrique  de 
Guzman  and  Don  Pedro  Pimentel,  who  had  been  sent  to  him  by 
tiie  Princess  Donna  Juana  and  the  Prince  Don  Carlos ;  on  the 
third  day  at  Aguera;  and  on  the  fourth  at  Medina  de  Pomar,  where 
he  stopped  to  rest.  He  ate  a  great  deal  of  fruit,  especially  melons 
and  water-melons,  of  which  he  had  long  been  deprived.  At  Me- 
dina de  Pomar,  he  found  the  abundant  supply  of  provisions  which 
his  daughter  had  sent  him,  and  he  became  rather  unwell  through 
eating  too  much  fish,  chiefly  fresh  tunny. 

Delighted,  for  the  moment,  to  be  freed  from  all  cares  of  business, 
Charles  the  Fifth  would  not  allow  any  reference  to  be  made  to 
Dublic  affiiirs,  and  he  entertained  a  temporary  resolution  to  keep 
nimself  entirely  aloof  from  them  in  future,  and  to  enter  the  monas- 
tery of  Yuste  on  All  Saints'  day,  with  a  very  small  number  of  at- 
tendants. *^  The  Emperor,"  wrote  Gaztelu  to  Vasquez,  ^^  says  that 
be  means  to  dismiss  his  servants  and  to  remain  alone  with  Wil- 


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H  no  UOT  YBAWR  QT 

Mam  MaUaas  (Vna  Hale)  aad  two  or  thgaeiwfeww  ^hsmbeilBma 
of  the  «eeond  claw),  whom  ke^  wffi  take  wiA  him-  t»«tteiict  to^  hia 
gout  if  it  abottld  attack' htm  again,  to  dieaa  a  woond  wUich  he  ham 
in  Ae  little  finger  of  hia  right  hand,  «nd  whtefa  is  eonatantif  toiI'- 
aing)  as  well  as- fats  kasfflotrhoida^  and^to  asnie  ham  in*  monjr  other 
t^i^.  He  saja  tiMt  hewill  pa^r  t9  Uie  prior  of  tbe  moaostary 
money  enough  to  enable  him  to  supply  him  with  pfovistana ;  and 
that  he  will  retam  one  or  two  cooba  to  prepare  fata  ibod  aeaoniing 
to*  bis  taste.  He  will  not  take  a  physician,  for  he  soys  that  th^ 
monka  always.  iMire  good  ones.to  attend  apon  them.  He  propoeea 
to  keep  Salanmncpiea  as  hiaoanftsBor,  in  order- to  remoTe  all  eanse 
of  diyisioD  and  jealnuay  among  the*  monks.  He  adds  that  he  will 
retain  some  otiiefs  dao,  bvA  that  he  wiabes  to  be  rid  of  all  inrtiKrr 
omiMunassment,  and  likvt,  when  he  has  anvred  within  two  leagnea 
of  the  monastery,  he  will  dismiss  all  who  accompany  him,  that  they 
may  retmm  to  their' own  homes.  It  appears  to  those  who  are  ac- 
<iuainted  with  his  character,  tiiat  be  will  not  carry  tbia  plan  into 
aflfect ;  be  even  is  beginning  to-  say  that  Yuate,  as  he  is  iaionned, 
is  a  damp  and  rainy  place  in  winter^  and  wHi  therefore  he  bad  for 
bis  govt  and  asthma.  To  conclude,  nntil  we  arrive  tbeie  and  see 
what  he  will  decide,  we  can  entertein  no  certain  views  of  tiiei  mat- 
ter, because  he  is  very  searet  with  r^vtrd  to  his  wishes." 

When  tbe  news  of  his  anrivsal  became  known,  the  principal  towns 
sent  their  regidors  to  meet  bim ;  and  Ae  nrost  important  men 
8BM)ng  the  clergy,  inlbe  8tale,  and  of  <3>e  eonncite,  wrote  to  him. 
When  he  drew  near  Bmrgos,  although  he  did  not  wish  for  any 
public  reception,  the  Constable  of  Castile  came  to  kiss  his  hands 
at  two  leagnes  finm*  the  city,  which  he  entered  on  tbe  evening  of 
the  IStb  September,  amid  the  Fii:^ag  of  bella  and  a  gencml  illf^ 
minadon  of  tbe  stvaeta.  On  the  f^lowing  day,  the  ayimto#»f«yj<o, 
or  town-eouneil,  presented  him  an.  address  in  the  cathedral. 

While  in  that  city,  he  was  viaited  by  the  Duke  of  Albuquerque, 
Yiceroy  of  Navarre,  who  was  aecompinied  by  a  gentleman  of  tiiat 
eountry,  named  Escnrva,  who  for  several  yeaxn  had*  been  efaarged 
with  an  important  and  mystevions  negotiaiioQ,  regarding  which 
be  bad  come  to  confer  with  the  Emperor  on  hie  passage  througb 
Burgos.  Spanirii  Navarre,  sitaaled  on  the  sonthem  side  of  the- 
Pyrenees,  had  been  wrested,,  in  1612,  from  the  boose  of  Albrat  by 
Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  who  bad  incorporated  it  mto  the  mon- 
archy of  which  it  was  tbe  natural  continnation.  Since  that  time, 
the  dispossessed  princes  bad  not  been  able — ^notwitbatanding  the 
persevering  sopport  of  the  Kings  of  France,  who  were  related  to 
them  by  the  closest  ties  of  kindred  and  policy — to  obtain  either 
its  restitution  or  even  a  territorial  equivalent  for  its  loss ;  and  they 
bad  ended  by  foating  tbeir  hopes  entirely  npon  the  Kings  of  Spain* 
Henry  of  Albret,  dnring  tbe  last  war,  had  sent  to  Charles  the 
Fifth,  to  oWbt  to  break  off  his  alliance  with  France,  and  to  take 
vp  arms^in  hia  favour,  if  be  would  grant  him  a  suitable  componaa- 
tion  for  the  loss  of  Navarre.  After  his  death,  in  M«y,  1555,  the 
negotiation  had  been  contkiued  by  his  son4n4aw  and  sncces- 
sor,  Antony  of  Boorbon,  Dnbe  of  VendAme.    Both  Hoary  and 


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THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES  THE  FIFTH.  96 

Antony  made  nse  of  Escurra  to  conrey  their  demands  and  offers 
from  N6rac  to  Pampelana  to  the  Duke  of  Albaquerqne,  who 
afterwards  transmitted  them  in  cypher  to  Charles  the  Fifth  or 
Philip  the  Second.  In  recompense  for  Navarre,  the  Duke  of 
Ven€fi5me  denmdedthe  Duchy  of  Milan,  which  should  be  erected 
into  the  Eangdom  of  Lombardy ;  amd  engaged,  on  his  side,  to  be- 
come the  perpetual  confederate  of  the  Emperor  and  of  the  King 
Us  aon;  to  fmamk  dasaig  the  war  fire  tooiiBaBd  infantry,  five 
fanBdrad  lifht  eavaby,  Iwo  bondfed  pioneers,  three  thousand  yoke 
of  •Ban,  and  twenty  pieces  of  artillery  of  Tarioas  calibve;.  uad  to 

S>e,  as  pledges  of  WfideUiy,  his  eldest  son  (afterwards  Henry 
e  Fourth  of  France),  the  fortress  of  Navarreins,  and  the  other 
aininghelds  within  his  tecriisry.  He  even  insinuated  that  he 
W0idd  e|»ai  lo  the  Spuiarda  the  gateaof  Bayemie  and  BordeaooL, 
which  he  Wd  under  bis  connaaBd  as  Governor  of  Giuenne.  As 
the  Trsoe  cf  VaueeUea  had  been  ooncluded  befove  the  Emperor 
had  given  hia^  answer  to  the  propositions  of  Anthony  of  Bourbon^ 
Ssewra  came  to  obtain  it  at  Biiff oa* 

Cbailes  the  Fifth  feH  some  scmples  about  the  rery  useful,  but 
yery  wrongfully  obtained,  possession  of  Navarre.  In  a  secret 
thmm  m  his  will,  whieh  was  dated  in  1^50,  and  which  he  bad 
left  with  Philip  the  Second  <m  his  departure  from  Brussels,  he 
ataited  that  hiagrandfiMlber  had  undoubtedly  cen4|uered  that  king, 
dom  jtMtly,  aad  that  he.  had  certainly  retuned  it  honestly,  but  he 
added,  *^  Nevertheless,  for  the  greater  security  of  our  conscience, 
we  recommend  and  enjoin  the  most  serene  Prince  Don  Philip^ 
our  son,  to  examine  and  verify,  as  speedily  and  sincerely  as  pos* 
aible,  whether  in  reasoo  and  justice  he  is  bound  to  restore  that 
longdom,  oi  to  fiimisb  eompeaaation  for  it,  to  any  person  whatso. 
•ver.  And  that  which  he  shall  find  and  declare  to  be  just,  let 
him  execuAe  in  auoh  a  manner  that  my  soul  and  conscience  shall 
be  fully  discharged.^  After  having  taken  such  a  pvecantion, 
which  quieted  Vaa  ac  a  Christian,  and  proved  no  hindrance  to  his 
policy,  and  which  waa  to  be  handed  down  from  reign  to  reign  as 
a  kind  of  expiatory  formula,  Charles  the  FifUi  had  listened  to  the 
overtufea  ef  the  King  of  Navarre,  without  either  satisfying  his 
demaads  or  discouraging  his  hopes*  At  Burgos,  he  contented 
himeelf  wilb  telling  Escurra  that  he  would  write  on  the  subject 
lo  Ibe  King  his  son,  whose  arrival  in  Spain  might  shortly  be 
expected;  ind  that,  in  the  meanwhile,  he  must  pursae  his  nego-^ 
tsalioe,.  w^h  would  then  be  brought  to  a  aatisfactory  termination. 
Such  a  postponement  could  not  fidl  to  be  taken  very  ill  by 
Airtoiqr  of  Bourbon. 


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96 


A  JOURNEY  FROM  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO 
ST.  PETER'S. 

The  Cathedral  of  Pisa  is  a  mass  of  richly  ornate  masoniyof  a 
fine  fawn  coloar ;  and  the  baptistiy,  in  the  same  style,  stands  at 
the  further  end  of  the  oblong  piazza  in  the  line  of  the  tower  and 
cathedral,  looking  like  a  holiday  mausoleum  decorated  to  the  very 
top  of  the  dome. 

But  baptism  and  burial  are  the  two  ends  of  life,  and  it  is  fit  that 
edifices  devoted  to  these  kindred  ends  should  hare  a  family  like- 
ness. Only  it  is  not  so  certain  which  ought  to  be  the  gayest  in 
its  style  of  architecture.  It  has  been  asserted  by  St.  Augustine 
that  the  blessed  wear  mourning  robes  in  Paradise  when  the  soul 
of  a  descendant,  according  to  the  flesh,  is  bom  into  this  world, 
and  that  they  specially  rejoice  when  a  soul  of  their  family  dies  in 
peace. 

A  death  to  us  is  a  new  birth  to  them.  They  receive  a  new 
companion  when  a  good  old  Christian  dies,  as  we  do  when  a  babe 
is  bom.  We  throw  water  on  the  one  and  earth  upon  the  other, 
and  the  prince  of  the  powers  of  the  air  has  fire  for  the  residue. 

Let  us  leave  the  four  elements  in  possession  of  the  grand  piazza 
at  Pisa,  for  the  Florence  train  will  not  wait  for  such  reflections  as 
these. 

It  ran  through  a  patchy,  minutely  cultivated  country,  not  like 
small  snug  farms  but  large  slovenly  gardens.  The  evening  was 
fine,  and  the  sunset  made  splendid  purples  and  pinks  among  the 
cloud-wreathed  peaks  of  the  Appenines  in  a  manner  to  convince 
one  that  it  was  really  Italy. 

In  fact  to-day  may  be  said  to  be  my  first  day  in  Italy,  for 
Genoa  is  neither  precisely  Italy  nor  France,  but  a  sort  of  half- 
way-house compromise. 

Italy  !  the  land  of  art,  nature,  history, — let  us  be  enthusiastic  ! 
But  perhaps  I  had  better  wait  till  Rome  for  my  great  fireworks 
about  the  empress  of  nations  and  her  crambling  tomb.  I  am  at 
present  about  to  arrive  in  Florence,  the  city  of  the  renaissance^ 
which  I  confess  interests  me  much  more,  with  its  grand  Michael 
Angelesque  and  quaint  Cellenic  efforts  in  a  new-bom  art  and 
Kterature — whose  progeny  is  still  extant,  though  not  perhaps 
thriving  greatly  —  than  do  all  the  cumbersome  defunct  and 
hackneyed  remains  of  times  entirely  departed  and  classic,  over 
whom  the  tide  of  the  Dark  Ages  has  rolled. 

It  was  dark  as  any  age  when,  followed  by  our  luggage  on  a 
carretta,  or  little  hand-cart,  we  entered  Florence  by  the  Porta  a 
Prato.  The  efiects  had  been  all  phmbi  at  Leghom,  and  as  there 
was  nothing  to  occupy  the  inquisitorial  attention  of  the  small 
octroi  douanidre  of  the  gate,  they  made  the  most  of  some  cloaks 
and  plaids  and  great  coats  strewn  over  the  carretta's  contents. 

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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO   ST.  PETER'S.  97 

'  Tn  the  pocket  of  one  of  these  thej  discovered  an  exceedingly 

heavy  little  brown  paper  parcel,  and  the  obnoxious  revdver  was 
produced.  A  crowd  of  official  lanterns  were  gathered  round  it, 
and  a  hubbub  of  vociferation  echoed  beneath  the  portal. 

I  tried  to  do  something  temporary  by  reading  a  Spanish  per- 
mission to  carry  arms  into  the  nearest  approach  to  Italian  I  could 
paraphrase  extempore,  trusting  as  the  languages  are  somewhat 
similar,  that  my  illiterate  audience  might  be  satisfied. 

But  though  they  seemed  to  reach  a  vague  conception  of  what  I 
was  reading,  I  fully  believe  they  were  of  opinion  that  the  permis- 
sion was  in  the  English  language,  and  that  1  was  addressing  them 
in  the  same,  for  they  said  1  must  have  a  permission  from  the  Tus- 
can as  well  as  my  own  government. 

I  wrote  my  name  and  hotel  on  an  official  slip  of  paper,  and 
gave  up  my  pistol  for  lost,  conceiving  that  it  would  certainly  take 
more  trouble  than  the  object  was  worth  to  recover  it.  However, 
after  a  few  days  I  received  a  mysterious  summons  through  a  hanger- 
on  of  the  hotel,  to  appear  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Politzia. 

"  Now,"  thought  I,  "  we  are  in  for  a  practical  collision  with  the 
dark  and  subtle  tyranny  of  a  Machiavellian  constitution.  I  shall 
be  convicted  of  having  smuggled  arms  through  Leghorn,  and  im- 
prisoned as  a  dangerous  envoy  of  revolution.  What  could  be 
more  clear  ?  for  was  not  a  revolver  a  revolutionary  weapon  ? 

He  conducted  me  to  a  low,  darkly-frowning  arch,  in  the  wall  of 
what  seemed  a  prison,  every  massive  Etruscan  granite  block  of 
whose  seared  and  hoaiy  face  seemed  furrowed  with  the  hard  lines 
of  remorseless  oppression.  Up  a  dark  and  narrow  stone-stair,  and 
through  a  heavy  clanking  door,  and  I  stood  before  the  awiul 
presence  of  my  accuser  and  judge. 

It  was  a  sombre- vaulted  stone-chamber  where  the  light  of  day 
only  entered  by  a  narrow  slit  high  up  in  an  out-of-the-way  comer, 
and  was  just  sufficient  to  make  the  brazen  crescent  that  hung  over 
the  judgment-seat  bum  the  more  ghastly,  showing  that  it  was 
broad  day  outside. 

The  still  and  breathless  flame  cast  a  deep  and  steady  shadow 
on  the  stem  brow  of  the  Tuscan  Prefect.  His  e^^es  were  in  shade, 
but  danger  and  cruelty  seemed  to  flicker  through  the  dark;  like 
the  eyes  of  a  serpent  in  the  black  mouth  of  a  cave. 

"  Your  name  is ?** 

"It  is." 

"  You  are  the  owner  of  this  terrible  weapon,  which  was  taken 
from  you  at  such  a  gate  on  such  a  night  ?"  (producing  the  pistol 
and  lajring  it  on  his  desk  with  a  clank).  '^  It  was  found  among  your 
effects,  was  it  not?" 

**  It  was." 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  sign  this  document  ?"  Here  he 
unfolded  a  huge  sheet  of  manuscript  about  the  size  of  Galignani's 
Messenger,  containing,  I  suppose,  a  full  and  accurate  report  of  the 
capture  of  the  weapon,  with  subsequent  proceedings  and  for- 
malities. 

VOL.  xxxiv.  H 

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98  A  JOURNEY  FROM 

With  a  trembling  hand  I  took  the  pen,  and  signed  what  might 
(for  all  I  could  read  of  it)  have  been  my  death  warrant. 

The  proceedings  having  now  come  to  a  crisis,  the  reader  is  no 
doubt  impatient  to  have  a  picturesque  account  of  the  clammy  dun- 
geon below  the  level  of  the  Arno,  into  which  I  was  cast,  to  con- 
clude with  a  thrilling  description  of  an  Italian  execution,  in  a 
postscript  by  the  sporting  captain  from  Corsica,  who,  of  course, 
would  be  on  the  spot  to  console  me  in  my  last  moments,  and  re- 
ceive the  blotted  record  of  my  last  hours  as  I  mounted  the  scaffold. 


Being  at  Florence  for  ten  days,  we  cannot  help  seeing  a  great 
many  pictures.  I  am  tempted  to  publish,  in  this  month's  Maga- 
zine, a  catalogue  with  comments,  but  I  shall  have  to  disguise  it 
ingeniously  some  way,  for  fear  of  the  editor.  By  the  way,  I  have 
never  seen  him,  but  they  say  he  is  a  terrible  man  somewhere  in 
the  back  premises,  and  his  awful  name  is  used  to  frighten  naughty 
contributors  now  and  then ;  just  as  the  black  Douglas  was  men- 
tioned, in  his  day,  to  refractory  children. 

There  are  two  gigantic  galleries  in  Florence.  One  is  called  the 
Ufi^zi,  or  Medicean  Gallery,  and  the  other  the  Pitti  Palace. 

To  begin  with  the  (Jfiizsi.  You  turn  from  the  quay,  a  little 
beyond  the  Ponte  Veccbio  into  a  colonnaded  court,  with  niches 
filled  by  Florentine  worthies  along  the  loggia ;  Dante,  Boccaccio. 
Michael  Angelo,  Benvenuto  Cellini,  Ghiotto,  Orgagna,  Cosmo  di 
Medici,  and  the  like. 

The  building  is  called  the  Uffizj  because  there  are  public  offices 
in  it  below  the  galleries  of  sculpture  and  painting.  Ten  to  on^ 
you  go  up  three  or  four  staircase  entrances,  and  find  yourself  in 
a  like  number  of  red  tape  departments  before  you  bit  on  the  right 
one,  and  get  to  the  upper  story. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  there  are  some  porphyry  busts  of  Cosmo 
the  First,  and  his  descendants.  The  Guide-book  says  that  the  art 
of  cutting  this  hard  and  brittle  material  had  to  be  rediscovered  in 
modem  times,  in  order  to  produce  those  busts.  I  hope  it  did  not 
take  much  trouble,  for  it  was  scarcely  worth  while.  Porphyry 
might  be  a  very  good  material  to  chisel  Soulouque  in,  but  is  a  very 
indifferent  one  for  lighter  coloured  princes.  The  Egyptians  had 
some  colour  for  the  original  introduction  of  this  material. 

In  the  second  vestibule  is  the  great  Florentine  boar,  who  seemed 
just  to  have  raised  himself  up  on  his  fore  legs  to  grunt  with  for- 
midable impatience  at  a  plasterer,  who  had  sat  upon  his  bristly 
back,  to  take  a  cast  of  him  unawares.  There  was  something  emi- 
nently ludicrous  in  the  contrast  between  the  calm  piece  mould- 
artificer,  padding  up  bits  of  grey  cement,  and  thumbing  them  into 
the  massive  articulations  of  &e  angry  mane,  and  the  fierce  atti- 
tude and  expression  of  the  heavy  monster,  now  roused  from  his 
wallowing  ease,  with  half  sleepy  porcine  indignation  winking  in 
his  beady  eyes,  and  ruckling  up  the  grizzly  welts  of  his  snout 
above  the  murderous  tusks.  He  is  the  incarnate  majesty  of  pig- 
liness,  far  more  imperial  than  Yitellius. 

There  are  a  pair  of  antique  wolf-hounds,  too,  with  prick  ears, 

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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY   TO   ST.  PETER's.  99 

with  distorted  necks  and  wistful  faces,  who  seem  to  have  been 
trying  to  bowl  over  tbeir  shoulders  for  at  least  two  thousand 
years. 

Now  we  get  into  the  vast  corridor,  lined  with  busts  of  the 
Cassars,  hung  with  pictures  of  the  old  Florentine  school,  and 
frie^ed  with  portraits  of  five  hundred  and  thirty-three  celebrated 
individuals,  including  Sir  Isaac  Newton  and  Tamerlane,  who  are 
badly  painted,  and  ranged  out  of  eye-shot,  the  most  conspicuous 
part  of  them  being  their  names  in  large  yellow  paint  letters.  The 
busts  are  the  most  interesting  department. 

There  is  Julius  Caesar,  a  bullet-headed,  lantern-jawed,  leathery, 
weather-beaten  veteran.  Augustus,  a  severe,  intelligent,  com* 
manding,  not  very  amiable,  countenance.  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  liked  him  if  I  had  known  him.  All  the  Caesars  have  wonder- 
fully destructive  heads,  a  terrible  breadth  of  wickedness  bulging 
over  their  ears. 

Messalina  has  a  beautiful  forehead  and  eyes ;  the  lower  part  of 
her  face  is  weak,  but  not  wicked  looking. 

On  different  sides  of  the  corridor,  nearly  opposite  one  another, 
are  two  busts  of  Nero,  which  afford  a  happy  opportunity  to 
moralize  in  stepping  over  the  way.  One  is  a  smiling  cherub  face 
of  infancy;  the  oUier,  a  bloated,  gloomyt  middle-aged  tyrant; 
but  J  will  leave  you  to  make  your  own  reflections. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  busts  to  me,  was  Caligula.  The 
bead  is  not  without  a  certain  degree  of  grace  and  beauty ;  but 
there  is  a  most  painful  expression  of  eager,  restless,  morbid  sen- 
suality, as  if,  with  unlimited  opportunities,  he  felt  perplexed  how 
to  be  wicked  enough. 

A  writhing  turn  of  bead  and  neck,  a  weary  yet  uusatiated  curl 
of  the  upper  lip,  and,  above  all,  a  watchful  wicked  shyness  in  the 
eyes,  give  a  Laocoontic  cast  of  torture  to  his  aspect,  which  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  a  metaphorical  serpent  wriggling  in  slimy  coils 
of  cold-blooded  anger,  and  gnawing  into  the  vitals  of  his  soul. 
Caligula  is  the  apodiabolosis  of  sensuality,  and  this  is  the  best 
bast  of  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  gallery,  which,  as  the  Guide-book  says,  is  in 
the  form  of  a  pi  (npt  a  pie  with  crust,  but  the  Greek  letter  11), 
there  is  the  celebrated  Bacchus  and  Faun,  which  Michael  Angelo 
buried,  keeping  the  hand  he  had  broken  off  to  show  he  was  the 
real  maker  of  the  supposed  antique. 

Everybody  knows  the  story,  which  is  familiar  in  children's  story- 
books, and  therefore  the  statue  interested  mo  the  more.  It  is  not- 
the  same  thing  to  see  what  you  have  read  about  in  the  common- 
place confidence  of  after  study,  when  you  say,  "  of  course,  as  the 
man  says,  he  saw  it,  it 's  there  ;  and  \  might  see  it  any  time  by 
taking  the  trouble  to  go.'* 

But,  if  what  we  learn  in  the  twilight  of  childhood's  dawn,  that 
sweet  age  of  semi-credulous  inexperience,  when  the  marvellous 
and  the  probable  range  themselves^  without  much  question,  under 
one  classification,  all  that  turns  out  to  be  actual  in  the  subsec^uent 
course  of  our  travels  affects  us  much  in  the  same  manner  as  if  we  ^ 

H  2 


100  A  JOURNEY  FROM 

were  graTely  8bowu  in  some  authentic  museum,  the  very  sword  or 
sharpness,  and  the  very  shoes  of  swiftness,  which  Jack  the  giant- 
killer,  unexpectedly  become  a  historical  personage,  actually  wielded 
and  wore. 

Methinks  the  history  of  the  world  should  be  riddled  of  its  sand 
and  dust  through  a  large  sieve,  that  the  biggest  and  fairest  and 
most  precious  of  its  pebbles  might  be  given  to  children  for  play- 
things. The  days  of  children  are  wasted  in  acquiring  habits  and 
methods,  when  Uiey  should  be  busy  with  things  and  thoughts. 

Oh,  how  many  opening  buds  of  genius  are  dwarfed  and  stunted 
yearly  over  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  the  classical  branches ! 

But  the  world  is  practical ;  it  doesn^t  want  buds  of  genius,  nor 
flowers  of  genius.  It  wants  grocers,  tea-dealers,  butchers,  bakers, 
and  attorneys;  it  wants  dusty  dried-up  counsellors,  lean  and  hungry 
politicians,  and  pulpy  succulent  aldermen. 

Oh,  practical-physical  purveyors  of  the  necessaries  of  this  life  ! 
are  you  so  eminently  practical  after  all  ?  Don't  you  rather  forget 
the  practical  necessaries  of  the  life  to  come,  for  which  real  grown- 
up world  this  little  planet  is  only  a  classical  and  commercial 
academy  ? 

And  for  the  sake  of  what  ?  This  life's  pleasures  ?  No !  for 
more  tea,  sugar,  cheese,  bread,  butcher's  meat,  upholstery,  and 
litigation,  than  you  practically  want;  useless,  except  as  far  as  it 
may  induce  Wiggins,  over  the  way,  to  perceive  and  confess  that 
you  are  doing  a  thriving  business,  to  the  stagnation  of  your 
mental  faculties  and  the  swamping  of  your  God-likened  soul. 

Oh,  Heaven  !  I  should  be  inclined  to  say  the  world  was  a  pigsty, 
if  thou  hadst  not  made  the  troughs,  and  didst  not  continue  to 
feed  the  pigs.  Therefore,  my  fellow  bacon-machines,  be  not 
disheartened,  nor  let  my  discontented  gruntings  sour  the  savour 
of  your  swill.  Only  mind  you  don't  be  surprised  in  the  next 
world  when  they  hang  you  up  in  hams  and  flitches. 

Bevenons  (de  nos  pores)  a  nos  moutons  !  I  was  going  to  tell 
you  about  the  Bacchus  and  Faun  of  Michael  Angelo.  The  Faun 
is  nothing  particular,  a  mere  goat-legged  child  to  use  up  the 
comer  of  the  block.  Bacchus  is  a  fine,  handsome,  tipsy  young 
Helot,  holding  a  broad-lipped  cup  to  the  level  of  his  eye. 

The  loosening  and  benumbing  efi*ect  of  liquor  is  well  expressed 
in  his  limp  and  slouching  form.  But  where  is  the  sublime  elation 
of  dignified  and  deified  drunkenness?  Do  you  think  Horace 
painted  on  his  awe-struck  imagination  such  an  apparition  as  this 
when  he  exclaimed, 

'*  Ev(e,  recent!  mens  trepidat  meto, 
Plenoque  Bacchi  pectore  turbidum 
Laetatur  I     Evoe  :  parce,  Liber, 
Parce,  gravi  metuende  thyrso." 

Now,  having  got  to  the  end  of  the  IT,  you  have  to  turn  back ; 
and  having  leisure  to  peep  and  piy  about,  and  to  try  how  many  of 
the  folding-doors  along  the  comdor  are  openable,  you  stumble  on 
the  family  circle  of  Dame  Niobe,  with  all  her  uncomfortable  sons 
and  daughters. 


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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO  ST.  PETER'S.  101 

Next  you  discover  a  suite  of  three  large  and  loftj  rooms 
covered  with  autograph  portraits  of  more  painters  than  ever  one 
heard  of. 

To  begin  with  the  prince  of  painters :  I  was  disappointed  with  the 
divine  Raphael.  He  seemed  to  me  at  first  sight  a  sallow,  vacant, 
lean-jawed,  used-up  young  rake,  with  a  disagreeable  expression 
of  impudent  apathy.  Still  there  was  something  in  the  lack-lustre 
round  eyes  which  caught  your  attention  more  immediately,  and 
held  it  longer  in  suspense  than  any  of  the  portraits  which 
surrounded  him. 

I  have  a  great  belief  in  physiognomy,  and  as  I  was  about  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  many  of  these  worthies  in  their  works, 
I  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  judge  them  first  by  their  coun- 
tenances, so  I  wandered  about  as  I  was  attracted  here  or  there  by 
remarkable  faces,  irrespective  of  their  names,  many  of  which  were 
unknown  to  me.  And,  that  I  might  not  confuse  my  Lavaterian 
reminiscences,  I  made  short  eclectic  entries  in  my  pocket-book 
in  order  to  remember  what  manner  of  men  they  were. 

Here  are  a  few  specimens  of  the  summary  manner  in  which 
they  were  treated. 

Andrea  del  Sarto,  a  drop-jowled  florid  philosopher  of  about 
fifty. 

Salvator  Rosa,  clever  and  conceited ;  something  like  portraits  of 
Oliver  Cromwell,  but  not  so  coarse. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  venerable  old  goat,  with  overflowing  streams 
of  white  hair. 

Annibal  Caracci,  a  coarse,  hard-headed,  industrious  black- 
smith. 

Carlo  Dolci,  a  melancholy,  seedy,  dreamy  old  simpleton. 

Pietro  Perugino,  an  intelligent  mechanic. 

Giovanni  de  San  Giovanni,  a  romantic  young  man,  **  in  the 
style  of  Byron.** 

Ribera,  a  swashing  rake  of  Charles  the  Second's  time. 

Velasquez,  a  grim,  shrewd,  sulky  alcalde. 

Mieris,  a  pinched,  parchmenty  miser,  fiill  of  anxiety. 

Albert  Durer,  a  good-looking  pleasant  youth,  with  curious 
golden-wiry  hair  curlmg  over  his  shoulders,  with  motto  that  this 
was  his  "  gesi€UV'*  when  he  was  "  seeks  und  zwanzigjahr  ott." 

Vandyke,  head  of  a  poet ;  no  great  strength  of  character. 

Rubens,  a  jolly,  sensible  man,  with  a  good  deal  of  character 
and  very  little  poetry. 

Rembrandt,  a  blob-nosed,  mump-chinned,  wrinkled  old  wretch. 

Guercino,  sly,  squinting  cut-throat. 

Parmegiano,  very  clever,  bad,  dark  Italian  face.  He  wears  a 
barritta  like  those  of  the  Pyrenees. 

Titian,  a  dry  and  grey  old  picture. 

Guide,  fine  forehead  and  eyes,  white  moustache  and  imperial. 

Michael  Angelo,  face  of  a  swarthy  and  grizzled  satyr,  dried  up 
as  an  anatomical  specimen. 

Caravaggio,  a  moping  maudlin  maniac,  or  a  sublimely  gal- 
vanized corpse.  ^         , 

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102  A  JOURNEY   FROM 

Rigaud,  a  glorious  periwigged  Frenchman ;  a  fil  man  to  paint 
Louis  Xhe  Fourteenth  and  his  Court. 

Raphael  Mengs,  a  heavy  drop-mouthed  ass,  not  without  some 
slight  touch  of  genius. 

The  last  room  is  principally  filled  with  modem  portraits  of 
artistsj  presented  by  themselves,  not  sought  for  by  the  collectors. 
They  are  not  without  their  use  or  moral  in  the  absurd  pygmy 
contrast  they  afford  to  the  grand  style  of  their  predecessors.  The 
only  modem  painter  who  seems  at  all  to  belong  to  the  same 
family  of  genius  is  Sir  Joshua,  whose  queer  ugly  face  shames  all 
the  poor  inane  flattered  daubs  that  hang  around. 

Another  farourable  exception  of  modem  art  is  La  Vigee  le 
Brun,  a  pretty  young  woman  who  hds  painted  herself  nicely,  but 
being  a  pretty  young  woman  is  her  principal  excuse* 

Next  I  lit  upon  a  room,  where,  among  other  good  pictures, 
hangs  the  queen  of  all  painted  women,  the  more  than  lovely,  and 
yet  not  at  all  divine.  Flora  of  Titian.  Oh,  what  a  complexion  ! 
what  hair !  what  power  and  majesty  of  love  !  But  Flora's  right 
eye  offends  me  with  a  slight  cat-like  expression.  I  will  be  bound 
that  young  lady  caused  Titian  a  good  deal  of  trouble  and  vexa- 
tion. But  however  bad  she  was,  nobody  could  help  loving  her 
desperately  for  her  beauty  alone.  Her  coldest  kisses  would  be 
worth  ten  pound  notes. 

In  the  anteroom  of  Flora's  presence-chamber  there  is  a  portrait 
by  Tinelli  which  struck  me.  Tinelli  is  the  Vandyke  of  the  south, 
as  Rubens  is  the  Titian  of  the  north.  Tinelli  has  as  much  poetical 
conception  of  character  and  expression,  with  more  power^  l  think, 
than  the  Fleming.  He  was  a  Venetian,  and  died  in  1648,  aged 
fifty-two  ;  so,  I  suppose,  they  were  just  about  contemporaries. 

Returning  towards  the  end  of  the  gallery  where  I  had  come  in, 
and  tr3ring  the  doors  on  that  side,  I  found  at  last  the  tribune, 
which  is  the  gem  of  the  place,  and  the  focus  of  the  gem  is 

**  The  statue  that  enchants  the  world." 

It  is  the  perfection  of  beauty,  as  far  as  beauty  can  be  perfect 
without  sentiment.  The  model  from  whom  that  sculptor  wrought 
had  very  litde  heart;  a  slavish  spirit  slunk  beneath  the  conscious 
pride  and  power  of  her  beauty.  She  was  cold  without  being 
chaste  if  I  know  the  expression  of  those  eyes,  which  I  would 
swear  never  yet  had  looked  on  anybody  with  any  earnest  depth 
of  love,  even  if  Praxiteles  could  have  endowed  die  woman  with 
the  same  perpetual  youth  he  moulded  on  the  Parian  blocks  and 
she  had  been  selling  smiles  and  kisses  ever  since — for  I  feel  slire 
she  would  have  given  none  away. 

You  say  I  talk  as  if  Praxiteles  had  not  created  her  out  of  his 
own  head.  I  don't  believe  anything  very  great,  or  trae,  or  beau- 
tiful, ever  was  created  out  of  anybody's  own  head. 

The  sculptor,  the  painter,  and  the  poet,  are  only  interpreters  of 
nature.  Their  minds  are  magic  lenses,  through  which  an  object 
in  nature  may  appear  more  beautiful  and  perfect  than  it  really 
was :  yet  not  more  than  it  really  was,  perhaps,  but  more  than  it 

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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO   ST.  PETER'S.  108 

wotdd  bftve  seemed  to  less  inspired  eyes.  Their  souls  understood 
the  divine  idea  of  beauty  expressed  in  forms,  which  had,  too,  their 
alloy  of  imperfection.  They  chipped  away  the  imperfection,  but 
kept  the  character. 

Man  cannot  invent  character :  that  is  a  department  which  be- 
longs to  a  higher  artificer.  All  great  artists  draiT  largely  from 
nature,  and  all  they  draw  seems  original ;  for  the  world  is  an  ex- 
haustless  quarry,  and  all  the  sparry  and  ory  fragments  Man  hews 
out,  take  new  and  beautiful  forms  on  the  point  of  his  pickaxe. 

But  let  him  take  a  lump  of  glass  from  the  blower's  furnace,  and 
a  slice  of  a  halQ>enny,  and  a  handfril  of  earth,  and  mould  a  ritre- 
ons  crystal  of  copper  ore  out  of  his  own  head.  He  will  as  soon 
persuade  a  Cornish  miner  that  his  factitious  specimen  came  out  of 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  as  he  who  invents  a  character  or  a  face 
shall  persuade  his  fellow-men  that  such  a  person  ever  walked  on 
earth's  sur&ce,  or  so  looked  at  the  light  of  day. 

All  that  comes  out  of  the  unguided  imagination  of  a  man  has  a 
family  likeness,  whose  point  of  union  is  incapacity,  to  all  that  has 
been  produced  in  the  same  way  by  any  other  man. 

Modem  sculpture  fancies  it  can  cleverly  combine  beauty  from 
various  models,  and  steal  (unperceived)  from  a  great  variety  of 
the  antiques  a  generalized  share  of  perfection.  They  succeed  in 
making  beautiful  inanities,  which  interest  nobody  but  persons 
desirous  of  laying  out  so  many  hundred  or  thousand  pounds  on 
the  best  statues  to  be  bought  at  the  period. 

There  are  two  modem  Venuses  by  Titian^  rather  naked,  and 
lying  at  full  length ;  but  they  have  not  the  power  of  the  Medicean 
goddess.  Rafael's  Fomarina,  too,  looks  coarse,  and  greasy,  and 
dirty-complexioned.  Decidedly  the  statue  that  enchants  the  world 
is  the  Queen  of  the  Tribune,  and  Flora  only  disputes  with  her  the 
sovereignty  of  the  whole  palace  of  the  Ufflzzi. 

The  tribune  is  an  octagonal  dmm-shaped  room,  lighted  from  a 
cupola,  and  has  more  precious  things  in  it  than  anywhere  else  are 
to  be  found  in  the  same  compass ;  for  further  specifications  see 
Guide-book,  for  I  will  tell  you  no  more  about  the  Ufflzzi,  whether 
you  are  glad  or  sorty. 

One  day,  emerging  from  Oltr'amo  upon  the  statued  bridge  of 
Santa  Trinita,  I  heard  a  hackney-coachman  say  to  another  that  he 
was  ordered  for  Fiesole  that  aftetnoon. 

Fiesole !  said  I  to  myself,  the  name  is  Ikmiliar  to  my  ear  some- 
how! where  is  Fiesole?  I  have  surely  heard  it  mentioned  as 
bright  Fiesole  and  fair  Fiesole  in  poetry,  but  I  never  thought  of 
asking  where  it  was ;  however,  it  can't  be  far  oflF,  that  is  evident, 
for  people  go  there  in  hackney-coaches  of  an  aftemoon.  I  really 
felt  very  much  ashamed  of  my  ignorande ;  which,  if  the  reader  is 
learned,  he  will  hardly  believe,  and  if  ignorant,  he  will  wonder 
why  I  should  make  such  a  fiiss  about  not  knowing  by  heart  all 
about  a  place  he  never  heard  of  in  his  life ;  nor,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  much  cares  to  hear  now. 

However  that  may  be,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  about 

Digitized  by  -^ 


104  A  JOURNEY  FROM 

it,  for  I  made  up  mj  mind  to  go  there  and  see  what  Fiesole  was 
that  very  afternoon. 

Asking  mj  way,  I  passed  the  long  broad  street  of  Santa  Gallo, 
beyond  whose  roofe  the  dark  mountains  rose  like  great  leaden 
domes  in  the  distance.  I  passed  under  an  old  medieval  gate,  and 
a  brand-new  triumphal  arch  outside.  Then  there  was  an  avenue 
road  for  a  mile  or  two,  and  then  beyond  the  rushing  waters  of 
Magellone  rose  lofty  Fiesole,  villa-terraced  and  convent-crowned. 

I  crossed  on  column  stepping-stones,  and  climbed  the  steep 
ascent.  The  view  of  Florence,  clustering  her  massive  palaces 
round  the  great  dome,  and  scattering  a  profusion  of  shining  villas 
over  plain  and  hills,  now  bronzed  with  winter,  but  which  spring 
must  make  very  green  and  beautiful  in  their  contrast  with  the 
white  dwellings  which  closely  sprinkle  them,  is  very  fine,  and  un- 
like any  other  I  have  seen. 

Fiesole  itself  has  a  quaint  old  church,  and  some  Cyclopian  re- 
mains of  battlements,—for  it  proved,  by  reference  to  the  Guide- 
book, that  she  was  an  ancient  Etruscan  city. 

The  traveller  is  very  much  pestered  by  little  boys,  who  insist 
on  showing  him  everything ;  one  of  these  little  miscreants  seized 
me  against  my  will,  and  insisted  on  showing  me  the  remains  of  an 
amphitheatre. 

He  vainly  beat  the  door  of  a  garden  for  some  time — I  scolding 
him  for  having  brought  me  to  an  unopenable  stoppage.  While  he 
was  making  frantic  efforts,  a  gust  of  wind  from  the  mountain  gul- 
leys  came  to  his  assistance,  and  blew  the  gate  in  his  face.  We 
entered  the  garden  and  came  to  a  house,  out  of  which  we  got  the 
dishevelled  remains  of  a  torch,  with  a  man  to  carry  it  and  guide 
us  through  the  dark  subterranean  vaults  of  the  amphitheatre. 

We  had  a  good  deal  of  stooping,  and  groping,  and  plodding 
through  low-arched  caverns,  with  muddy  floors,  and  were  pro- 
fusely dropped  upon  by  percolations  from  above.  We  stood  in 
the  den  of  the  wild  beasts.  There  was  the  hole  in  the  wall  through 
which  Numidian  lions  leapt  out  with  a  yell  to  worry  Cisalpine 
gladiators  in  the  arena  while  yet  the  world  was  in  its  cruel  boy- 
hood. There  was  the  little  round  aperture  in  the  roof  where  food 
was  shovelled  down  into  the  den.  It  was  quite  the  sort  of  place 
for  an  oriental  potentate  to  come  and  make  inquiries  how  a 
favourite  prime  minister  of  the  Hebrew  persuasion  had  passed  the 
night.  Of  course  I  do  not  mention  names,  from  a  delicate  appre- 
ciation of  the  bad  taste  of  all  personalities,  whether  ancient  or 
modem,  sacred  or  profane. 

Finally,  leaving  the  lions'  den,  I  went  up  to  the  highest  peak  of 
the  forked  hill  of  Fiesole.  The  mountain-tops  around  were 
pillowed  and  bolstered  with  great  clouds  of  a  leaden-grey  colour, 
and  it  began  to  snow  a  little.  So  I  went  down  into  Florence, 
which  lay  about  four  miles  distant. 

On  my  way  down,  I  saw  a  pretty  little  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  with 
this  inscription  on  a  marble  slab: — 

**  Deh  di  mi  guida  oelP  etk  fugace» 
E  nel  punto  di  roorte,  o  VergiDella, 
Mi  cliiuda  la  tua  mano  i  lume  in  pace,"       GoOqIc 


WESnONSTEB  ABBEY  TO   ST.  PETER'S.  105 

wUch  I  took  down  in  my  pocket-book  for  the  benefit  of  a 
Roman  Catholic  friend,  and  thus  translate  for  the  benefit  of  the 
reader: — 

"  Ah  !  be  my  guide  throughout  these  fleeting  yean, 
And  at  death  s  hour,  sweet  Virgin,  thy  soft  hand 
Seal  up  in  peace  the  fountains  of  my  tears.'* 

Now  I  am  going  to  mash  up  the  rest  of  Florence  into  a  little 
chaos,  for  I  want  to  have  done  with  it,  and  be  ofi'to  Rome,  for  the 
Camiyal  is  coming. 

The  third  wonder  of  Florence,  after  the  Venus  and  the  Flora, 
indeed,  I  don't  think  after  them,  but  on  a  level  with  those  first- 
class  miracles  of  art,  stands  the  great  bronze  Perseus  of  Ben- 
yenuto  Cellini,  under  the  lofty  arches  of  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi. 

With  a  grand  ethereal  grace,  and  dignity,  and  beauty,  such  as 
might  befit  a  semi-divine  hero,  who  has  triumphed  over  demons, 
he  holds  out  the  gorgon's  snake-wreathed  head  in  token  of  victory, 
and  rests  his  sword-point  on  the  ground.  It  strikes  me  as  in- 
finitely nobler  in  feeling,  and  more  beautiful  in  execution,  than 
the  well-known  likeness  of  that  poetical  and  dandified  stripling, 
taken  in  the  toxophilate  attitude  in  which  he  shot  the  great 
serpent  with  his  bow  and  arrow. 

Everybody  comes  to  Italy  with  a  magnificent  expectation  of  the 
triple-arted  giant,  Michael  Angelo,  and  I  think  everybody  is  disap- 
pointed. I,  at  any  rate,  from  all  I  have  seen  of  him  in  Florence, 
am  inclined  to  consider  him  a  grand  mediocrity. 
•  If  he  had  devoted  himself  to  making  spirited  anatomical  models 
of  difficult  contortions  of  the  human  ftame,  he  would  have  suc- 
ceeded admirably ;  indeed,  he  has  succeeded  admirably  in  doing 
so,  whether  he  meant  it  or  not. 

Between  the  two  statues  of  Night  and  Day,  who  are  performing 
a  po9e  plastique  at  the  feet  of  Giuliano  in  the  Medicean  chapel,  it  is 
impossible  to  decide  whether  the  dreaming  or  waking  lady  is 
going  through  the  most  rigorous  course  of  gymnastics. 

There  is  something  grand  in  the  attitude  of  Lorenzo,  who  sits 
with  his  chin  on  his  hand,  and  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  in  an 
attitude  so  real  and  life-like,  that  he  seems  as  if  he  had  been 
seized  with  some  petrifying  thought,  and  had  been  condemned  to 
sit  in  marble  on  his  own  monument,  considering  how  he  should 
straighten  a  labyrinth  of  crooked  Italian  politics  till  doomsday. 
But  this  is  the  only  poetry  I  have  seen  in  his  doings. 

He  is  great,  because  he  made  the  first  great  stride  in  art 
after  the  long  slumber  of  sculpture.  Before  his  time,  they  were 
making  figures  little  better  than  skeletons  in  skin.  He  added  the 
muscular  tissue.  His  men  are  real  mountebank  athletes,  fit  and 
ready  to  do  any  wonderful  feat,  except  the  expression  of  sublime 
beauty,  whether  of  form  or  feeling. 

His  being  the  first  to  make  a  great  stride,  is  no  excuse  for  the 
want  of  an  inspired  genius.  The  first  great  painter  has  never 
been  surpassed,  and  probably 'never  will  be.  What  was  to  pre- 
vent Buonarotti  going  by  Phidias  and  Praxiteles  as  much  as  we 
suppose  Rafael  to  have  exceeded  Zeuxis  and  Apelles  ?    Though, 

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106         A  JOtJttNEY  PROM   WBSTMtNaTBR  ABbEY,  ETC. 

by  the  tray,  we  calmly  take  It  for  graiited,  without  much  acquaint- 
ance With  dio6e  artists,  '*  Liquidis  coloribus  sollertes  nunc  hotni- 
nem  ponere  nunc  deum." 

I  saw  the  totab  of  Galileo  in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce.  By 
the  way,  I  don't  retnembet  whether  1  told  yoti  I  saw  the  long- 
chained  bronze  lamp  which,  vibrating  from  the  roof  of  Pisa's 
cathedral,  gave  him  the  idea  of  planets  revolving  round  suns, 
which  new  light  he  subsequently  hung  Up  in  the  temple  of  science 
by  a  chain  of  reasoning. 

At  an  evening  tarty  at  the  house  of  a  hospitable  dnd  accom- 
plished Marquis,  I  met  another  Marquis,  who  was  Prefect  of  the 
palace,  and  asked  me  to  come  aUd  see  the  Grand  Duke's  plate. 
I  saw  some  very  pretty  smaltato  cups  by  Benvenuto  Celliul,  cups 
fit  for  a  gentleman  or  a  king  to  drink  out  of,  wrought  in  the  purest 
gold,  and  richly  sculptured,  chased,  and  enamelled. 

Also,  among  the  plate,  there  wefe  some  aucient  engravings  on 
large  plates  of  silver,  which  Would  have  Uiade  impressions,  but 
they  had  been  made  merely  as  pictures.  The  custode  informed 
me  that  the  art  of  printing  from  plates  had  been  discovered  by 
this  engraver,  Tommaso  Flniquerra. 

When  I  had  done  with  the  plate,  I  took  a  turti  in  the  Pittl 
Gallery,  which  is  also  in  the  palace.  I  don't  like  Carlo  Dolce : 
the  cadaverous  sentimentality  of  whose  sacred  subjects  make  him 
very  popular  with  enthusiastic  ladies. 

Andrea  del  Sarto  is  my  choice  of  a  sacred  subject  painter  in 
Florence.  There  are  two  lovely  angdl  babes  at  the  foot  of 
Rafael's  Baldacchino  leaning  on  each  otber'ii  shoulders  to  read  a 
ilcroll.  I  liked  AUori's  Judith,  and  Roselli's  Dancing  before  the 
Ark.  Also  some  portraits  by  Sustermanns,  of  Whom  I  never 
heard  before.  I  Was  not  very  much  astonished  by  the  Pitti 
gallery,  but  I  shall  take  anothet  look  before  I  go  to  Rottie,  though 
I  dare  say  you  will  not  be  troubled  with  the  reiiult. 


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107 


LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT. 


LONDON  AGAIN.— I  BECOME  PROFESSIONALLY  ENGAGED. 

rU  serve  this  duke. 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  inusic> 
That  will  allow  me  very  worth  his  service. 

Shakspbare. 

Hbre  I  am — in  love — and  in  London  ;  rich  in  the  possession  of  a 
young  lady's  tender  regard ;  but,  otherwise,  ''poor  indeed/'  save  in 
my  **  good  name  "  and  in  the  bountiful  estimation  of  sereral  good 
friends.     In  the  hospitable  house  of  Mr.  B  and  his  sons,  I  find 

a  temporary  home;  and  on  each  succeeding  day,  for  some  weeks,  I 
tramp  about  in  search  of  employment  Kindly  reception  and  re* 
gretful  expressions  of  *'  no  need  for  assistance  at  present,"  continue 
to  be  the  only  responses  to  my  numerous  applications  at  the  offices 
of  the  leading  practitioners.  They  have  neard  of  me  from  Mn 
Britton  and  others,  and  they  express  themselves  much  pleased  with 
my  portfolio  of  Italian  drawings  and  sketches,  or,  at  all  events^  with 
the  industry  they  exhibit.  They  take  my  name  and  address,  and 
promise  to  '<  bear  me  in  mind."  It  must  be  eonfessed,  the  contrast 
between  my  late  period  of  studious  travel  and  my  present  position 
of  humiliating  solicitation,  is  trying  to  my  sensibilities.  Wholly 
abstracted  in  the  **  pursuit  of  knowledge,"  I  had  been  for  a  whole 
year  without  a  thought  of  the  *<  difficulties "  which  might  subset 
quently  attend  the  application  of  that  knowledge  to  any  beneficial 
Iresult.  During  the  past  twelvemonth,  it  had  been  my  undivided 
duty  to  *^  deserve  success."  Not  only  were  all  fears  of  possible 
failure  precluded  from  influencing  my  single-purposed  mind;  but 
even  the  hope  of  probable  reward  remained  uncared  for  as  a  stimu* 
lant.  So  pleasant  had  been  my  earnest  pursuit,  so  conformable  to 
my  taste  and.  enthusiasm,  that  it  more  resembled  the  remunerative 
fruits  of  past  pains  than  the  forerunner  of  further  pains  to  come. 
To  revel,  with  my  sketch-book,  among  the  ruins  of  the  Roman 
Forum ;  to  ramble  as  a  gleaner  among  the  miscellaneous  fragments 
of  the  Vatican  Museum ;  to  sit  contemplative  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Florentine  Duomo ;  and  to  wander  enchanted  under  the  arcades 
of  the  Venetian  Piazza,  San  Marco ; — all  this  was  vastly  diflerent 
frotn  pacing  the  streets  and  lanes  of  Loudon  (*<  stony  hearted  step*- 
tnother")  in  search  of  means  for  living  and  lovinff.  As  Carlyle 
says  in  his  "  Chartism,"  "  a  man  willing  to  work  and  unable  to  find 
work,  is  perhaps  the  saddest  sight  that  Fortune's  inequality  exhibits 
Under  this  sun.^  Such  continued  to  be  my  own  condition  for  so 
long  a  time,  that  I  began  to  feel  myself  a  pauper  without  a  pauper's 
rights,  and  despairingly  to  entertain  the  question  whether  I  ought 
not  at  once  to  release  the  fair  object  of  my  affections  from  any 

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108  LIFE  OF  AN   ARCHITECT. 

further  regard  for  so  rootless  a  sapling  as  myself.  I  seemed  indeed 
to  be  *<  a  rotten  tree,  that  could  not  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield,  in 
lieu  of  all  the  pains  of  husbandry  ;^  and  ^^  cut  it  down  :  why  cum- 
bereth  it  the  ground  ?  **  was  still  the  burden  of  my  unmanly  de- 
sponding. I  remembered  a  queer  and  equivocal  expression  of  a 
soft-hearted  woman  in  whose  house  I  had  formerly  lodged :  ^*  Ah, 

Mr. ^j"  said  she,  "you're  a  tender  weed/'*     She  intended,  I 

believe,  a  floral  compliment;  but  the  justice  of  the  term  "weed"' 
now  appeared  to  be  unquestionable.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  no 
unworthy  and  sickly  flower  was  ever  cherished  with  more  tender- 
ness and  sustaining  care  than  I  was  by  my  friends ;  and,  had  I  been 
one  of  those  easy-going  gentlemen,  who  can  receive  all  gratuitous 
benefits  as  flattering  evidences  of  heaven's  care, — without  any  over- 
burthening  sense  of  what  is  due  to  the  happy  people  who  are 
privileged  with  the  means  and  opportunity  of  serving  their  differ- 
ently conditioned  equals,  I  should  have  had  little  to  occasion  dis- 
comfort or  anxiety. 

By  the  way,  it  suddenly  occurs  to  me  to  remark  on  the  fact,  that 
none  of  the  then  popular  writers,  who  swayed  public  feeling, — none 
of  the  great  masters  of  fiction, — presented  those  wholesome  por- 
traitures of  cheerfulness  under  adverse  trial,  which  have  since  been 
afforded,  to  correct  the  morbid  tendencies  of  egotistic  sensibility ; 
and  I  cannot  but  think  that,  if  I  could  have  made  acquaintance,  at 
that  period,  with  Dick  Swiveller,  and  Mark  Tapley,  and  Tom 
Pinch,  and  other  like  heroes  of  the  Dickens  school,  I  should  have 
benefited  by  their  alliance  and  example.  A  something  of  lighter 
quality  than  the  great  tonics  of  Shakspeare  is  at  times  desirable,  as 
a  kind  of  exhilarating  beverage  to  be  quaffed  for  temporary  fillip. 
The  most  depressible  natures  are  oftentimes  keenly  susceptible  of 
the  elevating  effects  produced  by  the  exhibition  of  constitutional 
content  and  elastic  happiness ;  and  the  highest  praise  due  to  the 
writer  whose  name  has  been  mentioned,  applies  to  the  pre-eminent 
regard  be  has  ever  manifested  for  the  unselfish  in  its  most  cheering 
guise.  It  may  be  said,  that  "  constitutional  "*  contentedness  and 
elasticity  are  possessions  which  rather  confer  happiness  than  credit 
on  the  holders ;  and  that  they,  who  are  by  nature  otherwise,  merit 
proportional  indulgence.  At  the  same  time,  the  weakest  and  most 
unarmed  soldier  in  the  "  Battle  of  Life,*'  may  have  courage  beyond 
bis  strength  and  principle,  enabling  him  to  endure  what  he  cannot 
subdue:  nor  can  anything  be  more  prejudicial  to  the  cause  of  moral 
bealthfulness  than  the  recognition  of  any  especial  immunity  from 
the  active  and  determinate  exertions  of  self-sustainment  under  trial. 
Christianity  apart,  there  is  enough  in  mere  moral  philosophy  to 
prove  the  resultant  felicity  of  patient  and  cheerful  endurance.  The 
*^ Resolves"  of  Owen  Feltham  are  perhaps  unequalled  in  their 
alliance  with  the  word  of  Divine  Truth;  but  the  "  Morals  "  of  the 
heathen  Epictetus  are  uone  the  less  influential,  though  independent 
of  the  sacred  confirmation  which  subsequently  gave  them  additional 
warrant. 

Of  the  many  London  architects,  who  might  be  supposed  to  have 
employment  for  an  additional  band,  there  was  one  to  whom  I  bad 

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LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT.  109 

not  yet  applied ;  for  bis  reported  eccentricity  of  mind  and  irrita- 
bility of  temper  occasioned  me  to  reserve  himj  as  tbe  desperate 
ultimatum  of  forlorn  hope.   I  bad  once  looked  upon  bis  person,  and 
bore  in  mind  no  very  decided  impression  of  its  loveliness.     I  bad 
again  and  again  contemplated  tbat  person'^s  dwelling-place,  a  very 
odd  sbell, — denoting  the  abode  of  a  very  ^^odd  fisb.^     The  most 
unobservant  passenger  could  not  traverse  tbe  north  side  of  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields  without  having  bis  attention  positively  *^  arrested "  by 
the  strange  fof ode  of  the  bouse  occupying  about  the  centre  of  tbe 
range ;  while  the  most  informed  observer,  conversant  with  all  tbe 
architectural  varieties  of  the  world,  from  the  age  of  Pharaoh  to  that 
of  Palladio,  would  stop  to  exclaim,  **  here 's  something  original  at 
all  events  ! "    He  would  remark  tbat,  although  queer,  the  thing  is 
unvulgar;   eccentric,  but  not  inelegant;  fantastical,  but  refined. 
Museum-like  in  its  non-descript  character  and  in  its  miscellaneous 
and  fragmental  appendages, — its  Gothic  bits,  Greek  caryatides,  and 
Italian  balustrades,  mingle  with  original  forms  and  details,  the  dis- 
position of  which  manifest  a  singular  union  of  niggardly  simplicity 
with  gratuitous  ornament    But  still  more  extraordinary  than  the 
extern  is  tbe  interior  of  this  Mmeo  Cariosissimo.    It  is,  unquestion- 
ably, the  most  unique  and  costly  toy  that  the  matured  man-baby 
ever  played  withal ;  and  doubtless  much  within  it  is  of  high  quality, 
great  value  and  deep  interest :  but  there  is  a  positive  sense  of  suffo- 
cation in  tbe  plethoric  compendiousness,  which  distends  its  little 
body  to  the  utmost  endurance  of  its  skin,  and  leaves  scarcely  any 
free  way  for  the  circulation  of  observance.     The  main  sitting-rooms 
are  reasonably  roomy,  but  all  besides  is  decidedly  hostile  to  the  idea 
of  tbat  practical  freedom,  signified  by  the  asserted  space  necessary 
to  those  who  are  given  to  the  swinging  of  cats.     Never  was  there, 
before,  such  a  conglomerate  of  vast  ideas  in  little.     Domes,  arches, 
pendentives,  columned  labyrinths,  monastic  retreats,  cunning  con- 
trivances, and  magic  effects,  up  views,  down  views,  and  thorough 
views,  bewildering  narrow  passages,  seductive  corners,  silent  re- 
cesses, and  little .  lobbies  like  humane  man-traps ;   such  are  the 
features  which  perplexingly  address  the  visitor,  and  leave  his  coun- 
tenance with  an  equivocal  expression  between  wondering  admira- 
tion and  smiling  forbearance. 

Few  of  my  London  readers  need  be  told  that  I  have  been  just 
describing  the  general  characteristics  of  the  house  of  the  late  Sir 
John,  then  plain  Mr.  Soane, — the  one  remaining  architect  to  whom 
I  bad  now  resolved  to  make  application  for  employment. 

I  penned  a  letter.  My  hand-writing  was  then  the  very  reverse 
of  myself,  handsome,  clear,  and  manly.  I  took  care,  too,  to  express 
myself  with  not  less  brevity  than  respect,  and  with  all  the  literary 
precision  of  which  I  was  capable.  It  took  at  once.  A  note  was 
sent  by  one  of  his  clerks,  saying  that  Mr.  Soane  would  see  me  at 
an  appointed  time. 

Of  course  I  was  at  his  door  punctually  with  the  arrived  hour.  I 
was  told  by  the  direction  on  the  plate  to  "  knock  and  ring ; "  but  a 
romantic  humility  subdued  me,  and  I  rang  only.  A  man-servant 
admitted  me  and  took  my  card.     In  a  few  minutes  he  beckoned  me 


110  LIFE  OF  AN  ABCHTTSOT. 

forward,  and  I  entered  tbe  breakfast-room,  where  the  renown^ 
veteran  was  seated.  He  looked  up  at  me  through  his  spectaclesi 
but  not  apparently  with  any  very  confirmed  notion  of  what  he  saw, 

and  I  therefore  ventured  to  intimate  that  I  waii  Mr. .    The 

expression  of  his  face,  however,  as  he  held  up  my  card,  seemed 
clearly  to  say,  *<  Thank  yefor  nothing:  this  bit  of  pasteboard  tells 
me  as  much.'' 

**  To  whom  were  you  articled  V  he  inquired. — *'  To  Mr. ^"^ 

I  replied ;  continuing,  "  be  is  not,  I  believe,  very  generally  known, 
but — .** — "  Thank  ye,**  said  my  questioner,  with  curt  interruption, 
"  I  '11  not  trouble  you  any  further  on  that  point,  thaTik  ye."  It 
must  be  understood  that  these  ^^  thank  ye's"  were  uttered  in  the 
mildest  tones  of  mock  obligation  and  subdued  impatience.  ^'  How 
long  were  you  in  Italy?" — "  Not  above  nine  months  in  Italy ^  sir; 
but  I  was  some  time  in  France  and — ." — "  There.  That  '11  do, 
thank  ye.  I  haven't  time  to  hear  all  the  history  of  your  travels 
just  now.  What  have  you  there?" — "My  portfolio  of  Italian 
sketches,  sir." — *'  Let  me  see."  I  opened  the  portfolio,  and  my 
view  of  the  Pantheon  was  before  him.  "  Ah  !  all  very  fine.  Are 
the  interspaces  between  the  columns  all  alike?" — ^'  I'm  not  quite 
sure,  sir;  but  I  believe—." — "  No ;  now  don't  say  you  *  believe;' 
because  I  see  you  don't  know.  There"  he  continued,  pointing  to 
a  sketch  (and  rather  a  rough  one)  by  poor  Gandy ;  '^  can  you  do  as 
well  as  ^W?"  I  said  nothing;  for,  with  every  deference  to  Mr. 
Gaudy's  vastly  superior  power,  I  could  have  done  as  well  as  ^*'that*' 
"  Ah !  You  think  you  can,  I  see.  I  think  you  can't."  I  closed 
the  portfolio,  and  began  to  think  of  walking  off.  '^  Don't  close 
your  portfolio."  I  opened  it  ^gain,  with  a  sigh ;  and  I  fear  my 
weakness  was  guilty  of  a  tear.  He  observed  something,  however, 
in  my  manner;  and,  looking  me  steadfastly  in  the  face,  said, — 
"  Oh  !  you  've  feelings^  have  you?" — "  Indeed,  I  fear  1  have,  sir." 
— "  Poor  devil !  then  I  pity  you ;  that 's  all  /  can  say.  There ; 
sit  down.  I  see  you  've  been  industrious.  Can  you  speak  French  ?" 
— "  IndiflTerently,  sir."—"  Can  you  read  it?"— *<  Better  than  I 
speak  it,  sir."^ — "  Read  me  that  passage,"  said  be,  handing  me  a 
volume  of  "  Gil  Bias,"  and  pointing  to  a  particular  paragraph.  I 
read  a  few  lines;  when  he  stopped  me,  adding,  "that  will  do." 
Then,  putting  an  encouraging  tone  of  kindness  into  his  words,  he 
continued,  "  I  like  the  letter  you  sent  me.  It  was  simple,  and 
well  expressed ;  and  I  think  you  may  be  of  some  service  to  me." 
At  this  moment,  a  song  to  a  guitar  accompaniment  was  heard  in 
the  street  "  Fond  of  music?" — "  Very,  sir." — "  Understand 
Italian  ?" — "  About  as  much  as  French,  sir." — "  Ah  !  and  you 
sing  to  the  guitar,  I  suppose?" — "  A  little,  sir." — "  Well,  I've  no 
objection  to  a  young  man's  having  a  feeling  for  music,  Will  you 
go  to  Bath  with  me?" — *' Willingly,  sir."— "  And  what  do  ye 
expect  to  be  paid?" — "Will  the  rate  of  a  hundred  a  year  be  too 
much,  sir  ?" — "  I  certainly  shan't  give  you  that" — "  What  you 
please,  sir."—-"  Stay.  I  '11  do  this  for  you.  I  '11  pay  you  at  the 
rate  of  eighty  pounds  a  year,  and  allow  you  half  the  expenses  of 
your  board  while  you  're  at  Bath." — "  Thank  you,  sir^*— •*  You 

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LIFB  OF  AN  ARGHlTjaCT.  Ill 

will  ffo  dowa  by  next  Monday's  coach;  and>  on  Tnesday  morning* 
at  nine  o^clock,  be  with  me  at  No.  — ,  North  Parade,  GomI 
morning." — "  May  I  be  allowed,  sir,  to  leave  my  portfolio  for  a 
day  or  two?"—*'  Thank  ye,  I  shall  be  verj^  happy  to  look  over 
iU     GoQd  morning/* 

I  am  again  <*  an  engaged  man."^  I  go  to  my  friend's  home»  and 
write  a  letter  to  Paris.  I  sing  serenades  to  favouring  ears,  and 
manifest  a  buoyant  assurance  in  the  bvour  of  Fortune.  As  my  en- 
covragers  say,  it  is  not  the  eighty  pounds  per  annum,  but  the  great 
results  to  which  my  engagement  to  the  great  man  are  to  lead,  that  I 
must  contemplate ;  and  I  go  to  bed  to  dream  of  them.  Soane  was 
himself  *<  taken  up  "  by  Thomas  Pitt  \  and  I  am  '^  taken  up  "  by 
John  Soane.  ^  Some  are  born  to  be  great ;  others  achieve  greats 
ness;  and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them."  I  have 
<< achieved"  it;  or,  at  least,  'Uhe  prologue  to  the  swelling  act 
of  (my  ambitious)  theme*'  is  written.  Who  knows  what  may 
come  of  this  ?  The  great  architect  is  old— a  widower — with  only 
one  son,  and  he  disinherited.  But  I  will  behave  nobly  to  that 
son !  What  shall  J  become  ?  Perhaps  one  of  the  triumvirate  of 
the  Board  of  Works !    Possibly  architect  to  the  Bank  of  England  I 


MY  SOJOURN  AT  BATH. 

A  strange  man,  sir ;  and  unaccountable  t 

But  I  can  humour  him, — will  humour  him 

For  thy  sake.  Knowlvs. 

Amidst  the  bustle  in  front  of  "  The  White  Horse  Cellar," 
Piccadilly  (of  which  bustle  not  an  echo  now  remains),  I  took 
leave  of  my  friends,  D.  and  H.  B.,  mounted  to  my  seat  out- 
side the  coach  for  Bath,  and  arrived  at  the  "  Castle  Hotel"  of 
that  famed  city,  at  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing. Having  secured  a  bedroom  for  the  night,  I  sallied  forth  in 
search  of  a  lodging,  and  soon  found  myself  in  Pierpont  Street, 
where  the  *^  Pierpont  Boarding-House*"  in\'ited  me  to  look  into  its 
comforts,  and  inquire  as  to  its  terms.  The  former  proved  sufficient, 
and  the  latter  moderate ;  I  therefore  engaged  to  bring  my  port- 
manteau and  take  possession,  at  a  quarter  to  nine  next  morning, 
so  that  I  might,  without  fail,  be  with  my  expecting  employer 
punctually  at  the  hour  of  nine,  as  directed. 

I  then  returned  and  ^^  took  mine  ease  in  mine  inn,"  on  this, 
the  last  evening  and  night  of  my  freedom;  ruminating  on  the 
past,  as  I  sipped  my  tea;  and  subsequeutly  meditating  on  the 
future,  as  I  sat,  in  a  pair  of  veritable  hotel  slippers,  quailing  my 
brandy-and-water,  I  had  not  at  this  period,  by  any  means  sur- 
mounted the  feeling  of  a  kind  of  presumption  in  assuming  the 
patronage  of  a  coffee-room.  To  this  day  I  have  scarcely  sub- 
dued my  modesty  in  this  particular.  At  all  events,  I  there  re- 
garded myself  as  a  kind  of  mild  impostor,  affecting,  rather  than 
having,  authority  to  order  a  waiter,  to  call  a  chambermaid,  or  to 
give  decisive  bidding  even  to  a  boots.    This  gave  to  my  com- 

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112  LIFE  OP  AN  AECHITECT. 

mands  the  bland  colouring  of  apologetic  request;  but  I  never 
discovered  that  it  produced  any  very  obvious  show  of  responsive 
delicacy  on  the  part  of  the  recipients ;  so  that  I  was  rather  left 
to  admire,  hopeless  of  its  emulation,  the  swaggering  manner  and 
somewhat  bullying  tone  of  my  companion-hospitallers, — doubtless 
all  fellows  of  means  and  mark, — for  whose  ready  convenience, 
waiters,  chambermaids,  and  boots,  were  merely  and  expressly 
created.  To  me,  on  the  contrary,  these  functionaries  were  superior 
creatures,  submitting  to  necessity,  and  putting  up  with  me  for  the 
sake  of  my  betters.  Each  was,  to  me,  a  man — or  a  woman — as  the 
case  might  be,  of  intentional  importance,  biding  his,  or  her,  time 
for  proving  it ;  while  I,  to  them,  was  merely  the  numeral  painted 
on  my  bedroom  door  or  chalked  on  the  soles  of  my  boots. 

I  slept  but  little  that  night ;  but  I  thought  much  of  my  young 
mistress,  of  course ;  also  much,  as  might  be  expected,  of  my  new 
old  master ;  and  I  determined  on  such  a  display  of  silent  observa- 
tion, brief  reply,  also  energetic  action,  as  should  induce  John 
Soane  to  make  me^ — as  Thomas  Pitt  (Lord  Camelford)  is  said  to 
have  made  him.  His  strangeness  was  to  be  the  very  opportunity 
for  my  prompt  and  productive  sagacity ;  his  unaccountable  temper 
was  to  be  the  mere  foil  for  my  ^'  quietness  for  spirit  ;**  his  humour 
simply  the  theme  of  such  dramatic  consideration,  as  might  enable 
me,  thereafter,  to  rival  Ben  Jonson,  as  his  genius  appears  in  that 
comedy,  which  pourtrays  the  "Humour"  in  which  " Every  Man" 
may  amusingly  show  himself.  I  had,  morever,  a  still  stronger 
motive  to  the  endurance  of  any  caprice  he  might  exhibit ;  and  I 
fancied  that  an  invocation,  in  the  name  of  Love,  would,  at  any 
time  of  extreme  trial,  make  me  beg,  that  the  slap  inflicted  upon 
one  cheek  might  be  repeated  with  equal  emphasis  on  the  other. 

The  morning  came,  attended  by  "  boots,"  who  summoned  me 
with  sulky  precision ;  and  when  I  had  breakfasted  and  paid  my 
bill,  they  let  me  go,  with  boot's  boy,  as  among  the  small  "  things 
that  were,"  but  "  are  not."  The  landlady  of  Pierpont  House, 
however,  greeted  me  with  a  smile ;  and,  as  I  took  my  morning's 
leave,  she  reminded  me  that  the  dinner  hour  was  five. 

As  the  abbey  clock  struck  nine,  I  knocked  at  the  door  of  North 
Parade.  It  opens  into  the  central  compartment  of  the  range. 
The  servant,  who  had  admitted  me  into  the  house  in  Lincolns- 
inn-Fields,  admitted  me  into  this,  and  ushered  me  up  to  the  door 
of  "  the  first  floor  firont." 

Where  was  all  my  "  sagacity  ? "  Where  my  "  quietness  of 
spirit?"  Where  mv  "dramatic  consideration?"  Like  an  im- 
measurable fool,  I  hastened  into  the  room  with  a  buoyant  step, 
with  an  eye  looking  for  welcome,  and  with  a  confident  and  cheer- 
ful "  good  morning,  sir  !"  as  if  the  distinguished  individual  before 
me  had  been  my  godfather  at  least. 

I  think  he  replied  "  good  morning,"  but  am  not  sure  of  it.  At 
all  events,  he  looked  a  reproof  upon  the  exceeding  self-satisfaction, 
which  made  me  in  the  instant  feel  that  I  had  most  clumsily 
stumbled  at  the  threshold  of  my  beginning.  As  a  steamboat 
sailor  would  say,  I  immediately  "  stopped  the  engine  and  backed 

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LIFE   OF   AN    ARCHITECT.  113 

raj  paddles.**  There  was  a  table  coverecl  with  writing  materials 
near  the  fire.  Between  the  table  and  the  window  was  a  large 
folding  skreen,  to  dim  the  glare  of  the  light.  On  the  inner  side 
of  the  table,  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  stood  the  fullj  developed 
full-length  of  John  Soane. 

He  was  certainly  distinguished  looking :  taller  than  common ; 
and  so  thin  as  to  appear  taller:  his  age  at  this  time  about  seventy- 
three*  He  was  dressed  entirely  in  black;  his  waistcoat  being 
of  velvet,  and  he  wore  knee-breeches  with  silk  stockings.  Of 
course  the  exceptions  to  his  black,  were  his  cravat,  shirt-collar, 
and  shirt-frill  of  the  period.  Let  a  roan's  '^  shanks''  be  ever 
so  "  shrunken," — if  they  be  but  straight,  the  costume  described 
never  fails  upon  a  gentleman.  Ihe  idea  of  John  Soane  in  a  pair 
of  loose  trowsers,  and  a  short  broad-tailed  jacket,  after  the  fashion 
of  these  latter  times,  occurs  to  me  as  more  ludicrous  than  Liston's 
Romeo!  The  Professor  unquestionably  looked  the  professor — 
and  the  gentleman.  His  face  was  long  in  the  extreme ;  for  his 
chin — no  less  than  his  forehead — contributed  to  make  it  so  ;  and 
it  still  more  so  appeared  from  its  narrowness.  Sir  T.  Lawrence's 
portrait  of  him  (to  be  seen  in  Lincolns-inn-Fields)  is  extremely 
like  ;  but  the  facial  breadth,  though  in  a  certain  light  it  may  have 
warrant,  is  decidedly  flattering  in  respect  to  what  was  its  general 
seeming.  It  is  true,  he  was  ill  when  I  saw  him,  and  sorely  worn 
with  perplexity  and  vexation  ;  and  therefore  I  ought  to  say,  that 
at  that  time,  it  can  be  scarcely  said  that  he  had  any  front  face. 
In  profile  his  countenance  was  extensive;  but,  looking  at  it 
"  edgeways,"  it  would  have  been  **  to  any  thick  sight "  something 
of  the  invisible.  A  brown  wig  carried  the  elevation  of  his  head 
to  the  utmost  attainable  height;  so  that,  altogether,  his  phy- 
siognomy was  suggestive  of  the  picture  which  is  presented  on  the 
back  of  a  spoon,  held  vertically.  His  eyes,  now  sadly  failing  in 
their  sight,  looked  red  and  small  beneath  their  full  lids ;  but,  through 
their  weakened  orbs,  the  fire  of  his  spirit  would  often  show  itself, 
in  proof  of  its  unimpaired  vigour.  Finally,  his  countenance 
presented,  under  differing  circumstances,  two  distinct  phases. 
In  the  one,  a  physiognomist  might  read  a  mild  amiability,  as 
cheerful  and  happy,  as  ^^kind  and  courteous;"  yielding,  and 
requiring,  gentle  sympathy;  a  delicate  sensibility  spiced  with 
humour ;  towards  men,  a  politeness  in  which  condescension  and 
respect  were  mingled ;  and,  towards  women,  a  suavity,  enlivened 
with  a  show  of  gallantry,  rather  sly  than  shy.  The  other  phase  of 
his  countenance  indicated  an  acute  sensitiveness,  and  a  fearful 
irritability,  dangerous  to  himself,  if  not  to  others;  an  embittered 
heart,  prompting  a  cutting  and  sarcastic  mind ;  uncompromising 
pride,  neither  respecting,  nor  desiring  respect ;  a  contemptuous 
disregard  for  the  feelings  of  his  dependents  ;  and  yet,  himself,  the 
very  victim  of  irrational  impulse;  with  no  pity  for  the  trials  of 
his  neighbour,^  and  nothing  but  frantic  despair  under  his  own. 

It  is  likely,  the  more  pleasing  side  of  the  picture  was  truthful 
to  his  original  nature,  ere  the  feelings,  manners,  and  conduct, 
necessary  to  his  rise  firom  a  very  inferior  condition  into  one  of 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Dig,,,, ,y Gbogle 


114  *        LIFE   OF   AN   ARCHITECT. 

distinction,  had  been  changed  bj  the  pride  attendant  on  his  too 
rapid  success.  ^^  Lowliness  ^  had  doubtless  been,  in  the  first 
instance,  his  "  young  ambition's  ladder,"  however  he  might  after- 
wards turn  his  back  upon  it, 

*'  Scorning  the  base  degrees 
By  which  he  did  ascend." 

And,  assuredly,  it  may  be  asserted,  there  is  no  profession  which  is 
more  subject  to  anxieties  and  vexations,  trj'ing  to  the  mind  and 
temper,  —  or  to  alternations  of  pride  and  humiliation,  sub- 
versive of  content, — than  that  of  the  architect.  Mr.  Soane  had 
these,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  to  much  more  than  a  common  amount; 
and  he  had  also  domestic  afflictions  of  an  unusually  severe  nature. 
The  nervous  system  had  been  constantly  worked  upon  by  the  con- 
flicting operation  of  \iolent  excitements  for  many  years ;  and, 
without  supposing  that  he  was  ever  to  be  felicitated  on  the  strength 
of  his  mild  patience  and  good  temper,  we  may  give  him  credit 
for  having  had  his  patience  and  his  temper  (such  as  they  were) 
tried  to  a  degree,  which  proved  at  all  events,  that  there  was  a  con- 
stitutional power  of  resisting  "  wear  and  tear,"  marvellous  to  con- 
template. The  actual  character  of  the  man  will,  I  suppose,  be 
rightly  judged  by  an  estimate  deduced  from  the  two  extreme 
sketches  I  have  given  ;  illustrations  of  which,  in  detail,  may  pos- 
sibly appear  as  I  proceed  with  my  narration.  To  complete  my 
portrait,  or,  rather,  to  make  it  a  ^^  speaking  one,"  I  must  refer  to 
his  voice,  which  had  a  singular  undulation  of  high  and  low ;  re- 
taining a  remnant  of  the  "  big,  manly,"  with  the  "  childish  treble ;" 
and  curiously  rising  and  falling,  up  towards  a  squeak,  or  down  to 
a  mild  guttural,  with  no  especial  reason  for  the  variety.  But  the 
most  singular  peculiarity  in  its  delivery  was  manifested  when 
under  the  excitement  of  anger ;  for,  just  in  proportion  to  the 
teeming  fulness  of  his  wrath,  would  be  the  diminishing  quality  of 
his  tone.  He  would  truly  illustrate  Nick  Bottom^s  expression  of 
speaking  "in  a  monstrous  little  voice,"  and  of  "aggravating  his  voice 
80  as  to  roar  as  gently  as  any  sucking  dove,  or  as  'twere  any  night- 
ingale." Of  course,  fury,  in  its  last  excess,  was  signified  by  a 
terrific  silence  ! 

*•  His  words  were  great,  because  they  were  so  small. 
And,  therefore,  greater,  being  none  at  all.** 

What  the  tongue  failed  to  do,  was  made  up  by  the  fiery  eye  and 
quivering  lip ;  he  looked  daggers,  though  he  spoke  none.  When, 
on  the  contrary,  anxious  to  exhibit  the  amiable  in  all  its  conde- 
scending sweetness,  the  eyes  and  mouth  would  exactly  appear  as 
shown  in  Lawrence's  portrait,  which  is  also  equally  true  in  the 
slight  side-ways  inclination  of  the  head  ;  and  then  the  voice  would 
meander  and  fluctuate  with  the  most  soothing  variety  of  intona- 
tion. Mathews  (who  knew  him  well)  would  imitate  him  with  an 
accuracy  exceeding  that  of  any  other  imitation  of  which  I  could 
judge ;  for  he  gave  the  expression  of  countenance  as  well  as  the 
voice  and  action,  and  used  to  say,  that,  had  it  been  consistent  with 
delicacy,  he  would  have  introduced  the  imitation  on  the  stage. 

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115 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERATURE. 

We  are  compelled,  this  month,  to  say  less  than  is  our  wont,  of 
the  current  literature  lying  attractively  before  us.  June  brought 
forth  fewer  striking  novelties  than  its  predecessor;  but  the  growth 
is  still  suggestive  of  more  critical  garrulity  than  we  are  able  to 
bestow  upon  it.  What  little  we  can  say  we  must  say  at  once,  with- 
out further  introduction.     First,  then,  of  History  and  Biography. 

At  the  present  time,  when  the  future  government  of  India  is  the 
foremost  question  before  the  senate  of  Great  Britain,  we  can  hardly 
imagine  a  more  important  contribution  to  literature,  than  the  col- 
lection of  Mr.  Tucker's  papers,*  which  has  just  been  given  to  the 
public.  They  treat  of  almost  every  subject  now  under  discussion, 
in  connection  with  the  administration  of  the  British  empire  in  the 
East.  There  is  nothing  wild  or  speculative  about  them.  They 
are  the  result  of  half-a-century  of  experience,  either  as  a  resident 
in  India,  or  a  member  of  that  moiety  of  the  home-government  of 
the  country,  known  as  the  Court  of  Directors ;  and  the  opinions 
they  contain  are  for  the  most  part  as  sound,  as  the  language  in 
which  those  opinions  are  expressed,  is  lucid  and  forcible.  The 
papers,  indeed,  are  eminently  well  written.  They  have  nothing  of 
the  dry-as-dust  official  style  about  them.  They  have  not  the  mark 
of  the  red  tape  on  every  sentence ;  but  there  is,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  freedom  and  vigour  about  them  which  excites  interest  and  fixes 
attention.  And  they  have  even  a  greater  charm  than  this  about 
them ;  for  the  stamp  of  sincerity  is  on  every  page. 

Whatever  Mr.  Tucker  said,  be  said  earnestly  and  from  the  full 
heart.  Mr.  Kaye  says  of  him  in  the  preface  to  the  present  work, 
that  he  was  "  honest  to  the  very  core."  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
an  honester  man  ever  lived.  When  that  famous  contention  arose 
between  the  Court  of  Directors  and  the  Board  of  Control,  which 
ended  at  last  in  the  submission  of  the  latter,  no  one  ever  doubted 
that  Mr.  Tucker  would  have  gone  to  prison,  rather  than  have  put 
his  hand,  even  ministerially,  to  a  paper,  of  the  contents  of  which 
he  so  entirely  disapproved.  He  did  not  form  his  opinions  hastily 
— but  when  be  haa  once  formed  them  he  supported  them  with  a 
manly  energy  which  was  proof  against  all  assaults  and  all  tempta- 
tions, and  which  was  often  triumphant  in  the  end.  The  welfare  of 
India  was  ever  uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  administrators,  who  think  of  nothing  so  much  as  ^^  screwing 
up  the  revenue,"  or  one  of  those  politicians,  who  think  that  the 
native  princes  of  India  only  exist  to  be  deposed,  and  that  their 
territories  are  only  good  to  be  confiscated.  There  was  ever  in 
Mr.  Tucker's  mind  a  permanent  sense  of  justice.  It  animated  his 
writings ;  it  regulated  his  conduct.  But,  for  all  this,  he  was  emi- 
nently a  practical  man.     He  believed  that  there  was  no  such  thing 

*  '*  Memorials  of  Indian  Goyemment;  being  a  selection  from  the  Papers  of 
Henry  St.  George  Tucker,  late  Director  of  the  East  India  Company.'  Edited 
by  J.  W.  Kaye. 

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116  CONTEMPORARY   LITERATURE. 

as  unrighteous  expediency ;  summum  jus  gumma  prudentia  was 
his  motto.  He  was  one  of  those  statesmen  who  dare  to  do  right, 
and  leave  the  issue  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  convinced  that, 
even  humanly  speaking,  the  highest  wisdom  consists  in  a  conform- 
ance with  the  highest  principle.  He  resisted  every  act  of  un- 
righteous usurpation  or  uncalled-for  aggression,  and  when,  in  such 
cases,  he  vaticinated  disaster,  disaster  was  in  the  womb  of  time. 
Mr.  Tucker's  protests  against  the  war  in  Afghanistan — that  great 
criminal  atrocity  which  now,  in  every  debate  on  the  India  ques- 
tion, is  denounced  with  equal  virulence  by  men  of  all  gradations  of 
party,  are  among  the  most  vigorously  written  state  papers  with 
which  we  are  acquainted.  On  many  accounts,  they  demand  peru- 
sal at  the  present  time,  and  on  none  more  than  because  they  place 
clearly  before  the  public  the  great  fact,  that  the  East  India  Com- 
pany had  nothing  to  do  with  the  war,  except  the  miserable  neces- 
sity of  paying  for  it.     Mr.  Tucker,  who  died  full  of  years,  with 

**  All  that  should  accompaDy  old  age, 
As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends," 

thick  around  him,  retained  all  his  intellectual  vigour  and  power  of 
expression  to  the  last,  and  some  of  the  ablest  papers  he  ever 
wrote  were  written  by  an  octogenarian  hand.  But  we  have  before 
us,  at  the  same  time,  records  of  the  life  of  one  who  lived,  in  the 
possession  of  all  his  faculties,  beloved  and  respected,  to  a  still 
greater  age — Henry  Bathurst,  Bishop  of  Norwich.*  Few  men 
were  better  known  in  their  day — and  that  not  a  very  remote  one 
— than  this  most  liberal  of  prelates.  He  was  a  man,  it  might 
almost  be  said,  sui  generis.  The  writer  of  this  memoir,  with  very 
pardonable  filial  partiality,  compares  him  with  Fenelon.  There 
are,  doubtless,  some  points  of  resemblance  ;  but  the  parallel  is  not 
complete.  We  know  no  one  to  whom  we  can  fairly  liken  Bishop 
Bathurst  but  himself.  His  was  eminently  a  loveable  character ; 
in  all  his  domestic  and  social  relations,  he  shone  pre-eminently  as 
one  whose  geniality  won  all  hearts,  who  charmed  the  outer  circle 
of  the  "  great  world,"  into  which  he  freely  entered,  as  irresistibly 
as  he  enchained  the  affections  of  those  who  clustered  around  his 
own  fireside.  As  a  bishop,  he  was  not  distinguished  by  any  great 
amount  of  biblical  erudition.  He  was  not  an  eminent  theologian, 
but  he  was  a  man  of  good  parts,  endowed  with  a  fine  classical 
taste,  and  an  ample  fiind  of  good  sense.  He  might  never,  perhaps, 
have  obtained  a  mitre,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  family  connections. 
Doubtless  many  abler  men  go  mitreless  all  their  lives.  But  such 
a  bishop  was  of  eminent  service  to  the  church  in  his  time,  and  his 
example  will  long  be  a  service  to  it.     He  was  the  most  liberal  of 

E relates  ;  they  called  him  the  friend  of  the  pope.  For  some  time 
e  stood  out  alone,  from  the  Bench  of  Bishops,  as  the  one  sup- 
porter of  the  Catholic  Relief  Bill.  On  this  account  he  was  held 
m  high  estimation  by  the  Whigs,  and  bitterly  reviled  by  their 
opponents.     He  was,  in  other  respects,  especially  in  matters  of 

•  •*  Memoirs  and  Correspondence  of  Dr.  Henry  Bathurst,  Lord  Bishop  of 
Norwich,'*  by  his  Daughter,  Mrs.  1  histlethwayte.     London,  1853. 


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CONTEMPORARY  LITERATURE-  117 

ordination,  far  more  liberal  than  his  brother  prelates ;  and  there 
were  those  who  rejoiced  in,  the  occasion  afforded  by  certain  of  the 
social  and  convivial  propensities  of  the  kind-hearted  old  bishop  to 
censure  him  upon  other  accounts.  But,  after  all,  the  worst  that 
could  be  said  of  him  was,  that  he  enjoyed  a  rubber  of  whist. 

We  cannot  afford  to  dwell,  at  any  length,  upon  the  character  of 
Bishop  Bathurst,  or  upon  the  incidents  of  his  life ;  but  we  must 
*say  a  few  words  regarding  the  book  itself  now  before  us.  The 
memoir  is  written  by  Mrs.Thistlethwayte,  the  favourite  daughter  of 
the  bishop.  It  is  written  with  great  modesty.  The  bishop  is  left 
very  much  to  himself,  to  appear  as  his  own  autobiographer.  The 
correspondence  contained  in  the  volume  is  ample  and  interesting.  * 
It  illustrates  sufficiently  both  the  public  and  the  private  life  of  the 
venerable  prelate;  nor  is  the  interest  confined  entirely  to  the  good 
bishop  himself  It  is  very  much,  indeed,  a  family  memoir,  and 
there  is  very  much  in  it  of  family  romance.  Many  of  our  readers 
doubtless  remember  the  melancholy  fate  of  Rosa  Bathurst— the 
bishop's  grand-daughter — who  was  drowned  in  the  Tiber;  and 
some  of  oar  oldest  friends  may  remember  the  mysterious  disap- 
pearance of  her  father,  Benjamin  Bathurst,  the  diplomatist,  who 
was  lost  on  his  way  home,  after  a  mission  to  Vienna — in  all  pro- 
bability assassinated  by  the  myrmidons  of  the  French  government, 
llie  ample  details  which  are  given  of  these  two  calamitous  events, 
are  full  of  romantic  interest.  And  we  must  not  omit  to  state  that 
the  appendix  to  this  memoir  of  Bishop  Bathurst,  unlike  roost  ap- 
pendices, into  which  bulky  documents  of  little  interest — mere 
make-weights  or  stuffings — are  thrown,  is  made  up  of  varied  and 
most  interesting  matter.  We  may  especially  indicate  certain 
**  colloquia,"  written  by  Joseph  John  Gutney,  in  which  Dr.  Chal- 
mers is  the  principal  talker — partly  in  Edinburgh  and  partly  in 
Norwich.  Tnese  are  sufficient  to  impart  a  lively  interest  to  any 
work,  and  they  greatly  increase  the  attractiveness  of  the  present, 
which  could  well  afford  to  stand  without  them.  The  memoir,  be- 
sides the  correspondence  of  the  Bishop  of  Norwich  himself,  con- 
tains letters  from  the  late  Duke  of  Sussex,  Mr.  Coke  of  Holkam, 
Lord  Grenville,  Lord  Holland,  Roger  Wilbraham,  Joseph  John 
Guniey,  Dr.  Hampden,  and  others ;  and  numerous  anecdotes  of 
the  distinguished  characters  of  his  time — and  Bishop  Bathurst's 
time  fell  little  short  of  a  century.  The  volume  is,  altogether,  full 
of  interest,  and  provocative  of  amusement.  It  is  pleasant  and 
gossipy  for  those  who  abjure  anything  that  is  not  light  reading, 
whilst  for  those  of  a  graver  sort  there  is  much  of  a  graver  kind. 

There  are  two  or  three  books  of  travel  or  personal  adventure 
on  our  table,  deserving  more  extensive  notice  than  we  can  afford 
to  bestow  upon  them.  We  conceive  that  Mr.  Galton's  volume  of 
African  travel  *  is,  in  the  highest  degree,  honourable  to  the  writer. 
Mr.  Galton,  we  believe,  received  the  gold  medal  at  the  last  meet- 
ing of  the  Geographical  Society,  and  we  are  certain  that  he  well 
deserved  it.     As  it  was  his  vocation  to  amuse  himself,  he  went 

*  '*  Narrative  of  an  Explorer  in  Tropical  South  Africa,"  by  Francis  Gallon, 
Esq.     With  coloured  Maps,  Plates  and  Woodcuts.    London,  1853. 


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118  CONTEMPORARY   LITERATURE. 

abroad  to  explore  unknown  tracts  of  country,  and  he  has  added 
considerably  to  our  stores  of  knowledge  illustrative  of  the  geogra- 
phy of  Central  Africa.  His  account  of  the  Damaras  is  extremely 
interesting.  The  volume  is  full  of  novel  information,  conveyed  in 
a  pleasant  unpretending  style,  not  without  an  elegance  of  its  own. 
Indeed,  we  have  not  recently  met  with  a  volume  of  travel  that  has 
pleased  us  more.  The  "  explorer "  is  a  man  of  the  right  kind, 
cheeriul  and  robust  in  body  and  mind,  not  shrinking  from  danger, 
but  possessing  far  too  much  good  sense  to  rush  into  it  without 
good  occasion.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  know  when  to  stop.  Many 
valuable  lives  would  have  been  saved,  and  much  would  have  been 
'  gained  to  science,  if  all  our  travellers  had  known  how  to  turn  back 
at  the  right  point. 

Mr.  Galtonwas  a  sportsman  —  not  of  ibe  tmculent  Gumming 
school,  but  still  a  hearty  and  vigorous  one.  Mr.  Palliser,  how- 
ever, seems  to  be  a  mightier  Nimrod.  With  Mr.  Galton  the  chase 
was  only  subsidiary  to  geographical  inquiry.  With  Mr.  Palliser  it 
seems  to  have  been  ibe  paramount  object  of  his  exploration  of  the 
Prairies.  His  volume,*  for  those  especially  who  delight  in  the 
wild  sports  of  the  West,  has  abundant  attractions.  It  teems  with 
accounts  of  perilous  adventures  in  the  heart  of  vast  forests,  deadly 
encounters  with  gigantic  animals,  illustrating  the  mastery  of  man 
over  even  the  most  tremendous  beasts  of  the  field.  The  volume  is 
sure  to  find  readers.  Until  the  manliness  of  England  is  extinct 
such  works  as  Mr.Palliser's  will  surely  find  acceptance  amongst  us. 

Among  other  new  works,  of  a  less  exciting  character,  we  may 
especially  notice  Mr.  Loring  Brace's  "  Home  Life  in  Germany." 
The  title  of  the  volume  very  fitly  characterises  its  contents,  and  its 
style  is  in  keeping  with  them.  There  is  something  in  its  quiet 
earnestness  which  pleases  us  greatly.  It  is  written  by  one  who 
thoroughly  understands  the  German  people  in  their  social  and 
domestic  relations,  who  looks  beneath  the  surface  of  things  and 
gives  graceful  utterance  to  his  impressions.  Here  and  there  we 
are  reminded  of  Washington  Irving,  both  by  the  quiet  tone  of 
thought  and  the  elegant  facility  of  expression.  Differing  much 
from  this  volume  is  ^*  Las  Alforjas,"  in  which  there  is  far  more 
action.  All  is  bustle  and  animation  ;  but  our  readers  know  Mr. 
Cayley,  and,  through  him,  the  Bridle-roads  of  Spain,  too  well  to 
render  necessary  any  introduction  of  the  author  or  any  description 
of  his  work.  In  his  ^*  Pine  Forests  and  Hacmatac  Clearings  *' 
Colonel  Sleigh  carries  us  over  different  ground.  His  is  a  volume 
of  "  travel,  life  and  adventure,  in  the  British  North  American  Pro- 
vinces.**' It  forms  an  admirable  supplement  to  Major  Strick- 
land's "  Twenty-seven  Years  in  Canada."'  Colonel  Sleigh,  like 
Major  Strickland,  writes  *'  C.  M."  after  his  name,  and  has  a  good 
deal  of  the  Major's  robust  energy.  But  we  hardly  think  that  the 
title  of  the  book  does  full  justice  to  its  contents.  There  is  a  Con- 
siderable mass  of  historical  and  other  information  in  it  which  such  a 
title  by  no  means  represent. 

*  **  Solitary  Rambles  and  Adventures  of  a  Hunter  in  the  Prairies."  By  John 
Palliser.     London,  1853. 

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I  :.■?:  A  1     ■ :  «,'wv.. 


:.  :.     .)F   1.    .  •     UA. 


'I :.  >i'-i^'  .  .-^B- 


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ASPEN  COURT, 

AND   WHO   LOST   AND   WHO    WON    IT. 

a  ®ale  of  out  ©ten  tliine. 

Bx  Shirley  Brqoks,    :  ,.  >  . 

^     Auraoit  OF  **  Mils  tiolet  and'hbe  otrsBsr ' 


CHAPTER  XX. 
A   PABTT   AT  THB  TEMPLB   OF  JAlfUS.  ■ 

.  It  was  yery  good  of  the  Marqqis  and  Marphipness  of  Eo0ier- 
hithe  to  keep  open  house  at  this  period  of  the. political. eiisis^  for 
they  both  detest  crowds,  and  have  been  act^ually  knoWJ^j'  ^ter 
twenty  years  of  marriage,  to  spei^d  a  whole,  mo'pth  in  Qhe  pf ,  their 
country-se^ts  without  a  single  visitor,  spid.in  what  th^y^ajre  inttepid 
enough  to.paU,  a]>d,  it  is  believed,  delyded  en<)tugh.to  think, J;he  en-* 
joyment  pf.pne. another's  society.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  tiiat 
the  world  did  its  amiable .  utmost  to  affix  a .  disagreeable  sjgni^ 
ficance  to^^eir.  matrimonial  amity.  First,  it  was  urged  that  they 
were  stingy^  but  the ,  goodrnatured,  open-handed .  couple  speedily 
lived  down.tbi^:  scand^.  Then,  something  was  .hinted  about,  the 
state  of  the  Marquis's  in^Ilect,  and  Uttle^  Baldy. Curlew,  whose 
mission  in  jtbis  world  is ;,to, account  for  thijtgs,. di^coyei^ed  that  a 
great  aunt.oJf  the  faniily  bad  at  one,  time  be^  under,  restraint, 
which,  as  time?  go,  Mf&s  ^uite  ejipugh  tio  est;abUsb  the  desired  con** 
elusion.  But,  unluckily,  for  Curlew,  the  Msgrquis  came,  out  with  « 
mathematical  treatise ;  which;  ^et  all  the  universities,  of,  Europe 
assailing'  him;with'  eulogies  , and  diplomas.  Then  people. said  it 
must  be  the  Marchioness,  and  specvdated.whether  she  kept. ovit  of 
society  for  fear  of  meeting  some  only  man  she  had  really  lovec^  but 
this  hypothesis  was  inconveniently  met  by  the  utter  impossibility  of 
fixing  upon  the  dreaded  man,  with  any  decent  show  of  probability. 
Next,  the  Rotherhithes  were  suspected  of  religion,  and  both  8t^ 
Barnabas's  and  Exeter  Hall  were  closely  watched  by  the  social 
poUce,  but  no  criminating  evidence,  Tractarian  or  Evangelical^ 
could  be  obtained ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  the  unconscious 
couple  attended  Ascot  and  the  Opera  with  much  r^;ularity«r  Sa 
the  solution  was  left  to  time,  and  the  world  is  quite  certain  that 
one  of  these  days  the  truth  will  come  out.  Of  course  it  no  more 
occurred  to  the  world  to  attribute  the  phenomenon  to  its  real 
cause,  than  it  did  to  Pantagruel  and  his  friends,  when  walking  in 
the  fields  near  Paris,  to  speak  to  Panurge  in  French,  Until  they 
had  tried  everv  other  language  in  the  world;  but  the  simple  fact 
was,  that  the  Marquis  was  sincerely  attached  to  his  wife,  that  the 
Marchioness  loved  him  very  earnestly,  and  that  they  were  both 
accompUshed  people;  he  having  a  good  deal  of  the  student's 
nature,  and  she  liking  best  that  which  best  pleased  him^  Anxious. 


VOL.  XXXIV. 


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120  ASPEN  COURT. 

to  avoid  personality^  I  will  not  say  a  great  deal  about  people  whose 
infirmity  is  not  so  common  as  to  prevent  their  being  easily  recog- 
nised, but  it  is  fair  to  record,  that  among  the  innumerable  sacrifices 
made  by  patriots  at  the  period  of  the  crisis,  that  of  the  Rother- 
hithes,  who  held  all  crowds  to  be  a  bore,  was  not  the  smallest,  as 
will  be  admitted  by  those  who  recollect  that  at  the  same  eventful 
date,  several  expectant  statesmen  sacrificed  their  principles. 

It  was,  however,  but  common  charity  on  the  part  of  the  Rother- 
hithes  to  ofier  a  neutral  ground  where  men  could  meet  their 
riends  and  enemies  without  being  compromised*  There  was  a 
mass  of  bewildered  politicians,  who,  just  then,  could  go  nowhere 
with  safety.  The  various  leaders  on  both  sides  kept  their  doors 
shut,  meditated  a  little  on  their  intended  policy,  and  a  great  deal 
on  speeches  explanatory  thereof.  To  the  houses  of  avowed  parti- 
sans, of  lesser  note,  it  was  of  course  dangerous  to  go  until  pa- 
triotism saw  its  way.  But  Rotherhithe  House  was  a  harbour  of 
refuge,  where  the  political  men  of  war  could  lie  at  anchor,  and 
indeed  lie  in  any  way  that  occurred  to  them.  The  Marquis  had 
politics,  but  they  were  in  his  proxy,  and  his  proxy  was  in  the 
bands  of  a  good  and  great  man  in  whose  keeping  many  a  good 
and  small  man^s  conscience  was  better  placed  than  if  its  owner 
had  retained  it  The  Marchioness  had  more  decided  politics,  but 
they  were  chiefly  foreign  and  very  impartial.  She  cultivated  re- 
fugees of  all  kinds.  So  that  a  man  had  run  away  from  something, 
the  dear  Marchioness  cared  little  from  which  side  he  had  escaped. 
She  was  Britannia  in  miniature.  Poles,  Garlists,  Magyars,  Jesuits, 
Reds,  Whites,  and  Blacks,  were  sure  of  a  place  under  the  Rother- 
hithe eegis.  And  the  story  of  each  victim  in  succession  produced 
its  due  efieet  on  her  kindly  nature,  and  she  is  said  to  have  rather 
pestered  the  Foreign  Secretary  with  the  startling  revelations 
brought  over  by  the  polyglot  proUgis^  who  supplied  her  with  new 
and  vmrioosly  coloured  light  upon  European  interests.  But  neither 
Lord  Rotherhithe  nor  his  wife  was  a  party  adherent,  and  their 
house  was  one  which  the  most  timid  time-server  could  haunt  with- 
out fear  of  consequences.  And  when  the  crisis  came,  and  the 
Cabinet  feU^  the  Rotherhithes,  who  had  not  given  a  dozen  dinners 
during  the  season,  fairly  set  Rotherhithe  House  open.  It  was  rather 
supposed  that  the  Earl  of  Rookbury,  who  delighted  in  moving 
abeut  in  such  gatherings  as  a  crisis  assembles,  and  tormenting 
those  who  were  already  afflicted,  had  counselled  the  Rotherhithes 
to  this  hospitality.  For  he  was  a  sportsman  of  the  atrocious 
class  who  s^ew  food  for  the  poor  birds,  and  then  fire  upon  them, 
inhospitabtv. 

The  Rotherhithes  had  ^^entertained  a  small  and  select  party  at 
dinner  ;^^  and  among  the  entertained  people  were  Lord  Rookbury 
and  Francb  Selwyn,  who,  as  usual  had  a  theological  fight,  this  time 
on  the  artide  on  Justification,  in  which  as  Selwyn  was  getting  the 
advantage,  Lord  Rookbury  went  away  to  hear  an  act  of  Lucreeia 
Borgia.  There  was  also  a  newb  bishop  there,  a  very  handsome  man, 
wbo  took  no  part  in  the  controversy,  and  perhaps  listened  with  the 
futteet  possible  curl  of  his  fine  lip,  as  a  professioni4  ^U  when 

Digitized  by  VjOOQI, 


ASPEN  CX)URT.  121 

amateurs  go  to  work.  Next  to  his  Lordship  had  sat  the  dandy 
democrat,  Clavering  Dorset,  of  whom  the  bishop  had  been  a  little 
afraid,  knowing  that  on  the  subject  of  religion  and  aristocracy,  Dor- 
set's avowed  faith,  like  the  Book  of  Esther,  contcuned  neither  the 
word  God  nor  Lord.  But  Clavering  had  behaved  with  exceeding 
propriety,  and  had  gone  so  far  in  agreeing  with  the  bbhop  on  the 
topic  of  education,  and  likewise  on  that  of  the  Philharmonic 
Concerts,  that  his  Lordship  was  quite  pleased,  and  thought,  in  his 
heart,  that  if  the  people  were  led  by  no  worse  men  than  Dorset, 
they  could  not  go  so  very  wrong  but  that  sermons  and  church 
extension  might  do  the  rest.  There  were  a  few  other  people  of 
quiet  note,  and  the  Botherhithes  would  have  been  tolerably  pleased 
with  the  dinner,  but  that  a  crowd  was  to  come  in  later. 

The  rooms  looked  very  well  when  filled.  If  they  were  mine,  I 
should  take  out  at  least  half  the  sculpture,  and  lighten  those 
heavy  lines  in  the  elaborate  ceiling  of  the  principal  saloon,  and 
hang  the  large  painting  where  it  could  not  be  seen  so  well ;  and 
I  slK>uld  fardier  improve  the  house  by  keeping  out  Baldy  Curlew, 
and  all  the  men  who  talk  to  him  in  a  low  voice  on  landLings,  and 
give  a  numchard  air  to  their  proceedings.  But  Rotherhithe  House 
is  one  of  the  best  houses  in  London,  and  this  evening  its  statues, 
and  its  flowers,  and  its  soft  lights,  and  its  music,  and  about  three 
hundred  people,  *4eft  nothing  to  be  desired,'^  as  people  say, 
except,  perhaps,  the  absence  of  Baldy  Curlew,  whose  mission  is 
to  account  for  things. 

Selwy n  had  good  naturedly  got  an  evening  invitaticm  for  his  young 
Secretary,  who  had  commenced  his  duties,  and  had  given  some 
satisfaction  to  his  chief  by  the  tact  with  which  he  had  dismissed 
a  jobbing  deputation  whom  it  would  have  been  inconvenient  to 
the  ex-minister  to  receive.  Carlyon  had  managed  to  convey  such 
intense  regrets  on  the  part  of  Selwyn  that  he  could  not  see  the 
party,  and  had  so  succeeded  in  impressing  upon  them,  that,  if 
there  were  one  subject  in  the  world  to  which  the  Minister  devoted 
mornings  of  study  and  nights  of  reflection,  that  subject  was  the 
best  way  in  which  Eel-Pie  Island  could  be  made  a  naval  depSt^ 
that  the  courtesy  of  Selwyn  had  been  trumpeted  at  half-a-dozen 
vestry  meetings.  And  the  feat  did  the  more  credit  to  the  Minister 
and  to  the  Secretary,  seeing  that  the  former  had  utterly  forgotten 
die  appointment  until  the  deputation  was  announced,  and  the 
latter  had  only  time  to  catch  a  few  hurried  words  from  Selwyn 
and  to  get  up  the  points  from  the  Eel-Pie  memorial  as  he  walked 
down  stairs  to  turn  the  memorialists  out.  Bernard  had,  therefore, 
honestly  earned  his  card  for  the  Marchioness's  party. 

That  amiable  person  had  also  extended  her  invitations  to  all 
her  presentable  refugees,  and  there  were  a  good  many  picturesque 
heads  and  well-waxed  moustaches  sprinkled  among  the  party,  and 
much  French  and  Italian  swelled  the  miscellaneous  murmur  which, 
varied  by  pleasant  feminine  laughs,  came  upon  the  ear  as  one 
ascended  the  grand  staircase.  As  Bernard  went  up.  Lord  Rook- 
bury,  who  had  only  waited  to  see  Grisi  poison  her  son,  and  was 
now  marldi^  the  people  who  arrived,  called  to  him.       ^         , 

Digitized  byLiOOgle 


122  ASPEN  COURT* 

"  Well,  Mr.  Carlyon.  Constructing  a  new  ministry,  eh  ?  What 
do  you  keep  for  yourself  ? '' 

*^  I  thought  of  asking  your  lordship  what  you  considered  me  fit 
for,^*  said  Bernard. 

^^Ah!  That's  quite  another  matter.  Suppose  you  take  the 
colonies — they  will  improve  you  in  geography,  and  as  nobody 
cares  about  them^  any  little  blunder  at  starting  will  do  no  great 
harm.  There ^s  always  a  run  for  the  colonies  when  there's  a 
change — so  many  rising  men  want  to  qualify  themselves  for  more 
serious  business.  Do  you  know  the  Marchioness  ?  No  7  I  'U 
present  you.'' 

The  introduction  made,  Carlyon  was  going  on  through  the 
rooms,  but  Lord  Rookbury  detained  him. 

**Stay  here  a  little — ^never  mind  the  women — a  statesman's 
mind  should  be  above  such  trifles.  Here's  Acton  Calveley^ 
another  young  man  whose  geography  will  bear  improving,  vide 
his  last  book,  passim.  He  has  a  notion  that  the  new  men  will 
give  him  something,  whereas  they  '11  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  for 
two  reasons.  Well,  Calveley,  are  we  to  congratulate  you?  I 
heard  your  name  mentioned  in  a  very  high  place  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  believe  that — a — nothing  is  settled,'^  said  Acton  Calveley, 
in  a  confidential  voice  and  witii  a  very  mysterious  look,  for  both 
of  which  Lord  Rookbury  resolved  to  take  instant  vengeance. 

"  I  am  sincerely  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  Calveley,"  said  his 
lordship,  in  a  tone  of  great  interest,  ^^  as  it  implies  that  you  are 
not  to  be  congratulated.  Were  it  otherwise,  you  would  have 
known  that  all  is  settled." 

Calveley  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  harder  work  than  a  man  at 
his  time  of  life  ought  to  be  put  to. 

"  Your  information  is  always  so  unexceptionable.  Lord  Rook- 
bury,— and  yet  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  you  are  mistaken — at 
least  premature." 

'^My  dear  Acton,"  said  Lord  Rookbury,  with  an  air  which 
implied  that  he  was  going  to  put  the  matter  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  doubt,  ^^  this  gentleman  —  you  should  know  one 
another,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Carlyon,  Mr.  Calveley  —  this  gentle- 
men is  private  secretary  to  Mr.  Selwyn.  I  suppose  I  need  say 
no  more." 

"Certainly,"  said  Acton,  "that  is  authority  which — but  I 
must  speak  to  Lady  Rotherhithe."  And  he  entered  her  presence, 
rather  abruptly  for  so  very  well-mannered  a  person. 

^^  Ehgible  young  roan,  that,  for  an  Under  Secretary,"  said  Lord 
Rookbury,  looking  after  him  for  a  moment.  '^  What  could  you 
have  to  do  with  it  ? " 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  should  have  asked  him,  if  he  had 
waited,"  said  Bernard.    "  But  why  did  you  refer  to  me  ?  " 

"  To  show  you.what  feather-heads  these  talented  young  men  are^ 
You  must  study  such  people,  as  you  will  be  in  contact  with  a 
good  many  of  them  in  your  time,  Mr.  Secretary  Carlyon." 

Bernard  did  not  answer,  but  he  thought  that,  on  the  whole. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


ASPEN  COXTRT,  12S 

Calveley  was  in  a  more  respectable  position  than  the  Earl^  who 
had  simply  acted  a  lie,  and  had  mystified  the  younger  man.  Re- 
solving, if  he  had  an  opportunity,  to  undeceive  the  latter,  so  far 
as  his  own  share  in  the  affair  was  concerned,  Carlyon  again 
entered  the  saloon,  and  made  his  way  through  the  crowd.  Pre- 
sently he  met  Selwyn,  who  was  coming  away. 

"  Make  the  best  use  of  your  time,  Mr.  Carlyon,*'  said  the  ex- 
minister,  smiling. 

"  Good  advice  from  anybody,**  said  an  exceedingly  pretty 
woman,  with  a  dark  eye  and  a  slightly  resolute  lip,  who  was  look** 
ing  earnestly  at  Selwyn  as  he  passed — "  but  from  you  it  sounds 
like  an  awful  warning.  Anything  particularly  dreadful  going  to 
happen.** 

Selwyn  looked  for  a  moment  as  if  the  rich  musical  voice  of  the 
•speaker  were  not  particularly  welcome  to  his  ear,  but  the  expres- 
sion on  his  well-trained  features  was  so  evanescent  that  it  escaped 
Carlyon,  if  not  the  lady. 

"  Who  could  speak  of  dreadful  things  to  Mrs.  Forester,**  he 
said,  with  a  half  smile,  and  would  have  passed  on,  but  an  advanc- 
ing group  compelled  him  to  pause  for  an  instant,  and  the  painted 
feathers  of  Mrs.  Forester's  fan  lay  on  his  arm. 

**  Why  do  you  avoid  me — why  do  you  eschew  me?**  she  said, 
in  a  low,  earnest  tone.  '*  You  understand  the  word — it  belongs 
to  your  own  school.     You  hate  me.** 

"  Fancy,**  said  Selwyn,  coldly. 

^^  No,**  she  whispered,  "  you  will  not  take  the  trouble  ?  I  am 
not  worth  your  hate  ?  That  is  the  thought  in  your  brain  at  this 
moment.     I  can  read  it.** 

**  You  are  a  first-rate  actress  in  charades,  they  tell  me,  Mrs. 
Forester,**  said  Selwyn,  still  with  a  cold,  but  very  courteous, 
manner,  ^^but  we  all  make  mistakes  at  times.  See,  there  is 
Alboni  going  to  the  instrument — how  delighted  we  are  going  to 
be!** 

"  No  affected  pleasure,  Mr.  Selwyn.  You  are  known  to  care 
nothing  for  music.  But  anything  to  evade  an  answer.  Sit  here 
and  listen  to  Alboni,  and  I  will  promise  not  to  interrupt  your 
newly-discovered  sensations.** 

The  ex-minister's  glance  was  not  one  of  gratification  at  being 
thus  ordered  to  take  his  place  beside  one  of  the  most  charming 
women  in  London,  but  he  could  hardly  disobey  the  command, 
and  as  he  sat  down  he  met  the  keen  eye  of  Lord  Rookbury,  who 
was  watching  the  scene  with  evident  amusement.  As  soon  as  the 
Earl  saw  that  Selwyn  had  observed  him,  he  made  a  little  mocking 
bow,  so  slight  as  to  be  unnoticed,  except  by  his  theological  friend, 
and  then  walked  away  and,  planting  himself  before  the  picture  of 
Joseph  and  Potiphar's  wife,  which  hangs  between  the  windows, 
affected  to  study  the  story. 

The  finest  contralto  voice  in  the  world  then  silenced  everybody, 
until  the  artist,  with  a  frank,  hearty  smile,  put  out  one  plump 
arm  for  the  gloves  which  a  Duke  handed  to  her,  and  the  other 
for  the  bouquet,  over  which  a  Field-Marshal  had  kept  vigilant 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


124  ASPEN  CX)URT. 

guard.  Amid  the  well-bred  raptures  which  followed^  Mrs. 
Forester  said, 

^^  I  humbly  hope  she  has  repaid  you  for  the  vexation  of  having 
to  sit  by  me  for  five  minutes.'* 

^^  What  strange  things  you  say/*  replied  Selwyn. 

^*  And  who  drives  me  both  to  do  and  to  say  strange  things?'* 
returned  the  lady,  reproachfully. 

"  The  Devil,  I  believe,**  said  Selwyn  to  himself,  but  he  framed 
the  reply  somewhat  more  courteously  for  the  lady.  "Is  that 
another  charade  ?**  he  asked,  laughing.     ^*  I  give  it  up.** 

"  You  will  exasperate  me  into  frenzy  one  of  these  days,  with 
your  mocking  coldness,  and  your  resolution  not  to  understand 
and  appreciate  me,  Francis  Selwyn,**  said  the  lady,  bitterly,  **  and 
then  upon  your  conscience  will  lie  any  folly  I  may  commit.  I  do 
not  believe  you  even  read  my  letters.  Do  you,  now  ?  On  your 
honour  as  a  gentleman  ?** 

**  I  read  all  letters,**  said  Selwyn,  with  affected  solemnity,  **  and 
my  secretary  there,  Mr.  Carlyon,  folds,  indorses,  and  files  them. 
He  is  a  most  accurate  person,  I  assure  you.  Mr.  Carlyon,  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  you  to  Mrs.  Forester.  Mr.  Carlyon's 
taste  for  music  is  highly  cultivated,  and  he  will  be  able  to  tell  you 
whether  Alboni*s  last  embroideries  were  legitimate  or  not.**  And 
Selwyn  managed  to  retreat  while  speaking.  The  look  which  fol- 
lowed him  was  not  an  amiable  one,  nor  was  it  lost  upon  a  couple  of 
perfectly-dressed  young  men  who  stood  near.  One  of  them  was 
handsome,  and  wore  dark  moustaches,  which  descended  at  so  acute 
an  angle  that  their  point  up  at  his  nose  seemed  to  connect  the 
arrangement  with  the  invention  for  keeping  a  horse  from  throwing 
down  his  head.  The  other  was  very  fair,  snub-nosed,  rosy,  and 
whiskerless,  with  straight  hnir  and  a  huge  cherub*s-wings  cravat. 

"I  say,  Alfred/*  said  the  moustached  one,  "how  that  Mrs. 
Forester  bores  Selwyn.  The  poor  fellow  has  no  peace  of  his 
life.** 

"  Serves  him  right,**  replied  the  gentleman  addressed  as  Alfred, 
glancing  down  at  his  magnificent  studs.  *^  Why  don*t  he  tell  her 
to  not.  I  should  like  to  catch  her  or  any  other  woman  boring  me, 
if  I  didn*t  choose  to  give  her  encouragement.** 

"  Hang  it,  Manvers,**  said  the  other,  who  having  more  elements 
of  success  about  him^  spoke,  as  is  usual,  in  a  better  tone  than  the 
mere  pretender,  "  what  *s  he  to  do  ?  If  she  likes  him,  there  *s  no 
law  to  prevent  her  telling  him  so.  I  only  wish  it  was  my  case  in- 
stead of  his.** 

**  I  suppose  it  would  be  yours  or  mine  either,  if  we  took  the 
trouble,**  replied  Mr.  Alfired  Manvers. 

The  handsome  man  brought  his  chin  over  the  edge  of  his  neck- 
collar,  in  order  to  look  loftily  at  the  speaker,  as  this  assumption 
of  equality  by  no  means  pleased  him. 

"  Dare  say/*  he  said,  "  but  I  don*t  think  you  know  her.** 

**  But  I  do/*  replied  Manvers ;  ^  I  was  introduced  to  her  at 
Chiswick  by  the  Wintertons.     I  got  up  her  carriage.** 

"  Well,  I  want  to  hear  her  speak  again.     Go  andUtalk  to  her. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ I. 


ASPEN  OOUAT.  12S 

that  s  a  good  feUow.  Her  voice  reminds  me  of  somebody's,  I 
can't  tell  wbote.    I  '11  keep  near  you." 

Mr.  Man  vers  did  not  appear  over-eager  to  accept  the  mission, 
but  he  could  hardly  refuse  it  after  what  he  had  said,  so  he  lounged 
up  to  the  oouch  on  which  Mrs.  Forester  sat,  talking  to  Bernard. 

'^  How  de  doo,  Mrs.  Forester  ?  ^ite  a  crowd.  Alboni  really 
quite  unbearable  to-night — can't  think  what's  possessed  her  to 
sing  that  thing.     She  always  spoils  it." 

Mrs.  Forester  could  see  rather  better  than  most  persons  in  the 
room,  but  that  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  carry  a  weapon 
of  defence  against  Alfreds,  and  so,  having  put  up  her  glass  and 
looked  at  the  speaker  very  conscientiously  for  some  time,  she 
said — 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  very  bad,  but  I  don't  remember  you." 

^'  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  Chiswick  the  other  day," 
siud  Mr.  Manvers,  who  was  growing  hot,  the  rather  as  his  friend 
was  edging  as  close  as  was  convenient.  ^'  I  was  with  Mrs. 
Winterton." 

"  O !"  said  Mrs.  Forester,  as  she  would  have  received  a  ser- 
vant's apology  for  a  mistake,  and  immediately  resuming  her  con- 
versation with  Carlyon.  ^^  Then  you  think  the  statue  idealized 
out  of  all  womanhood — well — yes— but  then — " 

^'  That  will  do,  Al,"  said  his  friend,  passing  him.  ^'  You  needn't 
wait.  I  remember  the  voice  now — it 's  Rachel's,  where  she  speaks 
so  contemptuously  to  what's  his  name — you  know  the  play." 

And  as  Mrs.  Forester  did  not  betray  the  slightest  intention  of 
looking  round  again,  Mr.  Manvers,  after  a  pause,  thought  he  had 
better  not  wait,  and  departed  witlx  malice  m  his  little  heart,  and 
determined  to  hint  scandal  against  her  in  all  places.  She  had 
better  have  spoken  to  the  fool,  whom  she  remembered  perfectly 
(Lucy  Forester  only  forgot  one  thing  in  all  her  life),  and  thanked 
him  for  getting  up  her  carriage,  and  then  he  would  have  been 
harmless.  To  be  sure  he  could  not  do  much  harm,  but  one  never 
knows,  and  besides,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  it  is  not 
Christian-Uke  to  annoy  people. 

Mr.  Manvers,  disconcerted,  made  his  way  into  one  of  the 
smaller  rooms,  and  found  that  some  kind  of  scene  was  in  progress. 
There  was  quite  a  crowd  of  girls  and  men  encircling  somebody, 
who  seemed  busily  making  arrangements  for  a  display  of  inge- 
nuity. Being  a  smallish  person,  Mr.  Manvers  soon  penetrated  to 
the  heart  of  the  mystery.  One  of  Lady  Rotherhithe's  foreign 
pets  was  preparing  tx)  ^^  distinguish  himscdf,"  a  process  which  all 
except  the  best  class  of  foreigners  deem  necessary  in  society.  The 
actor  in  question  was  a  fat  man,  with  rather  short  legs,  over  which 
his  trousers  were  severely  tightened.  He  showed  an  ample  ex- 
pause  of  white  waistcoat,  and  his  hair  was  cropped  so  short,  and 
so  fastened  back  with  cunning  appliances,  that  his  large  elephant 
ears  were  brought  into  almost  undesir  ableprominence.  With  eyes 
very  wide  apart,  with  a  huge  and  terrible  nose,  and  with  a  black 
hedge  of  coarse  moustache  bristling  round  his  mouth,  he  might 
perhaps  have  been  called  hideous  by  those  whose  standard  of 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


126  ASPEN  COURT. 

beauty  is  conventional,  a  class  now  being  heavily  discouraged  by  the 
P.  R.  B.  and  others.  He  was  addressing  his  very  select  audience 
in  perfectly  good  English,  but  illustrating  it  with  Continental 
energy. 

*^  I  must  tell  you,^'  he  said,  ^^  my  dear  friends,  that  as  regards 
music  I  am,  mjrself,  wild,  mad,  frantic,  insane,  distracted,  in  short, 
lunatic.  But  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  a  wretch  who 
blasphemed  music  in  the  person  of  one  of  its  noblest  professors 
is  as  true  as  the  stars.  You  all  know  me,  all  Europe  knows  me, 
all  the  world  knows  the  name  of  Maximilien  St.  Croix  d'Or ; 
therefore,  I  would  not  lie  to  you.    Attend.'* 

With  this  modest  logic,  M.  Maximilien  took  a  chair  in  the 
centre  of  the  admiring  circle. 

"  You  all  know,**  he  said,  "  that  grand  and  glorified  opera  of  the 
heavenly  Carl  Maria  Von  Weber,  I  mean,  of  course,  Der  Frei- 
sckutz.  I  need  not  speak  about  it.  You  know  every  scene. 
Attend.  When  that  opera  was  first  given  to  the  world,  I  was  a 
student  of  medicine  in  the  town  of  oarlzburg.  I  sang,  smoked, 
danced,  drank,  loved — what  is  a  student's  life  ?  My  best  friend, 
Alexis  Lamidoff,  a  young  Russian,  shared  my  song,  my  tobacco 
bag,  my  partners,  my  wine — everything,**  added  the  fat  man, 
"  but  one — the  heart  of  my  Lavinia.** 

A  little  laughter  here  hinted  to  the  narrator,  that  sentiment  was 
ineffective  in  an  English  saloon.  He  remembered  how  in  Germany 
full-sized  men  will  grunt  their  sympathy  at  a  love-tale,  but  he 
went  on. 

"  Der  Freischutz  was  produced  at  our  theatre.  The  students 
attended  en  masse.  Alexis  and  myself  sat  side  by  side.  The 
opera  was  triumphant — it  was  a  glory — it  was  a  madness.  Yet  there 
were  some  who  resisted  its  inspiration.  Among  them,  I  grieve  to 
tell  you,  was  my  own  dearest  friend,  my  Alexis.  He  saw  no 
beauty  in  those  wild  and  demoniac  wailings,  and  he  turned  the 
sweet  love-strains  to  ridicule.  I  bore  it  long,  for  the  first  notes 
bad  done  their  work  on  me,  and  I  could  have  gone  proudly  to 
death  for  the  man  who  thought  out  that  god-like  overture.  Scene 
by  scene,  the  hearts  of  Alexis  and  myself  became  more  and  more 
estranged.  I  remonstrated,  I  implored,  I  entreated,  I  wept,  but 
he  was  first  cold,  then  angry,  then  insulting.  Finally,  when  the 
terrific  scene  opened,  and  Caspar,  surrounded  by  the  skulls,  and 
with  the  fire-eyed  owl  beside  him,  dragged  Adolph  into  the  diabo- 
lical circle,  and  pronounced  the  incantation,  amid  thunder,  and 
the  shrieks  of  the  owl,  and  the  howls  of  the  demons,  Alexis 
burst  into  a  scornful  laughter,  and  hissed.  Yes,  he  Alexis  Lami- 
doff  dared  to  hiss  Von  Weber.  I  can  tell  you  little  more — my 
love  was  hate — I  struck  him,  and  in  a  fierce  battle  we  rolled  under 
the  seats,  and  were  both  kicked  out  of  the  theatre.  We  mutually 
swore  a  deadly  revenge,  and  parted  for  ever.** 

**  Deuced  amusing — glad  it*s  over — drawled  a  haughty-looking 
guardsman  to  the  pretty  girl  on  his  arm.   "  Will  you  have  an  ice  ?** 

"  But  I  do  not  think  it  is  all  over,**  said  the  young  lady.  "  I 
must  hear  it  all.     It*s  delightful.** 

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ASPBN  COUBT*  127 

*'  Too  violent  for  xny  taste,  but  as  you  please,''  replied  the 
guardsman,  vfith  the  air  of  a  martyr. 

"  But  times  changed,''  said  M.  Maximilien,  wiping  his  fore- 
head with  a  pocket  handkerchief,  and  looking  at  it,  to  see  whether 
the  dye  came  off  his  hair ;  ^^  and  I  had  for  some  years  left  the 
medical  profession,  and  had  become  the  manager  of  the  opera  in 
the  city  of  Schlossaltenburg.  The  revolution  broke  out.  I  did 
my  best  to  keep  my  opera  going,  for  music  has  no  party.  When 
the  aristocrats  triumphed,  I  wrote  a  song  in  their  glory,  which  my 
prima  donna  sang  in  an  ecstasy  for  loyalty,  wrapping  the  Duke's 
banner  around  her.  And  when  they  were  murdered  I  wrote  an* 
other  song  in  glory  of  the  revolutionists,  which  my  prima  donna 
sang  in  an  ecstacy  for  liberty,  wrapping  the  tricolor  around  her. 
All  went  well.  Among  my  operas  I  revived  Der  FreisckuiZy  with 
great  splendour,  and  though  my  actors  were  fighting  in  the  barri- 
cades in  the  morning,  and  could  not  attend  reheareals,  still  our 
ensemble  was  superb.  But  one  afternoon,  after  much  fighting  in 
the  streets,  I  was  called  to  the  hospital  to  see  one  of  my  per- 
formers, who  had  been  wounded.  As  I  consoled  him,  my  eye 
fell  on  the  face  of  a  badly-hurt  patient  on  another  bed.  He  wore 
a  uniform,  crimson  with  blood,  dark  with  stains.  It  was  Alexis, 
who  had  entered  the  military  service,  and  who  had  come  to 
Schlossaltenburg  to  fall  upon  our  barricades.  Our  eyes  met 
savagely.  Each  remembered  the  oath  of  deadly  vengeance.  That 
night  he  died." 

M.  Maximilien  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  clearing  his  way  right 
and  left  amid  the  circle,  seized  a  footstool,  a  vase  of  flowers  from 
a  side-table,  a  candelabrum  from  a  bracket,  and  snatching  several 
hats  from  their  astounded  owners,  proceeded  to  range  the  various 
objects  in  a  circle  on  the  floor.  Castmg  his  eyes  around,  he  per- 
ceived one  of  those  quaint  little  owl-inkstands  which  stare  an 
author  out  of  countenance,  and  this  he  placed  on  the  chair  by  his 
side.  Then  tearing  at  a  poker  from  the  hearth,  he  sprang  into  the 
ring  he  had  made. 

**  I  am  Caspar.  Round  me  are  the  skulls  from  which  ihe  fiend- 
light  is  to  gleam  out.  Here  is  the  devil-owL  But  where  is 
Adolph  ?  Ha ! "  he  exclaimed,  seizing  in  his  strong  and  brawny 
hand  the  startled  Mr.  Alfred  Manvers,  he  dragged  that  dandified 
young  gentleman  over  the  hats,  and  into  the  ring,  and,  despite  his 
uncomfortable  protests,  held  him,  as  in  a  vice,  amid  the  laughter 
of  the  spectators. 

**Do  not  laugh,"  he  thundered,  "but  attend.  I  have  told  you 
that  Alexis  died.  The  guardians  of  the  hospital  were  my  friends. 
It  is  enough.  Three  nights  later,  Der  Freischuiz  was  performed— 
the  theatre  was  crowded,  shouting,  maddened.  I  was  the  Caspar. 
The  incantation  scene  came  on,  and  Caspar  stood,  as  now,  in  the 
ring,  and  by  his  side  the  shuddering  Adolph.  The  dreadful  music 
was  played,  the  skulls  flamed  out,  the  owl  shrieked,  the  demons 
yelled,  and  Caspar,  as  now,  fell  upon  his  knees,  holding  a  human 
skull  on  the  point  of  his  sword,  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  fiends.  "  Ha ! 
ha !"  he  shouted,  holding  up  another  hat  on  the  end  of  his  poker. 

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128  ASPBN  COUBT. 

tiuit  skull  was  the  dcutt  qf  my  friend  Alexii.  ^My  friend/  I  ex- 
claimed, ^  you  have  hissed  the  music  of  Der  FrehchUz.  Now,  you 
assist  at  its  perforcnance — have  I  kept  my  oath?''' 

The  group  broke  up,  some  of  the  giris  being  the  least  in  the 
world  fluttered  by  the  story,  and  the  grim  intensity  with  whidi 
M.  St  Croix  D'Or  had  told  the  last  portion. 

"Of  course  you  believe  it,*'  said  Lord  Rookbury,  to  Mrs. 
Forester,  who,  on  Bernard's  arm,  had  been  listening  to  the  cata- 
strophe. 

^  I  bdieve  everything,"  said  beautiful  Lucy  Forester,  *^it  saves 
one  such  a  world  of  bore  from  intelligent  people  who  are  anxioius 
tx>  explain  things  you  doubt  about" 

«*  Quite  right,"  said  Lord  Rookbury.  "Well,  Calveley,  any 
fresh  news  ?  I  told  you  how  things  were  going,  but  you  did  not 
look  as  if  you  believed  me,  though  you  saw  I  was  speaking  to  Mr. 
Selwyn's  confidential  secretary." 

"  Who,  however,"  said  Carlycm, "  begs  to  disclaim  having  fur- 
nished Lord  Rookbury  with  any  information,  or  having  had  any 
to  furnish  him  witii." 

"  That's  the  way  diese  young  diplomatists  talk,"  said  the  Earl, 
coolly.  "They  have  no  conscience.  The  statement  comes  well 
from  him,  as,  now  that  Selwyn  is  gone,  he  and  I  are  the  only 
persons  in  the  room  who  know  ^t  there  is  to  be  no  new 
ministry." 

Acton  Calveley  looked  astonished.  Mrs.  Forester  looked  as- 
tonished. Bernard  Carlyon  was  going  to  look  astonished,  when 
he  remembered  the  peculiar  talents  of  Lord  Rookbury.  The 
Marquis  of  Rotherhithe  came  up. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Rookbury.  Selwyn  has  told  Maria 
that  they  are  all  back  again.     Can  she  have  mistaken  him?" 

"  No,  she  never  misUkes  Mr.  Selwyn,"  said  the  Earl,  looking 
straight  at  Mrs.  Forester  as  he  spoke.  ^^But  then  the  Mar- 
chioness is  a  person  of  tact." 

The  answer  might  have  been  in  Arabic  or  Chinese  for  au^t 
that  it  conveyed  to  any  of  the  hearers  except  the  lady,  who  strug- 
gled hard  against  a  flush,  and  kept  it  down. 

"  How  you  all  stare,"  said  the  Earl.  "  Mr.  Selwyn's  own  secre- 
tary, too,  pretending  that  he  did  not  know  this  afternoon  that  the 
Queen,  on  the  Duke's  advice,  has  ordered  all  the  Ministers  back 
to  their  places  until  further  notice.  Yes,  Mrs.  Forester,  Mr.  Sel- 
wyn and  all,  with  a  thousand  apologies  for  anticipating  your  en- 
?[iiry.  It  is  time  of  peace  again,  now,  my  dear  Marquis,  and  your 
^mple  of  Janus  may  close  as  soon  as  you  like.  The  crisis  is  over, 
and  the  country  rather  better  than  coidd  be  expected." 


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ASPEN  00U1T«  129 

CHAFTBR   XXU 
CHISTLT  INTENDED   FOE   LAWTBE8. 

'^  But  whether  you  intend  to  follow  your  profession  or  not,'* 
said  Mr.  Molesworth  to  Bernard^  shortly  after  the  return  of  the 
latter  from  Aspen  Court,  ^  you  should  qualify  yourself  for  it  by 
passing  your  examination.  It  will  do  you  no  harm,  in  after  Hfe, 
to  have  acquitted  yourself  well,  and  besides,  it  looks  TSgue  and 
scrambling  to  have  given  your  notices  for  the  purpose,  and  to 
have  served  out  your  time,  as  you  have  done,  and  then  to  turn 
away  from  the  Hidl.  A  man  should  complete  what  he  undertakes.^' 

The  arguments  were  unexceptionable,  and  Bernard  Carlvon 
prepared  for  the  examination  which  solicitors  have  been  of  late 
years  required  to  uudei^o,  before  receiving  the  certifiicate  that 
they  are  competent  to  be  trusted  with  the  interests  of  their  fellow- 
subjects.  The  legal  Great-Go  is  not  a  very  formidable  affair, 
however,  and  the  young  gentleman  who  failbs  in  it  must  have 
given  beer  and  cigars  an  unfair  preference  over  Blackstone  and 
Chitty.  In  the  old  times,  the  judge  who  admitted  the  solicitor  to 
practice  was  supposed  to  investigate  his  legal  acquirements ;  but, 
for  many  years  before  the  regular  examination  was  ordained,  the 
judges  imagined  that  they  bad  almost  enough  to  do,  without  per- 
forming this  educational  operation,  and  the  thing  became  a  form. 
Some  stock  anecdotes  on  the  subject  are  still  preserved  for  the 
benefit  of  the  novice — they  are,  however,  the  Joe  Millers  of 
Chancery  Lane,  and  nobody  repeats  them  except  in  lay  company. 
One  of  them  records  that  the  great  lawyer.  Lord  Ellenborough, 
observing  a  country  youth  of  an  ingenuous  appearance  come  up 
to  be  admitted  as  a  solicitor,  burst  upon  him  with  the  foUowii^ 
enquiries — 

"  Well,  Sir,  you  have  learned  the  law  ?'* 

"Yes,  Sir ;  yes,  my  lord  I  mean,  at  least  I  hope  so,''  was  the 
very  proper  reply  of  the  candidate." 

"  Very  well.  Now,  suppose  a  tenant  for  life  should  hold  over, 
what 's  the  remedy  against  him  ?" 

"  Well,  my  lord,  that  is  a  case  in  which — ^let  me  see— yes, 
with  deference  to  your  lordship,  I  presume  that  the  course  would 
be  regular — I  should  proceed  by  ejectment." 

And  the  hope  of  the  village  looked  for  approbation. 

"  Ha !  And  you  'd  serve  the  notice  by  nailing  it  on  the  outside 
of  his  coffin,  I  suppose  ?" 

The  story  is  variously  finished,  according  to  the  taste  of  the 
narrator,  it  may  be  added,  that  the  aspirant  for  a  licence,  on 
comprehending  that  he  had  been  "  sold,"  fell  down  in  a  fit,  or 
jumped  out  of  window,  or  took  the  coach  back  to  Suffolk  and 
cultivated  turnips  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life,  or  assented  to 
the  judge's  view,  adding  an  enquiry  whether  he  would  like  any- 
thing to  drink,  in  all  of  which  ways  facetious  men  have  concluded 
it  in  our  hearing.  But  to  the  uneducated  multitude  it  may  be  as 
w^  for    you    to    explain  that    Lord    EHenborough's    "sell" 


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130  ASPEN  COURT. 

amounted  to  this.  *^  Holding  over^'  means  keeping  possession  of 
property  longer  than  you  are  entitled  to  do,  as  a  man  would  who 
had  a  lease  for  seven  years  and  stayed  for  eight.  But  a  "  tenant 
for  life  *'  can  hardly  adopt  this  unlawful  course,  and  the  zeal  of 
the  apprentice  of  the  law,  who  was  instantly  anxious,  at  the  very 
sound  of  an  apparent  wrong,  to  be  down  upon  the  wrong-doer,  was, 
therefore,  a  little  hasty.  But  on  the  whole,  it  is  better  not  to  tell 
this  or  any  other  story  that  requires  explanation. 

The  Hall  of  the  Law  Society,  in  Chancery  Lane,  has  various 
merits,  and  one  of  them  is  the  remarkable  talent  with  which  the 
architect  has  jammed  it  into  the  narrow  slit  which  alone  could  be 
spared  to  it  in  that  costly  territory.  The  interior  of  the  Hall  is 
handsome,  and  many  bills  of  costs  must  have  been  duly  paid 
before  the  funds  for  raising  the  structure  could  have  been  accu- 
mulated. The  portrait  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  honoured 
members  of  the  profession  is  the  only  offering  by  the  fine  arts  to 
their  sulky  sister,  described  by  Lord  Coke  as  "  the  Lady  Law, 
who  loveth  to  lie  alone.*'  There  are  lectures  delivered,  at  night, 
to  the  rising  generation  of  legalists ;  and  under  the  same  roof, 
moreover,  is  a  very  good  club,  whose  wines  are  choice,  and  have 
been  shed  in  honour  of  many  verdicts  gained — and  lost.  It  was 
into  this  Hall  that  Mr.  Bernard  Carlyon  and  about  a  hundred 
other  gentlemen,  who  had  paid  their  country  one  hundred  and 
twenty  guineas,  were  inducted  one  morning,  in  order  to  its  being 
seen  how  far  they  were  qualified  for  getting  back  that  liberal 
outlay,  and  perhaps  the  odd  thousand  or  thirteen  hundred  pounds 
which  their  fees  and  five  years*  probation  had  cost  most  of  them. 
Far  be  it  from  a  writer  who  hath  to  do  with  social  life  to 
repudiate  the  valued  and  time-honoured  right  of  caricaturing 
lawyers.  What  substitute  could  we  find  for  that  easy  and  popular 
satire,  which  finds  a  response  in  the  heart  of  every  man  who  has 
ever  been  defended  or  punished  by  law  ?  But  there  may  be  no 
objection  to  the  disabusing  the  popular  mind  of  a  current  im- 
pression that  a  solicitor's  education  is  a  cheap  thing ;  and,  indeed, 
I  do  not  know  that  this  is  not  an  artful  way  of  further  prejudicing 
the  public  against  the  profession,  seeing  that  it  will  naturally  and 
liberally  be  supposed  that  the  more  a  lawyer  has  spent,  the  more 
eager  he  will  be  to  get  his  money  back. 

It  was  a  gloomy,  chilly  morning,  and  as  the  assemblage  of  soli- 
citors in  expectancy  waited  the  opening  of  the  doors,  the  general 
aspect  of  the  crowd  was  not  lively.  The  young  lawyer,  however, 
becomes  a  grave  man  of  business  long  before  the  collegian  or  the 
medical  student  has  finished  what  I  am  told  is  called  larking.  There 
is  such  an  utter  absence  of  everything  but  prosaic  commonplace  in 
the  lawyer's  avocation  (with  the  exception  of  that  very  small  pro- 
portion of  his  engagements  which  connects  itself  with  the  public 
trials)  and  such  an  absolute  necessity  for  that  commonplace  to  be 
regularly  and  strictly  followed  out,  that  a  few  months  of  such 
pursuit  tones  down  the  young  professional  man  into  order  and 
gravity.  He  has  no  animatiRg  struggle,  no  collegiate  honours  to 
prompt  and  to  reward  his  nights  of  toil  and  labour ;  he  sees  none 


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ASPEN  COURT*  131 

of  the  strange  and  varying  physical  phenomena  which  render  the 
medical  career  one  of  incessantly  shifting  excitement*  And  with* 
out  any  vnlgar  disparagement  of  a  noble  callings  rendered  ignoble 
only  by  exceptional  followers,  it  is  impossible  to  deny,  that  while 
the  coU^ian's  studies  are  chiefly  of  an  elevating  character^  and 
while  the  wildest  young  fellow  who  ever  ran  the  hospital  must  feel 
that  in  every  bandage  he  secures,  every  muscle  he  learns^  he  is 
personally  doing  something  for  the  good  of  humanity,  the  young 
lawyer  must  take  an  unusually  extended  view  of  his  business,  if 
he  sees  in  it  much  more  than  a  complicated  machine  for  helpihg 
mankind  to  indulge  its  antagonism  according  to  rule.  His  own 
share  in  the  working  of  the  engine  into  one  end  of  which  we  cram 
a  furious,  bewildered,  and  prejudiced  brace  of  enemies^  while  from 
the  other  we  draw  a  pellucid  stream  of  equity,  is  usually  so  in- 
direct as  scarcely  to  be  appreciable.  The  absence  of  any  direct 
and  visible  purpose  in  nine-tenths  of  a  young  lawyer's  work  may 
have  something  to  do  with  the  premature  absence  of  outward 
interest  in  it.  The  groups  which  clustered  in  the  portico  of  the 
Law  Hall  on  the  morning  in  question,  presented  a  marked  con- 
trast to  similar  gatherings  at  Guy^s  and  at  the  University. 

Most  of  the  men  looked  as  if  they  had  been  reading  hard,  and 
these  were  calm  and  confident  enough.  But  there  were  a  few  who 
had  scorned  any  preparatory  training,  and  had  been  very  vauntful 
until  within  a  few  days  of  the  appointed  date,  when  they  suddenly 
grew  frightened  and  laid  out  for  themselves  a  system  of  reading 
which  no  one  but  the  man  who  got  through  Euclid  at  breakfast 
(omitting  the  childish  ABC  and  D  and  the  fooUsb  pictures)  could 
ever  accompli^  in  the  time.  Consequently  they  came  up,  lU  with 
their  gigantic  efforts,  and  flustered  at  their  inefficacy.  It  was  a 
little  piteous  to  hear  a  few  of  the  questions  these  men  put  to 
better  informed  friends,  and  the  helpless  want  of  mental  digestion 
displayed  by  the  enquirers.  Among  them  there  was  a  fast  young 
gentleman,  named  BUber  (somewhat  of  our  friend  Mr.  Chequer- 
bent's  school),  who  was  especially  conscious  of  having  neglected 
his  studies.  He,  in  his  despair,  had  devised  a  smaU  theory  of 
mnemonics,  which  he  trusted  would  help  him  to  recollect  some  of 
the  more  salient  points  in  the  law  creed.  He  had  been  Uving 
rather  too  hard  in  more  senses  than  one.  Coming  up  to  Bernard, 
whom  he  knew,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

^  I  say — do  me  a  favour.  Ask  me  a  question  or  two,  such  as 
you  think  the  fellows  inside  will  put.'' 

Carlyon  laughed,  and,  knowing  bis  man,  asked  him  a  very 
simple  Chancery  question  indeed — one  equivalent  to  asking  a 
young  lady  over  her  first  musio-book,  how  many  semitones  there 
are  in  an  octave. 

"  Stop,"  he  answered,  *^  don't  hurry  me.  I  'U  tell  you*  William, 
that  means  a  bill ;  resurrectionist,  that 's  revivor ;  don't  hurry  me 
—last  part  of  the  Tiinef,  that's  supplement." 

^*  Just  so,  a  bill  of  revivor  and  supplement,"  said  Bernard.  ^^I 
think  I  hke  your  system,  but  you  have  only  answered  half  the 
question." 

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132  ASPBN   COURT. 

**  I  know  that.  I  'm  going  on/'  and  he  struggled  to  recall  his 
imagery.  ^^  Ck>nfoand  it,  if  they  would  examine  roe  in  my  own 
chambers  I  should  be  perfect,  because  I  know  to  what  comers  to 
look  for  my  signs,  but  here  I  am  lost.  Revivor  and  supplement, 
well,  so  far  so  good.  Then  there's  a  nobleman^s  cddest  son 
William,  that's  a  second  title  to  the  bill ;  and  then  a  chap  beating 
dothesy  that 's  abating  the  suit ;  and  then,  a  theatrical  bespeal^ 
that 's  praying  a  specific  performance*  No,  I  don't  seem  to  have 
got  what  you  ask.    Try  another." 

"  Yes— what's  that  dirty  fellow  eyeing  you  in  that  curious  way 
for.  He  looks  like  one  of  Tango's  men.  Are  you  afraid  of  any- 
Aing  ?  Shall  I  speak  to  him  ?  It  won't  do  to  be  cai^ht  to-day, 
you  know." 

^^  Would  you  be  so  good,"  returned  the  last  man,  looking  round 
in  some  trepidation. 

Bernard  had  seen  this  sort  of  thing,  and  die  watcher  and  he  came 
quickly  to  an  imderstauding,  promoted  by  Carlyon's  fingers  coming 
into  contact  with  the  other's  dirty  paw  for  a  moment. 

"  I  can't  say  after  to-day,"  said  the  man  mysteriously. 

**  After  to-day,  I  dare  say  he  don't  care,"  said  Bernard,  **and 
he's  always  to  be  found,  you  know." 

'^  No  go,"  said  a  keen-faced,  dark-eyed,  not  ill-looking  person, 
evidently  of  the  Hebraic  faith,  gliding  from  round  a  column — ^^  I 
must  have  him,  Mr.  Carlyon.  The  clerk  to  the  firm  that  sues  is 
actually  standing  there,  going  up  to  be  examined.  He  sent  over 
for  me.  There 's  no  help,  unless  he  had  the  sense  to  bolt,  and  now 
it's  too  late." 

**  Deuced  bard  upon  a  fellow,  on  the  day  on  \diich  his  chances 
all  depend.     I'll  speak  to  the  other  man." 

"  No  go,  I  tell  you.  He  's  now  pointing  at  Bliber  with  his 
thumb,  behind  his  back.  What  an  ass  Bliber  was  not  to  cut« 
Ah,  he  's  going  to  try  it  now,  but  it's  of  no  use.  Exactly  so,  the 
other  man  is  pretending  to  be  friendly  and  reallv  stopping  him, 
see«  Between  you  and  me  and  this  stone  post  it  don't  matter,  for 
BUber's  no  more  chance  of  passing  than  that  cab,  which  U 
passing — you'll  say,  not  bad.  My  boy,  Solomon,  who 's  eleven,  has 
picked  up  more  law.     Mr.  Bliber,  sir." 

The  capture  was  made,  and  Mr.  Bliber  was  in  the  custody  of 
the  sheriff.  He  looked  radier  depressed,  poor  fellow,  as  he  de- 
parted across  the  street  with  the  officer. 

^^  I  '11  come  over  to  you  as  soon  as  this  is  done,"  said  Bernard ; 
^'  keep  up  your  spirits.  And,"  he  said,  rather  loudly,  addressing 
those  about  him,  ''if  any  other  person  has  apprehensions,  I 
advise  him  to  be  off  at  once,  as  there  is  a  gentleman  here,"  and  he 
looked  at  the  informant,  ''whose  good  feeling  at  such  a  time 
teaches  him  to  point  out  his  fellow-candidates  to  the  bailiffs." 

The  individual  in  question,  an  undersised,  wiry,  rather  unclean 
looking  person,  angnly  desired  Mr.  Carlyon  to  mind  his  own 
business. 

"I  should  recommend  anybody  to  mind  his  own  business, 
rather  than  entrust  it  to  such  dirty  hands  as  yours,"  replied  Ber-* 

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A8FCW  OOCBZ,  18S 

nard,  a  retort  which,  being  impertment  rather  than  witty,  told  with 
great  effect  upon  the  by-stamters.  One  of  them,  a  stalwart  young 
Sootehsaan,  brought  a  long,  lean,  but  heayy  arm  upon  the  hat  of 
the  small  man,  and  inextricably  bonneted  him  with  the  blow. 
The  doors  at  that  moment  opened,  and  the  blinded  man,  struggling 
in  his  liat,  was  hastled  by  the  indignant  crowd,  and  tiirust  with, 
many  kidos  into  the  rear  of  the  gronp.  And  as  several  of  the  men, 
as  they  went  in,  gravely  assured  the  doorkeepers  that  the  fellow 
was  a  well-known  pickpocket,  the  entry  which  he  was  ultimately 
permitted  to  make  into  the  Hall  was  not  altogether  triumphant. 

For  the  awful  ceremony  of  the  examination,  rows  or  tables, 
oorered  with  green  baise,  and  furnished  with  writing  materials, 
ran  up  the  Hall,  and  at  the  end  a  transrerse  table  was  placed  for 
the  examiners,  who  were  leading  members  of  the  profession,  and 
gentlemen  in  whom  it  was  impossible  not  to  place  the  fullest  con* 
fidence*  The  candidates  took  their  seats,  and  there  was  a  pause 
for  some  minutes,  during  which  recognitions  were  made,  and  quiet 
jokes  exchanged. 

**  Which  department  are  you  strongest  in,  Tom  ?"  asked  a  can- 
didate of  his  neighbour. 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  Pm  weakest  in  criminal  law.'* 

"  What,  after  appearing  so  often  before  the  beaks  to  be  fined  ?" 

'*  Oh,  you  be*hanged  !*'  replied  the  other,  closing  the  dialogue 
with  a  retort  that  resembles  the  barber's  chair,  mentioned  by  one 
of  Shakspeare's  clowns,  which  fits  everybody. 

"  I  have  been  readmg  in  a  conveyancer's  chambers,''  said  a  third 
expectant.  ^^None  of  your  pettifogging  work  for  me.  I  shall 
laneat  them  with  such  essays  on  shifting  clauses,  and  discontinu- 
ance, and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  diat  they  will  take  the  rest  for 
granted." 

**  On  the  contrary,  you  write  such  a  hand  that  they'll  pluck  you 
out  of  mere  spite,  for  giving  them  so  much  trouble." 

The  printed  papers  of  questions  were  now  handed  round,  and 
it  was  with  a  sort  of  flutter  that  the  rai^rity  of  the  candidates 
eagerly  skimmed  the  list  to  see  what  was  their  general  chance  of 
mdting  satisfactory  retries.  There  were  about  eighty  questions, 
and  these  were  divided  into  six  or  seven  classes,  eaeh  set  being 
iMropounded  in  reference  to  some  separate  department  of  law. 
Bernard  speedily  saw  that  in  four  of  the  classes  he  was  perfectly  easy, 
and  that  he  could  give  a  sufficiency  of  reasonably  exact  replies  to 
the  remaining  queries.  The  distinction  wiU  be  understood,  when 
it  is  mentioned  that  in  the  more  aristocratic  offices  conveyancing 
and  chancery  practice  are  chiefly  attended  to,  while  in  others  com- 
mon law  is  the  sheet  anchor.  Criminal  law  is  almost  exclusively 
confined  to  certain  establishments,  and  few  of  the  generality  of 
young  lawyers  know  more  about  it  than  they  learn  from  the  police 
reports. 

In  the  first  half  hour  there  was  a  dead  silence,  every  man  study- 
ing his  paper.  The  seats  are  placed  at  such  a  distance  that  com- 
munication between  the  candidates  is  not  easy,  and  there  is,  besides, 
a  sort  of  gentlemanly  patrol  constantly  walking  up  and  down  to  see 

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134  ASPEN   COURT. 

that  men  do  not  help  one  another.  But  they  manage  to  do  a  little 
in  that  way,  and  small  rolls  of  paper  might  be  seen  gliding  along 
the  green  baize,  like  miniature  billiard-balls,  in  several  directions^ 
sometimes  in  any  line  but  that  desired  by  the  propeller^  They  were 
not  always,  however,  petitions  for  advice,  some  of  them  containing 
miscellaneous  criticism.  One  rolled  so  near  the  patrol,  that  though 
not  willing  to  see  more  than  he  was  obliged,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  taking  it  up,  and  though  no  steps  resulted,  it  was  subse- 
quently known  to  have  been  read  at  the  examiners'  board.  It 
contained  a  very  irreverent  and  indecorous  illustration  of  the 
whole  proceeding, 

"  The  old  Fagins  at  the  end  of  the  Hall  respectfully  reqaest  that 
their  pupils,  the  younffprigs,  will  look  alive.  Therefore,  JameSy  go 
a-headP 

An  hour  passed,  and  a  few  of  the  more  rapid  candidates  com- 
pleted their  work,  and  successively  carried  up  their  replies  to  the 
examination  table.  They  were  desired  to  leave  them,  and  not  to 
retain  copies  of  their  answers. 

*^  What 's  that  injunction  for,  do  you  suppose  V^  asked  one  man 
of  another,  as  they  went  out. 

^^  That  we  may  not  be  able  to  prove  them  in  the  wrong,  if  they 
pluck  us  for  incompetency .'* 

^^  I  conclude  that  one  of  the  examiners  is  going  to  publish  a 
law  book,  and  wished  to  avail  himself  of  my  incomparable  notes 
on  the  subject.  I  hope  he  means  to  write  on  Criminal  law,  as  I 
flatter  myself  I  have  rather  done  the  thing.  I  know  nothing  about 
it,  but  I  have  answered  all  the  questions/' 

"  Deuce  you  have  ?  I  left  them  blank.  Before  whom  have 
you  said  that  offences  committed  on  the  High  Seas  are  to  be 
tried?'' 

"  Before  the  Lord  Mayor,  of  course." 

"  Nonsense.     Why  ?" 

**  Because  he  is  Con^icrvator  of  the  River  Thames.  That 's  near 
enough  for  a  gentleman,  who  never  dirtied  his  hands  with  Crim- 
inal law." 

Carlyon  was  not  among  the  first  group  who  went  up,  nor  was 
he  latest.  Long  after  he  had  left,  a  large  body  of  the  candidates 
sat,  and  some  ot  them  lingered  until  late  in  the  day.  Considering 
that  no  young  lawyer  receives  the  slightest  training  or  direction 
from  his  employers  as  to  his  course  of  study,  beyond,  possibly,  a 
recommendation  to  buy  one  or  two  of  the  standard  .books,  and,  as 
there  is  no  recognized  system  round  which  his  reading  can  be  con- 
centrated, it  is  creditable  to  the  shrewdness  and  industry  of  the  rising 
legal  generation  that  they  manage  to  collect  so  large  a  quantity  of 
information,  and  to  pass  their  examinations  creditably.  It  would 
be  unjust,  under  the  circumstances,  to  make  the  trial  very  severe, 
but  even  conducted  as  it  is,  with  every  desire  to  help  rather  than 
to  hinder  the  candidates,  a  few  fall  victims  to  their  own  idleness, 
and  to  the  want  of  the  ordinary  assistance  afforded  to  every  other 
class  to  whom  such  tests  are  proposed.  A  few  lectures  to  which 
the  guardian  of  our  interests  (and  who,  according  to  the  greatest 


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A8PBN  COURT.  136 

living  lawyer,  mast  now  be  always  at  our  elbow  to  scare  away  the 
Saccession-Daty  vultares)  nay  subscribe  or  not  as  he  pleases^  are 
ail  the  assistance  afforded  to  help  him  in  self-qualification. 

It  was  contrived  that  the  story  of  the  bailiff  and  the  man  who 
had  pointed  out  the  victim  shoiud  reach  the  examiners^  table,  and 
possibly,  when  the  paper  was  brought  up,  the  tone  of  the  receiver 
was  more  brusque  than  it  had  been  in  other  cases.  But  the  un- 
clean little  individual  knew  his  work,  and  had  done  it  fairly,  and 
however  glad  the  authorities  might  have  been  to  pluck  a  man  by 
no  means  likely  to  adorn  the  profession,  they  would  not  commit 
the  injustice  of  straining  the  slightest  point  against  him.  I  am 
glad  that  he  was  kicked,  but  I  should  have  been  sorry  had  he  been 
plucked,  for,  unclean  and  discourteous  as  he  was,  and  mean  as  ap- 
peared the  act  he  had  committed — I  fear  he  had  no  option — he 
executed  the  express  orders  given  him  by  the  firm  which  he  was 
serving.  A  gentleman  would  have  refused  compliance,  but  this 
person  was  not  one,  but  had  his  articles  given  him,  as  the  phrase 
is,  in  exchange  for  exceeding  hard  service,  and  on  a  miserable  sti- 
pend he  was  just  keeping  alive  a  long  white  sickly  wife,  and  seven 
or  eight  little  children,  as  wiry  and  as  unclean  as  nimself.  How  he 
had  scraped  together  his  stamp-money  is  only  known  to  himself, 
and  perhaps  to  some  disreputable  clients  in  the  Borough  for  whom 
he  collected  rents,  and  did  all  sorts  of  work  at  over-hours.  He 
was  a  poor,  struggling,  ill-conditioned  creature,  but  I  do  not  know 
that  he  ought  to  have  been  ruined.  Such  men,  however,  wriggle 
into  the  profession  of  the  law,  and  those  who  are  unfortunate 
enough  to  come  in  contact  with  one  of  them,  never  quite  forget  it, 
even  in  the  acquaintance  of  a  hundred  high-bred  and  honourable 
'fellows,  nominaily  of  the  same  calling.  But  this  is  another  sense 
in  which  the  law — and  not  the  London  Tavern — is  open  to  **  every- 
body.'^ 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
M&.  Carlton's  coerbspoitdints. 


No.  1.— Thi  Musks  Wilmblow. 

Aspen  Court,  Wednesday^ 
Dear  Mr.  Carlyon,  and  several  other  days, 

We  have  devised  a  much  better  plan  than  yours.  Instead 
of  our  writing  separate  notes  to  you,  and  boring  you  with  the 
same  things  three  times  over,  which  we  should  very  likely  do,  we 
intend  all  three  to  join  in  the  same  letter,  and  so  each  can  relieve 
the  other.  This  we  consider  a  most  clever  invention,  and  what- 
ever merit  it  has  belongs  to  Kate.  [A  great  story.  Amy  thought 
of  it  first.  A.]  First  you  will,  of  course,  be  naturally  anxious  to 
know  how  the  squirrel  is.  Well,  it  is  dead.  We  think  that  the 
poor  thing's  loss  is  entirely  the  result  of  Amy's  allowing  it  to 
nibble  a  cake  of  vermilion  out  of  her  colour-box.  [We  don't 
think  anything  of  the  kindy  Bernard,  it  was  frightened  to  death  b^ 
a  strange  cat.  A.]  However,  pertiaps  it  is  for  the  best,  for  it 
used  to  eat  holes  in  the  new  curtains,  and  though  mamma  is  sorry 

VOL.   XXXIV.  Digitized  by-      L  Z 


136  A8i«7  coxmt. 

it  is  dead;  we  think  she  used  to  set  <^e' winctow  open  to  let  it  run 
away,  which  was  very  artful  of  her.  We  tell  her -we  should  like 
her  very  much  if  she  were  not' so  artful.     [She's  a  tkar.    A.] 

We  suppose  that  you  go  every  night  to  the  Opera,  and,  there- 
fore^  we  expect  that  you  will  send  us  some  new  music,  of  tite  best 
kind,  but  it  had  better  not  be  too  difficult.  You  will  easily  guess 
whose  laziness  dictated  this  last  sentence.  [Not  mine.  A.] 
K<ite  and  Emma  can  now  manage  Crhmo  (Forrore  tolerably  well 
in  their  own  estimation,  but  their  parents  do  not  listen  to  it  with 
much  enthusiasm,  mamma  saying  that  we  **  want  practice,*'  and 
papa  telling  us,  in  rather  strong  terms,  that  we  want  diabh ! 
Kate  thinks  that  if  she  could  hear  it  once  given  by  the  first-rate 
people,  she  should  know,  at  all  events,  where  our  weakness  is. 
As  for  Amy,  she  scarcely  ever  touches  the  instrument,  except  to 
ridicule  us.  [Do  not  believe  them.  She  practised  yesterday.  A.] 
Yes,  while  we  were  putting  on  our  bonnets. 

Martha  brought  us  in  four  hedge-hogs  yesterday,  but  they 
are  stupid  little  things,  and  we  are  going  to  send  them  away^ 
because  papa  sets  Blue  at  them,  and  t^e  foolish  dog  gets  his  nose 
all  scratched  to  pieces.  There  is  a  superstition  about  them,  it 
seems,  that  they  keep  off  evil  eyes.  We  told  this  to  Lord  Rook- 
bury,  who  has  been  over  here  several  times,  and  he  laughed 
heartily,  and  said  something  in  French  which  we  could  none  of  us 
catch.  Perhaps  it  was  a  proverb,  and  you  know  it  ?  Lord  Rook- 
bury  seems  to  have  taken  a  great  liking  for  papa,  and  walks  about 
the  grounds  with  him  for  an  hour  together.  They  seem  to  have 
known  a  good  many  people  in  common,  whom  they  call  by  the 
oddest  names.  [Mamma  don't  like  the  Earl.  A.]  Amy  has  no 
right  to  say  this,  Mr.  Car] yon.  Mamma  hc(t  never  said  anything 
of  the  kind,  and  we  have  scolded  Amy  for  putting  it  in,  but  she 
insists  in  having  her  way.  [They  kno\f  it  as  well  as  I  do.  A.] 
Pray  take  no  notice  of  such  nonsense. 

You  must  write  very  soon  and  tell  us  how  you  are  going  on, 
and  how  you  like  your  new  engagements.  Amy  says  that  if  there 
are  any  young  ladies  in  the  family  you  are  not  to  offer  to  improve 
their  writing,  as  hers  does  you  no  credit.  It  is  right  to  say  that 
she  has  not  written  a  copy  since  you  left.  She  has  now  run  up- 
stairs, we  believe  to  scramble  over  one,  in  order  to  contradict 
this« 

Dear  Mr.  Cariyon,  one  word  in  perfect  confidence,  and  do  not 
allude  to  it  when  you  write  back.  We  are  not  quite  happy  about 
the  friendship  between  papa  and  a  certain  person.  There  seems 
no  reason  for  it,  and  mamma,  we  are  certain,  listens  earnestly  to 
what  they  say  when  she  meets  them ;  but  before  they  come  up  to 
her  Lord  R.  changes  his  voice,  and  papa  looks  very  mysterious. 
If  it  is  wrong  to  ask  you  whether  you  understand  it  at  all,  we  are 
very  sorry  that  we  have  mentioned  it.  Kate  wishes  it  known  that 
she  advised  this  to  be  written.  We  hope  that  there  are  no  more 
troubles  in  store  for  mamma.  Pray  exonse  the  liberty  of  asking 
you  whether  it  means  anjrthmg.  What  can  Lord  R.  want  fviih 
fopa? 


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Monai  Gomr.  187 

Amy  insists  on  finishing  the  letter.  I  assure  you,  Bernard,  I 
have  practised  a  great  deal,. and  have* written  a  beautiful  copy. 
You  might  send  me  something  from  town  to  amuse  me,  but  I 
suppose  you  are  so  taken  up  with  your  fine  ladies  and  your 'mem- 
hew  of  Parliament,  and  your  operas,  that  you  nei^r  think  of  me. 
Never  mind,  *^  I  am  but  as  one^castaway,^'  butl  think  yonmig^ 
send  the  drawing-book,  and  the. pattern  for  the  slippers. 
We  enclose  you  our  united  kind  regards,  and  are. 
Dear  Mr.  Carlyon, 

Yours,  very  sincerely, 
Emma.^ 

KaTB.  >  WlIiMBIiOW. 
Bernard  Carlyon,  Esq.  Amy.     ) 

[P.S.  Answer  to  Kate,    I  am  certain  she  will  like  it. — A.] 

No.  2. — Mb.  Paul  Chsquzrbbnt. 
My  Dear  Carlyon,  Southend,  Essex. 

Once  more  I  want  you  to  get  me  out  of  a  scrape,  and  posi« 
tively  for  the  third  and  last  time  of  asking.  I  was  going  to  write 
that  I  would  do  the  same  for  you,  but  you  never  get  into  scrapes, 
at  least  not  to  my  knowledge,  so  I  can  only  say,  that  if  ev«r  you 
do,  command  Paul  Chequerbent. 

"  Amoy  amasy  I  love  a  lass.^^  If  that  does  not  tell  you  the  whole 
story,  I  cannot  help  it.  But  the  fact  is  this.  I  ought  to  have 
gone  down  to  you  at  Thingamy  Court.  Well,  I  did  not.  I  went 
to  a  b^U,  and  then  to  the  station-house,  and  then  to  dinner  (a 
precious  bad  one),  and  then  to  Gravesend,  and  then  I  nearly  went 
to  the  bottom  of  the  Thames,  and  but  for  a  spendid  display  of 
heroism  on  my  part,  whitebait  would  be  lunching  on  me  at  this 
present  writing. 

I  am  here — here  means  a  horribly  retired  watering-place  on  the 
Thames,  and  I  am  at  the  principal  mn,  with  two  virtuous  females 
in  distress  living  with  me.  One  of  them  weighs  about  nineteen 
stone.  We  are  in  pawn.  I  have^apent  all  my  money,  and  there- 
fore make  it  up  in  swagger,  for  fear  the  landlord  should  suspect 
anything.  Just  now,  as  a  mere  .financial  operation,  I  threatened  to 
smash  the  waiter,  a  warlike  attitude  sending  up  the  funds.  But 
this  cannot  go  on. 

Will  you  do  two  things  ?  See  the  old  Mole,  and  make  it  all 
right  for  me  to  come  back  to  the  ofiBce.  Tell  him  I  am  innocent 
or  penitent,  or  have  got  the  measles,  or  anything  you  think  will 
soften  his  heart,  for  he  is  a  stern  and  oyster  man.  Next,  manage 
to  send  me  a  post-office  order  for  ten  pounds,  and  I  will  pay 
you  back  in  a  fortnight  at  latest,  adding  the  blessings  of  a  ship- 
wrecked mariner.  If  you  knew  what  a  pretty  girl  was  in  pawn 
with  me,  to  say  nothing  of  an  exceedingly  heavy  Christian, 
nineteen  stone  as  aforesaid,  you  would  hasten  to  take  us  out* 
Till  you  do,  I  must  go  on  ordering  champagne  and  insulting  the 
waiter.  Perpetually  yours, 

PAUii  Chequerbent. 

Beraaid  Carlyon,  Esq.  jr>2         , 

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188  ASPEN  COUST. 

No.  3.— Me.  Mouswobtb. 
Dear  Bernard, 

I  dined  at  the  Law  Club  this  evening,  and  of  course  met 
some  of  the  dons  who  had  presided  at  the  examination.  Tou 
may  like  to  know  that  your  answers  are  perfectly  satisfactory, 
and  something  more,  and  regret  was  expressed  that  a  man  who 
had  mastered  his  work  should  desert  it  when  likely  to  be  profit- 
able.   I  forestal  the  official  intimation.    Let  me  see  you  to-morrow. 

Yours  truly, 

S.   MOLESWORTH. 
Blr.  CarlyoDy 

No.  4. — Lilian  Teeyeltan. 

Five  letters  from  you,  dearest  Bernard,  and  only  one  poor 
little  note  from  me  in  answer,  and  yet  perfug^,  that  one  little  note 
caused  me  more  thought  than  you  bestowed  upon  all  your  kind 
letters.  Ah  !  I  hear  your  reply  as  clearly  as  if  you  were  murmur- 
ing it  at  my  ear.  Tou  would  tell  me  to  let  mv  heart  speak  as  you 
do  yours,  and  then  there  would  be  little  neea  for  thought  Tell 
me  when  you  write,  Bernard,  whether  those  were  not  the  words 
that  flew  to  your  lips  when  you  read  what  I  have  written.  And 
yet  you  need  not,  for  I  am  certain  they  were.  Indeed  my  heart 
IS  speaking  to  you.  Sometimes  I  think  that  it  can  speak  better 
in  a  letter  than  when  we  are  together,  and  then  again  I  know  that 
it  is  not  so.  Bernard,  you  must  not  read  my  letters  with  your 
eye  only,  but  take  them  into  some  quiet  place  and  read  them  * 
aloud  to  yourself.  Try  to  put  Lilian's  accents  upon  Lilian's 
words.  She  will  trust  you  to  be  her  interpreter,  for  she  believes 
that  you  understand  her.     I  will  answer  for  that  on  her  part. 

You  have  never  loved  before,  dear  Bernard  (do  I  write  your 
name  too  often  ? — ah,  if  you  could  only  see — but  never  mind),  but 
you  must  have  been  loved.  Perhaps  there  is  some  poor  woman's 
heart  that  loves  you  now.  I  rest  so  perfectly  tranquil  in  my 
entire  faith  in  you,  that  I  could  hear  that  it  was  so,  and  feel  only 
kindness  for  her  and  pity.  But  I  have  an  earnest  desire  to  know 
whether  all  women  who  truly  love  are  possessed  by  that  bewilder- 
ing sense  of  emotion,  which  is  now  my'trouble  and  my  delight.  Ber- 
nard, since  that  day,  all  that  I  see,  all  that  I  read,  all  that  I  hear^ 
has  a  new  meaning.  There  is  a  whirl  around  me,  and  yet  I  am  at 
peace.  I  feel  a  thousand  times  more  estranged  from  the  world, 
and  yet  there  is  nothing  in  which  I  do  not  feel  an  interest.  I 
have  heard  of  the  selfishness  of  love,  and  I  may  be  unknowingly 
selfish,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  my  heart  has  expanded,  and  finds 
something  good  and  joyous,  turn  where  it  will.  But  I  have  a 
eood  mind  to  strike  out  all  that  I  have  said.  If  I  let  it  remain  it 
IS  only  on  condition  that  you  promise  to  remember  this,  that  I 
have  been  brought  up  in  almost  isolation,  and  if  I  speak  too 
frankly — no,  I  do  not,  but  perhaps  I  am  giving  but  a  foolish,  im- 

Eulsive  utterance  to  my  sensations.    Are  you  reading  this  iJoud, 
lemard  ?    If  you  are,  you  will  not  smile,  but  I  am  a^d  to  look 

Digitized  by  VjjC- 


► 


A8PEN  CX)intT.  189 

back  and  see  what  I  have  written.  How  different  is  the  feeling 
with  which  I  read  every  line,  every  word  of  yours — ^read  it  as  a 
whole,  and  in  separate  sentences,  and  comparing  one  word  with 
another — come,  I  will  let  you  smile  now. 

Not  a  word  has  passed  between  Mr.  Heywood  and  me  upon  the 
subject.  He  has  never  introduced  your  name,  and,  as  you  may  be 
sure,  I  have  not  done  so.  But  I  am  certain  that  you  are  not  out 
of  his  thoughts — I  know  this  from  little  symptoms  which  it  is  but 
of  late  that  I  have  thought  of  remarking.  In  speaking  only  yes- 
terday  to  a  visitor,  he  quoted  something  that  you  said,  on  your 
first  visit,  and  he  used  your  exact  words,  and  then  scoffed  at  the 
opinion,  but  he  never  alluded  to  you.  And  he  has  discarded  a 
favourite  book  which  used  seldom  to  be  out  of  his  hand — the  title 
is  "  The  works  of  F.  Rabelais,  Physician.^*  I  am  certain  that  you 
spoke  of  the  book,  and  he  threw  it  away  one  day,  remarking  that 
he  supposed  that  it  would  be  a  school-book  one  of  these  days, 
considering  what  sort  of  persons  professed  to  understand  it  now. 
I  am  positive  that  he  alluded  to  you,  and  the  more  so,  because  he 
would  not  look  at  me  while  he  spoke.  Am  I  not  a  keen-sighted 
little  spy  ?  But  I  hope  it  does  not  vex  you  to  hear  this  ?  Mr» 
Heywood  is  a  clever  person,  but  dreadfully  prejudiced,  and  bitter 
when  he  takes  an  antipathy. 

My  dear,  dear  Bernard !  That  is  what  I  want  to  repeat  to  you 
until  you  are  tired  of  heariiu^  it,  and  so  long  as  you  please  you  may 
&ay  it  to  yourself  for  me.  You  must  pardon  anything  that  you  do 
not  altogether  like  in  my  letter,  and  say  to  yourself  ^  poor  Lilian 
has  been  neglected,  but  we  will  teach  her  better.'  God  bless  you, 
my  own  Bernard.  Your  affectionate 

Lilian. 

Bernard  Carlyon,  Esq. 

P.S. — ^Every  day  ?  Of  course.  And  if  there  are  two  posts, 
which  I  think  there  are,  you  are  to  write  twice  a-day.  I  wonder 
whether  you  wear  that  chain. 

No.  5. — Mas.  FoEESTEB. 

My  Drab  Mr.  Carlyon,  Park  Street,  Friday. 

If  you  are  the  good-natured  person  you  professed  yourself  to 
be,  you  will  look  in  here  to-morrow  night,  after  the  Opera.  There 
will  be  two  or  three  pleasant  girls,  so  you  need  not  be  a&aid  of  a 
tiie-a-tite  with 

That  Mrs.  Forester. 

P.S.  Mind.    I  should  not  cisk  you,  if  I  did  not  want  you. 

No.  6. — Ma.  BLIBE&. 
My  Dear  Carlyon,  HotelJerusalem. 

I  can't  turn  in  until  I  have  scribbled  a  few  words  to  thank 
you  for  vour  kindness  to-day,  and,  as  they  charge  threepence  for  a 
sheet  of  paper,  a  penny  for  a  wafer,  and  twopence  for  a  Queen's 
head,  here  goes  for  six  penn'orth  of  gratitude*     Nonsense  apurt. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


140  ASPEN  COURT. 

old  man^  I  am  devilishly  thankful  ta  you.  As  to  the  mopuses^  of 
oourse^  we  '11  put  that  all  straight  as  soon  as  I  can,  meantime,  I 
enolose  my  I  O  U,  which  if  the  Bank  of  England  were  carried  on 
upon  the  true  principles  of  currency,  would  be  discounted  im- 
promptu^  and,  in  fact,  with  thanks  to  me  for  encouraging  their  estab- 
lishment.    I  drink  your  health. 

Well,  I'^m  locked  up,  and,  I  fancy,  likely  to  be,  for  between  you 
and  me,  I  ^ve  rather  overdone  the  thing*  The  governor  has  paid 
me^  out  twice,  but  he  can't  manage  it  again,  his  living 's  a  small 
one ;  and  then  I  have  a  set  of  unnatural  brothers  and  sisters  who 
drink  they  ought  to  be  maintained  as  well  as  me,  and  they  may 
have  some  faint  show  of  right  on  their  side.  Tliey  have  clubbed 
Ifceir  little  sixpences  for  me,  often,  and  I'  mean  to  pay  them  back 
some  day.  But,  clearly,  I  shall  not  let  the  Rectory  party  know 
of  the  present  state  of  affairs.  I  shall  write  that  I  am  sent  to 
Paris  on  a  special  mission. 

Somebody  told  n^e,  a  fool  I  suppose,  that  you  were  going  to 
cut  the  law.  The  best  answer  to  that  was  my  seeing  you  at  the 
law  shop  to-day.  If  I  had  your  chances  and  your  talent,  I  would 
make  a  fortune.  Don't  you  think  of  going  out.  Now,  to  en- 
oourage  you,  I  will  give  you  a  job.  You  shall  have  the  honour  of 
taking  me  through  the  Insolvent  Court.  Such  a  chance  does  not 
often  occur  to  a  young  beginner.  I  see  in  it  your  first  step  to  a 
brilliant  career,  and  I  drink  your  health. 

I  shall  be  moved  over  to  the  Bench  at  once,  as,  though  mine 
host  here  is  not  a  bad  fellow  in  his  way,  half  a  guinea  a  day  for 
leave  to  walk  in  a  cage  is  too  much.  So  I  shall  cross  the  water, 
and  as  soon  as  I  get  a  good  room,  I  shall  give  a  bit  of  a  party, 
and  you  must  come.  I  know  a  fellow  who  will  bring  a  flute,  and 
we'll  have  cards  and  kippered  salmon,  and  all  the  other  delicacies 
of  the  season.     Your  health ! 

There 's  nobody  here,  scarcely,  except  an  unfortunate  young 
fellow  who  says  he  put  his  name  to  a  bill  to  serve  a  friend,  (I  am 
told  that  a  good  many  people  do  that),  and  never  received  any  of 
the  money,  but  believed  that  the  bill  was  taken  up.  Do  you  be- 
lieve that  a  bill  was  ever  taken  up  ?  He  cannot  pay,  being  a  clerk 
with  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  a  year.  Moreover  he  will 
asBvredly  lose  his  situation  if  he  is  not  at  his  desk  to-morrow,  as 
his  employers  are  city  people,  very  religious,  who  say  that  it  is 
wicked  not  to  pay  your  debts  whe&er  you  can  or  not,  and  will 
infallibly  give  him  the  sack.  Another  thing  against  him  is  that  he 
has  been  married  about' three  months  only,  having  exhausted  what 
little  credit  he  had  to  furnish  a  couple  of  rooms.  Rather  a  pretty 
girl  his  wife.  She  has  been  here,  crying  her  poor  little  soul  out, 
and  wanting  to  stop  with  him  and  comfort  him ;  a  very  irregular 
proposal.  So  /  promised  to  comfort  him,  and  the  poor  girl  went 
away  convulsed  with  sobbing,  but,  on  the  whole,  grateful.  She 
broi^t  him  a  nieelittle  bundle — shaving-  things,  a*  night-cap,  and 
some  om^  losengesv  How  tfie  women  think  of  you*  when  you* 
are  in^ameaa.  A^-aooin  asT- have  gone  tfatough  the  Court,  I  shall 
many.    I  wish  I  had  doner  ib  sooner;    The  ol^k  talked  of  poison- 

Digitized  by 


ASPEN-  COU&T.  141 

ing  himself ;  a  nasty  idea^  out  of  whidi  L  have  arguad  him.  I  ap- 
pealed to  his  moral  sense^Jbut  that  shop  was  shut  up.  Bat  luckily 
he  has  assured  his  liile  for  some  trumpery  hundj^d  pounds  for 
poor  little  Mary— -that  ^s  his  wife — and  as  soon  as  I  reminded  him 
that  the  policy  would  be  vitiated^  he  actually  spirted  out  the 
brandy  and  water  from  his  mouth,  as  if  that  were  poison  too,  and 
he  was  not  far  wrong.  I  suppose  there 's  nothing  can  be  done  for 
the  little  wretch ;  if  there  could,  I  should  be  glad,  as  his  wife's 
eyes  are  like  my  sister  Fanny's.    Your  health  ! 

This  is  a  long  rigmarole ;  but  what 's  a  fellow  to  do  but  write 
when  he  is  locked  up  in  a  sponeing-houae,  with  nobody  but  a 
weeping  dot*and-go-wimner  to  Uuk  to.  Come  over  to-morrow, 
that  is  a  good  old  man,  and  bring  some  qigars  and  a  sporting 
paper.     Finally,  your  health  I  Ever  yours 

SaMUBL   BlilBBB. 
Mr.  Carlyon. 

P.S.  I  hear  that  M^Farlane  nearly  smashed  that  rascal,  and  that 
you  all  kicked  him  round  and  round  the  Hall.  What  a  lark! 
When  I  get  out  I  shall  study  the  art  of  cookery  with  express  re- 
fmence  to  his  goose. 

No.  7. — The  Rbt.  Ctpeean  Hbtwood. 
Dkar  Sib,  Lynfiold  Ma^uu 

Bvasisti,  and,  either  voluntarily  or  accidentally,  you  have  ab* 
stained  from  giving  me  an  opportunity  of  hearing  you  further  on 
the  €iuitter  of  which  we  spoke.  The  subsequent  interview  at 
which  I  had  the  honour  of  asMsting,  when  you  and  L.  T.  appeared 
to  have  completed  certain  personal  explanations,  in  no  d^ree  in- 
terferes with  the  arrangement  made  between  ourselves.  The  only 
reason  for  my  referring  to  that  interview  is,  that  I  may  duly  re- 
cognize the  fact  that  you  did  not  take  the  step  which  was  to  an^ 
Bounce  the  end  of  our  negotiation.  This,  therefore,  I  hold  rati- 
fied. You  are  prepared  to  win  the  hand  of  L.  T.  upon  the  terms 
we  discussed.  TImb  high  contracting  parties  understand  one  an* 
other. 

I  apprised  you  that  if  you  should  accept  our  proposals,  you 
would  find  yourself  ably  supported.  Measures  have  been  already 
taken  to  prepare  such  support  for  you.  You  will  see  the  impos- 
sibility of  my  entering  by  letter  into  details;  but  in  order  to  show 
you  that  such  is  the  case,  let  me  say  that  the  same  influence  which 
has  so  recently  given  you  an  important  advancement  in  the  path 
you  have  chalked  out  for  yourself,  has  been  at  work  in  the  quarter 
you  have  recently  quitted.  I  have  reason  to  think  that  you  al- 
ready understand  this  statement,  but  if  not,  your  correspondence 
in  tlk  course  of  a  few  days  will  fully  explain  and  confirm  it.  If 
I  add  that  in  replying  to  that  quarter  you  will  do  well  to  use  a 
discretion -which  the  chamoter  of  your  correspondents  does  not 
seem  to  call  for,  J  think  you  will  give  me  credit  for  not  advising 
yoitidiy.  I  have  only  to  add,  for  the  moment,  that  I  shall  re- 
ceiTB  with  satitfaction  any  communicatioa  from  you. 

Sa  much  for  business.    And  so,  young  Cariyon,  yjou  wisb  to 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


142  ASPEN  COURT. 

serve  the  state^  and  to  that  end  have  gone  into  harness.  I  ap- 
plaud your  resolution ;  any  audience  is  better  than  the  Furred 
Law  Cats.  And  you  have  got  a  strong  man  for  your  driver,  a 
perfect  Talus  of  a  charioteer,  with  an  iron  flail  for  a  whip.  Gk>od 
also — ^you  will  learn  your  paces  the  faster.  I  know  Selwyn.  A 
steady  coachman,  with  his  Protestant  lights  well  trimmed,  and 
small  mercy  for  the  wicked  who  run  under  his  wheels.  But  all 
public  men  are  alike.  You  will  have  to  play  hypocrite  with  him 
and  for  him,  just  as  if  he  were  as  insoticiant  a  Grallio  as  Mel- 
bourne, whom  you  hardly  recollect.  Only  that  when  the  work  is 
done,  and  the  mask  ofi*,  beware  of  expecting  Selwyn  to  laugh  with 
you  at  the  imposition.  He  will  be  stem,  and  grave,  and  con- 
scientious. He  may  have  brought  himself  to  think,  with  Vol- 
taire, that  le  mensonge  rCest  un  vice  que  quand  il  fait  du  maly  nay, 
the  worthy  Evangelical  may  even  believe  that  c^est  une  grande 
vertu  quand  il  fait  du  bien,  but  you  will  not  catch  him  saying  it. 
Shall  I  tell  vou  another  thing  which  it  would  take  you  some  time 
to  find  out  for  yourself?  Talus  is  a  man  of  intensely  strong  pas- 
sions, which  he  governs  with  great  resolution ;  but,  when  he  does 
abdicate,  the  world  comes  to  an  end,  for  the  hour.  I  recommend 
you  to  see,  rather  than  to  aid  in  bringing  about  one  of  his  vol- 
canic explosions,  as  the  stones  fly  in  all  directions. 

I  would  tell  you  some  scandal  about  him,  but  I  hear  that  you 
are  being  initiated  into  the  Eleusinia,  and  you  will  hear  every- 
thing in  due  course.  Does  he  still  refuse  one  government  office 
in  particular — the  Woods  and  Foresters?  Do  people  still* say 
that  he  derives  the  name  Lucy,  a  wm  dare  lucem  ?  (You  see  that  I 
have  sat  at  good  men^s  feasts.)     The  poor,  good,  virtuous  Selwyn. 

I  know  that  you  are  looking  forward  to  Parliament.  You  will 
attain  your  object.  What  else  you  will  obtain  is  another  story. 
Parliament  has  never  been  worth  a  sensible  man's  notice  since  the 
good  days  came  to  an  end.  Walpole  paid  the  Scotch  members  ten 
guineas  a-week  during  the  session ;  they  richly  deserve  it  now  for 
the  exemplary  way  in  which  they  settle  business  out  of  the 
House,  and  never  keep  people  sitting  over  Scotch  bilb.  And 
there  have  been  payments  to  English  members  since  his  days.  But 
that  seems  all  over.  You  will  be  bribed  by  a  drcwmbendxbvM^  if 
you  turn  out  worth  bribing.  It  will  run  through  some  very  good 
dining  rooms  and  some  brilliant  assemblies,  and,  possibly — I 
don't  know  —  may  promise  to  run  near  some  small  judicial 
appointment.  By  the  way,  reconsider  your  fancy,  and  enter  an 
inn  of  Court.    Like  Abel  Drugger,  you  do  not  know — 

•*  What  grace  her  Grace  may  do  you — in  black  stuff." 

Rely  upon  it,  the  barrister's  gown  is  the  wedding  garment  of  the 
British  feast  of  fat  things. 

Find  time  to  write  to  me,  if  in  charity.  It  is  a  comfort  to  have 
a  letter  from  anybody  who  contradicts  and  irritates  me.  I  have 
broken  down  the  hearts  of  the  folks  of  Lynfield,  and  they  wree 
with  me  in  all  things  in  a  contemptible  manner,  for  the  whi^  I 
^«^te  them*    Aliy  lector.  C.  H. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


143 
DINING  OUT  FOR  THE  PAPERS. 

BT  W.  H.  RU88KLL. 

I  WAS  sitting  in  my  attic,  very  high  indeed,  up  a  collegiate 
Jacob's  ladder,  in  St.  John's,  Cam.  My  pipe  and  fire  had 
gone  out  together.  The  festivities  of  Orouters  party  on  the  other 
side  of  the  quadrangle,  as  they  celebrated  the  wranglership  of  that 
worthy,  but  intense,  ^old  stupid/'  sounded  through  my  dreary 
domicile. 

I,  too,  had  run  my  academic  race ;  but  alas !  I  had  been  dis- 
tanced— beaten  from  the  very  start.  I  had  worked  hard,  to  be 
sure,  for  many  years,  but  the  conviction  settled  slowly  down  on 
me  that  I  could  not  do  it.  I  never  got  on  well  at  lecture — the 
Reverend  Jack  Lupus  was  always  down  on  me  (I  wasn't  on  his 
side,  it  is  true,  but  then  he  changed  sides  to  have  a  full  oppor- 
tunity for  a  cut  at  me).  Proctors  were  always  taking  me  up  on 
suspicion,  and  discharging  me  with  apologies — the  proctoring  be- 
came known — the  apologies  were  never  heard  of.  I  used  now  and 
then  to  take  a  quiet  pull  from  Logan's  to  Chesterton.  It  was  forth- 
with hinted  I  was  always  on  the  water  instead  of  reading;  and  once 
having  been  found  in  a  secluded  walk  with  a  cigar  in  my  mouth,  I 
was  made  the  theme  of  an  eloquent  discourse  by  Oubbins,  our  tutor, 
who  got  so  confused  between  King  James's  ^^  Counterblast  to  To- 
bacco" (from  which  he  quoted  copiously),  the  Apocalypse  and  Gre- 
gory the  Ninth,that  he  identified  one  with  the  other  at  last, and  never 
got  right,  all  through  his  sermon ;  which  had,  however,  the  effect  of 
damaging  me  greatly  with  the  ^^  heads  of  houses."  But  the  thing 
that  decided  my  fate  was  my  inability  to  pay  the  Reverend  Driver 
— our  crack  ^^  Coach" — the  fee  necessary  to  come  out  in  honours. 
I  say  this  without  disrespect  to  anybody-— even  to  the  Reverend 
Driver,  the  coach — hew^  awfully  slow,  but  dreadfully  sure,  that's 
certain.  I  don't  mean  to  assert  that  fees  are  demanded  for  ho- 
nours by  the  authorities — far  from  it — but  just  go  to  Cambridge, 
and  get  honours  without  a  coach,  or  get  a  coach  without  paying 
for  that  pleasant  mode  of  classical  and  mathematical  locomotion, 
and  then— why  then — I'll  engage  to  give  you  one  of  the  new  East 
India  cadetships,  when  tbey  are  thrown  open  to  public  competition. 
Public  schoolmen  do  it  sometimes ;  sometimes,  too,  men  tie  wet 
towels  round  their  heads  every  night  for  years,  and  ^^  read  "  till  their 
brains  are  as  limp  and  watery  as  the  flax  outside  their  skulls,  make 
a  dash  at  first  dass  and  wranglership,  get  either  or  both,  and  then 
quietly  retire  into  some  hole  or  comer  to  die  in  their  laurels.  But 
as  a  rule,  the  coaches  are  the  boys — I  could  not  afford  a  coach — I 
could  not  read  continuously — ^for,  on  the  sly,  I  gave  lessons  to 
some  pupils,  one  so  fedr — so  (but  I'll  tell  you  alK>ut  Imnt  another 
day);  and  besides,  I  do  believe  I  was  stupid.  At  all  events,  there 
I  wasy  Artmm  Baccalaureut.    My  ^^ great-go"  passed^^ioid  the 

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144  DINING  OUT  FOE  THE  PAPE&3. 

worlds  that  very  extensive  and  variegated  prospect,  before  me.  I 
was  not  fit  for  the  Church,  for  the  law,  or  for  the  dispensary.  It 
is  an  awfully  abrupt  thing  when,  at  two-and-twenty,  a  young  gen- 
tleman, without  any  money,  is  told,  ^^  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  go 
forth  and  make  your  [fortune/^  or  when  he  has  to  ask  himself, 
^^  What  the  deuce  am  I  to  do  now!''  I  felt  it  so,  I  can  assure 
you.  There  was  Grouter ;  now,  as  sure  as  fate,  he  '11  be  a  bishop, 
or,  .if  very  ill  treated,  a  dean.  He  is  heavy  and  honoorable — 
ponderous,  upright,  and  philosophical  to  a  degree — a  hard-working 
Bisar,  whom  Mr*  Sine,  our  crack  tutor,  ooached  up  for  the  ^ry 
of  bis  ^^  side,''  and  to  uphold  ^^  John's  "  against  her  anubby  neigfa- 
hoar.  Trinity.  But  he  is  made  to  get  on ;  and  tbe  Eari  of  Gnuoa- 
pound,  a  great  whig  peer,  has  already  engaged  him  at  a  fubulous 
stipend  to  make  the  grand  tour  with  Lord  Sarum ;  and  as  he  is  a 
tremendous  Grecian,  he  is  safe  on  his  way  to  the  New  Palace  at 
Westminster.  There 's  Sandstone,  the  hardest  going  fellow  that 
evor  spirted  up  the  river ;  but  he  came  up  from  Winchester,  has 
ooached  carefully,  and  is  sure  of  his-  fellowship,  after  tCMlay. 
latere 's — but  what  is  the  use  of  all  this  ?  What  am  I  to  do  ? 
My  eye  fell  mechanically  on  the  newspaper  which  had  been  left  in 
my  room  by  Grouter,  when  I  refused  to  join  his  party,  with  the  re- 
mark, that  ^^  There  were  some  instructive  remarks,  highly  adapted 
for  a  contemplative  staAe  of  mind,  in  the  Right  Honourable  Lord 
Gindeiiey's  speech,  at  the  Destitute  Goldsmiths'  and  Jewellers' 
Annual  Dinner,"  and  so  to  divert  my  thoughts  from  myaelf  and  my 
fortunes,  I  turned,  with  a  grim  smile  of  satbfociion,  to  read  the 
debate  on  a  matter  in  whieh  I  had  not  the  smallest  interest,  ^^  the 
Income  Tax."  As  I  read  on,  I  came  across  die  florid  reference 
of  Mr.  Shiel  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  press  in  the  reporters'  gal- 
lery;  and  first,  I  was  astonished  to  find  they  came  within  the  tax 
at  all,  and  next,  that,  the  accomplished  little  orator  who  was 
talking  of  them,  should  have  carried  with  him  the  applause  of 
the  house  when  giving  a  hig^y  eulogistic  sketch  of  their  attain- 
ments and  abilities.  My  slight  knowledge  of  the  mysterious 
operations  of  that  great  agent  was  derived  from  occasionally 
seeing  a  red-faced,  duty,  bald-headed  man,  in  a  state  of  extremest 
aeedineas,  attending  the  meetings  of  a  political  club  of  which  I 
was  a  member,  as  the  representative  of  the  '^  Coimty  Luminary," 
which  certainly,  cast  a.  most  unsteady  and  alcoholic  light  on  most 
of  1ii&  topics  presented  to  it  by  the  gentleman  in  question.  The 
idea. suddenly  flashed  aoross  me,  that  I  would  join  the  press;  it 
aoemed  easy  work,  was  more  lucrative  than  I  had  inugined,  and 
I  was  astonished  to  find  it  respectable.  L  remembered  that  a 
gseat  friend  of  mine,  little  Beerington,.  of  Magdalen^  knew  the 
eibtor  of  the  great  Metropolitan  journal,  "  The  Morning  Deflagm- 
tor"  very  weU,  and  my  plan  was  made  out  at  once. 

A  few  days  completed,  all  my  arrangements*.  My  compact  little 
nDiDS,  overiooking  the  Bridg^  of  Si|^  was  haudad  oiver  to  a 
Indiy  HospitBUer,  and  I  was  on  my  way  to.LoiMlon,.maoh  obeaDad 
by  Beai»gton?B  aaaunmoos  that  I  would  find  Mr«.  Dammerj^Ae 
tdiiiij*a  ^^moatiregular.gpood'briok  aa-evervubl " 

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HINIRG'  OUT  PCIR  IHB  PAPmUk  14S 

Why  are  newspaper  offices  always  ybct  of  dirty  Ittde  boys  ? 
T¥liy  are  they  inteiionly  seedy  exceedingly  ?  (there  is^  to  be  sure, 
one  exception  probably,  the  ^'  HymenV  Journal  ;'^  but  then  all 
ibe  atiaeheB  are  compelled  to  wash  tfaemselyes  once  a  day,  and  die 
gentlemen  when  placed  on  tlie  establishment  have  orders  for  berga- 
mott  scented  soap  and'  macassar  to  an  imlimited  extent.)  Why  are 
liiey,  as  a  general  rule^  retired  into  the  most  mysterious  quarters 
of  tiie  town,  in  proportion  to  their  influence  and  circulation,  so  that 
one  would  imagine  the  great  object  of  the  proprietors^was  to  baffle 
news-agents  and  out  off  the  stream  of  advertisements  as  fEor  as 
the  greatest  ingenuity  in  selecting  abstruse  reoesses  in  unintdli- 
gible  portions- of  the  metropolis  could  do  it?  These  and  many  other 
things  did  I  revolve  within  myself  whUe  seated  in  a  very  rickety 
chair  in  a-  dingy  room,  awaiting  the  advent  of  Dammer,  who 
had  left  directions  that  I  should  call  on  him  at  12  o'clock  at 
night,  for  the  sake  of  convenience  and  a  quick  dispatch  of  busi- 
ness. I  was  listening  to  a  great  deal  of  bell-puUing  and  tinkling 
— ra  succession  of  feet  on  the  stairs,  as  of  men  running  up  €md  down 
on  perpetual  errands — a  hazy  murmur  out  of  the  upper  regions  of 
die  house,  whidi  flared  brightly  out  through  the  windows  with 
gas-light,  white  shirtnsleeves,  and  pale  faces— «nd  a  heavy  thud- 
ding sort  of  hammering  noise  from  time  to  time,  which  put  me  in 
mind  of  a  set-to  with  the  gloves  between  the  Rev.  Billy  Pounder, 
of  King's,  and  his  friend  "The  Deaf'un  ^ — when  Dammer  rushed 
in.  His  personal  appearance  is  a  subject  too  awful  to  be  treated 
of.  Who  shall  dare  to  roll  back  tiie  clouds  which  enshrined  tiie 
Olympian  Jupiter  ?  Who  shall  live  and  see — clothed  with  that 
particular  description  of  garment,  of  which  we  have  all  read,  that 
an  ancient  sinner  fabricated  his  "strong  expressions'' — the 
ineffable,  intangible,  impersonal  "  W-e?"  Those  who  like  may 
essay  to  linrn-  the  terrors  of  his  beak  (probably  somewhat  roseate 
and  fuliginous,  as  to  tiie  tip,  with  snuff)  and  behold  the  lightnings 
of  his  eye  dimmed,  haply  though  they  be  by  tiie  ostreafying  pro- 
perties  of  Hodge's  Balm  of  Oilead — I  tremble  and  am  sUent. 

Dammer  soon  found  out  I  was  as  nearly  useless-  for  his  pur^ 
poses,  or,  indeed,  for  most  things,  as  a  good  university  education 
could  have  rendered  me,  and  was  evidently  much  perplexed* 
He  could  not  throw  me  over^-that  was  out  of  the  question; 
Tom  Beerington  had  written  him  such  a  letter,  had  recalled  so 
many  boasts  and  promises,  and  had  put  on  the  screw  with  sudi 
vigour,  that  Dammer  was  afraid  of  cutting  off  the  supplies  of  fat 
pound  haunches,  of  birds,  hares,  grouse,  of  good  mounts  and  runs, 
and  dinners,  which  "The  Swill,"  my  friend'a  familv  mansion  had 
always  aflbrded  him  in  due  season,  if  he  did  not  ao  ^  sometiiiiig 
devilish  handsome  and  permanent  for  mj  best  friend,  Went^ordi 
Bushton."  I  was  young,  lanky,  with  a  nne  run  of  spare*  ribs,  and 
ahogetber  in  good'  condition  for  work — a  greet  desidenatmn  for 
newspiq^er  mdfi— but  Dammer  had  found-  out  I  did  not  write 
short^iand,  ti[iough  I  wae  indiffisrentwall  at  Gteeek  verse;  that 
I'cemld  not  imdinrtake  the-  eompwikioir  of  "lewkra"  on  any  ose 
of^  the  extensivie  aoiigeote  he  plased^  beiere  ma    uuU«itht1ifnd|ag^ 

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146  PINING  OUT  FOB  THE  PAPERS. 

I  bad  gained  the  prize  of  my  oollq;e  for  English  composition  (sub- 
ject, "The  Advantages  of  Steam-power^') —and  that  1  was,  in  fact, 
generally  unfit  for  anything.  ^^  Beerington,''  quoth  he, ''  is  a  great 
mend  of  mine,  Mr.  Rushton — when  in  the  jungles  of  Aya,  shoot- 
ing.— However,  I  must  tell  you  that  some  other  time..  Pm 
anxious  to  oblige  him  and  to  do  you  a  service  as  a  friend  of  his. 
If  you  were  going  into  the  .church,  I  'd  get  you  a  living  at  once 
from  my  best  friend  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury — we  travelled 
through  Arabia.  Petraea  together,  and  I  fed  him  through  a  reed  for 
weeks  in  the  jungle — but  you're  not.  I M  ask  Lord  John,  but 
that  I  have  not  spoken  to  him  lately — d — n  him.  However,  I 
dare  say  I  '11  find  something  for  you  to  do,  and  meantime  you  can, 
by  a  little  application,  render  yourself  better  fitted  for  a  good 
engagement. — ^When  I  commanded  the  irregular  horse  of  my 
friend  Shah  Murdo  Jung,  I  —  but  just  wait  a  moment,  if  you 
please ;  I  '11  just  see  if  I  can't  try  you  at  a  dinner  or  two." 

Dammer  returned  in  a  moment  with  two  large  envelopes — 
placed  them  in  my  hand,  and  said,  ^'  Would  you  be  good  enough 
to  attend  to  these  to-morrow — they're  only  dinners — I  must  now 
bid  you  good  ni^ht— I've  got  your  address — a  short  paragraph 
will  do — good  night!"  and  left  me  in  such  a  state  of  mind  I 
could  scarcely  find  my  way  into  the  street.  Under  the  first  lamp 
I  stopped  and  tore  open  the  envelopes.  No.  1  was  a  request 
from  the  Committee  of  the  Society  for  the  Amelioration  of  Man- 
kind that  the  editor  of  the  ^^  Morning  Deflagrator"  would  favour 
them  with  his  company  to  dinner  at  the  Metropolis  Tavern,  at 
6  o'clock  the  following  day.  No.  2  was  a  magnificent-looking 
ukase  from  the  managers  of  the  Profligate  Females'  Restoration 
Association  to  the  same  individual,  demanding  his  attendance 
at  a  dinner,  in  aid  of  the  funds  of  the  Association,  the  same  day 
at  7  o'clock.  Two  dinners  in  one  day !  I  did  perceive  there  a 
divided  duty,  but  knowing  I  had  a  good  digestion  and  a  stout 
constitution,  I  went  to  bed  with  a  clear  conscience  and  dreamt  all 
night  of  charging  the  Amelioration  Society  at  the  head  of  Murdo 
Jung's  Irregular  Horse. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  Metropolis  Tavern  ?  It  is  the  temple 
of  hungry  benevolence,  the  shrine  where  Lazarus  kneels  in  con- 
fidence to  the  beneficent  Dives,  and  where  the  appeals  of  suf- 
fering humanity  go  direct  to  the  heart  through  the  chylopoietics. 
Day  after  day  may  streams  of  black-coated,  white  chokered 
people,  of  waiters,  ^' professionals"  and  ^^  company"  of  whom  in 
my  early  times  of  dining  out,  I  might  have  said  with  truth  ^^  Tros 
Tyriusve  mihi  nullo  dis6rimine  agetur,"  be  seen  pouring  in  to  that 
shady  hall  within  which  resounds  for  ever  the  clang  of  covers  and 
the  rattle  of  the  dinner  steel  minsled  with  the  faintest  soupfon  of 
French  cookery  from  the  remoter  kitchen.  Day  after  day  carriages 
and  cabs  there  deposit  their  joyous  burthens  towards  seven  o'clock, 
and  the  band  of  the  Guards  seem  there  to  be  on  constant  duty. 
Fresh  posters  outside  announce  diurnally  new  objects  to  be 
achieved  in  the  paths  of  gastronomic  r^eneration,  nor  is  there  in 
this  age  of  progress  any  development  of  sdence,  of  social  know* 


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DINING  Otrr  FOB  THE  PAPESd.  147 

le^e,  or  of  political  Kfe  in  which  the  Metropolis  Tavern  and  ita 
<£nner8  do  not  play  an  important  part. 

''  Mankind  Amealorations  ?''  said  the  fat  porter  in  his  arm  chair, 
as  I  timidly  made  my  enaniriesj  ^up  stairs.  Sir,  third  flight. 
Leaves  yer  hat  and  coat  at  the  table,  please.  Sir/' 

And  so  I  ascended  a  lofty  flight  of  stairs,  the  walls  by  the  side 
of  which  were  decked  with  portraits  of  gr^  kings  and  admirals 
and  generals  who  had  feasted  in  their  day  riffht  gloriously  in  these 
saloons,  amid  files  of  smiling  waiters  and  plethoric  guests  'till  I 
reached  the  banqueting-room.  What  a  new  world  it  was  to  me ! 
Th^pe  long  tables  glittering  with  plate,  with  centre-pieces  laden 
with  bouquets,  witti  stupendous  wine-coolers,  side-covers,  and 
heaps  of  silver  knives  and  forks  flashing  brightly  beneath  the  Ught 
of  wax  and  gas,  ran  the  length  of  a  noble  and  richly  decorated 
hall,  till  they  efiected  a  junction  with  a  transverse  cross  table — the 
seat  of  honour — at  the  end  of  the  room,  covered  with  daazling 
ornaments,  such  as  the  Roman  in  his  conquering  hour  might  have 
snatched  from  the  treasure-bouses  of  an  Elastem  monarch.  In 
the  orchestra  over  the  entrance  were  the  fair  ladies  whose  happi- 
ness it  was  to  be  about  to  see  the  Ameliorators  feeding,  and  be- 
neath it  that  indefatigable  band  of  the  Guards  was  already  bleating 
throueh  all  its  lungs  of  brass  a  preparatory  rehearsal  of  the  march 
in  NiA>ucco.  The  cards  before  the  dishes  bespoke  the  rank  of  the 
enests.  There  was  Lord  Cinderley  the  benevolent  chairman. 
Lord  Brufham,  Mr.  Benjamin  Ligament  Cable,  the  vice,  Mr.  Wirey,. 
the  great  city  orator,  Mr.  Deputy  Oreenpea,  Alderman  Carcaseman, 
Lord  Fudleigh  Steward,  Sir  Benjamin  JSawI,  &c.,  all  in  due  order. 
Lower  down,  little  cards  stuck  into  sponee-cakes  pointed  out  the 
local  boundaries  for  ^^  the  Press,''  which  I  approached  with  much 
humility.  A  stout  gentleman  with  spectades  was  busy  pointing 
a  pencil,  and  prematurely  sipping  nock  as  I  sidled  up.  He 
looked  at  me — ^brushed  the  crumbs  of  bread  oflf  his  highly  ornate 
^  tommy/'  and  addressed  me  in  some  cabalistic  phraseology  of 
which  I  only  understood  the  words  ^  Gh)ing  to  make  much  of 
this  ?"  as  I  felt  hungry,  I  replied,  "  Well,  I  should  rather  say  so  /* 
on  which  the  stout  gentleman  immediately  turning  his  back  on 
me,  merely  remarked  "  Tou'l  h've  it  all  to  yourself  then,"  an  ob- 
servation which  left  me  to  infer  that  he  was  sUghtly  deranged  and 
decidedly  ill-bred,  for  I  could  not  at  all  fancy  that  I  would  to  really 
called  on  to  consume  the  whole  banquet.  By  and  by  the  press 
seats  became  fuller  and  fuller,  and  I  was  aware  that  I  was  a  black 
sheep,  a  ^^  new  boy  at  school,"  for  as  no  one  could  say  who  I  was, 
it  seemed  to  be  taken  for  granted  I  was  nobody.  Spriggs  of  the 
**  Star,"  who  wore  a  bright  blue  cravat,  and  a  white  vest,  with  gold 
flowers,  hinted  audibly  to  Brown  of  the  ^'  Moon,"  that  I  was  some 
^  outsider,"  that  Ginner  of  the  "  Deflagrator"  had  engaged  for  the 
evenine,  but  Brandyer's  theory  that  I  was  **  doing  it"  on  my 
own  ^' hook,"  for  the  society,  seemed  to  be  most  generaUy  accep- 
table- 
It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  the  subject  of  baseless  dieories  in  one's 
own  hearing ;  and  for  some  few  minutes  I  felt  unhappy  and  dii^ 

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148  KNINe  OUT  FOE  1HB  BAMDW. 

tralty  and  the  more  so  beciawe.my  :€OHifrhres  weie  on  such  good 
terms  with  each  other. 

Enter  atlasta  grand  proeesaion!  Smiling  stewaards  with  white 
wands  in  their  hands,  and  rosettes  in  their  button-holes,  precede 
a  stately  pomp  of  lords,  and  baronets,  and  knights,  aad  aldermen, 
and  gentlemen  (ought  not  the  last  to  be  first,  by  the  by  ?),  and 
escort'them  to  the  top  taUe ;  and  amid  the  strains  of  the  band  and 
the  waying  of  kerohiefe  from  the  gallery,  the  Ameliorators  take 
thetr  places.  A<  crowd  of  waiters  struggling  l^eneath  the  weight 
of  mighty  covers  fills  up  the  void  which  has  been  left  by  the 
march  of  white-headed  nobles,  with  red  noses  and  ribands,  and  is 
at  last  precipitated  on  the  tables  in  a  sediment  of  tureens  and 
smoking  dishes.  While  I.gase  in  wonderment  on  this  strange  seeae, 
the  triumphal  strains  of  the  band  cease,  and  I  feel  a  gentle  nudge  at 
my  elbow.  A  party  gorgeously  apparelled,  with  rills  of  shirt-frills 
and  bossy  studs,  and  an  engaging  smile  at  onee  familiar  and  de- 
precating offence,  says  to  me,  "  Mr.  a — a — a— ^  (a  bow),  I  haven't 
the  pleasure  of  your  name  (a  bow),  but  my  name  is  Harkaway, 
Sir — well  known  to  Mr.  Oinner,  of  your  paper,  Sir  (a  bow) — and 
if  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  say  Harkaway,  the  toast-master^  was  as 
— anything  you're  good  enough  to  think,  Sir— as  usual  (two  bows). 
Thank  you,  Sir,  you're  very  kind "  (three  bows,  and  vanish  the 
vision  amid  the  loiters). 

And  now  a  deigyman  rises  to  bless  the  feast,  and  as  his  general 
exhortation,  not  to  be  fond  of  creature-comforts,  but  rather  to 
eschew  feasting  and  revelling,  is  something  of  the  longest,  many 
of  the  company  raise  the  covers,  and  peep  slily  into  t^  dishes  to 
ascertain  the  contents,  and  then,  as  the  Ameliorators  are  great  mar- 
tyrs in  this  way,  and  stave  off  what  they  so  much  desire,  as  fieuras 
they  can,  a  stout  gentleman,  with  a  bass  voice,  a  lean  gentleman, 
with  a  barytone  tenor  ditto,  and  a  cberry-fcheeked,  rotund  little 
body,  whether  boy  or  man  one  cannot  say  at  the  distance,  with  a 
ju^le  and  a  warUe  in  the  throat  like  that  of  an  overfed  night- 
ingale, execute  that  dreary  ode  to  the  deity  of  dinners,  ^^Non 
nobis  Doraine." 

What  a  clatter  as  the  peaceful  army  sits  down  to  battle  I  If 
old  Homer  had  heard  it  he  might  have  culled  one  more  simile  to 
describe  the  maich  of  the  Ghrecian  host.  Ladles,  spoons,  knires, 
forks,  plates,  covers,  and  {passes  keep  up  a  perpetual  clash,  tingle, 
clang,  which  rise  above  the  crash  of  a  waltz  by  Lanner,  and  the 
rows  of  the  waiters  by  dozens.  A  red*faeed  gentleman  at  Uie  other 
side  of  the  table,  who  has  been  working  away  at  a  large  tureen 
for  some  time,  catches  a  glimpse  of  my  plate  whilst  I  am  staring 
about  me,  and  with  horror  exclaims,  ^^  Why,  good  gracious.  Sir  I 
you  've  had  no  turtle !  and  it 's  getting  cold !  here,  waiter,  that 
young  gentleman's  plate  opposite.  I  've  a  nice  bit  of  the  meet 
for  you  left."  What  a  mine  of  happiness  I  am  for  that  man !  be 
has  discovered  I  never  was  at  a  public  dinner  before,  and  he  is— 
he  confesses  with  a  sigh — the  hero  of  hundreds  of  them ;  he  takes 
care  of  me  as  a  fath^  would  of  aCavoorite  child — he  tells  me  when 
to  drink  my  cold  punch,  my  champagne,  my  daret  (he  tx^ists  on 

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Domre  oot  fok  tbs  PAPaes.  JMO 

its  bdUg  «  light  rednradiMi  bottle — omnce  won't  do,  norMtrk^^ 
the  exact  moment  at  which  port  may  be  ventured  on,  and  he 
xnarshak  the  m«ie  dkfaes,  and  rereak  tbetr  secrets  with  rare  pre- 
seienee;  he  is  my  Mentor  as  to  what  to  eat,  drink,  and  nrM, 
makes  enemies  of  his  best  friends  by  giving  me  all  the  titbits  of 
flesh,  fish,  and  fowl,  and  hears  unmored  the  whispered  libel  that 
'^Old  Goldfish  is  buttering  up  that  young  press  ohap  to  get  a 
report  of  the  speech,^'  absorbed  in  the  rare  enjoyment  of  what, 
he  says,  with  a  sigh,  is.now  his  greatest  pleasures,  ^^  Seeing  a  man 
^at  with  an  appetite/' 

With  the  lid  of  Gk>ldfiah  I  got  on  remarkably  well.  My 
breAren  of  the  pencil  rekzed  so  far  as  to  ask  me  to  take  wine  in 
rotation,  and  to  inform  me  that  this  was  the  best  dinner  going,  as 
it  was  expensiye  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  in  the  way  of  speech- 
writing.  SoTcral  times  I  had  obsenred  a  tall,  sUght,  courteous- 
looking  person,  in  erening  dress,  hovering  round  our  chairs  and 
speaking  confidentially  to  my  cof^/riresy  but  could  not  nutke  him 
out ;  waiter,  head  or  tail,  he  evidently  was  not,  and  yet  he,  some- 
how or  oth^,  seemed  to  belong  to  the  Metropolis  Tavern.  There 
was  an  air  of  diplomatic  grace  about  him — a  soft,  oily  gait,  which 
slid  him  about  here,  there  and  everywhere,  as  though  he  tntvelled 
on  felt  springs— <a  Uand  smile  and  a  hearty  genial  manner, 
mingkd  with  excessive  respectfulness  and  deference  of  address 
that  attatoted  attention  at  once.  Just  as  I  was  inquiring  who  this 
very  agreeable  person  was,  and  had  learned  it  was  Mr.  Lave,  the 
proprietor,  he  aj^eared  at.  my  elbow,  and  as  if  I  had  become  the 
one  object  of  his  thought  and  exertions,  in  his  inimitable  to«cs 
said,  ^^  Dear  me,  dear  me,  Mr.  Ruxtoo,  you  have  eaten  nothing — 
tthokUeb/  nothing!  Is  there  nothing  I  could  get  to  tempt  you? 
I  have  kept  a  woodcock  just  for  you  and  our  excellent  friend, 
Mr.  Goldfish.  Ah !  there  is  a  man,  Mr.  tluxton !  Such  a  man. 
Sir  (forte) ;  I  often  say  what  would  we  do  only  for  him,  fitur 
(piano), — enormously  rich — dines  here  four  times  a  week.  You 
really  will  not  take  anything  more  ?  dined  so  well !  delighted, 
indeed  !  And  how  is  my  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Ginner  ?  No  in- 
disposition, I  hope  ?  Ah,  well,  that^s  really  well.  Sir.  So  glad  to 
heiur  you  believe  him  in. his  usual  health.'^  By  this  time  a  w^itar 
had  whispered  something  in  Lave^s  ear.    ^^  And  now,  Sir,  1^11  just 

S' ve  you,  if  you  will  allow  me,  a  taste — just  &•  taste,  ^pon  my  word. 
It.  Ruxton,  it^s  my  last  dozen  of  Prince  MetternicVs  Cabinet 
hock — keep  it  just  down  there,  between  your  legs — and  give  a 
glass  or  so  to  your  vU-a-vis.  Ah  I  Mr.  Goldfish,  you  know  what 
we  have  got  here.  Tell  our  excellent  friend  here  (myself),  who 
has  honoured  us  with  his  company  this  evening,  its  history,  I 
pray,  sir— James  (to  a  waiter)  attend  particulariy  to  these  gen- 
tlemen here  and  to  this  gentleman  especially,  whom  I  have  not 
seen  before. — No  Champagne  but  Moet  and  Chardens — do  you 
like  La  Rose  or  Chateau  Lafitte,  as  a  claret  ?  I  think  you  will^ 
PU  send  both — now  do,  I  beseech  you,  make  yourselves  com- 
fortable.^' And  Mr.  Lave  glided  oflF  to  spread  happiness  round 
him,  and  to  ^n  the  hearts  of  aldermen,  common  councilmen^ 

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150  DININO  OUT  FOB  THE  PAPERS. 

stewards^  and  committee-men   by  appeals  to  their  yanitjr  and 
their  stomach. 

And  now  came  "  The  Queen/'  <*  The  Prince  Albert,'*  &c.,  which 
are  irreverently  described  in  the  prints  as  the  usual  loyal  toasts, 
and  **The  Army  and  Navy;'*  Mr.  Sims,  of  the  City  Artillery 
Company,  returned  thanks  for  the  army,  observing,  tha^  when  the 
time  came,  the  corps  to  which  he  belonged  would  do  its  dooty 
(great  cheers),  and  Lieut.  Knocks,  of  the  R.N.,  did  the  same  for 
the  navy,  and  in  the  course  of  his  remarks  introduced  a  spirited 
account  of  the  battle  of  Copenhagen — the  professionals  warbling 
sweetly  in  the  intervals,  and  Harkaway  bellowing  like  all  the  bulls 
of  Bashan  his  perpetual  injunctions  to  gentlemen  to  charge  their 
glasses,  as  if  poor  human  nature  was  not  prone  enough  to  do  it 
without  any  such  stimulus.  My  mind  having  been  set  at  rest  by 
an  assurance  from  my  stenographic  friend  on  the  right,  that  Lave 
would  get  me  the  names  of  the  people  at  the  other  dinner,  and 
that  a  line  or  two  would  be  enough  for  it,  I  resigned  myself  to 
the  joys  of  the  table,  amid  which  was  Lord  Cinderley's  speech  on 
the  gradual  approach  of  an  ameliorated-mankind  era,  which  he 
illustrated  by  some  astounding  statistics  from  all  parts  of  the 
criminal  worid.  The  noble  lord  had  spent  the  day  in  hunting  up 
young  thieves  through  all  the  alleys  of  London,  in  attending  a 
dog-^ht  for  the  purpose  of  reforming  two  very  pet  criminals  who 
hitherto  obstinately  refused  to  read  tracts,  and  Uve  on  the  fat  of 
the  land  at  the  expense  of  the  society,  and  in  distributing  some 
religious  pocket  handkerchiefs ;  but  as  he  had  succeeded  in  cap- 
turing a  cracksman  out  of  luck,  and  two  repentant  cabbies,  and 
taking  them  off  to  the  retreat,  he  was  in  the  best  humour  possible 
and  spoke  sanguinely  of  his  ultimate  success.  The  end  of  that 
dinner — what  was  it  ?  when  was  it  ?  I  know  not.  I  remember  a 
small  room  filled  with  cigar  smoke,  faces  looming  out  above  it, 
and  the  fumes  of  hot  brandy  and  water;  also  a  number  of  songs 
and  broiled  bones,  and  an  enthusiastic  speech  from  myself,  in 
which  I  wished  to  embrace  all  the  company,  and  hailed  them 
all  as  my  best  friends—  and  then  a  cab  to  the  "  Deflagrator,'' — a 
dignified  but  unsuccessful  attempt  to  walk  steadily  up  stairs,  with 
a  consciousness  that  men  in  white  shirt  sleeves  were  grinning  at 
me — ^most  extraordinary  paper  and  pens  and  ink  in  a  desk  in  a 
big  room  with  a  rotatory  motion,  and  a  poem  commencing — 

'*  Sing,  musa,  sing  the  banquet  of  our  Laye, 
Which  not  Lucullus** 

The  meeting  with  Dammer  was  awful.  However,  I  got  over 
it,  and  ever  since  I  have  been  a  ^'  diner  out^'  for  the  papers.  It 
is  not  improbable  but  that  I  may  give  some  account  of  the 
greatest  and  most  remarkable  of  Uie  wonderful  scenes  I  have 
witnessed  in  that  capacity — but  it 's  very  trying  to  the  consti- 
tution— particularly  as  there  is  no  coalition  I  know  of  can  be 
called  in  to  mind  it. 


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151 


CAMPS  AND  BIVOUACS,  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD. 

BY   WBS.  WARD. 

Having,  while  on  the  Continent,  the  advantage  of  companion- 
ship with  one  whose  experience  in  the  service  entitled  his  opinion 
to  some  weight,  I  was  enabled  to  draw  comparisons  between  the 
armies  of  England  and  Belgium,  which,  despite  the  prestige 
attached  to  the  verj  name  of  the  British  soldier,  were,  I  must 
confess,  on  some  essential  points  not  to  our  advantage,  or  to  the 
credit  of  our  military  regulations.  I  must  premise  that  the  prin- 
ciples pervading  the  military  economy  of  Belgium  are  based  on 
the  French  system,  and  from  this,  believe  me,  we  may  take  many 
a  useful  hint. 

The  noble  plain  of  St  Denis,  the  race-course  and  drill-ground 
of  the  venerable  city  of  Ghent,  was  the  scene  on  which  we  were 
first  enabled  to  view  a  military  spectacle  in  Belgium. 

On  the  day  we  visited  the  plain,  it  was  occupied  by  a  body 
of  troops  drawn  up  in  order  of  batUe,  as  if  awaiting  an  enemy 
whose  approach  was  concealed  by  a  wood.  The  day  was  sultrv 
and  still,  and  though  four  thousand  men  were  on  the  ground, 
scarcely  a  whisper  fell  upon  the  air.  The  old  church  of  St. 
Pierre  loomed  hazily  in  the  distance,  the  clouds  parting  now  and 
then,  and  admitting  the  light  in  strange  hues  upon  its  grey  dome; 
all  was  hushed,  except  at  intervals,  when  the  sound  of  the  sickle  in 
the  adjacent  cornfields  reminded  one  of  peace.  Suddenly  a  band 
struck  up,  and,  when  that  gay  music  ceased,  the  roll  of  the  drum 
annomiced  the  approach  of  the  general  in  command.  The  effect 
of  the  long  line  of  helmets  under  the  superb  trees,  with  the  glow 
of  a  sultry  day,  struggling  through  the  pendent  clouds  upon  the 
scene,  was  striking  beyond  description,  and  the  foreground  in 
which  we  stood  finished  the  picture  admirably.  Over  our  heads 
clustered  a  group  of  noble  elms  ;  close  at  hand  was  a  company  of 
corn-reapers,  and  near  us  were  congregated  the  cantintires  or 
vivandiires,  and  the  venders  of  lemonade,  the  former  in  female 
r^imentals,  the  limanadiers  in  motiey  costume,  with  their  painted 
vessels  of  yellow  and  green  picked  out  with  scarlet. 

Within  a  short  time,  the  troops  drew  up  for  the  attack,  with 
that  dread  silence  which  we  can  imagine  usually  precedes  the 
shock  of  battle. 

Squares  of  infantry  now  dotted  the  plain,  the  dragoons  and 
rifles  formed  the  reserve,  and  the  artillery  took  up  a  position  in 
the  rear.  The  horses  on  which  the  general  and  his  staff  were 
mounted,  were  superb.  The  manoeuvres  which  followed,  if  not 
perfectly  comprehensible  to  the  spectators,  were  exceedingly  pic- 
turesque, and  the  dress  of  some  of  the  regiments  would  have  afforded 
useful  hints  to  the  fancy  tailors  of  our  English  troops.    The  loose 

VOL.  XXXIV.  ^.g,.^^,  ,y  Obogle 


162  CAUPS  AND   BIVOUACS, 

easy  trowsers  of  the  dragoons,  the  comfortable  coat,  albeit  too  long 
for  styley  of  the  linesmen,  the  complete  equipment  of  arms,  so  supe- 
rior to  our  own,  should  all  be  studied  by  those  authorities  who  are 
never  at  rest  as  to  the  costume  of  our  soldiers,  the  finest  race  of 
men  of  their  class  in  the  world,  bat  cteeidedly  the  worst  appointed 
for  work.  Compare,  for  instance,  the  light  French  shako  with  the 
hideous  head-gear  of  our  men,  Ae  goat-skin  knapsack  with  our 
huge  canvass  pack — cumbersome  to  wear,  and  difficult  to  put  on ; 
and  think  too  of  the  smart  moustache,  shading  the  upper  lip 
irom  the  rays  of  the  summer  sun,  or  protecting  the  moudi  from 
the  cruel  advances  of  a  keen  wind,  not  to  speak  of  its  martial  air. 
We  must  only  hope  that,  on  these  excursive  days,  those  who  pass 
from  Chobham  to  Sartory,*  or  St.  Omer,  and  back  again  to  Chob- 
ham,  will  oflTer  the  benefit  of  their  experience,  in  the  shape  of 
suggestions,  to  those  on  whom  rests  the  responsibility  of  remedying 
defects  and  incongruities  which  have  long  been  but  two  apparent 
in  the  British  army. 

The  Chasseurs  a  Carabines^  the  riflemen  of  Belgium,  though 
perfectly  equipped  as  to  arms,  appeared  to  us  somewhat  fiuitastical 
in  their  dress,  which  was  after  Robin  Hood's  fashion,  but  the 
artillery  were  admirably  accoutred.  Even  the  short-necked,  short- 
legged  horses,  which  drew  the  guns,  had  a  sturdy  look,  and 
jaunty  air,  peculiarly  befitting  their  character.  In  a  word,  how- 
ever proud  England  may  be  of  her  men^  in  equipment  France  and 
Belgium  beat  her  fairly  out  of  the  field. 

After  an  hour's  exercise,  the  soldiers  were  permitted  to  fall  out 
of  the  ranks  ;  the  cuirassiers  dismounted  to  attend  to  their  horses, 
the  infantry  piled  arms,  and  a  band  struck  up.  Straightway  the 
virandi^res  mingled  with  the  soldiers,  and  dispensed  their  tiny 
glasses  of  spirits.  Before  handing  the  draught  to  the  soldier,  the 
woman  invariably  tastes  it,  and  this  custom,  we  learned,  dates 
from  the  days  of  Spanish  thraldom  in  the  Netherlands,  when 
treachery  and  poison  were  suspected  at  every  turn:  it  is  now 
considered  a  token  of  good  will. 

These  "  women  of  the  regiment "  are  the  wives  and  daughters 
of  soldiers,  and  their  appearance  on  the  parade-ground  adds 
greatly  to  the  effect  of  the  picture.  Their  dress,  to  a  young  and 
pretty  woman,  is  extremely  becoming;  a  short  skirt,  of  regimental 
cloth,  descends  to  the  knee,  and  pantaloons  of  the  same  material 
are  strapped  over  a  boot  or  high  shoe  ;  the  jacket  is  precisely  like 
that  of  a  riding-habit,  and  a  wide-brimmed  beaver  hat,  placed 
jauntily  on  the  head,  is  ornamented  by  a  regimental  plume.  The 
hat  is  tied  beneath  the  chin,  and  a  smart  coloured  rosette  mingles 
with  the  braids  or  ringlets  on  either  side  the  temples ;  a  pretty 
collar,  smart  neck-ribbon,  and  white  muslin  apron,  complete  the 
costume,  and  the  well-polished,  brazen-clamped  barrel  is  slung 
across  the  shoulders.  The  vivandihre  also  carries  a  basket  on  her 
arm,  with  clean  glasses,  while  a  linen  napkin,  for  wiping  them,  and 
a  lace-trimmed  handkerchief,   depend   from   her  waist      Thvs 

*  The  aunp«c;rouiid  aear  Versailles. 

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AT  HQMX  AVP  ▲fiftOAD.  1S3 

eqmppedy  cbe  tabes  lier  steui  in  xear.  of  the  O0iQpaii3r  to  -which 
she  is  attached,  till  the  order  to  march  is  given^  when  she  wheds 
inlD  her  place,  amd  treads  the  {[xonnd  with  as  suctial  a  step  as  the 
beat  man  there !  If  she  belong  to  a  ca¥alr7  oozps,  she  is  on  horse- 
haelL,  but  vses  a  mim's  saddle.  There  is  something  about  these 
women  which  thoiooghly  realizes  .die  idea  of  the  word  doibimg. 
Tbey  hanre  a  £rank,  fearless  look,  but  nothing  yociferovs  or  bold, 
and,  in  cases  of  difficulty  and  danger,  have  proved  themselvies 
invahiable  m  nunes  and  assiiitantSi 

Tbej  are  well  cared  for,  too— not  like  our  poor  soldiers^  wives, 
obliged  lo  eat,  dnnk,  cook,  wash,  and  sleep,  in  the  same  room 
with  some  twenty  or  thirty  men ! 

On  my  admitting,  unwillingly  enough,  to  a  ibreign  officer  that, 
accordiag  to  the  role  of  the  British  service,  men,  women,  and 
children  occupied  the  same  dondcile  by  day  and  night,  he  ex- 
piessed  his  surprise  that  '^  so  grec^  and  civUieed  a  nation  should 
sanction  such  an  immoral  system.'*  He  could  only  hope,  with 
me,  that,  as  die  heads  of  our  public  civil  institutions  were  in 
eoonrespondence  with  Holland  and  Belgium,  some  hints  might  be 
taken  from  their  social  arrangements  of  military  life.  *'  Here,** 
said  he,  ^^  the  soldier  can  only  marry  with  the  leave  of  the  autho- 
rities, the  indulgence  depending  on  his  good  conduct,  and  if  his 
wife  does  not  demean  herself  properly,  she  is  deprived  of  all  privi- 
leges, and  expelled  the  quarters." 

As  it  is  found  necessary  to  attach  a  certain  number  of  women 
te  each  corps,  Goveinment  requires  that  these  women  should  not 
oriy  be  respectable  when  admitted  to  regimental  privileges,  but 
that  they  should  remain  so,  or  be  discarded.       * 

But  to  ret«m  to  the  military  spectacle  in  St  Denis.  The 
plain  is  all  astir  with  the  mirth  of  the  young  soldiers,  and 
nothing  affords  a  better  proof  of  the  comfort,  as  well  as  utility 
of  their  equipments,  than  the  way  in  which  they  enjoy  this 
hour  of  relaxation ;  for,  see,  instead  of  casting  their  knapsacks 
on  the  gronnd,  and  lying  down  weary  with  the  weight  they  have 
been  carrying,  they  do  not  even  loosen  their  light  kits.  They 
fimn  into  groups^  and  five  or  six  couple  whirl  by  in  a  circle, 
dancing  the  polka!  The  first  band  stops;  away  hurry  the  dancers 
arm-in-arm,  singing  as  they  go,  to  the  bivouac  of  the  7th  regiment, 
and  here  a  charming  bolero  stirs  the  air  with  its  music,  while  a 
youth  steps  into  a  ring,  snaps  his  fingers,  and  executes  the  old 
Spanish  dance  witfi  such  spirit  that  the  circle  widens  round  him, 
and  some  begin  to  sing ;  when,  lo !  the  melody  is  interrupted  by 
a  blast  from  the  trumpets  of  the  cavalry,  the  troops  again  £Edl  in, 
and  a  mock  fight  begins.  This  closes  with  a  dashing  charge  of 
cuirassiers,  fipom  one  end  of  the  plain  to  the  opposite  grove,  upon 
the  position  of  the  imaginary  enemy.  The  General,  with  his  staff, 
then  takes  up  his  ground,  and  the  little  army  marches  past  him. 
First  comes  a  corps  of  the  line,  with  its  superb  band,  then  the 
riflemen,  nextacraish  of  trumpets  and  brazen-helmeted  cuirassiers, 
— the  men  of  Hainault,  firom  Mons,  Toumay  and  Liege.  These 
*  a  thousand  strcmg,  and  as  they  ride  stowly  by,  we  think  of 

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164  CAMPS  AND  BIVOUACS. 

William  de  la  Marck,  the  ''wild  boar  of  the  ArdenneSy^*  and  hit 
Walloons. 

In  fiye  minutes  the  gpreat  plain  was  void  of  all  bnt  drinking 
booths  and  pavilions.  One  of  the  latternamed  after  St.  Peter,  with 
a  bearded  likeness  of  the  Saint  oyer  the  entrance,  attracted  a  good 
many  loiterers,  but,  notwithstanding  this,  and  die  permission  to 
drink  on  the  ground,  we  did  not  see  one  tipsy  soldier  during  the 
day. 

The  linesmen  left  the  field  with  fixed  bayonets :  these,  and  the 
helmets  of  the  cuirassiers  made  a  glittering  show  in  the  long  green 
alley  leading  to  the  highway,  and  the  motley  crowd  of  limonadienf 
cantiniireSj  peasants  in  blue  blouses,  stray  riflemen  in  ''  Lincoln 
green,^  women  in  holiday  attire,  and  children  in  wooden  shoes, 
gave  the  whole  scene  the  appearance  of  a  tableau  at  Astley^s. 

The  countenances  were  as  varied  as  the  dress;  the  peasant 
with  his  oval  face  and  aquiline  nose  was  totally  different  in  aspect 
to  the  flat-visaged  dragoon ;  and  among  the  soldiers  of  the  line 
many  a  long  black  Spanish  eye  shot  out  from  under  sable  lashes, 
while  the  lithe  limbs  of  the  marching  men  were  in  utter  contrast 
to  the  broad  chests  and  stalwart  arms  of  the  cavalry  from  the  Pays 
de  Valhn  (the  Walloon  country). 

After  having  witnessed  this  brilliant  spectacle,  it  was  not  quite 
agreeable  to  us  to  be  asked  by  our  military  acquaintance  on  the 
spot,  '^  Have  you  nothing  of  this  kind  in  England,  nothing  but 
occasional  reviews,  involving  a  display  lasting  but  a  few  hours, 
and  presenting  none  of  those  details  which  make  our  annual  camp 
at  Beverloo  a  school  of  instruction  for  the  soldier,  and  keep  him 
during  the  summer  fully  equipped  for  service  i^ 

In  many  English  towns  the  sight  of  a  soldier,  with  ihe  excep- 
tion of  a  recruiting- party,  is  a  novelty,  whereas  every  city  in  Bel- 
gium has  its  garrison,  and  at  intervals  a  review,  a  bivouac,  or  an 
encampment  draws  the  traveller  from  England  to  those  plains 
which  history  has  celebrated  as  the  battle-ground  of  Europe. 

In  France  and  Belgium  the  whole  routine  of  a  soldier's  life  is 
carried  on  as  though  in  perpetual  preparation  for  war;  and  it  is 
not  too  much  to  say,  that  many  a  hint  has  been  gathered  by  mili- 
tary tourists  firom  Continental  camps  and  bivouacs,  likely  to  be 
turned  to  good  account  in  our  own  army.  In  a  word;  who  shall  say 
that  the  encampment  on  Chobham  heath  would  ever  have  been 
formed,  but  for  the  splendid  displays  in  Paris  since  1852?  And  who 
shall  deny  the  certainty  of  benefit  to  the  soldier,  when  his  dress 
and  equipments  shall  be  remodelled  and  better  adapted  than  they 
are  at  present  to  the  varied  nature  of  clime  and  service  in  which  it 
may  be  his  lot  to  be  engaged  ? 

Those  who  visit  Chobham  must  not  come  away  with  the  belief 
that  they  have  seen  the  soldier  on  service.  They  may  there, 
indeed,  have  learned  something  of  his  duties,  and  gathered  a 
general  notion  of  actual  war&re,  but  thev  can  form  no  idea  of  his 
sufferings  and  privations  when  accoutred  in  heavy  marching  order 
under  an  Indian  or  an  African  sun.  Oh  for  the  light  French 
shako  in  such  marches,  the  small  goat-skin  pack  slung  on  without 

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AT  HOME  AND  ABBOAD.  155 

needing  a  comrade's  assistance,  and  the  abolition  of  the  hateful 
haid-glazed  stock !  As  for  oar  arms,  why  should  we  not  take  a 
useful  hint  from  our  Belgian  neighbours,  whose  troops  are  armed 
with  a  musket  that  can  be  readily  taken  to  pieces  by  unfastening 
three  screws,  and  is  cleaned  and  repaired  with  marvellous  expedi- 
tion. Mark  our  young  recruit,  too,  on  landing  from  a  transport  in 
an  enemy's  country :  he  is  equipped  from  top  to  toe,  but  has,  pro- 
bably, never  had  a  musket  in  his  hand.  Visit  a  French  or  Belgian 
drill  ground,  and  you  shall  see  that  the  arm  is  the  first  thing 
thought  of  there ;  the  young  soldier  becomes  a  tolerable  marks- 
man before  he  *^  carries  cap  and  pouch,''  and,  to  go  closer  into  the 
details  of  military  economy  abroad,  take  a  stroll  through  our 
neighbours'  barracks,  and  look  at  their  arrangements  for  the  com- 
fort of  their  married  men. 

At  Chobham  the  visitor  will  have  observed  certain  rude  huts,  set 
apart  for  the  women  whose  aid  is  required  as  regimental  laun- 
OTesses.  Very  miserable  have  these  huts  looked  during  the  late 
floods;  nevertheless,  they  are  less  objectionable  than  the  domicile 
of  the  soldier's  wife  in  barracks,  where  she  rests  her  weary  head 
at  night  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  soldiers,  who  are  up  and  astir 
to  the  sound  of  drum  and  bugle,  the  signal  for  her  too  to  rise  and 
arrange  her  nook  as  daintily  as  her  poor  means  will  permit.  She 
is  allowed  no  skreen  by  day,  so  she  smooths  her  patchwork  quilt 
upon  her  bed,  arrays  her  husband's  chest,  table-fieudiion,  with  a  few 
books,  a  basket  or  two,  some  shells,  and  perchance  a  ifew  flowers. 
She  then  prepares  the  family  breakfast  as  well  as  she  can  among 
other  candidates  for  a  comer  of  the  hearth,  and,  such  domestic 
avocations  over  for  a  time,  she  sends  her  children,  neatly  dressed, 
to  the  regimental  school,  sings  her  infant  to  sleep,  lays  it  on  the 
patchwork  quilt,  and  takes  her  usual  place  at  the  washtub,  or  the 
military  chest,  on  which  she  contrives  to  iron.* 

In  a  French  or  Belgian  barrack,  husband,  wife  and  children  are 
to  be  seen  cheerfully  seated  together  at  their  board,  and,  whoever 
would  enter  there,  either  knocks  for  admission  or  utters  some 
pleasant  word  of  apology  for  the  intrusion. 

But  the  dress  of  the  soldier  is  the  point  in  which  our  Conti- 
nental neighbours  have  greatly  the  advantage  of  us.  The  Belgian 
Cuirassier  is  perfectly  accoutred,  and  is  fully  matched  in  that  re- 
spect by  the  Corps  de  Guides.'  When  we  saw  these,  we  longed  to 
change  the  costume  of  our  gay  Lancers  in  Kafirland  for  such  a 
uniform.  The  Chcuseurs  de  Vincennes  in  France  are  models  of 
light-infantry  equipment ;  but  few  have  heard  of  that  marvellous 
body  of  men,  named  les  Zouaves^  employed  in  Algeria.  These  men 
are  selected  from  other  corps  for  particular  service ;  ihey  are  mostly 
dark-complexioned,  keen-witted,  perfect  in  the  Arab  language, 
fearless  nders,  and  of  undaunted  courage.  Arrayed  in  the  tur- 
ban and  the  loose  costume  of  the  East,  they  skim  the  desert  on 
their  untiring  horses,  and  acting  sometimes  the  spy,  and  at  others 
the  open  foe,  they  carry  on  their  predatory  manoeuvres  with  a  skill 
which  astounds  and  deceives  the  Arabs  themselves. 

*  Within  the  last  three  years  the  married  soldier  has  been  granted  the  sum 
of  twopence  a-day  as  lodging-money  for  himself  and  family. 

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156  801fKJfl'» 

TBst  ftmigners  wffl  be  gmtiied  bjr  iSte  Bulrtaffjr  disphiy  ob 
Chobham  H^ith  cmi  haxHy  he  donftH^ed.  There  is  »o  nista^f 
their  genrane  aJmiiatkm  of  ibe personnei  of  ocur  armj;  and  ia  the 
various  vififfts  we  hare  paid  ta  Continental  ganisGna  we  have  had 
occasion  to  remark  the  deferential  spirit  in  which  omt  kind  guides 
have  inrariabty  pointed  out  to  us  the  most  interestisg  fitcts  marit- 
ing  the  dtflSsHenee  between  their  service  and  our  own. 

To  judge  of  this  fe^ng,  the  reader  should  have  overheard  the 
exclamation  of  a  young  French  officer,  who  was  standing  at  the 
d^or  of  the  George  Hotel  at  Portsmouth,  when  the  9^d  High- 
landers inarched  up  the  High-street  last  March.  His  counte- 
nance became  more  and  more  animated  as  its  expressien  changed 
from  curiosity  to  wonder,  and  from  wonder  to  admiration,  when, 
having  watched  them  all  go  by,  he  raised  his  bands  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delighted  surprise,  and  cried,  "  Ciel !  quels  soldats  !'* 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  feeling  of  interest  manifested  by 
the  people  of  England  towards  the  soldier,  since  they  have 
been  brought  face  to  face  upon  the  peaceful  tented  field.  To 
him  whor  promoted  the  plan  of  an  encampment  amid  the  sunny 
hills  of  Surrey,  the  thanks  of  the  nation  are  due,  not  only  for  a 
spectacle  fraught  with  interest  and  novelty,  but  for  a  purpose  of 
the  highest  national  utility,  while  the  soldier  himself  will  nev^ 
forget  the  occasion  which  brought  him  under  the  immediate  eye  of 
his  Sovereign,  whose  glory  and  renown  are  dearer  to  him  than  Kfe. 


SONNET, 

To  a  Young  Lady  <m  her  Birthdm^  Jufy  23,  1853. 

Not  in  the  cheerless  Winter  of  the  year. 

When  sickly  suns  glare  dimly  o'er  the  snow. 
When  trees  are  stripp*d  of  yellc^w  leaf  and  sere. 

And  rivers  rage,  and  rough  winds  rudely  Wow, — 
But  in  the  sweet  time  of  the  Summer's  sun, 

When  all  is  bright  and  balmy  breezes  bUw, 
The  journey  of  thy  lifetime  was  begun. 

The  merry  sunshine  warm'd  thee  with  its  glow ; 
The  rosy  Summer  kiss'd  thee  into  life. 
And  ran  the  hot  blood  dancine  throueh  thy  veins; 
The  zephyrs  luU'd  thee  with  Uidr  softest  strains; 

Love  strew'd  thy  pathway  with  the  fiurest  lowers. 
Dear  Girl,  whate'er  thou  art,  or  maid,  or  wife. 

May  your  Life's  dial  show  but  sunny  hours. 

CCTTHBERT   BiDB,  B.A. 


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167 


INDIA;  AND  ITS  ADMINISTRATION.* 

The  names  of  this  book  and  its  anthor  are  as  &mi]iar  to  the 
readers  of  the  recent  Parliamentary  Debates  as  the  name  of  India 
itself.  The  supporters  and  the  opponents  of  the  Government 
measure  made  use  of  its  facts  and  opinions  With  equal  liberalitjof 
quotation ;  the  Opposition,  while  thej  did  not  hesitate  to  describe 
it  as  the  work  of  an  advocate  of  the  East  ludia  Company,  drew 
the  principal  materials  of  their  speeches  from  its  pages ;  Ministers 
rested  their  case  mainly  upon  its  statements;  and  each  side 
exulted  in  an  advantage,  when  it  was  able  to  enforce  an  argument 
or  strengthen  an  assertion  by  the  authority  of  Mr.  Kaye.  A  book 
that  has  thus  supplied  weapons  for  the  armories  of  contending 
parties  must  possess  some  unusual  claims  upon  attention;  and 
few  publications  hare  had  this  sort  of  compliment  paid  to  them  in 
a  more  remarkable  degree.  But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  Mr. 
Kaye  should  consider  himself  flattered  by  the  variety  of  aims  to 
which  his  labours  have  been  so  dexterously  rendered  subservient ; 
and  whether  the  solid  and  permanent  character  of  his  work  has 
not  suffered  an  injustice  by  the  activity  with  which  its  details 
have  been  frittered  away,  to  suit  the  temporary  purposes  of  a 
political  discussion. 

Of  the  legion  of  books  and  pamphlets  upon  Indian  affairs,  to 
which  the  renewal  of  the  Charter  has  given  birth,  this  volume  is 
the  most  important,  elaborate  and  authentic;  and  it  was  to  be 
expected  that  it  should  be  frequently  and  largely  referred  to  as  a 
source  of  information  on  subjects  witn  which  the  public  generally 
arelitlle,  or  imperfectly  acquainted.  But  this  very  recognition  of 
its  practical  merits  is  not  unlikely,  more  or  less,  to  have  the  eflect 
of  confounding  it  with  the  mass  of  ephemeral  publications  ad- 
dressed within  the  last  few  months  to  the  vexed  question  of 
Indian  Administration,  and  to  lead  the  reader  to  overlook,  in  its 
immediate  application  to  passing  occurrences,  its  more  durable 
claims  upon  consideration.  It  is  in  this  respect,  Mr.  Kaye's 
volume  is  chiefly  distinguished  from  the  crowd  of  contemporary 
contributions  to  Indian  history ;  and  we  may  say  of  his  book 
what  we  cannot  say  of  any  others,  that  while  it  embraces  and 
exhausts  every  topic  of  current  interest,  it  exhibits  a  complete 
view  of  the  whole  course  of  our  acquisitions  and  settlements  in 
the  East,  drawn,  for  the  greater  part,  from  exclusive  and  hitherto 
inaccessible  materials,  and  treated  throughout  in  a  comprehensive 
and  historical  spirit  that  will  render  it  as  valuable  iu  the  next 
century  as  it  is  found  to  be  at  the  present  moment. 

Nor  is  it  alone  as  a  compendium  of  the  acts  of  the  East  India 
Company  that  this  work  asserts  a  distinct  and  original  character. 
Mr.  Kaye  is  not  satisfied  with  a  mere  display  of  statistics,  or 

*  **  Adrakustratioii  of  the  Bast  India  Conpflay,'*  by  John  WiUimm  Kaye, 

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158  INDIA;  AND  ITS  ADMINISTRATION. 

the  dry  detaik  of  local  progress.  He  ascends  to  the  higher 
functions  of  the  historian,  and  makes  his  book  as  attractive  as 
it  is  instructive.  He  enters  into  the  life  of  the  East  —  shows 
us  the  people  as  well  as  their  rulers  —  fills  up  with  the  warm 
ccdours  of  humanity  those  remote  scenes  which  others  have  left  in 
faint,  and  frequently  unintelligible  outlines;  and  by  imparting 
action  and  vitality  to  subjects  upon  which  previous  writers  have 
failed  to  awaken  our  sympathies,  he  brings  the  Indian  empire, 
with  its  myriad  diversities,  in  actual  movement  before  US',  and 
enables  us  not  only  to  comprehend  how  these  vast  conquests 
have  been  won  and  consolidated,  but  to  take  as  direct  an  interest 
in  them  as  if  they  were  passing  under  our  eyes.  If  Indian  his- 
tories have  not  been  as  generally  popular  in  this  country  as  our  re- 
lations with  the  East  require  them  to  be,  and  if  the  bulk  of  the 
community  have  regarded  with  indifierence  those  vast  questions  of 
policy  which  the  extension  of  our  arms  and  arts  in  that  distant 
region  is  constantly  shaping  for  discussion  at  home,  the  reason 
may  be  traced  to  the  lifeless  and  repellent  manner  in  which  they 
have  been  presented  to  us.  The  writers  who  have  undertaken  to 
elucidate  the  condition  of  the  East,  have  forgotten  the  necessity 
of  engaging  the  feelings  of  the  English  reader  in  themes  as 
strange  to  his  daily  experiences,  as  the  modes  and  customs  that 
have  their  mystical  types  in  the  sculptures  of  Nineveh.  They  are 
wanting  in  the  vivifying  principle,  in  the  "  touch  of  nature  "  which 
makes  the  whole  world  kin,  and  which  is  quite  as  indispensable 
in  books  that  depict  the  organization  and  action  of  societies,  as 
in  dramas  that  depict  the  individual  pasuons.  And  hence, 
general  readers,  without  some  strong  motive 'to  enlist  their  atten- 
tion, will  seldom  persevere  in  the  perusal  of  works  that  fail  to 
attract  their  sympathies.  Indian  histories  and  treatises  have 
rarely  obtained  the  popularity  in  England  which  the  gravity  and 
magnitude  of  their  matter  deserve,  and  ought  to  command.  Mr. 
Kaye  was  the  first  writer  who  invested  these  subjects  with  a 
universal  charm.  His  History  of  the  War  in  Aflghanistan  has 
been  as  eagerly  and  extensively  read  as  the  last  new  novel,  to  use 
the  periphrastic  phrase  of  the  circulating  libraries.  The  most 
exciting  romance  could  not  have  made  a  more  lively  impression 
on  the  susceptible  imagination  of  the  public.  The  young  and  the 
old  were  alike  delighted  with  it,  and  ladies,  who  had  seldom  ex- 
tended their  literary  researches  beyond  the  limits  of  fashionable 
authorship,  were  as  much  enchained  by  its  perusal  as  ministers  of 
state  and  veterans  whose  laurels  were  dyed  in  blood.  The  secret 
lay  in  the  reality  of  the  treatment.  The  salient  features  of  these 
disastrous  campaigns,  the  personal  heroism  and  suflering,  the 
characters  of  the  leaders,  the  inner  life  of  the  camps,  the  actual 
emotions  that  palpitated  through  the  war,  were  delineated  with 
nervous  fidelity.  All  the  Blue  Books  that  ever  were  printed 
could  not  have  reached  the  heart,  or  fixed  the  curiosity  of 
England  with  such  enthralling  power.  It  was  not  merely  that 
the  volumes  were  written  with  vigour  and  literary  skill,  but  that, 
for  the  first  time,  they  extracted  from  the  annds  of  Hindostan 


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INDIA;  AND  ITS  ADMINISTRATION.  169 

ihSse  elements  of  bnman  interest  which  hare  a  comnum  attraction 
for  all  mankind. 

The  subject  of  the  book  before  us  is  less  promising.  An  account 
ci  the  administration  of  Leadenhall-street  can  hardly  be  supposed 
to  yield  so  rich  a  crop  of  excitements  as  the  fatal  invasion  of  the 
Affghanistan  territory.  Yet  he  who  looks  for  nothing  in  these 
pages  but  an  account  of  judicial  systems  and  the  growth  of 
TCTenueSy  will  be  most  agreeably  disappointed.  He  will  find  in 
them  a  multitude  of  picturesque  items  which  he  has  little  reason  to 
anticipate  from  the  title-page.  Mr.  Kaye  justly  considers  that  the 
history  of  Indian  administration  is  no  less  a  history  of  intellectual 
energies  and  moral  influence,  than  of  commercial  enterprise  and 
physical  power;  and  in  conducting  us  through  the  mazes  of  one 
of  the  most  surprising  narratives  that  has  ever  been  given  to  the 
world,  beginning  wiUi  the  adventure  of  a  handful  of  traders 
planned  in  an  alderman^s  house  in  London,  and  ending  in  the 
establishment  of  an  empire  in  the  Indian  seas,  he  shows  us  the 
personal  and  combined  efforts  and  struggles,  the  episodes  of  cou- 
rage and  endurance,  the  wisdom  that  was  gathered  out  of  error 
and  calamity,  and  the  conspicuous  examples  of  devotion  and 
ability  that  marked  the  march  and  crowned  the  triumph  of  these 
great  events.  **  I  am  not  insensible,^  he  observes  in  his  preface, 
**  of  the  value  of  statistics,  and,  indeed,  I  have  dealt  somewhat 
largely  in  them;  but  it  is  principally  by  representing  men  in 
action  that  the  writer  on  Indian  affairs  must  hope  to  fix  the  at- 
tention of  the  public.''  This  is  the  key  to  his  book.  It  is  action 
from  first  to  last.  Statistics  of  every  useful  kind  are  carefully 
condensed  and  exhibited  in  their  proper  places;  the  modes  of 
taxation  which  have  given  occasion  to  so  much  controversy  and 
speculation  are  expounded  and  illustrated ;  the  judicial  systems 
are  investigated;  and  all  practical  points  essential  to  a  satisfactory 
exposition  of  the  local  administration  are  fully  explored;  but 
these  details,  instead  of  impeding  or  suspending  the  paramount 
purpose  of  exhibiting  traditional  and  living  India,  in  her  people 
and  her  governors,  her  usages  and  her  prospects,  her  past,  present, 
and  future,  are  so  skilfully  employed  as  to  heighten  the  effects  of 
the  picture  which  the  artist  has  placed  upon  his  canvas  with  the 
truthful  hand,  and  sound  judgment  of  a  master. 

Dismissing  at  once  the  political  topics  of  the  work,  which  have 
been  so  thoroughly  sifled  in  the  debates  that  every  person  who 
reads  the  newspapers  may  be  presumed  to  be  already  acquainted 
with  them,  we  will  glance  at  some  of  those  popular  features  which 
really  constitute  the  most  striking  and  novel  parts  of  Mr.  Kaye's 
labours,  although  they  have  suffered  eclipse  in  the  consideration 
given  to  other  passages  that  bear  more  directiy  on  the  questions 
at  issue  before  the  legislature.  Our  space  is  not  only  limited,  but 
we  are  sorry  to  say  so  limited  that  we  can  do  nothing  more  than 
indicate,  a  few  leading  characteristics,  leaving  the  reader  to  follow 
them  up  for  himself. 

We  will  begin  as  far  back  as  the  days  of  the  Great  Mogul  in 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  First,  to  show  what  India  was  under  its 


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190  INNA ;  AND  m  ADBCINlBTftA;nON. 

nftttre  regriities  in  these  Miotest  tiises*  This  sabKme  pertonag!, 
even  in  our  own  recollection,  divided  with  Haroun  Ahraschid  the . 
wonder  and  awftil  admiratien  of  the  joung,  and  to  this  hour^  al« 
thongh  bis  glories  have  long  stnce  departed  from  him,  his  extinct 
pomp  survires  in  fantastic  costume  and  copious  beard  as  one  of 
the  four  mjBterious  royalties  of  the  pkijing  cards.  We  do  not . 
quote  this  passage  merely  for  the  sake  of  its  gorgeousness.  It  is  a 
little  ptetnre  with  a  moral  legend  attached  to  it* 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  idea  which  iB  those  days  was  enter- 
tatned  by  our  countrymen  of  the  power,  wealth,  and  grawdeor  of  the  Great 
Mogul.  Far  above  all  kings  and  enperors,  in  the  imagmatioos  of  men,  ranked 
this  mightj  Eastern  potentate ;  and  two  centuries  later,  the  name  of  the  Grreat 
Mogul  capped,  with  its  traditionary  magnificence,  those  of  all  the  potentates  of 
the  earth  in  the  nursery  sports  of  English  children.  Nor  did  the  conception 
owe  much  to  the  prodigality  of  the  imagination.  The  prince  who  covered  acres 
of  land  with  carpets  of  sift  and  gold,  who  reared  aboTe  them  stately  pavilions 
glittering  with  diamonds  and  pearls,  whose  deplumts  and  horses  were  lustrous 
with  trappings  of  jewels  and  gold*  whose  crimson  tents  stretched  out  over  long 
miles  of  level  country,  and  whose  throne  the  practised  eyes  of  European  lapi- 
daries valued  at  six  millions  of  English  money,  might  well  be  regarded  as  the 
most  magnificent  sovereign  of  the  earth.  But  magnificence  is  not  benevolence. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  the  most  lavish  of  our  English  viceroys  has  never  been 
mete  than  partially  SktlianitetL  Our  splmdoor  is  at  best  but  tinsd  and  tawdri- 
ness  beside  the  lustrous  magnificence  of  the  Mogul  Courts.  We  have  never 
attempted  to  compete  with  them  in  this  direction.  Let  credit  be  allowed  them 
for  their  royal  progresses — their  stately  palaces — their  gorgeous  tombs.  The 
^nius  of  our  country  does  not  displav  itself  in  demonstrations  of  this  kind. 
But  we  have  far  greater  wonders  to  show — for  greater  spectacles  to  exhibit. 
When  we  hatve  got  millions  to  spend*  we  do  not  lock  them  up  in  peacock- 
thrones." 

And  now  for  onr  European  predecessors  in  India,  who  were  the 
first  to  interfere  with  the  magnificence  oT  the  Great  Mogul.  Mr. 
Kaye  does  not  dwell  at  any  length  upon  them,  having  more  at- 
tractire  matter  to  deal  with.  He  depicts  them  hriefly  in  a  sen-' 
tence:  "They  were  traders,  they  were  conquerors,  they  were- 
spoliators,  they  were  proselytisers, — but  they  were  not  adminis- 
trators." Here  is  the  history  of  the  Portuguese  adventurers  epi- 
tomised. 

**  The  progress  of  the  Portuguese  on  the  Continent  of  India  had  been  rapid 
and  dazzling.  But  the  seeds  of  decay  had  been  planted  deep  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Indo-Lusitanian  power  from  its  birth*  Encouraged  by  the  first  successes 
of  their  countrymen,  all  kinda  of  ad?enturers,  bound  by  no  laws,  and  restrained 
by  no  scruples,  flooded  into  the  country^  and  made  a  deluge  of  licentiousness 
wherever  they  went.  Soldiers  swaggered,  and  priests  crept  about  the  seaports. 
Forts  and  churches  rose  up  at  their  bidding.  Strong  in  numbers,  with  all  the 
muniments  and  equipments  of  war  by  sea  and  by  land,  they  had  no  need  to 
croach  to  the  native  princes  and  humbly  solicit  their  protection.  Insolence  and 
viofence  were  the  characteristics  of  the  '  braggard  Portngab/  and  for  a  little 
while  they  carried  everything  before  them." 

And  bow  did  dus  end  i  The  Portuguese  empire  in  India  fdi 
to  pieces  by  ita  own  conniption.  Even  if  the  Dutch  had  not 
precipitated  its  fell,  it  must  have  been  crushed  by  its  own  insolent 
folly.  And  how  did  the  Dutch  act  towards  the  English,  who, 
about  this  period,  were  slowly  establishing  themsdres  in  their 
tradiDf  relatioos  with  the  East? 


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mtsik;  AMD  ITS  ADurtanRAism.  1€1 


*•«  Onftvndlf  tfaeM  floBah  adrcoliirefs^  who  wwr  m  eager  to  grapple  ^ 
tke  Paitageeie,  ireie  our  attiea.  But  tbey  were  fidae  friendt*  aad»  as.  sn^ 
iBoie  dangeroMt  than  open  cBeaaits.  Oar  own  aeaaMS  mod  fi^bra  had  from  the 
first  been  aospkiona  of  the  dcaigna  of  these  *  hoocat  Datch*'  and  had  written  to 
one  anodier,  horn  ovr  inaolar  e^aUlshraeats*  warning  them  diat  they  were  ^o«tf 
eneaEiiea  to  the  otter  ndn  of  our  trade,  ao  fir  aa  their  power  will  me  them 
leave/  And  thia  waa  tbij  soon  apparent.  They  oWtiucted  oa,  and  oicteted  to 
ua.  They  compelled  oa  to  do  wimt  we  did  not  wish,  and  prereated  us  from 
doing  what  we  did.  They  ceaunitted  excesses*  and  we  paid  the  penalty  in 
Ticarioiis  farisilarea  and  ionriaonments.  They  wronged  na,  and  lorded  it  over 
ua;  and  we  were  perpetoatty  seeking  redreaa  at  home  and  idMroad*  but  never 
sneoeeded  even  in  obtaining  an  instalment  of  tardy  justice.  AccordiDg  to  i^ 
human  calcolationB  at  tfaia  time,  the  Dutch  were  about  to  establish  a  grant 
empire  in  India,  and  the  English  were  about  to  be  driven  ignominiously  into 
new  fields  <^  enterprise  in  another  quarter  of  the  globe.  AD  that  the  Company 
conld  do  at  this  time  was  to  maJnuiw  a  gasping  ejdstence  against  the  thrcateiMd 
danger  of  total  destruction.  But  the  very  obstnictions  which  aeemod  to  menace 
the  life  of  the  Company  were  the  elements  of  its  permanent  success." 

Now  tbia  conducts  na  to  the  point  of  oar  own  enterprise  and 
e8lid>Ii8hiBent  ki  Hindostan.  We  profited  by  the  fidlures  of  oar 
predecessors;  we  avoided  their  errors;  we  aeted  with  prudence 
and  caution,  we  made  our  acquisitions  gradually.  The  difficulties 
in  our  way  were  apparently  insuperable;  the  discouragements 
were  disheartening;  the  little  duster  of  London  merchants  that 
bad  risked  life  and  fortune  in  ibis  prodigious-  undertaking  were 
opposed  by  all  sorts  of  obstacles,  and  exposed  to  the  want 
calumnies ;  tl>eir  shares  were  unsaleable — nothing  but  ruin  seemed 
to  be  before  them :  but  they  persevered ;  the  English  qnali^  of 
indomitable  resolution  sustained  them — 4hty  persevered  and  suc- 
ceeded. What  is  the  result?  Take  up  the  map  of  British  India, 
and  yon  will  find  the  answer  in  the  exten<fing  lines  of  a  new 
world,  speaking  our  language,  and  living  under  our  institutions. 

Let  us  now  look  at  India  as  it  is  under  our  rule.  We  cannot 
go  through  an  the  articulations  of  our  government,  but  must  select 
an  example. 

*'  The  North-Westcm  ProTinces  of  India  hare  now  been  for  half  a  centnzy 
under  BHtish  rule.  The  great  experiment  of  Indian  goremroent  has  there  been 
pnshed  forward  with  renu^kabk  eneigy  and  uncommon  snccess.  In  no  part  of 
India  are  the  signs  of  progress  so  great  and  so  cheering.  There  is  a  freshness, 
a  Tigoinr,  a  healthy  robust  youth,  as  it  were,  apparent  ererywhere  in  the  admi-^ 
nistration  of  these  provinces.  The  physical  improvement  of  the  country,  and 
the  moral  improvement  of  the  people,  are  advancing;  under  our  eyes^  with  a 
rapidity  which  would  fill  the  by-gone  generations  of  Indian  administrators  with 
as  much  astonishment,  as  the  ancient  race  of  s(^diers  would  experience  at  the 
8%ht  of  the  maonificent  dimensions  of  our  Indian  Bmpiie.  I  do  not  behave 
thai  there  is  in  the  world  a  more  conscientious  and  more  laborious  class  of  civil 
functionaries,  than  those  who,  under  one  of  the  best  men  and  ablest  adminis- 
trators who  have  ever  devoted  their  lives  to  the  service  of  the  people  of  India, 
are  now  bearing  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  in  serious  toilsome  efforts  to 
make  the  yoke  of  foreign  conquest  sit  lightly  on  the  native  subjects  of  the 
British  Crown.  Earnestness  and  energy  are  contagious;  and  in  the  North- 
Westen  Provinces  of  India  the  heavy-paoed  are  soon  roused  into  activity — the 
phlegmatic  into  tingUn£  hie.  «  •  •  There  is  one  characteristic  of  the 
present  Government  oAhe  North- Western  Provinces  of  which  I  would  further 
speak  in  this  place,  though  perhaps  it  might  more  fitly  be  introduced  into 
another  chapter.  There  is  a  communicativeness  abont  the  system,  irhich  is  a 
pacuBar  feature  of  the  administrative  progress  now  woriking  in  India.    The: 


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162  INDIA;  AND  ITS  ADMINISTRATION. 

representatiTes  of  the  paramount  power  hare  thus  shaken  off  their  secrecy  and 
reserve.  They  no  longer  live  with  a  cordon  of  official  exdusiveness  around 
them  ;  they  no  loiger  move  about  with  sealed  lips  and  veiled  faces.  The  doors 
of  Uieir  palanquins  are  thrown  back ;  the  sides  of  their  tents  are  drawn  up ; 
and  the  people  are  invited  to  come  freely  to  them.  The  Lieutenant-Governor, 
who  is  continually  moving  about  from  one  district  to  another,  and  watching  the 
results  of  the  great  measures  with  which  he  is  so  honourably  associated,  is  one 
of  the  most  accessible  of  men ;  and  his  subordinates  emulate  the  courtesy  and 
openness  of  his  demeanour.  But  it  is  not  so  much  of  this  personal  di£fusive- 
ness  of  which  I  would  speak,  as  of  the  great  efforts  which  are  being  made, 
principally  through  the  agency  of  the  press,  to  render  the  people  familiar  with 
the  acts  and  principles  of  Government — ^to  help  them  thoroughW  to  understand 
the  manner  in  which  we  are  endeavouring  to  administer  their  affiurs.*' 

This  is  the  moral  contrast  with  the  times  of  the  Great  Moguls. 
The  acres  of  silk  and  gold  are  no  more  to  be  seen.  Indolent 
grandeurs  of  eyery  kind  have  been  displaced  by  a  life  of  activity 
and  usefulness.  The  muffled  faces  laugh  out  in  the  sun,  and 
Oriental  reserve  and  suspicion  are  changed  into  confidence,  frank- 
ness, and  communicativeness.  There  are  more  significant  im- 
provements lying  under  these  changes  than  may  be  guessed  at 
from  the  surface.  When  the  native  rulers  were  at  the  beight  of 
their  magnificence,  and  the  Aurungzebes  could  be  tracked  in  their 
progresses  over  the  land  by  the  blaze  of  sapphires  and  diamonds, 
m  what  condition  were  the  people  ?  How  was  the  almost  fabu- 
lous wealth  procured,  by  which  these  starry  potentates  maintained 
their  state  ?  Hear  Mr.  Kaye  upon  this  point,  and  we  beg  of  the 
reader  to  observe  how  the  barbaric  splendours  of  these  great  mas- 
ters of  the  art  of  taxation  glow  under  his  pen. 

*  *'  The  question  to  be  considered  is,  what  effect  had  all  this  upon  the  happi- 
ness  of  the  people  ?  It  is  certain  that  royal  magnificence  is  no  test  of  national 
prosperity.  The  wealth  which  was  lavished  upon  all  the  sumptuous  palaces 
and  the  panoramic  camps  of  these  resdess  Emperors,  must  have  been  primarily 
extracted  from  the  people.  How  the  imperial  coffers  were  filled  it  is  not  difficult 
to  conjecture.  Some  of  the  early  Mogul  conquerors  enriched  themselves  by  a 
series  of  stupendous  burglaries.  If  we  could  trace  the  career  of  any  particiilar 
emerald  or  ruby  from  the  days  of  Mahmoud  of  Ghuznee  to  those  of  Shah 
Jehan,  there  are  few  who  would  not  rather  think  of  the  costly  jewel  in  the 
blaze  of  the  peacock's  tail,  than  in  the  deep  obscurity  of  the  bowels  of  an 
hideous  idoL  *  *  *  It  would  be  curious  to  ascertain  what  was  the  amount 
of  forced  labour  extracted  from  the  people,  and  to  what  extent  they  were  paid 
for  their  supplies.  It  is  easy  to  '  manage  vast  undertakings  with  economy,'  if 
little  or  nothing  is  to  be  paid  for  works  or  materiak." 

The  excellent  Shah  Jehan  mentioned  in  this  extract,  drew  an 
annual  revenue  from  his  happy  people  of,  according  to  some 
authorities,  23,000,0002.,  and,  according  to  others,  82,000,000/., 
and  left  behind  him  at  his  death  accumulated  treasures  variously 
estimated  at  the  value  of  from  six  to  tu'enty-four  millions  of  our 
money.  His  imperial  progresses  were  of  a  lustre  to  blind  the 
noon-day  sun  that  looked  down  upon  them.  The  sight  must 
have  been  grand  to  see ;  yet  we  find  that  the  people  were  so  in- 
sensible to  the  beauties  of  the  show  that  they  regarded  with  **  un- 
mingled  horror  the  approach  of  the  Mogul  Court.^  Our  systems 
of  taxation  may  be  objectionable,  but  at  all  events  they  possess 
the  merit  of  being  systematic^  and  must,  we  think,  be  sJlowed  to 


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INDIA;  AND  ITS  ADlUNIffntATION.  163 

form  a  fayourable  contrast  to  the  modes  by  which  money  was 
raised  in  the  ages  of  the  Mogul  pageantry.  It  is  quite  true  that 
the  Ryot,  as  our  author  says,  ^*  does  not  drink  beer,  eat  beef,  or  read 
his  newspaper  by  a  sea-coal  fire  ;^  but  it  is  equally  true  that  in 
his  slattern  way  of  living  with  a  rag  about  his  middle,  and  des- 
titute as  he  is  of  shoes  and  stockings,  which  he  never  wore,  and 
which,  we  suspect,  he  would  consider  a  very  great  inconvenience, 
he  is  surrounaed  by  what  Mr.  Kaye  felicitously  calls  a  **  sluttish 
plenty,''  and  that  he  is  secure  against  those  magnificent  spoliations 
which  reduced  him  to  the  level  of  the  beasts  of  the  field,  in  order 
that  his  masters  might  be  enabled  to  smite  his  eyes  with  jewels  and 
precious  stones. 

To  turn  to  another  subject,  we  commend  the  reader  who  de- 
sires to  obtain  a  clear  insight  into  the  recesses  of  Indian  life  to 
read  attentively  Mr.  Kaye's  chapters  on  Thuggee  and  Dakoitee. 
In  the  annals  of  human  crime  perhaps  there  are  no  incidents  so 
strange,  no  combinations  for  ghastlypurposes  so  astounding  as 
those  which  are  here  developed.  Thuggee  and  Dakoitee  have 
been  frequently  described  before;  but  the  merit  and  interest  of 
Mr.  Kaye's  descriptions  consist  in  the  clearness  of  his  narrative, 
and  the  power  with  which  he  makes  these  horrors  stand  out  upon 
his  pages.  In  the  same  way,  every  phase  of  the  native  tribes,  in 
their  villages,  and  their  open  plains,  on  the  hill  sides  and  in  the 
valleys,  is  diown  in  vivid  relief ;  and  these  pictures  of  the  country 
and  the  people  are  so  skilfully  introduced  into  an  authentic 
review  of  the  civil  and  military  systems,  the  revenues,  and  the 
public  works,  and  the  measures  that  have  been  taken  for  the  pro- 
motion of  education  and  the  discouragement  of  superstition  and 
fanaticism,  that  the  book,  instead  of  being  simply  a  history  of 
the  East  India  Company,  is,  in  fact,  the  most  satisfactory,  and 
can  hardly  fail  to  become  the  most  popular,  history  of  India 
itself,  in  its  social  and  administrative  aspects,  that  has  yet 
appeared. 

As  a  specimen  of  one  of  the  many  passages  illustrative  of  the 
native  habits  of  India,  take  the  following  sketch  of  the  custom 
of  infanticide.  In  England  Mr.  Kaye  observes,  infanticide  is 
said  (we  believe  rashly,  for  it  is  not  at  any  time  progressive,  but 
appears  and  disappears  at  intervals)  to  be  on  the  mcrease ;  but  in 
England  it  is  a  crime,  while  in  India  it  is  a  custom.  The  com- 
parison is  curious.  With  us,  the  unchastity  of  the  mother  is 
generally  the  proximate  cause  of  child-murder,  while  the  Rajpoot, 
who  regards  unchastity  as  the  inevitable  condition  of  celibacy,  puts 
his  female  children  to  death  a  few  hours  after  their  birth  to  pre- 
serve their  purity ! 

'*  Marriage  in  both  cases  is  the  remedy;  but  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  its 
application  are  diametrically  the  reverse.  In  England  marriase  is  honourable ; 
but  celibacy  is  not  disgraceful.  In  India  celibacy  m  disgraceful.  An  unmarried 
daughter  is  a  reproach  to  her  parents,  and  a  reproach  to  herself.  Indeed,  more 
or  less  the  birth  of  a  daughter  is  always  a  cauuni^.  It  is  a  disappointment  in 
the  first  jnstance,  because  to  beget  sons  Is  glonous  in  the  estimation  of  a 
Hindoo,  and  there  cannot  be  too  many  bora  into  his  house.  And  it  is  a  care  to 
him  afterwards,  because  marriage  is  a  necessity,  and  the  circle  of  suitability  is 

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164  htdia;  akd  hb  AinmnBTRATiQK. 

aapowcd  by  tlie^exclusiTeaeis  of  caste.  The  higher  the  sotM  dtgtee  'Of  the 
fiuDily,  the  ^eater  the  difficulty.  In  EUi^and  infanticide  is  peculiar  tp  the  lower 
orders ;  in  India  it  is  peculiar  to  the  higher.  In  England  it  is  the  activity  of 
degradation ;  in  India  the  activity  of  pride.  In  England  male  and  female  innnts 
are  murdered  with  equal  redileBsness.  In  In^a  t^  destroyiiK  hand  is  laid-oaly 
on  the  latter.  But  in  both  *cases  it  is  the  non^attaiBnieQt  of  hoBMsble  warn- 
vmge  in  e$$e,  or  in  jmmm,  which  impels  to  the  commission  of  the  onme." 

'  Rajpoot  honour  aad  Rajpoot  chivalry  are  convertible  terms  fer 
the  most  profound  and  stupefying  barbarism.  An  <dd  Rajpoot 
woman  was  qoietly  eating  her  dinner  alone,  when  some  Mabome- 
•dans,  who  were  wdking  through  the  village,  accidentally  looked  in 
and  saw  her.  From  that  moment  life  was  no  longer  endurable. 
She  could  not  survive  the  insult  of  being  looked  at  by  a  Mahome- 
dan  while  she  was  eating  her  dinner ;  and  when  her  grandson, 
a  fine  manly  young  fellow,  came  home,  she  related  her  disgrace  to 
"Mm,  and  begged  of  him  to  kill  her.  He  very  sensibly  remon- 
strated with  her,  and  refused;  and  not  being  able  to  find  any- 
^  body  wining  to  perform  the  sacrifice,  she  availed  herself  of  Uie 
next  opportunity  when  she  was  alone,  and  beat  her  head  violently 
against  the  wall.  On  the  return  of  ber  grandson  this  time,  find- 
ing her  in  a  state  of  excruciating  agony,  he  complied  with  ber 
entreaties,  and  stabbed  her  to  the  heait.  This  is  very  shocking ; 
yet  such  is  the  condition  of  morals  and  rationality  we  have  to 
legislate  for  in  India.  **  The  dishonour,**  observes  Mr.  Kaye, 
*^  incurred  by  an  old  woman  seen  by  a  passing  stranger,  in  the 
act  of  eating  her  dinner,  is  not  very  readily  appreciable.  The 
only  thing  that  is  very  clear  about  the  matter  is  that,  if  a  woman 
is  so  easily  dishonoured,  it  were  better  that  she  should  eat  her 
dinner  in  a  place  where  curious  travellers  cannot  see  her." 

Looking  back  upon  these  terriUe  usages  and  lamedti^>le  delu- 
sions, Mr.  Kaye  may  well  congratulate  his  English  readers  on  the 
civilizing  labours  of  their  countrymen — labours  firequently  pur- 
sued in  solitude,  and  in  the  midst  of  difficulties  and  dangers,  on- 
cheered  by  those  stimulating  tributes  of  popular  applause  which 
are  showered  upon  men  in  less  arduous  tasks  elsewhere. 

'*  hi  such  chapters  of  hidian  history  would  be  found  many  pictures  not  to  be 
dwelt  upon  without  feelines  of  national  pride  and  Christian  gratitude — pictures 
of  English  gentlemen  in  nie  deep  recesses  of  a  strange  country,  isolated  from 
their  kind,  devoting  themselves  to  the  noble  work  ^  reclaiming  the  savage 
people  of  a  newly-acquired  province,  and  making  their  way,  slow^  and  pain- 
niUy,  through  juQcles  of  ignorance  and  barbarism,  folly  and  superstition,  to  the 
great  reward  of  fuU  success.  Such  success  is  often  the  only  reward  which  these 
good  deeds  secure  to  the  man  of  peace  and  the  agent  of  civilization.  He  may 
win  the  approbation  and  the  confidence  of  hit  emph^ers,  but  I  only  utter  a 
threadbare  coramoo-place,  when  I  add  that  a  brilliant  charge  of  horse,  or  an 
assault  on  a  petty  fortress,  will  secure  for  him  more  popular  renown,  and 
achieve  for  him,  by  the  unpremeditated  act  of  a  casual  half  hour,  more  honorary 
distinction  than  can  be  acquired  by  years  of  philanthropic  toil." 

Here  we  must  reluctantly  dismiss  a  book  upon  which  we  would 
willingly  dwell  at  much  greater  length.  But  the  exactions  of 
space  are  as  inexorable  as  the  exactions  of  the  Ghreat  Mogul 
himself.  9 


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165 


A    RAILWAY   INCIDENT. 

BT  ONE   OF  THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

I  HATE  railway  trareUiiig !  Paidon  tbe  strength  t>f  the  expres- 
sion. To  me  the  pleasure  and  excitenent  of  a  journey  no  longer 
exist:  both  hare  vanished  with  macadamised  roads,  and  mail- 
coaches.  True,  the  former  were  dusty,  especially  in  July :  but 
have  you  no  chances  of  ophthalmia  by  rail  ?  Are  there  no  shaip 
particles  flying  into  your  eye  at  the  rate  of  thirty  miles  an  hour, 
including  stoppages;  and  is  there  not  a  sting,  a  pungency, 
a  piercingness,  about  railway  dust,  for  which  the  old  highway 
commodity  affords  no  parallel  ?  Twenty-four  hours  to  London 
certainly  was  a  ^^  toil  of  a  pleasure,^'  there  is  no  denying  that.  But 
if  the  toil  is  now  happily  got  rid  of,  I  appeal  confidently  to  every 
traveller  of  taste,  if  I  am  not  right  in  asserting  that  the  pleasure 
has  gone  with  itf 

How  pleasant,  some  fourteen  or  twenty  years  ago  (for  my  rail- 
way grievance  is  not  of  much  longer  standing),  was  a  journey 
through  some  of  the  rural  districts  of  old  England !  There  were 
the  turnings  and  windings  of  the  grass-bordered  highway,  every 
one  of  which  presented  you  with  some  new  view,  or  fresh  aq>ect 
of  the  old;  the  stalely  park-Uke  trees  which  here  and  there  over- 
shadowed it;  then,  the  ruin  in  the  valley,  how  it  seemed  to  flit 
before  you,  now  on  the  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  disclosing  its 
beautify  details  of  arch,  gallery,  and  ivy-braced  tower,  till  at 
length,  suddenly  lost  sight  ofy  a  sharp  turn  of  the  road,  brought 
you  under  its  time-stained  walls,  and,  for  a  moment,  you  glided 
noiselessly  over  the  green  turf  whence  they  sprang.  Then  a 
cheerful  blast  of  the  horn,  or  haply  bugle-notes,  that  rang  out  in 
sharp  echoes;  and,  dashing  over  the  steep  bridge,  apparently 
constructed  for  the  express  purpose  of  sousing  all  the  ^'  outsides'' 
into  the  stream,  a  fete  from  which  miracle  or  first-rate  coachmanship 
alone  saved  you — you  cantered  jauntily  into  the  little  country  town, 
to  the  admiration  of  all  the  loungers  about  that  most  seductive 
inn-door,  and  tbe  supreme  delight  of  John  himself  who  is  acutely 
alive  to  the  unqualified  approbation  excited  by  his  turn-out.  A 
sentiment  which  is  admirably  depicted  in  the  broad  grins  that 
greet  his  arrival ;  while  the  occupants  of  sundry  blue  bed-gowns 
and  scarlet  petticoats,  suq)end  their  labours  of  eternally  washing 
something  or  other  at  their  door-steps,  to  turn  up  their  hard-lined, 
impassive  faces,  and  gaze  at  the  vehicular  pageant  as  it  rushes  by. 
The  Red  Lion  creaked  invitingly  as  you  entered  the  porch ;  and, 
rejoicing  in  the  security  of  your  half  hour  for  dinner,  you  made 
known  your  wishes  for  that  most  attractive  of  ^^  nural  messes,*^  ham 
and  eggs,  with  an  inward  longing,  to  which  delicacv  alone  pre- 
vented yon  giving  vocal  expression,  to  add,  ^^for  two  !^'  Then  you 
strolled  to  the  close-shaven,  well-enclosed  bowling-green,  whose 

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166  A  BAILWAY  INCIDENT. 

yerdant  leTel  agreeably  boands  the  view,  right  through  the  house, 
to  enjoy  the  sunset  tifi  your  repast  was  ready.  Thai  was  enjoy- 
ment; and  business  was  done  into  the  bargain,  every  whit  as 
well,  as  though  you  had  clattered  along  at  the  heels  of  an  un- 
seemly steam-engine,  and  seen  nothing  worth  looking  at  by  the 
way. 

There  was  an  idea  of  unity,  a  oneness  about  a  stage-coach,  the 
attainment  of  which  is  simply  impossible  to  half  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  carriages,  headed,  and  perhaps  followed  to  boot,  by  a 
snorting  locomotive:  and  then  with  how  fraternal  a  spirit  you 
regarded  the  rest  of  the  four  ^^  insides.^  With  what  kindly  com- 
passion you  remarked  the  ill-made  sandwiches  with  whicn  your 
companion  opposite  had  been  furnished  by  some  unconscientious 
hireling;  and  with  what  a  thrill  of  humanity  you  tendered  him 
your  own  delicate  parallelograms  of  most  savoury  contents, 
prepared  for  you  by  one  of  your  own  household,  dear,  ^^  silly, 
womankind!''  and  of  whose  existence  and  uses,  in  your  utter 
abjuration  of  lunches  en  routes  you  are  alone  reminded  by  your 
neighbour's  wretchedness.  Meet  him  in  a  railway  carriage,  and 
you  absolutely  feel  a  savage  pleasure  in  seeing  him,  after  repeated 
and  vain  attempts  upon  the  gristly  refection,  fling  the  whole 
through  the  window  with  a  growl  of  malediction,  dedicated 
alike  to  the  artist  who  had  perpetrated  so  unworkmanlike  an 
affair,  and  such  a  mode  of  travelling  as  renders  the  loss  irre- 
parable. No,  it  is  utterly,  and  for  ever  impossible  that  the  sym- 
pathies which  are  required  to  embrace  three  hundred  individuals 
can  be  as  intense  as  when  they  are  brought  to  a  focus  upon  half- 
a-dozen!  And  then,  the  box-seat!  What  mere  mortal  can 
adequately  unfold  its  marvellous  delights.  One,  two,  three — at 
each  step  you  seem  to  shake  off  some  of  the  littlenesses  of  hu- 
manity;  till,  finally  perched  upon  its  proudest  height,  you  become 
sensible  of  a  rapidly  increasing  contempt  for  all  men  and  things  be- 
neath ;  culminating  in  so  settled  and  sublime  a  composure  as  enables 
you  serenely,  and  without  feeling  discomposed  at  their  awkward- 
ness, to  drive  over  old  women,  and  children,  and  donkey-carts, 
and  even  to  jerk  elderly  gendemen  out  of  their  ridiculous  til- 
buries into  quickset  hedges :  which,  by  the  way,  come  the  worse 
off  of  the  two,  their  budding  hopes  being  utterly  crushed  beneath 
the  weight  of  incumbent  humanity.  Other  things  may  be  '^  great  ;** 
but  your  "  four-in-hand  "  is  "  glorious.** 

My  last  experience  of  this  delectable  position,  passive  though 
not  active,  was  one  of  thorough  enjoyment ;  the  more  so,  perhaps, 
that  it  was  unpremeditated,  for  slight  symptoms  of  a  wet  day  had 
half  induced  me  to  bestow  myself  snugly  inside.  However,  being 
always  weather  wise  at  the  sea-side,  I  concluded  that  it  would  turn 
out  nne.  And  fine  it  was ;  one  of  the  most  brilliant  specimens  of 
an  April  day,  with  the  exception  of  its  showers;  the  dull,  lower- 
ing morning  issuing  in  an  evening  of  such  varied  cloud  and  sun- 
shine, as  I  have  rarely  seen,  and  which  imparted  an  extreme, 
albeit  illusive  beauty,  to  a  bleak  sandy  coast ;  the  beach,  whence 
die  tide  had  retreated,  leaving  innumerable  miniature  lakes  in  its 

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A  RAILWAY  INCIDENT.  167 

ahelTings,  and  sinuoeideSy  glowing  with  a  hazy  purple  hue,  amid 
.which  Ihe  little  pools  gleamed  like  gold.  The  cliff  to  the  north, 
torn,  raggedy  and  abrapt,  stood  ont  boldly  to  the  light ;  its  deep 
brown  sides  stained  with  many  tints  by  the  streams  that  trickled 
from  the  high  land ;  while,  to  the  south,  a  faint  blue  Hne,  visible 
above  the  horizon,  indicated  the  Welsh  mountains.  The  former 
we  left  behind,  our  road  skirting  the  sea,  and  almost  on  its  level, 
for  a  short  distance.  It  was  in  a  quiet  part  of  the  country — a 
corn-growing  district,  innocent  of  tail  chimneys,  and  night-  and 
day-working  steam-engines,  which,  in  some  of  the  northern 
parts  of  England,  disfigure  the  most  beautiful  and  picturesque 
sceneiy.  Here,  innumerable  windmills  attracted  the  eye  of  the 
spectator. 

I  have  called  it  an  April  day ;  but,  in  tact, 

**  'T  was  April,  as  the  bumpHm  saj, 
The  Legislature  called  it  May.** 

And,  indeed,  the  two  months  might  well  have  squabbled  as  to 
which  of  them  might  justly  claim  the  honour  of  having  pro- 
duced it. 

The  first  few  miles  of  our  journey  lay  on  and  near  the  barren 
coast,  where  sand  alternated  with  stunted  herbage,  and  the  slender 
wiry  plant  that  binds  together  the  light  shifting  undulations.  In 
some  places,  where  cultivation  had  bestowed  its  patient  toil,  were 
scattered  groups  of  such  trees  as  best  stand  the  keen  salt  blast : 
the  hardy  willow,  the  fir,  and  sundry  others,  that,  fiimiliar  though 
they  are  to  my  eye,  I  must  with  shame  confess  I  am  not  arborolo- 
gist  enough  to  name:  aU,  by  their  invariable  slant  in  one  direc- 
tion, landwards^  bearing  witness  to  the  strength  and  constancy  of 
the  ^^  ocean-scented  gale "  that  sweeps  over  them,  searing  the 
tender  buds  that  first  struggle  into  tardy  verdure.  Dull,  flat,  and 
monotonous,  the  scene  yet  had  its  attractions  beneath  the  deep- 
toned  sunshine  that  now  gave  grace  and  beauty  to  the  most  insig- 
nificant portions  of  it.  (How  beautifiil  in  such  a  light  is  a  bit  of 
broken  clay-bank  crested  with  short  green  turf!)  The  vapours 
that,  during  the  early  part  of  the  day,  had  rested  heavily  on  the 
earth,  were  now  dispersed,  until  atmosphere  (in  artistic  phrase) 
there  was  absolutely  none ;  so  crisp,  so  intensely  clear  was  all 
around.  Presently,  low  wUte  cottages  were  seen  here  and  there 
amid  a  tuft  of  sheltering  trees,  under  whose  screen  gay  flowers 
were  clustered.  While  the  neatly-kept  kitchen-garden,  well  stocked 
with  vegetables,  and  the  bright  milk-pails  (arranged  for  present 
use,  as  I  guessed  from  seeing  a  formidable  pair  of  horns  at  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge !),  gave  pleasing  evidence  of  the  cheerful 
industrv  of  their  inmates :  some  specimens  of  whom  presented 
themselves  to  our  view,  in  the  form  of  small  urchins,  the  shape  and 
colour  of  a  brick ;  so  square  and  red  were  these  ^  sons  of  the  soil.^ 
In  the  distance  a  range  of  sand-hills  allowed  occasional  glimpses 
of  the  '^  burnished  waters^  that  rolled  beyond  them ;  and  whose 
ceaseless  booming,  growing  faint  and  ftdnter  as  our  course  inclined 
to  the  interior,  fell  not  unbarmoniously  upon  the  ear. 

VOL.  XXXIV.  ^  . 

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168  A  BAILWAY  INCID8NT. 

Then  we  twned  inland;  wad  Ite  laadBcape  sssmned  aiidwr 
aspect.  Owr  prospect,  almost  Biomeiitarily  wied  by  the  incessurt 
play  of  ligbt  and  ^ade,  was  bounded  by  dw  bills  spread  oot  from 
nortb  to  somtb  before  vs;  steeped  in  vnnsbise,  while  die  plain  was 
tibrown  into  deep  shadow,  then  shrouded  in  ^loom  as  the  ever- 
changing  light  fell  oa  the  interreiRng  conntiy,  bringing  out  viTtdly 
its  different  features,  of  ploughed  land,  pasture,  and  «om*field ; 
the  clouds  now  collecting  in  one  heavy  mass,  with  vomid,  doll 
outlines,  then,  disheveUed  by  the  ftntastic  breeze,  riding  at  speed 
through  the  sky,  intensely  blue;  first  one  point,  then  anodier,  and 
yet  another  of  the  wide-spread  landscape  being  brought  into  view 
as  the  simbeams  chased  die  rapidly  retreating  diadows.  Hie  air 
was  cold  and  bracing,  just  enough  to  exhilarate  one;  the  hertmge 
and  foliage,  now  become  luxuriant  in  the  extreme,  after  a  six- 
weeks*  drought,  looking  as  fresh  and  green  as  after  a  spring 
shower.  We  were  a  light  load,  well-horsed,  and  merrily  we  rat- 
tled along;  for  a  while  following  the  course  of  a  noble  river,  whose 
retiring  tide — for  we  were  yet  within  a  dozen  miles  of  the  sea  — 
had  left  tall  vessels  ^'  high  and  dry  "  upon  its  sandy  banks.  Then 
we  raced  through  a  picturesque  hamlet,  making  a  most  important 
clatter  over  the  small,  rou^  paving-stones,  which  there  si^planted 
the  smoother  surface  of  the  high-road,  the  oveihanging  boughs  on 
each  side  sweeping  our  heads,  while  groups  of  sturdy,  staring  chil- 
dren ran  out  to  see  the  sight,  hailing  as  with  a  smaU  cheer  or  two, 
from  mouths  too  well  stuffed  with  bread  and  butter  to  emit  any 
very  powerfril  sounds.  That  was  a  sharp  turn  as  we  left  it  Swing 
went  the  coach.  ^^Take  care  of  yotorsdves,  gentlemen!'*  All 
right !  and  on  we  bounded  over  a  level,  paric4ike  heath,  where 
sheep  enough  to  furnish  the  whole  <^ooiity  widi  mutton  were  crop* 
ping  the  short  grass  with  such  evident  satisfaction  as  made  me 
half  long  for  a  mouthftd  myself!  They  raised  their  silly  faces  to 
stare  at  us  as  we  passed,  and  then,  widi  an  ^  up  with  their  heels 
and  down  with  their  head  **  movement,  cantered  off,  to  leave  us  a 
wide  berth,  most  palpably  preferring  our  room  to  our  company. 

It  was  a  delicious  drive.  But  "each  pleasure  lias  its  pain;" — 
and  mine  was  not  witliout  its  accustomed  sequenceN  At  sunset  it 
terminated  in  a  smoky,  manufacturing  town,  wheTe,^Jiaving  re- 
freshed myself  with  a  cup  of  ineffably  bad  cofffee,  who&e  flavour- 
less tepidity  was  no  ways  ameliorated  by  its  being  han^d  to  me 
on  a  sUver  waiter  by  a  "  boy  in  buttons,**'  I  consigned  myself — it 
must  be  owned  dusty  and  cold — to  die  well-cushioned  enhplosure 
of  a  railway -carriage.  The  long  train  shot  through  the  dus^  and, 
as  usual,  dipping  between  two  banks,  whenever  the  still  gorglgooa 
west,  or  any  object  of  unusual  interest  presented  itself,  rapV* 
brought  me  within  sig^t  of  home.  The  lights  of  a  large  to^ 
gleamed  oddly  through  the  darimess,  not  only  around,  but  actua 
under  our  feet,  for  huge  arches  here  overlept  streets  and  hous 
so  diat,  had  not  daylight  frdled  me,  I  might  have  committed 
impertinence  of  looking  down  people's  chimneys,  to  see  what  tl 
were  going  to  have  for  dinner. 

Truly  nothing  can  beat  an  Eng^iA  high-road  and  stage  coacll 


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A  BAiLWAT  DrcnnNT  109 

There  are  so  many  miseries  aboot  a  railway.  There  is  the  utter 
destruction  ctf  one^s  nerres  in  the  gigantic  bosde  and  business 
aronnd;  you  seem  encircled  by  one  extravagant  hiss;  the  min- 
1^  favour  of  smolce  and  oil,  subskfiaiy  to  the  abominable  sleam- 
padcet  movenent,  adapted  to  produce  on  dry  land  die  most  objec- 
tionable resalte  of  a  sea-voyage;  the  clambering  up  to  yo«r 
carriage,  like  climbing  the  side  of  a  houSe  from  its  height  and 
perpendicularity;  and  the  bawling  or  poshing  your  lac^  com- 
pamons  thus  incommodiously  to  tibeir  seats.  Then,  after  a  flut- 
tering jerk  of  the  s^al-beU,  which  reminds  you  that  your  wife's 
half  dozen  packages  are  in  the  hands  of  as  many  porters,  a  few 
nunntes  elapee  spent  in  painfully  poking  your  head  out  to  tiie 
utmost  extent  of  your  neck,  to  make  sure  of  the  safe  deposition  of 
the  said  voluminous  laggage.  Anodier  jerik  of  the  bell,  and  a  slow 
tremulous  motion,  and  you  fency  you  are  feirly  under  way  at  last. 
No  such  thing:  a  jingUng  of  chains,  followed  by  a  lull  stop,  wiA 
the  additional  emphasis  of  no  gentle  bang  against  the  ^^  buffers  ^ 
of  the  next  carriage,  convinces  you,  as  you  are  flung  into  the  bonnet 
of  the  lady  opposite,  that  you  labour  under  a  mistake,  and  dtat 
the  whole  routine  of  disagreeables  attendant  upon  getting  up  the 
steam  wiU  again  hare  to  be  undergone  before  that  happy  consooi- 
mation  is  ^ected.  However,  suppose  all  this  accomplished: 
you  rush  gloomily  along  what  in  sumiaer  seems  an  endk^s  green 
ditchy  to  ^e  top  of  irfiose  sides  even  it  is  vain  to  tiy  to  raise  your 
eyes,  much  less  can  you  hope  to  see  the  country  through  winch 
you  are  passing,  save  when  friendly  undulations  of  the  surface 
permit  you  a  brief  glance  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  just  by  way 
of  letting  you  see  bow  much  you  lose  for  the  sake  of  reaching  your 
journey's  end  a  few  hours  sooner.  Or,  if  you  chance  to  have  some 
miles'  uninterrupted  prospect  of  wild,  romantic  beauty,  depend 
upon  it,  right  ahead  a  tunnel,  two  miles  long,  yawns  to  receive 
you.  While  the  slackened  pace  at  which  you  pass  through  its  chiU 
concavity  aflbrds  you  ample  leisure  to  think  over  the  possible 
result  of  any  flaw  or  fracture  in  that  slight  brickwork  which  alone 
intervenes  between  you  and  the  pressure  of  nobody  knows  what 
weight  of  superincumbent,  and  most  picturesquely  fir-clad  hill; 
doomed  to  such  desecration  by  a  flmty-hearted  engineer  and 
directors,  to  whom  all  the  natural  beauty  of  the  whole  earth  would 
weigh  as  nodiing  against  three  letters  of  tibe  alphabet — X.  s.  <L 
And  who  are  equally  reckless  of  the  shock  sustained  by  people  of 
delicate  nerves,  on  feeling  themselves  rapidly  and  irresistibly  im- 
pelled towards  a  black  orifice,  which  finds  its  fitting  antitype  in 
that  opening  by  Heaven's  gate  into  which  Bunyan  tells  us  poor 
Ijjfmorance  was  thrust  as  a  short-cut  to  the  infernal  regions.  Not 
to  mention  minor  inconveniences  that,  as  it  is  said,  may  attend 
tibe  transit:  one  of  which,  the  transfer  of  black  patches  from  the 
lips  of  grave,  correct-looking  gentlemen,  to  that  of,  if  possible,  still 
more  <femure,  correct-looking  ladies,  would,  were  the  case  authen- 
ticated, legitimately  bring  diese  gigantic  borei  within  die  range 
of  the  society  for  the  reformation  of  manners. 
How  provoking  too,  to  be  eagerly  looking  out  for  some  interest- 
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170  A  RAILWAY  INCIDENT. 

ing  spot,  some  village,  or  neigfabourbood,  perchance  awocialed 
with  family  recollections,  and  dear  to  yon  as  identified  with  those 
whom  yon  hold  dear,  but  which  yon  have  never  seen  —  how  inex- 

I)res8ibly  provoking  to  approach,  traverse  the  locality,  and  even 
eave  it  far  behind,  in  one  inexorable  deep  catting,  from  the  abyss 
of  which  you  see  about  as  much  as  from  die  bottom  of  a  well !  and 

H d  remains  as  much  a  mere  name  as  ever. 

There  are  none  of  those  delightful  breaks  and  changes  that  add 
to  the  interest  of  highway-travelling.  The  entertainment  of  pass- 
ing through  strange  towns,  where,  in  idle  mood,  you  note  odd 
signs,  and  names,  and  customs— for  every  place  has  those  peculiar 
to  it.  The  variations  of  up-hill  and  down-dale  ;  or  even  the  diver- 
sion of  a  restive  horse,  which  is  surely  better  than  unbroken 
monotony ;  affording,  as  it  does,  an  unparalleled  opportunity  for 
man,  woman  or  child,  all  the  passengers,  and  as  many  raga- 
muffins as  can  be  got  together  on  so  short  a  notice,  severally  and 
singly  to  issue  as  many,  and  contradictory  orders,  advices,  objur- 
gations, and  lamentations,  as  the  most  unreasonable  spirit  may 
move  them  to:  useless  and  impertinent  in  themselves,  yet  not 
without  value  on  physiological  grounds ;  seeing  how  eminently 
thev  promote  a  free  and  vigorous  circulation  of  the  vital  fluid, 
and  a  healthy  action  of  the  lungs  —  two  important  requisites  for 
the  well-being  of  the  human  frame.  None  of  these  chances  and 
changes,  not  even  a  wayside  purchase  of  tempting  summer-fruit, 
however  hot  and  dry  (simple  thirsty  does  not  express  your  con- 
dition) you  may  happen  to  be ;  but  on  —  on  —  on  you  fuss  from 
one  shire  to  another,  without  taking  in  a  single  new  idea.  All 
that  you  gain  is  additional  evidence  in  favour  of  your  own 
original  and  boundless  preference  for  animated,  intelligent,  qua- 
drupedal flesh  and  blood,  over  dark,  stem,  soulless  metal. 

Yes,  I  do  hate  railway  travelling :  and  not  merely  as  a  matter  of 
taste  now.  An  accident  that  befell  me  a  few  years  ago,  and 
that  could  only  have  happened  upon  a  railway,  has  caused  it  to 
be  associated  in  my  mind  with  such  painful  feelings,  as  that  I 
cannot  even  think  of  it  without,  in  some  degree,  renewing  suffer- 
ing, which  I  would  fain  hope  is  without  parallel  in  the  experience 
of  any  whose  eye  may  glance  over  this  record  of  mine. 

In  the  month  of  August  18—,  it  was  incumbent  upon  me 
to  take  a  journey  to  a  town  at  some  distance  from  my  own  resi- 
dence. Time  being  no  object  with  me,  and  the  country  through 
which  my  route  lay  vei^  beautiful,  I  resolved  to  take  it  in  what 
was  to  me  the  most  enjoyable  way ;  but  after  diligent  inquiry  for 
anything  in  the  shape  of  a  stage-coach,  I  found  that  her  Majesty^s 
mail  had  ceased  running  the  week  before ;  so  that  ^^  the  rail"*  was 
my  only  chance  of  getting  to  the  place  of  my  destination. 
Whereupon  I  made  a  virtue  of  necessity ;  submitting,  though  with 
the  worst  grace  in  the  world ;  for  my  habitual  dislike  to  this  mode 
of  travelling  was  increased  by  one  of  those  unaccountable  fits  of 
reluctance  to  taking  the  journey,  which  sometimes  seizes  one,  and 
which  is  usually  set  down  to  the  score  of  nervousness.  So  I  tried 
to  explain  mine ;  which,  as  the  time  drew  near,  rose  to  a  complete 


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A  RAILWAY  INCIDENT.  I7l 

dread  of  it,  to  1117  no  small  annoyance,  for  I  had  a  contempt  for 
omens  and  presentiments ;  wad  sealonsly,  but  vainly,  I  tried  to 
pooh  !  pooh  1  myself  out  of  it 

The  morning  broke,  dull,  wet,  oppressive,  with  apparently  half 
a  score  thunder-storms  in  reserve  for  my  especial  use ;  and  at  six 
o'clock  I  jumped  up  from  an  uneasy  dream,  in  which  I  was  strug- 
gling  with  some  nondescript  wild  beast,  to  find  I  had  only  half  an 
hour  left  to  make  my  toilet  and  get  to  the  station.  Of  course, 
everything  went  wrong ;  strings  slipped  into  knots,  buttons  flew ; 
never  was  there  such  confusion.  I  could  not  be  quick,  I  was  in 
such  a  hurry.  Hastily  swallowing  a  cup  of  tea  (part  of  which,  to 
crown  my  mishaps,  went  the  wrong  way),  I  ran  off;  and  must  own 
that,  important  as  was  my  business,  I  felt  half  sorry,  as  I  entered 
the  booking-office,  to  fina  myself  in  time :  for  a  secret  hope  had 
possessed  me  that  I  might  prove  too  late ;  a  hope  that  had  ex- 
panded into  certainty  as  I  heard  the  hour  at  which  I  expected  the 
train  to  start  announced  from  half  a  dozen  steeples  ere  I  was  half 
way  to  the  station.  I  reached  it;  found  the  time  had  been  altered ; 
so  got  my  ticket ;  ^^  snapped  "  at  the  clerk  who  furnished  it  (this 
relieved  me  a  little),  and  sprang  into  a  carriage,  which  tempted 
me  as  containing  only  one  occupant ;  and  the  huge  mass  slowly 
took  its  noisy  way  from  under,  acres  surely,  of  glazed  roof,  and 
speedily  left  it  behind. 

The  rain  ceased  as  we  got  into  the  open  country,  a  fine  breeze 
sprang  up,  which  blew  away  my  fidgets,  and  I  began  internally  to 
laugh  at  myself  for  having  been  such  a  fool ;  not  forgetting  to 
congratulate  my  better  self  on  its  having  triumphed  over  the 
nervous  fears  that  had  beset  me.  It  really  became  almost  plea- 
sant. A  mail-train,  so  that  I  was  secure  from  the  plague  of  frequent 
stoppages,  and  their  consequent  fresh  starts.  An  exhilarating 
atmosphere :  the  dark  clouds  that  had  spoken  of  thunder  when  I 
rose,  now  betraying  no  such  obstreperous  intentions,  but  quietly 
taking  themselves  off  as  fast  as  they  could.  The  weight  on  my 
spirits  removed ; — yes,  I  began  to  be  susceptible  of  a  modified 
sort  of  enjoyment;  and  in  the  gaiety  of  my  heart,  I  told  my 
fellow-traveller  that  it  was  a  fine  day:  a  remark  to  which  he 
vouchsafed  me  no  answer,  save  such  might  be  called  the  turning 
on  me  a  pair  of  eyes  that  looked  vastly  like  live  coals.  They 
almost  made  me  start;  but  I  considercMi  it  was  no  business  of 
mine ;  the  gentleman's  eyes  were  his  own,  and  I  doubted  not  that 
mine,  owing  to  a  short,  sleepless  night,  were  as  much  too  dull  as 
his  were  too  bright:  so  I  whisked  my  pocket-kerchief  across 
them,  by  way  of  polishing  them  a  little,  took  out  a  newspaper, 
sank  into  a  cosy  comer,  and  prepared  to  read,  or  sleep,  as  the 
case  may  be.  In  the*  very  drowsiest  part  of  a  long  speech,  I  was 
just  going  off  into  the  most  luxurious  slumber  imaginable,  when  I 
was  roused  by  the  restlessness  of  my  companion;  who,  as  I 
waked  up  thoroughly,  seemed  labouring  uoder  some  strong  and 
inexplicable  excitement.  He  looked  agitated,  changed  his  seat 
frequently,  moved  his  limbs  impatiently,  borrowed  my  paper,  and 
in  a  trice  returned  it  with  some  uninteUigible  observation ;  then 

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172  A  RAILWAY  INCIDENT. 

peared  anzioiialy  out  of  the  window,  through  whicli  he  thrust  him- 
self so  £ur,  as  to  induce  «ie  to  Tolunteer  m  caotion,  which  be 
receiired  pleasantly,  stared  at  the  wheels,  as  though  he  were 
caknlating  their  rerolutions,  and  then  resumed  his  seat. 

His  perturbataon  was  manifest.  I  could  not  imagine  what  pos- 
sessed the  man ;  but  at  length,  noticing  the  agitated  manner  wkh 
which  he  often  gbnced  tlurough  the  window,  as  though  to  see 
whether  we  were  fc^owed,  I  determined  that  he  must  be  some 
gentlemanly  rogue,  to  whom  speedy  flight  was  indispensaUe  ;  and 
that  his  anxiel^  and  excessive  disturbance  arose  from  fear  of 
pursuit :  a  fear  diat  to  me  seemed  one  of  those  vain  ones  peculiar 
to  the  wicked,  for  we  were  then  nearly  at  the  ultimatum  of  railway 
speed,  and  did  not  expect  to  stop  before  reaching  our  destination, 
still  at  a  considerable  distance*  His  whole  manner  and  appear- 
ance confirmed  this  view  of  the  case ;  I  presumed  his  evil  con- 
science had  conjured  up  a  '*  special  engine  *'  at  our  beefe ;  and 
after  indulging  in  a  few  impropriate  moral  reflections  (to  myself,  of 
course),  I  resumed  my  pi^er. 

The  next  minute  he  was  opposite  to  me.  I  heard  a  light  move- 
ment, raised  my  head — a  strong  knife,  such  as  is  used  in  pruning 
trees,  was  open  in  his  hand ;  and,  with  eyes  verily  scintillating, 
his  startling  address,  in  a  tone,  tiie  coolness  of  which  strangely 
contrasted  with  its  import,  was — "  I  'm  going  to  kill  you  \^  The 
horrible  truth  flttihed  upon  me  at  once:  be  was  insane,  and  I 
alone  with  Inm,  shut  out  from  all  possibility  of  human  help ! 
Terror  gave  me  calmness  :  fixing  my  eye  upon  him,  so  as  to  com- 
mand his  uMvements,  and  perhaps  control  him,  I  answered 
quietly  and  firmly,  "  No,  you  are  not."  It  was  well  I  was  pre- 
pared. That  moment  he  sprang  on  me,  and  the  death-struggle 
began*  I  grappled  with  him,  and  attempted  to  secure  his  right 
arm ;  while  again  and  again,  as  I  strained  every  nerve  to  accom- 
plish this  purpose,  did  that  accursed  blade  glitter  before  my  eyes ; 
for  my  antagonist  was  my  superior  in  muscle  and  weight,  and 
armed  in  addition  with  the  demoniacal  storength  of  madness,  now 
expressed  in  eveiy  lineament  of  his  inflamed  and  distorted  coun- 
tenance. What  a  sight  was  that,  not  ffuperAiumsiU  face  !  Loudly 
and  hoarsely  I  called  for  help  :---but  we  were  rushing  along  thirty- 
miles  in  the  hour,  and  my  cries  were  drowned  amid  the  roar  of 
wheels  and  steam.  How  horrible  were  my  sensations !  Cooped 
up  thus,  to  be  mangled  and  murdered  by  a  madman,  with  means 
of  rescue  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  and  yet  that  help,  that  commu- 
nication with  my  fellows  that  would  have  saved  me,  as  utterly  unat- 
tainable, as  though  we  were  in  a  desert.  I  quivered,  as  turning 
aside  thrust  after  thrust,  dealt  with  exhausttess  and  frenzied 
violence,  I  doubted  not  that  the  next  must  find  its  way  to  my 
heart.  My  strength  was  rapidly  failing :  not  so  that  of  my  mur- 
derer. I  stnigglMl  desperately,  as  alone  the  fear  of  such  a  death 
could  enable  a  man  to  do;  and,  my  hands  gashed  and  bleeding,  at 
last  wrenched  the  knife  from  his  hold,  and  flung  it  through  the 
window.  Then  I  first  seemed  to  breathe !  But  not  yet  was  I 
safe.  With  redoubled  rage  he  Arew  himself  at  my  throat,  crush- 
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A  RAILWAY  INCIDENT.  173 

ing  it  as  with  iron  fingers ;  and  as  I  felt  his  whole  frame  heave  and 
labour  with  the  violence  of  the  attack,  for  one  dreadM  moment 
I  gave  up  all  for  lost  But,  surely  then,  some  unseen  Power 
strengthened  me.  Half  strangled,  I  flung  the  whole  weight  of  my 
body  upon  him,  got  him  down,  and  planting  my  knee  on  his 
breast,  by  main  strength  held  him,  spite  of  his  frantic  efforts  to 
writhe  himself  firom  under  me.  My  hands  were  bitten,  and  torn 
in  his  convulsive  rage,  but  I  felt  not — ^heeded  it  not — ^life  was  at 
stake,  and  hardly  I  fought  for  it.  The  bitterness  of  death  was 
upon  me,  and  awfully  clear  and  distinct,  in  that  mortal  struggle, 
were  the  past  and  the  future:  the  human,  sinfid  past,  and  the 
dread,  unknown,  avenging,  eternal  future.  How  were  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  years  compressed  into  that  one  backward  glance ; 
and  how  utterly  insignificant  did  they  appear  as  the  light  of  life 
seemed  fieuling  from  them.  Fearfully  calm  and  collected  was  my 
mind,  while  my  body  felt  as  though  dissolving  with  the  terribk» 
stndn  to  which  all  its  powers  were  subjected.  And  yet^  consumed 
as  I  was  with  mental  and  physical  agcMEiy,  I  well  remember  my 
sensation  of  Mus,  for  such  it  was,  when  the  cool  breeze  for  a 
single  moment  blew  l^)on  my  flushed  and  streaming  brow>  whick 
felt  as  though  at  the  mouth  d!  a  furnace  ! 

But  this  could  not  last  long.  My  limbs  shook,  and  were  fast 
relaxing  their  gripe,  a  mist  swam  before  my  eyes,  mv  recoUectioii 
wavered,  when — ^uiank  heaven  !  I  became  sensible  of  a  diminutioii 
of  our  speed.  Fresh  strength  inspired  me.  I  dashed  my  pri- 
soner down  as  he  again  attempted  to  free  himself.  Then  tha 
welcome  sound  of  letting  off  the  steam — the  engine  stopped,  the 
door  opened — and  I  was  saved  ! 

My  companion  was  quickly  secured,  and  presently  identified  as 
a  lunatic  who  had  escaped  from  confinement.  To  it  he  was  Bgain 
consigned;  and  I,  firom  that  day  to  this,  have  never  entered  a 
railway  carriage  with  only  <me  passenger  in  it ! 

Such  is  a  umple  recital  of  my  adventure,  which  I  have  not 
sought  to  heighten  by  any  arts  of  narration.  It  is,  indeed,  utteriy 
beyond  my  power  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  that  horrible 
encounter.  Its  most  faithful  transcript  has  been  found  in  many 
a  night-mare  and  fearful  dream,  with  which  it  has  furnished  the 
drear  hours  of  night.* 

*  The  above  is  no  mere  fiction.  It  occurred  on  one  of  the  English  railwi^ 
some  years  ago,  and  the  facts  were  communicated  to  a  member  of  the  writer's 
family  by  the  gentleman  whose  life  was  thus  strangely  perilled.  It,  and  another 
sonewiuit  sinSar  case,  may  perhaps  induce  others  to  avoid  a  railway  journey 
with  only  one  strange  fellow -travdler. 


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A  JOURNEY  FROM  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO 
ST.  PETER'S. 

From  the  number  of  times  I  have  seen  such  facts  stated  with 
great  particularity  and  emphasis,  as  an  important  preliminary  of 
narration,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  reader  will  be  par- 
ticularly interested  in  hearing  that  the  weather  was  cold  and  dark 
on  the  Friday  morning,  when  it  was  my  painful  duty  to  get  up 
before  dawn  to  set  off  from  Florence  for  Rome. 

Anywhere  but  in  England  and  America,  which  are  the  only 
two  unslovenly  countries  I  have  travelled  in,  it  is  so  awful  and 
tremendous  an  effort  to  start  anything  like  early  in  the  moiiiing 
that  they  always  wake  you  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  that 
you  may  have  several  hours  to  think  about  it. 

I  made  many  inquiries  overnight  about  the  real  time,  that  I 
might  not  come  too  early  nor  too  late,  but  in  time.  It  is  no  use 
struggling  with  destiny  and  lying  diligence  officials.  They  got 
me  out  of  my  bed  two  hours  sooner  than  there  was  any  occasion. 
The  blank  day  dawned  upon  the  office,  waiting-room,  luggage- 
store,  and  coach-house,  which  all  seemed  united  in  one  vast  fire- 
lit  den,  where  numerous  persons,  much  bundled  in  travelling 
wraps  and  in  various  degrees  of  anxiety  about  luggage,  were 
assembled  to  smoke,  and  wonder,  and  fret,  and  make  inquiries 
when  the  diligence  would  start. 

About  seven  we  trundled  leisurely  away  to  the  railway  station, 
where  it  took  us  an  hour  to  get  our  luggage  on  its  truck,  and  start 
for  Geneva  by  the  eight  o'clock  train.  And  to  this  end  they  in- 
sisted on  my  getting  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  seeing  the 
diligence  perched  at  the  office,  and  hoisted  at  the  station,  when  I 
might  perfectly  well  have  got  up  at  seven  and  come  to  my  railway 
carriage  in  a  cab  after  breakfast. 

But  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  make  the  reader  share  my 
troubles  and  uncomforts,  except  as  far  as  he  wants  to  be  aware  of 
the  real  uncomforts,  and  angers,  and  heart-burnings  of  travel.  They 
say  tyranny  breeds  tyranny,  and  I  believe  it ;  for  the  greatest  tyranny 
I  have  experienced  in  my  life  has  been  from  locomotive  function- 
aries, and  nothing  has  ever  so  much  made  me  envy  Tiberius  and 
Nero  as  the  desire  of  punishing  to  my  heart's  content  some  of 
these  worthies  dressed  in  a  little  brief  authority. 

A  little  justice  in  one's  cause  greatly  sweetens  revenge,  which 
is  the  most  luxurious  kind  of  cruelty ;  and  if  I  were  a  wicked 
tjrrant  in  want  of  amusement,  I  should  wish  for  no  better  than  to 
travel  through  Italy  in  disguise,  and  cause  every  landlord,  voi- 
turier,  and  custom-house  officer,  who  cheated,  extortioned,  or  in- 
suited  me,  to  be  whipped  as  much  as  he  deserved. 

There  certainly  is  something  very  charming  in  the  idea  of  an 
insolent  oppressor  suddenly  being  converted  into  a  shrinking 


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A  JOURNEY  FROM  WESTMINRER  ABBEY,  ETC.  175 

victim  tmder  the  lash.  A  crisp  and  Tigorotis  reviilsion  of  contrast 
which  most  make  it  pleasant  to  see  the  wretches  beaten.  I  thii^ 
the  tyrants  of  old  must  have  found  it  difficult,  among  all  the  careftil 
sienrility  of  their  dependents,  to  get  angry  enough  to  take  much 
pleasure  in  the  cruel  things  they  did. 

Their  wholesale  murders  were  like  Nero's  fly-killing — a  mere 
amusement  of  ill-tempered  leisure ;  not  a  skilful  usurpation  of, 
God's  most  terrible  attribute—'^  Vengance  is  mine :  I  will  repay, 
saitli  the  Lord.^  In  order  to  enjoy  tyranny,  you  must  be  just  as 
far  as  you  can  see  justice.  Your  crime  and  your  condemnation 
should  only  be  in  your  exercising  a  function  at  all,  for  which  all 
mortal  men  are  incompetent. 

Still  there  must  be  a  great  pleasure  in  unlimited  wilfulness. 
Baroun  al  Raschid  is  the  only  man  in  history  who  understood  how 
to  be  a  king.  But  the  Arabian  Nights  are  not  precisely  history, 
nor  is  Bagdad  precisely  Rome. 

The  train  rattled  along  the  banks  of  the  Amo,  skirting  under 
picturesque  villages  on  the  hill-brows,  running  through  hoary  olive 
groves  and  wintry  vineyards,  with  bare  gnarled  trunks  like  hiber- 
nating serpents  which  the  cold  had  stiffened  in  writhing  agony. 
About  five  hours  brought  us  to  Sienna,  a  picturesque  old  city  on 
the  brow  of  a  hill,  with  turrets,  and  spires,  and  battlements,  which 
reminded  me  a  little  of  Toledo. 

But  as  it  does  not  resemble  Toledo  very  much,  and  it  would  be 
a  roundabout  manner  of  describing  Sienna  to  tell  you  what  Toledo 
is  like,  I  will  leave  you  to  build  both  these  cities  in  your  imagina- 
tions, at  random  with  the  ramparts,  and  spires,  and  turrets,  and 
hill- tops  I  have  supplied  you  with,  as  children  of  architectural 
tastes  build  on  the  carpet  with  their  wooden  bricks. 

Our  diligence  was  dismounted  from  its  truck,  and  we  were 
driven  to  the  office,  where  we  were  informed  that  we  had  an  hour- 
and-a-half  to  dine  and  see  the  cathedral,  and  that  the  conveyance 
would  call  for  us  at  the  Albergo  dTnghilterra.  We  were  committed 
to  the  charge  of  a  very  rapid  boy  of  about  eleven  years,  who 
hurried  us  off  our  legs,  especially  me,  who  was  encumbered  with 
my  heavy  Spanish  cloak,  for  it  had  come  on  raining,  which  did 
not  however  prevent  its  being  exceedingly  hot 

After  walking  a  considerable  way  up  and  down  steep  and  sloppy 
streets,  we  came  to  a  broad  and  noble  flight  of  steps,  and  went  in 
under  a  magnificently  gigantic  archway  into  the  cathedral  precinct, 
which  appears  to  have  been  begun  on  too  grand  a  scale  to  be 
finished.  Though  unfinished,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  it.  The 
outside  is  sculptured  inparti-coloured  marbles,  black  and  red, 
and  white  and  yellow.  There  is  a  fine  tall  tower,  something  like 
the  Giralda  at  Seville,  only  of  black  and  white  marble. 

The  inside  is  richly  ornamented — mosaic  floor,  azure  roof, 
golden-starred  frescoes  by  Rafael  and  Finturicchio  when  they 
were  young.  Their  portraits  appear  in  most  of  them,  and  they 
seem  to  be  mere  boys— one  wonaering  how  they  managed  to  get 
the  job,  which  however  they  executed  very  respectably  for  their 
age. 


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176 

Wben  we  caone  out  il  was  laaiiig  Uncrents ;— die  farcMMl  figbt  of 
steps  was  conrerted  into  a  cataract,  and  tbc  stieeta  into  rivers. 
Mjr  shoes,  which  had  hetn,  wet  the  daj  befete,  and  overbaked 
daring  the  night  on  the  top  of  my  bed-room  stove,  in  which  I  had 
piled  up  all  the  remainder  of  my  basket  of  wood,  now  fairlj  broke 
up*    I  never  suflRsied  so  complete  a  dioe-wreck. 

They  were  an  old  pair,  originany  cS  white  leather,  made  in 
Seville.  They  had  ridden  and  walked  by  the  side  of  my  weary 
and  stmnbling  pony  over  a  tboiisand  miks  of  the  rough  roads  of 
Spain.  They  had  lost  their  original  buff  colour  in  the  bogs  and 
turf  of  a  short  cut  of  a  hundred  miles  more  of  some  of  the  roughest 
mountains  of  Inverness-shire,  after  which  tbcy  were  blacked  by 
mistake. 

Their  long  and  eventful  course  of  service  on  my  wandering  fiset 
terminated  in  Sienna.  Here  I  bought  a  rough  strong  pair  of  russet 
boots,  and  taking  the  silver  buttons  out  of  the  mangled  ranains, 
I  left  them  in  the  shoemaker's  shop  almost  safe,  I  think,  from  any 
future  profanaticm  by  unworthv  feet,  unwearaUe  and  unmendable. 

We  dined  badly  and  in  a  hurry.  My  conq)agnon  de  voyage, 
who  had  been  presented  to  me  the  night  before  at  the  table  ihdte 
of  the  Hotd  du  Nord,  was  a  mild  and  amiable  young  Piedmontese 
doctor,  who  had  studied  in  Paris.  He  was  unfortunately  very 
voluble  and  dull,  and  preferred  saying  the  hnmense  number  of 
common  place  things  he  had  to  say  in  bad  French,  instead  of  bad 
Italian  or  good  Piedmontese,  which  were  the  other  languages  he 
had  at  his  command.  I  therefore  took  the  eariiest  opportuni^  Oa 
going  to  sleep,  and  let  him  turn  his  conversational  profuseness  upon 
the  conductor. 

Our  lot  had  been  cast  in  the  banquette^  and  as  the  night  was 
moist  and  windy  and  cold,  and  the  banquette  is  expressly  calcu- 
lated to  scoop  up  as  much  of  the  weather  as  it  can  hold,  we  none 
of  us  passed  our  night  very  agreeably.  I  perhaps  came  off  the 
best,  rolled  in  the  heavy  folds  of  my  cape,  and  bandaged  as  to  my 
head  and  shoulders  in  a  large  plaid. 

It  grew  colder  md  colder  till  we  topped  the  ridge  of  some 
Apennine  spur  at  Radico&ni.  Here  we  stopped'  to  drink  some 
cafe  au  lait^  and  I  recruited  my  wasted  stock  of  caloric  by  dancing 
a  violent  hornpipe  in  the  hotel  kitchen  before  the  blazing  chimney. 
The  people  of  course  thought  me  mad,  but  were  not  much  sur- 
prised, seeing  that  I  was  an  Englishman. 

Day  broke  upon  us  as  we  came  down  on  the  great  lake  of  Bol- 
sena,  which  I  took  for  the  sea  at  first,  only  that  it  had  no  shi]>s 
upon  it,  and  did  not  look  blue  enough  for  tjie  Mediterranean.  It 
was  maricet  day  at  Vilerbo,  and  the  crowds  of  picturesque  peasants 
had  a  cast  of  the  Andalusian  character  of  costume,  but  more  shabby 
and  vagaboodish.  Cloaks  and  fajaa  and  blue  breeches,  and  stout 
leather  leggings,  not  so  shapely,  nor  embroidered  like  the  miyo 
boiine. 

Soon  we  were  on  the  long  levds  of  the  Campagna,  with  no 
mountains,  except  a  peak  or  two  here  and  there  m  the  distance, 
which,  as  they  appeared,  were  made  subjects  of  appeal  to  the  con- 


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WESTMINSIBft  ABBEY  TO  R.  PETER'fiU  17? 

doctor  bj  ft  diliiTijui  itnyener  ki  the  caupS,  wbo  always  wanted  to 
know  whether  it  was  not  Soraete. 

Hie  Canvpagna  di  Roma  it  a  dry  brown  plain,  with  very  little 
^pearmce  of  indintiy  in  the  inbabitants  or  fertOity  in  the  aoO. 
Here  and  tbere  are  hmgoid  fiuma  and  ibabby  TiUagea,  bwt  it 
neatly  aflfords,  I  should  think,  somewhat  indiffinrent  pasture  to 
great  herds  of  cattie  and  goats. 

I  was  in  hopes  we  mi^t  get  to  Rome  by  snnsei,  and  had  in- 
dBstinct  hopes  of  seeing  Sc  Peter's  and  the  Colosseum,  and  the 
temples  of  the  Forum  and  the  Tarpeian  Rock,  and  the  Castle  of 
St.  Angelo  all  grouped  on  seren  eonTenient  hills,  with  the  ancient 
river  flowing  among  their  baaes — the  whole  lit  with  the  golden 
glory  of  a  real  Italian  sunset,  and  reflected  in  the  yellow  ripples. 

This,  I  suppose,  is  the  idea  most  people  bring  to  Rome,  to  be 
dashed  to  pieces  in  the  Corso.  The  sun  set,  be^erer,  before  St 
Peter's  dome  bad  arisen,,  and  it  was  dai^  when,  descending  a  slope, 
we  saw  the  dim  lights  of  Rome  sprinkled  in  the  distance.  Rome ! 
It  is  a  great  word ;  and  he  who  sees  those  dim  lights  lying  beneath 
him  for  the  first  time  and  says  to  himself,  ^  That  is  Rome,^  can- 
not fidi  to  awaken  in  his  breast  many  grand  and  shadowy  memo- 
ries of  the  past,  for  the  substance  of  which  the  curious  reader  is 
referred  to  Goldsmith's  Abridgment 

The  gaunt  shadows  of  the  Forum  kept  us  amused  for  a  while, 
till  we  plunged  through  a  lofty  archway,  and  trundled  along  a 
hollow  sounding  bridge,  over  whose  parapets  ^we  could  see  the 
stars  reflected  in  Tiber's  rolling  ripples.  A  mile  or  two  of 
straight  road,  lined  with  a  gradually  thickening  suburb— tbere  is 
a  light  at  the  end  of  it ;  that  light  hangs  at  the  Porta  del  Popolo, 
the  gate  by  which  we  shall  enter  Rome. 

The  light  grows  nearer ;  another  minute,  and  our  wheels  and 
hoofs  echo  beneath  the  vault — ^we  emerge  in  the  vast  Piazza  del 
Popolo  on  the  other  side,  and  stop  to  give  up  our  passports. 

We  are  in  Rome !  Where  is  the  Colosseum,  where  is  the 
Yatican,  where  is  St.  Peter's,  where  are  the  temples  and  columns  f 
This  is  all  very  well  in  its  way ;  a  great  round  handsomely  paved 
place,  with  a  fountain  in  the  centre,  and  terraced  gardens,  and 
great  hotels,  and  loily  abutting  ends  of  diverging  streets, — it 
would  be  an  excellent  entrance  for  Brussels  or  Bhrmingfaam,  but  it 
is  shockingly  modem  for  Rome. 

One  feels  that  Rome  ought  to  be  entered  by  a  low,  heavy, 
frowning  Etruscan  portal,  surmounted  by  the  she-wolf  and  Romu- 
lus and  Remus,  done  from  the  life  by  a  sculptor  of  the  period,  the 
whole  thing  looking  like  a  cross  between  the  entrance  to  an 
Egyptian  tomb  and  Temple  Bar.  Or  at  any  rate,  if  you  could  not 
have  a  gateway  of  the  regal  or  republican  period,  the  least  that 
could  be  decently  offered  to  welcome  a  disting^shed  foreigner  on 
h»  arrival  would  be  a  triumphal  arch  of  Htus  or  Trajan,  flanked 
by  a  mined  temple  or  two. 

Not  in  the  least;  we  cross  the  great  yawning  Piazza,  and  enter 
a  long  straight  street  of  Io%  houses,  which  migbt  be  the  Rue  de  la 
Pais. 


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178  ▲  JOUBNEY  FBOH 

There  was  only  a  formal  examination  of  our  luggage  at  the 
diligence  office.  Indeed,  from  the  general  behayionr  of  the 
police  and  douane  on  the  road,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying 
that  the  Pope  is  a  gentieman,  which  I  say  with  the  more  en- 
thuuasm,  because  I  have  since  experienced  a  remarkable  con- 
trast  in  the  armed  mendicancy  of  similar  officials  in  the  kingdom 
of  Naples,  so  that  I  regret  not  to  be  able  to  make  out  the  same 
certificate  in  favour  of  Ferdinand  the  Second. 

My  dull  doctor  recommended  the  Albergo  Cesaij,  and  as  I  knew 
no  other  I  went  there,  though  I  neither  valued  his  recommendation 
nor  his  company  greatiy.  On  om*  way,  walking  behind  our  lug- 
gage-barrow, at  one  side  of  a  crooked  piazza,  we  came  upon  a 
solemn  grey  fafade  of  fine  worn  columns,  with  a  broad,  deep, 
simple  pediment,  casting  a  great  shade  behind  the  moonlit  shaftis. 

Here  was  a  ghost  of  the  old  Rome  of  Goldsmith's  Abridgment 
(which  I  had  forgotten  all  about  in  common  modem  metropolitan 
cares  for  lodging  and  supper),  stalking  in  upon  me  round  the 
comer  to  startie  me  unawares. 

While  I  was  gazing  with  a  sort  of  awe-struck  shudder  on  the 
first  real  old  temple  of  ah  exploded  but  unforgotten  race  of  gods^ 
the  first  real  confirmation  in  solid  granite  I  had  ever  seen  of  a  once 
living  belief  in  those  quaint  fables  we  used  to  read  in  Keightley's 
Mythology  and  Lempriere's  Dictionary,  the  doctor  had  already 
made  inquiries  of  the  porter,  and  the  porter  had  informed  him  that 
it  was  the  Pantheon — a  piece  of  intelligence  which  was  given  and 
received  wiUi  as  much  indifierence  as  if  it  had  been  the  Royal 
Exchange. 

But,  good  heavens !  am  I  going  to  pretend  to  do  the  enthusiastic  i 
Though'it  takes  a  sentence  or  two  to  explain  to  you,  it  was  only  a 
gleam  of  moonlight  enthusiasm  and  a  look  over  my  shoulder  with- 
out stopping,  and  I  tradged  away  after  my  portmanteau  and 
towards  my  supper  like  the  rest  of  tiie  company. 

We  came  to  the  Albergo  Cesaij — I  stood  guard  over  the  luggage 
while  the  doctor  went  up  to  get  rooms,  the  porter  carrying  some 
of  his  things,  which  he  caused  to  be  deposited  in  the  best  room  he 
could  find,  leaving  me  to  put  up  with  a  very  bad  one,  very  high  up, 
for  it  was  carnival  time  and  Rome  very  full.  Now  I  think  fair  play 
is  a  jewel,  and  if  he  had  been  a  gentleman  he  would  have  tossed  up 
for  choice  of  apartments ;  therefore  I  hope  the  reader  will  not  think 
it  very  discreditable  on  my  part,  that  (when  I  unexpectedly  turned 
out  a  greater  swell  in  Rome  than  he  might  have  thought  from  my 
multi&rious  smuggling  style  of  get-up  in  travelling),  I  snubbed 
him  a  litUe,  which  he  took  patientiy,  and  did  not  encourage  his 
acquaintance  enough  to  allow  it  to  be  at  all  troublesome  to  me. 

I  am  sorry  I  was  so  littie  generous,  for  he  was  an  inofiensive 
animal,  and  a  litUe  forlorn  in  Rome;  but  I  someway  felt  un- 
grateful to  destiny  for  sending  me  so  uninteresting  a  travelling 
companion,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  brooding  fear  lest  he  might  stick 
to  me  for  good  and  go  on  to  Naples  in  the  same  diligence.  I  was 
reserved  for  another  fiite,  and  Apollo  subsequently  relieved  me  of 
him  without  my  finding  out  exactiy  when.    This  evening,  how- 

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WEfimoNmat  abbit  to  n.  peter's.  179 

erer,  we  dined  together  at  a  nastj  little  festanrant  over  the  way, 
and  retired  eariy,  neither  of  os  having  slept  much  the  night  before 
on  the  spur  of  Uie  Apennine. 

Next  morning,  ns  I  went  out  early  to  look  for  other  apartments 
and  showed  a  vigorous  intention  of  shifting  my  quarters,  refusing 
to  listen  to  any  suggestions  of  the  apologetic  waiter  about  other 
rooms  which  had  miraculously  become  vacant  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  Senor  Cesaij,  the  master  of  the  Hotel  and  representative  of 
the  Caesars,  waylaid  me  on  the  stairs  as  I  came  down  with  my 
luggage.  He  was  a  polite,  tall,  stately  man,  who  with  a  profusion 
of  regrets  that  I  had  not  been  lodged  to  my  liking,  and  assurances 
that  it  would  grieve  his  heart  deeply  if  I  went  away  displeased, 
entreated  me  to  inspect  a  commodious  bed-room  and  sitting-room 
on  the  first  floor  at  a  wonderfully  reduced  figure.  The  room 
turned  out  better  and  cheaper  than  anything  I  had  found  in  my 
morning's  investigation,  so  I  settled  in  No.  Otto,  Albergo  Cesarj, 
for  good. 

This  matter  being  concluded  I  arrayed  myself  in  all  the 
crumpled  splendour  and  respectability  of  a  frock  coat  made  in 
St  James-street,  laying  aside  those  loud-patterned  tweed  shooting 
jackets  and  long  waistcoats  and  broadgauge  stripe  trowsers,  with 
which  an  Englishman  delights  to  insult  parts  of  the  world  where 
he  does  not  stay  long  enough  to  feel  the  inconvenience  of  so 
doing.  I  had  taken  a  warm  bath  to  clear  me  of  the  dust  and 
fever  of  travel  on  my  undress  expedition  for  lodgings,  likewise 
causing  myself  to  be  shaved,  so  that  now  I  could  widk  out  firom 
my  hotel  in  a  cleanly,  ornate,  and  tranquil  condition  of  mind  and. 
body,  to  get  my  breakfast  and  make  acquaintance  with  Rome. 

A  new  city  is  like  a  new  language,  a  mixture  of  Babel  and 
Chaos,  and  both  would  remain  so  much  longer  than  they  do  if  it 
were  not  for  the  grammar  and  the  map.  By  the  way,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  for  the  fiiture  to  get  and  keep  a  map  of  every 
great  town  I  pass  during  the  rest  of  my  life,  and  have  the  col- 
lection framed  and  set  up  in  my  study  to  keep  my  cosmopolitan 
recollections  fresh.  Some  ingenious  critic  may  perhaps  sarcas- 
tically remark  that  I  might  as  well  have  a  library,  to  watch  the 
st^le  of  pictorial  decoration,  composed  entirely  of  grammars. 

The  Corso,  which  is  the  Piccadilly  of  Rome,  runs  from  the 
Porta  del  Popolo  at  the  comer  where  you  enter  the  city  to  the 
Capitoline  Hill.  It  is  lined  with  lofty  palaces,  sprinkled  at 
receding  intervals  of  its  margin  with  rather  ugly  churches.  The 
shops  and  caf6s  are  French  and  third-rate.  At  one  of  the  latter  I 
got  a  lumpy  and  jelly  cup  of  chocolate,  and  SeQling  hungrily  upon 
a  sugar-glazed  sort  of  bun  of  brioche  species,  my  teeth  struck  up 
some  masses  of  fat  ham  with  which  the  cake  was  interlarded  along 
with  currants  and  raisins — I  was  greatly  shocked.  **  How  is  Rome 
fallen  from  her  pride  of  luxury  and  civilization,^  I  cried,  ^^  that  a 
contrvman  of  Caractacns  should  come  to  visit  the  metropolis  of  the 
world  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  they  should  offer  him  a  sweet 
bun  with  bits  of  fat  ham  in  it.** 

The  next  street,  after  the  Corso,  is  the  Via  Condotti,  connecting 

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180  A  jouxnrar  mm 

it  with  tW  Pimcsa  di  Spagna^  wbicli,  ms  ererjbodj  kaotrs  <es- 
cept  snch  persons  as  read  Magasiiie  Travels  tor  mformalioB 
about  threadbare  countries),  is  the  OTcrflowiDg  reservoir  of  dts- 
tingiiiskad  foreigners  in  Rome.  Iliai  Piazsa  is  ftiU  of  great 
hutdUf  where  tfaw  caa  be  as  «xpeiHtvelj  boosed  and  rmxe 
execrably  fed  and  waited  apooi  th«i  in  any  other  capital  of 
£viope. 

This  being  Oie  ease,  the  Via  de'  Condotti  has  filled  itself  with 
shops  of  jewelry  and  cameos  and  curiosities  to  catch  their  eyes  mb 
Aey  pass  through  it  many  tunes  a  day,  and  it  seems  the  most 
thriving  stre^  in  Rome ;  the  English,  of  couise,  caU  it  Conduit- 
street,  for  short. 

Opposite  the  end  of  this  street  which  debouches  in  the  narrower 
end  of  die  Piazza  is  a  curious  old  fountain  in  the  form  of  a  water- 
logged boat,  beyond  which  rises  a  broad  and  lofty  flight  of  steps 
to  die  lower  end  of  the  Pintian  hill  where  it  slopes  down  the  VitL 
Sistina  to  the  valley  which  divides  it  from  the  Quirinal.  The 
steps  are  a  &vourite  haxmi  of  lame  beggars,  who  can  move  at  a 
wonderfol  speed  in  pursuit  of  charity  on  all  fours.  There  are 
also  the  models,  artificially  picturesque  vagabonds,  carefidly  dirtied 
like  a  Innand  new  picture  by  one  c^  the  cid  masters  and  even 
battered  and  torn  in  the  right  places. 

^t  the  top  is  an  ofaelisque,  at  the  foot  of  which,  if  yon  tmrn  bade, 
you  can  see  over  the  roofs  of  the  city  below,  when  beyond  die 
Tiber,  undiminished  by  distance,  rises  the  enormous  dome  of  St. 
Peter's.  It  looks,  as  indeed  it  is,  much  larger  than  8t.  Paul's  in 
the  distance,  but  it  is  an  uglier  shape.  There  is  a  boldness  in  the 
setting  on  of  the  cupola,  whose  base  seems  too  small  for  what  it 
stands  on,  leaving  a  projecting  edge,  which  with  the  cupola  and 
the  cross  and  ball  makes  in  the  distance  an  outline  like  a  mub- 
nosed  Chinese  Janu  with  an  erected  pigtaiL 

I  had  a  packet  of  letters  to  deliver  in  the  Via  Sistina,  a  very 
large  packet  of  congratulatory  letters,  to  a  young  lady  on  her 
marriage,  which  I  was  charged  to  convey  to  her  sister.  I  con- 
tinued my  way  along  the  Via  Sistina,  which,  like  the  young  lady 
above  mentioned,  shordy  changed  its  name  for  Via  Felice. 

It  descends  upon  the  Piazza  Barbarini,  where  a  twin-tailed  bronze 
Triton  sits  astride  a  gigantic  pair  of  cockleshells,  holding  with 
brawny  arms  a  spiral  shdl  to  his  upturned  mouth,  and  with  puffisd- 
ottt  cheeks  making  a  great  pretence  of  mythological  marine 
trumpeting ;  but  aU  that  comes  of  it  is  a  small  spilling  of  water 
from  the  centre  of  his  couch. 

The  dripping  bivalve  he  bestricfes  is  supported  beneath  by  the 
curly  twisted  tails  of  four  dolphins,  whose  open  mouths  seem 
drinking  at  the  fountain  bason  below.  Mantled  among  the 
tortuous  tails  and  surmounted  by  a  papal  tiam  is  a  scutcheon 
bearing  three  fat  bees — ^die  blazon  of  the  Barbarini  formeriy,  whose 
palace,  now  full  of  French  Dragoons,  is  next  door. 

Passing  along  the  Via  dei  Quatrofontane,  I  now  ascended  the 
Quirinal  hill,  where  there  is  a  Papal  palace,  and  a  finely  situated 
Piazza  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.    Here  are  fine  statnes  of  a  couple 


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WESTMINSTEB  KBBEY  TO  ST.  PETER^S.  181 

of  Coloesal  Greek  Warriors,  each  leading  a  disproportionately 
little  pony,  which  is  evidently  more  for  ornament  than  nse,  for  if 
either  of  the  warriors  were  suddenly  to  take  it  into  their  heads  that 
after  holdix^  these  prancing  little  steeds  for  twenty  or  thirty 
centories,  they  are  entitled  to  a  ride,  dieir  ieet  would  certainly 
touch  the  pedestal  on  either  side.  T%ese  pedestals  state  in  large 
letters  that  the  statues  they  support  are  the  work  of  Phidias  and 
Praxiteles.  The  one  by  Phidias  seems  to  have  stood  as  model 
for  that  flattering  Kkeoess  of  Artbor  Doke  of  Welltogton,  which 
the  ladies  of  England  set  up  near  Hyde  Park  Comer ;  only  the 
marUe  by  PUcBas  seems  to  me  so  much  more  grand  and  godlike 
and  ediereaHy  elastic  than  diat  heavy  man  of  metal  by  the  ladies 
of  England,  whom  they  have  moreover  encumbered  with  that 
Tonnd  verdigrised  caferole,  that  I  think  they  can  scarcely  be  the 
same  heroes,  though  they  certainly  have  a  family  likeness. 

At  Montte  CaviJlo  I  descended  from  the  higher  levels,  whose 
brow  extends  between  the  Pintian  andViminal  hills,  and  fell  upon 
tiie  fountain  of  Trevi,  one  of  the  most  splendid  fountains  of 
Rome,  which  is  certainly  the  most  fountainous  city  1  have  seen. 

The  Fontana  Trevi  is  a  great  oblong  building  which  looks  like 
a  palace,  and  fiDs  one  side  of  the  small  piazza  in  which  it  stands. 
Above  are  handsome  rows  of  windows,  looking  quite  unconscious 
of  the  tnrpiter  in  pucem  sort  of  arrangement  in  the  lower  story. 
The  bottom  of  the  palace  slopes  forward  in  a  terrace-flight  of  rock 
work,  beautifhlly  imitating  nature.  Not  like  our  dirty  figments  of 
rock-woA  made  of  litde  fragments  stuccoed  together,  but  huge 
blocks  so  cunningly  joined,  that  the  broad  solid  masses  they  form 
would  never  be  suspected  of  having  been  put  together. 

The  rough  surface,  however,  which  seems  moulded  by  the  hand 
of  nature  in  Titanic  times,  is  wreathed  and  festooned  with  lilies 
and  aquatic  weeds,  standing  out  in  bold  relief  from  the  stone  on 
which  they  are  carved.  Crowding  the  dark  mass  of  dripping 
rock  are  an  imrnepse  company  of  white  marble  Nereids  and  Tri- 
tons, with  spouting  dolphins  and  flowing  urns,  making  the  whole 
terrace-flight  one  broad  gush  and  splash. 

In  the  centre  of  the  group  stands  Neptune  on  his  car.  He  is 
very  large,  and  seems  to  be  performing  a  sort  of  pirouette  expres- 
sive of  the  gurgitous  character  of  his  divinity. 


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18S 


THE  LAST  YEARS  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES 
THE  FIFTH.* 

BT  F.  A.  MIONET. 
AUTHOft  or  **TBM  HIBTOKT  07  MAET,   QUEBN  07  tCOTI.' 

On  his  departure  from  Bargos,  Charles  the  Fifth  was  accom- 
panied by  the  Constable  of  Castile,  who  escorted  him,  with  a 
guard  of  honour,  as  far  as  Valladolid.  The  whole  road  was 
Uironged  by  the  nobles  and  people  who  had  come  out  to  see  their 
sovereign  for  the  last  time.  He  spent  the  night  successively  at 
Celada,  Palenzuela,  Torquemada,  Duefias,  and  Cabezon.  At  the 
last-mentioned  place  he  found  his  grandson,  Don  Carlos,  with 
whom  he  supped  and  had  a  great  deal  of  conversation.  This 
young  prince,  by  the  vehemence  of  his  desires,  the  passionate 
haughtiness  of  his  character,  and  an  impatience  to  obey,  which 
was  fated  ere  long  to  change  into  an  ambition  to  command, 
already  gave  indications  of  those  qualities  which  afterwards  led 
him  to  so  premature  and  tragical  an  end.  He  could  condescend 
to  no  respectfulness  of  demeanour,  and  bow  to  no  forms  of  eti- 
quette. He  gave  the  name  of  brother  to  his  father,  and  that  of 
father  to  his  grandfather.  He  found  it  impossible  to  stand  before 
them  for  any  time  with  bare  head,  and  cap  in  hand.  He  gave 
signs  of  the  most  alarming  ferocity  of  disposition,  and  took  delight 
in  roasting  alive  the  hares  and  other  animals  which  he  had  caught 
while  hunting.  When  he  had  learned  that  the  children  sprung 
from  his  father^s  recent  marriage  to  the  Queen  of  England  would 
inherit  not  only  that  kingdom,  but  also  the  Netherlands,  he 
said  boldly  that  he  would  take  care  to  prevent  them,  and  would 
fight  them  for  it.  He  coveted  everything  he  saw.  Happening 
to  catch  sight  of  a  small  portable  chafing-dish,  which  was  used 
every  evening  during  the  journey,  to  warm  the  Emperor's  bed- 
room, in  the  chimneyless  land  of  Spain,  he  longed  ardently  to 
possess  it,  and  asked  his  grandfather  for  it,  who  replied,  **  You 
shall  have  it  when  I  am  dead." 

His  preceptor,  Don  Honorato  Juan,  strove  to  moderate  this  im- 
petuosity by  study,  which  had  no  attraction  for  him,  and  vainly 
explained  to  him  Cicero^s  treatise  De  Officiisj  to  which  the  war- 
like child  greatly  preferred  violent  exercises  or  stories  of  battles. 
He  eagerly  questioned  his  grandfather  about  his  various  cam- 

Saigns  and  enterprizes.  The  Emperor  related  them  to  him  in 
etail,  and  he  listened  with  extraordinary  attention.  When  the 
Emperor  came  to  narrate  his  flight  from  Innspruck  before  the 
Emperor  Maximilian,  his  grandson  told  him  he  was  satisfied  with 
all  that  he  had  heard  up  to  that  point,  but  that,  if  he  had  been  in 
such  a  position,  he  would  never  have  fled.    The  Emperor  stated 

♦  Continued  from  p.  95,  vol.  xxxiv. 


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THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES  THE  FIFTH.  183 

hat  the  want  of  money,  the  absence  of  his  troops,  and  the  state 
of  his  health  had  compelled  him  to  do  so.  ^^  Never  mind/'  said 
Don  Carlos,  "  I  would  never  have  fled."  "  But,"  continued  the 
Emperor,  "  if  a  great  number  of  your  pages  had  tried  to  take  you 
prisoner,  and  you  had  found  yourself  alone,  would  you  not  have 
been  forced  to  fly  in  order  to  escape  from  them?"  "  No,"  re- 
peated the  young  prince  angrily,  ^'  I  would  not  have  fled  on  any 
account."  The  Emperor  laughed  a  great  deal  at  this  sally,  and 
seemed  delighted  by  it.  But  he  was  less  pleased  by  other  mani- 
festations of  character;  and  we  are  told  that,  alarmed  at  the  man- 
ners and  inclinations  of  the  presumptive  heir  to  the  Spanish  mon- 
archy, be  said  to  his  sister,  Eleanor,  "  It  seems  to  me  that  he  is 
very  restless ;  his  countenance  and  temper  do  not  please  me,  and 
I  do  not  know  what  he  may  become  in  time." 

Very  early  the  next  morning,  the  Secretary  of  State,  Vasquez, 
came  to  Cabezon  to  receive  his  orders,  and  informed  him,  in  a 
long  interview  which  he  had  with  him,  of  the  position  of  affairs 
since  his  departure  from  the  Netherlands.  The  Emperor  did  not 
start  until  after  dinner  for  Valladolid,  which  he  entered  in  the 
evening.  He  was  received  very  quietly  in  the  palace  by  his 
daughter,  who,  as  he  had  himself  ordained,  was  awaiting  him, 
surrounded  by  her  ladies,  in  the  royal  chamber.  The  Constable 
and  Admiral  of  Castile,  the  Dukes  of  Nagera,  Sesa,  and  Magueda, 
the  Count  of  Benavente,  the  Marquis  of  Astorga,  and  other 
grandees,  all  the  prelates  who  were  at  court  at  the  time,  the 
members  of  the  difierent  councils  of  state,  the  corregidor  of  the 
town,  and  the  members  of  the  ayuntamiento^  came  in  turns  to 
kiss  his  hands.  But  he  expressed  a  wish  that  a  solemn  reception 
should  be  given  to  the  Queens  his  sisters,  who  followed  him  at 
the  distance  of  a  day's  journey ,  and  arrived  on  the  following  day. 

He  spent  fourteen  days  at  Valladolid,  and  then  resumed  his 
journey  to  Estremadura.  On  the  4th  of  November,  after  having 
eaten  in  public,  he  separated  with  extreme  tenderness  from  his 
daughter  theRegent  of  Spain,  from  the  Prince  his  grandson,  and 
from  the  Queens  his  sisters,  and  left  Valladolid  at  about  half-past 
three  o'clock,  without  pennitting  any  of  the  grandees,  prelates, 
gentlemen,  councillors,  or  court-officers  who  rode  out  witli  him 
to  accompany  him  any  farther  than  the  Puerta  del  Campo.  He 
took  with  him  only  a  small  escort  of  cavalry  and  forty  halberdiers, 
who,  under  the  orders  of  their  lieutenant,  were  to  follow  him  as 
far  as  the  village  of  Xarandilla,  in  that  valley  at  the  head  of  which 
rose  the  monastery  of  Yuste.  On  the  5th,  he  entered  Medina  del 
Campo,  and  lodged  in  the  house  of  a  famous  money-broker,  named 
Rodrigo  de  Duefias.  This  person,  wishing  to  make  a  display  of 
his  wealth,  and  doubtless  thinking  he  would  thereby  render  him- 
self more  agreeable  to  the  Emperor,  placed  a  brasero  of  massive 
^old  in  his  room,  and,  instead  of  charcoal,  filled  it  with  the  finest 
Ceylon  cinnamon.  This  ostentation  displeased  Charles  the  Fifth, 
who  did  not  like  the  smell  of  the  cinnamon ;  so  he  not  only 
refused  to  admit  the  sumptuous  money-broker  of  the  fairs  of 
Medina  to  kiss  his  hand,  but  ordered  that,  to  lower  his  pride,  he 

VOL.  XXXIV.  r^or^alo 

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184  THE  LAST  TEAB8  OF 

shonld  be  paid  for  everything  tbat  he  had  fomished.  On  the  6tfa, 
when  the  Emperor  reached  Horcajo  de  las  Torres,  he  said  to  his 
servants,  ^  Thanks  to  our  Lord,  henceforward  I  shall  have  no 
more  visits  or  receptions.**  He  travelled  on  by  short  stages  for 
five  days,  sleeping  on  the  7th  at  Pefiaranda  de  Bracamonte,  on 
the  8th  at  AIaraz,on  the  9th  atGallejos  de  Solmeron^  and  the  10th 
at  Barco  de  Avila;  on  the  evening  of  the  11th  he  arrived  at  Tor- 
navacas,  near  the  Rio  Xerte,  in  the  Sierra  de  Gredos,  which 
separated  him  from  the  Vera  of  Plasencia.  Here  he  amased  him- 
self by  seeing  the  villagers  fishing  by  torchlight  for  some  excellent 
trout,  which  he  afterwards  ate  for  his  supper. 

On  the  morning  of  the  12th,  having  carefully  examined  the 
locality,  he  determined  to  cross  the  mountains,  instead  of  travelling 
round  by  their  base.  It  would  have  taken  him  four  days  to 
descend  the  valley  of  the  Xerte  as  far  as  Plasencia,  and  then  to 
return  again  up  the  Vera ;  whereas,  in  a  single  day,  he  could  go 
from  Tomavacas  to  Xarandilla  by  traversing  a  narrow  and  steep 
pass  which  opened  through  the  mountains  to  the  lefk  of  the  river 
and  village  of  Xerte,  and  which  was  called  the  Puerto  Novo.  He 
resolved  to  proceed  from  the  one  valley  into  the  other  by  this 
rough  track,  which  has  ever  since  retained  the  name  of  the  Em- 
peror's Pass.  The  transit  was  neither  convenient  nor  easy  for 
him,  in  his  weak  and  gouty  condition.  The  road,  if  road  it  could 
be  called;  ran  across  the  beds  of  torrents  which  fell  impetuously 
from  the  peaks  and  hollows  of  the  Sierra  which  extended  towarcb 
the  west.  A  number  of  precipitous  crags  had  been  laid  bare  by 
the  waters,  and  forests  of  large  chestnut  trees  covered  the  hill- 
sides, and  rose  proudly  towards  the  sun.  At  every  step  danger- 
ous chasms  and  steep  ascents  occurred.  The  Emperor  boldly 
risked  the  journey.     A  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley 

})receded  him  with  pickaxes  and  spades  to  render  the  road  a  little 
ess  impracticable.  Another  party  joyfully  took  it  in  turn  to  carry 
him  in  his  litter  or  in  a  chair,  according  as  the  difficulties  of  the 
passage  became  more  or  less  great.  Quixada,  pike  in  hand, 
walked  by  his  side,  and  never  left  him,  though  it  devolved  upon 
him  to  direct  all  the  labours  and  movements  of  the  march.  When 
the  Emperor  had  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass,  from  which  the 
Vera  of  Plasencia  is  clearly  visible,  he  gazed  at  it  for  some  time 
in  silence,  and  then  turning  his  eyes  northwards,  towards  the 
gorge  which  he  had  just  traversed,  he  said,  *'This  is  the  last  pass 
I  shall  ever  go  through,  except  that  of  death." 

The  descent  of  the  gorge  was  less  difficult  than  the  ascent  had 
been,  and  the  Emperor  arrived  in  very  good  time  at  Xarandilla,  • 
at  the  castle  of  the  Count  of  Oropesa,  in  which  he  took  up  his 
abode  until  the  residence  which  had  been  built  for  him  at  Yuste 
should  be  ready  to  receive  him.  That  verv  evening  he  ate  some 
eels,  which  his  daughter  had  sent  him  ;  his  health  and  temper  were 
equally  good.  Quixada  and  Gaztelii  wrote  to  Valladolid: — "  The 
Emperor  has  a  good  colour ;  he  eats  and  drinks  perfectly  well.  .  . 
The  apartment  which  he  occupies  pleases  him  greatly ;  it  is  con- 
nected with  his  bedroom  by  a  sheltered  corridor  on  which  the 


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THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES  THE  FIFTH.  185 

ma  shines  all  the  daj.  The  Emperor  spends  most  of  his  time 
there,  and  enjojs  an  extensire  view,  agreeably  diversified  with 
frufi-trees  and  grass-plots ;  he  has  below  him  a  garden  from  which 
ascends  and  may  be  smelt  the  perfnme  of  orange-trees,  citrons, 
and  other  flowers.  The  Emneror  is  very  well  satisfied,  and  for 
some  days  will  not  go  to  reside  at  the  monastery." 

Notwithstanding  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  the  mountain,  on 
the  side  of  which  the  monastery  of  Yuste  was  built,  appeared  from 
a  distance  to  be  entirely  enveloped  in  fogs.  TTie  servants  of 
Charles  the  Fifth,  when  they  saw  from  Xarandilla  the  convent, 
about  which  the  people  of  the  neighbourhood  gave  a  very  un- 
favourable report,  surrounded  by  mist  and  vapour,  did  not  believe 
that  his  residence  there  would  be  either  as  agreeable  or  as  health- 
ful as  he  had  supposed  when  in  Flanders.  **  Although  we  have 
had,*^  wrote  Gaztelil,  **  several  very  fine  days,  and  even  hot  days 
on  account  of  the  brilliancy  of  the  sun,  never  have  the  fogs  left 
the  place  on  which  the  monastery  is  built.  It  is  not  possible  for 
that  side  of  the  hill  not  to  be  damp ;  even  here  storms  are  frequent 
and  rains  abundant.  All  this  is  uusuited  to  the  indispositions  of 
his  Majesty.  Eventually  we  expect  that  he  will  be  unable  to 
reside  there.'* 

The  autumn  rains  soon  came  on,  which  the  Emperor  had  already 
encountered  in  his  journey  through  the  Asturias,  and  which  fell 
there  abundantly  and  incessantly.  "  It  rains  dreadfully,"  wrote 
Quixada  and  Gaztelii,  on  the  18th  of  November,  '*  and  when  the 
water  ceases  to  fall,  such  thick  fogs  arise,  that  you  cannot  see  any 
one  at  twelve  paces'  distance."  The  Emperor  soon  began  to  feel 
the  influence  of  a  temperature  so  unfavourable  to  his  infirmities. 
He  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  his  travelling-stove  to  warm 
bis  room,  and  to  wear  a  long  waistcoat  of  taffeta,  stuffed  with 
eider-down,  which  was  at  once  light  and  warm.  It  was  made 
upon  the  model  of  two  eider-down  coverlids,  lined  with  silk,  which 
he  had  received  from  his  daughter  at  Barco  de  Avila,  and  with 
which  he  had  been  so  much  delighted,  that  he  had  requested  a 
dressing-gown  and  jacket  of  the  same  material. 

The  rain  did  not  cease.  The  attendaijts  of  Charles  the  Fifth 
became  low-spirited  and  discouraged ;  the  village  in  which  he  had 
established  himself  with  his  suite  was  poor  and  ill-supplied  with 
provisions ;  meat  was  very  scarce,  the  bread  was  bad,  and  nothing 
was  really  good  but  the  chestnuts.  The  trout  which  were  caught 
for  the  Emperor's  table  on  fast-days  were  exceedingly  small,  and 
Quixada  requested  Yasquez  not  to  forget  to  send  a  supply  of  rich 
fish  by  the  couriers  who  went  every  week  from  Valladolid  to  Lis- 
bon, and  who  henceforward  received  orders  to  pass  through  Xaran- 
dilla. Quixada  was  in  despair  for  his  master,  when  he  saw  what 
sort  of  a  place  he  had  chosen  for  his  abode.  "I  tell  you," he  wrote 
to  Vasquez,  on  the  20th  of  November,  "  that  more  rain  falls  here 
in  a  single  hour  than  at  Valladolid  in  a  whole  day.  It  is  a  damp 
place ;   above  or  below  there  is  always  fog,  and  on  the  mountains 

plenty  of  snow The  people  of  this  village  say  that 

the  monastery  is  still  more  humid,  and  for  my  own  part,  I  say  that, 

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186  THE   LAST   YEARS   OF 

if  it  is  equally  so,  his  Majesty  will  find  himself  very  badly  off  there 
It  appears  that  there  is  no  cultivable  land  round  about  it,  and  that 
there  are  much  fewer  orange  and  citron  trees  than  we  were  led  to 
suppose.  .  .  .  Those  who  have  been  to  see  the  place,  return 
very  much  discontented  with  it.  His  Majesty  was  to  have  gone 
thither  yesterday,  but  it  rained  so  heavily,  that  he  was  not  able," 
Returning  to  this  subject  in  his  letter  of  the  23rd,  Quixada  gave  a 
frightful  description  of  the  monastery,  according  to  the  accounts  of 
those  who  had  visited  it,  and  added,  that  he  would  not  believe  the 
Emperor  would  settle  there  until  he  saw  him  fixed  in  that  abode. 
"  The  place,"  he  said, "  is  not  at  all  suited  to  his  Majesty,  who  seeks 
coolness  during  the  summer,  and  warmth  in  winter.  That  which 
is  most  prejudicial  to  his  health  is  cold  and  dampness.'*  When 
any  representations  on  this  subject  were  made  to  the  Emperor,  he 
imperturbably  replied,  "  That  he  had  always  observed,  in  every 
part  of  Spain,  that  it  became  cold  and  rainy  in  the  winter-time." 

At  length,  the  weather  having  cleared  up  a  little,  the  Emperor 
paid  a  visit  to  the  monastery  on  the  SSth  of  November.  He 
found  it  much  better  than  report  had  stated,  and  expressed  him- 
self very  well  contented  with  its  arrangements.  He  had  pre- 
viously sent  for  the  Prior-general,  Fray  Juan  de  Ortega,  to  Xaran- 
dilla;  and  although  he  had  at  first  appeared  disposed  to  settle 
there  with  only  seventeen  attendants,  he  now  gave  orders  that 
chambers  should  be  prepared  for  twenty  servants  and  twenty 
masters.  His  sister,  the  Queen  of  Hungary,  who  had  been 
alarmed  by  the  accounts  sent  to  Valladolid  of  the  unsuitableness 
of  such  a  residence  to  the  dilapidated  health  of  the  Emperor, 
wrote  to  entreat  him  not  to  proceed  to  Yuste.  But  Charles  the 
Fifth,  applying  to  the  monastery  the  proverb  which  Spanish  imagi- 
nation had  derived  from  the  Cid's  encounter  with  the  lion,  jocosely 
replied:  *^  No  es  el  leon  tan  bravo  como  le pintan — the  lion  is  not 
so  terrible  as  he  is  painted.*^ 

He  did  not,  however,  remove  thither  at  once ;  the  internal 
arrangements  which  were  being  made  at  Yuste,  and  his  own 
indispositions,  which  again  made  their  appearance,  detained  him 
for  nearly  three  months  at  Xarandilla.  There  he  was  visited 
successively  by  the  Count  of  Oropeza,  and  his  brother,  Don 
Francesco  de  Toledo,  the  Duke  of  Escalona,  the  Count  of 
Olivares,  Don  Fadrique  de  Zuhiga,  Marquis  de  Mirabel,  Don 
Alonzo  de  Baeza,  and  a  number  of  other  illustrious  personages, 
who  were  desirous  of  bidding  their  old  master  a  last  farewell. 
Two  visits  by  which  he  was  more  particularly  delighted,  were 
those  of  the  Commendador-mayor  of  Alcantara,  Don  Luis  de 
Avila  y  ZuHiga,  who  had  fought  by  his  side  in  the  last  wars  of 
Germany,  and  related  their  history  in  brilliant  and  dignified 
narrative,  and  of  his  old  fiiend,  the  reverend  Father  Francisco 
Boija.  The  latter  was  then  building,  for  the  Society  of  Jesus,  a 
college  in  the  neighbouring  town  of  Plasencia,  from  whence  he 
came  several  times  to  see  the  Emperor,  with  whom  he  had  long 
conversations  on  religious  topics. 

At  length,  every  necessary  preparation  having  been  made  for 

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THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES  THE  FIFTH,  187 

his  reception,  Charles  the  Fifth  left  the  Castle  of  Xarandilla, 
and  removed  to  the  moDastery.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  Srd  of 
February,  1557,  he  took  leave  of  those  servants  who  were  not  to 
accompany  him  into  his  retirement,  of  the  Count  de  Reuss,  of  M. 
D^Aubremont,  and  of  more  than  ninety  Flemings,  Burgundians, 
and  Italians,  who  had  escorted  him  from  Brussels  to  Xarandilla. 
In  addition  to  the  salaries  due  to  them,  they  had  each  received 
from  him  presents  in  testimony  of  his  satisfaction  and  as  me- 
mentoes of  his  friendship.  On  the  very  threshold  of  his  apart- 
ment, he  then  bade  them  a  last  adieu,  and  dismissed  them  with 
kind  and  affectionate  words.  The  emotion  was  universal.  All 
his  old  servants  were  deeply  affected,  and  most  of  them  burst 
into  tears.  Their  grief  at  separating  for  ever  from  their  master 
was  equalled  only  by  the  melancholy  of  those  who  were  to  accom- 
pany him  into  his  solitary  retreat. 

At  about  three  o'clock  he  entered  his  litter.  On  horseback,  at 
his  side,  were  the  Count  of  Oropesa,  M.  de  Lachaulx,  and  the 
Majordomo,  Luis  Quixada.  Behind  them  came  the  rest  of  his 
servants.  When  the  carUge  began  its  march,  the  halberdiers, 
who  bad  formed  his  guard,  threw  their  halberts  on  the  ground,  as 
if  arms  employed  in  the  service  of  so  great  an  Emperor,  would  be 
degraded  by  being  put  to  any  other  use.  At  five  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  Charles  the  Fifth  arrived  at  Yuste.  The  monks  were 
waiting  for  him  in  the  church,  which  they  had  illuminated,  and 
the  bells  of  which  were  ringing  loud  peals.  The  monks  advanced 
to  meet  the  Emperor,  with  a  crucifix  at  their  head,  and  chaunt- 
ing  the  71?  Deum.  They  were  transported  with  joy,  says  an  eye- 
witness, "  to  see  a  thing  they  never  would  have  believed.'* 
Charles  the  Fifth  dismounted  from  his  litter,  and  was  carried  in 
a  chair  to  the  foot  of  the  great  altar.  After  the  solemn  prayers 
had  ended,  the  monks  were  admitted  to  kiss  his  hand.  On 
leaving  the  church,  he  visited  the  whole  of  the  monastery,  and 
then  retired  to  his  own  residence,  of  which  he  took  possession 
that  very  evening,  and  where  he  was  henceforward  to  live  and 
die. 

On  the  Srd  of  February,  1577,  Charles  the  Fifth  took  up  his 
residence  at  Yuste.  The  habitation  which  he  had  had  built  for 
his  reception  was  situated  to  the  south  of  the  monastery,  and  com- 
manded an  extensive  view  over  the  Vera  of  Plasencia.  It  con- 
sisted of  eight  rooms  of  equal  dimensions,  each  being  twenty  feet 
long  by  twenty-five  broad.  These  rooms,  four  of  which  were  on 
the  ground-floor,  and  four  on  the  first  story,  rose  amphitheatrically 
on  die  steep  acclivity  of  the  hill,  and  the  upper  chambers  were 
on  a  level  with  the  cloisters  of  the  convent.  Their  position 
rendered  them  light  and  warm,  and  they  were  moreover  ftimished, 
contrary  to  the  usages  of  the  country,  with  fire-places  of  ample 
size.  A  covered  corridor  or  porch  led,  from  east  to  west,  to  two 
terraces,  which  the  Emperor  afterwards  converted  into  gardens. 
He  adorned  them  with  odoriferous  flowers,  planted  them  with 
orange  and  almond  trees,  and  placed  in  each  of  them  a  fountain, 
which  was  supplied  with  water  from  the  snowy  tops  of  the  adjacent 

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188  THE  LAST  T£ABS  OF 

mountains.  Another  corridor,  which  tniTersed  the  lower  part  o( 
ihe  house,  led  on  both  sides  to  the  garden  of  the  monastery,  which 
was  well  fiimished  with  fruit  trees  wd  flowering  shrubs,  and  from 
which  the  branches  of  the  lemon  and  orange  trees,  rising  to  the 
mndows  of  the  imperial  residence,  diffused  their  beautiful  blossoms 
and  their  delicious  perfume. 

The  apartments  occupied  by  Charles  the  Fifth  were  on  die  first 
floor.  His  own  room  communicated  with  the  church  of  the  con- 
vent by  means  of  a  window  from  which  the  high  altax  could  be 
plainly  seen.  This  window  was  doubly  closed  by  a  glazed  sash 
and  a  wooden  door,  and  afforded  the  Emperor  an  opportunity  of 
hearing  mass  from  his  bed,  when  ill,  and  of  assisting  in  divine 
service  without  mingling  with  the  monks;  to  whom,  however,  he 
had  easy  access  through  an  underground  gallery  which  led  into 
the  choir  of  the  church,  as  well  as  by  the  covered  corridor  which 
opened  into  the  convent  garden.  Though  not  so  luxurious  as  a 
palace,  his  residence  was  destitute  of  none  of  those  conveniences 
which  princes  were  then  beginning  to  appreciate.  The  walls  of 
the  rooms  were  covered  with  Flanders  tapestry;  his  own  apart- 
ment was  hung  with  fine  black  cloth,  in  token  that  he  had  not  left 
off  mourning  since  the  death  of  hie  mother ;  and  the  floors  were 
covered  with  Turkey  and  Alcaraz  carpets.  His  bed-chamber  was 
marked  by  none  of  that  cloistral  nakedness  attributed  to  it  by 
Sandoval.  It  contained  two  beds,  one  rather  larger  than  the 
other,  and  both  furnished  with  an  extraordinary  profusion  of 
mattresses,  pillows,  and  coverlids,  for  the  use  of  the  Emperor. 
There  were  also  twelve  chairs  of  walnut-wood,  artistically  carved 
and  ornamented  with  gilt  nails;  six  folding  seats,  with  cloth 
coverings;  six  handsome  arm-chairs  covered  with  black  velvet; 
and  two  easy  chairs  for  the  special  use  of  Charles  the  Fifth  him- 
self. The  first  of  these  was  supplied  with  six  cushions  and  a 
footstool ;  the  second  was  equally  well  padded,  and  furnished  with 
projecting  arms  by  which  it  might  be  carried  from  one  place  to 
another,  as  the  Emperor  loved  to  sit  in  the  sun  on  the  terrace 
garden,  and  frequently  would  dine  there  in  the  open  air  when  the 
weather  was  fine  and  his  health  good. 

The  taste  for  painting,  music,  and  the  ingenious  arts  of  me- 
chanism which  had  distinguished  him  on  the  throne,  accompanied 
him  to  Yuste.  Titian  was  his  favourite  painter,  and  several  pic- 
tures by  that  great  master  adorned  the  walls  of  his  apartments* 
The  largest  and  most  magnificient  of  them  was  a  composition  on 
the  subject  of  the  Trinity,  which  Charles  had  ordered  of  Titian 
several  years  before  abdicating  the  throne.  Other  sacred  pictures 
by  the  same  great  artist,  and  by  a  painter  named  Maestro  Miguel, 
decorated  the  rooms :  and  in  addition  to  these,  he  had  several 
portraits  of  himself  and  his  beloved  Empress,  and  of  the  other 
members  of  his  family,  on  canvas  and  panel,  as  well  as  other 
medallions  and  miniatures. 

He  had  also  brought  with  him  to  Yuste  several  reliquaries,  in 
which  he  had  the  greatest  confidence,  as  they  were  said  to  contain 
fragments  of  the  wood  of  the  true  cross;  and  he  preserved,  with 


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THE  EMPEBOB  CHAELES  THE  FIFTH.  189 

pious  care,  the  crucifix  w^bich  the  expiring  Empress  had  held  in 
her  hands,  and  which  both  himself  and  his  son  were  to  bold  in 
their  hands  in  their  dying  moments.  Other  objects  of  a  very 
different  character,  relating  to  his  favourite  pursuits  of  horology, 
mechanics,  astronomy,  and  geography,  had  also  been  brought  to 
divert  his  mind  and  amuse  his  leisure.  The  clever  mechanician, 
Juanello  Torriano,  assisted  by  an  ordinary  artisan  Juan  Balin, 
had  constructed  for  the  Emperor  four  large  and  beautiful  clocks, 
and  these,  with  a  number  of  soialler  horologes^  were  now  placed  in 
the  various  rooms  of  the  imperial  residence.  A  sun-dial,  a 
variety  of  mathematical  and  astronomical  ixistruments,  and  a  col- 
lection of  maps  and  charts,  enabled  him  to  pursue,  in  his  retire-* 
ment,  the  studies  to  which  he  had  always  been  strongly  addicted, 
hot  which  other  occupations  had  hitherto  prevented  him  from 
pursuing  to  any  great  extent. 

His  library  consisted  of  a  few  books  of  science,  history,  Christian 
philosophy,  and  religious  practice.  The  ^^  Almagest,"  or  great 
astronomical  composition  of  Ptolemy,  which  was  then  the  standard 
authority  on  the  subject ;  the  ^^  Imperial  Astronomer  of  Santa 
Cruz;"  Caroar's  "Commentaries;"  the  "History  of  Spain,"  by 
Florian  de  Ocampo;  several  copies  of  Boethius  "De  Conso- 
latione ;"  the  "  Commentaries  on  the  Wars  of  Germany,"  by  the 
Grand  Commander  of  Alcantara;  the  poetical  romance  of  the 
"  Chevalier  Delib^re ;"  the  "  Meditations  of  St.  Augustine ;"  two 
other  books  of  pious  meditations ;  the  works  of  Dr.  Constantino  de 
k  Fuente  and  Father  Pedro  de  Soto  on  "  Christian  Doctrine ;" 
the  "  Summary  of  Christian  Mysteries,"  by  Titleman ;  two  bre- 
viaries, a  missal,  and  two  illuminated  psalters ;  a  collection  of 
? ravers  from  the  Bible,  and  the  commentary  of  Fray  Tomas  de 
^ortocarrero,  on  the  thirty-first  Psalm :  these  were  the  habitual 
subjects  of  his  perusal. 

Charles  the  Fifth  kept  his  own  papers  in  a  large  portfolio  of 
black  velvet,  which,  at  his  death,  was  sent  under  seal  to  his 
daughter,  the  Regent  of  Spain.  This  portfolio  was  always  in  his 
room,  together  with  all  sorts  of  jewels,  and  knick-knacks  delicately 
wrought  in  silver,  gold,  and  enamel,  the  most  precious  of  which 
were  doubtless  those  to  which  the  credulity  of  the  age  attributed 
curative  virtues.  Charles  the  Fifth  possessed  a  great  quantity  of 
these  medical  talismans ;  he  had  stones  incrusted  with  gold,  to 
stop  effusions  of  blood ;  two  bracelets,  and  two  rings  of  bone  and 
gold,  to  cure  bssmorrhoids ;  a  blue  stone,  set  in  a  golden  claw,  to 
preserve  firom  gout;  nine  rings  from  England  against  cramp;  a 
philosopher's  stone,  which  had  been  given  him  by  a  certain  Dr. 
Beltran;  and  sevei^  bezoar-stones  from  the  East,  which  were 
sovereign  remedies  for  various  diseases.  With  all  these  marvellous 
specifics,  he  ought  surely  to  have  got  rid  of  every  malady ;  but 
not  even  the  prescriptions  of  his  physician  Mathys,  or  the  com- 
pounds of  his  apothecary  Oberistraten,  could  keep  him  in  any- 
thing like  a  healthy  state. 


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190 


RUSSIA,  ITS  COURT  AND  CABINET. 

Are  we  really  going  to  reverse  1812,  to  shake  hands  with 
Jaques  Bonbomme,  with  whom  we  have  been  fighting  since 
Crecy,  if  not  since  Hastings  ?  And  open  altogether  a  new  enmity 
and  rivalry  with  a  foe  at  the  other  side  of  the  world,  a  country 
with  which,  though  we  once  fought  in  conjunction,  we  as  yet 
know  but  little,  and  which  knows  us  still  less. 

The-  most  durable  things  in  history  are,  after  all,  national 
enmities.  Dynasties  rise,  fall,  and  succeed  each  other;  liberty 
flourishes  or  fades ;  countries  are  now  warlike,  now  commercial ; 
their  taste  is  at  one  time  for  turbulence,  and  at  another  for  ser- 
vility. There  are  pious  ages  and  profane  ages,  as  every  literature 
attests.  One  thing  alone  seldom  or  never  varies.  And  that  is 
national  enmity.  When  did  the  English  begin  to  hate  and  to  fight 
the  French  ?  Since  ever  there  were  English  or  French,  and  that 
is  at  least  six  centuries  ago. 

The  old  rule  of  the  world  seems  to  have  been,  that  we  should 
hate  our  neighbours.  And  Christians  as  we  call  ourselves,  we 
followed  the  rule.  But  now  the  progress  of  things  has  at  least 
brought  the  one  wholesome  conviction,  that  it  is  inconvenient 
to  hate  our  neighbours,  or  to  war  with  them.  Fifty  or  seventy 
years  ago  a  war  with  France  was  generally  pleasant  to  think  of. 
People  liked  the  idea.  But  who  is  there  now  that  is  not  shocked 
at  the  idea  of  cannonading  Boulogne,  as  Nelson  did,  or  throwing 
shells  into  Havre,  we  paying  all  Europe  to  attack  the  French, 
whilst  the  Emperor  threatened  all  Europe  with  the  rod  if  it  took 
our  merchandise  or  received  our  vessels  .* 

The  world  shrinks  from  the  idea  of  quarrelling  with  one's 
neighbour.  But  as  enemies  must  exist,  and  national  hate  must 
have  an  object,  we  must  seek  them  as  far  as  possible.  This 
necessity  for  having  an  enemy  at  all  is  unfortunate.  But  there  is 
at  least  some  gain  in  having  one  at  a  distance.  We  can  harm 
each  other  less,  and  the  opportunities  for  whetting  mutual  hate 
by  contact,  must  be  less.  If,  however,  the  respective  means  of 
irritation  and  annoyance  be  lessened,  the  complete  knowledge  of 
each  other,  which  best  removes  prejudices,  and  explains  away 
causes  of  difference,  becomes  far  more  difficult.  Let  us  remedy 
this,  as  far  as  we  ourselves  are  concerned,  by  studying  the  Rus- 
sians, and  knowing  what  is  their  power,  what  are  their  pecu- 
liarities, and  whether  the  causes,  which  have  placed  the  two 
nations  in  antagonism,  can  be  removed,  or  softened,  or  ex- 
plained. 

And,  first  of  all,  let  us  not  blink  the  true  and  serious  part  of 
the  case.  People  go  about  saying  that  the  cause  of  quarrel  does 
not  concern  us ;  that  it  touches  Austria  far  more ;  and  that  France, 
who  stirs  up  the  quarrel  by  fostering  the  Latin  Church  in  Jeru- 

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BUSSU,  ITS  COURT  AND  CABINET.  191 

salem,  ought  to  be  the  principal  in  the  quarrel,  and  England  but 
the  accessary.  Let  us  not  fall  into  error,  thus,  at  the  very  com- 
mencement, by  supposing  that  the  real  cause  of  quarrel  is  about 
who  shall  have  the  keys  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  or  whether  the 
Hospodars  of  Bucharest  or  Jassy  own  the  Czar  or  Sultan  for 
Suzerain.  The  real  object  of  dispute  is  at  present  the  empire  of 
the  East,  and  the  first  place  in  the  East.  England  and  Russia 
alone  aspire  to  that.  England  does  so  reluctantly,  and  uncon- 
sciously, perhaps.  But  still  the  power,  whose  flag  floats  at  Pe- 
shawur  and  in  Pegu,  in  the  islands  of  Borneo  and  Can  ton — this  is  the 
power  which  the  Russians  look  on  as  their  rival,  and  with  whom 
principally  they  seem  to  desire,  at  the  present  moment,  to  try  a 
fall.  England,  in  fact,  pretends  to  dispute  with  Russia  the  empire 
of  Asia,  and  the  paramount  influence  in  Europe.  She  has  a 
double  reason  for  rivalry.  Austria  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  the  East  or  with  Asia.  France  has  little.  Her  quarrel  with 
Russia,  then,  is  of  much  smaller  dimensions  and  narrower  scope 
than  ours. 

The  struggle  that  is  now  commencing,  and  of  which  the  pre- 
sent century  will  not  see  the  end,  is,  thus,  for  no  less  than  the 
supremacy  over  two  quarters  of  the  globe.  A  great  many  are 
already  appalled  by  the  seriousness  and  risk  of  such  a  struggle, 
and  the  presenting  them  in  naked  truth  is  calculated  to  appal  still 
more.  But  enter  upon  it  or  not,  it  is  best  to  know  fully  what 
we  avoid,  or  what  we  enter  upon.  Our  statesmen,  indeed,  who  are 
most  intimately  acquainted  with  the  resources  of  the  country,  and 
the  machinery  of  the  Government,  are  more  alarmed,  and  more 
reluctant  to  war,  than  any  others.  They  will  avoid  it  if  they  can 
They  may,  but  will  their"  successors  ?  Or  will  the  nation,  which 
is  one  of  great  spirit  and  great  resources,  and  whose  commonalty 
are  just  the  soldiers  to  march  boldly  to  an  assault,  even  over  the 
bodies  of  leaders  who  had  refused  to  head  them. 

The  Russians  have,  unfortunately,  a  dogma,  which  not  only 
exists  in  the  brains  of  their  statesmen,  but  which  forms  part  of  the 
pride  and  fanaticism  of  their  people.  They  believe  they  are 
destined  to  subdue  the  earth,  and  to  impose  upon  it  the  verities 
of  their  religion.  The  Turks  set  out  with  that  idea  many  cen- 
turies ago,  and  went  a  great  way  with  it.  The  Czar  is  fortunately 
dragged  after  the  belief,  instead  of  leading  it,  as  the  Caliph  did. 
But  still  the  impulse  is  not  less  formidable  from  being  a  popular, 
instead  of  being  a  political,  one. 

The  existence  of  this  popular  superstition,  acted  on  and  en- 
couraged by  the  moment,  is  not  the  only  point  of  similarity  be- 
tween the  Russians  and  the  Turks.  Persons  generally  make  the 
mistake  of  considering  Russia  as  a  country  which  has  for  centuries 
been  immersed  in  tyranny  and  barbarism,  and  that,  as  England 
and  France  first  acquired  the  elements  of  freedom  and  civiliza- 
tion, Gen;nany  came  next  in  that  race,  whilst  Russia  is,  or  will 
be,  last  to  enter  upon  the  same  career.  Now,  the  fact  is,  that 
as  far  as  political  freedom,  and  as  commercial  institutions  and 
social  gradations  are  concerned,  the  Sclavon  people  of  the  east  of 

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192  AU88IA, 

Europe  were  as  far  advanced  as  the  people  of  the  west.  They 
had  independeot  princes,  the  population  of  each  district  tilled  the 
8(^1  in  common^  and  were  free.  All  were,  in  fact,  what  the 
Cossacks  alone  are  now.  It  is  no  more  than  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago  since  the  peasants  were  made  serfs.  It  is  in- 
finitely later  since  the  Boyards,  or  nobles,  were  deprived  of  all 
power.  And  it  is  not  very  much  more  than  a  century  ago  since 
Peter  the  Great  completed  the  existing  despotism.  The  present 
despotic  power,  or  autocracy,  of  the  Czar  is  thus  not  an  c^ 
institution,  indigenous  in  the  land,  and  natural  to  the  population. 
It  is  rather  an  exception  to  all  the  rest  of  Sclavonian  history  and 
nature.  It  more  strongly  resembles  the  semi-military,  semi-religicms 
despotism,  to  which  Mahomet  fashioned  the  tribes  of  Arabia, 
than  any  natural  result  of  Russian  or  Sclavon  character  and 
development.  The  political  and  social  enslavement  of  the  Rus- 
sians only  dates  from  1600,  and  whilst,  since  that  period,  the  rest 
of  Europe  was  progressing  to  liberty,  Russia  was  retrograding  so 
far,  that  it  was  only  a  decree  of  Alexander  that  prevented  the 
establishment  of  a  Russian  slave-trade  by  a  decree,  ordaining, 
that  no  men,  women,  or  children  should  be  sold,  unless  along 
with  the  land  on  which  they  lived. 

It  is  one  of  the  strongest  arguments  used  by  our  Manchester 
party  for  not  interfering  with,  or  resisting  the  designs  of,  Russia, 
that  the  present  despotism  of  that  country  is  temporary  and 
immaterial,  and  likely  to  give  way  to  other  systems  of  govern- 
ment, under  which  division  of  empire  and  relaxation  of  tyranny 
may  take  place.  But,  unfortunately  for  such  arguments  as  these, 
the  Russian  Empire  is  held  together  by  that  identity  of  race  and 
creed,  which  is  fully  capable  of  surviving  even  despotism,  and  which, 
making  a  Russian  and  Sclavonian  population  on  the  Bosphorus 
sympathize  with  each  other,  could  as  fully  act  on  Russian  and 
Finnish  populations  on  the  Baltic. 

Peter  the  Great  may  be  considered  as  the  true  founder  of 
the  present  Russian  system.  The  enslavement  of  the  peasantry 
had  reached  its  completion  before  his  time.  But  he  reduced  the 
aristocracy  to  an  equal  state  of  subservience  with  respect  to  the 
crown.  The  tendency  of  a  Sclavonian  population  is  to  be  in- 
dustrious, to  till,  to  sow,  and  to  reap,  and  to  respect  a  local  lord. 
To  political  considerations  of  a  high  kind  a  Sclavon  with  diffi- 
culty raises  his  mind.  The  educated  classes  alone  can  do  this. 
An  aristocracy  of  Boyards  is  not  for  extending  empire,  but  for  do- 
minating their  locality,  which  forms  the  natural  state  of  the  Scla- 
vons.  Servia,  Wallachia,  and  Moldavia,  are  fair  examples.  But 
Peter  the  Great  established  institutions  and  laws  which  under- 
mined the  independence  of  the  Boyards.  He  decreed  that  no 
noblesse  should  exist  or  descend,  unaccompanied  with  serving  the 
state  in  either  a  civil  or  a  military  capacity.  The  son  of  a  peasant 
became  noble  by  high  place,  and  was  entitled,  indeed,  to  wear 
hereditary  honours.  But  all  titles  of  noblesse  were  abolished  at 
the  third  generation  for  them,  who  did  not  repeat  and  renew 


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ITS  COURT  AND  CABINET.  193 

tbem  by  senring  the  Czar,  aad  liaing  to  high  position  at  bift  Court 
or  under  his  Government 

This  was  the  principle  of  aristocracy  in  the  Greek  Empire,  so 
different  from  that  in  the  old  Latin  republic,  where  aristocracy  waa 
formed  by  achievements,  and  kept  by  wealth  and  by  birth:  it  is 
equally  distinguished  from  the  principle  of  feudal  aristocracy  which 
prevailed  in  Western  Europe,  where  birth,  founded  on  a  first  for- 
tunate chance,  became  everything,  securing  wealth  to  the  heir,  and 
endeavouring  also  to  train,  by  early  education  and  ideas,  the  young 
noble  in  those  habits  of  honour  and  courage,  which  depend  on  pride 
and  self-respect.  The  Russian  aristocracy  since  Peter,  like  the 
Turkish,  depends,  on  the  contrary,  not  on  birth,  but  on  employ — 
on  the  faculty  of  pleasing  superiors — commanding  inferiors,  and 
being  an  adroit  and  successful  accomplisher  of  political  designs. 

The  .attempt  of  Peter  the  Great  to  imitate  the  Greek  Empire, 
and  make  his  magnates  dependent  on  the  will  of  the  sovereign,  will 
never  succeed.  The  Greek  Emperor  and  the  Turkish  Sultan  carried 
on  such  a  system  no  doubt,  but  it  was  by  ruining  landed  property, 
or  allowing  it  to  be  ruined,  so  that  there  was  no  secure  succession 
in  it,  nothing  that  the  fiscal  power  could  not  grasp.  When  high 
£unilies  are  thus  reduced  to  mvest  their  chief  wealth  in  movables 
or  jewels,  of  course  it  becomes  a  thing  for  despotism  to  de- 
capitate and  despoil.  But  in  Russia  there  is  the  land,  and  there 
are  the  serfs  to  cultivate  it  The  one  is  not  ravaged  and  allowed 
to  lie  desolate  and  unproductive  as  in  Turkey,  nor  are  the  serfs 
swept  off  the  land  by  war,  or  by  famine.  The  element  of  aris- 
tocracy therefore  remains  in  Russia,  and  will  finally  triumph  over 
all  the  efforts  of  despotism  to  crush  it. 

Peter  the  Great  was  looked  upon  as  a  great  man.  The  Russians 
worship  him  as  the  founder  of  their  empire.  Certainly  it  was  a 
feeble  and  a  poor  one  before  his  reign,  and  it  has  been  a  growing 
and  a  powerful  one  since.  Instead  of  being  the  prey  of  its 
neighbours,  Russia  has  preyed  upon  them  since  his  time.  The 
truth  unfortunately  is,  that  the  best  state  in  which  a  nation  can 
be  for  conquest,  is  despotism.  Rome  and  Athens  may  give  the 
lie  to  this  for  ancient  times;  but  for  modem  ones  it  holds  irre- 
fragably  good.  If  France  has  rounded  her  territory  and  reached  her 
full  frontier,  she  owes  it  to  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  as  she  might  have 
owed  more  to  the  despotism  of  Napoleon.  What  has  become  of 
Germany  as  a  great  empire  ?  and  of  Poland  for  want  of  a  compact 
and  full  submitting  to  a  despotism  ?  Russia  has  equally  profited 
by  a  despotism  that  has  given  consistency,  policy,  fixedness  of 
purpose,  a  standing  army,  and  a  permanent  government  when  all 
other  and  freer  nations  have  wanted  them. 

With  the  exception,  however,  of  his  one  great  act,  the  esta- 
blishment of  complete  despotism,  Peter  the  Great  has  engaged 
his  country  in  so  many  paths  of  coutention  and  aggrandize- 
ment, that  the  very  miUtiplying  of  them  endangers  Ui^n  all. 
ThuSy  instead  of  leaving  Russia  an  Asiatic  power,  Peter  made  it 
a  European  one.  He  removed  the  seat  of  empire  from  Moscow 
to  St.  Petersburg,  approximating  the  seat  of  government  to  German 


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194  BUSSIA, 

provinces  and  Gennan  institutions,  that  has  since  indeed  caused 
Russia  to  become  mistress  of  Poland,  and  to  weigh  with  over* 
whelming  force  upon  Germany,  but  which,  in  both  instances, 
has  placed  Russia  in  a  position  of  antagonism  to  central  Europe. 
This  must  lead  to  a  war, — a  war  in  which  Russia  cannot  pre- 
Tail  over  the  development,  the  enlightenment,  the  courage,  and 
the  numbers  of  Western  Europe,  and  in  which  it  must  suc- 
cumb. 

The  same  mania  of  Peter  to  Europeanize  Russia  led  him  to 
shave  the  beards  of  his  Moudjiks,  to  create  a  fleet,  to  decree 
that  there  should  be  towns,  though  there  was  no  middle  class 
to  fill  them,  and  although  the  peasants  and  agriculturists  had 
neither  the  wants  nor  the  surplus  which  go  to  supply  and  feed  a 
true  middle  class.  Peter  thought  he  could  accomplish  all  these 
things  by  ukases.  Instead  of  accomplishing  them  by  his  decrees, 
he  rendered  the  accomplishment  more  difficult  by  his  tyrannical 
institutions,  which  certainly  have  retarded  the  internal  improvement 
and  development  of  the  country. 

Argue  with  a  Turk  about  his  harem  habits,  and  exclaim  against 
the  seraglio  system,  and  he  will  not  fail  to  adduce,  on  one  side,  the 
regular  succession  of  sultanic  descendants  from  Otbman,  claiming 
indisputable  allegiance  by  birth,  and  seldom  wanting  in  either  spirit 
or  intelligence.  On  the  other  side,  he  will  point  to  you  the  mad 
and  immoral  princes,  that  have  held  the  Russian  throne :  Anne, 
with  her  favourite  Biren,  Peter  the  Third,  and  Catharine.  Russia 
was  reduced  to  obey  a  mere  woman,  a  German,  a  Holstein-Gottorp^ 
with  all  the  defects  of  womankind  exaggerated  in  her.  If  a  Russian 
be  listening  to  the  argument,  he  will  observe  that  as  Catharine  the 
Second  procured  for  Russia  the  possession  of  Lithuania  and 
the  Crimea,  two  of  its  most  important  conquests,  there  is  no  Russian 
that  will  not  hail  Catharine  by  the  endearing  name  oi  Mateuschka^ 
or  mother. 

The  Emperor  Paul,  who  was  he  ?  A  madman  in  brain,  a  Finn  in 
feature.  There,  to  be  sure,  followed,  bom  of  a  beautiful  princess 
of  Wurtemberg,  two  great  princes,  brothers,  Alexander  and 
Nicholas.  But  what  will  ensure  to  Russia  a  succession  of  princes 
possessed  of  their  ascendancy,  constancy,  and  prudence  ? 

Catharine  the  Second  was  the  Louis  the  Fourteenth  of  Russia. 
She  was  for  it  its  best  prince,  made  her  empire  respected  and  ele- 
vated, notwithstanding  her  own  voluptuousness,  and  created  a 
court,  in  the  splendour  and  power,  the  dissipation  and  the  luxury 
of  which  the  Russian  noble  was  caught  and  shorn  of  his  inde- 
pendence. 

It  was  in  the  mad  brain  of  Paul,  not  mad  on  this  occasion,  that 
germed  the  idea  that  Russia  might  admit  a  partner  in  the  great 
and  final  aim  of  dominating  the  world.  The  star  of  Napoleon,  his 
victories,  his  superiority,  compelled  Russia  to  abandon  the 
idea  that  she  could  ever  lord  it  over  Western  Europe.  But  by 
abandoning  Europe  to  the  modem  Charlemagne,  or  at  least  the 
half  of  Europe,  Russia  might  more  certainly  succeed  in  the 
retention  of  ner  power  eastward.  This  dream  of  Paul,  his  son 


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ITS  COURT  AND  CABINET,  195 

Alexander  long  withstood  and  disbelieved.  German  in  his  lean* 
ings,  his  reading,  he  could  not  permit  Austria  as  well  as  Prussia 
to  be  trodden  under  foot  by  France.  Even  Austerlitz  did  not 
reconcile  him  to  the  thought — Friedland  and  Tilsit  did. 

The  greatest  escape  that  ever  Europe  had  was  at  Tilsit  The 
powerful  emperors  who  met  on  that  memorable  raft,  personally 
pleased  each  other.  Alexander  was  affectionate  and  romantic, 
open  to  personal  predilection  ;  Napoleon,  like  a  true  son  of  the 
South,  incapable  of  any  such  feeling,  was  insincere.  He  only 
wanted  to  make  use  of  Alexander,  gain  temporary  power — for  his 
armies  had,  for  the  first  time,  been  roughly  handled.  He  flat- 
tered Alexander,  by  holding  out  to  him  the  prospect  that  he 
would  give  up  to  him  the  empire  of  the  East,  or  at  least  share  it 
Had  Napoleon  been  sincere,  the  friendship  and  alliance  of  Alex<» 
ander  would  have  endured,  and  the  world  would  finally  have  been 
divided  between  the  two.  What  made  the  world  escape  a  yoke  at 
that  time  was  the  grain  of  insincerity  which  made  part  of  Na- 
poleon's character.  The  Corsican  could  not  be  a  true  and  frank 
friend  and  ally.  By  that  little  grain  of  character,  Europe  was 
saved.  Napoleon  lost,  and  France  reduced  to  a  state  in  which  it 
can  never  again  pretend  or  hope  to  §hare  the  world  with  Russia. 

There  could  not  be  two  characters  more  different  than  those  of 
Alexander  and  Nicholas.  The  former  received  a  most  cultivated 
education,  under  the  directions  of  his  grandmother  Catharine,  and, 
of  course,  a  German  and  foreign  education.  He  was  taught  philo- 
sophy— a  dangerous  thing  for  an  autocrat,  who  had  so  much 
reality  to  look  to,  and  so  little  time  to  dream.  Nicholas  at  the 
same  time,  being  a  third  son,  received  no  education  at  all.  He 
was  left  as  Nature  made  him,  that  is,  a  Russian.  Alexander's 
early  dreams,  his  youthful  friendship  with  Czartoriski,  and  the 
schemes  which  he  loved  to  devise  with  that  amiable  and  patriotic 
man  for  the  liberties  of  Poland,  and  even  of  Russia,  are  well 
known.  Although  his  Autocratic  system  of  government  obliged 
and  bound  him  to  suspicion  and  tyranny,  still  he  always  had 
generous  ideas  and  liberal  leanings,  whilst  the  Russians  did  not 
forgive  what  was  good  in  him,  and  which  made  them  look  on  him 
as  a  foreigner.  The  invasion  of  Russia  by  Napoleon  was  the  most 
fortunate  occurrence  for  Alexander.  It  piqued  his  pride,  gave 
him  confidence  to  resist,  and  forced  him  to  become  a  hero.  It 
reunited  him  to  his  people,  who  did  not  forgive  his  failure,  with 
such  excellent  opportunities,  to  push  the  empire  to  the  Danube. 
WTien  we  consider  that  Napoleon  gave  Wallachia  and  Moldavia 
to  Russia  at  Tilsit,  the  marvel  is,  not  that  it  grasped  at  the  princi- 
palities now,  but  that  it  had  withheld  from  devouring  them  so 
long. 

Nicholas  has  none  of  the  disadvantages  of  an  over-refined  edu- 
cation. He  is  a  genuine  descendant  of  Peter.  He  thinks  liberty 
heresy,  and  despotism  a  part  of  the  religion  which  his  country  is 
destined  to  establish.  He  affects  Greek  orthodoxy  with  almost 
fanaticism,  whilst  Alexander  seemed  to  think  Roman  Catholicism 
and  even  Protestantism  something  quite  as  good.      Unable  to 

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]9(  RUSSIA, 

mcmnt  the  throne  without  sweeping  down  whole  regiments  of  the 
soldiers^  who  clamoared  for  Constantine,  with  grape,  he  seemed 
to  have  gathered  from  that  fated  field  a  severity  which  maris  all 
his  acts.  NeTcr  was  a  severer  man,  and  even  his  kindness 
to  his  family  is  marked  hy  considerable  severity  of  manner.  The 
only  one  of  his  family  who  can  venture  to  be  familiar  with  him, 
or  to  brave  his  choler  in  small  things,  is  the  Grand  Duchess,  wife 
of  the  heir  to  the  throne.  She  alone  can  take  liberties  with 
Nicholas,  ot  keep  him  waiting,  and  turn  away  his  anger  by 
cajolery. 

The  birth  and  fortune  of  this  princess  are  well-known.  One  of 
the  princesses  of  Hesse-Darmstadt,  she  was,  though  avowedly  the 
daughter  of  the  Duchess,  not  considered  or  treated  as  the  daughter 
of  the  reigning  Duke.  When  the  heir  to  the  Imperial  throne 
of  Russia,  therefore,  visited  Darmstadt,  and  other  German  palaces, 
in  search  of  a  wife,  she  remained  clothed  in  simple  white,  and 
apart,  somewhat  like  a  Cinderella,  whilst  her  sisters  in  all  the 
splendour  of  jewellery  and  brocade,  were  presented  to  the  Russian 
prince.  He  asked  who  was  the  Cinderella  in  simple  white,  and 
being  told,  he  proposed  for  her,  and  married  her  without  a  re- 
monstrance from  Nicholas.     • 

The  visit  of  the  two  brothers  with  the  Duchess  of  Oldenburg 
will  be  well  remembered  in  England,  whither  she  came  with  the 
allied  sovereigns  in  1815.  It  is  well  known  Russia  was  much 
annoyed  at  the  prospect  of  the  marriage  between  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  and  the  Princess  Charlotte.  No  sooner  did  the  Duchess 
of  Oldenburg  arrive  in  London,  than  she  set  all  her  Russian 
knowledge  of  intrigue  to  work  to  break  off  the  match.  The  task 
was  not  difficult,  for  the  Prince  of  Orange  showed  all  the  noncha- 
lance that  was  then  the  fashion  in  English  high  life,  whilst  the 
Princess  Chariotte,  naturally  prone  and  easily  inspired  by  her 
mother  to  thwart  whatever  appeared  to  be  a  plan  of  her  father,  was 
quite  ready  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  designing.  The  Duchess 
of  Oldenburg  achieved  her  victory,  at  all  events,  and  married  the 
Prince  of  Orange,  thus  linking  Holland  to  Russia,  instead  of  to 
England.  And  Amsterdam  has  ever  since  been  a  most  useful 
bank  to  the  Czar,  whilst  the  Czar,  at  the  critical  period  of  1831, 
did  nothing  whatever  for  the  House  of  Orange.  Poland,  to  be 
sure,  gave  him  something  to  look  to  at  home. 

Whilst  engaged  in  sketching  the  portraits  of  the  Russian  court, 
let  us  not  forget  him  who  is  at  present  the  man  most  looked  to,  if 
not  the  most  influential,  in  the  Russian  administration.  Coimt 
Nesselrode,  the  veteran  of  the  cabinet  of  St  Petersburg,  is  of 
German  origin,  his  family  is  of  Westphalia,  and  his  present  title 
is  that  of  Count  of  the  Holy  Roman  empire.  He  is  said  to 
have  been  bom  at  sea,  off  Lisbon,  on  board  an  English  vessel. 
His  parents  were  then  in  the  service  of  Russia.  His  family, 
and,  we  believe,  the  Count  himself,  is  still  a  Lutheran.  He  first 
entered  the  navy,  and  quitted  it  for  the  dragoons.  His  physio- 
gnomy struck  the  Emperor  Paul,  as  that  of  one  more  formed  for 
diplomacy  than  arms,  and  he  was  sent  as  Chief  Clerk  to  the 

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ITS  COUBT  AND  CABINET.  197 

Foreign  Office,  where  the  genuine  RnMians  were  found  not  raf- 
ficiendj  apt  or  alert.  Nesselrode  then  married  the  Countess 
Gourief,  daughter  of  the  Finance  Minister,  a  rich  and  profitable 
match,  which  facilitated  his  rise.  Count  Nesselrode,  chiefly 
trusted  bj  Alexander  in  his  negotiation  with  the  other  powers  of 
Europe,  has  been  long  considered  the  head  of  the  German  party, 
of  which  the  principle  is  to  adrance  the  influence  of  Russia, 
and  extend  its  territory  westward  without  pursuing  any  active  or 
conquering  policy  towaids  Turkey.  He  is  thus  reproached  for 
having  concluded  the  Treaty  of  the  15th  of  July,  which  was  con- 
sidered an  abandonment  of  Russia's  hereditary  policy  towards 
Turkey.  From  Nesselrode  still  proceeds  that  language  of  plausi- 
bility, which  represents  Russia  as  utterly  and  honourably  dis- 
interested in  its  dealings  with  Turkey,  and  disdaining  either  to 
crush  her,  or  despoil  her  of  territories.  It  is  not  unamusing  to 
obserre  the  truly  aggressive  and  even  insolent  nature  and  ideas  of 
Nicholas  clothed  in  the  soft  and  plausible  language  of  Nesselrode, 
which  excuses  and  conceals  and  almost  contradicts  them. 

The  Minister  supposed  to  be  the  most  opposed  to  Count  Nessel- 
rode is  Prince  Mcnschikoff,  Minister  of  Marine,  and  Admiral. 
He  has  always  had  the  character  of  being  sarcastic  and  insolent, 
and  though  descended  from  the  noblesse  of  a  German  province, 
he  has  nevertheless  identified  himself  with  the  old  Russian  party. 
It  was  a  Prince  Menschikoff,  who  presented  the  Czar  Peter  wiUi 
Catharine,  at  the  time  one  of  his  serfs.  Menschikoff  was  at 
the  time  governor  of  Courland.  The  present  Prince  is  said  not  to 
be  a  personal  favourite  with  Nicholas,  who  dislikes  his  freedom 
of  tongue.  But  Menschikoff  has  always  paid  assiduous  court  to 
Tschemicheff  and  Orloff,  who  have  been  the  personal  favourites, 
as  well  as  ministers,  of  Nicholas.  Both  these  men  proved  their 
attachment  to  the  Emperor  on4he  trying  day  of  the  military  in- 
surrection at  St.  Petersburg.  Orloff  was  made  police  minister. 
Tschemicheff  is  war  minister.  He  served  in  the  campaigns  of 
1811  and  1812,  and  maintains  the  respect  of  the  army,  to  which  he 
represents  the  imperial  will  and  predilections.  The  great  blot  on 
the  character  of  Tchemicheff  is  the  inveteracy  with  which  he 
followed  up  the  trial  and  execution  of  Count  Tchemicheff,  the 
head  of  his  family,  implicated  in  the  great  conspiracy.  Tchemi- 
cheff was  to  have  the  confiscated  property  of  the  head  of  his 
house.  He  was  asked  in  the  Council  of  State  by  what  law  diis 
transfer  of  property  took  place.  By  the  law,  observed  a  councillor 
present,  by  which  the  clothes  of  a  man  hanged  &lls  by  right  to 
the  executioner. 

The  only  troublesome  man  in  Russia,  that  assumed  the  attitude, 
or  professed  the  opinions,  analogous  to  those  of  Kollowrat  and 
Stadion  in  Austria,  was  Kisseleff.  These  Austrian  statesmen  found 
fault  with  the  government  of  Metteroich,  as  retrograde,  or  at  least 
as  stationary  and  illiberal.  Count  Kisseleff  avowed  the  same  opi- 
nion of  the  administration  at  St.  Petersburg.  He  was  minister  of 
the  public  domains,  and  in  this  office  he  attempted  to  follow  out 
some  of  the  liberal  aims  and  designs  of  Alexander.    He  was  for 


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198  BUSSIA, 

extending  to  all  ^Russia  those  edicts  for  the  emancipation  of  the 
serifs,  that  Alexander  issued  with  respect  to  the  Baltic  and  semi- 
German  provinces.  The  result  of  Count  Kisseleff  professing  such 
opinions,  was  his  quittmg  the  cabinet,  to  occupy  the  post  of  Rus- 
sian  minister  in  Paris,  a  climate  more  suited  to  bis  principles. 

The  opinion  of  Nesselrode  and  of  the  Russian  statesmen  of  his 
party  with  respect  to  the  affair  of  Constantinople  and  the  East 
are  suflSciently  manifest  in  the  state  papers,  which  have  been 
issued  from  his  pen.  They  repose  on  a  belief  that  the  provinces 
of  at  least  Turkey  or  Europe,  as  well  as  the  literal  of  the  Black 
Sea  must  fall  into  the  hands  of  Russia  without  an  effort  on  her 
part,  and  by  the  mere  and  natural  decadence  of  the  Ottoman.  All 
required,  then,  is  to  prevent  other  powers  interfering.  So  strongly 
impressed  was  Nesselrode  with  the  necessity  of  being  passive  in 
the  affairs  of  the  East,  that  when  Vicovich,  that  famous  agent, 
who  laboured  so  zealously  to  excite  aversion  for  the  English  in  all 
the  countries  between  the  Caspian  and  the  Indus,  returned  and 
had  his  first  interview  with  Nesselrode,  his  reception  was  such, 
that  Vicovich  went  home,  and  hanged  himself  immediately. 

Nesselrode's  principles,  which  once  fully  harmonized  with  those 
of  Nicholas,  were,  that  the  greatest  dangers  which  menaced  Russia 
were  likely  to  proceed  from  the  spirit  of  revolution,  and  of  revo- 
lutionized countries.  Such  was  the  political  task  which  Nessel- 
rode proposed  to  himself  as  a  Russian  statesman.  In  1828  and 
1829,  Nicholas,  secure  of  France,  flung  off  for  the  first  time 
Nesselrode's  policy,  and  plunged  into  a  war  with  Turkey,  in 
which  the  Emperor  showed  a  lack  of  military  ability,  and  firom 
which  he  extricated  himself  successfully,  more  by  a  happy  chance 
than  by  decided  superiority  in  arms.  The  events  of  1830  fol- 
lowed, and  Nesselrode  recovered  his  sway.  The  first  event  which 
subsequently  shook  Nesselrode's  ysendancy  and  the  high  opinion 
of  his  wisdom,  was  the  successful  insurrection  in  Hungary.  He 
was  against  intervening,  and  it  appears  that  even  the  old  Russian 
party  was  against  intervening.  They  preferred  seeing  Hungary 
assert  its  independence  of  Austria,  deeming  that  it  could  not  for 
all  that  ever  be  successful  or  establish  a  democratic  government, — 
that  the  aristocracy  would  recover  their  sway,  and  Russia  be  as 
influential  as  Austria  in  Hungary.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  would 
not  listen  to  these  Machiavelic  ideas.  The  first  duty  he  acknow- 
ledged was  to  suppress  revolution,  and  to  formally  demand  that 
his  troops  should  enter  Hungary.  For  this  very  reason,  as  it  was 
a  decision  of  his  personal  will,  the  Emperor  removed  to  Warsaw, 
and  watched  with  keen  anxiety  the  progress  of  the  war.  He 
used  to  receive  personally,  and  question  closely,  the  weekly  cou- 
riers that  were  sent  by  his  generals,  and  when  he  found  that 
they  could  not  answer  his  questions  with  any  intelligence  or  per- 
tinence, he  ordered  that  officers  and  aides-de-camp  should  be  em- 
ployed as  couriers,  that  he  might  question  them,  and  see  that 
their  accounts  tallied  with  his  generals'  dispatches. 

The  success  of  the  Hungarian  campaign  and  its  great  results 
having  rendered  the  Czar  more  predominant  in  the  councils  of  Aus- 


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ITS  COURT  AND   CABINET.  199 

tria  and,  of  course,  of  Europe,  had  the  effect  of  making  Nicholas 
far  more  absolute  and  far  more  confident  in  his  own  judgment 
than  in  any  of  his  ministers,  and  more  reliant  upon  quick  judgment 
than  upon  old  experience.  Count  Pahlen  once  remonstrating  with 
Nicholas  because  he  would  employ  him  in  civil  administration,  he 
who  had  always  been  a  military  man,  and  knew  no  other  science, 
"  Never  mind,"  said  the  Czar,  "  I  never  studied  politics  till  I  be« 
came  Emperor,  and  you  see  I  manage  very  well.*^ 

The  personal  management  of  political  relations  by  the  Empe- 
ror leads  to  this  result,  that  the  most  serious  consequences  are 
often  found  to  arise  from  an  expression,  or  a  jest,  or  a  man,  to 
whom  or  to  which  the  Emperor  may  take  a  personal  dislike. 
Nicholas,  for  example,  entertained  a  great  aversion  to  Radowitz, 
the  favourite  of  the  King  of  Prussia.  When  Russia  interfered  to 
thwart  the  scheme  of  Prussia  to  erect  a  German  Confederation, 
independent  of  Austria,  Radowitz,  who  was  Foreign  Minister  at 
Berlin,  made  use  in  one  of  his  despatches  to  Warsaw  of  the  ex- 
pression of  frir  werden  nicht  dulden^  "  We  will  not  suffer 
interference  of  this  kind."  The  Emperor  Nicholas  no  sooner  read 
this  phrase  than  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  choler,  declaring  the 
expression  an  insult,  and  stormed  in  a  manner  so  contrary  to  his 
usual  habits,  that  it  was  represented  to  the  King  of  Prussia  that 
he  must  either  sacrifice  Radowitz  or  lose  the  friendship  and  for- 
bearance of  Nicholas.  Radowitz  was  dismissed.  The  Russians 
point  him  out,  and  repeat,  nicht  dulden. 

Nicholas  had  a  similar  prejudice  to  Lord  Stratford,  who,  for 
his  name  more  than  for  any  other  reason,  he  refused  to  receive  as 
the  British  Ambassador  at  St.  Petersburg.  That  he  had  no 
objection  to  a  man  for  being  either  liberal  or  ill  tempered,  there  is 
sufficient  proof  in  his  cordial  reception  of  Lord  Durham,  who  used 
to  swear  by  the  disinterested  political  character  of  Nicholas.  Ano- 
ther personage  who  was  an  object  of  extreme  personal  dislike  to 
Nicholas — a  dislike  that  very  much  influenced  the  policy  of  Russia 
on  many  occasions — was  Louis  Philippe.  It  is  believed  that  on 
his  accession,  Louis  Philippe  sent  the  Duke  of  Moutemart  to  St. 
Petersburg,  with  the  assurance  that  he  only  accepted  the  throne 
to  keep  it  for  the  legitimate  heir.  The  utter  falsity  of  such  a  pro- 
mise, so  gratuitously  made  at  the  time,  rose  always  up  to  preclude 
any  amicable  relationship  between  Russia  and  the  chief  of  the 
house  of  Orleans,  as  long  as  he  was  on  the  throne. 

There  is  at  the  present  moment  especially  no  part  of  the 
character  and  sentiments  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  more  interest- 
ing to  examine  and  to  solve,  were  that  possible,  than  his  feelings 
towards  the  Bonaparte  family.  Alexander's  tenderness  for  Bona- 
parte was  great,  and  he  ever  entertained  a  kind  of  remorse  for 
the  part  which  he  played  in  the  dethronement  of  the  family  in 
1814  and  1815.  His  visits  to  Josephine,  at  Malmaison,  were  re- 
markable, and  the  act  of  Nicholas  in  giving  his  daughter  to  the 
son  of  Eugene  Beauhamais  was  certainly  very  unaccountable;  this 
prince,  however,  is  now  no  more.  And  Nicholas,  although  he 
observed  the  tone  of  cold  civility  towards  Napoleon  the  Third,  is 

VOL.  XXXIV.  r^^^^T^ 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  IC 


SOe  BUS8IA, 

stilly  it  is  now  generallj  beEeved,  favourable  to  the  hopes  of  the 
Orleans  family.  All  the  organs  of  the  family  at  least  are  Russian, 
whilst  the  Bonapartist  prints  are  both  anti-Russian  and  anti- 
Austrian. 

There  is  an  opinion  prevalent  at  present,  and  made  considerable 
use  of^  which  would  insinuate  that  there  is  a  secret  accord  between 
France  and  Russia,  and  that  the  chief  of  the  former  country  is  not 
to  be  depended  on  in  case  of  an  open  rupture.  We  cannot  but 
think  the  report  as  false  as  it  is  foul.  The  French  prince  and 
people,  with  the  exception  of  the  Orleanists,  are  sincere  in  the 
defence  of  the  Porte ;  but  as  on  the  other  hand  there  is  every 
reason  to  suspect  that  Russia  and  Austria  understand  each  other, 
and  that  in  revenge  for  the  joint  rebuffs  and  enmity  that  the  Porte 
showed  them  in  the  protection  of  Kossuth,  they  have  determined 
each  to  have  a  slice  of  Turkey.  If  that  be  really  the  case,  it  is 
to  be  feared  that  the  defence  or  independence  of  Turkey  or  Greece 
becomes  improbable,  for  England  and  France  have  ndther  troops, 
loans,  nor  armaments,  to  dispatch  the  force  that  would  be  required 
for  the  defence  of  even  Roumelia. 

The  design  of  Nicholas  is  sufficiently  manifest  to  all  acquainted 
with  his  previous  provisions.  That  design  is  to  place  the  crown 
of  Turkey  upon  the  head  of  his  second  son,  the  Grand  Duke  Con- 
stantine  Nikelvitsch.  He  is  considered  to  be  the  most  clever 
and  petulant  of  the  family,  and  to  have  received  an  education 
adapted  to  the  very  end  of  his  ruling  over  Greeks,  and  wearing  an 
oriental  crown.  Nicholas  himself,  indeed,  affects  to  inherit  the 
kingdom  of  the  Eastern  empire.  He  wears  the  Grecian  helmet 
on  great  days,  instead  of  the  European  general^s  hat  and  feathers. 
Many  of  our  readers  roust  have  seen  his  fat  person  at  the  review 
of  the  Guards  in  Windsor  Great  Park,  belted  up,  and  but  ill 
covered  with  a  scanty  green  jacket,  whilst  his  large  head  was 
crowned  with  an  enormous  brazen  helmet  Thus  accoutred,  and 
riding  between  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  Prince  Albert,  both 
men  of  a  middle  size,  Nicholas  looked  like  a  giant  in  a  fable,  and 
accoutred  much  as  the  author  of  Tom  Thumb  would  accoutre 
him.  It  was  thus  that  he  came  chivalrously  to  lay  his  sword  at 
the  Queen's  feet,  and  his  army  at  her  disposal,  in  case  of  an 
attack  from  France.  The  offer  was  well  meant  and  nobly  in- 
spired, although  it  was  difficult  to  reply  to  it  without  a 
smile. 

The  origin  of  the  present  movement  of  diplomatists  and  armies 
is,  in  many  people's  opinion,  occasioned  merely  by  the  fact,  that 
the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  is  of  an  age  to  be  provided  for,  and 
that,  moreover,  he  and  the  Cesarevitsch  do  not  very  cordially 
agree.  If  Constantine  is  ever  to  get  the  throne  of  the  East,  with 
Constantinople  for  his  residence,  of  course  he  must  owe  it  to 
Russian  armies.  Any  ill  will  on  the  part  of  Nicholas's  successor 
would  completely  mar  such  a  scheme.  And  the  Emperor  Nicho- 
las is  therefore  obliged  to  set  about  it,  and  accomplish  it  in  his 
lifetime.  There  is  a  story  of  young  Constantine,  who  is  in  the 
Russian  navy,  and  in  command  of  a  ship,  having  one  day  caught 


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ITS  COUBT  AND  CABINET.  SOI 

his  eider  brother  on  board  of  the  ship,  and  put  him  under  axMst 
there,  saying  that  on  board  at  least  he  was  superiar. 

Why  should  not  a  younger  branch  of  the  Roumanoffs  reign  at 
Constantinople,  as  well  as  a  yonnger  branch  of  the  Bourbons 
reign  at  Madrid  ?  Why  not  the  Balkan  be  as  effectual  a  barrier 
as  the  Pyrenees  to  divide  three  kingdoms  ?  All  Europe  leagued 
to  punish  and  prevent  Louis  the  Fourteenth  establishing  his 
grandson  on  the  throne  of  Spain,  although  that  prince  was  asked 
for,  and  defended  by  the  Spanish  {>eople  and  nobletse.  Long  war 
ensued,  war,  in  which  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  not  always  suc- 
cessful, but  still  his  grandson  kept  possession  of  the  Spanish 
throne.  Why  may  not  Constantine  equally  succeed  ?  Such  are 
the  historical  and  domestic  calculations  of  the  Court  of  St  Peters- 
burg. 

As  it  is  good  to  hear  what  the  Russians  say,  as  well  as  what 
they  are,  we  will  mention  another  of  their  modes  of  argument,  put 
forth  lately  in  print.  In  what,  ask  they,  are  our  demands  and 
advance  upon  Turkey  different  from  those  of  England  upon 
Burmah  ?  The  cause,  or  the  pretext,  of  the  English  having  in- 
vaded that  country,  is  so  small  and  insignificant,  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult even  to  state.  It  was  some  insult  offered  to  some  British 
vessel  at  Rangoon,  nothing  equal  to  the  oppression  put  upon  the 
Russian  and  Greek  religionists  at  Jerusalem.  If  we,  Russians, 
have  marched  into  Moldavia  and  Wallachia,  the  English  have 
occupied  Pegu,  which  they  insist  on  keeping,  whilst  Russia,  as 
yet,  has  offered  to  evacuate  Moldavia  and  WsJlachia,  if  her  just 
demands  were  acceded  to.  It  is  said,  the  Peguites  cannot  be 
abandoned.  Why  should  the  partisans  of  Russia  in  the  princi- 
palities either  be  forsaken  ?  If  the  King  of  Ava  will  not  consent 
to  lose  Pegu,  the  English  threaten  to  march  on  Ava.  Is  the  Rus- 
sian threat  to  march  upon  Constantinople  more  arrogant  or  spo- 
liatory  ? 

The  Russians  altogether  leave  out  of  the  argument  the  fact 
that  English  possession  of  either  Pegu  or  Ava  will  not  augment 
her  strength — much  the  contrary — or  render  her  more  formidable 
to  her  neighbours,  whereas  Russian  possession  of  Constantinople, 
either  per  «^  or  by  the  sovereignty  of  a  Roumanoff  prince,  closes 
the  Black  Sea  against  the  world,  augments  one-hundredfold  the 
existing  strength  of  Russia,  giving  her  formidable  means  for 
further  extension. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that,  with  the  numerous  advantages  that 
Russia  posseraes,  it  will  be  impossible  to  withstand  her.  As  lo 
the  Turks,  they  fight  with  one  hand  tied,  that  is,  with  only  one 
half  the  population  to  recruit  from ;  whilst  Russia's  aim  is  to  gain 
rich  provinces  in  which  to  plant  soldiers.  The  political  as  well  as 
military  quarrel  between  Russia  and  Turkey  is,  that  the  provinces 
they  are  contending  for,  are  the  richest  for  thousands  of  miles 
around,  clustering  on  both  sides  of  the  fertile  Danube,  whilst,  as 
the  country  recedes  from  that  river  north  or  south,  the  amount 
of  population  and  fertility  largely  decreases.  When  Turkey  held 
these  provinces,  she  used  them  as  a  garden,  an  estate,  as  a  pro- 

p  2 

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202  RUSSIA, 

vision  field.  They  were  bbund  to  keep  the  fortress  provisioned, 
and  to  amass  their  stores,  which  were  distributed  in  every  fort  of 
the  Balkan.  The  principalities  were  thus  for  centuries  the  mili- 
tary magazine  of  the  Turks.  No  wonder  that  the  Russians  seek  to 
get  hold  of  them. 

The  Russian  army  is  the  most  dangerous  army  that  can  be 
encountered  of  a  winter's  day.  Cold  converts  soldiers  into  mere 
automatons  and  machines,  to  give  fire  and  to  stand  fire.  On  such 
occasions  the  Russians  are  superior  to  any.  But  in  summer  climes 
and  weather,  where  the  soldier  is  free  of  his  limbs  and  actions, 
where  so  much  depends  upon  light  troops,  or  even  upon  heavy 
troops  moving  and  attacking,  destroying  what  they  disperse,  or 
rallying  themselves  after  they  have  dispersed ;  in  all  these  ma- 
noeuvres a  Frenchman  is  far  superior  to  a  Russian.  Yet  Napoleon 
brought  his  Frenchmen  to  combat  Russians  in  times  and  climes 
where  the  Russians  were  necessarily  superior,  and  had  thus 
thrown  away  his  natural  advantages. 

The  Russians  never  fight  so  ill  as  they  do  in  Turkey  or  in  the 
south.  The  Turks  had  in  general  the  best  of  it  in  the  last  cam- 
paign. If  there  were  enough  of  Turks,  and  sufficient  provision 
for  them,  they  would  soon  be  better  soldiers  than  the  Russians. 
The  Turks  have  greater  incentives  than  the  French  had  in  1792. 
Each  soldier  is  sure  of  becoming  an  officer,  and  of  rising,  if  he 
displays  courage,  skill,  and  command ;  the  Russian  soldier  knows 
that  he  never  can  be  but  what  he  is,  a  serf  in  uniform.  The 
Russian,  though  ready  to  sacrifice  his  life  with  a  kind  of  passive 
courage,  has  not  that  active  impulse,  which  makes  a  first-rate 
soldier.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  is  admitted  to  have  amazingly 
improved  all  the  collateral  services  of  the  army,  the  commissariat, 
the  equipment ;  but  his  increased  severity  has  not  improved  the 
Russian  soldier,  who  never  showed  more  backwardness  than  in 
the  Hungarian  campaign.  Indeed,  the  general  opinion  is,  that 
whenever  Russian  troops  shall  again  meet  German  troops  in  con- 
flict, the  superior  spirit  of  the  latter  will  be  manifest.  But  the 
Turks  have  an  undisciplined  and  raw  infantry,  soldiers  young,  and 
officers  untaught,  an  army  in  fact  that  should  go  through  the 
schooling  and  the  life  of  a  campaign  in  order  to  become  an  effi- 
cient one.  The  one  hundred,  or  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand soldiers  in  the  pay  of  the  Sultan,  do  not  form  an  army  suffi- 
ciently numerous  to  go  through  such  an  ordeal. 

If  the  Russians  do  not  fight  well  in  southern  climes,  neither 
do  they  fight  well  in  mountains,  which  disturb  their  ranks  and 
their  habitudes.  It  was  thought  that  the  Russian  soldier,  being 
accustomed  to  a  cold  climate,  would  prove  invincible,  especially 
under  Suwarof  amongst  the  snows  and  glaciers  of  Switzerland. 
But  Massena  and  his  little  agile  Frenchmen  beat  Suwarof  and  his 
grenadiers  at  Zurich,  because  the  Russians  were  unaccustomed  to 
mountain  warfare.  Tyrolese  regiments  would  have  been  better. 
Whether  this  is  sufficient  to  explain  the  prolonged  resistance  of 
the  Circassians  I  know  not,  for  this  resistance  remains  still  an 
enigma,  which  no  one  even  tries  to  explain.     We  have  heard  that 


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rrs  COURT  and  cabinet.  203 

the  Tartars  and  other  Mahometan  tribes,  in  this  part  of  Russia, 
now  of  course  forming  the  greater  part  of  the  force  employed 
against  the  Circassians,  are  reluctant  to  achieve  a  victory  over 
them,  and  that  the  mountaineers  are  thus  not  only  able  to  resist 
the  Russians,  but  are  able  to  gain  frequent  victories  over  the  want 
of  zeal  of  Mahometans  in  the  service  of  Russia. 

There  is  one  school  of  tacticians  in  Russia,  who  recommend  to 
the  Emperor  to  abandon  or  defer  the  idea  of  a  military  advance 
over  the  Danube  and  the  Balkan  to  the  conquest  of  the  Ottoman 
Empire.  They  say,  that  European  powers  will  interfere  to  defeat 
such  an  advance,  and  that  even  if  they  are  too  late,  the  maritime 
powers  can  always  render  Constantinople  an  insecure  position. 
For  even  if  fleets  be  prevented  from  penetrating  the  Dardanelles, 
troops  can  be  landed  at  a  spot  westward  of  the  Chersonese  and 
the  new  capital  menaced  or  molested.  They  recommend  as  pre- 
ferable the  invasion  of  Asia  Minor,  partly  through  the  isthmus 
and  by  Erivan,  partly  from  the  Crimea  direct  to  the  opposite  shore. 
No  European  power,  they  allege,  could  here  intervene  or  intercept. 
The  scattered  tribes  and  scant  population  of  Asia  Minor  would 
make  small  resistance.  The  country  does  not  contain  a  single  for- 
tress, and  the  Turkish  metropolis  thus  cut  off  from  all  aid  in  men 
or  in  means  from  the  provinces  in  Asia,  would  expire  of  helpless- 
ness and  inanition,  without  the  trouble  or  risk  of  a  combat. 

Asia  Minor,  however,  would  not  confer  a  capital  and  a  crown 
on  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine.  Whilst  a  long,  and  desultory 
war  with  the  different  tribes,  amidst  their  mountains  and  fastnesses, 
would  prove  a  Circassia  multiplied  by  a  figure  something  like 
a  thousand.  To  render  the  communication  sure  between  the 
Crimea  and  the  opposite  coast,  between  Sebastopol  and  Trebizond, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  close  the  Bosphorus  and  Dardanelles,  and 
that  could  only  be  done  by  taking  possession  of  Constantinople. 
As  to  the  land  communication  between  Turkey  and  eastern  Asia  by 
the  Caucasus  and  Armenia,  nature  has  placed  two  great  barriers 
between  Europe  and  Asia  by  this  route.  There  is  the  barrier  of 
lofty  mountains,  peopled  by  warlike  tribes,  and  there  is  the 
barrier  of  the  steppes,  peopled  by  Nomade  and  Tartar  tribes, 
quite  as  little  to  be  depended  on.  Russia  is  striving  her  utmost  at 
this  moment  to  form  a  series  of  fixed  abodes,  agricultural  popula- 
tion, and  civilized  habits,  thereby  to  bridge  over  the  steppes  for 
the  purpose  of  war  and  trade.  Her  progress,  however,  in  this 
task  is  slow,  and  the  result  uncertain.  All  here  is  loose,  and  floating 
over  the  whole  breadth  of  the  Asiatic  continent,  and,  as  Kohl 
tells  us,  "  a  calf  bom  at  the  foot  of  the  great  Chinese  wall  might 
cat  his  way  along  till  he  arrived  a  well-fattened  ox  on  the  banks 
of  the  Dniester.^* 

Having  thus  explained  and  expatiated  on  Russia  as  a  power, 
upon  its  imperial  family,  its  court,  its  cabinet,  as  also  upon  its 
popular  tendencies  and  military  renown,  let  us  say  something 
upon  the  different  lights  in  which  leading  politicians  in  England 
regard  Russia,  her  ambitious  projects,  and  those  important  terri- 
tories which  are  the  objects  of  her  ambition.  ^         , 

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204  BUSC^, 

The  British  mmistry  is  bnown  to  contain  all  kinds  and  diver- 
sities of  opinion  on  this  subject ;  so  that  the  great  diversity  of 
VMws  which  exist  have  led  to  more  discussion  within  the  Cabinet 
than  without.  In  fact  silence  has  been  imposed  upon  pariiament, 
chiefly  becmose  it  was  known  that  ministers  were  not  agreed,  and 
that  debates  could  not  take  place  in  both  houses  without  leading 
to  great  discrepancies  in  ministerial  speeches— -discrepancies  that 
must  necessarily  produce  a  dissolution  of  the  ministry. 

The  premier,  Lord  Aberdeen,  is  known  to  entertain  the  idea 
that  Louis  Philippe  and  M.  Guizot  entertained,  that  Turkey  is  a 
body  in  a  state  of  dissolution  to  which  no  more  than  galvanic  life 
could  be  given.  To  enter  upon  a  war  to  prevent  such  a  natural 
course  of  things  as  the  annihilation  of  Turkey  by  Russia,  would, 
in  Lord  Aberdeen's  opinion,  be  madness ;  madness,  first  of  all, 
because  our  interference  would  not  prevent  the  catastrophe, 
and  secondly,  because  our  doing  so  would  avert  Russia  from  aid- 
ing any  farther  in  the  preserving  the  independence  of  Belgium 
from  France.  We  should  then,  in  all  probability,  see  Russia  in 
possession  of  Constantinople,  and  France  in  possession  of  Antwerp, 
without  its  being  possible  to  attempt  the  recovery  of  either  by 
arms.  If,  then,  a  choice  is  to  be  made.  Lord  Aberdeen  would  pre- 
fer the  independence  of  Antwerp,  not  despairing  at  the  same  time 
of  coming  to  some  accord  with  Russia  as  to  the  existence  of  Con- 
stantinople as  a  free  city,  or  the  capital  of  an  independent  state. 

In  opposition  to  Lord  Aberdeen  in  the  Cabinet  is  known  to 
stand  Lord  Palmerston,  who  thinks  that  when  wrong  is  perpe- 
trated and  danger  threatens,  it  is  better  to  face  it,  and  not  be  de- 
terred by  fear  and  contingencies.  Fats  ce  que  tu  dois,  adviens 
qui  peurra^  is  his  lordship's  motto.  If  Russia  be  strenuously  re- 
sisted and  compelled  to  retire  behind  the  Pruth,  the  German 
powers  will  take  courage  to  assert  their  independence,  and  their 
concert  is  quite  sufficient  to  assure  the  status  quo  in  the  west  of 
Europe.  By  shirking  war  now,  or  even  the  approach  to  it,  it 
would  not  be  avoided,  but  rather  rendered  certain  at  no  distant 
time.  All  the  other  well-known  arguments  follow  for  preventing 
the  Russians  from  ever  becoming  masters  of  the  keys,  either  of 
the  Black  Sea  or  the  Baltic.  The  Sound  and  the  Bosphorus  must 
both  be  kept  open. 

In  the  first  division  of  the  Cabinet  on  these  matters,  I^rd  Cla- 
rendon, though  a  Whig,  with  Lord  Granville  and  Lord  Lansdowne, 
are  said  to  have  coincided  with  the  opinion  of  Lord  Aberdeen, 
whilst  several  of  those  who  entered  the  Cabinet  with  Lord  Aber- 
deen, such  as  Mr.  Gladstone  and  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  seemed 
to  think  the  policy  of  their  chief  pusillanimous.  As  Lord  John 
Russell  rallied  to  Lord  Palmerston,  the  spirited  portion  of  the 
Cabinet  is  said  to  have  carried  the  first  resolution  for  supporting 
Turkey,  and  advising  her  to  resist.  In  subsequent  divisions, 
such  as  that  as  to  whether  the  fleet  shouU  enter  the  Dardanelles 
on  learning  the  passage  of  the  Pruth,  on  this  it  is  considered  that 
the  Aberdeen  opinion  prevailed.  And  if  this  recommendation  to 
forbear  was  based  on  what  is  generally  credited,  \iz^  that  Austria 

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ITS  COURT  AND  CABINET.  265 

promised,  in  eae^  of  EogKsb  and  French  forbearsnee,  to  bring  ike 
diflerence  to  a  terminfttion,  then,  perhaps,  the  public  will  be  con« 
tented  with  it  and  applaud  it 

Whilst  on  this  point  of  the  qnestion,  a  rery  remarkable  fact  is 
to  be  noticed,  which  is,  that  the  Tory  party  have  universally 
taken  the  side  of  national  spirit,  and  have  recommended  resistance 
to  Russia.  Lord  Derby  spoke  strongly,  the  veteran  Lord  Lynd- 
hnrst  even  more  strongly,  and  all  the  organs  of  the  party  nave 
thnndered  against  Nicholas,  as  the  writers  of  the  same  party 
might  have  done  against  Napoleon  forty  years  ago.  We  make 
no  comment  whatever  upon  this  circumstance,  but  merely  note 
it  as  a  remarkable  fact.  In  case  of  the  question  of  peace  or  war 
with  Russia  being  formally  brought  before  Parliament,  it  would 
seem  that  the  Derby  Tories  and  the  Palnerston  Whigs  would 
divide  against  the  Aberdeen  Tories  and  the  Manchester  Radicals^ 
as  strange  a  division  of  parties  and  opinions,  as  ever  could  have 
been  expected  of  a  British  Parliament  in  the  year  1853. 

However  singular  and  indicative  of  a  great  change  in  opinion 
and  in  the  relative  positions  and  tendencies  of  parties  in  England, 
there  is  another  symptom  shown  by  the  armed  force  and  by  the 
government  of  another  country,  which  marks  a  still  greater  change. 
A  ship  of  war,  belonging  to  the  United  States,  is  said  to  have 
entered  the  Dardanelles,  and  obtained  permission  to  accompany 
the  Turkish  fleet  into  the  Black  Sea.  Another  captain  of  the 
same  nation  has  claimed  a  noted  follower  of  Kossuth  as  an  Ame- 
rican citizen.  This  man  had  been  seized  by  the  Austrian  police 
at  Smyrna.  The  American  threatened  to  fire  into  the  Austrian, 
if  he  attempted  to  carry  the  prisoner  away.  The  fact  is,  our 
brethren  of  the  United  States  are  English,  in  despite  of  them- 
selves, and  adopt  the  English  feeling  in  the  affairs  of  Turkey, 
with  their  usual  warmth  and  exaggeration.  All  we  can  say  is,  that 
it  is  nobly  felt  and  nobly  done  of  them,  and  shows  that  when  the 
Americans  do  again  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  Europe,  which  they 
are  evidently  most  anxious  to  do,  they  will  decidedly  be  for 
the  right  side,  that  is,  for  the  side  of  Hberty  and  humanity. 

But  to  return  to  Russia.  Her  great,  her  only  claim  to  advance 
and  to  invade  is,  that  she  does  so  in  the  cause  and  for  the 
furtherance  of  civilization.  The  cross  is  on  her  banner,  and  the 
subjects  of  the  empire  she  attacks  welcomes  it  not  as  converts,  but 
as  ancient  and  long-oppressed  votaries.  But  such  pretexts  are 
not  true.  The  Christian  provinces  into  which  the  Russians  now 
march  are  already  independent  They  have  their  native  princes, 
councils,  armies,  taxes,  professions.  Servia  has  in  her  present 
organization,  a  great  many  of  the  elements  of  civilization,  which 
its  occupation  by  either  Russia  or  Austria  would  stifle.  Both 
these  powers,  instead  of  progressing  in  civilization  of  late  years, 
have,  on  the  contrary,  retrograded.  And  they  have  really  no  one 
benefit  to  confer.  The  Bulgarians,  though  they  pay  tribute  to. 
the  Porle,  are  not  serfs.  The  ills  they  complain  of  under  the 
rSgime  of  Turkey  might  be  easily  remedied.  But  decidedly  worse, 
because  irrevocable  ills  would  follow  their  subjugation  to  Russia. 

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206  RUSSIA,   ITS  COURT   AND   CABINET. 

A  Russian  of  the  lowest  peasant-class  is,  in  many  respects,  a 
slave.  If  he  gets  permission  to  quit  his  country  abode  for  a  town, 
his  time  and  his  gains  still  belong  to  his  master.  There  is  thus 
a  strong  line  of  demarcation  drawn  between  the  peasant  and  the 
townsman.  Whilst  the  townsmen  amongst  themselves  are  equally 
fettered  by  the  existence  of  guilds  and  restrictive  laws,  a  sen 
or  peasant  cannot  be  a  priest,  cannot  receive  education,  cannot 
rise  in  life.  Every  impediment  in  short,  to  that  greatest  of  all 
impulses,  viz.  the  facility  for  one  of  the  lower  classes  to  push 
amongst  the  higher,  is  forbidden  in  Russia.  Every  man,  not 
merely  politically,  but  socially  and  industrially,  has  a  strait- 
waistcoat  on.  To  force  such  a  system  upon  the  Serbs  or  the 
Roumans,  would  be  not  emancipating,  but  degrading  them. 

The  strongest  case,  however,  is  that  of  the  clergy.  It  is  in  the 
name  and  in  the  behalf  of  the  Patriarch  and  the  Greek  clergy, 
that  Russia  has  advanced  her  present  pretensions.  The  effect  of 
an  invasion  or  conquest  of  Turkey  by  Russia  would  be  to  assi- 
milate the  Greek  clergy  to  the  Russian.  Now,  at  present  the 
Greek  clergy  is  free,  it  is  goveraed  by  a  synod,  which  elects  a 
Patriarch,  and  with  the  Patriarch  appoints  the  clergy,  and  Christian 
church  property  is  reserved  to  the  church  by  the  Sultan''s 
decrees. 

The  Church  and  Churchmen  are  in  a  very  different  position  in 
Russia.  The  arbitrary  act  of  Peter  confiscated  the  greater  part  of 
the  Church  property  to  the  state,  and  subjected  the  synod  to  a 
civil  officer,  called  a  general  procurator,  named  by  the  Emperor. 
The  Russian  Patriarch  is  nothing.  The  Czar  is  the  real  head  of 
the  national  Church,  and  her  present  procurator,  General  Pro- 
tassof,  rules  the  synod  as  much  in  ecclesiastical  dogmas  as  in  ap- 
pointments and  fiscal  matters.  When  the  Emperor  and  Protassof 
insisted  on  promoting  Saint  Stanislaus  to  be  a  saint  of  the  Greek 
Church,  the  Greek  upper  clergy  remonstrated,  and  declared  that 
they  knew  not  the  saint.  Protassof  replied,  that  Stanislaus  was  a 
Polish  saint,  highly  esteemed  in  Poland,  and  that  as  Poland  and 
Russia  were  to  be  united,  the  first  Polish  saint  should  be  received 
as  a  Greek  one.  The  Patriarch  replied  that  this  might  be  good 
policy,  but  it  was  neither  orthodoxy  nor  sound  tradition.  And 
Stanislaus  was,  we  fear,  a  Roman  Catholic  saint,  which  rendered 
him  odious  in  the  eyes  of  the  Greeks.  Protassof,  however,  car- 
ried his  snint. 

Another  point  of  imperial  policy  towards  the  Russian  Church, 
has  been  to  restrict  the  education  of  the  clergy.  The  clergy  of 
the  Greek  Church,  when  young,  after  first  undergoing  a  primary 
education,  separate,  some  to  enter  the  universities  of  the  higher 
and  monastic  clergy,  some  to  follow  the  lower  schools,  where  they 
fit  themselves  to  become  popes  or  curates.  The  latter  may 
marry,  and  their  education  has  been  always  limited.  But  the 
higher  and  monastic  clergy  had  ever  a  high  range  of  education, 
and  some  of  the  monasteries  were  seats  of  learning.  The  jealousy 
of  the  Czars,  pursuing  the  narrow  policy  of  Peter,  has  stopped  all 
this.     Any  high  or  troublesome  amount  of  learning  is  denied 


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CHARADE.  207 

tbem.  What  then,  it  may  be  asked,  have  the  Ghreek  clergy  of 
Turkey  to  gain  by  being  assimilated  to  that  of  Rusria,  and  placed 
under  the  same  yoke  ?  The  monks  of  Mount  Athos  are  ignorant^ 
because  they  are  poor,  but  no  law  and  no  tyrant  prevents  them 
making  use  of  their  libraries  if  they  please  to  do  so.  The  Greek 
Church  has  the  elements  of  much  that  is  politically  valuable.  It 
would  work  admirably  with  free  and  constitutional  government. 
But  if  the  Greek  Church  should  be  passed  through  the  iron  rollers 
of  the  Russian  state  machine,  it  loses  every  qusdity  of  an  inde* 
pendent,  enlightened,  and  civilizing  church. 

These  reasons,  and  a  great  many  more,  relative  to  the  different 
classes  of  a  population,  would  make  it  a  matter  of  great  regret,  if 
the  Greeks  of  Turkey  were  not  allowed  to  emancipate  themselves, 
and  to  form  an  independent  state,  and  church  and  empire,  apart 
from  Russia.  The  yoke  of  Turkey  is  now  so  light,  and  so  easily 
humanized,  if  not  broken,  that  there  is  really  no  need  of  two 
hundred  thousand  fiery  Russians  to  effect  it.  Diplomacy  may 
ordain  all  the  reforms  and  all  the  emancipation  desirable.  Let  us 
hope  that  it  will  undertake  the  task  courageously,  and  that  the 
Russians,  who  have  yet  much  to  do  to  civilize  their  own  empire, 
as  indeed  Count  Nesselrode  admits,  will  confine  themselves  therein, 
and  leave  the  Greeks  and  Sclavons,  of  more  southern  regions, 
to  pursue  a  more  free  and  more  liberal  course,  without  being  on 
that  account  less  good  Christians  or  less  orderly  and  industrious 
men. 


CHARADE. 

When  my  suit  I  so  tenderly  pressed, 

Oh !  how,  ID  your  cruel  reply, 
Could  a  word  so  unkind  be  expressed, 

As  my  first,  to  your  slave  till  I  die  ! 

Do  I  game,  do  I  drink,  or  give  way 

In  thought,  word,  or  deed  that  you  know. 

To  my  second's  all  powerful  sway? 
Believe  me,  my  charmer,  oh  no ! 

I  'ro  my  whole,  I  confess  in  despair. 
Then,  friends,  a  kind  lesson  impart. 

You,  who  know  how  to  court  any  fair. 
Give  me  a  few  hints  in  the  art ! 


M.  A«  B. 


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THE  PEACE  OF  EUROPE  AND  THE  BALANCE 
OF  POVITER 

Thisb  two  hnportant  considerations  are  jnst  now  suspended  in 
a  seale,  which  tlie  slightest  pressure  may  inclrne  on  either  side. 
All  eyes  are  turned  towards  die  East,  anxiously  watching  the  so- 
lution of  a  question  which  Russia  has  wantonly  raised,  and  France 
and  England  nust  determine.  Pamphlets  and  prophecies  are 
mnkiplied  hourly,  while  many  sanguine  speculators  indulge  in 
.  ftnciful  theories.  The  improTing  nations  of  the  world  are  litde 
disposed  to  war,  but  the  two  leading  powers  of  western  Europe 
are  equally  disinclined  to  succumb  to  the  dictates  of  undue  am- 
bition. We  are  sincere  advocates  for  peace,  but  we  should  be  sorry 
to  see  an  opportunity  lost  for  teaching  tyranny  a  lesson,  which 
may  not  present  itself  again  under  so  many  favourable  contingen- 
cies. The  time  has  long  passed  since  the  Turk  was  a  bug-bear, 
and  Christendom  was  caUed  on  to  unite  against  his  onward  pro- 
gress of  blight  and  barbarism.  From  a  de\'astator  he  has  become 
a  protector  and  promoter  of  liberal  institutions.  The  many  races 
UBider  his  sway  are  generally  happy  and  contented,  and  have  no 
desire  to  change  masters.  The  barrier  and  bulwark  of  civilization 
must  be  established  in  another  direction,  and  against  a  different 
enemy. 

"  Within  half  a  century,  Europe  will  be  either  republican  or 
Cossack."  So  said  the  Imperial  exile  at  St.  Helena.  The  former 
prediction  appeared  to  be  near  its  accomplishment  in  1848  and 
1849.  Time,  the  rectifier,  has  dissipated  the  alarm.  Let  us  hope 
that  the  second  and  more  formidable  danger  will  prove  to  be 
equally  visionary.  The  Russian  manifestoes  and  alleged  griev- 
ances are  flimsy  sophistries,  as  transparent  as  were  ever  yet  used 
by  shallow  diplomacy  to  insult  common  understanding.  In  reason 
and  truth,  they  are  on  a  par  with  the  bulletins  of  Napoleon  the 
First,  in  which  he  justified  the  inyaaion  of  nnofiending  states  on 
the  plea  of  self-defence.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  has  marched 
his  hordes  into  Moldavia  and  Wallachia,  with  every  preparation 
this  time,  for  permanent  residence  ;  he  calls  on  the  subjects  of  the 
Sultan  to  transfer  their  allegiance  to  him^  which  in  utter  helpless- 
ness they  are  compelled  to  do»  Unhappy  is  the  destiny  of  a  small 
state,  the  geographical  position  of  which  is  placed  between  two 
powerful  ones,  who  are  perpetually  fighting,  like  the  Kilkenny  cats, 
of  whom  it  is  said  that  they  swallowed  each  other,  until  nothing 
was  left  but  the  tail  of  the  largest. 

This  appears  to  be  the  agreeable  predicament  of  modem  Mol- 
davia and  Wallachia,  who  are  told  they  are  independent  depen- 
dencies of  Turkey,  under  the  additional  protection  of  Russia,  with 
their  rights  and  privileges  guaranteed  by  a  double  army  of  occu- 
pation.   They  lie,  dievertheless,  as  events  have  shown,  completely 


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THE   BALANCS  OF  FOWEK.  SS 

a*  the  mere  J  <rf  the  nortbera  bear,  whvnerer  he  feefai  iaclineck  to 
growly  and  elevates  his  huge  pawsy  as  a  preUminary  to  a  fraternal 
hug.  lliey  are  almost  as  pleasantly  situated,  and  life  and  pro* 
per^  are  neaiij  at  as  high  a  preminni,  aod  as  safe  an  investment 
as  they  were  in  onr  own  boroer  lands  under  the  old  feudal  times, 
when  the  Douglas  and  the  Percy  were  disposed  to  exercise  their 
rival  chivalry,  or  a  penniless  chieftain  fecmd  it  necessary  to  re* 
plenish  his  Imrder  or  stock  his  estabUshment.  If  Rnssia  robs 
Tukey,  cilhsf  airowedly  or  by  implication,  the  Suhan  looks  to  the 
Hospodar  for  an  indemnity.  If  Turkey  ofends  Russia,  or  dis- 
conrages  her  trade,  and  commerce  flags  in  the  Black  Sea,  the 
Csar  invites  the  Hospod^^r  to  square  accoonts,  and  make  up  the 
deficiency ;  and  so  his  exchequer  is  exhausted  together  with  his 
potieDce,  and  thus  two  of  the  most  fertile  countries  in  Europe 
baive  become  little  better  than  waste  commons,  or  debatable  lands 
to  be  devastated  and  plundered  according  to  the  caprice  of  their 
neighbonrs. 

A  tax-collector  is  an  nnpopidar  official.  We  eye  him  with  die* 
like,  and  grumble  internally  when  he  fevoors  us  with  a  morning 
call  to  gather  in  a  moderate  assessment.  But  how  should  we  feel 
if  these  visitations  came  periodically  in  the  shape  of  a  pulk  pf 
Cossacks,  innocent  of  conventional  etiquette,  and  unused  to  the 
incnmbrance  of  forms^  who  break  into  your  house,  instead  of 
knocking  at  the  door,  screaming,  like  the  daughter  of  the  horse- 
leech, ^^  Give,  give!*^  And  this  is  done,  according  to  Russian 
argument,  not  as  an  indication  of  war,  but  as  a  declaration  of 
peace.  The  seeming  paradox  is  better  to  read  of  than  to  illus- 
trate practically;  but  while  we  sympathise  with  those  who  are 
obliged  to  endure  its  application,  we  are  not  sufficiently  grateful 
for  our  own  immunity.  To  be  able  to  protect  yourself  is  fer 
preferable  to  being  protected.  The  latter  state  is  a  sort  of  tran- 
sitional existence,  an  intermediate  purgatory  or  limbo,  with  no  ap- 
parent escape.  Rome  was  the  giant  protector  of  the  ancient  world, 
which  Russia^  aspires  to  be  in  the  nineteenth  century.  Rome,  by 
degrees,  absorbed  and  swallowed  up  her  confiding  allies,  as  Saturn 
devoured  his  own  children.  Russia  studies  the  example  with 
profit,  and  acts  on  the  same  nndeviating  principle.  America  is 
more  straightforward  and  honest.  Her  word  is  (tnnexation  at 
once,  without  subterfuge  or  mystery.  Russia,  within  the  last 
seventy  years,  protected  half  the  territories  which  are  now  amal* 
gamated  with  her  unwieldy  empire.  Her  last  pr^iSgie  is  Austria, 
a  kindred  despotism  in  the  decrepitude  of  old  age.  She  ardently 
desires  to  make  the  Sultan  die  next,  but  Turkey  is  rising  in  reno- 
vated vigour,  and  neither  inclined  to  fall  into  the  trap,  to  be 
terrified  by  menaces,  nor  cajoled  by  soft  words.  For  the  sake  of 
the  best  interests  of  humanity  in  general,  and  for  our  own  advantage 
in  particular,  we  trust  she  may  escape  from  this  devouiing  mael- 
strom. Had  Charles  of  Sweden  won  Pultavm,  the  wlxde  aspect 
of  European  politics  would  have  changed,  and  the  present  crisis 
cottld  never  have  arrived.  It  has  risen  progressively  fix>m  the 
catastrophe  of  that  decisive  day,  and  unless  the  overwbehning 

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210  THE  PEACE  OF  EUROPE  AND 

current  be  now  checkedy  and  restrained  within  healthy  limits,  it 
will  sweep  on  like  an  avalanche,  until  resistance  becomes  im- 
possible. 

Even  after  the  consequences  of  Pultava  had  fully  developed 
themselves,  and  Poland  had  been  erased  from  the  list  of  nations, 
an  opportunity  arose  which  seemed  to  be  created  for  the  purpose. 
Then  was  committed  by  a  profound  statesman  and  mighty  warrior, 
the  greatest  political  error  of  modem  times,  always  excepting  Na- 
varino,  that  most  "  untoward"  of  events.     This  was  the  non-estab- 
lishment of  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Sobieski,  which  Napoleon  had 
often  meditated,  and  should  undoubtedly  have  carried  out,  with 
increased  strength  in  1812,  instead  of  marching  his  hundreds  of 
thousands  through  the  deserts  and  steppes  of  Russia  to  the  fal- 
lacious conquest  of  the  capital.   He  alleged  that  his  chief  difficulty 
lay  in  the  Austrian  alliance,  and  from  motives  of  delicacy  he  could 
not  dismember  the  dominions  of  his  father-in-law.     In  this  objec- 
tion he  was  scarcely  sincere,  as  Austria  could  easily  have  been  in- 
demnified in  some  other  quarter.    A  monarch,  with  all  continental 
Europe  at  his  feet,  could  patch,  carve,  and  re-mould  her  sovereign- 
ties according  to  his  pleasure.     Yet  he  suffered  the  wily  diplo- 
macy of  the  Czar  to  outmanoeuvre  him  by  making  peace  with  Turkey, 
at  the  most  critical  moment,  and  to  entice  Sweden,  whom  he  had 
already  offended  and  estranged,  into  the  general  coalition.     He 
thus  uncovered  both  his  flanks,  and  violated  the  very  rules,  for  the 
neglect  of  which  he  so  severely  censured  Charles  the  Twelfth,  in 
his  subsequent  strictures  on  a  similar  campaign.     The  restoration 
of  Poland  would  have  checked  and  humiliated  the  ambition  of 
Russia,  more  permanently  than  the  march  to  Moscow,  even  had 
the  result  of  that  gigantic  operation  been  less  fatal  to  the  tem- 
porary victor.     Civilized  Europe  would  have  obtained  a  great 
central  outpost,  strong  in  itself,  and  impassable  through  the  sus- 
taining powers  by  which  it  could  be  re-inforced  on  the  approach 
of  danger.    Such  a  favourable  crisis  is  not  likely  to  occur  again, 
and  it  would  now  be  too  late  to  reap  the  advantage,  for  the  national 
spirit  of  a  gallant  people  has  been  tamed  by  vassalage,  and 
smothered  under  protection. 

"  The  Frontier  Lands  of  the  Christian  and  the  Turk,"  are  very 
little  known,  and  have  not  often  been  subjects  of  inquiry.  A  par- 
ticular interest  attaches  to  them  at  this  moment,  and  the  appearance 
of  a  work  on  the  subject  was  both  opportune  and  desirable.  Such 
a  work  has  lately  appeared,  comprising  travels  undertaken  in  1850 
and  1851,*  by  a  competent  authority,  many  years  diplomatically 
employed  in  the  East;  who  writes  without  prejudice  or  precon- 
ceived bias,  is  evidently  well  acquainted  with  his  subject,  reflects 
judiciously,  draws  sound  conclusions,  and  enlivens  his  more  in- 
structive pages,  by  an  engaging,  vivacious  style,  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  appropriate  anecdotes,  and  historical  memoranda.  We 
have  rarely  met  with  an  equal  amount  of  valuable  information  so 

*  *<  The  frontier  Lands  of  the  Christian  and  the  Turk ;  comprising  Travels 
in  the  Regions  of  the  Lower  Danube,  in  1850  and  1851.*'  By  a  British 
Resident  of  Twenty  Years  in  the  East    In  two  volumes,  8fo.    London,  1853. 


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THE  BALANCE  OF  POWER.  211 

agreeably  communicated.  The  general  result  of  the  author's  impres- 
sions is  conveyed  in  the  short  summary  with  which  he  concludes. 

**  This  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  had  obtained  some  insight  into  Turkish 
affairs,  and  the  result  of  my  previous  observations  having  been  far  from  favour- 
able, no  one  could  have  undertaken  the  study  of  their  actual  state  with  a 
stronger  presentiment  that  little  good  could  be  found  on  this  occasion  to  record ; 
but  I  cannot  draw  a  fair  and  impartial  comparison  between  the  conduct  of 
the  three  Emperors,  the  Raiser,  the  Czar,  and  the  Sultan,  with  regard  to  the 
Danubian  provinces  and  the  Sclavonian  populations,  without  admitting  that  I 
found  more  to  praise  in  that  of  the  last  than  I  had  expected." 

In  the  provinces  of  the  Austrian  Empire,  foreigners  are  treated 
with  neglect  or  insolence,  and  a  petty  system  of  espionnaffe,  which 
pervades  every  department  of  an  unpopular  government,  conscious 
of  its  own  internal  weakness.  Every  one  appears  afraid  to  speak 
on  public  matters  or  passing  events,  as  if  his  nearest  listener 
might  be  an  official  spy  disguised  to  entrap  him.  As  a  specimen, 
the  author,  having  been  seen  in  conversation,  at  Carlovacz,  in 
Croatia,  with  a  suspicious-looking  individual  who  accosted  him 
casually,  was  forthwith  summoned  to  the  Town  Hall,  and  rudely 
cross-examined  by  the  police-aythorities.  They  were  seated,  with 
their  hats  on  their  heads,  and  neither  uncovered  themselves  nor 
offered  him  a  chair.  He  had  taken  off  his  own  hat  on  entering 
the  room,  with  the  usual  urbanity  of  civilized  manners,  but  finding 
how  he  was  received,  assumed  it  again  with  an  emphatic  gesture. 
The  following  conversation  ensued  : — 

"Have  you  a  passport?"  asked  one  of  them,  without  making  the  slightest 
attempt  at  civility.  I  handed  him  the  document  alluded  to  as  being  the  best 
answer  to  his  question. 

"  •  Is  this  voiir  name  written  here?*  he  continued. — '  Yes.' 

*♦  •  And  where  is  your  profession  ? ' — *  Nowhere.* 

*'  *  Why  not?' — *  Because  I  have  none.'  The  two  worthies  then  whispered 
to  each  other  for  some  time,  occasionally  casting  an  offensive  glance  at  me,  as  I 
stood  before  them,  and  then  resumed  their  examination  of  my  passport,  which, 
being  in  English,  it  was  evident  they  could  not  read. 

"*  What  docs  this  mean?*  inquired  one  of  them,  looking  up  at  last,  and 
pointing  to  the  term  *  Esquire,'  which  was  inscribed  after  my  name. — *  Esquire,' 
said  I,  *  is  rendered  in  German  by  the  word  schildknapp,  or  ecuyer  when  the 
French  term  is  borrowed.' 

"  •  To  whom  are  you  ecuyer  ?  * — *  To  no  one.* 

**  *  Why  is  it  in  your  passport  in  that  case  ?' — 'Because  it  is  the  practice  in 
England  to  bestow  that  title  on  gentlemen  who  have  no  other.'  Again  they 
exchanged  a  few  hurried  sentences  in  an  under  tone. 

'* '  Then  you  are  a  gentleman  ? '  asked  t^e  elder  of  the  two,  with  an  ironical 
expression  of  countenance. — *  I  hope  so,'  I  replied,  '  Have  you  anything  to  say 
to  the  contrary?' 

"  *  1  have  only  to  say  there  is  something  wrong  in  all  this/  retorted  the 
official.' " 

Whereupon  the  passport  of  the  traveller  was  minutely  inspected, 
and  no  irregularity  being  observable,  the  whole  affair  appeared  so 
mysterious,  and  so  fraught  with  danger  to  the  state,  that  he  was 
peremptorily  ordered  to  quit  Carlovacz  on  the  following  morning. 
Not  long  after  in  a  steamer  on  the  Kulpa,  passing  along  the 
country  called  the  Military  Frontier,  he  met  a  Magyar  oflScer,  who 
spoke  freely  on  the  Hungarian  cause  and  its  future  prospects. 


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212  TBB  TEACE  OF  JEUSOPE  AND 

'*  He  and  that  the  opprestiTe  Bwwy  of  tke  fbreigB  usm^pen  wonkl  evMentfy 
be  •vertbrown,  and  that  the  hopes  of  his  couDttymen  were  centsed  od  Esgiand, 
for  she  would  at  last  be  convraced  that  the  Hungarians  are  deserving  of  active 
tflsittanoe. 

«  *  What  asatstaace  oan  yon  expect  from  Eng^aod  ?  *  I  waked. 

'* '  An  iatervention  in  oiur  fiivour,'  repUed  he. 

*'  *  And  do  you  think  that  a  foreign  country  can  oasfly  mlei£Bffe  het««ea  a 
iBgidmale  sovereign  and  his  snbjecls  'i  * 

**  *  Tou  interfered  between  the  Gre^  and  the  Turks.  Without  the  batde 
of  Navarino  (that  unlucky  Navarino  is  always  and  moat  justly  thrown  in  our 
teetli),  Greece  would  never  have  been  free.  Why  should  Hungary  not  inspiie 
the  same  sympathy  ? ' 

** '  You  did  inspire  sympathy,  and  a  strong  feeling  in  your  favoiv  was  very 
general  in  England,  during  your  late  struggle  wkh  Austria.' 

«<  *  You  would  be  very  inconsistent  if  you  were  indifferent  to  our  fkte,  and  to 
our  cause,  and  we  only  desire  what  you  possess  and  glory  in.  Institutions 
similiar  to  those  of  England  is  all  we  ask,  and,  please  God,  we  shall  obtain  them 
before  we  are  much  older.' " 

From  this  individual  instance,  a  £air  opinion  may  be  formed  of 
the  aggregate  wishes  and  expectations  of  Hungary,  which,  sooner 
or  later,  will  be  realized,  and  are  perhaps  nearer  consummation 
than  their  masters  imagine.  They  are  not  the  only  people  who 
ardently  desire  the  institutions  ot  England,  without  exacUy  com- 
prehending, or  being  fitted  to  adopt  them.  They  have  a  general 
idea  that  Uiey  are  improving,  equitable,  and  enlightened,  and  lead 
to  riches  and  happiness.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  erection 
of  a  powerful  independent  kingdom  in  that  part  of  Europe,  would 
accord  with  the  best  interests  of  Great  Britain,  and  advance  the 
cause  of  humanity.  But  the  same  obstacles  exist  which  oppose 
the  regeneration  of  Italy,  long  groaning  as  deeply  under  the  rod 
of  the  oppressor.  The  jealousies  of  different  states,  and  the 
absence  of  one  paramount  feeling  of  combined  nationality. 
Hungary,  with  Transylvania  and  Croatia,  is  nearly  as  exten- 
sive in  square  miles  as  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  with  a  popu- 
lation of  15,000,000,  divided  into  many  races,  who  differ  in 
manners  and  character,  as  in  origin,  and  agree  only  in  mutual 
dislike  and  mistrust.  The  Maygars  are  5,000,000 ;  the  Sclavo- 
nians  6,000,000;  the  Germans,  Jews,  and  Gipsies,  upwards  of 
1,600,000;  and  the  descendants  of  Trajan's  Dacian  colonies,  now 
called  Wallacks  or  Koumans,  amounting  to  nearly  3,000,000 
more.  The  most  important  class,  the  principal  movers  in  the 
late  insurrection,  are  thus  described : — 

*'  The  Magyars  are  the  nobles  of  Hungary,  while  the  Sclavonians  and  Rou- 
mans  are  their  yeomen.  The  former  is  one  of  the  most  vigorous  races  of 
Europe,  and,  except  the  nobility  of  Poland  and  that  of  Great  Britain,  it  is  the 
only  aristocracy  which  has  not  merited  and  earned  the  contempt  of  their 
respective  fellow-countrymen.  If  it  still  possesses  some  of  the  vices  of  the 
feudal  age,  it  has  also  retained  many  of  the  virtues  of  that  era  of  chivalry.  The 
patriotism  of  the  Magyars  is  heroic,  and  they  abhor  treacherv  and  bad  faiths 
while  their  turbulence  and  strong  passions  are  capable  of  ultimately  settling 
down  to  active  energy  and  salutary  vigour ;  and  in  the  meantime  these  qualities 
render  their  spirit  of  nationality  preeminently  enthusiastic,  and  indomitably 
tenacious.  Their  political  opinions  are  essentially  liberal.  In  number,  they 
surpass  every  other  existing  patrician  order  as  their  privileges  were  granted 
to  each  individual  who  killed  a  Turk  in  battle ;  a  class  of  pauper  noblet  was 


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THE  AAdLAHOI  OF  POWaL  SU 


that  cKBtedi,  but  in  oMral  duntdertke  fBwtetft  of  then  ii  m  fmid  vbA  ib- 
dependeDt  as  the  rich  prince] yiuniltet  of  fiaterkaqr*  Battlraiii,  GnMulkovitn, 
4Uid  Palfi." 

When  Amtxim  was  on  the  verge  ef  losing  Hungaaryy  aod  her 
iB-ooiiBolklated  empire  appeared  to  be  cramUing  to  pieces,  she 
called  in  the  aid  of  another  congenial  deepot,  who  sprang  eagerljr 
forward  to  exercise  once  more  his  &yoiirite  character  of  protector- 
general  of  absolatism  m  distress.  The  imnediate  result  forms  a 
^eme  of  deep  interest  for  political  speculators,  and  ia  well  worth 
the  profound  eoosidenitkm  of  those  who  believe  in  the  long- 
wmded  harangues  of  Koesoth,  and  his  brother  demagogues,  widi 
tbe  advsBtages  of  oaqualified  democracy.  History  shows  us  that 
the  most  vociferous  patriotism  is  often  the  desire  of  personal 
aggrandisement,  under  another  name.  On  this  point  our  author 
observes: — 

"  In  how  many  States  of  Europe  have  deluded  mobs  been  misled  by  political 
enthusiasts,  and  votaries  of  ambition,  who  succeed  in  polling  to  pieces  what 
thej  have  no  power  of  re-orgenixing,  and  who  plunge  them  into  ohra-de- 
mocnKy  only  to  see  them  afterwards  brought  by  a  military  dictatorship  to  a  less 
free  condition  than  they  had  been  in  pnder  the  legitimate  rule  which  they  bad 
overthrown?  iEsop  was  right  in  his  fable  of  Ring  Log  and  King  Stork. 
History  has  proved  it  in  Julius  Caesar,  in  Oliver  Cromwell,  in  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte,  in  Radetzky,  in  Filangieri,  and  in  Haynau.  If  Hungary  has  not  yet 
arrived  at  the  full  realization  of  that  destiny,  it  is  because  she  is  right  in  one 
great  point,  that  of  claiming  an  independent,  and  nationd  administration, 
though  wrong  in  having  degenerated  from  the  purity  of  her  ancient  consdtu- 
tionid  principles  to  the  corrupt  chimseras  of  republicanism." 

Formerly  the  House  of  Hapsbnrg  reckoned  on  the  Hungarians 
as  the  most  loyal  and  devoted  of  their  subjects.  The  personal 
attachment  to,  and  enthusiasm  for  the  reigning  family,  actuated 
by  which,  the  diet  exclaimed  unanimously  on  the  brealiing  out  of 
the  Seven  Years'  War,  and  the  invasion  of  Silesia,  by  Frederic  the 
Great,  "  We  will  die  for  our  Sovereign,  Maria  Teresa,"  is  now  ex- 
tinct, never  to  be  revived,  or  changed  into  corresponding  antipathy. 
But  for  the  intervention  of  Russia,  they  would  certainly  have 
entered  Vienna  as  conquerors  and  liberators,  and  even  loiter  the 
intervention  of  that  colossal  power,  treachery  came  in,  and  was 
necessary  to  complete  their  overthrow.  Kossuth  having  become 
unpopular,  iu  the  natural  course  of  revolutionary  fickleness,  re- 
signed his  authority  into  the  hands  of  Georgey,  hitherto  a  success- 
ful leader,  and  apparendy  an  unpurchasable  patriot 

**  Greorgey  accepted  the  Dictatorship,  and  surrendered  to  the  Russians  un- 
conditionally ;  at  least,  without  making  any  ostensible  conditions.  Thirty  thou- 
sand raea  laid  down  their  arms,  with  144  pieces  of  cannon,  and  8,000  horses. 
Georgey  summoned  the  other  Hungarian  chiefs  to  surrender  at  discretion. 
They  all  did  so,  excepting  Bem,  Guy  on,  and  Rlapka.  The  two  former  at- 
tempted still  to  resist ;  but  on  the  approach  of  the  Russian  army  under  General 
Luders,  their  sokUers  refused  to  fight,  and  tliey  were  obliged  to  take  to  flight  by 
crossing  the  Turkish  frontier  with  Kossuth.  Terms  were  then  offered  to 
KJapka  who  held  Comom,  and  he  made  an  advantageous  capitulation.  Such 
was  the  end  of  the  war,  but  not  of  the  tragedy ;  Haynau  soon  appeared  in 
another  light— «xeculioBS,  and  the  most  unheard-of  cruelties  coDunenced; 
and  of  the  Magyar  chiefe  who  had  not  become  voluntary  exiles,  on\y  one  man 


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214  THE* PEACE   OP   EUROPE  AND 

remained  unscathed ; — that  man  was  Arthur  Greorgey,  who  is  now  living  in  a 
town  in  Austria,  on  a  pension  from  the  Emperor." 

And  yet  there  are  two  opinions  in  Hungary  on  the  subject  of 
Oeorgey^s  conduct.  He  is  not  without  defenders  who  deny  his 
treachery,  but  it  appears  too  palpable  and  too  plainly  proved  for 
reasonable  doubt.  At  Orsova  the  author  was  again  annoyed  by 
a  repetition  of  the  paltry  annoyances  of  Carlovacz,  occasioned  by 
the  discovery  of  some  sketches  of  castles  and  fortresses  in  his 
baggage,  what  induced  the  authorities  to  suppose  that  he  was  at 
least  a  military  spy,  heralding  a  projected  invasion  of  Austria  on 
the  part  of  England.  He  quitted  the  dominions  of  .the  Emperor 
Francis  Joseph  with  feelings  of  undisguised  satisfaction,  and 
entered  those  of  the  Sultan,  where  he  experienced  very  different 
treatment,  being  everywhere  received  with  kindness,  deference, 
and  attention,  without  suspicion,  and  with  liberal  hospitality.  At 
Widin,  on  the  Danube,  a  very  prominent  frontier  post  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire,  the  state  of  politics,  and  the  designs  of  foreign 
powers,  draw  from  him  some  observations  which  may  be  studied 
with  advantage  by  those  blind  diplomatists  who  still  believe,  or 
affect  to  put  faith  in  Russian  moderation.     He  says  : — 

'*  The  steam-boat  agent  of  the  Danube  company  is  also  Vice-consul  of  Aus- 
tria. Russia  has  her  secret  emissaries ;  but  England  has  no  one  to  watch  the 
intrigues  of  these  two  powers  in  this  quarter  which  is  so  important  to  Turkey, 
and  consequently  interesting  to  Great  Britain.  A  mistaken  system  of  economy 
may  sometimes  prove  prejudicial  to  the  general  policy  of  a  cabinet  which  thus 
deprives  itself,  from  the  most  laudable  motives  no  doubt,  of  information  which 
might  cuide  it  in  critical  circumstances.  Here  was  an  insurrection,  for  instance, 
which  Kussia  and  Austria  made  much  of,  and  England  possesses  no  means  of 
gaining  accurate  intelligence  about  it.  AH  the  trade  of  Upper  Bulgaria  comes 
to  Widin,  Ionian  subjects  are  much  engaged  in  it,  as  well  as  in  the  general 
navigation  of  the  Danube,  for  which  this  town  is  one  of  the  principal  stations, 
and  for  want  of  a  British  consular  flag  to  protect  them,  they  seek  patronage 
from  Austria ;  and  not  only  do  these  evils  arise  from  the  wish  to  save  a  few 
hundreds  per  annum,  but  the  general  tendency  of  one  of  the  richest  and  roost 
influential  provinces  in  European  Turkey,  is  consequently  ignored  by  our 
Government,  which  should  know  it  and  guide  it  also ;  for  I  am  free  to  say, 
that  in  Downine  Street  there  is  not  the  most  remote  idea  of  the  existence 
of  a  comprehensive  establishment  for  the  Russianizing  of  Bulgaria,  and  yet  the 
Foreign  Office  can  well  appreciate  the  deep  importance  of  such  a  fact.  It  is 
by  education  that  this  deep-laid  scheme  is  in  a  course  of  active  execution ; 
no  less  than  twenty-one  schools  have  been  instituted  of  late  in  the  different 
towns  for  this  purpose,  the  teachers  have  all  come  from  Kiew  in  Russia. 
Hatred  to  the  Sultan  and  attachment  to  the  Czar  are  assiduously  taught ;  and 
tlieir  catechism  in  the  Sclavonian  tongue,  which  was  translated  to  roe,  is  more 
political  than  religious,  while  it  openly  allud€$  to  the  incorporation  of  Bulgaria 
in  the  Ruuian  Empire" 

While  the  Russians  have  already  seized  Moldavia  and  Wal- 
lachia,  as  the  first  instalment  of  their  peace  indemnity,  the  Aus- 
trians  have  a  keen  eye  towards  Bosnia  and  Servia,  which  they  are 
preparing  to  pounce  on,  as  their  share  of  the  anticipated  dismem- 
berment. But  it  behoves  Austria  to  step  warily,  lest  she  should 
become,  sooner  than  she  expects,  what  her  own  astute  Mettemich 
said,  classic  Italy  already  is, — an  historical  expression. 

Moldavia  and  Wallachia  are  very  rich,  productive  countries, 
abounding  in  extensive  plains,  equally  available  for  pasturage 


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THE  BALANCE   OP   POWER.  215 

or  agriculture,  in  yast  forests  of  valuable  timber,  and  in  innu- 
merable herds  of  cattle.  The  population  is  about  three  millions 
and  a  half,  composed  of  discordant  materials,  and  comprising 
more  Jews  and  Gipsies  than  are  to  be  found  anywhere  else  in 
Europe.  The  former  ate  much  the  same  in  character  (with  the 
exception  of  greater  ignorance  and  more  filthj  habits)  as  in  other 
countries.  The  latter,  who  are  slaves  in  Wallachia,  and  number 
in  that  province  alone  twenty-five  thousand,  are  more  wild  and  pri- 
mitive, more  savage  and  vicious  than  we  can  form  any  conception 
of,  from  what  we  know  of  their  brethren  in  our  own  country.  This 
singular  community  migrated  from  the  East,  most  probably  first 
from  India,  and  not  from  Egypt,  more  than  four  centuries  and  a 
half  ago. 

"  In  the  west  of  Europe,"  says  the  Author,  "they  have  lost  many  of  the 
customs  and  characteristics  of  their  race  ;  but  in  the  Danubian  provinces  they 
seem  still  to  be  almost  what  they  were  in  the  1 5th  century.  They  are  strong, 
well-built,  handsome,  and  very  swarthy ;  excellent  musicians,  thieves  by  nature 
and  by  profession,  averse  to  agriculture,  given  to  chicanery ;  fond  of  poisoning 
cattle,  and  of  begging  for  the  carcases  on  which  they  feed ;  and  capable  of 
selling  a  stolen  horse,  mule,  or  donkey,  to  its  owner,  after  changing  its  colour. 
Their  dress  is  generally  worn  without  change  until  it  falls  off  their  persons  in 
rags  too  much  tattered  to  be  kept  together  any  longer.  They  are  great 
talkers,  passionate,  violent,  and  incorrigible  drunkards.  So  cruel  is  their  dis- 
position, that  they  take  the  greatest  delieht  in  performing  the  functions  of 
public  executioners,  and  that  revolting  office  is  generally  held  by  them.  In 
17B2  even  a  case  of  cannibalism  was  proved  against  them  ;  it  was  minutely 
investigated  by  a  commission  sent  by  the  Government  for  that  purpose  ;  and 
forty-five  of  them  were  executed  at  kameza  and  Esabrag,  after  confessing  their 
crime,  and  specifying  that  sons  had  killed  and  eaten  their  fathers,  that  eighty 
four  travellers  had  been  waylaid  and  devoured  by  them  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years,  and  that  on  one  occasion,  at  a  marriage-feast,  three  of  the  guests  had 
been  put  to  death,  and  cooked  for  the  entertainipent  of  the  remainder." 

To  complete  this  fascinating  portrait,  it  may  be  added,  that  in 
religion  they  are  as  loose  as  in  morals,  and  have  no  belief  in  a 
fiiture  state,  or  in  anything  beyond  material  philosophy.  A  more 
prepossessing  section  of  the  population  of  Wallachia  is  described 
in  a  colony  of  Saxons,  five  hundred  thousand  in  number,  descen- 
dants of  those  originally  removed  from,  the  north  of  Germany  by 
Charlemagne,  or  more  probably  of  the  early  followers  of  Luther, 
who  fled  from  the  first  persecutions.  They  enjoy  certain  privi- 
leges and  immunities,  obtained  by  the  services  of  their  fathers  in 
the  wars  of  Hungary  against  the  Turks,  and  the  towns  they  inhabit 
are  exempt  from  general  taxation.  The  Sekui,  or  Secklers,  also 
are  a  very  peculiar  race,  originating  in  the  colony  planted  by 
Trajan  after  the  conquest  of  Dacia.  They  are  principally  shep- 
herds, but  make  good  soldiers  when  enlisted  into  the  Austrian 
Hussars.  In  their  national  garb,  they  are  clothed  in  skins,  and 
being  innocent  of  linen,  anoint  themselves  with  mutton  fat. 

Moldo-Wallachia,  under  good  government,  in  a  more  defined 
position,  and  with  improving  institutions,  might  easily  support  five 
times  the  present  population.  Railroads  are  scarcely  necessary 
for  rapidity  of  intercourse,  the  present  rate  of  travelling  being 
something  like  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  an  hour  in  light  vehicles, 

VOL.  xxxiv.  r^9x^^T^ 

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216  THE  PEACE  OP  EUROPE  AND 

that  seldom  overtom,  and  are  drawn  by  teams  of  five,  six,  and 
eight  horses,  that  never  tire.  It  is  true,  the  driver  does  not  often 
look  behind  him  to  see  if  the  carriage  and  fare  are  sdll  attached 
to  the  catlle,  and  sometimes  they  are  left  on  the  road  to  get  on 
as  well  as  they  may  by  another  conveyance.  Bucharest,  the  capital 
of  Wallachia,  is  a  modem  city  of  not  more  than  a  century  and  a 
half  in  growth,  comprising  a  circuit  of  twelve  English  miles,  and 
rather  an  inadequate  population  of  one  hundred  thousand.  Jassy, 
the  metropolis  of  Moldavia,  is  smaller,  and  numbers  only  fifty 
thousand  inhabitants,  but  appears  to  be,  on  the  whole,  a  gayer  and 
more  desirable  residence.  It  is  built  on  the  site  of  a  Roman  mili- 
tary station,  the  head-quarters  of  the  nineteenth  legion,  called  Jas- 
siensis,  and  contains  churches  and  other  buildings  of  considerable 
antiquity.  In  both  these  cities  morals  are  rather  at  a  low  ebb, 
education  lower  still,  while  gambling  and  card-playing  are  univer-, 
sally  in  the  ascendant. 

At  Jassy,  as  in  many  other  places,  they  have  a  passion  for  being 
buried  with  pomp  and  show,  and  a  gorgeous  ftmeral  procession 
compensates  for  many  sufferings  and  privations  during  the  pil- 
grimage of  life.  The  following  passage  describes  one  which  the 
author  witnessed. 

"  When  I  was  looking  out  of  the  window  of  my  hotel  one  fine  day,  a  funeral 
passed.  It  was  a  splendid  affair,  with  hearse  and  mourning  coaches,  and 
above  all,  a  numerous  band  of  music,  playing  in  front.  I  thought  there  must 
be  a  dead  eeneral  at  least  in  the  comn ;  but  on  inquiry,  I  found  that  there 
were  only  the  remains  of  a  rather  poor  tailor's  wife  to  be  buried,  and  I  was 
told  that  magnificent  obsequies  were  generally  promised  to  the  dying,  as  a 
consolation  in  the  pains  of  death ;  one  old  gentleman  in  the  last  stage  ot 
cholera,  when  that  dreadful  scourge  visited  Jassy,  having  died  happy  when  he 
was  told  how  many  drums  and  trumpets  should  precede  his  corpse  to  its  last 
resting-place." 

It  is  truly  lamentable  to  ascertain  that  the  mouths  of  the  Da- 
nube, being  entirely  abandoned  to  Russian  influence  and  regula- 
tion, and  subject  to  her  vexatious  quarantine  laws,  are  becoming 
almost  useless  for  trading  purposes,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned. 
Unless  this  is  looked  to  in  time,  one  of  the  most  valuable  com- 
mercial estuaries  in  the  world  will  be  completely  nullified.  A 
long  exposition  of  the  present  and  fiiture  mischief,  which  our 
supineness  is  creating,  and  of  which  those  who  look  on  our  active 
prosperity  with  jealousy  and  envy  are  taking  every  advantage, 
closes  the  first  volume,  and  we  recommend  all  who  feel  an  interest 
in  the  subject  to  peruse  what  is  there  written  with  full  attention. 
The  higher  classes  in  the  frontier  provinces,  and  the  parties  con- 
nected with  the  government,  are,  or  affect  to  be,  favourably  in- 
clined to  the  Russian  predominance.  But  they  are  probably  less 
sincere  than  the  masses,  who  infinitely  prefer  the  Sultan  for  their 
master,  and  have  enough  penetration  to  see  and  think  that  the 
Western  powers  of  Europe  will  sooner  or  later  adopt  a  decided 
course  which  shall  settle  the  question  in  fetvour  of  the  latter.  It  is 
quite  certain,  that  Turkey,  sin^e-handed,  cannot  now  compete 
with  Russia,  and  would  soon  be  overwhelmed  and  driven  across 
the  Bosphoms  if  left  alone  and  deserted  by  her  allies.    But  at  the 

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THE  BALANCE  OF   POWER,  21? 

same  time,  the  power  of  Rassia  is  more  overwhelming  on  paper 
than  in  reality.  Her  sixty  millions  are  scattered  oyer  an  immense 
territory,  and  her  huge  armies  move  slowly  under  an  inefficient 
commissariat,  and  a  defective  system  of  discipline.  The  remini- 
scences of  the  campaigns*  of  1828  and  1829  contain  nothing  very 
brilliant  for  the  annals  of  Russia,  and  few  reasons  for  the  Turks  to 
despair  in  another  contest,  when  they  are  better  prepared,  more 
united,  and  supported  by  powerful  allies.  The  example  and  per- 
severing success  of  the  hardy  mountaineers  of  Circassia  is  not  lost 
upon  Aem,  neither  are  they  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  this  inflated 
enemy,  after  many  years  of  protracted  warfieure,  and  a  countless 
expenditure  of  blood  and  treasure,  holds  little  in  that  country 
beyond  the  ground  their  armies  stand  on.  They  know  as  well  as 
does  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  that  the  treaty  of  Adrianople  was  as 
welcome  to  Diebitsch,  the  Balkan-passer,  as  to  themselves ;  and 
that,  by  a  great  political  mistake,  the  Sultan  Mahmoud  hastily 
concluded  peace,  at  the  very  time  when  he  could  have  continued 
the  war  with  better  prospects  than  before.  They  are  also  fully  aware 
that  the  Russians  sacrificed  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  in 
that  same  war,  and  that  in  the  pursuit  of  the  French  on  their  eva- 
cuation of  Moscow  in  1812,  they  suffered  nearly  as  much  nume- 
rical loss  as  did  the  retreating  army,  which  was  buried  in  the 
snow.  Russia  is,  in  fact,  like  the  spectre  of  the  Hartz  mountains 
— a  Patagonian  shadow  in  the  distance,  without  solid  substance 
when  closely  examined.  The  unhappy  and  anomalous  condition 
of  the  frontier  lands  may  be  estimated  clearly  from  the  following 
passage. 

<*  The  State  of  Wallachia  is  at  present  a  curious  subject  of  study  to  an 
observer.  A  native  prince  goYems  between  two  supporters,  the  Ottoman  and 
Muscovite  commissioners,  each  of  whom  is  backed  by  his  army  of  occupation. 
The  former  of  the  two  represents  the  prince's  sovereign  and  protector,  that 
sovereignty  and  protection  being  based  on  a  special  deed,  by  which  the  payment 
of  an  annual  tribute  is  also  stipulated,  and  having  been  exercised  undisputed 
since  the  year  1460,  when  it  was  signed;  and  the  latter  of  the  two  is  the  ac- 
credited agent  of  a  foreign  power,  which  has  guaranteed  to  the  principality 
the  enjoyment  of  its  established  rights,  and  which  by  the  law  of  nations  can 
acquire  no  privileges  by  that  act,  because  it  was  not  a  contracting  party,  but 
merely  gave  security  for  the  obligations  contracted  by  another.  These  are  their 
respective  positions  according  to  leeal  title ;  but,  as  matters  stand,  they  are 
widely  different,  for  the  influence  of  the  guaranteeing  power  is  predominant  in 
the  councils  of  the  native  prince  oyer  that  of  his  sovereign." 

This  is  much  more  intelligible  than  the  special  pleading  of 
Count  Nesselrode  in  his  late  official  documents ;  and  this  plainly 
shows  that  the  present  invasion  of  the  provinces,  followed  by 
loyal  addresses  of  devotion  to  the  Emperor  immediately  tendered 
by  the  Hospodars,  are  evidences  of  a  preconcerted  plan  to  con- 
centrate large  and  sufficient  forces  in  a  convenient  neighbourhood 
for  decisive  operations  on  the  Turkish  side  of  the  Danube.  If 
the  Russian  autocrat  now  draws  back,  it  will  be  because  he  is  con- 
vinced of  what  he  doubted  until  now,  the  perfect  co-operation  of 
France  and  England,  and  their  determination  to  clip  his  wings,  if 
he  gives  them  the  opportunity  by  attempting  too  lofty  a  flight. 
Or  it  may  be,  as  some  people  say,  that  his  usually  sound  reason  is 

Digitized  by  (360gle 


218  THE  PEACE  OF  EUROPE  AND 

affected  by  religious  fanaticism ;  or  that  there  exist  internal  causes 
of  pressure  within  his  domestic  government,  of  which  at  present  we 
know  little,  but  which  may  unfold  themselves  in  the  progress  of 
events.  Russia  is  altogether  a  mystery,  but  a  very  dangerous 
one,  which  requires  to  be  as  closely  watched  as  the  course  of  an 
epidemic  disease,  or  the  track  of  a  comet. 

The  behaviour  of  the  two  armies  of  occupation  in  the  frontier 
provinces,  famishes  a  contrast  greatly  in  favour  of  the  troops  of 
the  Sultan.  The  Turks  respect  property,  pay  for  what  they  re- 
ceive, and  even  afford  the  hospitality  which  forms  a  principle  of 
their  religion,  to  the  families  with  whom  they  live.  The  Russian 
soldiers  on  the  contrary,  maltreat  and  rob  their  involuntary  hosts, 
and  being  badly  paid,  worse  fed,  and  plundered  by  their  own 
officers,  their  ill  conduct  is  encouraged  by  the  latter,  while  the  re- 
spectable demeanour  of  the  Osmanlis  is  promoted  by  the  example 
and  instruction  of  their  superiors.  The  author  of  these  volumes 
saw  the  contingents  of  both  armies  at  Bucharest,  and  the  impres- 
sions they  respectively  made  on  him  are  well  conveyed  in  the 
subjoined  passages. 

*'  The  best  hospital  that  I  saw  at  Bucharest,  was  that  of  the  Turkish  army 
of  occupation.  In  cleanliness  and  ventilation  it  surpassed  anvthing  of  the  kind 
that  has  as  yet  come  under  my  notice ;  and  it  was  so  well  ordered  in  every 
respect,  that  there  are  few  regimental  surgeons  of  my  acquaintance  in  Her 
Majesty's  Service,  who  would  not  derive  advantage  from  the  study  of  its  ar- 
rangements.*' 

This  is  a  high  encomium  of  a  very  important  department  of 
military  organization,  and  for  which  we  were  not  prepared.  The 
same  opinion  is  expressed  again  when  speaking  of  the  camp  of 
Omir  Pasha  at  Travnik,  in  Bosnia. 

*•  The  soldiers*  tents  were  most  comfortable ;  there  were  ten  men  in  each, 
and  in  spite  of  the  constant  rain  their  health  was  good,  as  out  of  8,000  men, 
only  200  were  in  hospital,  and  many  of  these  were  wounded.  The  officers, 
however,  thought  this  a  large  number,  so  careful  are  they  of  their  soldiers, 
and  there  had  been  even  a  court  of  inquiry  to  ascertain  whether  the  sickness 
arose  from  want  of  comfort.  One  man  in  forty  would  not  be  a  cause  of  alarm 
in  our  hospitals  on  active  service,  and  I  doubt  very  much  if  they  are  ever  kept 
lo  well  as  the  one  I  saw  at  Travnik." 

To  return  to  the  two  armies. 

«  I  had  also  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  Turkish  troops  reviewed.  There 
was  a  regiment  of  dragoons,  six  battalions  of  infantry,  and  a  field  battery  of  six 
guns.  The  cavalry  was  of  the  lightest  description,  and  the  horses  seemed  to 
be  too  highly  fed,  and  too  spirited,  to  admit  ot  frreat  regularity  in  their  move- 
ments. But  to  counterbalance  these  defects,  they  displayed  a  degree  of  quick- 
ness of  evolution,  which  would  astonish  our  lancers  with  their  tall  chargers. 
The  infantry  was  steady  and  manoeuvred  well,  but  the  men  were  most  re- 
markably young ;  their  average  age  could  hardlv  exceed  twenty-three,  and  their 
height  about  five-feet  eight ;  they  formed  line  three  deep,  and  were  rather  old- 
fashioned  in  their  manual  exercise ;  but  their  file-firing  of  blank  cartridge  was 
excellent;  and  in  general  their  greatest  merit  seemed  to  be  rapidity  rather  than 
precision.  The  artillery  are  beyond  all  praise.  A  better  materiel  could  not 
exist,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  handle  it  more  perfectly.  I  went  to  see 
the  barracks.  The  men,  as  well  as  the  horses,  are  too-well  fed ;  their  dinner 
was  as  tempting — as  the  sort  of  overgrown  gentleman's  stables  in  which  I 
•aw  the  cavalry  chargers  and  artillery  horses,  were  neat  and  ain^.    The  soldiers' 

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THE  BALANCE  OF   POWER*  219 

rooms  had  neither  tables  nor  benches,  and  the  beds  being  arranged  along  the 
floors,  they  looked  very  different  from  our  barracks,  but  they  were  quite  as 
comfortable,  according  to  the  Oriental  ideas  of  comfort.  The  officers  with  the 
greatest  urbanity  showed  me  everything,  and  took  me  into  their  rooms  to 
smoke  long  pipes  and  drink  thimblefuls  of  coffee." 

Assuredly  our  Turkish  friends  have  not  been  asleep,  or  entirely 
occupied  in  smoking  opium  during  the  last  twenty  years.  Amongst 
their  military  improvements  our  author  should  not  have  forgotten  a 
light  compact  costume,  not  very  unlike  that  of  the  Western  armies. 
Let  us  now  see  what  he  says  of  the  Russians. 

"  The  Russian  troops  had  frequent  field-days  on  the  plain  of  Colintina.  I 
was  present  on  several  occasions  when  their  regiment  of  lancers,  eisht  bat- 
talions of  infantry,  and  a  park  of  artillery,  were  brigaded.  They  went  admirably 
through  that  most  difficult  of  all  manoeuvres,  advancing  in  line ;  but  thev  were 
all  old  soldiers ;  their  cavalry  horses  were  lean,  large,  and  heavy-looking  brutes. 
The  lancers  made  a  poor  show,  the  artillery  better,  but  wretchedly  slow ;  the 
infantry  pleased  me  very  much  until  they  commenced  their  light  drill,  when  I 
could  hardly  believe  my  eyes.  No  one  seemed  to  be  aware  of  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  skirmishing,  from  the  general  down  to  the  private,  for  battalion  after 
battalion  was  allowed  to  go  on  in  the  same  way,  without  a  single  remark;  the 
two  ranks  of  each .  file  made  no  attempts  to  cover  each  other  in  advancing  and 
retreating ;  in  fact,  they  generallv  moved  together  ;  they  fired,  and  stood  to  be 
fired  at,  instead  of  discharging  their  shot  when  they  were  about  to  move ;  and 
then  they  halted  to  load,  and  that  anywhere.  Our  Rifle  Brigade  would  make 
short  work  of  such  skirmishers ;  every  one  of  them  would  be  picked  off  as  soon 
as  extended.*' 

We  guess  too,  as  brother  Jonathan  says,  the  Chasseurs  de  Vin-. 
cennes  with  their  Minie  rifles,  would  astonish  them  not  a  little. 

♦•  The  Russian  soldiers  are  not  nearly  so  well  clothed  as  those  of  the  Turkish 
regular  army ;  their  heavy  green  coats  are  so  much  more  cumbersome  than  the 
light  jacket;  their  cross-belts  are  longer,  and  not  so  wqII  put  on,  the  pouch  being 
thus  apt  to  rattle  about  when  they  are  at  double  time;  and  the  helmets,  though 
better  for  defence,  are  clumsy,  and  much  more  fatiguing  to  wear  than  the  fez. 
I  saw  the  barracks  of  a  Russian  regiment  too,  but  it  was  when  I  ex- 
pected it  the  least,  for  I  thought  I  was  visiting  the  Wallachian  university.  The 
fact  was,  that  the  College  of  Sant  Sava,  library,  museum,  and  all,  had  been 
converted  into  a  receptacle  for  a  portion  of  the  unwelcome  army  of  occupation, 
instead  of  continuing  to  be  the  temple  of  learning ;  and  the  students  and-  pro- 
fessors had  given  place  to  the  soldier-slaves  of  the  Czar.  Such  a  den  of  filth 
I  never  saw ;  an  offensive  odour  of  melted  tallow  candles,  used  as  sauce  for 
sour  black  bread,  in  tlie  absence  of  their  much-loved  train«oil;  and  damp  straw 
strewn  about  for  the  miserable-looking,  cowed,  half-famished  animals  to  sleep 
upon.     No  wonder  that  the  mortality  among  them  was  so  great." 

The  true  place  to  see  a  Russian  soldier  is  in  his  barrack-room 
or  bivouac,  when  divested  of  his  accoutrements  and*  external 
panoply  of  war.  Buttoned  up,  padded  on  the  breast  and  shoulders, 
and  pinched  in  in  the  waist,  as  he  stands  on  parade,  he  looks 
smart  and  formidable  enough ;  but  follow  him  to  his  quarters,  as 
Sir  William  Napier  says,  and  when  he  steps  out  of  his  case,  you 
look  on  an  emaciated  individual  without  thews  or  muscles,  with 
whom  a  British  grenadier  would  rather  divide  his  ration,  than 
think  him  worthy  to  be  spitted  on  his  bayonet.  The  average  are 
as  here  described,  although  of  course  there  are  picked  corps  as  in 
other  services,  and  tall  regiments  of  guards.  There  is,  even  in 
Madame  Tussaud's  exhibition,  a  fac-simile  of  a  Russian  drum- 
major,  eight  feet  high  at  the  least,  compared  to  whom,  Shaw  the 


220  THE  PEACE  OF  EUROPE  AND 

life-guardsman  was  a  mere  pigmy,  and  whose  skeleton  when  he 
dies,  would  be  an  excellent  companion  for  that  of  O'Brien,  the 
celebrated  Irish  giant,  at  the  College  of  Surgeons. 

Without  including  the  com  and  ce^e,  which  are  already  abundant, 
anQ  might  be  indefinitely  increased  by  industry,  multiplied  popula- 
tion, and  a  better-defined  political  condition,  the  frontier  provinces 
abound  in  natural  and  mineral  wealth,  far  beyond  what  is  generally 
known  or  supposed.  The  salt  mines  of  the  Carpathian  mountains 
are  worked  with  intervals  from  Poland  to  the  Danube.  Those  of 
Okna  in  little  Wallachia,  which  the  author  visited,  have  long  been 
celebrated,  and  produce  a  revenue  of  fifteen  millions  of  piastres. 
These  mines  are  reached  by  shafts,  with  staircases,  240  feet  in 
depth.  When  at  the  bottom,  you  may  walk  several  miles  under- 
ground through  streets  of  rock  salt,  whose  only  population  consists 
of  convicts  by  whom  they  are  worked,  and  their  escort  of  militia, 
by  whom  the  labourers  are  watched.  At  the  comers,  the  names 
of  the  streets  are  painted  on  wooden  sign-posts ;  a  long  line  of 
lamps  gives  a  glittering  appearance  to  the  crystallized  walls,  and 
conveys  a  delusion  that  you  are  in  a  town  by  night,  with  rows  of 
shop-windows  on  either  side.  In  Wallachia,  and  more  especially 
in  the  adjoining  states  of  Servia  and  Bosnia,  the  author  traversed 
many  primaeval  forests  of  the  finest  timber,  available  for  the  pur- 
poses of  ship-building  to  an  incalculable  extent,  and  unsurpassed  in 
the  world  either  for  size,  quality,  or  abundance.  The  Danube,  one 
of  the  most  important  rivers  in  the  world,  flows  through  these  fertile 
lands,  offering  to  their  produce  unequalled  means  of  transit ;  but 
Russia  frowns  at  the  mouth  with  undivided  influence,  with  quaran- 
tine restrictions,  and  expensive  custom-house  impediments,  which 
are  fast  tending  to  throw  the  whole  trade  under  her  immediate 
and  indisputable  management.  The  clearing  of  the  bar  at  Sulina 
would  be  a  mighty  advantage  to  other  nations.  The  convention 
between  Austria  and  Russia  has  expired,  and  the  subject  should 
be  taken  into  serious  consideration  by  Great  Britain  in  particular, 
to  whom  it  is  of  paramount  importance.  Of  Servia  and  Bosnia, 
much  interesting  information  is  given  in  these  volumes,  as  also  of 
the  late  insurrections  and  military  movements  by  which  they  were 
suppressed.  The  wild  plan  of  forming  an  lUyrian  kingdom,  which 
some  agitators  have  conceived,  comprising  these  provinces  with 
many  others,  is  not  likely  ever  to  be  carried  into  effect ;  and  less 
from  mere  political  obstacles  than  from  the  heterogeneous  ele- 
ments of  which  they  are  compounded,  which  are  little  likely  ever 
to  come  to  an  understanding  or  agree  on  a  single  united  system 
of  government.  Again,  the  absence  of  nationality  is  not  to  be 
remedied. 

In  Turkey,  many  ancient  prejudices  and  customs  are  giving 
way  before  the  advance  of  knowledge,  and  the  spread  of  intercourse 
with  the  people  of  the  Western  world;  but  they  still  muflie  up. 
their  females  as  tenaciously  as  ever,  and  consider  it  utter  pro&na- 
tion  that  they  should  be  gazed  on  by  the  eyes  of  male  strangers. 
A  little  episode  of  this  nature  happened  accidentally  to  the  author 
at  a  Khan  in  Bosnia,  and  with  his  observations  thereupon  we  must 
close  our  extracts.  r^^^^T^ 

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THE  BALANCE   OF   POWER.  221 

"  In  the  morning  I  sat  at  my  window  while  our  horses  were  being  prepared. 
Long  lines  of  horses  and  mules,  laden  with  cotton,  grain,  and  other  com- 
modities were  passing,  as  there  is  a  great  deal  of  traflSc  on  this  road.  I  heard 
the  sound  of  horses'  feet  in  the  court,  and  pitied  the  travellers,  who  must  have 
been  out  in  so  rainy  a  night.  Mj  door  was  suddenly  opened,  and  a  young 
Turkish  lady  of  great  beauty  made  her  appearance  with  her  veil  removed,*  and 
looking  at  her  dress  as  she  entered,  which  was  evidently  wet  through.  Behind 
her  came  the  khandji  (inn-keeper),  carrying  a  very  pretty  little  boy,  about  two 
years  old,  richly  dressed,  and  crying  piteously — from  cold  in  all  probability.  I 
cot  up  immediately  and  motioned  to  the  fire,  while  I  moved  towards  the  door. 
She  looked  up,  blushed  deeply  when  she  saw  a  man,  and  retreated,  covering 
her  face  with  her  veil ;  leaving  me  just  time  enough  to  remark  that  her  eyes  were 
black,  and  as  fine  as  her  features  and  complexion.  The  Khandji  was  much 
disconcerted  by  her  having  opened  my  door  by  mistake,  and  hurried  her  along 
the  passage,  and  down  a  back  stair  to  the  harem,  while  a  well-armed  servant 
who  followed  them,  showed  his  teeth,  as  he  looked  into  my  room  with  the 
lugravating  grin  of  a  lion  rampant,  because  his  master's  wife  had  involuntarily 
shown  me  her  face  forsooth  I 

"  What  an  inconvenient  prejudice  it  must  be,  for  a  woman  to  think  herself 
disgraced  by  being  seen ;  and  how  often  in  the  daily  course  of  her  life  must 
incidents  arise,  which  become,  in  consequence,  the  sources  of  annoyance.  It 
is  not  modesty — it  is  not  apprehensive  virtue ;  and  if  it  be  meant  as  precau- 
tion, it  is,  at  best,  unreasonable ;  for  experience  has  proved  that  it  wards  off 
no  evil  from  veiled  youth,  and  old  age  has  none  to  fjpar.  The  latter  class, 
moreover,  is  by  far  the  most  particular  in  this  way ;  perhaps  from  a  wish  to 
enjoy  the  advantage  of  a  doubt  whether  the  face  beneatn  the  yashniak  be  young 

or  old,  pretty  or  ugly In  the  lower  ranks,  this  prejudice  must  be  a  most 

irksome  burden;  as  the  mu£Bed  head  and  enveloped  figure  can  hardly  be  a 
comfortable  condition  for  out-door  labour.  In  Bosnia,  however,  it  is  modified 
in  fiivour  of  unmarried  women,  and  the  veil  and  the  loose  green /<?re<^e,  which  I 
often  saw  in  the  fields,  are  worn  only  by  matrons.  When  I  went  out  to  mount 
my  horse  at  the  door  of  the  Khan  on  the  river  Bosna,  I  saw  the  Turkish  lady 
un  horseback,  and  completely  shrouded  from  head  to  foot,  coming  from  the 
courtyard.  When  the  servant  mounted,  the  child  was  placed  on  a  small  pillow 
in  front  of  him,  and  off  they  set  at  a  rapid  amble." 

Having  examined  all  that  he  desired  to  notice  in  the  advanced 
districts,  the  author  rapidly  traversed  Bulgaria  and  Roumelia, 
crossed  the  range  of  the  Balkan  at  the  Zulu  pass,  and  taking  the 
road  through  Sophia  and  Adrianople  (at  which  latter  ancient  capital 
of  European  Turkey  he  paused  a  day  to  look  at  the  bazaar  of  Ali 
Pasha  and  the  Mosque  of  Sultan  Selim),  he  reached  Constanti- 
nople alone  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  had  some  difficulty  in 
obtaining  admittance  at  that  untimely  hour  into  the  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre  at  Pera,  where  the  remainder  of  his  party  had  long  expected 
him.  He  promises  another  narrative  of  a  subsequent  journey, 
which  the  pleasure  and  useful  information  we  have  derived  from 
the  first,  incline  us  to  look  forward  to  with  eager  anticipation. 
Everything  connected  with  Turkey  and  her  dependencies,  her 
present  state,  and  probable  future,  are  subjects  of  interest  which 
recent  circumstances  have  much  enhanced,  and  in  which,  as 
Englishmen,  we  are  almost  as  directly  concerned,  as  if  they  formed 
integral  portions  of  the  empire  of  our  own  sovereign.  Correct  in- 
-  formation  is  more  easily  obtained  thaiyt  was,  and  there  are  clear 
heads  and  able  pens  on  the  spot,  capaole  of  recording  facts  and 
delivering  opinions  which  may  be  safely  relied  on  as  correct,  and 
appealed  to  as  authority. 


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222 


LORD  CHESTERFIELD. 

WITH  A  PORTRAIT. 

There  are  difTerent  theories  of  greatness,  and  there  are  different 
standards  of  excellence.  Judged  by  the  one,  it  may  l^e  denied 
that  Philip  Stanhope,  fourth  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  was  a  great  man. 
Judged  by  the  other,  it  is  indbputable  that  he  was,  par  excellencSy 
the  finest  gentleman  of  his  own  or  any  other  age.  Men  may 
question  his  principles,  doubt  his  wisdom,  deny  his  wit,  but  no 
one  is  hardy  enough  to  say  a  word  against  his  manners. 

We  have  a  theory — not,  however,  peculiarly  our  own — on  this 
same  subject  of  greatness.  There  are,  doubtless,  some  qualities 
greater  than  others.  Philosophy  is  greater  than  wit.  Poetry  is 
better  than  slaughter.  But  philosophers  and  wits,  poets  and  sol- 
diers, may  all  be  great  men  after  their  kind.  Whosoever  in  any- 
thing of  good  repute  excels  all  his  fellows,  fairly  entitles  himself 
to  be  esteemed  a  great  man.  Now,  there  are  few  of  our  readers 
who  have  not  been  from  their  boyhood  upwards  familiar  with  the 
name  of  Chesterfield.  Little  boys  addicted  to  such  evil  habits  as 
biting  their  nails,  scratching  their  heads,  laughing  at  wrong  times, 
and  calling  people  uncomplimentary  names,  have  been  reminded 
for  nearly  a  century  of  the  living  exhortations,  and  threatened 
with  the  posthumous  anger  of  this  incarnation  of  good  breeding. 
And  these  little  boys  have,  for  the  most  part,  grown  up,  knowing 
at  least  this  much  of  the  Earl,  and  inquiring  nothing  furUier  about 
him.  It  has  seemed  incomprehensible  to  ordinary  understand- 
ings that  so  very  fine  a  gentleman  could  be  anything  but  a  fine 
gentleman,  a  courtier,  a  man  of  fashion,  an  idle  lounger,  lying  late 
a-bed,  sipping  chocolate  with  an  air,  and  rising  to  no  higher  effort 
of  activity  than  a  game  at  loo  or  a  flirtation  with  a  fine  lady.  But 
Lord  Chesterfield  was  much  more  than  a  man  of  fashion  and  a 
man  of  wit — he  was  a  diplomatist,  a  statesman,  a  parliamentary 
debater;  he  wrote  well  and  he  spoke  well;  he  spoke  so  well,  in- 
deed, that  Horace  Walpole  declared  that  the  finest  speech  he  ever 
heard  was  one  of  Lord  Chesterfield's ;  and,  more  than  all,  he 
governed  Ireland,  as  Lord  Lieutenant,  with  so  much  conciliatory 
firmness,  so  much  vigorous  moderation,  that  Lord  Mahon  says  of 
him,  and  says  truthfully,  that  '^  he  left  nothing  undone,  nor  for 
others  to  do." 

Philip  Dormer  Stanhope  was  bom  in  the  year  J  694.  Neglected 
by  his  parents,  but  assiduously  tended  by  his  maternal  grand- 
mother, who  performed  their  duties  and  filled  their  place,  he  grew 
up,  with  no  great  promise  of  after-celebrity,  passed  through  his 
university  career  with  cre<^,  and  was  pushed  into  the  House  of 
Commons,  by  family  interest,  before  he  had  attained  the  legitimate 
age.  Pleasure,  however,  attracted  him  more  than  business ;  and 
it  was  not  until  the  death  of  his  father,  in  1726,  gave  him  a  seat  in 


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LORD  CHESTERFIELD.  223 

the  House  of  Lords,  that  he  applied  himself  with  assiduity  to  the 
discharge  of  the  duties  of  public  life.  He  soon  attained  distinc- 
tion as  an  orator;  but  it  was  as  a  diplomatist  that  he  first  really 
took  a  part  in  the  active  duties  of  official  life.  His  ready  tact, 
his  keen  insight  into  humanity,  his  courteous  manners,  his  know- 
ledge of  modem  languages — all  eminently  fitted  him  for  the  busi- 
ness of  diplomacy.  He  was  twice  despatched  as  ambassador  to 
Holland,  and  on  both  occasions  acquitted  himself  with  remarkable 
address.  He  was  afterwards  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ire- 
land ;  and  it  is  recorded  to  his  honour  that  he  entered  upon  the 
duties  of  his  new  office  with  a  full  determination  not  to  tread  in 
the  path  of  those  predecessors  who  had  treated  the  office  as  a 
sumptuous  sinecure,  and  lounged  through  it  without  a  thought  of 
the  people.  He  governed  Ireland  upon  principles  of  humanity 
and  jnstice,  and  it  is  said,  that  his  name  is  still  held  there  *^  in 
honoured  remembrance.'* 

This  was  no  small  thing.  If  Chesterfield  had  done  nothing 
else,  his  Irish  vice-royalty  would  have  entitled  him  to  a  niche  in 
history.  But  he  was  invited  to  leave  Irelan4>  and  to  accept  the 
seals  of  Secretary  of  State.  He  consented,  not  without  reluc- 
tance. The  duties  of  the  office  he  would  have  performed  with 
advantage  to  the  State,  for  he  strove  to  bring  about  the  peace, 
but  he  was  thwarted  by  his  colleagues,  and  imperfectly  supported 
by  the  King,  and  his  alliance  with  the  royal  favourite,  through 
whom  he  hoped  to  influence  the  monarch,  was  not  sufficient  to 
protect  him  from  defeat. 

But  public  business  did  not  suit  him,  he  never  liked  it.  With 
the  King  he  was  no  great  favourite  ;  and  a  personal  slight  put  upon 
him  riveted  his  resolution  to  retire  with  aignity  into  private  life. 
It  has  been  said  of  him  that  his  patriotism  was  somewhat  lukewarm. 
But  it  would  be  well  if  some  of  those  who  esteem  themselves  pa- 
triots of  a  higher  temperature,  would  ponder  over  such  a  passage  as 
this  in  one  of  Chesterfield's  letters — '^  Far  from  engaging  in  oppo- 
sition, as  resigning  ministers  too  commonly  do,  I  should" — he 
wrote  to  Mr.  DayroUes  in  1748 — "to  the  utmost  of  my  power 
support  the  Eang  and  the  Government,  which  I  can  do  with  more 
advantage  to  them  and  more  honour  to  myself,  when  I  do  not  re- 
ceive £5000  a-year  for  doing  it."  The  King,  when  he  received  his 
resignation,  expressed  a  hope  that  the  retiring  minister  would  not 
bets^e  himself  to  the  ranks  of  the  Opposition ;  but  this  the  above 
passage  clearly  shows  he  had  never  intended  to  do.  His  Majesty, 
too,  ofiered  him  a  dukedom,  but  this  he  respectfiilly  declined. 
From  the  period  of  his  resignation  he  ceased  to  take  any  part  in 
official  affairs,  but  he  was  still  an  active  member  of  the  Upper 
House ;  and  among  the  measures  with  which  he  was  identified, 
were  some  of  grave  historical  importance.  In  spite  of  much  op- 
position, within  and  without  the  House,  he  carried  the  Bill  for  the 
reform  of  the  Calendar,  and  gave  us  t}^  "  new  Style,"  which  ig- 
norance and  superstition  in  those  days  declared  to  be  an  impious 
proceeding,  but  of  which  among  eiUightened  men,  either  in  that 
age  or  in  this,  there  have  hardly  been  two  opinions. 

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224  LORD  CHESTTERFIELD. 

But  although  Chesterfield  believed  that  he  could  retire  without 
a  pang  from  public  life,  and  though  he  talked  about  his  horse,  his 
books,  and  his  prints,  as  companions  sufficient  for  his  declining 
years,  they  were  not  enough  for  him.  He  wanted  other  excite- 
ment, and  he  endeavoured  to  solace  his  retirement  with  play.  He 
had  earnestly  cautioned  his  son  against  gaming,  but  it  was  only 
amidst  the  turmoil  of  official  life  that  he  had  been  proof  against  its 
&scinations.  From  this  he  might  have  been  rescued  by  a  re- 
sumption of  the  old  burdens  of  statesmanship,  but  for  an  hereditary 
infirmity,  which  grew  upon  him  as  he  advanced  in  years,  and  un- 
fitted him  both  for  official  and  social  intercourse.  He  became 
very  deaf  in  bis  old  age,  and  the  ''  thousand  infallible  remedies^ 
which  he  tried  only  left  the  affliction  as  they  found  it.  There  is 
but  one  human  antidote  to  such  an  evil — it  is  to  be  found  in  a 
happy  home.  The  domestic  pleasures  he  had  not  cultivated,  and 
his  old  age  was  very  cheerless.  He  had  but  one  child— •the 
illegitimate  son,  Philip  Stanhope,  to  whom  his  famous  ^'  Letters** 
were  addressed,  and  he,  after  disappointing  Chesterfield*s  ex* 
pectations,  was  carried  off  in  the  prime  of  life.  The  aged  peer 
survived  him  some  five  years-^they  were  years  of  weariness  and 
desolation.  He  adopted  the  heir  to  his  tide,  but  he  could  not 
secure  the  allegiance  of  a  son;  and  he  died  in  the  year  1773, 
almost  an  octogenarian,  with  little  to  soothe  the  misery  of  the 
death-bed. 

His  works  survive,  and  will  long  survive.  In  one  of  his  letters 
to  his  son  he  says,  with  truth  and  prescience,  *'  Buy  good  books 
and  read  them ;  the  best  books  are  the  commonest,  and  the  last 
^itions  are  always  the  best,  if  the  Editors  are  not  blockheads,  for 
they  may  profit  of  the  former."  This  is  especially  true  of  his  own 
works*  The  last  edition  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  writings  is  incom- 
parably the  best — indeed  it  is  the  only  edition  which  fully  repre- 
sents what  he  was  capable  of  doing.  This,  in  another  way,  his 
portrait  very  fairly  exhibits.  The  face  is  fiill  of  refinement — fiiU 
of  shrewdness.  There  is  no  great  openness  or  sincerity  in  it,  and 
these  qualities  were  absent  firom  Chesterfield's  character.  He  was 
not,  indeed,  a  truthfiil  man.  It  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to 
gather  the  real  nature  of  the  man  firom  his  writings.  He  often, 
indeed,  belied  himself.  But  what  a  world  of  sagacity  is  there  in 
that  face — what  a  keen  insight  into  human  nature,  what  a  know- 
ledge of  all  human  firailties  1  He  seems  to  look  you  through 
and  through,  as  if  his  business  were  to  over-reach  men  and  to 
cajole  women ;  and  that  was  very  much  what  he  meant  when  he 
said  that  his  great  object  was  to  make  every  man  like  and  every 
woman  love  him — ^for  how  are  we  so  easily  cheated  as  through  the 
medium  of  the  affections  f 


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225 


INTERMITTENT  RHAPSODIES  ON  THE  QUASHEE 
QUESTION. 

BT   JERMAN   JUMBELL,   THE    UNINTELLIGIBLE   PHILOSOPHER. 


TO  THE   EDITOR. 
MY    DEAR   SIR, 

It  must  be  two  years  ago  since  I  was  appointed  by  Mr. 
Bentley^  at  your  kind  (and  may  I  add  sagacious  ?)  suggestion^ 
Reviewer  Extraordinary  to  the  long-established  and  far-famed 
Miscellany.  When  I  reflect  on  the  scrupulous  regularity  with 
which  I  have  drawn  my  very  liberal  salary,  and  my  un- 
scrupulous negligence  of  the  duties  which  it  was  intended  to 
reward,  I  feel  humbled  and  penitent,  and  as  this  happens  by  an 
accident  to  be  my  birthday,  (and  I  always  make  good  resolutions 
on  that  anniversary,)  I  am  determined  for  the  future  to  be  gene- 
rally more  respectable  and  industrious,  and  to  discharge  the  duties 
of  my  critical  station  like — (I  have  no  other  simile  at  hand,  and 
bad  therefore  better  say) — like  an  Englishman.  Indeed  I  am 
astonished  on  looking  through  the  back  numbers  of  your  Maga- 
zine, to  find  that  my  only  official  utterance  dates  as  far  back  as 
March,  1852,  when  I  called  the  attention  of  the  reading  world  to 
two  famous  works  of  Jerman  Jumbell  and  Israel  Benoni.  Since 
that  period,  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  been  idle — ^for  I  have  been 
thinking  a  great  deal — ^but  reading  I  found  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. By  this  I  mean  the  perusal  of  contemporaneous  works 
— for  to  the  ancients  I  am  as  much  attached  as  Moses  in  the 
Yicar  of  Wakefield,  and  have  just  concluded  a  re-perusal  of  Aristo- 
phanes and  Lucian — whom  I  have  read  through  before, — I  am 
afraid  to  say  how  many  times.  Well^  I  was  thinking  the  other 
day  (of  all  the  places  in  the  world  to  do  so)  in  an  omnibus,  when 
I  was  suddenly  attracted  by  the  extraordinary  title  of  a  pamphlet 
which  a  stout  and  contemplative  looking  gentleman  sitting  next 
to  roe  was  reading.  It  was  nothing  more  nor  less  that  the  follow- 
ing— *'  Intermittent  Rhapsodies  on  the  Quashee  Question,'^  and 
the  title-page  went  on  to  say,  that  this  lucubration  proceeded 
from  the  pen  of  no  less  a  man  than  Jerman  Jumbell,  the  Unin- 
telligible Philosopher.  Now  the  name  of  the  author  at  once  ex- 
cited me ;  but  the  title  of  the  tract  set  me  quite  beside  mvself. 
If  there  is  a  thing  important  now  a-days,  when  cart-loads  of  new 
books  are  daily  shot  into  the  publishers'  houses — it  is  a  good  title. 
1  have  a  friend  who  is  writing  a  three  volume  novel — which,  inas- 
much as  his  last,  christened  with  some  taste  and  decency,  did 
not  enjoy  a  success  proportionate  to  its  merits — ^he  declares  he  will 
call  ^^  Blood  and  Thunder.^'  A  faithful  band  of  friends  are  also 
meditating  a  new  serial.  It  will  in  all  probability  fail — but  if  it 
has  a  chance,  that  chance  is  an  eccentric  name.  If  it  appears  at 
all — which  is  I  diink  doubtful — it  will  be  called  "The  Blasphemer.'^ 
As  a  nice  quiet  name  for  a  magazine  not  devoted  to  the  discussion 

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226  INTERMITTENT  RHAPSODIES   ON 

of  theological  questions^  what  could  be  better  ?  But  '^  Inter- 
mittent Rhapsodies  on  the  Quashee  Question!'^  I  could  not 
standi  or  rather  sit  it  no  longer,  and  so  out  of  the  omnibus  I 
jumped.  I  rushed  into  a  very  respectable  bookseller's  and  asked 
for  the  pamphlet — he  had  it  not.  Into  another's  as  respectable 
— nor  had  he.  I  tried  a  third,  who  seemed  a  smaller  and  a  cheaper 
man — there  it  was.  Out  came  my  sixpence — for  it  is  at  a  low  price 
and  meant  for  the  million — and  off  with  it  I  went. 

Perusal  No.  1.  A  general  feeling  of  confusion  the  result. 

2.  Sceptical   symptoms — with   questions  of   what's 

Jumbell  about  ?  Will  this  do  ?  Can't  be  quite 
sane,  can  he  ? 

3.  A  careful  steady  re-perusal — consequence — emo- 

tions of  violent  indignation  bordering  on  dis- 
gust, tffidium  and  nausea  —  ejaculations  of 
^^  humbug !  bosh  I  twaddle  1  nonsense !  in- 
sanity !  '^ 

Having  got  into  this  state  {/acit  indignatio  versum)y  I  could  no 
longer  restrain  myself.  I  seized  my  slips,  mended  my  pen,  put 
on  my  spectacles,  and  began  a  censorious  criticism  of  a  solemn 
kind.  This  I  ultimately  destroyed,  and  as  I  have  nothing  else  to 
send  you,  you  have  my  free  leave  to  print  this  letter.  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  in  these  rhapsodies  the  unintelligible  philoso- 
pher has  surpassed  himself.  They  are  more  obscure,  more  grand- 
iloquent, more  grotesque,  more  extraordinary,  to  sum  the  matter  up, 
more  absurd,  than  any  of  his  former  eccentric  lucubrations.  A  short 
sketch  of  the  treatise  I  will,  my  dear  Sir,  endeavour  to  give  you, 
by  translating  Mr.  Jumbell  into  English,  which,  I  can  assure  you, 
is,  to  begin  with,  no  easy  task.  By  a  piece  of  humour,  even  for 
him  unusually  heavy,  he  represents  himself  as  having  obtained,  in 
some  unintelligible  manner,  the  report  of  a  speech  on  the  Aboli- 
tion of  Slavery  question,  which  was  delivered,  I  don't  care  by 
whom,  and  don't  know  where.  Suffice  it,  that,  as  regards  style, 
Jumbell  himself  loquitur^  and  that  he  defends  Negro,  or,  as  he 
would  call  it.  Nigger,  Slaver^,  right  manfully.  Whether  he  pos- 
sesses wide  acres  in  Quashee-land  op  not  we  do  not  know,  but  he 
speaks  with  a  bitterness  and  sincerity  which  savours  of  actual  loss 
to  be  attributed  to  broad-brimmed,  Brutus-headed,  sentimental- 
istic  philanthropy ;  and  the  indolent  habits  of  flat-nosed,  smirk- 
ing, good-natured,  pumpkin-eating  Sambo. 

As  usual,  the  philosopher  points  out  all  the  difficulties  of  the 
case  strongly  enough,  but  suggests  no  help  whatever.  Flattest 
truisms  he  puts  forth  exultingly  with  much  pomp  of  period,  and 
fertile  felicity  of  illustration,  not  without  the  adscititious  aid  of 
alliteration,  but  remedy  for  the  disease  none.  This  pamphlet  will 
never  raise  the  price  of  sugar,  or  teach  the  West  Indian  proprie- 
tors how  to  cultivate  it  more  cheaply.  It  will  not  make  Cato  or 
Bacchus  dig  cane-holes  more  industriously,  or  Apollo  get  up  early 
to  plant  yams.  Amaryllis  will  still  be  negligent  in  her  care  of  the 
ducks  and  turkeys,  and  Cleopatra  omit  to  sew  buttons  on  the  ma- 

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THE   QUASHEE   QUESTION.  227 

nager's  shirt.  The  only  effect  that  the  treatise  can  possibly  have, 
is  to  make  Mr.  J.  Jumbell  popular  in  the  Southern  States  of 
America.  Liegree,  Haley,  and  the  rest  of  that  respectable  frater-* 
nity,  will  doubtless  send'  him  a  piece  of  plate ;  and  as  a  design, 
may  I  be  permitted  to  suggest  the  6gure  of  a  black  tied  across  a 
sugar-cask  (this  was  the  way  in  the  good  old  times),  a  stalwart 
driver  standing  over  him  with  a  heavy  cow*skin  in  his  uplifted 
hand,  a  few  bloodhounds  in  the  background,  and  as  a  motto 
I  think  nothing  could  be  better  than  ^^  Am  I  not  a  man — but  a 
nigger?'' 

I,  however,  promised  to  give  you  a  short  English  version  of 
Mr.  JumbelFs  Germanesque  lucuoration.  This  I  find  impossible. 
Who  can  analyse  a  series  of  rhapsodies  containing  no  argument 
whatever,  and  chiefly  depending  for  their  humour  on  the  constant 
repetition  of  the  word  "  pumpkin  ?  '*  I  must  therefore  content 
myself  with  making  a  few  comments.  It  must  have  been  the 
Uncle  Tom  mania,  which  drove  the  philosopher  to  reprint  his 
Quashee  pamphlet.  He  is  at  heart,  I  think,  somewhat  of  a  misan- 
thrope; vox  populiy  vox  diaboti  is  his  version  of  the  proverb. 
He  professes  to  be  the  sworn  foe  of  cant,  and  seems  to  confound 
this  with  public  opinion. 

The  high-priest  of  paradox  and  the  apostle  of  novelty  and  con- 
tradiction, a  notion  has  only  to  be  prevalent  for  Jerman  Jumbell 
to  consider  it  erroneous.  The  few  have  sometimes  been  right. 
The  many  are,  therefore,  always  wrong.  This  is  his  dialectic.  He 
thinks  that  '^  those  dear  blacks ''  have  created  a  sentimental  stir, 
while  we  have  distressed  needle-women  here — that  those  dear 
blacks  are  sitting,  not  under  their  vines  and  fig-trees,  but  squatting 
in  their  negro-huts,  or  lounging  in  their  allotments,  eating  pump- 
kins, sucking  sugar-cane,  and  drinking  rum — and  that  they  snotdd, 
therefore,  be  driven,  even  by  the  time-honoured  cow-skin,  to  till 
the  ground  in  the  sweat  of  their  black  brows.  I  feel  very  loath  to 
seriously  confute  the  philosopher.  I  have  neither  leisure  nor  in- 
clination just  now,  and  feel  in  this  warm  weather  almost  as 
indolent  as  Quashee  himself.  Were  I  to  undertake  such  a  task, 
I  have,  perhaps,  one  advantage  ^er  Mr.  Jumbell,  which  is, 
that  I  really  know  something  of  the  question.  I  have  property 
in  the  West  Indies — I  resided  there  for  years.  I  have  been  also 
in  the  Slave  States  of  America.  I  have  suffered  severely  from  the 
fell  in  West  India  property — ^but  I  do  not,  therefore,  think  it 
either  logical  or  sensible,  or  humane  or  decent,  to  take  the  Jumbell 
view  of  colonial  matters.  '*  The  unintelligible  '*  forgets  that  no 
great  social  or  political  change  can  take  place  without  some  class- 
suffering.  He  forgets,  also,  that  the  West  Indians  were  a  privi- 
leged class — that  some  years  ago  they  lived  in  selfish  splendour 
at  English  watering-places — absentee  landlords — their  black  pea- 
santry, meanwhile,  being  overworked  to  supply  magnificence  and 
minister  to  vulgar  ostentation.  He  forgets  that  from  the  sighs 
and  groans  of  poor  Cufiy  and  Cudgoe  were  wrung  the  riches 
which  decked  a  Demerara  heiress,  glistening  in  Bath  and  Chelten- 
ham balUrooms,  or  enabled  a  Jamaica  fast  man  to  drive  fourrin- 

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228  RHAPSODIES  ON  THE  QUASHEE  QUESTTION. 

band  at  Oxford.  Now  Cudgoe  is  taking  it  easy — ^liberty  is  a 
novelty  and  leisure  a  luxury.  Cudgoe  likes  to  sit  still,  scratch 
himself,  and  eat  pumpkins,  but  there  is  no  fear  of  his  continuing 
to  do  this  long.  He  has  a  taste  for  civilisation — aye,  eveugfor 
culture.  Splendour  of  dress  is  a  great  weakness  of  his.  I  have 
often  seen  him  at  church  with  a  very  dandy  white  hat  over  his 
black  face,  and  neck-ties  of  variegated  colours.  Rings  and  smart 
pins  for  his  neck-kerchief  are  die  delight  of  Cufi^^.  To  gain 
these  vanities  I  have  known  hini  perform  nearly  two  days'  work 
in  one — ^if  you  set  him  his  task  and  paid  him  for  it.  The  fact  is, 
Mr.  Jumbell  appears  to  think,  with  Aristotle,  that  slavery  is  a 
defensible  system,  and  that  the  slave  is  opyavov  l/i^vxov,  a  mere 
''live  instrument ;''  and  appears,  also,  to  hold  with  Montesquie^i, 
of  the  "Nigger,*'  that "  these  creatures  are  all  over  black,  and 
with  such  a  flat  nose  that  they  are  scarcely  to  be  pitied.  It  is 
hardly  to  be  believed  that  God,  who  is  a  wise  being,  should  place 
a  soul,  especially  a  good  soul,  in  such  a  black  ugly  body.'' 

Horace  says  that  Homer  sometimes  sleeps,  and  I  think  you  will 
agree  with  me,  that  even  Montesquieu  sometimes  talks  nonsense. 
Looking  at  Sambo  physiologically,  he  undoubtedly  belongs  to  an 
inferior  race.  He  has  not  the  intdlect  or  the  beauty  of  the  Cau- 
casian— but  by  what  law,  divine  or  human,  has  it  been  laid  down, 
that  men  are  to  be  persecuted  because  they  are  not  intellectual  or 
beautiful  ?  I  would  rather  hope,  though  this  rule  has  been  but 
seldom  acted  on,  that  to  help  the  weak,  was  one  of  the  principles 
of  the  moral  government  of  the  world.  At  any  rate  the  Africans 
are  neither  stupid  nor  ugly  enough  to  justify  the  conduct  of  their 
oppressors.  The  race  has  produ^d  some  men  whom  not  even  the 
Germanesque  Philosopher  would  despise.  As  Mrs.  Stowe  writes 
in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  "We  have  Pennington  among  clergy- 
men, Douglas  and  Ward  among  editors."  Christophe  will  scarcely 
be  forgotten  in  History,  and  have  we  not  been  visited  here  in  Eng- 
land Dy  men — runaway  slaves — who  have  created  much  enthu- 
siasm by  their  eloquence  ?  And  it  might  be  perhaps  not  wholly 
absurd  to  remember,  that  the  Africans  are  not,  like  most  slaves,  a 
conquered  race,  who  have  faHbn  into  the  hands  of  their  invaders 
— ^but  that  their  case  is  peculiar — that  since  the  Spaniards  by  dieir 
cruelties  exterminated  the  Aboriginal  inhabitants  of  the  West  India 
islands,  there  has  been  a  league  among  the  nations  of  Europe  to 
keep  the  blacks  under  the  yoke — to  sow  dissensions  among  them 
— excite  them  to  internecine  warfare — and  then  carry  them  away 
captive  by  the  organised  system  of  the  accursed  slave-trade. 

I  defy  Mr.  JumbeU,  even  with  loudest  horse-cachinnations, 
to  deride  the  cause  of  conscience  and  of  right,  and  to  laugh  down 
the  heroism  of  Clarkson,  Wilberforce,  Brougham,  Denman, 
Buxton,  Ziushington,  and  Macaulay — ^those  great  good  men,  to 
whom  Providence  "  consigned  the  clientship  of  tortured  Africa." 
But  I  find  I  grow  angry  and  declamatory,  and,  therefore,  caution- 
ing your  readers  against  the  rhapsodies. 

Remain  yours,  &c.,  &c., 
A  West  Indian  and  an  Abolitionist. 


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ASPEN  COURT, 

AND  WHO   LOST   AND   WHO    WON   IT. 

^  IMt  of  out  <96)n  ®inu. 
By  Shirley  Brooks, 

AVTHOB  or  «MU8  TIOLET   AND  HB&  OFTK&S.** 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A   8UPPS&  AFTEB  THB   OPEEA. 

It  may  be  a  question,  though  one  which  will  certainly  not  be 
discussed  here,  whether  a  young  gentleman,  so  attached  as  we 
have  endeavoured  to  represent  Mr.  Bernard  Carlyon,  had  any  par- 
ticular business  at  Mrs.  Forester's  supper.  And  perhaps  that 
handsome  woman's  assurance  that  he  would  not  be  compelled  to 
sit  tiie  a  tite  with  her,  for  that  there  would  be  some  pleasant  girls 
in  the  party,  will  be  held,  by  engaged  and  other  selfish  people,  to 
be  almost  an  aggravation  of  his  offence  in  accepting  the  invitation. 
There  can  be  no  sort  of  doubt,  that  Carlyon,  having  replied  to 
Lilian's  affectionate  letter  by  the  evening  pos^  should  have  con- 
cluded his  secretary's  labours,  and,  after  a  quiet  repast,  should 
have  betaken  himself  to  the  solitude  of  his  chambers,  meditated 
on  Lilian's  beauty  and  other  merits,  on  his  own  good  fortune  in 
having  secured  her  heart,  and  on  plans  for  hastening  their  union. 
And  as  it  was  Saturday,  and  there  would  be  no  early  mail  next 
morning,  he  might  have  written  another  very  long  letter,  and  per- 
haps a  poem,  to  be  sent  in  a  parcel  to  Lynfield  by  one  of  the  Sun- 
day  trains.  And  so,  with  his  waking  mind  full  of  Lilian,  he 
should  have  retired  to  his  couch  in  order  to  dream  of  her.  That, 
or  something  very  like  it,  is,  one  knows,  what  the  more  trustful 
girl  would  wish,  and  what  the  more  exacting  girl  would  demand, 
and  a  really  good  young  man  would  have  rejoiced  to  carry  out  so 
pleasing  a  programme.  But  how  few  good  young  men  there  are ! 
Let  us  hope  that  the  teaching  of  this  history  will  increase  the 
number. 

Bernard,  however,  having  an  opera  stall  for  that  night,  did  not 
conceive  that  he  should  be  doing  any  treason  to  Lilian  by  occu* 
pying  it  Of  course,  it  was  as  easy  to  think  of  her  amid  the 
caressing  tones  of  the  love  music  in  the  Sonnambula^  as  in  a 
solitary  silent  room  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  But  he  had  scarcely 
taken  his  seat  when  Mrs.  Forester,  who  had  a  pit-box  near  the 
orchestra,  made  him  out  and  signalled  him.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  go  round  to  her.  She  was  looking  exceedingly 
well,  her  fully,  but  not  too  fully,  developed  form  appeared  to  much 
advantage  in  evening  dress — is  there  any  harm  in  putting  it  in 
another  way,  and  confessing  that  her  large  white  shoulders  and 
rounded  arms  were  pleasant  to  behold  ?     Goethe  says  that  no  one 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Digitized  by  GOOglC 


230  ASPEN  COURT. 

who  really  cultivates  his  faculties  will  allow  a  day  to  pass  in  which 
he  does  not  listen  to  some  fine  music,  gaze  on  a  good  painting, 
and  talk  to  a  beautiful  woman — and  that  is  by  no  means  the  worst 
counsel  that  ever  came  from  Grermany.  And  then  besides  herself 
Mrs.  Forester's  box  contained  a  younger  lady,  dScolletie  like  her 
friend,  and  with  nearly  as  muck  excuse,  and  possessing  a  face 
whose  attraction  lay  rather  in  its  intelligence  than  its  regularity  of 
feature.  By  daylight  yoa  might  have  found  a  good  many  faults 
in  that  little  girPs  appearance,  but  she  managed  her  black  curls, 
her  long  black  eyelashes,  and  her  very  good  teeth,  and  her  flexible 
figure,  with  a  sort  of  piquant  restlessness  which  lured  the  eye 
to  follow  her  movements,  against  the  advice  of  the  judgment. 
She  was  obviously  ready  to  be  saucy  and  intimate  on  the  slightest 
provocation ;  but  if  you  desisted  from  talking  to  her,  and  if  you 
retired  aend  watched  her  with  that  calm  artistic  regard — the  only 
way,  I  hope,  in  which  you  ever  notice  such  matters — the  eye  and 
the  lip  did  not  tell  you,  I  think,,  that  the  poor  girl  was  happy. 

*^  Stay  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Forester,  with  one  of  her  most  sun^ 
shiny  smiles,  as  Bernard,  having  acquitted  himself  of  the  usual 
profundities  about  the  badness  of  the  house,  and  the  goodness  of 
the  singers^  and  the  ugliness  of  the  people  to  whom  the  royal  box 
had  been  lent  that  night,  and  so  forth,  began  to  consider  whether 
he  should  depart.  ^^  Don't  go  away.  I  listen  to  music  sometimes^ 
but  Miss  Maynard  never  does,  sa  you  may  talk  as  much  as  you 
please." 

*'  How  can  you  say  so  ?"  replied  Miss  Maynard,  shaking  up  her 
curls  as  she  looked  into  Carlyon's  face  with  a  steady  gaze,  and 
then  shaking  them  agaia  as  she  affected  to  look  down  for  a  second. 
The  moveraeots  were  nothing,  but  they  were  high  ait,  for  the 
action  left  on  his  eye  a  picturesque  impression  of  aa  animated 
countenance,  which  his  memory  daguerreotyped  at  once  and  for 
the  futm*e.  Curlpapers  and  a  nightcap,  if  there  be  such  things  ixi 
the  world,  would  not  e&ce  that  first  glancing,  sketchy  recoUecr 
tion — '^  How  can  you  say  so,  when  I  have  hardly  uttered  a  word 
since  the  opera  began  ?" 

"  Well,  now  utter  a  good  many.  Any  political  news,  Mr.  Car- 
lyon  ?  Of  course  you  will  not  tell  me,  but  it  is  good  practice  for 
a  rising  diplomatist  to  be  questioned  by  idle  people.'^ 

"  I  know  of  none,"  said  Bernard,  "  except  that  it  is  very  doubtr 
ful  whether  Lumley  will  have  this  place  next  year." 

^^Take  that  chair.  Mr.  Selwyn  told  me  last  night  that  you 
were  a  learned  authority  on  music*  Is  that  so,  and  are  you  a  be* 
liever  in  any  one  particular  school,  and  intolerant  of  all  others  ? 
Because  nobody  will  give  you  credit  for  understanding  Beethoven 
unless  you  scoff  at  Bellini." 

^^  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  scoff  with  you  in  any  direction  you 
please,"  said  Carlyon ;  *'  but  it  seems  very  possible  to  appreciate 
both  Fidelio  and  this  thing  " 

^^  I  tell  you,  no.  No  man  am  serve  two  maeski.  Music  is  the 
next  thing  to  love.  Can  a  man  love  two  women  at  once  ?  Answer 
that,"  said  Mrs.  Forester,  leaning  a  little  forward,  and  looking  up 


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ivlo  Bernascl^i. qrei^  a»  if  die  vp&tb  earaettly  aolnog ftr  ai  pM»«f 
iBfopui  fttieft. 

^  WuhooA  anawtrin^  for  libc  espanaTesess  off  otfwr  pcejrial^ 
affbctioiui,''  repfied  be,  ^  I  am  inclkied  to  tfiinb  that  I  evnld  net"* 

'^  Did  yoa*  erer  tiy  f^  jerked  ia  Misa  Majnaid,.  wi^  anotlm 
tosfr  of  the  black  oarte. 

^  The  aoawer  is  on  bis  toDgue,**  aaid  Mrs.  Foreator;  ^  but  be 
flmka  that  ha^ng  known  you  fov  about  five  minmtes  only,  yon 
may  imagine  it  prematore.  He  will  not  besttate  when  be  ia  a 
little  better  acquainted  with  yon,  Mary^  to  say  whaterec  cotaca 
iBto  his  bead — or  heart.  He  wag  going  to  decfaje  that  be  never 
felt  more  temptation  to  try  titan  at  tbts-  moment^' 

^  Nobody  who  Uked  you  could  possibly  like  me^"  mtorted  Mary 
Maynard^  with  some  baste. 

^^  Me,  my  dear  ebild !  I  was  not  so  presun^ituoiis/'  said.  Mrs* 
Foresterj  careAilly  keeping  out  of  ber  tone  the  contempt  that  was 
most  asanredly  at  ber  heart.  ^  But  Mr.  Coiyon  is  an  engaged 
man — at  least,  so  Lord  Rookbnry  says.^ 

'^Ob,  how  capitnl  !'*  said  Miss  Maynaad,  brightening  up  with  a 

.  great  show  of  delight.    ^  Now  we  shall  be  the  best  of  friends.    I 

Ske  engaged  men,  becaose  they  cannot  misinterpret  any  nonsense 

dne  talks*     I  am  so  glad  you  are  engaged,  Mr.  Carlyon.    TeU  me 

all  about  the  young  lady,  won't  you  ?** 

Bemavd  was  a  little  puzzled.     If  he  bad  met  tfaia  unhesitating 
Mary  Maynard  in  a  different  atmosphere,  he  would  bore  had  a 
border  thought  for  ber.     In  ftct,  if  he  had  flirted  with  her  on  the 
stamaae  at  some  party  eastward  of  the  Eden  of  civilizaitien,  he 
wottld  merely  hare  cafled  her  a  frst  girl,  and  given  ber  some  more 
champagne.    But  how  she  should  come  to  be  the  praiegie  of  Mrs^ 
Forester,  who  went  to  Rotherbitbe  House,  and  who  was  eoafiden*> 
tial  with  a  Minister.     And  then,  again,  why  bad  that  old  Eail 
been  tedking  to  Mrs.  Forester  about  him  ?     However,  one  mnst 
speak,  and  not  think,  with^  two  women  in  an  opera-box ;  and  so 
Bernard^  resolving  to  oompvefaend  the  matter  as  he  might,  caught 
mp  Miss  Maynard's  edifying  tone,  and  between  them  tbey  manetged  ^ 
to  get  through  a  good  deal  of  exceeding  nonsense  b^bre  the   V 
evening  was  over.      Mrs.^  Forester  took  but  little  riiare  in  the     ^ 
chatter,  but  when  rile  did  interpose  it  was  to  lend  it  a  Mttle  increase 
ef  earnestness^  and,,  rather  adroitly,  to  interest  the  speakers  in 
another.    And  whoa  Anrina  was  made  happy,,  she  said — 
If  you  young  people  do  not  care  about  the  ballet,  we  will  go 
/on  are  engaged  to  me,  Mr.  Carlyon,  yon  know.^ 

His  arm  was,  of  course,  Mrs.  Forester's,  as  they  went  to  tiie 
carriage,  but  as  be  handed  Miss  Maynard  io^  she  not  only  took 
bis  hand,  but  pressed  it  with  evident  intention*  Nothing  bnt 
gMBtitnde,  of  course^  for  his  having  amused  ber  so  well.  But  she 
sever  spoke  once  on  their  way  to  Park  Street 

Mrs.  Forester's  house  was  small,  bat  perfect  in  its  way,  mid 
proving  a  taste  which  somewhat  vindicated  b^  in  Beniard's  eyes 
from  certain  saspicion^  that  came  across  him.  The  supper-room 
was  delightful.      It  was  sufficiently  but  softly  lighted,  and  the 

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28S  A8PEN  OOUBT. 

ample  and  luxurious  cbairs  and  couches  indicated  that  the 
suppers  there  were  not  things  to  hurry  over  or  run  awaj  from. 
The  table  was  laid  for  six,  but  from  a  note  which  Bernard  did 
not  see  given  to  the  lady,  but  which  must  have  been  given  her 
or  she  could  not  have  had  it,  she  read  with  a  slight  expression  of 
regret  that  two  sister  Falkners  had  been  prevented  from  coming. 

'^  Dear  girls,  both,''  she  said,  '^  and  I  am  very  sorry  you  do  not 
meet  them.  I  asked  Lord  Rookbury  to  come  in,  too,  but  he  sent 
round  word  that  he  must  go  out  of  town.  So  we  are  sadly  re- 
duced, and  you  must  amuse  our  sadness,  Mr.  Bernard  Carlyon.*' 

He  did  his  best  We  will  have  no  hypocrisy.  That  young 
man  was  beginning  to  feel  somewhat  elated  with  his  removal  into  a 
pleasanter  sphere  of  life  than  that  in  which  he  had  passed  previous 

J  ears.  He  was  scenting  the  aroma  of  aristocratic  society.  He 
ad  lately  been  the  guest  of  an  Earl,  had  been  introduced  to 
Rotherhithe  House,  had  been  made  the  secretary  to  a  Minister, 
and  was  now  admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful women  at  the  West  End — the  idea,  snobbish  or  not,  is  written 
down  deliberately.  It  is  certain  that  he  ought  to  have  been  more 
of  a  philosopher,  that  he  ought  to  have  remembered  that  all  men  ^ 
are  equal,  and  that  it  can  make  no  difference  in  a  lady's  merits 
whether  she  resides  in  Whitehall  or  Whitechapel.  But  I  never 
pretended  to  depict  a  perfect  young  man — whom  should  I  ask  to 
sit  to  me  ?  I  repeat,  that  the  sociid  influences  had  begun  to  tell 
upon  Bernard  Carlyon — that  he  felt  he  was  exalted  to  a  better 
level  than  heretofore,  and  he  was  stimulated  to  seem  to  deserve  the 
position  he  was  acquiring,  and  to  acclimatize  himself  therein. 
And,  therefore,  when  Mrs.  Forester  desired  him  to  amuse  her,  and 
the  piquante  Mary  Maynard,  this  young  man  resolved  to  do  his 
best  to  that  end.  It  is  possible  that  the  tone  of  the  new  world 
into  which  he  had  been  taken  was  not  to  be  caught  in  an  instant, 
and  that  the  keen  and  practised  eye  of  Mrs.  Forester  mig^t  re- 
mark  somewhat  too  much  of  effort,  and  too  evident  a  desire  to 
please ;  but  if  so,  she  kept  her  criticism  to  herself,  and  gave  the 
frankest  smile,  and  the  silveriest  laugh  to  the  wit  of  the  young 
secretary.  He  played  his  part  well,  whipped  the  trifle,  called 
talk,  with  an  adroit  hand,  and  finding  that  the  slightest  dash 
of  foreign  flavour  was  not  unwelcome  to  the  taste  of  Mrs. 
Forester,  he  availed  himself  of  certain  Parisian  recollections 
which,  if  indiscreet, he  managed  discreetly  enough,  and  which  were 
quietly  appreciated  by  Lucy  Forester,  and,  it  must  be  said,  still 
more  evidently  relished  by  Mary  Maynard.  And  the  little  supper 
being  perfectly  served,  and  Mrs.  Forester's  wine  being  so  ex- 

auisite,  that  Carlyon  wondered  who  could  attend  to  it  for  her, 
le  party  became  exceedingly  radiant  as  the  Sabbath  came  in. 
Mrs.  Forester  lay  back  in  her  delightful  chair,  and  resting  her 
classic  head  upon  a  soft  little  cushion,  listened  with  the  most 
charming  smile,  and  retorted  without  taking  the  trouble  to  move 
her  eyes  from  the  lamp,  while  that  strange  Mary  Maynard,  under 
some  pretence  or  other,  had  curled  herself  up  in  a  comer  of  the 
couch  on  which  Bernard  was,  and  sat  in  a  sort   of  Oriental 


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ASPEN  COUBT.  238 

attitude  which  had  mainj  advantages,  not  the  least  being  that 
it  enabled  Carlyon  to  observe  that  her  foot  was  exceedinglj 
pretty. 

**  We  have  langhed  enongh,''  said  Mrs.  Forester.  "  Now  let  ns 
talk  some  metaphysics." 

^  That  we  may  laugh  the  more,''  said  Bernard.  ''But  who 
knows  any  i    I  am  afraid  mine  are  forgotten.'' 

^  I  thought  it  was  an  amusement  for  two,  not  three,^  said  Mary 
Maynard.  ''  At  least  I  have  noticed  that  it  always  ends  in  whis- 
pering, which  seems  absurd  among  three  people.  But  I  want 
you,"  she  added  to  Bernard, "  to  tell  me  something  about  that  lady 
whom  Lord  Rookbury  mentioned — I  am  very  curious  to  know 
what  sort  of  a  person  would  enchant  you." 

Bernard's  heart — or  was  it  his  conscience? — gave  him  the  least 
twitch,  as  he  endeavoured  to  answer  with  the  falsehood  which 
ordinary  civility  seemed  to  require. 

''  Nonsense ! "  said  Miss  Maynard,  with  a  little  pout.  ''  I  ex- 
pected a  better  answer  from  you.  I  am  certain  that  I  resemble 
her  in  not  one  single  respect."  A  truth  which  Bernard  admitted 
to  himself,  not  exactly  with  dissatisfaction.  ''  But  I  will  describe 
her  to  you,"  continued  the  young  lady.     "  Shall  I  ? " 

*'  One  would  like  to  know  how  accurate  Lord  Rookbury  is." 

**  But  my  description  has  nothing  to  do  with  Lord  Rookbury. 
I  believe  that  he  told  Lucy  nothing  about  her.  I  judge  from  your 
own  character,  which  I  have  been  reading  all  the  evening." 

*'Had  I  known  that,  you  should  have  had  a  more  amusing 
page,"  replied  Bernard.  "  But  will  you  tell  me  what  you  have 
read?" 

"  Some  of  it.  You  are  very  proud  —  therefore  you  have  chosen 
a  lady  who  will  do  you  honour.  So  she  is  beautiful,  and  graceful, 
and  accomplished.  You  are  very  worldly  yourself,  but  you  ridicule 
worldly  people ;  I  suppose,  therefore,  that  she  is  something  rdi* 
gious,  and  pious,  and  all  that.  I  can  hardly  tell  about  her  appear- 
ance, but  she  is  fair,  because  Mrs.  Forester  is  so,  while  I  am  dark, 
and  you  have  been  looking  at  her  almost  all  night,  and  scarcely 
ever  at  me.  And  I  think  she  is  tall,  for  a  reason  which  I  shall  not 
tell  you." 

"  AH  wrong,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Forester,  to  Bernard's  surprise : 
''  I  mean  all  except  the  grace  and  beauty,  of  course." 

**  I  do  not  believe  it,"  replied  Miss  Maynard,  almost  vehemently. 
"  What  is  the  reason  he  has  hardly  looked  at  me  ?  Don't  tell 
me  r^  And  her  tone  was  growing  so  serious,  that  Bernard  decid- 
edly looked  at  her  this  time,  and  privately  wondered  whether  he 
could  have  filled  her  wineglass  once  too  often. 

**  Is  her  foot  prettier  than  Mary's?"  asked  Mra.  Forester, 
laughing. 

'^  O,  foot ! "  said  the  singular  girl,  immediately  pulling  it  under 
her  drapery,  but,  almost  immediately  afterwards  reproducing  it, 
with  a  half-smile. 

At  this  moment  a  slip  of  paper  was  brought  in  to  Mrs.  Forester* 
She  rose  at  once. 

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SH  XBSWX  COVKT. 

**  Take  can  lof  lam,  Mary^^  aaid  idie,  in  a  cnrioiis  tone,  as  the 
left  the  Toom.  As  the  d(K>r  closed,  Bernard  turned  to  his  aHmotire 
companion^  and  found  she  was  gazing  wistfully  at  him,  with  fKNue- 
thing  iibe  prepaiaftions  for  a  cry.  What  hard  iseBlmes  men  are ! 
His  thoughts  immediately  recurred  to  the  waneglaBa. 

■^  I  know  you  think  me  very  ^trange,*^  said  she,  afiler  a  pause 
which  he  had  hardly  known  how  to  break.  And  the  aympionoto 
of  an  outbreak  became  more  and  more  erident.  But  she  strug- 
gled with  her  impulse  6x  a  moment. 

^  Don't  make  a  common-place  civil  answer,'^  she  said,  ^^or  I 
shall  have  no  patience  with  you.  I  know  your  thoughts.  You 
AM  sitting  there  despising  me  as  hard  as  you  can.  Don-t  tdl 
me  !  " —  a  phrase  which  the  young  kdy  aeenied  to  affeot.  "  Pre- 
sently you  wA\  go  away,  and  as  you  light  your  cigar  in  the  street 
you  will  smile  and  say,  ^  Queer  girl  that — somethmg  wrong.'  And 
to-morrow  you  will  sit  down  and  write  to  Miss,  and  tdl  yom: 
dearest  love  that  you  went  out  to  supper,  and  met  the  oddest  sort 
of  girl,  with  her  dress  off  her  shoulders,  and  black  hair,  not  alto- 
gether u^y,  but  cradled,  you  believe ;  and  then  you  will  make  a 
id^etcfa  of  me  for  Miss's  amusement,  and  assure  her  that  she  has 
no  cause  for  jealous*  I  know — donH — tell — me!^  And  she  almost 
gasped.  Bernard  compassionately  took  her  hand  (a  very  soft  and 
wami  one),  and  she  looked  up  quite  piteously. 

^  Say  you  will  not  write  that  in  your  letter,''  said  Mary,  in  the 
most  earnest  and  petitioning  way. 

^  I  should  never  have  thought  of  writing  anything  like  it,*'  -said 
iCatlyon  kindly.    ^  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"  O,  I  don't  know,''  said  Mary,  kneeling  upon  the  couch.  "  But 
i  am  so  wretched  !" 

A  single  silver  sound  was  j«st  audiUe,  as  if  a  small  table-bell 
bad  been  struck,  outside  the  room. 

^  If  I  could  tell  you  everything,"  said  she,  still  kneding ;  '^bat 
that  is  iiiq)os6ible  now.  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  e^er  see  yaa 
again." 

^  Certainly,  if  yoo  wish  it,'^  said  Bernard,  not  exactly  knowing 
what  <^e  to  -say. 

"  O,  I  do,  I  do,  80  much !"  she  replied,  sobbing.  "  Will  you 
promise  it,  will  you  pledge  yourself  to  it.  There,  I  am  sure  you 
will,  and— and — ^ 

it  was  so  evident  that  she  meant  to  be  kissed,  by  way  of  con- 
firmation of  the  promise,  that  there  was  really  no  appeal ;  and^ 
flkough  of  course,  Bernard,  under  existing  circumstances,  most 
areluctantly  approached  her  lips,  lie  did  touch  them.  And  ^edier 
she  had  bent  too  fitr  forward  in  her  kneefUng  position,  or  however 
eke  it  mi^  happen,  but  a  cloud  of  Uack  curls  fbll  upon  his 
cheek,  and  Mary  Maynard  into  his  arms.  He  could  hardly  lodk 
(tip  for  a  moment  or  so,  but  as  her  curls  iell  baok  from  his  face> 
he  did,  «nd  met  another  {faze. 

"Which  is  the  white  Hennitage,  young  CarJyonf  said  Mr. 
S^ywmd.  «' Ah!  ibis,  I  think,"  be  added,  iquietly  fiBing  his 
glass. 

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Afimai   OMTST, 


CHAPTER  XXrv, 
'STONE   WALLS  DO  MOT   A  PRISON  MAIX." 


Mr.  Chequbrbsmt's  peace  was  easQ  j  made  for  him  by  Beniard, 
die  ratber  that  the  %M  If  ole,  as  Paul  very  improperly  termed  lits 
emplayer^  Imd  just  received  indtroctioiifi  to  institute  certain  Chan- 
eerjr  proceedkrgs,  of  great  costlioesB,  en  bekalf  of  one  of  PaHl^s 
eovntry  relatives.  But  there  were  some  other  people  less  piacaUe 
llwD  the  head  of  the  firm  cf  Melemrorth  and  iPenkridge,  and  one 
mornmg,  early,  Mr.  Paul  Gheqnerbent,  throwing  aside  the  stream- 
ing curtains  of  bis  shower-bath,  stepped  evt  to  confront  a  jolly- 
looking  man,  who  had  somebew  slidden  into  the  bedroom  while 
Paul  was  concealed  within  that  temple  of  heahh,  and  who,  good- 
naturedly  enongh,  invited  him  to  dress  at  his  leiaore,  aad  to  come 
and  breakfast  at  the  house  of  a  common  friend.  To  show  that  be 
vofM  take  no  denial,  he  opened  tbe  door,  and  admitted  another 
gentleman,  of  aoraewbat  less  plearing  ooimtenaoCe,  whom  he  re- 
quecrted  to  witness  the  invitation.  Paul  felt  ralAier  staggered,  but 
lie  had  been  expecting  the  blow  for  a  long  time;  and,  as  the 
daesic  auAority  whence  we  derive  so  much  consolation  in  onr 
afflietions  sonoronsly  observes:  Meditatio  futuromm  malmrwrn 
lenit  enrum  adventu$.  And  it  might  have  iatlen  at  a  worse  time, 
for  he  had  some  sovereigns  in  his  pocket,  and  Angela  bad  gone 
off  to  play  a  short  engagement  in  die  country.  So  he  baoaded 
his  cigar-case  to  liie  annister  of  law,  dressed,  and  in  due  course 
iband  himself  breaking  bis  ef^  at  tbe  very  taUe  whereon  his 
tfriend,  Mt.  Bliber,  bad  written  Carlyon  tbe  letter  contained  ki  omr 
last  chapter  but  one.  As  soon  as  his  arrival  at  the  Hotel  Jera- 
«alem  had  been  notified  to  the  proprietors  of  similar  retreats, 
several  of  them  waited  npon  him  with  documents  to  which  bis 
attention  would  be  requisite  before  he  could  retnm  to  his  home. 
Mref^  Paul  had  been  taken  in  execatiiMi  for  a  tailor^s  bill  oi  fifty- 
five  pounds,  and  detainers  to  the  amount  of  a  couple  of  hundred 
more  were  lodged. 

His  first  imfpnlse,  of  course,  was  to  pronounce  a  series  of  grave 
iwrectivos  against  the  law  of  imprisonment  for  debt,  the  absurdly 
of  which  be  demonstrated  with  great  deamess  to  tbe  grinning 
few-bey  who  attended  npon  him,  and  to  the  unhappy  small 
clerk  of  whom  Bliber  wrote,  who  still  lingered  in  the  expensive 
sponging-bouse,  in  the  bof)e,  daily  growing  fainter,  that  bis  poor 
IHfle  wife  migbt  be  able  to  scrape  together  money  enough  for  bis 
Telease.  To  them  Paul  laid  it  down  in  the  most  convincing 
manner  Chat  Kberty  was  the  birtbrigbt  of  man,  and  that  his  fellow- 
man  bad  no  right  to  take  it  away,  except  for  crime  ;  and,  also, 
that  incarceration  was  ridiculous  as  well  as  unjust,  because  it  pre- 
rented  a  man  exerting  bimseif  to  pi^  bis  cieciitors.  If  walls  have 
ears,  those  of  a  sponging-honse  must  be  dreadfnily  bored  willi 
these  two  arguments,  which  are  regarded  in  riieriHs'  official  cirdds 
as  part  of  the  form  tiuroogh  which  an  imprisoned  deblor  is  bound 
to  go.    But  Mr.  Chequerbent  having  relieved  his  mind  by  this 


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2S6  ASPSN  OOUBT. 

protest  against  the  system  which  made  him  the  guest  of  Mr. 
Aarons,  speedily  became  more  practical,  and,  sending  for  that 
individual,  took  him  into  council.  Mr.  Aarons  gave  him  tolerably 
straightforward  advice. 

"  It 's  no  good  talking  about  what  you  will  do,  or  what  you 
won't  do,  until  you  see  what  you  can  do,  you  know.  Don't  be  in 
a  hurry.  You  can  be  pleasant  enough  here  for  a  day  or  two, 
while  you  see  how  things  is  to  go.  Take  a  bit  of  paper  and  write 
down  every  shillbg  you  owe  in  the  world,  from  this  here  tailor 
down  to  last  week's  washing,  and  then  see  whereabouts  you  are. 
What  time  will  you  dine  ?  There  11  be  a  jynt  at  three,  but  you 
can  have  what  you  like." 

So  Paul  made  out  a  statement  of  his  affairs,  in  a  way  he  had 
never  done  before,  and  was  astonished  to  find  what  a  goodly 
muster-roll  of  creditors  he  could  produce,  and  more  astonished 
tfian  pleased  to  find  how  little  he  bad  to  show  for  money  which 
would  have  to  be  paid  one  day  or  other.  And  he  actually  calcu- 
lated his  allowance,  and  the  extra  sums  he  had  received  from  his 
guardian,  and  having  spent  all  this,  and  adding  his  bills  to  it,  he 
found  that  he  was  linng  very  discomfortably  at  the  rate  of  about 
seven  hundred  a-year.  Mentioning  this  discovery  to  the  small 
clerk,  the  latter  began  to  cry,  and  said  that  he  had  been  as  happy 
as  the  day  was  long  on  one  hundred  and  forty,  with  his  little  wife 
and  two  little  rooms;  but  that  was  all  over  now;  their  furniture 
must  be  sold,  and  she  must  go  back  to  her  mother. 

*^  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Paul  earnestly,  ^^  that  a  fellow 
can  keep  a  wife  for  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  a  year !  Why, 
it  has  cost  me  a  deuced  deal  more  than  that  for  dinners  only, 
during  the  last  year  ! " 

^^A  hundred  and  forty  pounds  a  year  is  seven  shillings  and 
sevenpence-farthing  a-day,  sir,  as  you  know,  or  about  two  pounds 
thirteen  and  uxpence  a-week." 

^'  No,  1 11  be  hanged  if  I  know  an3rthing  of  the  kind,^  said  Paul, 
^^  or  how  you  find  it  out,  but  1 11  take  your  word  for  it<  But  I 
suppose  two  people  might  manage  on  it  Let 's  see.  BreakfiastB, 
coffee,  ham,  and  eggs,  we  11  say.  Well,  they  charge  two  shil- 
lings at  a  moderate  hotel;  I  suppose  it  could  be  done  at  home 
for  eighteen-pence.  By  Jove !  that 's  only  one,  though.  Well,  a 
woman  don't  eat  so  much  as  a  man  —  say  half-a-crown  for  two. 
Lunch,  a  shilling.  Then  dinner.  Well,  you  can  dine  decently 
enough  at  a  slap-bang  for  eighteen-pence,  that's  three  shillings, 
and  I  suppose  you  couldn't  do  it  cheaper  at  home :  making  in  all 
—what  did  I  say  ? — ^yes,  that 's  six  ana  six.  And  then  supper — 
by  Jove !  there 's  only  one  and  a  penny  for  supper !  You  must 
starve  your  wife,  sir ;  there 's  no  other  way  of  doing  it." 

^^God  bless  me,  sir!"  said  the  little  clerk,  quite  alarmed 
'^  you  've  taken  and  eaten  up  all  the  money.  Where 's  the  rent 
and  the  coals,  and  my  clothes,  and  my  wife's,  and  the  money  to  b 
pot  away  against  her  confinement  P  " 

^  O,  do  people  put  away  money  for  those  things  ? "  said  Paul 


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ASPEN  OOUBT.  237 

who  began  to  think  there  werej  some  matters  he  had  not  considered 
in  his  earlier  life* 

*'  And  then  there 's  the  charwoman  that  comes  to  do  the  rough 
work,  she  must  be  paid,  and  as  for  any  little  excursion  on 
Sunday—" 

''  That's  wicked,''  said  Paul,  ''and  I  shall  decidedly  tax  that 
off  your  bill." 

'*  If  you  knew  the  good  it  did  us  both,  sir,  when  I  have  been 
wearing  out  my  eyes  over  accounts  all  the  week,  and  my  wife  has 
seen  nothing  but  a  dirty  red  brick  wall,  and  1  have  had  the  noise 
•of  wheels  in  my  ears,  and  she  the  clatter  and  screaming  of  the  court 
near  our  house,  which,  besides,  is  not  drained  as  it  ought  to  be, 
or  the  lodgers  would  not  look  quite  so  white— to  get  into  a  Par- 
liamentary train  on  a  Sunday  morning,  and  for  a  few  pence  to  be 
placed  among  quiet  green  trees  in  God's  fresh  air,  and  so  get  up 
strength  and  spirits  for  another  week's  work— but  I  shall  nerer 
do  it  ans^toore,"  sobbed  the  poor  little  man,  quite  despond- 
ingly. 

''  Bat  I  am  damned  if  you  shan't !"  exclaimed  Paul,  who  was 
easily  moved,  and  now  felt  outrageous  on  considering  his  compa- 
nion's hardships.  ''  I  shall  stick  your  debt  in  among  mine,  it 's 
no  great  matter  when  one 's  about  it,  and  we  '11  get  out  together." 
But  the  small  clerk  shook  his  head,  and  looked  up  with  a  watery 
and  incredulous  smile  at  such  an  unbusiness-like  suggestion. 

*'  By  Jove  !"  continued  Mr.  Chequerbent,  **  it  «  a  hard  matter, 
and  no  mistake,  when  such  a  little  money  serves  to  make  two 
people  happy,  that  they  should  not  have  it  There 's  something 
wrong  in  this  world,  and  that 's  all  about  it  The  Coming  Man 
hasn't  come,  and  he  keeps  us  waiting  in  a  most  disgusting  manner. 
Perhaps  I  'm  the  Coming  Man  myself,  and  don't  know  it.  Any 
how,  I  '11  be  the  Coming  Man  for  you,  and  mark  my  words,  if  I 
don't  And  here's  the  Coming  Woman.  Ill  go  and  smoke 
in  the  cage,  and  leave  you  to  yourselves."  And  bowing  respect- 
fully to  the  rather  pretty  little  meek-eyed  wife,  who  came  in  at 
that  moment,  and  dutifully  tried  to  get  up  a  smile  for  her  hus- 
band's consolation,  though  she  had  clearly  no  smiling  stuff  in  her 
thoughts,  Paul  went  out  into  a  yard,  around  and  over  which  were 
iron  bars,  like  those  of  the  Zoological  Society's  bear-cages,  and 
began  to  establish  pantomime  relations  with  such  servant-maids  as 
appeared  at  the  windows  '^  giving  "  upon  the  den  of  wild  Chris* 
tians.  He  varied  these  amusements  by  efforts  for  the  conversion 
of  the  Jew  boy  in  attendance,  asking  him  the  lowest  sum  for 
which  he  would  eat  a  plate  of  boiled  pork,  and  go  to  the  play  on 
Friday  night,  with  other  facetiousness  of  the  same  original  descrip- 
tion. He  grew  weary,  however,  as  the  day  wore  on,  and,  per- 
haps, for  the  first  time  in  his  life  felt  a  decided  conviction  that  he 
was  deliberalely  losing  valuable  time.  So  he  sent  for  his  friend 
Carlyon,  in  whom  he  reposed  great  confidence.  Bernard  lost  no 
time  in  obeying  the  summons. 

^  You  don't  look  as  if  you  were  sorry  to  see  me  here,"  said 
Paul,  shaking  hands  with  Bernard. 

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^  I  ^  not,  oM  •fifllow,'*  Tetflied  €aflyon,  "  scftfiug  aside  the 
present  annoyance,  because  I  think  your  visit  here  wiH  "get  you 
into  the  rigbt  groore  for  the  fature.  New,  have  yoii  any  plan  for 
yourself?^' 

"  I  have  prepared  a  statement  of  my  liabilities,"  said  Paul,  with 
affected  pompousness,  ^  which  I  beg  to  place  in  your  hands.'^ 

"  A  very  good  sign,"  said  the  other.  "  I  give  you  credit  for  at 
once  taking  the  hull  49y  the  horns.  Wliat'*s  ^e  total?  Oh, 
come.  Five  hundred  and  fifty  odd,  iSb  ?  I  fancied  it  wouM  be 
Hiore — youVe  everything  down,  I  bope.^ 

^  Everything  but  the  money  you  sent  me  to  Southend  the  other 
day,  to  take  me  and  the  la<fies  out  tt  pftwn«" 

**  Ah  !  well,  that  may  stand,^  said  Bernard,  laughing.  ^  I  Ve 
a  Hen  on  tiie  ladies,  you  know,  and  I  have  a  strong  notion  diat 
you  11  want  to  pay  me  off,  ^some  of  these  <lays,  as  regards  one  of 
them.  Mrs.  Bong,  of  coune  I  mean.  But  now,  wjuit  do  yon 
•propose?"  w 

"  There  are  but  two  courses  open,  I  take  it,"  said  Paul.  ^*  I 
must  pay  these  fellows,  or  wipe  them  out.  Now,  the  firdt  I  can't 
tdte,  and  the  second — 

•*  You  shanH  take.  Let  m  try  a  third.  Can  you  manage  any 
money  at  all  ? " 

"  1  have  been  considering  th«t  interesting  problem.  I  think 
that  by  dint  of  several  piteous  letters,  deploring  the  en'or  of  my 
past  ways,  stating  that  my  eyes  are  now  open,  and  engaging  that  if 
■delivered  from  this  slough  of  despond  I  would,  with  the  help  of 
Providence,  pursue  a  new  life  in  future,  such  letters  being  pow- 
•dered  with  a  good  many  quotations  from  the  Prayer-book — ^you 
4nMild  stick  them  in  for  me,  old  fellow, — and  perhaps  blotted  with 
tome  water,  to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  my  tears — or  wodd 
thct  hetoootroag? — I  could  get  two  —utii  and  one  godmoAer 
to  come  out  iinth  a  hundred  ^-faece.  But  though  they  are  good 
souk,  and  all  that,  they  would  insisft  on  going  regularly  to  work, 
«nd  fieeing  that  the  tin  was  duly  applied.'* 

**  So  much  the  better.  You  write  your  letters,  and,  if  you  Hie, 
I  win  go  and  see  your  iriends,  and  prove  to  them  that  it's  all 
right." 

^^  Just  so ;  you  are  a  brick ;  and  you  are  so  grave  and  plausible 
Ihat  they  will  conceive  a  great  respect  for  you.  I  always  jcSced 
■myself  out  of  their  good  graces." 

"  Never  joke  with  duH  people ;  a  jofce'*s  lost  if  it^'s  not  under- 
-slood,  and  a  friend  if  it's  misundertsood.  Wait  for  a  safe  audi- 
ence, and,  in  the  meantime,  talk  ahout  the  weather,  and  the  ad- 
vantage of  Tailways  in  promoting  comnranication.  But  now,  \odk 
here.  If  you  get  your  three  hundred,  that  is  only  abont  half  of 
your  debts,  and  if  one  aunt  should  refuse  to  melt,  you  are  in  a 
mess.  I  see  that  a  number  of  these  creditors  ar^West-enders, 
who  charge  prices  calculated  on  long  credit,  bad  debts,  splendid 
shop-fronts,  and  heavy  rents.  There  is  no  partictdar  reason  for 
your  paying  for  either.  The  course  I  advise  is  that  yon  should 
send  some  fellow  round  to  all  ifbese  men  and  make  them  tea  offer. 


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jlwpjor  OODST.  *S8B 

Pbj  all-AelHde  oncn  i&  ftiB^  aadlbe^oflien  sonelhiBf  more  Tike 
^rbttt  is  fiur.  If  yon  do  met  kaaw  n  nrab  ^ko  ivmdd  do  it  well  I 
cm  kOr^dfiee  one  to  fonJ* 

^Wbo^8tbat,Cariyoiir' 

^A  man  named  Kether,  a  Jew,  wbo  wiB  do  your  wotl 
cspitaUy.'' 

*•  I  don't  like  Jew.*' 

^Whynot?*' 

***  WeH,  because  ihey  are  sure  to  cheat  you.'' 

**  There  are,  down  on  tbk  paper,  from  ihirty  to  forty  names  of 
m^n  who  irant  to  cheat  you,  and  I  don*t  see  that  one  of  them  is  a 
Jew's  name.  Is  Jones,  the  man  here  who  has  run  you  up  so 
awfully  for  costs,  a  Jew?" 

**  No,  not  he.  He  goes  to  an  Ebenezer  three  thnes  erery  Sun- 
day, and  whips  his  children  Kke  fun  if  they  laa^  when  walking 
home — one  of  them  told  me  so,  poor  little  beaaft.  But  I  don't  like 
Jcws.'^     # 

^'  I  do ;  and  I  fancy  I  know  a  good  deal  more  about  fliem  Ihan 
yon  do.  An  intellectual  Jew  is  the  best  thinking-machine  one  sees 
in  motion  :  he  mixes  the  mibtlety  of  the  East  ^th  the  energy  of 
Ibe  West — what  can  stand  against  the  union  ?" 

**  Nothing,**  said  Paul, "  and  that's  just  what  I  say.  You  are 
•oettain  to  be  done.** 

**  No,"  replied  Carlyon.  ^  The  Jew,  by  dint  of  the  two  quafi- 
^tiee  I  speak  of,  usually  succeeds  against  men  who  have  but  one, 
and  has  therefore  acquired  a  bad  name.  Defeat  is  not  scrupulous 
in  its  abuse  of  success.  But  I  repeat,  that  with  a  large  acquaint- 
ance  among  Jews  and  Christians,  I  have  no  right  to  say  that  the 
Jews  play  the  various  games  of  Kfe  less  fairly  than  the  Christians, 
^fltougfa,  from  the  simple  result  of  natural  qualifications,  the  Jews 
vtwe  often  win.  I  am  not  talking,  of  course,  of  the  debased  pvt 
tif  the  nation,  which  is  just  as  Tile,  though  not  quite  so  brutal,  as 
the  lowest  dlass  of  Christians,  i  -speak  of  the  upper  and  -middle 
orders.  I  would  sooner  confide  a  trust,  involving  difficulty,  to  -a 
Jew  of  Character,  ihan  to  almost  any  other  man." 

*' That's  your  heathenish  respect  for  the  head,  without  regard 
to  the  teart,"  said  Mr.  ChequeAent. 

**You  are  wrong  again,  Paulns  ^nriKus,"  said  his  friend. 
**Head  never  wins  in  the  long  mn,  without  heart,  audit  is 
because  the  quick,  warm  Oriental  heart  is  always  enlisted  in  the 
stmgg^,  that  the  Hebrew  triumphs  over  your  mere  shrewd  man 
of  business.  However,  I  don*t  want  to  convert  you  to  Judaism, 
%ut  only  to  my  particular  child  of  Judafa,  Leon  Kether;  and  if 
your  prejudices  are  not  too  strong,  I  will  at  once  go  and  try  to 
dind  him.^ 

**  Leon — didn't  be  rule  a  wife  and  have  a  wile?"  said  Pat/1. 
'^  I  wish  I  ha8  followed  his  example  in  the  latter  particular,  and  then 
I  shoifld  not  have  been  liere.  Though,  T)y  the  way,  there  *s  a 
poor  fdlowm  the  coBee-room  wTiom  marriage  has  not  kept  out  of 
mod  "  And  he  briefly,  but  after  his  own  feshion,  told  Carlyon 
"tte  deik^tflde. 


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240  ASPBH  oomrr. 

^^  Just  so.  He  will  be  ruined,^  said  Bernard  quietly.  '^  He 
will  go  over  to  prison,  and,  being  rather  a  feeble  creature,  will  be 
speedily  demoralized,  and  finally  be  discharged  as  a  pauper 
under  the  Act  For  the  rest  of  his  life  he  will  be  a  shabby,  sneak- 
ing, needy  wretch,  and  his  wife,  whq  is  unluckily  pretty,  will 
soon  weary  of  such  a  companion,  and  find  another  or  so.  Two 
people,  who,  if  they  were  a  little  cared  for,  would  plod  on,  contented 
and  respected,  will  become  rogue  and  the  other  thing.  Now,  if 
that  man  were  a  Jew,  he  would  be  taken  in  hand  by  four  or  five 
other  Jews,  who  would  lift  him  out  of  his  scrape,  taking  special 
good  care  of  themselves,  too,  and  he  would  be  kept  on  his  little 
legs — it  is  the  way  with  the  Jews,  and  not  altogether  an  unwi§e 
or  an  inhuman  one.** 

"  Where  did  you  pick  up  all  your  knowledge  of  them,  I 
wonder,  Carlyon  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  been  into  some 
queer  comers  in  your  time." 

"  Perhaps  I  have,"  said  Bernard,  "  and  now  I  will  i|pe  in  what 
queer  comer  I  can  find  Leon  Kether." 

In  a  short  time  Bernard  returned,  bringing  Mr.  Kether  with 
him.  The  Hebrew  was  a  small,  compact,  active  man,  dressed  with 
scrapulous  neatness,  but  without  ornament  of  any  kind.  His 
features  were  strong,  but  the  Jewish  type  was  not  very  obvious, 
nor  were  Paul's  prejudices  against  the  nation  called  into  violent 
action  by  anything  markedly  Hebraic  in  the  manner  of  his  new 
acquaintance,  which  was  easy  and  gentlemanlike.  Kether,  how- 
ever, having  speedily  made  out  Paul,  evidently  regarded  him  as  a 
child  put  into  his  hands  for  protection,  and  during  the  discussion 
on  Mr.  Chequerbent*s  afiairs,  invariably  turned  to  Bernard  for  a 
decision  on  any  questionable  point 

^^  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  able  to  manage  most  of  these 
people,"  said  Mr.  Kether.  "  I  shall  regularly  prepare  a  schedule 
of  your  liabilities  for  the  Insolvent  Court,  and  call  upon  the 
various  persons  as  if  to  ascertain  whether  ^ou  have  stated  their 
debts  accurately,  preparatory  to  your  passing.  Then,  you  see, 
they  will  be  inclined  to  look  at  any  middle  course  as  clear  gain  to 
themselves,  which,  indeed,  it  will  be.'^ 

"  And  anytime  hereafter,  you  know,"  said  Carlyon,  "  when  you 
are  rich,  you  can  reward  their  moderation  by  paying  them  their 
additional  charges  for  their  carved  shop  fronts,  and  for  their  bad 
debts.     It  is  a  comfort  to  you  to  know  that." 

^^  A  great  consolation,"  said  Paul.  *^  Indeed,  such  a  pajrment  is 
the  one  thing  to  which  I  look  forward  with  rapture." 

'^  You  have  not  much  in  the  acceptance  way  here,  I  see,"  said 
Mr.  Leon  Kether.  ^^  Is  there  any  other  paper  of  yours  out  Let 
us  have  everything.  No  blank  stamps  in  firiends'  hands — no  old 
ones  unretumed  when  the  new  ones  were  sent  ?  Recollect  No- 
thing like  sweeping  clean." 

*^I  don't  remember  anything  but  what  IVe  set  down,"  said 
Paul ;  "  but  I  will  go  over  the  ground  again  this  afternoon." 

*'  Strange  thing  how  careless  men  are  in  such  matters,"  said 
Kether.    *^  I  have  just  finished  a  buuness  arising  out  of  a  man's 


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ASPEN  COUST.  241 

Jieer  foyy  about  a  stamp.  I  'U  tell  yon  what  it  was — it  may  be  a 
warning  to  you.  There's  a  client  of  mine,  a  retired  colonel  in  the 
army,  living  down  on  a  small  estate  of  his  in  Staffordshire — we 
mustn''t  mention  names,  so  we  11  call  him  OreeUi  which  he  was,^ 
obseryed  Mr.  Kether  gravely.  "  Well,  sir.  Colonel  Green  had  a 
comfortable  little  income,  which  he  always  spent,  and  more,  and 
one  day  wanting  money  very  much  indeed  for  some  great  let  off 
or  another,  and  not  liking  to  come  to  me,  he  answers  one  of  these 
anonymous  advertisements  to  **  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  who  may 
have  whatever  sums  they  like  on  good  security,^  regular  swindle- 
traps.  He  determined  to  be  very  clever,  so  he  ran  up  to  town 
to  see  the  parties  himself.  He  was  received  by  an  elderly,  silver- 
haired  man,  with  a  white  cravat,  who  looked  a  good  deal  like  a 
banker,  and  whose  manner  was  very  perfect.  The  Colonel  stated 
his  wants,  which  amounted  to  six  hundred  pounds.  The  other 
said  that  ih^  ColoneFs  position  in  society,  and  his  being  a  landed 
proprietor,  made  the  transaction  matter  of  course,  and  took  out 
his  cheque  book,  at  which  old  Green's  eyes  began  to  twinkle,  and 
he  felt  his  waistcoat  pocket  swell  out  with  new  notes  and  sove- 
reigns. The  banker  paused,  and  then  said,  *  Colonel  Green,  if 
you  are  not  in*  any  hurry  for  this  money,  and  there  is  time  to  get 
a  regular  security  prepared,  you  may  have  it  at  the  market  price  ; 
but  if  you  happen  to  require  it  at  once,  you  will  have  to  pay  high.* 
I  neeiln't  tell  you  that  the  Colonel  did  happen  to  want  it  that 
very  day,  and  that  he  was  ready  to  pay  whatever  was  asked.  He 
was  therefore  required  to  give  a  bill  for  six  hundred  at  three 
months,  and  for  this  he  was  to  receive  five  hundred." 

'^  The  lenders  taking  one  hundred  for  interest,"^  said  Paul. 

"  Your  arithmetic  is  accuracy  itself,"  said  Mr.  Kether.  "  The 
bill  was  given,  and  the  cheque-book  came  out  again,  when  it  was 
discovered  that  it  was  so  near  four  o'clock  that  the  Colonel  could 
not  get  to  the  banking-house,  which  happened  to  be  a  Lombard- 
street  one  (a  curious  practice  some  people  have  of  preferring 
bankers  at  a  distance),  in  time  to  cash  it.  He  wanted  to  be  off  to 
Staffordshire  that  night.  ^  Sorry  for  that,'  said  the  silver-haired 
man,  musing.  '  I  '11  tell  you  what,  I  have  some  money  here,  I  fear 
not  much,'  and  he  opened  a  drawer.  ^  I  have  here  only  about 
fifty  pounds — but  what's  the  second-class  fare  to  your  place?' 
^  Sixteen  and  sixpence,'  says  the  Colonel,  wondering  what  he  meant. 
'Twice  sixteen  and  six  is  one  thirteen,'  says  the  banker;  'cab 
firom  here  a  shilling,  back  the  same,  that 's  one  fifteen.  If  you  like 
to  take  this  fifty  pounds  and  go  away  to-night,  and  to  pay  the  one 
fifteen  besides,  my  clerk  shall  get  the  money  as  soon  as  the  bank 
opens  in  the  morning,  and  b^  with  you  by  one  o'clock  with  it.  Let 
me  see — he  will  have  to  bring  you,  after  taking  off  this  fifty  aifd  the 
railway  fare,  four  forty-eight  five — is  it  not  so?'  *  Just  so,'  says 
the  Colonel :  ^  *  that  will  do  very  well.'  '  Don't  give  the  clerk 
anything  except  a  little  bread  and  cheese,  perhaps,'  says  the  ban- 
ker. *  Very  well,  poor  fellow,'  says  the  Colonel,  quite  humane. 
And  off  he  goes.'' 

"  And  no  clerk  came,  of  course,*'  said  Paul. 

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942  ASfJSH  cofSwaL 

^^  Yoauodec  eBtimate  the  talent  of  the.  j^astita^  Sir,?'  tqUiadK 
Kether.  ^'  He  oan^  by  a  still  eadiac  traia  than  that  appointee 
only  ba  did  not  bring  the  money,  but  said  thai  in  drawing  the  bill 
a  wrong  stemp  had  been  o^d,  whiob  made  it  i&formaly  so  he  hoA 
been  packed  ^  to  get  a  new  one,  but  thai  miotiier  clerk  waft 
actually  on  hia>  way  with  the  money.  He  got  the  new  bUl  frouL 
Green,  but  could  not  give  up  the  first  one,  not  having  it  with  him> 
however,  being  on  a  wrong  stamp,  that,  he  said,  was^  of  course,,  no^ 
use  to  anybody.  Away  he  went,  and  there,  naturally,  ended^  all 
the  ColonePs  transactions  with  the  silver-haired  man,  who  could 
never  be  heard  of  any  more,  and  who  by  a  curious  coincidence^ 
gave  up  his  offices  the  very  day  after  the  Colonel  had  seen  htm*; 
Well,  here  were  bills  for  twelve  hundred  pounds  somewhere.  Old 
Green  never  told  me  anything  of  this  until  the  last  minute,  or  I 
might  have  managed  better,  but  three  months^  and  three  days  after- 
wards, be  comes  to  me  with  a  penitent  &ce,  discloses  lus  foUy, 
and  also  two  writs,  each  for  six  hundred  pounds,  with  which  he 
had  that  day  been  served,  the  plaintiff  being  one  Abrahams,  of 
whom  he  had  never  heard  before.  Now,,  all  this  sort  of  swindle 
happens  every  day,  and  though  I  hope  the  story  will  warn  you,  Mr. 
Chequerbent,  such  stories  never  warn  anybody  else.  People  always 
think  theirs  is  to  be  the  exceptional  case,  and  that  the  thieves  theff' 
deal  with,  will,  for  once,  be  honest" 

"  But  what  was  the  end  ? "  asked  Paul ;  "  did  the  old  party  pay 
the  twelve  hundred,  less  the  fifty  ?" 

**  No,  he  could  not,  and,  if  he  could,  I  would  not  have  let  him. 
I  was  determined  to  root  out  the  swindle,  and  I  went  to  work  at 
once.  I  took  an  (dd  bailiff,  who  knows  every  rascal  in  London, 
into  my  service,  and  he  was  not  long  in  ascertaining  that  our 
friend  Abrahams  was  a  mere  man  of  straw,  and  kept  a  marine 
store  dowa  Batcliffe  Highway,  with  a  big  black  doll  hanging  out 
at  the  door.  Quite  clear  he  could  have  given  no  consideration  £nr 
such  bills.  But,  to  make  matters  safe,  my  bailiff  got  hdd  of  a 
son  of  Abrahams — Shadrach,  I  Uiink  his  name  was — a  horriUe 
Ifttle  fellow,  with  a  face  all  seamed  with  the  small-pox,  and  with 
such  a  lisp  that  it  was  a  wonder  he  ever  got  a  word  out  at  all* 
This  young  gentleman  had  quarrelled  with  his  fiither,  and  was 
ready,  on  being  paid  for  his  trouble,  to  swear  anything  likely  to 
upset  the  old  man's  case.  I  only  wanted  the  &ct,  and  got  it.  I 
gave  battle,  and,  on  the  trial,  old  Abrahams  disttncdy  swove  to 
having  given  twelve  hundred  pounds,  less  £scount,  for  the  bills^ 
while  young  Abrahams  as  distinctly  swore  that  his  father  had  not 
twelve  hundred  pence  in  the  wide  world.  The  jury  looked  at  pro^ 
babilities,  and  we  gained  the  day.'* 

"Bravo,"  said  Paul,  "1  like  to  hear  of  victory  going  m-ith 
justice." 

"  The  sentiment  is  good,  but  prematura,"  said  Mr.  Leon  Eether, 
"  as  we  were  a  long  way  firom  victory.  Abrahams'  backers  moved 
for  a  new  trial,  and  brought  a  whole  gang  of  witnesses  to  swear  that 
Shadrach  was  an  undutiful  boy  and  a  sad  liar,  for  that  his  affec* 
tionate  parent  was  a  man  of  wealth,  and  had  three  thousand 

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AAPEK  OOUBX.  249 

pounds  at  a  cexlain  back.  B«L  we  got  a-clecL  from  that  bank,  and 
he  floored  the  case  by  proying  that  no  such  person  as  Abrahams 
kept  an  account  there^  After  other  dodges^  and  much  fightings 
the  new  trial  was  refused,,  and  the  plaintiff  were  beaten  down 
agaia^  and  I  determined  to  let  them  know  it  I  got  execution 
against  them  for  the  whole  amount  of  costs,  which  had  Eun  up 
tremendously,  and  which  came  to  about  three  hundred  and  «xt^ 
pounds.  I  should  tell  you  that  I  wasted  a  very  important  affidavit 
&om  Master  Shadrach,.  as  to  feicts,  and  this  was  made.  But  before 
it  could  be  used,  the  excellent  Shadiach  contrived  to  steal  it  from 
my  clerk,  and  then  he  came  to  my  office,,  and  demanded  fifty 
pounds  before  he  would  give  it  up,  for  he  knew  how  much  I 
needed  it.  ^  Well,"  I  said,  ^  fifty  pounds  is  a  good  deal,  but  we'll 
talk  about  it ;  come  in — have  you  got  it  with  you  ?' — *  No,'  says 
he.  '  Lie,^  says  I  to  myself^  as  he  cama  into  my  inner  room.  I 
locked  the  door..  'Yon  uuduUful  scoundrel,'  says  I,  'you've 
stolen  my  document,  and  it 's-  in  your  pocket,  now  I  will  throw  you 
down  on  this  floor  and  strangle  you,  if  you  don't  give  it  up.'  He 
ran  round  and  round  my  room  like  a  inghDened  cat,  trying  the 
door,  and  rushing  intD  a  washing  closet,  but  it  was  of  no  use,  and 
then  he  ran  to  the  window,  but  luckily  I  'm  on  a  two-pair.  Then 
he  began  to  cry,  and  as  I  took  hold  of  his  neckcloth  he  produced 
the  paper,  and  begged  me  to  give  him  something.  '  When  your 
father's  in  gaol,'  said  I,  for  I  knew  what  would  happen.  I  put  my 
execution  into  the  officer's  hands,  but  old  Abrahams  could  not  be 
found— be  had  disappeared." 

'^  Like  the  silver-haired  man^"  said  PauL  ''  How  pleasant  to  be 
able  to  vanish  from  the  scene  as-  soon  as  it  becomes  disagreeable  ; 
I  wish  I  could  have  done  it  this  morning." 

''  Much  better  as  it  is»"  said  Bernard;  "  but  you  caught  your 
pIaintifi;Kether?" 

"Well,  Master  Shadrach  kept  hanging  about  my  staircase, 
looking  wistfully  at  me  every  day,  and  at  last  I  said  to  bim, 
*  What  will  you  sell  your  father  for,  you  scoundrel,  for  you  know 
where  he  is  ?' — *  Ha  !  ha !  Sell  my  father,'  says  he,  *  very  good, 
very  funny,  Mr.  Kether.' — '  Sell  him  or  get  out,'  says  1.  He  got 
out  that  day,  but  the  next  morning  he  came,  and  declared  that  he 
would  not  for  all  the  world  hurt  a  hair  of  the  old  man's  head, 
but  that  in  the  end  the  money  must  come  out  of  the  pocket  of 
a  brother-in-law,  whom  Mr.  Shadrach,  who  had  a  gift  for  hating, 
hated  venomously.  So  he  agreed  to  hand  over  his  father  to 
my  bailifis,  for  twenty  pounds,  to  be  paid  the  day  of  capture.  It 
was  no  business  of  mine  how  he  managed  it,  but  I  heard  that  the 
way  was  this.  The  old  Abrahams  was  hiding  in  a  house  at 
Chelsea,  and  the  young  one  forged  a  note  to  his  father  from  the 
brother-in-law,  inviting  the  ancient  rascal  to  come  and  spend  the 
Sabbath  with  him,  and  armed  with  this,  took  the  officer  to  the 
house  at  Chelsea.  Nothing  was  known  of  such  a  person  as 
Abrahams  until  the  forged  note  was  produced,  and  then  Shadrach 
and  the  officer  were  shown  into  his  bedroom.  I  am  told  that 
Shadrach's  pretended  indignation,  on  discovering  that  he  had 

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244  ASPEN  COURT. 

been  duped  into  consigning  bis  fiitber  to  prison,  was  fine  acting. 
He  tore  his  bair,  and  swore  bideouslj.  The  old  man  was  taken 
off  to  the  Fleet,  and  Sbadracb,  by  way  of  completing  the  farce, 
went  to  the  brother-in-law,  and  vituperated  him  furiously  for 
writing  the  very  note  Shadrach  had  forged,  and  for  thus  betraying 
the  poor  old  man.  Then  he  came  to  me  for  bis  money,  and  got 
it,  and  I  bad  got  old  Abrahams  for  three  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds.  Then  for  a  month,  I  had  pretended  friends  of  Abrahams 
coming  to  me  every  day  to  beg  me  to.  let  him  out  on  easier  terms 
than  my  claim.  He  was  very  old,  he  was  very  poor,  ihey  could 
raise  a  little — a  very  little — would  I  kill  the  poor  old  man  by  con- 
fining him  in  a  dungeon,  and  so  on.  I  had  one  answer  for  them 
all — ^  He  dies  in  gaol,  or  I  *m  paid  in  full.  Where  *s  the  three 
thousand  pounds  you  swore  to  ?'  So  first  they  offered  me  twenty 
pounds,  and  then  fifty,  and  then  a  hundred,  and  so  forth,  but  I 
would'  not  take  off  one  farthing,  and  at  last,  when  the  old  fellow 
had  been  in  gaol  for  a  month,  and  they  saw  I  was  determined,  a 
most  respectable  tailor  called  on  me,  and  paid  me  every  shilling.'' 
Mr.  Kether  speedily  took  leave,  promising  immediate  attention 
to  Paul's  affairs,  and  Bernard  followed  him,  after  advising  Paul  to 
keep  up  his  spirits,  as  he  was  now  likely  to  set  himself  right  with 
the  world,  and  to  go  on  pleasantly  for  the  future.  And  he  sent 
bim  in  a  number  of  books  of  a  class  suited  to  Mr.  Chequerbent's 
literary  taste,  which  was  not  severe.  And  even  when  Paul  heard 
himself  locked  into  his  bed-room,  for  fear  be  should  make  any  noc- 
turnal effort  to  depart  from  the  custody  into  which  he  had  fallen, 
he  only  laughed,  and  if  his  studies  had  led  him  among  the  older 
poets,  be  would  probably  have  quoted  the  line  which  gives  a  title 
to  our  chapter,  but  as  it  was,  be  contented  himself  with  apprizing 
the  person  outside,  that  he  was  to  mind  and  let  him  out  if  the 
house  caught  fire.  And  then  he  went  to  sleep  and  dreamed  of 
Angela  Livingstone. 


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245 


LUTHER  IN  CHINA. 

One  might  dogmatize,  and  say  a  great  many  Adc  and  sweeping 
things  about  Asia,  if^  unfortunately,  China  did  not  make  a  part 
of  it.  One  could  say  of  it,  that  it  knew  nothing  but  despotism^ 
and  never  could  invent  anything  but  despotism,  because  it  could 
never  give  security  to  property,  or,  indeed,  never  could  discover 
or  admit  any  kind  of  property  save  land,  and  the  precious  metals 
or  jewels.  Wealth  therefore  was  impossible,  except  by  enslaving, 
and  being  possessed  of  the  labour  of  men.  Whereas  the  true, 
fructifying,  and  interminable  wealth,  is  that  which  employs  man^ 
without  enslaving  him,  and  advancing  the  artizan  his  vearly 
provend,  without  taking  his  freedom  as  a  guarantee.  This  last 
social  feat  has  never  been  performed  by  any  Asiatics,  at  least  to 
anyextent  or  universality,  save  by  the  Chinese. 

There  is  scarcely  a  valuable  principle  such  as  we  consider  ex* 
clusively  European,  which  the  Chinese  have  not  invented  before 
any  Europeans  thought  of  it.  They  discovered  movable  letters  to 
print  with,  they  discovered  gunpowder,  the  compass,  decimal 
arithmetic.  They  subjected  the  military  to  civil  authority,  and 
whilst  admitting  wealth  to  descend  from  father  to  son,  they  or« 
dained  that  power  and  authority  should  not  so  descend,  with  the 
grand  exception  of  the  royal  or  imperial  family.  Revelation  was 
not  vouchsafed  to  them.  But,  independent  of  such  a  boon,  Con* 
fucius  made  the  best  attempt,  that  ever  was  made  by  man,  to 
erect  a  national  and  rational  religion.  It  was  their  singular  fate, 
however,  to  invent  these  things,  and  go  with  them,  as  it  were^ 
a  first  stage.  But  more  than  this  they  could  not  go.  They  could 
push  none  to  its  most  active  use  and  perfection.  All  great  ideas 
budded  with  them,  even  anterior  to  the  time  they  did  with  us,  but 
they  did  not  grow  above  a  certain  stature*  They  remained 
dwarf. 

The  boldest  original  thing  that  the  Chinese  have  achieved, 
and  which,  as  a  national  law,  they  founded  so  strongly,  that  even 
their  Tartar  conquerors  could  not  subvert  it,  was  the  rule  that  all 
places,  and  authority,  and  public  emolument,  should  be  given  to 
those  who  answered  best  at  a  public  examination,  without  any 
regard  to  birth,  power,  or  propinquity.  This  is  a  principle  which 
the  English  Parliament  has  just  thought  fit  to  apply  or  to  try  in 
the  year  1853,  and,  singular  to  say,  it  is  with  regard  to  the  East 
that  England  has  resolved  to  try  it.  A  certain  proportion  of 
places  in  India  is  to  be  given  to  the  best  answerers  at  a  public 
examination.  Every  one  has  still  in  his  ears  or  in  his  mind  the 
clever  attack  upon  this  principle  by  Lord  EUenborough,  in  the 
debate  on  the  India  Bill,  with  the  eloquent  answer  given  to  that 
attack  by  Mr.  Macaulay  in  the  Commons. 

The  Chinese  have  been  practising  this  law  for  a  great  many 
centuries,  with  many  marvellous  and  marked  results.    One  of 

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246  LUTHER  IN  CHINA. 

these  results,  is  the  uniting  of  the  yast  empire,  which  by  no  other 
instrumentality  is  so  powerfully  held  together.  No  man  of  any 
talent  or  authority  remains  in  his  own  town  6r  village.  If  he 
obtains  office,  he  may  be  sent  to  the  Great  Wall,  or  to  the  sea  of 
Canton — possibly  to  both  of  these  extremities  of  the  empire  in 
succession.  There  are,  consequently,  no  authorities  or  magnates, 
with  local  authority  or  herecKtary,  or  even  propertied  influence* 
llie  great  become  so  in  the  first  instance  by  their  talents,  and^ 
secondly,  by  tfieir  holding  a  place  in  a  vast  national  hierarchy, 
which,  like  a  huge  network,  binds  the  immense  empire  together. 

The  great  secret  of  the  Tartar  or  Mantchoo  subjugation  of  the 
Chinese,  or,  rather,  the  secret  of  the  latter's  submitting  to  it,  not 
<mly  at  first,  but  during  such  a  lapse  of  time,  is  no  doubt  that  the 
Tartar  princes  adopted  Chinese  laws  and  habits  of  administration 
and  of  advancement  to  office.  They  compelled  the  Chinese  to 
alter  their  costume,  and  shave  all  of  tneir  head,  save  the  only  lock, 
which  is  the  cherished  symbol  of  Turk  and  Tartar.  But  they  did 
not  extend  their  tyranny  to  more  serious  things.  Thus  the  Tar- 
tars introduced  their  own  religion,  that  of  Buddhism^  with  the 
Llama  of  Thibet  for  its  chief.  But  they  did  not  force  their 
religion  down  the  throats  of  the  people,  sdthough  they  favoured 
in  some  measure  the  priests  and  establishments  of  Buddhism.. 
The  Mantchoos,  indeed,  monopolized  to  themselves  chiefly  that 
profession,  which  the  Chinese  thonselves  despised,  the  mili- 
tary. And  they  had  the  good  sense,  at  the  same  time  that  they 
did  this,  to  leave  in  force  the  old  Chinese  regulation  and  law„ 
which  renders  a  military  functionary  always  subordinate  to  a  civil 
one.  Such  tolerance  and  obsequiousness  as  this,  shown  by  the 
victors  to  the  vanquished,  have  enabled  the  latter  to  maintain  their 
ascendancy  for  two  hundred  years,  that  is,  from  the  year  1644  ta 
eur  time. 

We  were  wrong  in  saying  that  the  Tartars  or  Mantchoos  intro- 
duced Buddhism  into  China.  This  was,  in  truth,  the  work  of 
Koubla  Khan,  the  Great  Mogul,  who,  about  the  year  1800,' ad-^ 
joined  China  to  the  empire  which  he  had  raised  in  Central  Asia^ 
He  was  called  in  by  the  Chinese  acainst  the  eastern  Tartars, 
whom  he  completely  succeeded  in  subduing,  but  whose  remains 
grew  silently  into  the  Mantchoos,  under  which  name  thev,  at  a 
later  period,  recovered  their  supremacy.  The  Moguls  did  not 
retain  this  ascendancy  above  sixty  years.  The  Chinese  Em:- 
perors  of  the  Ming  dynasty,  and  of  a  purely  native  race,  drove  out 
the  Mogids,  and  reigned  for  nearly  three  centuries. 

It  is  very  remarkable  that  the  revolution  which  rendered  the 
Mantchoos  masters  of  the  Chinese  and  their  empire,  was,  like  the 
one  at  present  in  operation,  not  so  much  the  result  of  a  great 
battle,  or  of  a  campaign,  as  a  gradually  winning  over  of  the  inha- 
bitants. This  the  Mtmtchoos  began  by  taking  possession  of  the 
provinces  of  Honan,  from  whence  they  extenaed  their  power^ 
year  afler  year,  killing  all  the  Chinese  Mandarins  that  fell  into 
their  power,  but  sparing  the  common  people,  and  even  exempting 
them  firom  tribute.    So  that,  in  fact^  it  was  a  replacing  of  one 


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LUTHEK  Hr  CHINA.  £47 

governaaeiit,  and  one  set  of  fimctionariet  by  aaother,  whilst  the 
people  who  gained  by  the  change,  looked  on  and  did  not  inter- 
lere.  It  is  rerj  singular  to  find  this  great  revolution,  or  con- 
quest, as  it  is  fiaisely  called,  taking  place  in  1643  precisely  in  the 
same  manner,  under  the  same  circumstances,  and  by  the  same 
tactics  which  the  insurgents  of  1858  employ.  The  last  prince 
of  the  Ming  dynasty,  when  certain  of  defeat,  slew  his  only 
daughter,  and  then  hanged  himself. 

So  long-lived  have  been  the  Tartar  princes,  one  cause  of  the 
duration  of  their  dynasty  and  power^  that  only  six  sovereigns 
have  occupied  the  Chinese  throne  from  1643  to  1850.  Kanghi, 
the  second  of  that  dynasty,  and  the  great  hunter,  reigned  in  l&S9y 
and  was  succeeded  in  1736  by  Yong<*Touang.  He  undertook  to 
reduce  the  rebellious  mountaineers,  called  the  Miao-Tse,  who  have 
raised  and  carried  to  success  the  present  insurrection.  Yonr* 
Touang  boasted  to  hare  conquered  them,  but  the  extent  of  his 
conquest  is  to  be  doubted,  from  the  admitted  fiict  of  his  nerer 
having  been  able  to  make  them  consent  to  adopt  the  Tartar  tail. 
Kien-Long,  who  succeeded  Yong-Touang,  reigned  sixty  years. 
He  was  the  Emperor  who  received  Lord  Macartney  in  1708. 
His  son,  Kia-kin,  who  gave  himself  up  to  gluttony  and  disso* 
luteness,  was  the  Emperor  who  made  tne  difficulty  of  receiving 
Lord  Amherst.  Kia-kin  left  the  throne,  in  1820,  to  his  second 
son,  Tao-Kouang,  who  had  earned  this  preference  by  liberating 
his  father  from  a  band  of  insurgents,  who  had  got  possession  of  the 
palace,  and  who  intended  his  dethronement.  It  was  with  Tao- 
Kouang  that  England  had  its  opium  quarrel  His  son,  Hien- 
foung,  succeeded  at  nineteen  years  of  age  to  the  throne  in 
1850. 

The  length  of  time  during  which  this  Tartar  dynasty  has 
reigned  almost  undisturbed,  is  inexplicable,  on  the  supposition  of 
the  government  being  a  closely  centralized  and  oppressive  tyranny. 
The  Chinese  or  the  Tartar  regime  is  not  this.  It  is  not  Uke  the 
autocracy  of  Russia,  or  the  sovereignty  of  France,  a  system  which 
makes  all  revenue  flow  to  a  great  centre,  and  all  authority  ema» 
nate  from  thence.  The  provinces  have,  indeed,  at  the  head  of 
their  administration  a  chief  chosen  by  the  emperor  from  out  the 
higher  rank  of  functionaries,  but  his  government  is  very  much 
under  fixed  rules,  and  with  a  view  to  local,  not  imperial  interests* 
llios  it  is  not  the  custom,  as  in  France  and  Rassia,  to  transmit 
to  the  capital  the  proTinciflJ  revenues,  and  to  have  a  great  finance 
department,  which  first  absorbs,  and  then  distributes  rerenue  and 
expenditure.  The  taxes  raised  in  a  province  are  spent  in  a 
province,  all,  save  a  surplus  which,  part  in  money,  part  in  kind,  is 
sent  to  Pekin;  it  is  variously  estimated,  but  it  is  not  enormous.  It 
is  more  the  emperor^s  civil  list  and  court  expenses,  than  anything 
resembling  an  imperial  revenue.  There  is  a  certain  Tartar  force 
at  Pekin  paid  no  doubt  out  of  such  revenues.  But  the  Chinese 
army  seems  no  more  centralized  than  die  finances*  The  force  at 
Pekin  suffices  for  the  tranquillity  of  the  people,  but  when  there  is  a 
need  of  tmopa  in  the  southern  cnr  in  the  remote  provinces,  they  are 

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248  LUTHER  IN  CHIKA. 

raised  on  the  spot  hj  the  viceroy  or  governor,  and  thjeir  pay  and 
expenses  leviea  by  local  taxation,  as  has  been  seen  several  times 
at  Canton.  With  such  a  system,  China  cannot  be  other  dian 
extremely  weal  and  inefficient  as  a  military  power. 

The  truth  is,  that  for  a  long  lapse  of  centuries,  the  only  frontier 
on  which  China  was  menaced  by  a  foreign  foe,  and  on  which  it 
required  its  sole  means  of  defence,  was  the  frontier  of  Tartary. 
The  mode,  in  which  a  great  Chinese  Emperor  hoped  to  provide 
for  this  defence,  without  continually  raising  and  keeping  up  a 
formidable  military  force,  is  well  known  and  celebrated,  as  the 
Great  Wall.  But  a  great  wall,  inspiring  a  government  or  a 
dominant  race  with  the  idea  that  they  can  dispense  with  soldiers, 
with  military  experience,  science  and  virtues,  has  proved  in 
general  a  source  of  weakness,  not  of  strength.  And  at  length  the 
Chinese,  not  being  able  to  keep  out  the  plundering  Tartars,  were 
obliged  to  get  Tartars  and  Moguls  to  do  this  for  them.  But 
those  intrusted  with  such  a  duty  invariably  become  the  masters 
of  those  who  so  trust  them.  And  the  Tartars  became  the  im- 
perial and  the  military,  if  not  altogether  the  dominant  race  in  the 
empire.  To  fulfil  his  duty  of  defending  the  empire,  the  Tartar  .^ 
monarch  resided  in  the  north,  at  Pekin,  however  barren  the  region, 
and  however  strange  that  the  metropolis  of  a  great  empire  should  be 
situated  at  one  of  its  extremities.  Even  to  the  last,  the  great  Tartar 
monarchs  spent  their  summers  in  Tartary,  beyond  the  Great  Wall, 
engaged  in  the  great  hunts,  which  form  the  fashion  of  their  race. 
By  these  means  the  emperors  kept  themselves,  and  the  Tartars  at- 
tendant on  their  persons,  warlike  and  formidable,  awing  at  the  same 
tiine  as  well  as  conciliating  the  pastoral  tribes,  which  so  long  me- 
naced the  power,  and  plundered  the  agricultural  wealth  of  China. 

Whatever  the  Chinese  may  have  suffered  in  pride,  and  in 
power,  and  in  supremacy,  by  their  obedience  to  Tartar  princes, 
and  subjected  to  a  capital  at  the  most  remote  and  barbarous  point 
of  the  empire,  they  were  repaid  by  the  security  aud  repose  thus 
procured,  and  by  their  being  rid  of  all  enemies,  and  of  all  fighting 
necessities  and  disbursements.  Such,  even  so  late  as  the  close  of 
the  last  century,  was  the  tacit  agreement  and  arrangement  between 
Tartars  and  Chinese.  But  since  that  period,  immense  changes 
have  been  taking  place,  not  on  one  side  of  China,  but  all  around 
its  frontiers. 

First  of  all  the  Russian  empire  has  immensely  increased,  and 
not  only  increased,  but  organized  its  authority.  The  Czar  has 
extended  his  power  over  the  most  remote  of  the  Tartar  tribes,  or, 
at  least,  he  has  extended  his  power  over  so  many  of  them,  as  to 
fix  and  separate  them,  and  prevent  a  renewal,  unless  at  Russian 
suggestion,  and  under  Russian  auspices,  of  any  of  those  great 
movements  of  the  pastoral  tribes,  one  of  which,  not  many  cen- 
turies back,  subdued  all  Asia,  not  excepting  India.  China, 
although  thus  menaced  by  a  more  formidable  conqueror  at  some 
distant  time,  has  been  released  from  any  annual  ravages,  or  imme- 
diate fears.  The  Emperor  has  not  for  a  long  time  felt  the  neces* 
sity,  or  undergone  the  £&tigue  of  a  summer's  expedition  into 


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LUTH£B  IN  CHINA.  249 

Tartaiy.  The  last  time  such  an  idea  was  entertained^  it  was 
abandoned  on  account  of  the  expense,  and  this  was  publicly 
announced  in  a  proclamation.  In  other  words,  the  Emperor  no 
longer  kept  up  that  old  border  army  which  he  used  to  march 
across  Independent  Tartary,  and  which,  awing  the  wild  tribes 
there,  was  also  disposable  for  crushing  any  rebellion  or  resistance 
of  the  Chinese  themselves. 

Whilst  Russia  has  thus  made  itself  indirectly  felt  on  the 
northern  frontier  of  China,  the  naval  power  of  England  has  made 
itself  felt  on  the  southern  coast.  The  Chinese  there  came  to  the 
discovery  that  the  Tartar  army  they  had  hitherto  so  dearly  paid 
for  undertaking  the  national  oefence  were  not  capable  of  it,— 
especially  not  capable  of  it  against  a  naval  enemy.  And  the  result 
has  been  to  inspire  the  Chinese  with  a  contempt  and  disgust, 
nnfelt  before,  for  their  Tartar  governments  and  generals.  It  is  pro- 
bable, too,  that  the  English  invasion  and  final  influence  at 
Hong  Kong  and  Canton  has  wrought  a  greater  change  in  Chinese 
ideas,  by  the  new  course  and  impulse  given  to  industry  and  trade, 
than  even  by  the  demolition  of  the  batteries  of  Canton.  No 
article  of  religious  creed  was  more  strongly  observed  or  acted 
on  than  the  one  which  we  have  heard  nearer  home,  viz.  that 
China  should  suffice  for  itself,  and  that  the  trade  between  its 
northern  and  its  southern  provinces,  its  inland  and  its  maritime, 
was  quite  sufficient  for  Chinese  prosperity.  The  Chinese  have 
had  reasons  for  entertaining  the  quite  contrary  opinion.  The 
merchants,  labourers,  tea-growers,  and  artizans  have  tasted  of  the 
profit  of  foreign  trade,  from  which  to  a  respect  for  Europeans  and 
a  contempt  for  Tartars  is  no  great  stride. 

It  should  not  here  be  forgotten,  that  at  the  time  of  the  last 
Tartar  or  Mantchoo  conquest,  there  were  two  chief  points  and 
regions,  in  which  the  old  Chinese  spirit  continued  to  hold  out, 
and  persisted  in  carrying  on  war  upon  the  Tartars.  One  was  the 
sea-coast,  the  islands,  and  the  mountain  population.  These  be- 
took themselves  to  their  junks,  turned  pirates,  and  ravaged  the 
coasts  of  China.  Eochinga,  a  famous  chief,  maintained  himself 
for  a  long  time  in  Formosa.  And  the  Tartar  Emperor  could  find 
no  better  way  of  reducing  them  than  ordering  the  coasts  to  be 
laid  waste  all  round  for  the  space  of  three  miles  from  the  sea,  such 
fortified  towns  as  could  resist  the  pirates  being  alone  excepted. 

In  the  same  spirit  of  resistance  to  the  Mantchoos  were  the 
mountain  tribes  of  the  Miao-tse,  a  tribe  inhabiting  the  province  of 
Kouang-si.  This  province  is  the  Switzerland  of  China,  consisting 
of  a  mass  of  mountains  of  great  height,  including  valleys,  which 
grow  cinnamon  and  rice.  These  mountaineers  defied  all  the 
attempts  of  the  Tartar  princes  to  reduce  them,  and  they  have 
equally  repelled  every  attempt  of  the  bonze  or  Buddhist  priest  to 
introduce  the  idol  worship.  In  the  same  spirit  ttiey  refiised  to 
shave  their  hair,  leaving  the  one  lock  or  queue^  which  is  the  Tartar 
fashion,  and  which  their  conquerors  imposed  upon  the  rest  of  the 
Chinese. 

However  apparently  submissive  to  the  government  ofj^ekin  was 

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2(10  LUTHER  IN  CHINA. 

the  province  and  population  of  CaAton,  and  (he  townsman  class 
altogether,  nevertheless  there  was  found  a  great  number  of  secret 
societies,  of  which  the  great  bond  and  aim  were  haired  to 
the  Mantchoos,  their  rule,  and  their  religion.  Sir  John  Davis 
bad  told  all  that  he  could  learn  respecting  their  societies,  espe- 
ci^ly  that  of  the  Trinity.  The  cUstinguisbing  mark^of  these 
societies  being  attachment  to  old  and  Chinese  habits  and  in**- 
terests,  there  was  necessarily  a  communication  established  be- 
tween them  and  the  mountaineers  of  the  Miao-tae,  who  derived 
education  and  instruction  from  their  emissaries.  The  province  of 
Canton,  though  frequently  taxed  to  furnish  funds  and  soldiers  for 
an  attack  on  the  Miao-tse,  refused  to  furnish  either  with  alacrity, 
and  their  ill*will  was  alone  sufficient  to  neutralize  all  such  at- 
tempts, when  made  by  the  governor  of  the  southern  provinces,. 

In  1832  there  arose  a  simultaneous  insurrection  in  Formosa 
and  in  the  Kouang-si.  The  cap,  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the 
Chinese  costume,  was  scrupulously  the  same  in  Formosa  aud  in 
the  Kouang-si,  being  a  kind  of  red  turban  fastened  by  metal  pins. 
The  government  of  Pekin  acknowledged  the  identity  of  the  two 
insurrections ;  even  in  one  of  its  proclamations  it  stigmatizes  the 
rebels  of  the  Eouang-si  as  a  set  of  pirates  from  Fokien,  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  those  mountains. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  year  1850  that  the  insurrection 
of  tlie  Miao-tse  assumed  a  formidable  aspect.  It  was  not  till 
then  that  its  commander  entertained  the  bold  thought  of  push- 
ing the  conquest  over  the  whole  of  the  empire;  nor  were  they 
iXil  then  fully  assured  how  largely  they  might  count  on  the  sup* 
port  of  the  population  and  of  the  secret  societies  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  that  bold  attempt. 

Whatever  doubt  may  have  at  first  existed  as  to  the  insurrection 
being  based  upon  Christian  and  Christian  Protestant  principleai 
none  can  remain,  since  the  receipt  by  Dr.  Neumann,  the  cele- 
brated Professor  of  the  University  of  Munich,  of  numerous  letters, 
documents,  credos,  and  proclamations,  completely  establishing  the 
fact.  Not  a  doubt  now  exists,  that  it  wasGutzlaff  who  dropped  the 
seed,  which  has  so  unexpectedly  grown  into  the  present  move- 
ment. GutzlafT  knew  enough  of  the  secret  societies  of  China,  and 
of  that  of  the  Trinity,  to  see  that  they  wanted  some  belief  more 
vivifying  than  the  moral  precepts  of  Confucius  to  animate  the 
Chinese  against  the  Tartar  idolaters.  He  therefore  founded  at 
Canton  a  club  cidhed  the  Chinese  Union.  The  idea  of  it  was  to 
make  the  Chinese  acquainted  with  the  religious,  social  and  poli- 
tical opinions  of  Europe,  and  to  present  these,  not  as  the  mission*, 
aries  did,  in  opposition  to  Confucius  as  well  as  to  Buddhism,  but 
rather  in  alliance  with  Confucius  against  the  idolatrous  xeligiona 
of  Tao  and  Fo. 

Confucius  was,  afler  all,  but  a  moralist,  which  Christianity  is 
not  called  upon  to  discuss  or  contradict  It  is  very  remarkable 
that  all  the  efforts  of  Roman  Catholic  missionaries,  and  especially 
of  the  Jesuits  to  establish  their  religion  amongst  the  Chinese, 
should  have  failed,  notwithstanding  the  pains  and  the  wealth 

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apmA  itt  Om  mUmtpL  And  jet  •  uetdy  s^cul  oh^  founded  by 
m  Unguist,  in  «  coroer.of  Caaton,  taaciiiiig  Protettaat  teneta  wiUi* 
imi  atttlioritj  or  effort,  bas  spread  like  wildfire  through  At 
country,  aind  iMOttght  Uie  great  eaipm  at  the  eastern  extremitj  of 
Asia  into  an  identity  of  eenlimcnt  widi  die  English  m6e  at  tM 
other  exlreinitj  of  Europe. 

It  is  a  great  piij— pi^  ait  least  in  one  smu  4hat  OuMaff  TviftB 
soft  bom  in  a  &bulou8  age.  Wbait  i^lendid  legmds  and  slories 
Might  then  bare  been  told  of  the  great  Apostle  of  China !  XJnfor« 
tnuately,  we  know  all  about  Gntslaffy  who  was  bom  a  Pomeranians 
The  Chinese  insist  that  his  father  was  a  Chinese,  and  a  natite  of 
Pobien,  who  migrated  to  Hamburg.  And  they  pleaded  GutslaflTs 
dark  hair  and  swarthy  yellow  complexion  as  a  proof.  Gutjriaff 
bad  oome  to  China,  it  was  said,  as  a  Protestant  missionary,  yrhidk 
he  did  not  find  luciattve,  and  tfwt  he  joined  with  it  Some  of  Ih^ 
attributes  of  Wordswsrth^s  beroes«  In  other  words,  he  traT^lenl 
orer  those  eonntries  as  a  pedlar.  At  all  events,  he  was  made 
interpreter  to  tbe  En^h  embassy  or  mission,  his  inestimable  cbft» 
meter  and  experience  harving  been  at  last  appreciated. 

Bot  to  return  to  the  present  insurrection,  which  first  began  to 
assume  a  serious  and  aggressive  aspect  in  1890,  partly  in  conse** 
qvence  of  a  prophecy  that  the  Mantchoo  Empire  was  to  terminate 
at  a  certain  epoch  of  the  Chinese  calendar,  which  answered  to 
the  first  of  February,  1851,  of  ours.  Tbe  province  of  the  Koa<^ 
uig-si,  in  which  are  the  mountains  and  mountaineers  of  the 
Miao-tse,  is  contiguous  with  that  of  the  Konang-ton  or  Canton. 
There  was  in  general  but  cne  viceroy  for  both,  his  duty  with 
respect  to  the  mountaineers  of  the  Kouang-si  being  merely  to 
keq>  them  from  invading  the  low  grounds.  The  insurgents  c€ 
the  hills  were  near  enough  to  perceive  that  the  English  had  llie 
better  of  the,  imperialists^  and  that  these,  notwithstuiding  all  the 
force  they  could  muster,  were  compelled  to  sign  an  ignominious 
peace.  Accordioglyi  in  1860,  tbe  mountaineers  advanced  from 
the  mountains  to  Uie  nearest  districts  of  tbe  Kouang-ton,  took 
several  important  towns,  and  defied  the  imperial  governor. 

'  However  retfograde  and  out  of  the  world  may  be  the  court  of 
Pekin,  the  same  phenomena  may  be  observed  there,  that  are  seeii 
to  take  place  at  Constantinople  or  St.  Petersburgh,  or  even  in 
I«ondon  itself.  There  exist  at  Pekin,  as  at  other  such  places,  two 
parties,  one  for  acting  with  all  the  energy  and  barbarism  of 
Tartar  qpirit,  defying  fomign  enemies,  crushing  domestic  ones, 
scrupulously  following  old  wajrs  and  traditions,  and  trusting  to  the 
sabre,  the  axe  and  the  gun.  The  other,  on  the  contrary,  are  fond 
of  satiirfying  home  demands,  and  negotiating  about  foreign  me*' 
nnees.  The  one  would  always  bluster  Aud  fight,  the  other  con* 
finually  temporise  and  compromise.  Tbe  late  emperor,  Tae^ 
Kouang,  geBeinlly  preferred  the  nnld  and  moderate  party,  and 
chiefly  placed  his  tmst  in  a  piime  minister  belonging  to  that 
opinion.  In  his  deaKi^  with  tne  Engfish,  however,  Tao-Eouang 
atematriy  employed  men  of  t>oth  parties;  at  one  time  the  violent 
Ii%  at  anotber  the  concUialoiy  Eeshen. 

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26S  I.UTHBR  IN  CHINA, 

In  the  begmning  of  1850  Tao*Eoiiang  paid  the  d^t  of  nature, 
and  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  Hien-foung.  The  opinion  of  the 
youDg  prince  was  gradually  formed,  that  Houtchanga,  the  mild 
and  Uberal  minister  of  his  father,  was  fax  too  gentle,  too  concilia* 
tory,  that  he  had  let  the  English  off  too  easy,  had  allowed  the 
rebellion  of  the  Miao-tse  to  grow,  and  that  such  fierce  and  decided 
gOTemors  as  lin  were  what  the  state  of  the  empire  required. 
Accordingly,  an  imperial  edict  announced  to  the  empire  that  the 
party,  which  had  sacrificed  the  national  honour,  in  badly  fighting 
and  weakly  treating  with  the  foreigners,  was  dismissed. 

Lin  was  restored  to  power ;  and  this  time  was  ordered  to  raise 
an  army  and  proceed  with  it  to  the  reduction  of  the  Miao-tse, 
Lin,  however,  died  upon  the  march,  before  he  could  encounter  the 
enemy ;  and  from  that  time  to  this  the  Court  of  Pekin  has  named 
a  succession  of  governors  and  commanders,  some  more  mild  and 
conciliatory,  with  the  aim  of  levying  money  from  the  people  of 
Canton,  and  winning  the  adherence  of  the  provinces,  others  of  the 
ferocious  party,  celebrated  for  cutting  off  heads  and  decimating  a 
population.  Every  one  of  these  generals  and  armies  the  insur* 
gen^  managed  to  defeat,  extending  their  power  and  their  posses* 
sion  of  fortified  towns  and  provinces  in  two  directions,  one  south- 
ward toward  the  sea,  the  other  north  of  the  mountains  which  skirt 
the  province  of  Canton.  It  has  been  in  following  the  like 
directions,  and  in  traversing  as  conquerors  the  province  of  Hou* 
nan,  that  they  have  at  lengUi  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Nankin. 

It  has  taken  three  years  and  a  half  to  make  the  progress  from 
these  mountains.  We  have  seen  from  their  late  capture  of  Amoy, 
how  their  progress  has  been  made.  They  have  shown  by  their 
mode  of  treating  and  administering  Ji  province  seized,  that  they 
disturbed  no  property,  interfered  with  \no  industrjr,  did  not  in- 
crease taxation,  for  they  were  content  w^th  feeding  themselves 
and  their  fighting-men,  without  reserving  iii^  sum  to  be  sent  to 
the  capital.  The  sums  destined  for  Pekin,  diey  si^>pped.  The  towns 
ih  the  vicinity  of  a  province  so  treated,  saw  the  advlMtage  of  joining 
the  insurrection,  and  so  it  has  gradually  spread,  by ^ontagion,  as 
it  were,  and  by  itself,  without  much  fighting,  a  vwy  litUe  of 
which  is  always  immensely  exaggerated  in  Chinese  accoQjnts. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  insurrection,  the  Miao-ts^Bet  up 
one  Tiente  or  Tientuk,  a  young  man,  who,  according  toV^me, 
was  descended  from  the  last  Chinese  dynasty  of  the  Mingsi  It 
would  appear,  however,  from  the  expedition  which  our  gover- 
nor sent,  or  conducted  up  the  Yellow  River,  and  from  the  cd|t 
versation  which  the  envoys  of  that  expedition  had  with  the  chietl 
of  the  insurrection  at  Nknkin,  that  there  is  no  talk  amongst  thenO 
of  Tiente.  No  great  reliance,  indeed,  can  be  placed  upon  the 
information  derived  from  this  expedition,  whose  interpreter  could 
evidently  not  understand  the  spokesman  of  the  insurgents.  Thus 
it  struck  the  interpreter,  that  there  was  difficulty  of  coming  to  an 
understanding  with  the  insurgents,  because  of  a  difference  of 
etiouette,  whilst  others,  who  were  present,  seem  to  doubt  if  any 
such  difference  existed.    The  interpreter  represents  the  insur- 


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LUTHER  IN  CHINA.  253 

gents  as  making  no  mention  of  Tiente,  but  as  referring  eveij 
auUioritj  to  Tbae-ping-tien.  But  this  is  the  name  of  a  place; 
there  is  a  town  near  Nankin  of  that  name,  and  it  might  thus  be 
head-quarters*  Or  the  word  means  some  new  empire.  Altoge- 
ther this  expedition  in  search  of  information  has  left  people  worse 
informed  than  they  were  before,  except  in  the  important  points 
that  the  insurgenU  destroyed  all  the  idols,  massacred  all  the 
Tartars,  and  showed  themselves  inclined  to  be  on  excellent  terms 
with  the  English,  that  is,  provided  they  were  Protestants.  For 
our  religion  with  them  seemed  of  more  importance  than  what 
nation  we  might  be  of. 

With  respect,  however,  to  the  small  mention  of  Tiente,  and  the 
substitution  for  him  of  the  Thae-ping-tien,  it  is  known  that  the 
rebel  or  insurgent  army  was  one  of  many  chiefs,  each  of  whom 
ruled  over  localities  and  over  separate  divisions  of  the  country,  so 
that  the  insurgent  power  would  seem  to  partake  more  of  the  nature 
of  a  federation  than  a  centralised  empire.  The  insurrection  at  pre* 
sent,  and  the  empire  which  it  has  established,  may,  perhaps,  be 
governed  by  a  council,  and  some  of  those  democratic,  or  liberal' 
ideas  in  politics,  which  have  been  so  generally  united  with  Pro- 
testantism in  Europe,  may  have  come  to  modify  the  political,  as 
well  as  the  religious  ideas  of  the  conquering  innovators,  who  have 
the  fate  of  China  in  their  hands.  On  this  subject  it  is  probable 
that  the  documents  in  Dr.  Neumann^s  hands  will  throw  consider- 
able light 

In  Uie  meantime,  we  have  little  doubt  of  the  success  of  the 
insurrection  south  of  the  Yellow  River.  And  this  implies  the 
submission  of  Pekin,  unless  the  conjecture  should  prove  true  of 
the  rebels  having  dispensed  with  the  personal  supremacy  of  an 
Emperor.  Pekin,  its  court,  its  army,  and  its  multitudes  of  em^ 
ploy^Sy  are,  we  know,  fed  from  the  south.  And  the  chief  use  of 
the  Grand  Canal  of  China  was  to  convey  this  sustenance  to  the 
northern  capital,  in  return  for  which  the  northern  provinces  sent 
little.  The  capture  of  Nankin,  and  the  stoppage  of  the  supplies 
np  the  Grand  Canal,  must  starve  Pekin,  and  disgust  its  popula- 
tion of  parasites  and  hangers-on  with  the  fortunes  of  a  dynasty 
that  could  not  defend  itself,  or  preserve  its  hold  over  the  empire. 

There  is  another  possibility,  that  a  vigorous  effort  of  Russia  will 
be  made  to  sustain  the  old  Chinese  Empire  and  regime  against  what 
is  now  evident  to  be  the  Protestantism  and  Anglicanism  of  the 
South.  It  will  be  said  that  Russia  cannot  march  armies  to  such  a 
distance.  No  doubt  her  Cossacks  and  her  battering  trains  cannot 
reach  the  Great  Wall.  But  the  influence  of  the  Czar  with  the 
Tartar  tribes  and  with  the  nomad  population  of  the  Steppes  is  such, 
that  zealous  injunctions  from  Russia  might  pour  down  upon 
China  hordes  suflSciently  numerous  and  warlike  to  repel  any  in- 
yasion  of  the  North  by  the  South.  It  is  very  fortunate  that 
neither  the  English  nor  Americans  have  lent  the  insurgents  any 
soccour.  Such  interference  might  have  afforded  both  pretext 
and  incentive  for  Russia  to  excite  a  civil  war  between  the  two 
regions  of  China,  a  civil  war  by  which  she  might  ultimately  profit. 


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2«4 


THE  LAST  YEARS  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES 
THE  FIFTH.* 


AUTHOE  OF   <*TUB  HMTOAY  OF  MAKT,   QDBKK  OV  tOOTS." 

The  gold  and  silver  plate  which  Charles  the  fifth  had  brought 
to  the  monastery  of  Yuste  was  of  the  richest  character,  and  it 
was  appropriated  with  profusion  to  the  various  wants  of  his  person 
and  household.  The  plates  and  dishes  for  his  table,  the  various 
articles  used  in  his  toilette — ewers,  basins,  and  jugs  of  all  sizes, 
utensils  of  every  kind,  furniture  of  different  sorts  for  the  kitchen, 
cellar,  pantry,  pharmacy,  &c.,were  all  in  silver,  and  weighed  more 
than  fifteen  hundred  marks. 

Far  from  being  limited  and  insufficient,  as  Sandoval  and  Robert- 
son have  represented  it,  the  household  of  Charles  the  Fifth  in- 
cluded servants  whose  numbers  were  as  extensive,  and  whose 
functions  as  varied  as  his  wants  could  possibly  have  been.  It  was 
composed  of  fifty  persons,  some  of  whom  resided  in  the  monasteiy 
itself,  and  others  in  the  neighbouring  village  of  Quacos.  At  their 
head  was  Colonel  Luis  Mendez  Quixada,  who,  as  major-domo, 
held  the  supreme  command  of  the  Emperor's  household,  and  who, 
for  thirty-five  years,  had  rarely  been  absent  from  his  master  s  side. 
After  him,  classing  them  according  to  the  amount  of  salary  they 
received,  came  the  secretary,  Gaztelu,  and  the  physician,  Mathys^ 
each  of  whom  had  750  florins,  or  £200  a  year ;  and  then  William 
de  Morin  with  a  salary  of  400  florins,  as  chamberiain  and  keeper 
of  the  wardrobe.  The  service  of  the  imperial  chamber  was  en- 
trusted to  four  ayudas  de  camara  of  the  first  class,  named  William 
van  Male,  Charles  Pubest,  Ogre  Bodant,  and  Mathias  Doiyart| 
with  salaries  of  300  florins  each  ;  and  to  four  barberoSy  or  chamber- 
lains of  the  second  class,  named  Nicolas  Bermguen,  William  Vick 
Eislort,  Dirck  and  Gabriel  de  Suet,  each  of  whom  had  250  florins 
a  year.  The  clever  watchmaker,  Juanello,  was  paid  325  florins 
annually,  and  his  assistant,  Balin,  received  a  stipend  of  200  florins, 
The  other  servants  of  Charles  the  fifth,  nearly  all  of  whovfk  were 
Belgians  or  Burgundians,  were  an  apothecary  and  his  assistant,  a 

Eander  and  his  assistant,  two  bakers,  a  butler  and  eeUaxman,  a 
rewer  and  cooper,  two  cooks,  and  two  scuUioas,  a  pastry-cook, 
two  fruiterers,  a  poulterer,  a  pun'eyor  of  game,  a  gardener,  a  wax^ 
chandler,  three  porters,  two  silversmiths,  a  jewel-keeper,  and  two 
laundresses.  The  gross  amount  of  their  wages  was  iJx>ut  ten 
thousand  florins. 

The  life  of  Charles  the  Fifth  in  the  Monastery  of  Yuste  was 
entirely  separated  from  that  of  the  monks,  with  whom  he  came 
rarely  into  contact.    He  had  chosen  among  them  his  confessor^ 

*  OoDtiMMd  horn  p.  189,  vol  xztiv. 


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THE  EMPEEOB  CHARLES  THE  FIFTH.  tSS 

Fcay  Joan  Begla ;  his  reader,  Fray  BemaardiiK)  de  Stlmas,  Mid  iiia 
three  preacbers.  Fray  Fraociaco  de  Villalba,  afterwards  ckiplaia  to 
Philip  ibe  Second^  Fray  Joan  de  Acoleras,  afterwards  Bishop  of 
the  Canary  Islands,  and  Fray  Juan  de  Simtandres.  With  the  as- 
aifttance  of  these  worthy  ecclesiastics,  he  led  a  very  religions  hie. 
firery  day  he  caosed  four  masses  to  be  said  for  the  souls  of  his 
fitfher,  mother,  wife,  and  himself;  at  the  last  of  these  he  always 
assisted,  either  in  a  seat  which  had  been  prepared  for  him  in  the 
choir  of  the  chnrch,  or  from  the  window  of  his  bed-room,  where 
be  never  &iled  to  place  himself  to  hear  vespers. 

The  distribution  of  the  fimperor's  day  at  Yuste  was  very  regular, 
though  its  order  was  frequently  interrupted  by  politics  and  bosi* 
nees.  As  soon  as  he  woke,  it  was  his  custom  to  eat  something,  as 
his  stomach  could  never  remain  empty.  This  habit  was  so  im* 
perious,  that  neither  illness  nor  his  religious  duties  prevented  him 
from  indulging  it.  £ven  on  the  days  on  which  he  communicated, 
contrary  to  Catholic  rites,  he  did  not  receive  the  consecrated  host 
fasting;  as  a  special  bull  of  Pope  Julius  III.  had  authorized  him 
to  dispense  with  this  rule  in  1564.  As  soon  as  his  door  was 
opened  his  confessor,  Juan  ReKla  entered  his  room,  though  he 
Was  often  preceded  by  Juanello ;  and  Charles  prayed  with  the 
former  and  worked  with  the  latter.  At  ten  o'clock,  his  ayudaa  de 
camera  and  barberas  dressed  him.  When  his  health  permitted,  he 
then  went  to  church,  or  posted  himself  at  the  window  of  his  room, 
to  hear  mass,  always  with  profound  attention  and  extreme  devo* 
tion.  When  dinner-time  arrived,  he  liked  to  cut  up  his  food  when 
his  hands  were  well  enough  to  do  so  :  and  meanwhile,  Van  Male 
or  Dr.  Mathys,  both  of  whom  were  very  learned,  read  to  him  or 
conversed  with  him  on  some  interesting  subject  in  histoiy  or 
science.  Dinner  over,  Juan  Regla  returned,  and  usually  read  to 
him  some  passage  from  St.  Bernard,  or  St.  Augustine,  or  St.  Jerome, 
which  was  followed  by  a  pious  conversation.  The  Emperor  then 
took  a  sboit  siesta.  At  three  o'clock,  on  Wednesdays  and  Fridays, 
be  went  to  hear  a  sermon  from  one  or  other  of  his  three  preachers, 
or  if  he  were  unable  to  attend,  which  very  frequently  happened, 
Juan  Regla  had  to  give  him  a  summary  of  it.  Mondays,  Tuesdays, 
Thursdays,  and  Saturdays,  were  devoted  to  pious  readings  by  Vr* 
Bernardino  de  Salinas. 

His  residence  at  Yuste  was  infinitely  pleasing  to  the  Emperor. 
He  there  enjoyed,  with  the  utmost  calmness,  the  unaccustomed 
pleasure  of  repose  and  improved  health.  But  the  qualities  which 
made  it  delightful  to  him,  threw  his  servants  into  despair.  "  The 
solitude  of  this  house  and  the  desolateness  of  this  country «"  wrote 
Quixada,  ^^  are  as  great  as  his  Majesty  could  have  desired  for  so 
many  years.  It  is  the  most  desolate  and  melancholy  life  that  ever 
was  seen.  No  one  could  endure  it,  except  those  who  give  up 
iheir  property  and  abandon  the  world  in  order  to  become  monks.** 

During  all  the  summer  of  1577,  excepting  those  indispositions 
over  which  repose,  climate  and  skill  could  not  triumph,  the  health 
of  the  Emperor  was  much  better  than  it  had  been  for  many  years. 
The  wound  in  his  finger,  which  had  closed  for  a  dK>rt  time,  and 


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i69  THB  LAST  YEARS  OF 

in  treotiog  which  he  made  use  of  a  decoction  of  Brazil  wood  and 
sarsaparilla,  opened  afresh ;  nor  could  he  succeed  in  getting  rid  of 
his  haemorrhoids,  the  cure  of  which  he  attempted  during  the  hot 
season  hj  means  of  certain  herbs  which  had  been  recommended 
and  indicated  to  him  by  the  physician,  Andrea  M0I6.  He  perse- 
veringly  took  his  pills  and  his  purgative  wine  of  senna,  more 
from  habit  and  as  a  precautionary  measure  than  as  a  remedy.  He 
was  not  more  sober  than  he  had  been  at  Xarandilla ;  and  be  con- 
tinned  to  receiye  presents  and  delicacies  of  all  kinds  from  Valla- 
dolid  and  eren  from  Flanders^  which  he  consumed  with  great 
Telish  and  appetite.  The  pleasant  and  bracing  temperature  of 
Estremadura  at  thi^  season  of  the  year  had  so  far  restored  his 
strength,  that  he  was  able  to  get  a  little  sporting.  *'  His  Majesty,^ 
wrote  Gaztelu  on  the  5th  of  June,  ^'  asked  for  a  gun  and  shot  two 
pigeons,  without  needing  the  assistance  of  any  one  to  rise  from  his 
chair,  or  to  hold  his  gun.*^  He  took  it  into  his  head,  three  days 
afterwards,  to  dine  in  the  refectory  of  the  convent  with  the  monks. 
He  was  served  at  a  separate  table  by  the  good  friars,  who  sent  him 
the  best  dishes  their  kitchen  could  produce,  which  were  carved  for 
him  by  Van  Male ;  but  it  would  not  appear  that  he  was  greatly 
tempted  by  the  viands,  for  he  made  a  poor  meal,  and  left  several 
dishes  untouched.  In  order  not  to  grieve  the  monks,  who  were 
astonished  at  his  abrupt  departure,  he  told  them  ^^to  keep  the 
dishes  he  had  left  for  him,^  and  announced  his  intention  of  dining 
with  them  again.  He  never  trespassed  a  second  time,  however,  on 
their  hospitality. 

The  monastery  of  Yuste,  once  so  inanimate  and  solitary,  had 
become  a  centre  of  movement  and  activity.  Couriers  were  con- 
tinually arriving  and  departing.  All  Uie  news  was  carefully  sent 
thither  to  the  Emperor,  whose  advice  or  commands  were  sought  on 
almost  every  afiair  of  importance.  He  was  made  the  arbiter  of 
disputes,  and  the  judge  of  difficult  and  delicate  cases.  He  was 
constantly  applied  to  for  favours  and  assistance  of  every  kind. 
Widows  of  veteran  soldiers  who  had  fought  with  him  in  Africa, 
Italy,  Flanders,  and  Germany,  were  incessantly  presenting  them- 
selves before  him,  to  solicit  some  temporary  aid,  others  pensions, 
and  others  letters  of  recommendation  to  the  King,  his  son,  or  the 
Regent,  his  daughter ;  and  be  never  sent  them  away  unsatisfied. 

But  it  was  in  regard  to  the  important  affairs  of  the  monarchy 
that  his  advice  was  particularly  sought.  He  had  paid  the  most 
anxious  attention  to  those  which  determined  the  military  proceed- 
ings of  his  son  in  Italy  and  Flanders ;  and  his  intervention  had 
been  so  active  and  evident,  that  it  was  believed  that  he  was  ready 
to  leave  the  monastery,  in  order  to  march  to  the  assistance  of 
Philip,  and  penetrate  into  France  through  Navarre,  at  the  head  of 
the  Spanish  troops.  This  report,  which  his  daughter  had  circu- 
lated, in  order  probably  to  oblige  the  King  of  France  to  direct  a 
portion  of  his  troops  towards  the  Pyrenean  frontier,  and  thus  to 
evacuate  Picardy,  obtained  very  general  belief.  Charles  the 
fifth  did  not  positively  deny  it,  even  to  his  immediate  servants ; 
and  this  fact  has  apparently  given  rise  to  the  supposition  that  he 


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THE  EMPSROE  CHABLS8  THE  HFTH.        S57 

repented  of  having  entered  the  monastery^  because  he  intended  to 
leave  it.  The  Grand  Commander  of  Alcantara,  Don  Luia  de 
Avila,  who  often  went  from  Plasencia,  to  visit  his  old  master  the 
Emperor,  at  Yuste,  wrote  to  Vasquez,  on  the  Idth  of  August,  in 
these  words :  ^*  I  left  Fray  Carlos  in  profound  peace,  and  trusting 
in  his  renewed  strength.  He  thinks  he  woula  be  strong  enough 
to  quit  the  convent.  Since  my  visit,  a  change  may  have  taken 
place ;  but  there  is  nothing  that  I  could  not  expect  from  the  love 
which  he  bears  his  son,  from  his  good  courage,  and  from  his  old 
habits,  as  he  was  brought  up  in  war,  just  as  they  say  the  sala* 
mander  lives  in  fire.  The  letter  of  the  Princess,  addressed  to 
this  city,  and  in  which  it  is  announced  that  the  Emperor  now 

Eroposes  to  leave  Yuste,  and  to  invade  Navarre,  has  set  every  one 
ere  on  the  alert.  In  truth,  I  think  there  will  not  remain  any 
man  unwilling  to  go  with  him.  May  it  please  our  Lord  God  that, 
if  this  bravado,  as  the  Italians  say,  is  to  be  executed,  it  may  be  so 
speedily ;  because  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  delay  the  flight  of 
time,  and  Navarre  is  not  Estremadura,  where  the  winter  sets  in 
kte.^ 

The  Emperor  really  did  not  intend,  and  was  quite  unable,  to 
undertake  this  military  expedition.  When  Quixada  returned,  a 
few  days  after,  from  a  short  visit  to  Yillagarcia,  he  wrote  to  Yas- 
quez,  that  Charles  the  Fifth  was  more  vigorous  than  when  he  left 
him,  but  that  his  colour  was  not  so  good  ;  and  he  added  :  ^^  As  to 
what  the  people  say  in  the  streets,  about  the  Emperor's  departure 
from  hence,  I  have  not  perceived  anything  fresh  about  this  matter 
since  my  return ;  I  rather  found  him  in  perfect  tranquillity,  and 
apparently  quite  settled.  If  anything  serious  has  been  said  about 
it,  he  might  do  it  solely  with  a  view  to  the  public  benefit,  and  no 
more.     Besides,  it  would  be  next  to  an  impossibility .'' 

Charles  the  Fifth  was  then  amusing  himself  with  completing  his 
establishment  in  the  monastery,  and  rendering  it  more  agreeable. 
He  was  arranging  the  gardens  and  fish-ponds  on  his  terraces.  In 
this  he  spent  all  the  time  that  was  left  him  by  his  pious  exercises 
and  political  correspondence.  In  addition  to  the  great  interest  at 
stake  in  Italy  and  on  the  side  of  France,  Charles  had  not  ceased 
his  inteiference  in  the  interminable  affairs  of  the  King  of  Navarre 
and  the  Infante  of  Portugal.  Escurra,  after  having  solicited  from 
him,  at  Burgos  and  Xarandilla,  the  cession  of  Spanish  Lombardy 
to  Antoine  de  Bourbon,  who  was  willing,  on  those  terms,  to 
become  the  ally  of  Spain  and  the  enemv  of  France,  had  come  to 
renew  this  negotiation  at  Yuste.  He  nad  visited  the  monastery 
in  April  and  in  July.  At  his  second  visit,  he  was  accompanied  by 
a  private  secretary  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  named  Bourdeaux, 
and  the  conditions  of  both  the  sJliance  and  the  cession  had  been 
discussed  in  the  presence  of  King  Gomez,  who  was  appointed  by 
the  Emperor  to  communicate  them  to  the  Council  of  State  at  YaU 
ladolid.  Placing  little  confidence  in  Antoine  de  Bourbon,  whom 
he  supposed  to  be  in  league  with  Henry  the  Second,  the  Emperor 
required  that  he  should  first  of  all  yield  up  the  fortresses  of 
French  Navarre  and  Beam^  and  give  his  wife  and  son  as  hostages. 


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958  THE  LAsrr  teabs  of 

The  negotiations  did  not  end  bere,  and,  a  short  time  afterwards^ 
Don  Gabriel  de  la  Caeva,  son  of  the  Dake  of  Albnquerque,  to 
whom  Antoine  de  Bourbon  had  again  applied,  came  to  Val]ad<did 
with  that  prinee^s  propositions,  which  Uie  Spanish  government 
directed  him  to  submit  to  the  Emperor.  **  There  is  nothing  to  be 
done  for  the  moment,"  replied  Charles  the  Fifth,  ^except  to  keep 
up  the  negotiation  without  conceding  anything.** 

Whilst  he  was  thus  delaying  hostilities  on  the  side  of  Navarre, 
he  opposed  everything  that  mij^ht  have  led  to  a  mpture  with  Por- 
tugal. The  Court  of  Lisbon,  which  Henrr  the  Second  strongly 
desired  to  involve  in  the  war  against  Spam,  was  ginng  signs  of 
ill-will.  It  was  incessantly  postponing  the  return  of  the  Infanta 
Donna  Maria  to  Queen  Eleanor,  when  King  John  the  Third  died 
rather  suddenly,  on  the  11th  of  June.  His  death  almost  led  to  a 
oonfliet  of  authority  between  his  widow,  Queen  Catherine,  and  his 
daughter-in-law,  the  Princess  Donna  Juana ;  one  of  whom  was 
the  grandmother,  and  the  other  the  mother  of  the  new  King,  Dom 
Sebastian,  then  scarcely  three  years  old.  John  the  Third  had  left 
the  administration  of  his  States  and  the  guardianship  of  his 
grandson  to  Catherine,  the  youngest  of  the  four  sisters  of  Charles 
die  Fifth.  But  Donna  Juana,  as  mother  of  the  royal  minor, 
aspired  to  that  guardianship  and  that  administration.  She  sent 
Don  Fadrique  Henriquez  de  Gusman  from  Valladolid  to  Lisbon 
to  assert  her  claims ;  and  directed  him  to  go  to  Yuste  on  his  way, 
to  receive  the  orders  of  the  Emperor. 

Charles  the  Fifth,  who  had  celebrated  a  funeral  service  in  the 
monastery  in  honour  of  his  brother-in-law,  John  the  Third,  ad- 
mitted Don  Fadrique  Henriquez  to  an  audience  on  the  Srd  of 
July,  at  the  same  time  as  the  ordinary  ambassador  from  Spain  to 
Portugal,  Don  Juan  de  Mendoza  de  Ribera.  He  told  them  both 
how  they  must  hasten  the  coming  of  the  Infanta.  He  authorita- 
tively suppressed  the  written  instructions  which  his  daughter  had 
given  to  Don  Fadrique,  and  substituted  others,  as  noble  as  they 
were  politic,  in  their  stead.  He  announced  this  substitution  to 
his  daughter  on  the  5th  of  July,  in  these  terms: — 

^^  My  daughter,  I  have  heard  read  the  instructions  which  you 
gave  to  Don  Fadrique  Henriquez  as  to  what  he  had  to  do  in  Por- 
tugal.    It  appeared  to  me  impossible  that  he  should  treat  on  your 
part  either  with  the  Queen  my  sister,  or  with  the  other  personages 
to  whom  you  have  given  him  letters,  regarding  the  government  of 
the  kingdom  during  the  minority  of  the  Eang  your  son,  any  more 
than  with  regard  to  the  formation  of  his  honsehold,  and  to  the 
servants  who  will  be  attached  to  it.    Therefore  I  have  forbidden  ' 
him  to  do  so :  it  might  produce  inconvenience  at  this  time,  and 
would  not  be  seemly.    The  instructions  which  I  have  given  him, 
and  of  which  I  send  you  a  copy,  direct  him  how  he  must  act. 
Besides,  he  will  have  plenty  of  time  before  him.    It  is  well,  in 
such  cases  and  among  brothers,  to  act  with  much  circumspection 
in  every  particular ;  and  with  much  greater  reason,  should  you 
thus  act  towards  a  Queen  whose  dau^ter  you  are.^ 

Don  Fadrique  Henriquez  received  tbe  written  instractions  of 


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THE  BHPEROR  CHABLE8  TSB  FIFTH.  289 

liui  Bmperot^  tad  left  Yusto^  bearing  leitei«  of  condolence  to  all 
the  r^fal  £unilj  of  Pbrtvgal.  He  proceeded  to  Lisbon  to  execute 
tii0  ordeiB,  not  of  Donna  JuamM,  but  of  Charlea  the  Fifth,  wlio 
addressed  Queen  Catherine  as  his  sister  with  all  the  tender  affee- 
tkm,  of  &  bfotfaer,  as  the  widow  of  John  the  Third,  with  the  loftj 
eonaolatums  of  a  CImBtiaa  who  baa  retired  from  the  world,  and 
feels  hiiBself  more  near  to  death  than  his  fellows,  and  as  the  Re- 
gent of  Potftogal^  with  the  prodent  innnuations  of  a  consummate 
negotiiUor.  His  intervention  between  the  grandmother  and  mother 
of  Dom  Sebastian  was  very  opportune,  for  it  prevented  the  preten* 
sions  of  the  oae  from  coming  into  coUision  with  the  powers  of  the 
other.  Queen  Catherine  retained  both  the  regencj  of  Portugal 
and  the  guardiani^ip  of  the  young  King,  and  resigned  neither 
eharge  until  more  than  four  years  after  the  death  of  Charles  the 
Fifth.  As  die  temporary  mission  of  Don  Fadriqne  Henriquez 
had  prodnced  no  resuh,  die  Emperor  himself  accredited  to  the 
Court  of  Lisbon,  as  his  ambassador,  Don  Juan  de  Mendoza  de 
Ribera,  in  order  that  he  mif^t  hold  the  first  place,  and  that  the 
ambassador  of  the  King  of  France  might  not  be  tempted  to  dispute" 
widt  him  for  psecedenee*  Mendoza  urged  vigorously  the  return^ 
so  h>ng  delayed  and  so  impatiently  expected,  of  the  In&nta  Donna 
Maria  to  hsr  nxyther  Queen  Eleanor ;  who,  accompanied  by  her 
inseparable  companion^  the  Queen  of  Hungar}",  came  intoEstre- 
madnra  to  meet  her. 

Tlw  two  supers,  united  by  destiny  and  affection,  were  rejoiced 
to  find  this  oppeortunity  of  visiting  their  brother,  the  Emperor, 
whom  they  loved  extremely^  and  who  had  always  treated  them 
with  as  much  coofidmce  as  tenderness.  Eleanor,  then  fifty-nine 
yeaors  of  age,  was  hm  senior  by  fifteen  months,  kind,  gentle,  and 
submissive,  void  of  ambition,  and,  almost  without  a  will  of  her  own, 
she  had  b^n  the  flexible  instrumeDt  of  the  policy  of  her  grand- 
fether  and  of  her  brother,  who  had  placed  her  successively  on  the 
thrones  cl  Pottngal  and  France.  The  widow  of  two  Icings — of 
EnuBMBiiel  the  Fortuiate,  whom  Ferdinand  the  Catholic  had  given 
her  as  her  first  hnsband,  and  of  the  brilliant  but  unfaithftil  Francis 
J.,  whom  Charies  the  Fifth  had  caused  her  to  espouse  after  the 
battle  of  Pavia,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  treaty  of  Madrid, — • 
nbe  had  now  joined  her  sister  with  the  resolution  never  to  leave 
her,  declaring  that  she  woidd  follow  her  whithersoever  she  might 
go,  and  would  associate  her  in  all  the  reaolutions  she  might  adopt. 
The  same  dovotedness  which  Queen  Eleanor  felt  towards  the 
Qneen  of  Hungary  was  felt  by  the  Queen  of  Hungary  for  the 
Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth.  She  had  consecrated  herself  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century  to  the  service  of  that  brother,  whom  she  called 
^^  her  all  in  this  world  after  God,^  and  whose  vigour  of  mind  and 
loftiness  of  character  she  shared  in  no  small  degree.  Clear- 
sighted, resolute,  high-spirited,  indefatigable,  skilled  in  govern- 
ment, and  experienced  even  in  war,  prudent  in  business,  full  of 
resources  in  (Hfficulties,  acting  firmly  and  with  manly  courage  in 
danger,  never  allowing  herself  to  be  surprised  or  cast  down  by 
circumstances^  she  had  ruled  the  Netherlands  with  rare  ability. 

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260  THE  LAST  TEARS  OF  CHARLES  THE  FIETH. 

At  his  abdication,  Charles  the  Fifth  was  anxious  to  secure  to  his 
son  the  assistance  of  such  great  experience ;  but  Queen  Mary  had 
persistently  refused  to  retain  her  post,  saying  that  she  was  desirous 
of  repose  and  that  *^  she  did  not  care,  in  her  old  age,  to  recom* 
mence  governing  under  a  young  king ;  for  a  woman  of  fifty,  after 
twenty-four  years  of  service,  ought  to  be  satisfied,  for  the  rest  of 
her  life,  with  one  God  and  one  master.''  She  therefore  besought 
her  brother  to  allow  her  the  gratification  of  accompanying  him 
into  Spain,  in  order  to  bring  her  sister  nearer  to  her  daughter,  and 
to  be  able  to  reside  in  greater  proximity  to  himself. 

The  two  Queens,  who  had  accompanied  the  Emperor  on  his 
journey  from  the  Netherlands  as  far  as  Valladolid,  left  that  city 
on  the  18th  of  September  to  rejoin  their  brother,  from  whom  they 
had  been  separated  for  ten  months.  They  travelled  by  short 
stages  to  Estremadura,  where  the  country-house  of  the  Count  of 
Oropesa  had  been  prepared  to  receive  them ;  and  they  arrived  at 
Yuste  on  the  28th.  The  Emperor  was  extremely  delighted  at 
seeing  them  again.  They  found  him  fiilly  occupied  by  the  great 
events  which  were  occurring  in  France,  and  seeking  amusement  in 
the  arrangement  of  his  house  and  the  cultivation  of  his  garden. 
A  letter  written  the  evening  after  their  arrival  contains  this 
passage :  ^'  Her  Majesty  is  anxious  to  know  what  has  happened, 
and  what  course  her  son  has  taken  after  having  finished  his  enter- 
prise. He  thinks  that  the  weather  alone  can  have  prevented  his 
receiving  this  news.  The  Emperor  delights  in  taking  pastime  in 
the  construction  of  a  coverea  garden  on  the  high  terrace,  in  the 
midst  of  which  he  has  had  a  fountain  placed ;  and  he  has  planted 
its  sides  and  all  around  with  many  orange-trees  and  flowers.  He 
projects  doing  the  same  thing  on  the  lower  terrace,  where  he  is 
also  preparing  an  oratory." 

Charles  the  Fifth  was  also  busy  with  the  plan  of  another  building 
in  which  he  intended  to  lodge  his  son  when  Philip  II.  should 
return  to  Spain,  and  visit  him  at  Yuste.  The  Queens,  his  sisters, 
to  whom  he  did  not  offer  accommodation  in  his  own  house,  remained 
for  two  months  at  Xarandilla.  They  frequently  went  to.  the 
monastery  to  enjoy  the  society  and  conversation  of  their  brother ; 
and,  in  order  to  be  near  him,  lodged  frequently  at  Quacos. 
During  all  this  autumn  the  Emperor's  health  was  excellent,  his 
heart  was  satisfied,  and  his  temper  joyful.  But  the  cold  of  the 
ensuing  winter  and  the  political  mistakes  of  Philip  11.  and  the 
Duke  of  Alba  in  France  and  Italy,  brought  back  his  infirmities 
with  increased  violence  and  permanence,  and  left  him,  as  we  shall 
see,  as  discontented  in  mind  as  enfeebled  in  body. 


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261 


THE  WEIRD  MAN. 

Thebe  sat  an  aged  man. 

And  by  him  a  fair  youth ; 
Their  eager  glances  ran 
Over  the  book  of  truth. 
Which  in  the  old  stained  window  lay, 
Whilst  on  it  streamed  the  light,  in  many  a  coloured  ray. 

The  old  man's  hair  was  white 

As  snow  on  mountains  high  ; 
The  young  man's  hair  was  bright, 
And  hung  luxuriantly, 
Clustering  around  an  open  forehead,  where 
The  proudly-swelling  veins  his  mounting  life-blood  bare. 

And  he  was  like  his  son. 
As  evening  is  to  mom, 
When  his  bright  circuit  run, 
And  of  his  fierceness  shorn, 
The  summer's  sun  sets  in  the  purpled  skies. 
And  steeps  the  grey  mist's  veil  with  soft  and  fading  dyes. 

The  old  man's  ashen  brow 

Glowed  brightly,  and  his  eye. 
So  still  and  sunk,  but  now 
Was  flashing  eagerly. 
He  turned  upon  the  youth  a  gaze  which  fathers  know ; 
He  read  him  burning  words ;  his  voice  was  calm  and  low. 

^^  A  thing  was  brought  in  secret  to  my  ear, 
In  thoughts  from  visions  of  the  silent  night, 
•    When  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  men — a  fear 

And  trembling  came  upon  me ;  at  the  sight 
My  bones  all  shook  and  my  hair  stood  upright. 
A  spirit  pass^  then  before  my  face. 

Before  my  eyes  it  stood,  but  not  in  light ; 
A  voice  spoke  in  deep  silence,  and  my  gaze 
Was  on  an  image  then,  but  I  no  form  could  trace. 

^^  Shall  man  than  his  Creator  be  more  pure  ? 
'  Than  God  shall  mortal  man  be  deemed  more  just  ? 
Whose  present  light  not  angels  can  endure. 
Who  in  those  seraph  servants  puts  no  trust ; 
How  much  in  those  who  dwell  in  clay,  there  must 
Be  less  of  honour  ?  who  are  crushed  and  die 

Before  the  moth,  who  framed  are  of  dust. 
Who  hourly  fall,  as  mom  and  evening  fly. 
And  pass  unnoticed  hence  into  etemity." 

VOL.  XXXIV.  ^  1 

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262  THE  WEIRD  MAN. 

That  youthful  eye  was  fixed 
Upon  the  old  mane's  face ; 
How  many  thoughts  were  mixed 
In  its  impassioned  gaze ! 
As  one  who  hears  an  angePs  voice,  he  hung 
With  reverence  and  joy  upon  his  father's  tongue. 

'^  Yes,  so  it  is,"  he  murmured ;  for  at  first 
His  calm  voice  faltered  ;  firom  his  eye  there  burst 
.The  unresisted  tear ;  but  warming  now. 
He  dashed  the  gathering  darkness  from  his  brow, 
(As  trembling  fingers  sweep  at  first  the  strings 
Of  some  wild  harp  with  fear ;  but  soon  it  flings, 
In  bolder  strains,  its  melody  around, 
The  minstrePs  spirit  kindling  at  the  sound,) 
And  spoke  in  firmer  tone, — "  Yes,  it  is  so. 
For  I,  alas  !  have  proved  it,  and  I  know 
Its  secret  wisdom ;  I,  of  old,  like  you, 
Rejoiced  in  young  life's  freshness,  and  the  dew 
Sparkled  as  bright  around  my  morning  way, 
Its  thousand  spangles  painted  with  the  ray 
Of  Hope's  gay  sun ;  and  my  young  spirit's  thirst 
For  knowledge  was  as  strong,  when  on  me  burst 
The  sight  of  all  its  riches ;  in  my  dreams 
Danced  with  linked  hands  glad  forms  in  cloudless  beams : 
And  they  have  melted  from  me — melted  all ; 
Some  voice  unheard  by  me  still  seemed  to  call 
Them  one  by" one  away;  and  I  was  left 
In  life's  grey  truth  of  that  glad  band  bereft. 
Thick  darkness  fell  around  me,  and  there  came 
Strange  shapes  instead,  of  blackness  and  of  flame. 
Which  forced  upon  my  loathing,  shrinking  eye. 
Thirsting  for  rest,  their  hateful  company. 
But  it  was  long  before  my  spirit  bowed 
To  His  high  will,  at  whose  command  the  crowd 
Of  foul  distempered  phantoms  passed  away. 
And  left  me  calm  and  happy ;  though  the  day 
Was  somewhat  spent  widi  me.    Since ;  evening  light 
Has  gathered  mildly  round  me,  and  the  night 
Seen  often  near  me,  in  my  waking  trance, 
Looks  on  me  with  a  gentle  countenance* 
Life  has  passed  strangely  with  me ; — once  I  knew 
But  joy  and  rapture  in  it ;  then  it  grew 
Into  a  fearful  dream,  which  passed  not  soon ; 
At  last  it  melted  from  me,  and  my  noon 
Saw  a  fresh  spring  with  gayest  blossoms ;  then 
Came  on  the  cahn  old  age  of  peaceful  men. 
What  ?  thou  wonld'st  have  me  tell  it  thee  ?  and  why 
Should  I  gainsay  that  earnest  askbg  eye  ? 

For  thou  perchance  wouldst  pause  and  learn  of  me 

This  boasting  pageant's  unreality. 


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THE   WEIRD  MAN.  26S 

'^  Welly  I  was  what  tboa  ait,  and  in  me  glowed 
High  thoughts  and  longings ;  hidden  science  showed 
Her  veiled  form  to  me,  and  I  followed  where 
She  led  mj  eager  steps ;  earth,  sea,  and  air 
Had  wonders  for  me,  and  I  loved  them  all ; 
There  was  in  them  a  voice  of  power  to  call 
My  hidden  spirit  forth ;  and  thus  mj  name 
Grew  common  in  men's  ears  and  dear  to  &me. 
Then  gathered  round  me  other  spirits,  who 
Thirsted  to  learn  from  me  whatever  I  knew 
Of  Nature's  secret  things  ;  their  flattering  nursed 
What  had  been  but  a  spark,  until  it  burst 
Into  a  deadly  flame,  and  poisoned  all 
My  bosom's  purity ; — ^it  was  the  fall 
Of  poisoned  air  upon  the  fruitful  earth. 
What  was  it  ?  sayest  thou ;  't  was  ambition's  birth 
Within  my  tainted  heart ;  the  thirst  for  power 
Wliich  grew  upon  me  ;  from  that  evil  hour 
I  loved  not  wisdom  purely,  for  her  store 
Of  various  treasure  gladdened  me  no  more 
For  its  own  richness,  but  because  they  might 
Be  steps  by  which  to  climb  fair  fortune's  height 
The  giddy  height  men  gaze  upon.    I  heard 
My  name  oft  whispered  now,  as  one  who  feared 
No  secret  wisdom,  and  I  let  it  pass. 
As  what  might  help  my  rising  feme :  alas  ! 
I  little  knew  what  was  before  me  then, 
But  I  was  pleased ;  for,  as  I  walked,  old  men 
With  secret  touch  would  stir  each  other's  side. 
And  the  quick  turning  eye  would  mark  my  stride. 
The  merry  child  who  gambolled  at  the  door, 
Its  eager  mother  caught,  and  quickly  bore 
Clear  from  my  path,  lest  evil  eye  should  smite 
Its  innocent  freshness;  or  unholy  blight 
Fall  from  my  passing  shadow  on  its  head. 
Men  came  to  me  in  trouble,  for  thev  said 
That  wisdom  dwelt  with  me,  and  inly  thought 
That  from  man's  enemy  my  skill  I  bought, 
Which  was  but  built  upon  observance  fine, 
Of  tangled  threads  they  brought  me  to  untwine. 

But  dearly  did  I  pay  to  quit  the  cost 
Of  that  fsJse  fame ;  for  I  had  wholly  lost 
The  innocent  joy  true  wisdom  can  bestow, 
The  eager  search,  the  thrilling  bosom's  glow. 
When  truth  reveals  herself,  long  sought  in  vain. 
And  prized  more  highly  for  the  searches  pain. 
Yet  there  were  times  in  which,  tho'  deeply  stained. 
By  love  of  praise,  my  better  mind  regained 
Much  of  its  early  freshness  :  evening's  hour 
Breathed  softly  o'er  my  soul  with  healing  poirer; 

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264<  THE   WEIRD   MAN. 

When  in  ite  balmy  stillness  I  could  stray 
And  wander  from  men's  busy  haunts  away. 

There  was  a  little  wood  hard  by  the  town ; 
The  earliest  flowers  bloomed  there — and  lighting  down. 
To  rest  from  weary  flight  his  drooping  wing, 
There  first  the  melting  nightingale  would  sing 
His  song  of  joyous  rapture:  much  I  loved. 
When  evening's  whispering  breath  just  gently  moved 
Amongst  the  rustling  leaves,  to  wander  there, 
And  catch  the  melody  of  sighing  air — 
Or  listen  in  the  pauses  of  the  breeze. 
To  the  glad  stream  which  sung  amongst  the  trees. 
It  was  so  still  sometimes,  that  I  could  hear 
The  small  birds  gliding  past ;  or,  hovering  near, 
The  rapid  beating  of  the  hawk-moth's  wing. 
Sporting  at  large  in  flowery  revelling. 

There  I  had  wandered  on  a  summer's  night. 

And  silently  I  watched  in  fading  light, 

The  harmless  things  who  gambolled  gaily  there, 

The  rabbit,  the  small  field-mouse,  and  the  hare — 

How,  in  the  dusky  light,  they  ventured  near — 

Then  starting  wildly  ofi"  with  sudden  fear. 

Fled  with  pranckt  ears  from  my  too  curious  gaze, 

Lost  in  the  falling  dew's  bewildering  haze, 

I  sat  amongst  God's  creatures  in  the  wood 

And  my  glad  spirit  bounded  at  their  good. 

Long  time  I  lingered  there — the  evening  star 

Lighted  no  more  the  weary  traveller — 

The  evening  breezes,  too,  had  died  away: 

And  the  dew  sparkled  bright  on  every  spray, 

T  was  such  a  quiet  night,  so  calm  and  clear, 

That  on  the  silent  air  I  just  could  hear 

The  far-ofi*  chime  of  the  cathedral  tower 

Sullenly  chaunting  forth  the  midnight  hour. 

I  turned  to  quit  the  wood,  and  as  I  passed, 

Along  the  moss-grown  path,  a  sudden  blast, 

Of  cold  night-air  swept  o'er  me  from  on  high. 

The  tall  trees  answered  with  a  moumfiil  sigh. 

And — why  1  know  not,  for  I  was  not  prone, 

Bewildering  fancy's  baseless  power  to  own, — 

A  chill  crept  o'er  my  spirit,  and  there  rose. 

Upon  my  mind,  dim  shapeless  forms,  of  woes^ 

Haunting  my  onward  path — I  turned  to  take. 

One  straining,  lingering,  look — as  men  forsake 

Scenes  dear  to  childhood's  sports.    How  still  it  lay ! 

The  gust  had  passed ;  and,  save  some  wild  leafs  play, 

Just  lightly  whispering  to  the  parting  breeze. 

Steeped  in  calm  moonlight  slept  the  silent  trees. 

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THE  WEIRD  IfAN.  265 

My  ruffled  spirit  owned  the  soothing  power. 
Of  healing  nature,  in  that  quiet  hour. 
The  storm  was  hushed — yet  still  broke  on  the  shore, 
The  swelling  wave.     I  could  not  as  before, 
Feed  calmly  on  glad  thoughts;  for  memory  stirred 
Sadly  within  me.    Whispers  I  had  heard. 
And  dark  hints  dropped  for  me  of  danger  near. 
My  mounting  spirit  proudly  scorning  fear. 
Had  put  them  from  me  all;  as  things  of  nought. 
Now,  like  old  griefs  new  woke,  their  presence  wrought 
Strange  feelings  in  me — doubtful  questions  rose 
What  was  this  peril?     Who  these  secret  foes? 

The  town  lay  stretched  before  me;  it  was  hushed 
In  weary  silentness.     By  day  had  rushed. 
Upon  the  listening  ear  the  rising  flood 
Of  mingled  sounds.     How  voiceless  now  it  stood. 
The  light  mist  crept  around  it,  on  whose  waves 
White  moonlight  lay,  as  on  a  tide  which  laves 
Some  rocky  coast.    Whilst  high  above  its  power. 
Rose,  like  dark  isles,  each  steeple,  dome,  and  tower. 

Oh  !  what  a  world  of  life  was  gathered  there. 
Within  the  glancing  of  an  eye.     Despair 
Tossing  on  restless  couch.     Hope  gaily  bright. 
Crowding  with  painted  joys  the  dreamy  sight; 
Heart-eating  care's  sad  vigil,  nightlv  kept. 
O'er  the  poor  bed  where  crowded  children  slept— 
Slept  fearfully — and  dreamed  of  hunger's  pain. 
To  wake  with  morning  light  and  weep  again ; 
The  heavy  sleep  of  pampered  luxury; 
And  the  pale  miser's  half-closed  wakeful  eye ; 
Each  filled  with  his  own  thoughts,  as  if  there  were 
No  hope  but  his  and,  besides  his,  no  care. 

So  angels  look  upon  this  busy  world, 
Hovering  aloft  on  peaceful  wing  unfurled, 
And  weep  to  see  our  low  hearts  pant  and  strive. 
Each  in  nis  little  sphere  so  fearfully  alive. 

Just  where  I  stood,  the  free  and  sandy  soil. 
Was  channelled  out,  by  busy  workmen's  toil. 
For  the  town's  use :  and  passing  years  had  seen. 
Rude  columns  rise  and  arches  stretch  between — 
A  labyrinth  of  caverns;  many  a  time. 
The  secret  haunt  of  misery  and  crime. 

There  was  a  rustling  in  the  caves :  the  light  of  day 
Just  entered  them  at  best    The  feeble  ray 
Of  the  pale  moon  their  threshold  scarcely  crossed, 
And  in  deep  gloom  the  gazing  eye  was  lost. 

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266  THE  WEntD  MAN. 

It  was  the  sounci  of  feet:  dim  i^adows  poor 

Forth  from  that  darkness,  in  a  moment  more. 

Close  at  mj  side  tbey  stood :  their  panting  breaA 

Fell  on  mj  cheek.    A  fierce  and  sudden  death 

Seemed  surely  mine ;  for  aougbt  against  that  band 

Availed  the  strife  of  one  miarmed  band. 

It  lasted  scarce  a  moment — I  was  bound ; 

With  ready  skill  my  straggling  voice  was  drowned ; 

And  I  was  hurried  forcibly  away, 

I  knew  not  where.    Across  my  brows  there  lay 

A  close-drawn  mantle — yet  it  seemed  at  last. 

That  through  the  silent  city's  streets  we  passed. 

And  now  along  some  cloistered  aisle  we  went, 

Whose  heavy  wall  a  whispering  echo  sent 

After  our  passing  feet;  the  chilly  breath 

Of  the  damp  air  clung  Uke  the  dews  of  death. 

And  now  we  paused — a  secret  signal  made, 

The  heavy  gates  reluctantly  obeyed — 

The  portal  past,  and  left  the  outward  air, 

Through  corridors  and  passages  they  bear 

My  unresisting  weight ;   and  now  they  stopped ; 

My  pinioned  arms  released,  the  mantle  dropped. 

And  passing  quickly  through  the  closing  door. 

They  vanished  from  my  sight.     Upon  the  floor 

Of  a  small  cell  I  lay  :   strong  shuddering  pressed 

Upon  my  sickening  heart;   for  I  bad  guessed. 

Too  fatally  aright,  the  deadly  aim 

Of  this  strange  seizure.    Whispered  rumours  came 

Abroad  upon  the  air,  from  time  to  time. 

E'en  from  those  secret  cells  of  blood  and  crime. 

Men  spoke  beneatli  their  breath,  and  trembled,  too, 

As  girls,  who  talk  by  night  of  goblins,  do. 

Of  unknown  changes ;  of  the  torturer's  arts. 

Of  Reason  lost  through  pain ;  of  broken  hearts. 

And  men  had  learned  to  tremble,  but  to  hear 

The  dread  tribunal  named.     Suspicious  fear 

Was  severing  man  from  man.    Few  dared  to  speak 

To  their  own  bosom  friend :  for,  but  to  break 

The  iron  silence  of  the  soul — a  breath, 

A  whispered  thought,  might  lead  to  bonds  and  death. 

And  each  suspected  each  ;   for  none  knew  where 
Those  deadly  spies  were  planted ;   e'en  the  air. 
The  very  common  air  of  Heaven  appeared 
Sworn  of  their  council ;   and  so  all  men  feared 
His  friend,  his  innocent  children,  his  own  wife — 
E'en  they  might  rob  him  unawares  of  life. 


Men  looked  at  one  another,  and  there  grew 
A  gloom  upon  their  brows;  and  o'er  the  hue 


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THE  TVEIRD  HAN.  267 

Of  raddy  health  a  sudden  paleness  stole> 
As  dark  suspicion  fluttered  o'er  the  souL 

And  was  I  there,  indeed  ?  or  was  it  all 

A  night-mare  of  the  soul  ? — the  unreal  fall 

Of  dark-faced  visions  o'er  me  ?    No,  I  moved 

My  waking  limbs,  alas !  and  sadly  proved 

That  it  was  real  all ;  and  yet  I  lay 

Half-tranced  in  wild  tumultuous  thoughts  till  day. 

Soon  as  the  struggling  light  would  serve  to  tell 

The  scant  proportions  of  my  narrow  cell. 

My  restless  eye  with  idle  earnestness 

Ran  o'er  and  o'er  the  room  as  meaning  less 

To  see,  than  to  be  busy.    Weary  days 

It  strayed  around,  with  an  unmeaning  gaze. 

All  seeing,  noting  nothing.     There  was  nought 

To  fill  its  sense,  or  waken  one  glad  thought 

Ah  !  who  can  deem  aright,  who  has  not  tried. 

Of  the  wild  torturing  fancies  which  abide 

In  such  a  dull  enforced  solitude ! 

Still,  lonely  musings  I  liad  ever  wooed 

With  an  unusual  ardour;  the  full  store 

Of  rich  companionship,  which  Nature's  lore 

Flings  prodigal  around  us,  I  had  loved 

With  an  exulting  love ;  and  it  had  proved 

My  weary  spirit's  best  refreshment,  by  the  hour 

To  watch  the  small  birds  play;  a  leaiv  or  flower. 

Or  the  bright  glancing  grass  upon  the  green. 

Gave  me  sweet  communings  with  things  unseen. 

But  here  were  none  of  these ;  here  notibing  brought 

Or  change  or  leisure  to  the  weary  thought. 

Which  never  rested,  but  would  wander  still 

O'er  the  same  aching  sense  of  hopeless  ill. 

The  barren  walls  which  girded  me  about. 

The  very  sighing  of  the  wind  shut  out, 

No  wandering  ray  of  sunny  light  could  pass. 

The  dim,  stained  surface  of  the  distant  glass. 

No  rest  stole  on  my  sense,  from  eye  or  ear 

It  was  the  passionate  sameness  of  despair. 

There  was  an  horrid  stillness  which  possessed 
The  stagnant  air;  my  thirsty  ears  ha!d  blessed 
The  smallest  echo,  which  had  wafted  round 
To  their  dull  sense;,  the  fellowship  of  sound* 
If  but  a  door  had  creaked,  enough  to  give 
Audible  proof  that  some  one  else  did  live; 
If  nature's  common  music  I  had  heard. 
The  fluttering  wing — the  clear  note  of  some  bird ; 
Or  if  it  were  but  some  small  lisping  child. 
Whose  tongue,  half  tuiored,  often  wandered  wild. 


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268  THE  WEIRD  MAN. 

In  babblings  withont  sense ;  I  still  had  blest 
Aught  that  had  broken  in  on  that  dead  rest ; 
Which  to  have  answered  me  again  would  try, 
And  when  I  spoke,  have  spoken  in  reply. 
How  oft  did  I  before  with  thankless  ear. 
The  joyful  sounds  of  living  voices  hear; 
The  market's  frequent  buzz, — the  seller's  shout, — 
The  idle  laughter  of  the  rabble  rout  ? 
How  oft  did  I,  nor  knew  my  blessing,  share 
The  various  concert  of  the  common  air, 
The  insect's  hum,  the  wild  bird's  in  the  tree. 
Rejoicing  nature's  ceaseless  jubilee  ! 

Now — as  the  weary  wanderer  in  the  waste. 

Reaching  with  fainting  steps  some  spring  at  last 

O'er  the  cool  wave,  where  silver  bubbles  play. 

Bends  down  with  fever'd  lips,  as  he  would  stay 

Chained  to  that  common  blessing—-!  had  found. 

As  angel  songs,  the  luxury  of  sound. 

And  I  had  prized,  oh,  far  beyond  all  choice, 

The  natural  music  of  another's  voice. 

No  form  of  man  I  saw,  save  those  who  bore 

And  set  my  daily  food  within  the  door. 

To  those  in  dungeons,  I  have  heard  it  said. 

That  e'en  the  surly  gaoler's  heavy  tread, 

Becomes  a  welcome  sound  ;  for  in  his  face, 

Hard  tho'  it  be,  yet  something  they  can  trace, 

Of  that  which  lonely  men  still  love  to  see. 

The  common  form  of  their  humanity* 

It  was  not  so  with  me,  they  were  so  still, 

They  grew  a  visible  portion  of  my  ill. 

As  they  drew  near  I  heard  no  footsteps  fall. 

They  glided  in,  like  shadows  on  the  wall ; 

Most  silently  the  door  rolled  back  ;  and  then 

Beside  me  stood  these  likenesses  of  men ; 

Fiends,  in  man's  shape,  I  deemed,  and  loathed  the  sight,-^ 

Their  silence  said,  that  sound  had  perished  quite. 

They  mocked  my  madness ;  like  still  forms  in  sleep, 

Whose  bodiless  presence  o'er  the  senses  creep. 

At  first  I  spoke  to  them,  in  humble  guise, 

I  knew  not  then,  man  could  for  man  devise 

Such  lasting  anguish.    But  one  passing  word 

I  prayed  for — bootless  toil ! — no  muscle  stirred ; 

Vainly  I  knelt  before  them ;  raved  in  vain ; 

With  passionless  eye  they  gazed  upon  mr  pain. 

My  very  stamping  foot  returned  no  sound, 

And  my  voice  faltered,  echoeless  and  drowned. 

At  first  I  raised  it  oft,  then  less  and  less, 

It  made  me  tremble  at  its  hoUowness. 

My  shapeless  fancies  its  strange  sound  increased. 

And  silence  was  more  silent  when  it  ceased. 


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THE  WEIRD  MAN.  269 

Not  very  long  I  deemed  I  should  endnre 

These  bitter  sorrows ;  madness  soon  would  cure 

The  waking  agony  of  thought,  and  shed 

Its  moody  vision  o'^er  my  soul  instead. 

And  then  my  tortured  spirit  shrank  from  this. 

As  the  worst  form  of  helpless  wretchedness. 

To  be  that  abject  outcast,  fearful  thing. 

Foaming  in  fury,  sunk  in  drivelling; 

It  were  too  dreadful — worse  than  death  would  seem 

The  idiot's  laughter,  or  the  maniac's  scream. 

Another  day  I  deemed  I  could  not  bear ; 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  passed  on  and  I  was  there. 

My  restless  thoughts  still  ran  their  aching  round, 

My  eye  still  dead  to  sight,  my  ear  to  sound. 

My  spirit  struggled  on  ;  they  deemed  me  grown 

Senseless  and  dull,  life's  mounting  spirit  flown. 

And  so  it  w^as :  for  when  my  torturers  came 

At  last  to  take  me  thence,  no  sudden  flame 

Of  joy  lit  up,  or  wonder ;  but  I  went 

Stupidly  forth.     Along  low  aisles  was  bent 

In  gloomy  twilight  our  long  winding  way. 

Once,  far  before,  I  thought  I  saw  the  day. 

Too  bright  to  look  upon.    No  word  they  spoke, 

No  muttered  sound  of  life  the  silence  broke ; 

Only  our  muffled  feet,  just  whispered  low, 

Like  to  a  light  bird's  tread  on  yielding  snow. 

A  still  door  opened  on  a  lofty  hall. 

My  long-imprisoned  eye  scarce  saw  it  all. 

So  large  it  was — or  else  it  seemed  to  be — 

As  things  look  large  in  childhood's  memory. 

Within  it  sat  grave  forms  of  reverend  men. 

And  groups  were  standing  round.    Some  held  the  pen, 

As  to  note  down  what  passed ;  the  table  bore 

Strange  shapes  of  cunning  artifice ;  and  more 

Lay  here  and  there  about.    My  glancing  eye 

Shrunk  sickened  from  the  sight — I  scarce  knew  why — 

Through  all  my  limbs  a  chilling  shudder  went, 

As  my  heart  whispered — ^^  Torture's  Instrument." 

Another  moment,  and  I  stood  before 

The  steady  gaze  of  the  Inquisitor. 

My  giddy  senses  reeled ;  the  room  swam  round ; 

On  my  full  ears  then  woke  a  dull  sweet  sound, 

Of  many  water's  falling ;  then  it  seems 

Like  angel's  voices  I  had  heard  in  dreams ; 

Through  every  nerve  the  sense  of  pleasure  ran, 

I  heard  sofi  music — 't  was  the  voice  of  man. 

Few  were  his  words,  suppressed  his  tone, 

And  to  unpractised  eyes  it  seemed 
That  very  human  kindness  shone 

In  that  smooth  face,  and  that  there  gleamed 


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270  THE  WJBIBD  MAN. 

A  mild  and  softened  cadiance  in  his  eye^ 
The  painted  reil  aje  worn  hj  demon  craelty. 

He  spoke — so  soft  a  roice,  it  scarcely  stirred 

The  floating  air,  or  wotoB  its  pnkes  fine; 
Felt  by  a  natural  instinct,  and  not  heard. 

It  stole  upon  the  sense,  as  liquids  join 
And  intertwine  their  several  substances. 
That  the  eye  cannot  trace  the  rery  change  it  sees. 

And  many  a  one,  in  fear  or  danger's  hoar 

Would  turn  to  such  a  man,  of  pity  sure. 
As  children  fly  to  trees,  when  dark  clouds  lour — 

T'  were  safer  £bu:  their  perils  to  endure — 
Yet  something  in  that  placid  look  there  burned, 
From  which  an  innocent  child  with  natural  loathing  turned. 

What  is  that  deep  philosophy  which  glows 

In  the  young  heart, — o'^er  which  have  never  breathed 

The  gales  of  earthly  care  ?  which  nothing  knows 

Of  soul-abasing  shaa^,  for  whom  the  hours  are  wreathed* 

With  roses  ever  swe^  that  firom  the  brink 

Of  such  a  cold  abyss  with  shuddering  cry  they  shrink. 

^'  Brother,  it  has  been,"  said  he, 
**'  By  many  whispered,  that  there  be 

In  thy  glowing  boeom  hid. 

Secrets  by  the  church  forbid; 

That  by  thee  oft  practised  are, 

Underneath  a  lurid  star. 

Magic  rites  which  have  the  power 

In  that  dark  unholy  hour. 

With  sinful  men  in  league  to  bind 

The  enemy  of  human  land.'' 
He  ceased.    Yet  when  he  ceased  I  scarce  could  know. 
So  soft  his  voice,  so  passionless  and  low. 

As  one  who  strives  from  restless  sleep  to  wake, 

And  yet  is  held  in  his  uneasy  trance 
By  viewless  bonds — I  vainly  strove  to  make 

Some  answer  to  that  waiting  countenance. 
Whose  still  eye  firose  my  spirit,  as  the  snake 
Benumbs  the  fluttering  bird  withiB  the  tangled  brake. 

I  spoke  at  last.    I  know  not  what  I  said, 
The  stifling  stiUness  weif^ied  upon  my  brain, 

My  struggling  breath  was  choked,  and  through  my  head 
Rolled  the  dull  throbbings  of  deep-seated  pain. 

A  misty  veil  before  my  eyes  was  spread. 

Until  that  silvery  voice  awoke  nct  and  it  fled. 


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THE   WEIED  MAN.  271 

*^  Sinful  btodieT!  we  have  beard 
In  erery  befiitatiDg-  word 
Which  that  re«dj  tongue  hath  tpoke. 
Seen,  m  erery  glance  which  brake 
From  thy  timid  restless  eye, 
Proofii  of  deep  iniqaity. 
Siaftd  brother,  speaks  confess 
All  thy  hidden  wickedsess.'" 

Again  the  weight  of  that  dead  silence  lay 

Upon  my  heart  Hke  lead,  and  nothing  could  I  say. 

**  Of  its  dark  burden  let  his  soul  be  eased." 
T  was  all  he  said.    The  speechless  figures  seized 
Upon  my  yielding  limbs ;  a  giddy  trance 

Stole  o'er  my  fainting  senses^  and  1  knew 
Nought  of  what  followed,  till  I  saw  the  glance 

Of  that  calm  eye  fixed  on  me;  bea^y  dew 
As  that  of  death  burst  forth  upon  my  Imtow  ; 
With  sudden  start  1  strove  to  more;  bat  now 
The  deadly  work  of  torture  was  begun. 
In  every  vein  keen  thrills  of  anguish  run, 
Strains  each  racked  muscle.    Vain  were  it  to  try 
To  paint  that  dream  of  hellish  agony. 
It  lasted  until  ebbing  life 
Feebly  prolonged  the  doubtivl  strife. 

It  was  not  pity's  voice  which  stole 
Upon  that  seeming  gentle  soul. 
But,  lest  the  languid  pulse  quite  cease, 
And  death  their  tortured  prey  release. 
With  eyes  which  drunk  my  agonies,  the  band 
Withdrew  reluctantly  their  demon  hand. 
I  woke  again  within  my  narrow  cell, 
Borne  thither  senseless  by  those  fiends  of  hell. 
And  left  alone.     I  stirred  my  throbbing  limbs 
As  I  first  woke.    But  oh  my  head  still  swims 
To  think  of  that  first  waking ;  how  there  shot 
Anguish  through  every  vein,  so  fiercely  hot. 
Pulses  of  living  fire  they  seemed  to  be, 
Waking  each  stiffened  joint  to  agony. 
And  so  I  moved  no  more,  but,  save  a  groan , 
Lay  mute  and  motionless  as  things  of  stone. 
But  it  was  constant  torture  thus  to  keep 
A  forced  and  aching  stillness,  balmy  sleep 
Ne'er  visited  my  eyelids ;  if,  perchance, 
•Through  utter  weariness  I  slept,  a  trance 
Of  hideous,  hateful  visions,  haunted  me, 
And  then  I  moved  and  woke  fresh  misery. 
There  never  fell  upon  my  fevered  brow 
The  blessed  dews  of  rest;  I  know  not  how 


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272  THE  WEIRD  HAN. 

Life  lingered  on  within  this  wasted  frame, 
And  I  had  welcomed  death,  as  one  who  came 
Bearing  most  friendly  greeting ;  I  had  wooed 
Unrighteously  his  presence,  if  I  could. 
They  forced  upon  me,  after  bitter  strife, 
The  loathed  food  which  kept  up  loathed  life. 
How  long  this  lasted,  sooth,  I  cannot  say, 
Twas  long  enough  to  turn  to  thin  and  grey 
Hair  bright  and  full  as  thine ;  H  was  long  enough 
(Short  seas  are  long  when  winds  are  foul  and  rough) 
Deep  wrinkles  on  my  wasted  brow  to  write, — 
It  seems  an  endless,  weary,  sleepless  night. 

Then  rang  despair  his  sullen  chime. 
Then  was  no  calendar  of  time ; 
There  were  no  days  or  nights  to  me. 
It  is  a  blank  to  memory : 
Dim  twilight  of  the  soul  it  seems. 
It  passed  as  passes  time  in  dreams. 
From  prayer,  from  joy,  from  changes  free, 
Unmarkea,  unknown,  uneasily. 

There  came  a  change  at  last,  my  gaolers  knew 
How  stupidly  I  lay  ;  in  time  they  grew 
To  deem  my  spirit  broken,  and  my  mind 
So  worn  and  shaken  that  they  ne^er  should  find 
Or  fear  or  danger  from  me ;  and  just  then 
There  were  so  many  miserable  men 
Doomed  at  that  feast  to  face  the  fiery  strife, 
In  very  truth  they  wanted  not  my  life. 


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273 


THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS. 

If  we  lay  open  the  map  of  the  ancient  world,  with  a  view  to 
study  those  districts  which  abound  the  most  in  interest  and  in- 
struction, we  shall  fix  our  eyes  first  on  Syria  and  Palestine,  the 
land  of  promise  and  the  adjacent  countries.  Comparatively  small 
in  extent,  and  of  little  political  importance  as  the  nations  are  now 
divided,  they  are  pre-eminently  celebrated  in  the  remote  antiquity 
of  their  historical  associations,  and  in  the  sacred  annals  by  which 
they  are  commemorated,  as  in  the  miraculous  events  of  which 
from  the  earliest  ages  they  have  been  the  selected  theatre.  Whilst 
we  anxiously  desire  to  penetrate  the  shroud  of  mystery,  to  realize 
or  dissipate  the  endless  surmises  with  which  tradition,  invention, 
or  actual  examination  has  invested  the  subject,  we  reflect  also 
with  some  surprise,  that  very  few  travellers  have  been  attracted  to 
these  regions,  and  that  the  accounts  they  have  given  us  are  in 
various  instances  meagre  and  discordant.  The  Dead  Sea,  and  its 
valley  in  particular,  was  always  considered  as  under  an  enduring 
malediction,  still  desolate  and  pestilential,  uninhabited  and  un- 
productive, bearing  neither  life  in  its  waters,  nor  cultivation  on  its 
lands,  so  that  no  European  could  traverse  those  gloomy  shores, 
and  return  to  tell  of  the  wonders  he  might  have  discovered.  The 
recent  fate  of  Costigan  and  Molvneux  appeared  to  establish  the 
fact,  and  was  well  calculated  to  deter  emulation.  Jerusalem,  it  is 
true,  hasbeen  frequently  visited,  and  is  now  become  as  easy  of  access 
as  Paris,  Vienna,  or  Naples.  But  many  of  the  most  venerable 
monuments  in  the  Holy  city  have  been  incorrectly  described, 
erroneously  appropriated,  confounded  as  to  their  chronology,  or 
passed  over  altogether.  Ooe  authority  appears  good  until  super- 
seded by  another,  who  claims  to  have  investigated  the  matter  with 
superior  accuracy,  and  sets  forth  a  process  of  inferential  reasoning 
founded  on  firesh  data,  in  opposition  to  all  pre-established  theories. 
In  some  instances,  however,  the  researches  of  subsequent  tra- 
vellers have  verified  the  labours  of  earlier  pioneers,  who  were 
mistrusted  because  they  were  first  in  the  field,  and  startled  sober 
readers  by  a  few  marvellous  details.  This  has  been  remarkably 
illustrated  in  the  case  c  ithe  much  injured  Bruce,  who  was  long 
classed  as  a  fabulist  in  the  style  of  Marco  Polo  or  Sir  John 
Mandeville,  but  is  now  found  to  have  borne  true  and  authentic 
record  of  what  he  actually  saw  and  encountered.  Like  honest 
Tom  Coryate  of  earlier  date,^  he  travelled  alone,  and  had  no 

2ualified  companions  to  corroborate  or  gainsay  his  statements, 
'ritics  indulging  in  the  repose  of  an  arm-chair,  and  whose  travels 

*  Corvate't  Travels  were  published  in  1611.  He  was  a  great  pedestrian, 
and  walked  nine  hundred  miles  with  one  pair  of  shoes^  which  he  hung  up  on 
his  return  home,  as  a  votive  offering,  in  the  parish  church  of  hb  native  place, 
Odcombe,  in  Somersetshire. 


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274  THE  DEAD  SEA   AND  THE   BIBLE  LANDS. 

were  bounded  by  the  four  walls  of  a  library,  said  loudly  that 
he  drew  on  his  invention  for  his  assumed  facts,  and  had  never 
seen  the  places  of  which  he  gave  drawings  and  descriptions. 
They  compared  him  to  Falstaff,  who  finding  himself  left  alive  with 
the  dead  Percy,  and  without  witnesses,  claims  the  merit  of  having 
killed  him.  "Nothing  confutes  me  but  eyes,  and  nobody  sees 
me,"  says  the  gasconading  knight,  and  on  this  logical  reasoning, 
laughs  at  the  fear  of  detection.  The  application  is  ingenious  aiKl 
plausible,  the  charge  easily  made,  and  readily  believed,  to  be  finally 
tested  by  time  and  a  comparison  of  subsequent  evidences.  In  the 
meanwhile,  the  adventurous  and  conscientious  traveller  must  make 
up  his  mind  to  be  suspected  and  questioned,  consoling  himself 
with  the  reflection  that  if  he  has  told  the  truth,  ^^  magna  est  Veritas 
et  prevalebU^  and  that  current  envy  and  detraction,  on  the  part  of 
las  contemporaries,  constitute  "  the  rough  brake  that  virtue  must 
go  through." 

An  exploring  peregrination  in  Phoenicia^  GaUlee,  Juda&a,  and  the 
Biblical  lands  of  Canaan  and  Moab,  is  no  light  undertalung,  and 
scarcely  to  be  carried  to  a  successful  issue  without  a  combination 
of  many  attributes,  not  often  united.     It  requires  energy  of  mind 
and  health  of  body,  activity  and    perseverance,  constitutional 
equanimity  and  command  of  temper,  clear  judgment  in  appre- 
ciating the  characters  and  habits  of  the  people  you  arc  likdy  to 
encounter,  a  readiness  of  resource  in  unexpected  danger  or  diffi- 
culty, and  above  all,  an  ample  command  of  money ;  for  the  cir- 
culating medium  will  be  found  as  necessary  in  the  deserts  of 
Arabia,  as  on  the  Loudon  Exchange,  or  the  Parisian  Bourse. 
The  hospitality  and  protection  of  the  wandering  tribes  must  be 
bought  on  terms  settled  and  defined  beforehand ;  to  which  is  in« 
variably  added  a  backshish^  or  extorted  gratuity,  by  way  of  supple- 
ment, often  exceeding  in  amount  the  value  of  Uie  original  con- 
tract.   The  expense  may  be  set  down  as  a  more  formidiJ)le 
obstacle  than  the  natural  difficulties  of  the  country,  the  almost 
impracticable  roads,  and  the  semi-barbarous  dispositions  of  the 
inhabitants.    Few  individuals  will  be  either  able  or  inclined  to 
encounter  this  without  assistance  from  the  government  of  the 
nation  to  which  they  belong,  and  thus  we  can  scarcely  look 
fOTward  to  a  rapid  succession  of  travellers,  notwithstanding  the 
curiosity  which  will  be  excited  by  the  extraordinary  discoveries 
we  are  about  to  notice.    The  patriarchal  simplicity  of  the  Arabs, 
like  everything  else  connected  with  their  primitive  race,  has  long 
fiftded  into  a  tradition,  and  the  confiding  wanderer  who  trusts  to  it 
without  ample  means  of  sdf-protection,  or  a  bargain  duly  sworn 
on  the  Koran  by  the  high  contracting  parties,  will  find  himself  in 
an  awkward  dilemma.     When  faith  is  once  solemnly  pledged  and 
interchanged,  every  tribe  becomes  your  body-guard  agiunst  their 
predatory  neighbours,  as  effectually  as  a  division  of  Metropolitan 
police;  but  until  the  subsidy  is   clearly  arranged,  you  may  as 
safely^ommit  yourself  with  a  horde  of  Calabrian  banditti. 

l^hat  we  live  in  an  age  of  miracles  is  a  fact  too  well  established 
to  require  investigation  or  comment.    The  apparently  interminable 


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THE  BEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS.  275 

mineial  wealth  of  California  and  Anstraliay  will  soon  perceptibly 
change  the  entire  nature  of  commercial  intercourse,  and  establish 
a  new  scale  in  the  Talue  of  property.  The  labours  of  Layard  and 
Botta,  exhibited  to  the  worid  in  the  disinterred  city  and  palaces 
of  Nineveh  and  Ehorsabad,  gigantic  as  they  hare  been  in  progress 
and  effect,  are  periiaps  but  preludes  to  future  and  m<nre  extended 
operations,  which  may  still  further  illustrate  and  establish  the 
truth  of  evly  history.  Up  to  this  period,  they  are  beyond  all 
doubt  the  most  astonishing  results  which  have  ever  been  attained 
by  human  energy,  and  afford  full  evidences  of  a  civilization,  of 
which,  until  now,  we  knew  little  beyond  vague  and  undefined 
conjecture.  The  ruined  cities  of  central  America,  discovered  by 
Stephens,  have  given  rise  to  many  surmises  and  problems  as  to 
their  origin  and  incalculable  antiquity,  which  are  not  likely  to 
unite  in  a  single  s(Jution.  M.  de  Saulcy,  a  French  savant  and 
member  of  the  Institute,  traversed  in  1850  and  1851,  the  hitherto 
most  unfrequented  portions  of  the  Bible  Lands,  accompanied  by 
intelligent  and  scientific  associates,  who  returned  with  him  to 
attest  the  truth  of  his  statements,  and  were  equally  with  himself 
eye-witnesses  of  what  he  describes.  His  travels  have  lately  been 
published  in  Paris,  in  two  volumes,  with  an  accurate  map  of  the 
shores  of  the  Dead.  Sea,  which  he  most  minutely  and  laboriously 
examined,  and  with  many  plans  and  drawings  of  the  strange 
edifices  and  extensive  vestiges  of  early  and  extinguished  races, 
dominations,  and  influences,  now  for  the  first  time  brought 
under  public  notice.  An  English  translation  has  appeared  almost 
simultaneously  with  the  original.^  This  work  has  excited  an 
unprecedented  sensation  in  France,  and  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
presented  the  author  with  a  truly  imperial  present  as  a  mark  of 
his  approbation.  The  matters  treated  of,  are  even  more  stupend- 
ous, and  carry  the  reader  back  to  a  more  remote  period  than  those 
comprised  within  the  volumes  of  Layard,  Botta,  and  Stephens. 
He  is  introduced  to  the  still  existing  and  clearly  defined  re- 
mains of  cities  which  were  great  and  flourishing  in  the  days  of 
the  early  patriarch  Abraham,  at  least  three  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  fiffy  years  ago. 

The  pyramids  of  Egypt  are  less  ancient  by  several  centuries.  The 
first  and  smallest  are  supposed  by  Josephus  and  other  eminent 
historians  to  have  been  compulsorily  erected  by  the  Israelites,  not 
long  before  the  Exodus,  which  the  most  correct  chronology  fixes 
at  haying  commenced  bx.  1491.  The  remains  of  the  condemned 
cities  of  Qie  plain,  so  long  supposed  (but  in  opposition  to  Scriptural 
authority)  to  have  been  submerged  under  the  salt  bituminous  lake, 
then  first  created  for  the  purpose,  are  now  found  to  be  still  palpable 
to  the  human  eye,  extending  over  a  large  tract  of  ground,  and  in 
the  exact  positions  where  they  might  be  looked  for.  Everything 
connected  with  these  awful  relics  prove  (as  might  have  beien  ex- 
pected) the  accuracy  of  the  Mosaic  account,  and  the  truth  of  the 

*  '*  Narrative  of  a  Joumev  round  the  Dead  Sea  and  in  the  Bible  Lands  in 
1850  and  1S51."  By  F.  de  ia.n\cy.  Member  of  the  French  Institute.  Edited, 
with  notes,  by  Comit  Edward  de  Warren.    London,  18J^. 


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276  THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS. 

inspired  records.  The  author  has  been  already  assailed  by  hot 
and  bitter  controversialists  who  dispute  his  facts,  and  deny  his 
inferences,  but  he  stands  fearlessly  on  both,  supported  by  a  train 
of  clear  analogical  reasoning,  which*  will  force  its  way  and  estab- 
lish its  ground,  in  spite  of  prejudice  and  opposition.  It  is 
vexatious  enough  to  be  accused  of  invention  when  dealing  with 
truth,  and  to  be  set  down  as  a  wild  enthusiast  instead  of  an 
enquiring  philosopher;  but  time  rectifies  errors,  clears  up  ob- 
scurities, and  harmonizes  apparent  contradictions.  There  is  also 
this  additional  advantage  in  opposition,  that  the  closest  scrutiny 
developes  the  soundest  conclusions.  Until  very  lately,  the  best 
established  facts  of  geology,  now  admitted  by  all,  were  treated  as 
idle  chimeras,  and  laughed  at  by  shallow,  hasty  readers,  who  had 
never  considered  or  examined  the  subject.  Mrs.  Malaprop  says 
that  ^^  in  marriage,  it  is  safest  to  begin  with  a  little  aversion."  So 
in  literature,  it  is  well  to  be  soundly  attacked  at  the  outset,  as 
hostility  elicits  a  legion  of  defences,  and  sustaining  arguments, 
which  otherwise  might  never  have  been  called  into  action.  M.de 
Saulcy  was  induced  to  travel  by  a  severe  domestic  calamity,  which 
made  him  desirous  to  detach  himself  for  a  time  from  familiar 
scenes  and  painful  reminiscences.  While  preparing  for  the  journey 
he  says  in  his  preface, 

**  I  reflected  that  it  would  be  no  advantage  to  science,  were  we  to  tread  again 
the  beaten  paths  already  traced  by  hundreds  of  other  tourists ;  and  that  the 
object  of  m^  own  travelling  would  be  completely  lost  if  I  did  not  attempt  to 
visit  countries  still  unexplored.  Such  being  my  intention,  there  was  only  one 
course  open  to  us.  The  Dead  Sea  and  its  vdley  has  of  late  years  given  rise  to 
many  surmises  amongst  the  learned  of  all  nations.  All  that  was  told  of  that 
wonderful  lake — thoush,  from  innate  incredulity,  I  thought  much  of  it  was 
mixed  up  with  poetical  exaggeration— all  that  was  repeated  of  the  perils  await* 
ing  the  traveller  who  might  be  bold  enough  to  venture  on  these  mysterious 
shores,  strongly  stimulated  my  curiosi^.  Mystery  and  danger  sufficed  to  fix  my 
resolution,  and  I  determined  to  proceed  at  once  to  Jerusalem.    From  thence  I 

firoposed  to  undertaJce  an  expedition,  the  difficulties  of  which  I  thought  were 
ikely  to  prove  less  formidable,  on  a  nearer  approach,  than  they  appeared  at  a 
distance.  I  solicited,  and  easily  obtained,  from  the  Minister  of  Public  Instruc- 
tion in  France,  permission  to  travel,  at  my  own  expense,  with  the  title  of 
Charge  (Tune  mistian  scientifique  en  Orient;  and  accordingly  left  Paris  on  the 
28th  of  September,  1850." 

M.  de  Saulcy  was  accompanied  by  his  son,  an  intimate  friend, 
the  Abb6  Michon,  and  three  French  gentlemen,  Messrs.  Belly, 
Loysel,  and  Delessert,  who  placed  themselves  under  his  direction. 
At  Jerusalem  they  were  joined  by  M.  Gustave  de  Rothschild,  who, 
with  their  dragomans,  cook,  and  other  attendants  completed  the 
European  section  of  the  party.  Having  visited  Constantinople 
and  the  Morea,  they  arrived  at  Beyrout  on  the  7th  Dec.,  and 
thence  commenced  immediately  the  interesting  tour  of  which  we 
have  now  such  ample  details.  M.  de  Saulcy  was  disappointed  on 
the  outset  by  not  obtaining  permission  from  the  Turkish  govern- 
ment to  carry  off  one  of  the  reputed  Assyrian  bcu  reliefs  at  the 
Nahr-el-Kelb,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Beyrout,  which  he  earnestly 
desired  to  deposit  in  the  Louvre.  He  derived  ample  consolation, 
however,  from  ascettaining  by  actual  examination,  that  those  has 


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THS  DIUlD  8EA  AND  THE  BIBLB  LANDS.  277 

reUefi  were  not  in  existence,  and  never  had  existed  at  the  place 
whore  careless  or  credulous  voyagers  have  supposed  the^  had  oeen 
seen ;  and  by  obtaining  in  their  stead,  for  the  national  museum,  the 
veritable  coverlid  of  King  David's  sarcophagus,  and  some  speci- 
mens  of  original  sculpture  from  the  land  of  Moab. 

It  sounds  strange  to  English  ears  and  readers,  that  it  diould  be 
necessary  to  ask  permission  from  the  constituted  authorities  to 
travel  anywhere  at  your  own  expense;  yet  this  seems  to  be  the 
rule  in  France,  and  is  almost  as  unintelligible  to  us  as  the  nature 
of  a  republic  appeared  to  be  to  the  wandering  children  of  the 
desert,  when  M.  de  Saulcy  undertook  to  explain  it  to  them. 
**  How  !^  said  they,  incredulously,  "  a  country  without  a  sultan ! 
Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  I  You  cannot  get  on  without  a' 
sultan  and  must  have  one  !^  And  so  they  have,  as  the  travellers 
found  on  their  return ;  one  who  understands  his  business  as  well 
as  if  he  had  served  a  long  apprenticeship  to  it,  and  governs  on 
the  wise  principle  laid  down  by  Duke  HUdebrod  of  Alsatia,  who 
teUs  his  loving  subjects,  ^^  Freedom  of  speech  you  all  shall  have — 
provided  you  don't  make  too  free." 

In  the  Eastern  lands,  where  nothing  varies  or  advances  from 
century  to  century,  where  the  habits  and  manners  of  the  people 
are  unchanged,  and  uninfluenced  by  the  fluctuating  fashions  of 
Europe,  much  value  may  be  extracted  from  tradition,  and  a  close 
study  of  the  analogy  between  ancient  and  modem  names. 
Accordingly  M.  de  Saulcy  never  fails  to  appeal  strongly,  and 
often  successfally,  to  these  evidences  when  seeking  to  establish 
an  historical  incident  or  locality.  He  is  avowedly  an  enthusiast, 
but  a  reasoning  one,  of  mathematical  mind,  not  satisfied  without 
convincing  proof;  and  although  enthusiasm  sometimes  misleads, 
nothing  great  or  important  is  likely  ever  to  be  achieved  where  this 
exciting  stimulant  is  wanting.  Our  traveller  is  also  deeply  im- 
bued with  the  fervour  of  religious  conviction,  and  while  he  carries 
his  compass  in  one  hand  to  lay  down  correctly  a  map  of  the 
country  he  passes  through,  he  has  the  Bible  open  in  the  other,  to 
verify  at  every  step  the  ancient  relics  he  falls  in  with,  by  a  refer* 
ence  to  the  highest  and  most  unanswerable  authority.  His  feel- 
ings on  entering  the  chamber  of  the  Annunciation  at  Nazareth 
(hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock)  are  thus  emphatically  described: — 

**  I  pitjr  from  my  inmost  8oul«  the  man  who  can  find  himself  in  such  a  place 
without  feeling  a  strong  and  deep  emotion ;  his  insensibility  must  be  affected. 
If  some  travellers  are  unhappily  inclined  to  boast  that  they  have  stood  there 
unmoved,  I  class  them  with  those  vain-glorious  sceptics  who  think  they  lower 
their  dignity,  unless  they  treat  with  ridicule  all  that  exceeds  their  limited  com- 
prehension. Such,  however,  is  usually  the  error  of  youth.  He  who,  at  twenty^ 
scoffs  at  religious  belief,  is  very  likely  at  a  later  period  to  fall  into  an  opposite 
extreme,  and  to  exceed  in  faith  as  once  he  did  in  incredulity.  For  myself,  I 
avow,  without  hesitation,  that  upon  entering  this  venerable  cave,  I  was  moved 
to  tears.  Some  years  ago  perhaps  I  might  have  been  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
this,  but  I  have  Uved  long  enough  to  alter  my  opinions,  and  I  deem  myself  most 
fortunate  in  the  change.  No  doubt,  in  many  people's  eyes,  I  am  rendering 
myself  ridiculous  by  this  confession,  but  on  such  a  subject  I  care  little  for  the 
judgment  of  the  world.  I  had  a  strone  desire  to  carry  away  with  me  Some 
sm^l  particles  detached  from  the  walls  of  the  hdy  cave.   I  succeeded  in  obtain* 

VOL.  XXZIV.  U 

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278  TOB  DEAD  flCA  AKD  THR  BIBU  L4ND9. 

iagikauH  and  faavc  divided  them  between  my  good  mother  and  eevend  otker 
friends.  They  are  simple  enough  of  heart  to  prefer  this  humble  souvenir  to  the 
most  precioue  jewels  whfch  I  could  have  collected  in  my  travels.** 

The  tsav€lla»  pressed  on  to  Jemsatem^  bekig  aoxioas  to  wLu 
ness  the  festival  of  the  nativity^  at  Bethlehem,  which  oljgect  they 
accomplished,  and  departed  for  the  Dead  Sea  oo  the  6th  of 
January,  1851,  escorted  by  a  trusty  band  of  Th^amerae,  engaged 
as  their  body-guard,  during  the  adventurous  expedition.  They 
slept  at  the  convent  of  Mar*Saba,  examined  the  ancient  and 
extensive  caves  of  the  Essenians  in  that  remarkable  locality,  and 
on  the  folloiwing  day,  descending  from  the  mountains  of  Canaan 
by  a  perilous  and  almost  perpendicular  path,  where  they  were  in 
danger  of  breaking  their  neeks  at  every  st^,  encamped  on  the 
shore  at  a  convenient  spot,  and  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of 
on  abundant  spring.  Their  first  impression  of  ^e  mysterious 
water  with  which  so  many  terrible  legends  had  long  been  con- 
nected, was  anything  but  repuMve.  From  the  summit  of  the 
high  hmd  where  it  met  their  view,  this  strange  and  unfrequented 
sea,  which  all  writers  describe  as  presenting  the  most  dismal 
aqpect,  appeared  to  them  like  a  ^lendid  lake,  glittering  in  the 
sunshine,  with  its  blue  waves  gently  breaking  on  Uie  sands  of  the 
softest  beach.  A  nearer  approach  dissipated  much  of  the  pleas- 
ing illusion  but  satisfied  them  at  the  same  time^  that  truth  had 
been  sadly  perverted  by  fimciful  exaggeration. 

*<  Are  we  now  to  be  coawneed,"  sayM  M.  de  Sanlcy,  **  that  no  Itving  Mag 
CSD  exist  on  the  shoves  of  the  Dead  Sea,  as  has  been  ao  oftea  repealed  ?  We 
ascertain  the  contrary  fieu:t  the  very  moment  we  touch  the  shore.  A  flock  of 
wild-ducks  rises  before  us  and  settles  on  the  water  out  of  gun-shot,  where  they 
begin  sporting  and  diving  with  perfect  unconcern.  As  we  advance,  beauttfoi 
insects  show  themselves  on  the  gravelly  beach;  rooks  are  flying  among  the  rent 
€XSk  oi  the  ateep  h31s  which  brnder  the  lake.  Where,  then,  are  those  potsoa* 
om  vapouis  which  carry  death  te  all  who  venture  to  approach  them  ?  Where  ? 
In  the  writinarof  the  poets  who  have  emphatically  described  what  they  have 
never  seen.  We  are  not  &ye  minutes  treading  the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea, 
and  already,  all  that  has  been  said  of  it  appears  as  mere  creations  of  the  fancy. 
Let  m  then  proceed  fearlessly  forward,  fcr  if  anjrthing  is  to  be  dreaded  heic, 
ceitainly  it  is  not  the  pestaBnrial  inOiieBce  of  the  finest  and  most  imposing  lake 
ialhe  world." 

A  litite  ftirtber  en  he  says, 

**  Whilst  we  have  been  foUowing  the  beach,  our  Bedouins  have  gone  in  quest 
of  pieces  oi  bitumen  and  aalphur,  which  the  lake  often  casts  upon  its  slioces. 
They  have  picked  n^  a  good  many,  but  what  they  most  rejoice  in  showing  me, 
is  a  soull  dead  fish,  which  they  discovered  on  the  sand.  At  first  we  are 
inclined  to  attribute  one  more  error  to  the  writers  who  have  said  so  much 
ooBcemiig  the  Dead  Sea.  This  fish,  pidced  up  at  a  distance  of  several  leagues 
from  any  river,  has  also  quite  the  outward  appearance  of  a  sea-fish.  Are  we 
to  concfode  bam  this,  that  creatures  of  this  kmd  reallv  live  in  the  lake  ?  Our 
Bedouins  alone  can  decide  the  point.  We  question  them  one  after  the  other, 
and  from  their  answers,  perfectly  coincident,  we  fisel  convinced  that  no  fish 
indittBoushr  belongs  to  these  waters,  saturated  with  salt.  The  floods  of  the 
J(x£ia  and  of  the  Amon,  frequently  carry  away  the  fish  that  have  ventured 
too  near  the  mouths  of  those  rivers  in  pursuit  of  some  smaller  frv,  and  waft  them 
with  their  piey  into  the  sea;  but  no  sooner  do  they  enter  the  waters  of  the 
lake  than  tbey  £id  as  if  poisoned,  and,  unable  to  escq>e,  die  in  a  ahari  time. 
Their  bodies  then  float,  and  the  slightest  bceese  throws  them  on  the  shore." 


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Tfi£  PSAJ>  ffiA  AND  THB  BIBLEL  I<AND0.  279 

On  the  0th  of  January,  M.  de  Sanlcy  encamped  on  a  delig^tftil 
spoty  at  a  short  distance  from  the  sea-shore,  at  Ajn-Djedy,  the 
Scriptural  En-gedi,  the  rains  of  which  are  still  distinctly  recog* 
nisable.  The  descent  to  this  place  is  most  difficult  and  dangerous, 
but  the  party  accomplished  it  without  accident  The  apples  said 
to  resolve  into  ashes,  were  here  found  to  be  another  of  the  mar* 
vellous  inventions  so  long  attributed  to  this  mysterious  region. 
The  following  account  appears  to  settle  the  point  by  a  very  simple 
explanation : — 

*'  I  find  myself  surrounded  by  a  grove  of  trees,  beautiful  and  inviting  as  fancy 
can  knaginew  I  gaae  for  the  first  time  on  an  unknowB  vegetation.  Gui»'trees, 
asdepias  (swallow-wort),  solanums  (mght-sfaade),  marsh-maUows,  and  nuts, 
constitute  a  magnificent  oasis,  in  which  a  multitude  of  small  bird*  are  warbUnx 
harmoniously.  The  spring  is  close  by,  the  water  is  rather  warm,  but  limpid 
and  delicious  to  the  taste.  You  see  on  all  sides  inviting  fruits,  which  you 
cannot  gather  without  pricking  your  fingers.  This  is  the  orange  of  Sodom 
(the  Bortoyhai^Sdomi  of  the  Bedouins),  or  fruit  of  the  A^cUpias  prooera.  It 
leaemblea  a  middle^ized  citron.  When  not  ripe,  the  green  pulp,  which  is 
nothing  but  a  thin  husk  intended  to  protect  the  seed,  is  easily  fretted  by  the 
mere  touch  of  the  band  when  gathered  carelessly,  and  then  it  emits  drops  of  a 
thick  milky  juice.  When  ripe,  it  opens  easily  under  the  slightest  pressure, 
and  then  a  quantity  of  small  black  flat  seeds  appear,  surmounted  by  a  sill^ 
coating  of  the  purest  white.  The  composition  of  this  fmit  has  no  doubt  pro- 
duced the  faMe  of  the  Apples  of  Sodom  mentioned  by  Joseptms,  which,  with 
the  most  attractive  exterior,  dissolved,  when  handled,  into  dust  and  ashes. 
Another  fruit  may  likewise  claim  the  honour  of  being  the  apple  of  the  Dead 
Sea,  so  often  commemorated  by  writers  who  have  never  visited  the  country. 
This  is  the  produce  of  a  large  thorny  night-shade,  with  pink  flowers,  the 
Soltmum  Mdongena.  The  fruit  is  quite  round,  and  as  it  ripens,  changes  in 
cdoor  from  yellowish-green  to  golden  yellow.  The  sise  is  that  of  a  small  red 
apple.  It  is  more  Mreeable  to  look  at  than  to  gather.  When  quite  ripe,  a 
slight  pressure  of  the  finoers  squeezes  out  thousands  of  small  black  grains, 
very  like  poppy  seeda;  and  these  the  imagination  of  poets  has  abo  converted 
into  ashes. '^ 

On  the  11th,  th^  ascended  the  rock  of  Masada  (or  Sebbefa,  as 
it  is  now  called)  to  investigate  the  remains  of  the  fortress  con* 
stmcted  by  Herod,  and  celebrated  by  Josephns  as  the  last  strong- 
b(dd  of  Jewish  indep^idence  agsnnst  the  Koman  invasion.  Here 
Eleazar  immcdatad  himsdif  and  garrison,  with  their  women  and 
chUdien  to  the  number  of  nine  hundred  and  sixty,  to  escape 
captivity  and  the  treatm^at  of  slaves.  Two  women  and  five 
children,  who  had  concealed  themselves  in  a  subterranean  aque* 
^ct,  and  were  unsought  for,  or  unheeded  in  the  agony  of  the 
moment,  were  discovered  by  the  Roman  Cimquerors  when  they 
entered  the  fortress,  and  saw  the  long  files  of  human  bodies, 
lyhkg  amongst  the  extinguidied  flames,  in  which  their  stores  and 
treasures  had  been  consumed.  The  historian  stigmatises  this 
devoted  band  by  the  title  of  Sicarii^  or  assassins,  when,  in 
&ct,  their  deed  was  one  of  esLalted,  although  fanatical  heroism, 
of  which  human  courage  affords  but  few  parallels.  This  remaik- 
able  spot  has  been  sdidom  visited.  Messrs.  Robinson  and  Smith 
saw  it  from  the  heights  of  Ayn-Djedy,  in  1838,  and,  trurting  to  the 
reports  of  the  Arabs,  have  given  aa  accorate  descnption,  without 
personal  knowledge.     Five  years  ktw,  W<dco(t^  an  Amenoan 

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280  THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LAND6. 

missionarj,  and  Tipping  an  English  painter,  scaled  the  difficult 
ascent  and  verified  the  conjectural  statements  of  Messrs.  Robinson 
and  Smith.  In  1848,  Captain  Lynch,  the  officer  commanding  the 
American  expedition,  which  had  come  down  the  Jordan,  in  boats 
constructed  for  the  purpose,  and  were  circumnavigating  the  Dead 
Sea,  detached  a  party  to  the  rock  of  Masada,  who,  Uiree  yeara 
later,  were  followed  by  M.  de  Saulcy  and  his  companions.  The 
combined  reports  agree  in  all  essential  particulars.  But  the 
French  explorers,  in  addition,  ascertained  the  existence  of  the 
siege  works  and  lines  of  circumvallation  erected  by  the  Roman 
general,  Silva,  throughout  their  whole  extent,  and  which  have 
never  been  molested,  or  injured,  during  more  than  seventeen  cen« 
turies,  except  by  the  slow  and  noiseless  destroyer,  time.  M.  de 
Saulcy  gives  a  drawing  of  the  entrance«gate  of  the  Jewish  fortress, 
well  preserved,  of  beautiful  workmanship,  and  showing,  perhaps, 
the  earliest  specimen  of  the  pointed  arch  which  has  been  brought 
to  light.  The  invention  of  this  form  of  arch  is  thus  carried  back 
to  the  epoch  of  Herod  the  Great,  or,  at  the  latest,  to  that  of  Titus, 
and  the  destruction  of  Masada,  or  something  like  one  thousand 
years  before  the  date  to  which  its  invention  is  usually  assigned. 
Mr.  Wolcott,  in  a  letter  published  by  Dr.  Robinson  in  the  **  Bib- 
lical  Cabinet,**  expresses  his  opinion  that  all  the  remains  still 
visible  at  Masada  are  of  the  same  period,  that  is,  of  the  epoch  of 
King  Herod,  but  he  consider  the  gate  leading  into  the  town  as  a 
modern  ruin ;  a  conclusion  as  impossible  as  it  is  extraordinary, 
since  nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that  no  buildings  whatever  have 
been  erected  on  this  insulated  rock  since  the  time  of  the  Roman 
conquest.  As  M.  de  Saulcy  justly  remarks,  the  presence  of  a 
modem  ruin  in  Masada  would  certainly  be  a  more  astounding 
fact  than  the  existence  of  the  original  arch  in  the  days  of  Herod* 
But  the  most  sagacious  observers  sometimes  adopt  inconsistent 
opinions,  which  they  write  hastily,  and  publish  \inthout  cor- 
rection. The  statement  of  some  travellers,  that  neither  human 
beings  nor  animals  can  attempt  to  swim  in  the  Dead  Sea,  without 
turning  over  on  one  side,  owing  to  the  density  of  the  water,  occa- 
sioned by  the  presence  of  a  great  admixture  of  sulphur,  and  bitu- 
minous components,  is  confidently  stated  both  by  Captain  Lynch 
and  M.  de  Saulcy  to  be  a  palpable  mistake,  refuted  by  several 
experiments.  The  American  commander,  when  coasting  the  shore 
in  his  boat,  with  other  officers,  descried  a  lofty  round  pillar  on 
the  eastern  side  of  the  salt  mountain  of  Usdum(Sdoum  or  Sodom), 
standing  apparently  detached  from  the  general  mass,  at  the  head 
of  a  deep,  narrow,  and  abrupt  chasm.  This  naturally  excited 
their  great  astonishment,  and  they  immediately  pulled  in  to  ex- 
amine it  They  found  it  to  be  of  solid  salt,  capped  with  car- 
bonate of  lime,  cylindrical  in  front,  and  pyramidal  behind.  A  prop 
or  buttress  connected  it  with  the  mountain  in  the  rear.  This 
pillar  they  evidently  determined  to  be  the  same  described  by  Jo- 
sephus,  who  expresses  his  belief  of  its  being  the  identical  one  into 
which  LoCs  wife  was  transformed,  and  of  which  he  says,  *^  I  have 
Been  it,  and  it  remains  to  this  day.*^    Clemens  Romanus,  a  con- 


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TH6  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LAND6.  281 

temporary  of  Josephos,  meDtions  it  also,  as  does  Ireoaous,  a  cen- 
twrj  later,  with  a  fanciful  explanation  of  how  it  came  to  last  so 
long  uninjurecU  Reland  relates  a  tradition  (which  has  often  been 
used  also  in  application  to  the  wood  of  the  true  cross),  namely, 
that  as  fast  as  any  part  of  this  pillar  was  washed  away,  it  was 
supematurally  renewed.  The  apocryphal  book  called  the  **  Wis- 
dom of  Solomon,'*  speaks  of  the  pillar  (ch.  x.  t.  7),  in  the  passage 
relating  to  the  destruction  of  the  five  cities  of  the  plain,  ^^Of 
whose  wickedness,  even  to  this  day,  the  waste  land  that  smoketh 
is  a  testimony,  and  plants  bearing  fruit  that  never  come  to  ripe- 
ness :  and  a  standing  pillar  of  salt  is  a  monument  of  an  unbe- 
lieving soul.''  This  book  is  supposed  by  the  best  Biblical  au- 
thorities  to  have  been  written  by  a  Hellenistic  Jew,  but  whether 
before  or  after  Christ  is  still  a  point  in  dispute.  Whiston,  in  a 
note  to  his  translation  of  Josephus,  written  more  than  one  hun- 
dred years  ago,  says  of  the  pillar  of  »Edt,  ^*  Whether  the  account  that 
some  modem  travellers  give  be  true,  that  it  is  still  standing,  I  do 
not  know.  Its  remote  situation  at  the  utmost  southern  point  of 
the  Sea  of  Sodom,  in  the  wild  and  dangerous  deserts  of  Arabia, 
makes  it  exceedingly  difficult  for  inquisitive  travellers  to  examine 
the  place ;  and  for  common  reports  of  country  people  at  a  dis- 
tance, they  are  not  very  satisfactory.  In  the  meantime,  I  have  no 
opinion  of  Le  Clerc's  dissertation  or  hypothesis  about  this  ques- 
tion, which  can  only  be  determined  by  eye-untnesses.'^'*  He  then 
adds,  justly  enough,*^ When  Christian  princes,  so  called,  lay  aside 
their  foolish  and  unchristian  wars  and  quarrels,  and  send  a  body 
of  fit  persons  to  travel  over  the  East,  and  bring  us  faithful  accounts 
of  all  ancient  monuments,  and  procure  us  copies  of  all  ancient 
records,  at  present  lost  among  us,  we  may  hope  for  full  satisfac- 
tion in  such  inquiries,  but  hardly  before."  This  seems  now  to  be 
in  process  of  consummation.       Captain  Lynch  and  his  com- 

£  anions  are  living  eye-witnesses  of  what  they  first  described,  and 
L  de  Saulcy,  and  his  party,  examined  after  them.  Yet  there 
is  a  material  difference  of  opinion  between  the  two  authorities. 
It  seems  strange  that  this  intelligent  American  officer  should 
have  believed  &at  the  pillar  of  salt  into  which  Lot's  wife  was 
transformed,  is  still  standmg  on  the  spot  where  the  transforma- 
tion took  place,  while  he  holds  to  the  conviction  that  the  con- 
demned cities  lie  buried  under  the  waters  over  which  his  boats 
passed.  A  simple  argument  will  show  that  the  conclusion  is  not 
only  incompatible,  but  even  impossible.  Sodom  and  Zoar  were 
in  close  proximity  to  each  other,  and  on  the  plain.  Lot  was 
escaping  from  the  one  city  to  the  other,  and  not  flying  to  the 
mountain,  when  his  wife  disobeyed  the  Divine  command,  and 
turned  to  look  back.  The  pillar  of  salt  into  which  she  was 
transformed,  must,  therefore,  have  been  equally  on  the  plain,  and 
in  the  direct  line  between  the  two  cities.  If  it  is  still  standing 
high  and  dry  on  the  land,  then  must  the  plain  be  above  water 
also,  and  the  vestiges  of  the  cities,  with  their  exact  localities,  are 
to  be  sought  for  there,  and  not  under  the  waves  of  the  Dead  Sea. 
This  is  the  more  logical  solution  of  M.  de  Saulcy,  which  he  estab- 

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182  THE  DEAD   SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS. 

lishes  by  irrefiragable  argunent,  and  even  more  unanswerably  by 
the  positive  discovery  of  mOst  extensive  ruins,  attested  by  many 
witnesTOs  besides  himself.  The  following  passages  with  regard 
to  the  conjectural  pillar,  appear  to  us  to  decide  Uie  question  as 
to  that  particular  point — 

**  The  DjebeUEidown  (or  Salt  mountain  of  Sodom)  presents  a  compact  mass  ci 
rock-salt,  the  height  of  which  varies,  but  never  exceeds  one  hundred  yards. 
It  is  of  a  greyish  colonr,  but  the  upper  layers  are  tinged  with  green  and  red.  The 
whole  of  the  hill  side  presents  numerous  fissures  hollowed  by  the  winter  tor- 
rents, and  the  constant  crumbling  of  the  soiL  At  many  points  appear  vast 
pyramidal  columns  of  salt,  one  of  which  has  no  doubt  been  taken  l^  Captain 
Lvnch  for  the  famous  pillar  into  which  Lot's  wife  was  transformed  at  the  time 
of  the  destruction  of  Sodom.  All  the  disconnected  masses,  and  those  which 
stifl  adhere  to  the  mountain,  have  their  surfaces  deeply  furrowed  and  indented 
by  the  rains.  And  lastly,  wherever  the  rock  leans  over,  its  lower  part  is  hung 
with  stalactites  of  salt.  As  to  the  pillar  mentioned  by  Captain  Lynch,  it 
resembles  anything  you  please  excepting  the  hill  of  Sodom.  Is  it  possilde  to 
explain  the  death  of  Lot's  wife  ?  I  am  inclined  to  believe  so,  and  this  would 
be  my  solution.  At  the  moment  when  the  huge  mountain  was  heaved  up 
volcanically,  there  must  have  been  throughout  its  whole  extent  tremendous 
£sdls  of  detached  masses,  similar  to  those  we  have  observed  at  every  step. 
Lot's  wife  having  loitered  behind,  either  through  fright  or  curiosity,  was  most 
likelv  crushed  by  one  of  these  descending  fragments,  and  when  Lot  and  his 
children  turned  round  to  look  towards  the  place  where  she  had  stopped,  they 
saw  nothing  but  the  salt  rock  which  covered  her  body.  The  catastrophe  may 
be  explained  in  many  ways,  but  having  visited  the  spot,  I  hold  to  the  opinion  I 
have  now  advanced,  without  seeking,  however,  to  impose  it  on  others.*' 

Further  on  he  returns  to  the  subject 

'*  Soon  after  mid-day  we  remount  our  horses,  and  proceed,  coasting  agam  the 
foot  of  the  salt  mountain,  or  Djebel-Esdounu  We  retrace  our  steps  in  front  of 
the  cave  where  we  halted  a  few  days  before  to  breakfast,  and  we  find  the 
entrance  nearly  blocked  up  by  huge  masses  of  salt  that  have  rolled  down  to  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  having  been  detached  by  the  late  rains.  Similar  masses 
present  themselves  to  us  throaghout  nearly  the  whole  extent  of  the  mountain^ 
and  these  new  crumbiings  give  a  strange  appearance  to  the  steep  rocks.  When 
looking  at  some  of  these  needles  of  salt  recentfy  insulated  (they  were  not  there 
when  the  travellers  first  passed),  I  am  not  surprised  that  Captain  Lynch  should 
have  taken  one  of  them  for  what  he  has  called  the  salt  pillar  into  which  Lot's 
wife  was  transformed.  I  regret  much  that  he  did  not  happen  to  examine  the 
sah  mountain  on  two  <fiferent  occasions,  and  in  the  rainy  season,  he  wovid 
then  have  fbnnd  a  bondred  Lot's  wives  instead  of  one." 

The  spot  where  Captain  Lynch  saw  the  pillar  he  describes,  by 
no  means  accords  with  the  position  laid  down  in  M.  de  Saulcy's 
map  as  containing  the  approximate  ruins  of  Sodom  and  Zoar, 
but  is  considerably  to  the  south-east,  and  not  situated  between  the 
two  localities.  ^  De  Saulcy  in  his  two  distinct  journeys,  inspected 
and  closely  examined  (as  his  route  laid  down  on  the  map  demon- 
strates) the  entire  circuit  of  the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea,  with  the 
exception  of  that  portion  on  the  eastern  side,  which  lies  between 
the  Amon  and  the  mouth  of  the  Jordan  (the  land  of  the  Aukh- 
lites),  and  where  no  important  ^scoreries  were  expected.  With 
iBore  difficulty  and  danger  than  he  experienced  anywhere  else,  he 
traversed  the  high  plains  of  Moab,  and  penetrated  to  Karak,  the 
modem  capital,  which  on  the  same  site  has  succeeded  the  biblical 
Kir^faasareth^  Kir-moab,  and  Charak-mdba.     He  had  good  reason 

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TSE  DJBAD  SEA   AND  THE   BIBLE  LANDS.  288 

to  coDgratnkKte  fahnself  as  mncli  on  Ins  risk  to  a  veiy  inaccessibie 
and  unfrequented  spot^  abonnding  in  remote  antiquities,  as  on  Ins 
safe  escape  from  a  den  of  robbers  and  cut-tbroats,  where  he  and 
his  partf  were  in  hoarlj  expectation  of  being  sifirrounded,  oveit- 
powered,  and  murdered.  Captain  Lynch  experienced  siadlsr 
treatment,  ftom  which  he  extricated  himself  with  boldness  and 
address.  Burckhardt,  Iiby  and  Mangles,  appear  to  have  passed 
fhror^h  without  obstruction  or  threatened  violence;  but  they 
trayelled  not  ostensibly  as  Christians  or  Europeans,  or  with  any 
parade  of  arms,  eseort,  or  property.  Throughoot  the  hod  oa 
every  side  are  evidences  of  the  most  terrific  volcanic  agencies, 
exercised  at  far  distant  periods  of  the  worid's  history,  mountains 
rent  and  calcined,  yawning  craters,  extinct  beds  of  lava,  and  huge, 
dislocated  ejections,  covering  the  ground  in  fix)wning  desolation. 
The  consequences  of  the  Divine  wrath  have  never  been  removed 
or  mitigated.  There  is  nothing  uu-orthodox  in  supposing,  while 
the  conclusion  is  perfectly  in  accordance  with  natund  phenomena, 
and  the  existing  state  of  the  deserted  land,  that  the  fire  and  brim- 
stone which  rained  down  from  heaven  over  the  condemned  cities 
of  the  plain,  was  first  thrown  up  from  the  bowels  of  the  ciromtt- 
jacent  mountains,  and  descended  again  in  one  wide,  over^'^belmiiig 
vortex,  as,  more  than  two  thousand  years  later,  Pompeii  and  Her- 
eulaneum  were  engulfed  under  the  vomitings  of  Vesuvius.  A 
glance  at  M.  de  Saulcy'^s  map  will  show  vdiere  he  found  and 
traversed  m  their  entire  extent,  the  still  existing  ruins  of  the  ciiifis 
of  the  Pentapolis;  Zeboikn  to  the  dk&t,  Sodom  and  Zoar,  in  doae 
proximity  to  the  south,  Admah  to  tiie  westward,  and  Gomcnrcah 
not  fer  firom  the  northena  point  of  the  salt  lake.  We  have  been 
so  long  accustomed  to  think  and  speak  of  Sodom  and  G-omorrah, 
in  conjunction,  that  it  appears  difficult  at  first  to  persuade  our- 
selves that  a  distance  of  seventy  miles  in  jl  direct  kne  separated 
these  two  cities ;  but  nothing  in  Scriptural  authority  contradicts 
this,  while  there  are  the  ruins  to  attest  the  feet,  and  those  who 
are  determined  to  dispute  their  identity  and  position,  must 
do  so  by  more  convuicing  argmaents  than  those  which  M.  de 
Saulcy  has  set  forth  in  support  of  his  own  hypothesis.  The  sub- 
ject deserves  and  requires  to  be  examined,  coolly  and  diapasnon- 
atdy,  casting  aside  all  preoonceivod  prejudices  and  convictions, 
and  with  a»ple  time  for  study  and  reflection.  The  author,  ex- 
pecting from  conversation  that  his  book  will  be  attacked,  lus 
statements  impugned,  and  his  infereaices  disputed,  anticipates  the 
arguments  in  opposition  by  a  train  of  logical  reasoning,  and  an 
appveal  to  authorities  not  easily  refuted,  placing  in  the  van  every 
Sciiptiiral  passage  which  bears  upon  the  subject,  reinforced  by  the 
opini(ms  of  the  moet  celebrated  aad  tnistw'orthy  of  the  pro&ne 
writero  of  antiqnaty,  in  dbvonological  sueoessicm.    He  says, 

"  It  has  been  ollen  urged  that  the  towns  that  fell  under  the  Divine  wrath 
were  destroyed  by  fire  from  heaven  in  the  first  instance,  then  submeiged  under 
the  Dead  Sea,  which  was  formed  suddenly,  so  as  to  drown  the  vaDey  of  Siddnn, 
aad  the  vesdges  of  the  cides  formerly  standing  in  that  yallev.  Such  is  in  sub- 
stance what  has  been  objected  to  the  position  I  maintain  of  having  discovered 


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284  THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS. 

OD  the  spot  the  ttiQ  perfectly  distbguishahle  remamt  of  the  dties  of  the  Pen- 
tapolis.  Upon  what  basis  rests  the  interpretation  produced  against  my  opinion  ? 
In  what  book,  in  what  narratite  has  the  catastrophe  of  the  Pentapolis  been  so 
described  as  to  allow  for  a  moment  the  supposition  that  these  cities  were  over- 
whelmed under  the  lake?  Is  it  in  the  Holy  Bible?  Is  it  in  the  works  of  the 
ancient  wiiters?  Neither  in  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  cannot  guess  what 
dreaming  commentator  has  originated  the  fable  I  hare  analysed  in  a  short 
inquiry;  and  this  &ble,  precisely  because  it  is  the  more  preternatural  and 
inexpucable,  has  been  hitherto  received  and  adopted  without  examination. 
From  the  date  of  this  invention  many  travellers  in  Palestine  have  easerly 
repeated  the  same  imaginary  legends,  without  choosmg  (no  easy  undertaking) 
to  ascertain  by  persond  examination  the  truth  of  the  facts,  the  narrative  of 
which  the)r  were  perpetuating  on  the  faith  of  those  writers  who  had  preceded 
them.  Thus  statements  utterly  at  variance  with  the  truth,  by  a  long  chain  of 
hereditary  assertions  equally  valueless,  become  at  last  so  firmly  established, 
and  so  generally  received  as  authorities,  that  my  travelling  companions  and 
myself  nave,  on  our  return,  been  set  down  as  impostors,  or  at  the  best  as 
incompetent  observers,  unable  to  examine  correctly  the  nature  and  peculiar 
features  of  any  given  ground. 

<*  I  ventured  to  assert  that  it  is  not  possible  to  find  in  the  sacred  or  profime 
writings  of  antiquity  a  single  passage  from  which  it  might  be  inferred  that  the 
Dead  Sea  arose  suddenly  at  the  time  of  the  catastrophe  of  the  Pentapolis. 
I  ^  still  further,  and  repeat  even  more  positively,  that  all  these  early  autho- 
rities unanimously  establish  that  the  towns  fidlen  under  the  curse  of  the 
Almighty  were  never  overwhelmed  under  the  waters  of  the  lake.  But  mere 
assertions  are  nothing;  let  the  question  rest  upon  a  comparison  of  evidences." 

He  then  proceeds  in  order  with  the  Scriptural  extracts,  every 
one  of  which,  of  course,  cohere  and  bear  out  his  chain  of  argu- 
ment ;  and  descending  thence  to  the  classical  authorities,  he  finds 
unquestionably  that  Josephul,  Strabo,  and  Tacitus,  distinctly  and 
directly  say  that  the  ruins  of  the  cities  were  still  in  existence  when 
they  wrote  of  them.  How  then,  when,  and  where,  did  the  strange 
delusion  arise,  that  they  were  buried  under  the  waters  of  the 
Dead  Sea  i  Apparently  from  some  of  the  Mohammedan  writers 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  of  little  account  or  veraci^.  The  opinion, 
we  suspect,  can  nerer  again  have  weight  or  currency  in  opposition 
to  the  physical  and  rational  evidence  by  which  it  is  at  length  con- 
clusively refuted.  The  accurate  Reland,  writing  nearly  a  century 
and  a  half  ago,  correctly  guessed  that  the  towns  of  the  Pentapolis 
must  have  been  situated  on  the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea,  and  that 
their  ruins  might  and  ought  to  be  still  found  there.  What  thb 
judicious  critic  surmised,  without  issuing  from  his  study,  the  energy 
of  a  recent  traveller  has  proved  to  be  true.  Irby  and  Mangles, 
followed  by  Robinson  and  others,  have  endeavoured  to  establish 
that  the  ruins  situated  in  the  proximity  of  El-Mezraah,  on  the 
eastern  shore  of  the  Dead  Sea,  are  those  of  Zoar,  while  M.  de 
Saulcy,  by  much  superior  reasoning,  shows  them  to  be  those  of 
Zeboiim,  still  called  Sebaan  by  the  Arabs.  There  is  nothing  to 
prove  that  all  the  doomed  cities  were  on  the  same  western  shore  of 
the  lake  Asphaltites,  although  it  is  quite  certain  that  Zoar  and 
Sodom  were  there ;  neither  can  we  suppose  that  the  eastern  part 
of  the  plain  was  uninhabited  or  escaped  the  general  catastrophe. 
On  the  subject  of  Zeboiim,  our  author  says, 

**  I  have  mentioned  in  my  Itinerary  the  ruins,  heginningat  the  Talfta^SebAan, 
and  extending  over  several  consecutive  ranges  of  flat  high  country,  situated  at 


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IHS  DEAD  SEA  AND  THl  BIBLE  LANDS.  385 

tbe  foot  of  the  moaQtaini  of  Moab,  and  from  the  mouth  of  the  Ouad-ed-DrAa, 
as  far  as  the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea :  I  distmctly  recognize  in  these  stupendous 
ruins  the  remains  of  the  Zehoiim  that  perished  in  the  common  catastrophe  of 
the  Pentapolis.  A  town  so  considerable,  and  the  existence  of  which  is  attested 
by  the  ruins  in  question,  cannot  possibly  have  existed  mnobterved  through  the 
centuries  whose  detailed  history  has  been  handed  down  to  us*  Several  terrific 
craters — three  at  least — surround  the  site  which  I  lay  down  for  Zehoiim,  and 
they  must  have  accomplished  instantaneouslpr  the  destruction  of  the  guilty 
city;  the  explosions  proceeding  from  three  directions  at  the  same  time  must 
have  reduced  it  to  atoms  at  once.** 

According  to  the  ruins  examined  by  M.  de  Saulcy,  Zoar  was  a 
very  small  city  (so  it  is  represented  in  the  Bible),  while  Zeboiim, 
Admah,  Sodom,  and  Gomorrah  appear  to  have  been  very  large 
ones.  The  latter  still  extends  over  a  space  equal  in  length  to  a 
league  and  a  half,  or  something  more  than  four  English  miles.  A 
very  remarkable  building,  called  by  the  natives  Uie  Kbarbet-el- 
Yahoud,  is  minutely  detailed,  and  unhesitatingly  referred  back  to 
the  period  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  as  forming,  in  all  probabOity, 
a  part  of  the  remains  of  the  last-named  city.  These  ruins  are 
above  ground,  and  sufficiently  apparent  in  their  complete  extent. 

**  To  the  front  face,  running  north-north-east,  and  thirty-six  yards  long,  are 
attached  three  square  pavilions,  measuring  six  yards  on  each  side,  one  at  each 
extremity,  and  tne  third  in  the  middle  of  the  wall,  which  extends  a  little 
beyond  the  pavilion  on  the  right.  On  the  right  flank  of  this  last  pavilion 
another  line  of  wall  begins,  twenty-two  yards  in  extent,  and  running  perpen- 
dicular to  the  front  face.  Of  these  twenty-two  yards,  the  first  six  form  the 
flank  of  the  pavilion  just  mentioned,  and  the  last  five,  the  left  front  of  a  similar 
pavilion,  the  outer  waU  of  which  stretches  acain  a  few  yards  beyond  the  wall 
perpendicular  to  the  principal  front.  The  left  extremity  of  this  principal  front 
joins  the  end  of  anotner  long  wall,  sixty-eight  yards  in  extent,  but  turned  more 
to  the  east  than  the  first,  or  as  near  as  possible  north-east.  The  left  wall  of 
the  square  pavilion  on  the  left,  is  twenty-one  yards  long,  and  also  perpendi- 
cular to  the  fr<mt  face.  This  left-hand  wall  is  broken  for  a  space  of  five  yards, 
then  it  appears  again  with  an  additional  extent  of  fourteen  yards.  With  this 
last  portion  are  connected  two  other  pavilions  extending  six  yards  on  each  side, 
with  an  interval  of  two  yards  between  each.  The  walls  along  this  new  front 
stretch  to  the  left,  parallel  to  each  other,  for  a  length  of  sixteen  yards,  the 
last  six  of  which  are  divided  firom  the  remainder  by  two  additional  walls,  also 
parallel  and  again  divided  by  an  interval  of  six  yards.  These  two  last  walls 
have  a  total  length  of  twenty  yards,  the  last  six  forming  an  additional  pavilion 
measuring  six  yards  on  each  side." 

"  It  seems  likely  that  the  seven  distinct  pavilions  which  I  have  just  described, 
were  dwelling-rooms  or  habitations  attacned  to  vast  enclosures,  the  oridnal 
use  of  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  guess  at  the  present  day.  Were  these 
enclosures  sacred  ones  ?  or  were  they  merelv  parks  in  which  cattle  could  be 
collected  at  night?  This  is  a  point  impossible  to  determine,  and  I  shall  not 
even  venture  on  the  discussion.  I  shall  merely  remark,  that  in  a  building 
most  probably  used  for  religious  purposes,  and  which  I  discovered  some  time 
after  m  the  middle  of  the  ruins  of  Hazor,  and  likewbe  in  the  temple  of  Mount 
Gerixiro,  I  found  pavilions  similar  in  every  respect  to  those,  disposed  in  exactly 
the  like  manner,  at  the  uieles  and  in  the  centre  of  each  front  of  the  square 
face  forming  the  sacred  endosure." 

Two  points  are  eqnaUy  worthy  of  notice  in  this  passage.  The 
singular  character  of  the  building  described,  and  the  laborious 
measurement,  and  patience,  with  which  the  describer  has  investi- 
gated its  details.  In  Uiis^  unpreju<£ced  readers  will  recognize 
at  once  a  strong  indication  of  truUi  and  authenticity,  with  a  desire 

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286  THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBU  LAKM. 

to  iraresent  these  startliDg  discoveries  exactly  fts  tbej  are.  Dr. 
Robmson  saw  the  same  rams  from  a  distance^  and  not  deeming  them 
worthy  of  dday,  slightly  noticed  them  as  of  tdfling  importatice. 
By  sdecting  a  dtiferent  road,and  keeping  closer  lo  the  b^h  than 
£d  the  French  traTellers  who  succeeded  him,  he  passed  by  £ur  to 
his  left,  and  without  notice,  the  remains  of  the  immense  primiliye 
city  of  Gomorrah,  and  thus  gave  up  to  M.  de  Saulcy  the  good 
fortune  of  being  the  first  to  point  them  oat  to  geographers  and 
archaeologists.  These  vestiges  still  bear  the  significant  and  strongly 
analogous  name  of  E^haibet-Goumran,  or  Oumran. 

'*  Let  us  begin,'*  says  our  learned  investigator,  <*  by  pointing  out  the  veiy 
strange,  if  merdy  fortuitous  analogy  between  this  name  and  that  of  the  Go« 
inorrtJi  destroyed  by  fire  from  heaven,  along  with  the  other  condemned  cities. 
My  own  convtctioa  is,  without  the  slig^ett  hesitation,  that  the  ruins  caUed  by 
the  Arabs,  Kharbet-el-Yahoud,  Kharbet-Fechkah,aDd  KJuurbet-GoamfaD  which 
fivm  a  oondniiOMs  mass,  exiendiiig,  without  intennption,  over  a  space  of  move 
than  six  thousand  yards,  are,  in  reality,  the  ruins  of  the  Scriptural  Gomorrah. 
If  this  point  is  di4»uted — a  controversy  for  which  I  am  fully  prepared — I  beg 
my  gainsayers  will  be  so  obliging  as  to  tell  me  what  city,  unless  it  be  one 
concemporsneous  with  Gomorrah,  if  not  Gomorrah  itself,  can  have  existed  on 
the  shove  of  the  Dead  Sea,  at  a  more  recent  period,  without  its  being  possible 
to  find  the  slightest  notice  of  it,  in  either  the  sacred  or  profane  writings.  Until 
they  can  give  me  better  infi)rmation  respecting  these  ruins»  I  must  resolutely 
maintain  xny  own  opinion,  and  reply  to  my  opponents,  '  There  are  the  ruins 
of  Gomorrah ;  go  and  verify  them  on  the  spot,  if  you  think  it  possible  to 
maintain  a  different  opinion  from  that  which  I  now  set  fortlu* " 

We  must  yet  hisert  another  and  a  very  striking  passage,  before 
we  quit  that  section  of  these  attractive  volumes  which  treats  of 
the  cities  of  the  plain  and  the  Dead  Sea.  It  describes  a  scene  in 
the  wonderful  opecations  of  nature,  which  few  travellers  are  for- 
tunate  enough  to  witness. 

*•  As  we  were  laboriously  pursuing  our  way  between  the  Djebel-Esdoum  and 
the  sea,  a  storm  that  had  come  down  from  the  mountains  of  Canaan,  bunt 
exactly  over  the  Asphaldtic  lake,  at  about  the  meridian  of  Masada  and  the 
peninsula  of  El-Lisan.  Dark  grey  clouds  had  united  the  sea  and  sky,  con- 
cealing in  utter  darkness  all  the  northern  part  of  this  deqp  valley.  Suddenly 
a  splendid  rainbow,  of  dazzling  brigbtness  and  richly  variegated  colours,  ap- 
peared to  form  a  gigantic  archway,  thrown  by  the  hand  of  the  AhnighQr  between 
the  two  opposite  snores  of  the  Dead  Sea.  The  reader  may  fancy  how  much 
we  were  moved  by  the  magnificence  of  this  natural  phenomenon,  but  it  was 
nothingcompared  with  what  was  reserved  for  us  towai^  the  end  of  the  same 
day,  when  we  began  ascen^ng  the  first  acdivtdes  of  the  Onad-ez-Zouera, 
large  black  clouds,  driven  by  the  easterly  wind,  passing  above  our  heads,  and 
over  the  Djebel-Esdoum,  rushed  down  upon  the  Dead  Sea,  in  the  direction  of 
the  Rhor-Safieh,  then  rising  again  along  the  flank  of  the  mountains  of  Moab, 
soon  cleared  the  view,  and  allowed  us  to  contemplate  the  expanse  of  water, 
resembling  a  vast  motionless  sheet  of  molten  lead.  By  d^rees,  as  the  storm 
hurried  towards  the  east,  the  western  sky  became  ^ain  pure  and  radiant ;  then, 
ibr  a  moment,  the  setdng  sun  darted  above  the  mountains  of  Can&an  his 
fiery  rays,  which  seemed  almost  to  cover  the  summit  of  tbe  land  of  Moab  with 
the  flames  of  an  enormous  conflagration,  while  the  bases  of  those  imposing 
laoimtaint  feraained  as  blade  as  ink.  Abeiw,  was  the  dark*  Uverisg,  skv ; 
below,  the  sea,  like  a  metallic  sheet  of  duH  leaden  grey ;  around  ua»  the 
sHence  of  the  desert  and  utter  desolation.  AiEu'  off,  in  die  west,  a  bricht, 
cloudless  sky,  shining  over  a  blessed  land,  whilst  we  seemed  to  be  flyn^  irom 
a  oooDtry  condenMied  for  ever.  It  is  iuipoaaMc  to  describe  ttm  soeae,  windi 
so  be  fully  nndeHtood  «ul  fdt,  mat  ha;re  beea  mkmamuL    Oar  fiedoMiiif, 

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TH£  DEAD  8&A  AND  THE  KBLE  LANDS.  287 

theiBMlTei,  partiaiNitdt  in  tbe  leaBitieot  bj  whidi  we  were  coaipletely  mii. 
tered.  '*  Ckoaf,  tM^ridy."  ther  eBcUimed  to  ne,  '*  Cbouf  i  AMah  yedrob  £•- 
doum.'  (Sec,  tir,  tee  I  AUab  is  smkiDg  Sodom  I)  And  they  were  right. 
The  tremeDdous  spectacle  which  was  witnessed  by  Lot,  from  nearly  the  same 
spot  where  we  were  now  standing,  must  have  borne  a  striking  resemblance  to 
tbe  magnificent  repetition  with  which  we  had  just  been  favoured  by  die  same 
preodiBg  Proridenee." 

M.  de  Saulcy  encountered  in  the  plains  of  Moab,  many  ves- 
tiges of  ancient  roads^  marked  and  bounded  on  cither  side  by  up- 
right stones  fixed  on  end,  plainly  perceptible  and  in  many  places 
m  good  preservation  for  a  considerable  extent.  He  considers 
these  as  no  odier  than  tbe  ancient  ways  mentioned  in  the  Book  of 
Numbers  (chap.  xxi.  21,  S2).  **  And  Israel  sent  messengers  unto 
Sihon,  King  of  the  Amorites,  saying,  let  me  pass  through  thy 
land :  we  will  not  turn  into  the  fields,  or  into  the  vineyards ;  we 
win  not  drink  the  waters  of  the  well,  but  we  will  go  along  by  the 
king^s  highway,  untfl  we  be  past  thy  borders."  The  American 
officers  sent  by  Captain  Lynch  to  Masada,  fell  in  beyond  the 
Ouad-es-Seyal,  with  a  road  of  exactly  the  same  description,  and 
M.  de  Saulcy  himself  found  another  at  Djembeh,  a  locality  pre- 
sentiiig  vary  evident  signs  of  a  town,  contemporaneous  wiUi  the 
remotest  bibKcal  periods,  and  situated  between  Zoar  and  Hebron, 
in  the  land  of  CanlUin. 

Tbe  French  travellers  having  completed  their  tour  of  the  Dead 
Sea  and  tbe  land  of  Moab,  returned  to  JeruMlem  for  the  thixd 
time  on  tbe  8ih  of  February,  1851.  A  long  dissertation  is  IntrD- 
duced  on  the  exact  topography  of  the  Mount  Pisgah  of  Scripture 
where  Moses  died,  and  from  whence  he  beheld  the  promised  land 
which  he  was  not  permitted  to  reach.  M.  de  Saulcy  not  being 
able  to  satisfy  himsdf  on  the  subject,  or  to  connect  entirely  lo  his 
0wn  ecmvietion,  all  tbe  conflicting  testimonies,  declares  that  he 
feels  compdled  to  leave  the  question  unresolved  and  doubtful. 
His  editor  and  firiend,  ihe  Count  de  Warren,  in  some  ingenious 
notes,  (fiffers  firom  him  on  this  point,  and  considers  that  he  is  over 
scrupulous,  raising  in  this  isfttance  difficulties  where  none  exist, 
and  departing  somewhat  fipom  his  usually  dear  style  of  analogical 
reasoning.  We  also  are  inclined  to  adopt  the  latter  opinion,  and 
look  upon  this  passage  as  less  satisfactory  and  conclusive  than  any 
other  in  the  entire  work.  It  leads  to  nothing  and  ends  where  it 
began,  remmding  us,  in  spite  of  the  serious  nature  of  the  subject, 
of  tbe  qpieode  in  Hndibns,  of  which  it  is  said  that  it  ^'  begins, 
bot  bteaks  offin  the  middle.'*  A  question  of  tins  nature  discussed 
and  not  decided,  is  as  unsatisfactory  as  a  the<yrem  in  geometry  pro- 
posed bui;  not  demonstrated. 

Dwmg  thfee  saccessive  eqjoums  at  Jerusalem,  M.  de  Saidcy 
employed  himself  ki  a  diligent  examinartion  of  the  ancient  wails, 
as  also  of  the  most  remarkable  momtments  slill  lemainiDg  within 
Ae  ffodtosmte  and  in  Ihe  immediate  enviroos  otfthe  HcJy  City. 
Some  of  theee  he  has  discovered  and  described  fer  the  first  time, 
while  otfaera  he  has  apptopriated  in  oppesition  to  the  ideas  of 
preceding  travellers.  Amongst  the  former  must  be  placed  fere- 
moi^  the  ^  Monolithic  monument  of  Sildam,''  of  which  an  eegrav- 

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288  THE  DEAD  SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS. 

ing  18  given,  and  which  he  supposes  to  be  a  SaceUumj  or  chapel^ 
erected  by  Solomon  for  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  Pharaoh,  that 
she  might  there  worship  according  to  the  rites  of  her  fathers. 
In  the  walls,  he  has  detected  the  portions  still  existing  of  the 
original  constructions  of  Solomon,  and  shows  how  they  are  dis* 
tinguishable  from  posterior  additions  and  alterations.  The  Qbour- 
el-Molouk,  or  Tombs  of  tlie  Kings,  as  they  are  stiU  called  (and 
which  are  unquestionably  identical  with  the  Sir^Xcua  BaacXiica  of 
Josephus),  by  a  chain  of  elaborate  argument^  always  founded  on 
Scriptural  evidence,  supported  by  tradition,  he  maintains  to  be  the 
sepulchres  erected  by  David  and  the  monarchs  of  his  dynasty. 
On  depositing  in  the  Louvre  the  lid  of  King  David's  sarcophagus, 
and  stating  what  it  was  and  whence  it  was  obtained,  he  was 
loudly  assailed  by  a  brother  savant,  who  denied  the  authenticity  of 
the  relic,  as  well  as  of  the  monument  itself  in  which  it  was  found. 
To  this  he  replied  in  a  pamphlet,  anticipating  the  line  of  evidence 
now  recapitulated  in  the  collected  volumes,  and  drawn  up  with 
too  much  clearness  and  consistency  to  be  shaken  or  set  aside  by 
clamour  or  prejudice. 

*'  The  name,"  he  observes  (Tomb  of  the  KiDgs)^  "  is  still  the  same,  whether 
you  address  yourself  for  the  purpose  of  inquiry  to  the  Jews,  Mohammedans, 
or  Christians  of  the  country.  But  is  this  denomination  really  correct  ?  A  very 
important  subject  to  investigate.  Before  we  examine  the  question,  let  us  re- 
mark, that  no  traveUer  who  treads  on  Judaic  land,  can  deny  or  undervalue  the 
importance  of  ond  iradUUm.  If  you  consult  it,  in  regard  to  the  Holy  Scrip, 
tures,  you  will  find,  in  a  very  short  time,  that  you  are  bound  to  respect  it  as 
you  would  an  authentic  volume:  for,  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  country, 
every  step  you  advance  will  convince  you,  that  the  Biblical  traditions  are 
imperishable.  Here,  nothing  alters  connected  with  the  Bible— nothing  is 
changed — not  even  a  name. '  The  memory  of  human  transactions  alone  has 
been  lost  For  instance,  the  terrible  catastrophes  of  which  Jerusalem  was 
successively  the  theatre,  are  almost  forgotten  in  the  lapse  of  time ;  but  if  in- 
quiry b  made  concerning  anv  fact,  even  of  secondary  importance,  connected 
with  the  original  history  of  the  Jewish  nation,  this  fact  seems  of  recent  occur- 
rence, so  vivid  and  precise  is  the  tradition  by  which  it  has  been  preserved 
and  handed  down  from  age  to  age.  The  vaults  of  the  Qbour-el-Molouk  have 
been  alreac!^  often  descril^,  but,  unfortunately,  with  too  much  precipitation — 
and,  we  might  almost  say,  entirely  in  a  cursory  manner.  This  is  the  only 
reason  why,  up  to  the  present  hour,  the  origin  of  this  splendid  monument  has 
never  been  satisfactorily  admitted.*' 

M.  de  Saulcy  gives  a  minute  ground-plan  of  these  extensive 
sepulchres,  and  here,  as  in  many  other  cases,  a  very  simple 
and  self-evident  argument  seems  to  bear  almost  conclusively  on 
the  question.  What  private  fSunily  were  able  to  meet  the  expense 
of  this  gigantic  construction,  which  could  only  have  been  under- 
taken by  a  royal  dynasty  ?  Our  author  winds  up  his  pamphlet 
with  a  sentence  of  concluding  advice,  and  a  suggestive  hint,  which 
critics  in  general  who  indulge  in  contradiction,  and  form  opinions 
withoutexperiment,  may  consider  with  advantage.  ^^  In  conclusion," 
he  says,  ^^  before  speaking  as  I  have  done  of  the  tombs  of  the  kings, 
I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  visiting  and  studying  them  carefully. 
I  do  not  wish  to  deprive  the  Academy  of  the  presence  of  my 
learned  amfrhrej  by  inviting  him  to  verify  on  the  spot  the  criticisms 
he  has  addressed  to  me,  but  I  shall  merely  request  him  to  read 


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THB  DEAD  SBA  AKD  THE  BIBLE  LANDS.  280 

orer  with  ftttention  the  texis  I  have  quoted,  and  I  feel  conTinced 
he  will  admit  that  they  possess  some  yalue.**  Literary  disputants 
who,  in  the  pride  or  licence  of  contradiction,  denounce  a  theory 
or  conclusion,  without  proposing  another  or  a  better  in  its  place, 
are  of  no  more  value  m  the  community  than  a  physician  who 
feels  your  pulse,  shakes  his  head,  tells  you  you  are  very  ill,  but  is 
tmable  to  propose  a  cure.  They  would  do  well  to  remember  and 
practise  the  invitation  of  Horace,  who  says, 

*If  a  better  mtem  's  thiDe, 
Impart  it  freely,  or  make  use  of  mine.'  '** 

From  Jerusalem  M.  de  Saulcy  and  his  companions  proceeded  to 
Sebastieh,  built  on  the  site  of  the  ancient  Samaria,  and  there,  on 
Mount  Gerizim,  discovered  and  examined  most  minutely  the  ex- 
tensive remains  of  the  temple  erected  by  Sanballat  under  permis- 
sion from  Alexander  the  Great,  B.C.  332,  the  ground  plan  of  which 
faces  the  title  page  of  the  first  volume.  The  enterpnsing  traveller 
*  justly  congratulates  himself  upon  having  been  the  first  to  give  an 
accurate  survey  of  the  Samantan  temple,  the  acquisition  of  which 
alone  he  considers  a  sufficient  reward  for  the  laborious  journey  he 
had  undertaken.  From  Sebastieh  they  proceeded  on  to  Nazareth 
and  Kafr-Kenna,  which  he  identifies  with  the  Cana  of  Scripture, 
where  the  first  miracle  of  our  Saviour  was  performed.  A  small 
church  of  very  modem  structure  is  still  standing  there,  and  the 
duty  is  attended  by  a  priest  of  the  Greek  persuasion.  This 
church  contains,  roughly  fitted  into  a  stone-bench,  two  enormous 
stone  vases,  which  the  priest  exhibits  as  being  two  of  the  six 
water-pots  used  in  the  miracle.  M.  de  Saulcy  declares  that  these 
two  vases,  which  Dr.  Clarke  saw  and  calls  froffments  of  water^ 
jugSj  are  perfectly  entire  and  of  very  ancient  workmanship.  He 
does  not  pretend  to  assert  that  they  are  the  genuine  implements  of 
the  miracle,  but  maintains  that  they  are  as  old  as  the  period  at 
which  it  took  place. 

Crossing  the  plain  of  Hattin,  celebrated  as  the  scene  of  the 
last  disastrous  battle  between  Uie  Christians  and  Saracens,  in 
which  the  Latin  kingdom  of  Jerusalem  was  finally  overthrown, 
they  reached  Tiberias,  now  Tabarieh,  on  the  lake  of  Genesareth, 
where  they  found  comfortable  quarters,  but  were  unmercifully 
fleeced  at  the  hotel  of  M.  Weisemann,  a  little  fat  German  Jew, 
with  a  placid  smile  and  most  benevolent  countenance.  From 
Tiberias  they  crossed  the  Lebanon  to  Damascus,  and  being  led 
out  of  the  direct  route  by  the  pertinacious  obstinacy  of  their 
dragoman,  became  indebted  to  him  for  a  discovery  almost  as 
stupendous  as  that  of  the  condemned  cities, — the  ruins  of  Hazor, 
the  early  capital  of  Canaan,  before  the  conquest  of  the  Israelites, 
the  abode  of  Jabin  and  Sisera,  first  burnt  by  Joshua,  and  defini- 
tively reduced  to  its  present  state  by  Nebuchadrezzar.  The  ruins 
are  most  extensive,  indicating  a  city  of  enormous  size,  while  the 
materials  with  which  it  was  built  are  incredibly  gigantic. 

*  ** Si  quid  novisti  rectiuf  istis, 

Candidas  imperti ;  si  non,  his  utere  mecum." 

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296  THE  DEAD  fiBA.  AND  TflE  BIBLE  LANM, 

**  I  confess,"  lajs  M.  de  Saul^,  **  that  when  on  the  apot^  a  thought  strode 
me,  that  a  place  coiwtructed  with  materials  of  such  enonuous  proportions, 
could  only  have  been  the  abode  of  an  extinct  race,  resembling  that  of  the 
Anakiras,  the  Emims,  and  the  Rephahns,  which  we  find  expiesslj  mentioBed 
in  the  Holy  Scriptnies.  The  Abb6  Michoa,  who  w«s  tiding  by  my  side^ 
went  even  futther  than  I  did  hi  this  supposition,  s«ftch  was  his  asConishinent 
at  the  size  of  these  marvellous  remains.  He  had  also  noticed  a  certain  &ct, 
that  wherever  there  were  hollows,  ditches,  or  trenches  of  any  kind  along  the 
ground,  the  blocks  became  numerous,  and,  as  it  were,  thrown  upon  each  other, 
as  if  they  had  been  carried  away  by  rushing  waters.  This  snmced  to  susgest 
to  him  the  idea,  that  the  ruins  we  had  just  discovered,  might  probably  ruive 
belonged  to  an  antediluvian  city.  Let  me  at  once  declare,  that  I  by  no  means 
adopt  this  hypothesis ;  on  the  contrary,  I  firmly  believe,  that  this  is  the  ancient 
capital  of  the  Candanites,  a  metropolis  built  long  before  the  days  of  Moses, 
and  destroyed  by  NebududreiBur.  This  pedigree,  in  my  opinion,  Is  sufficiently 
remote.  Besides,  if  I  find  in  the  nature  of  these  ruins  a  reason  far  assignhig 
to  them,  at  the  least,  the  period  of  Nebuchadrezzar,  as  the  final  limit  c2 
their  existence,  I  see  no  absolute  cause  for  determining  the  opposite  limit, 
I  mean  that  of  their  first  oriein,  which  the  reader  may  refer  back  as  far  as  he 
pleases,  within  the  historic^  times,  without  much  chance  of  laling  into  an  ^ 
error." 

In  the  neighbonrfaood  of  Banias,  wbich  occupies  the  site  of  the 
ancient  Paneas,  aflerwards  CaBsarea-Pbilippi,  and  Neronias,  M.  de 
Saulcy,  inrestigated  rains  which  he  identifies  as  the  biblical  city 
of  Dan,  and  the  site  of  the  temple  where  Jeroboam  had  placed 
one  of  his  golden  calves,  and  also  of  the  temple  of  the  Golden 
Calf  mentioned  by  Josephus.)  Crossing  the  Anti-Libanus  he 
reached  Damascus,  which  has  been  so  often  described,  that  it 
affords  little  novelty.  The  ^  Pearl  of  the  East^  is  beautifully 
situated,  and  exhibits  a  striking  contrast  in  the  outward  meanness 
and  interior  splendour  of  the  principal  habitations.  This  city, 
one  of  the  most  ancient  in  the  world,  contains  at  present  but  few 
monuments  of  the  earlier  periods,  but  M.  de  Saulcy  is  of  opinion 
that  if  diggings  on  an  extensive  scale  could  be  undertaken,  many 
would  be  unearthed.  The  plain  to  the  east,  looking  towards 
Tadmor  in  the  Desert,  has  seldom  been  visited,  and  promises  to 
the  adventurous  explorer,  a  mine  of  treasures  in  archaeological 
discovery.  Our  traveller  bestowed  a  most  careful  survey  on  the 
celebrated  temples  of  Ba&lbec,  respecting  which  he  furnishes 
many  new  particulars,  and  clears  away  the  errors  of  former 
writers.  Some  of  the  huge  masses  of  stone  employed  in  these 
stupendous  edifices,  present  dimensions  which  are  almost  incre- 
dible, and  reduce  the  single  blocks  of  Stonehenge  and  Camac  to 
mere  pebbles  in  comparison.  Let  us  fancy  a  course  of  sixty 
yards  m  length,  formed  by  three  stones  alone,  along  the  principal 
face  of  the  great  temple  of  the  Sun.  Several  of  these  are  still 
Ijring  in  the  adjacent  quarry,  finished,  and  their  edges  as  sharp 
and  square  as  if  the  stone-cutters  had  just  left  them.  One  was 
measured,  and  found  to  be  twenty  yards  in  length,  and  four  in 
height  and  breadth.  On  this  specimen  of  Cyclopean  architecture 
the  author  remarks, — 

"  It  becomes  curious  to  calculate  the  power  that  would  be  required  to  set 
this  mass  in  motion.  It  contains  five  hundred  cubic  yards,  and  as  the  stone  is 
a  calcareous  compound,  exceedingly  hard  and  compact,  each  cubic  yard  must 


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THE  DEAD   SEA  AND  THE  BIBLE  LANDS.  291 

wd^  at  least  six  thousand  pounds,  vhich  causes  the  entire  weight  of  the  block 
to  he  three  million  pounds.  It  would  consequently  require  an  engine  of  twenty 
thousand  horse-power  to  set  it  in  motion ;  or  the  constant  and  simultaneous 
effort  of  nearly  forty  thousand  men  to  carry  it  a  single  yard  in  each  second  of 
time." 

And  yet  these  enormous  masses  were  transported  to  a  distance 
of  a  thousand  yards  and  placed  on  the  top  of  other  masses  nearly 
as  prodigious,  at  a  height  exceeding  thirty  feet  from  the  ground, 
ana  joined  together  wiUi  the  most  minute  and  delicate  precision. 
It  is  useless  to  attempt  an  estimate  of  the  mechanicaJ  powers 
employed,  which  are  utt^lj  beyond  comprehension. 

Having  returned  to  Beyrout,  and  in  a  last  excursion  to  the 
Nahr-el-Kelb  detected  the  fallacy  of  the  reputed  Assyrian  has 
reliefs^  M.  de  Saulcy  and  his  companions  embarked  on  board  the 
**  Caire  ^  steamer  on  the  5th  of  April,  and  anchored  at  Marseilles 
on  the  16th  of  the  same  month.  Their  adventurous,  journey  had 
occupied  nearly  seven  months,  and  all  predicted  (kngers  and 
difficulties  had  been  prosperously  surmounted.  The  extent  of 
ground  over  which  they  haid  travelled  was  small  when  compared 
with  the  discoveries  they  had  accomplished  and  the  numerous 
points  of  historical  inquiry,  previously  wrapt  in  obscurity,  but 
now  definitively  elucidated.  £very  page  of  these  volumes  abounds 
in  interest,  incident,  and  most  vduable  information,  and  will 
amply  repay  the  reader  for  the  time  occulted  in  perusing  them. 
In  many  respects  this  work  may  be  considered  a  truthful  com- 
mentary on  the  sacred  authorities,  and  it  wiU  be  difficult  to  dis- 
pute with  sound  reason,  that  the  author  has  either  exaggerated 
his  facts  or  mistaken  his  inferences. 


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292 


CHAKA— KING  OF  THE  ZULUS. 

BY  ANGUS  B.  REACH. 

Most  people  have  a  notion  that  the  time  of  the  ntter  and  absolute 
— ^the  ferocious,  and  the  blood-ravenous  tjrrannies,  has  been  long 
over.  They  flatter  themselves  that  even  amid  uncivilized  people  the 
monstrosities  of  Nero  or  Tiberius  would  be  at  a  discount,  and  that 
neither  an  Attila  nor  an  Alaric  could  now-a-days  appear  upon  the 
earth  more  tiian  a  mastodon  or  a  megatherion.  Those  who  hold 
any  such  opinion,  however,  are  ver^  much  mistaken.  From  no 
hitherto  unheard-of  and  isolated  region  of  the  earth  does  a  Marco- 
Polo-like  trttveller  arrive  with  an  unbelievable  story  of  a  nu» 
merous,  and  powerful,  and,'in  their  way,  intelligent  nation,  submit- 
ting to  be  slaughtered  by  hundreds  and  tiiousands  at  the  simple 
caprice  of  one  blood-mad  individual  amongst  them — but  from  a 
province  of  Africa,  easily  accessible,  the  shores  and  some  portion 
of  tiie  interior  of  which  have  been  surveyed — from  a  district,  in 
fact,  bordering  upon  our  own  colony  of  Natal,  in  south-eastern 
Africa,  tiiere  arrived,  some  years  ago— although  it  fell  unheeded^ 
the  story  of  a  monarch  and  a  reign,  of  the  character  slightly  indi- 
cated in  the  above  sentences.  And  this  is  no  old  chronicle.  The 
kingdom  of  the  Zulus,  and  the  Zulucratic  system,  as  it  has  been 
aptly  called,  are  botii  things  of  the  present  century.  Two  books^ 
at  least,  have  been  written — one  by  a  missionary  officer.  Captain 
Gardiner,  tiie  otiier  by  a  trading  adventurer,  Natiianiel  Isaacs^ 
in  which  tiie  story  of  Chaka,  and  of  Chaka*s  successor,  Dungaan, 
has  been  told;  and  various  colonial  documents  of  official  autho- 
rity substantiate  the  account  frt>m  point  to  point.  The  power  and 
the  cruelty  of  Chaka  reached  their  climax  about  1827,  when  a 
catastrophe  took  place  which,  had  it  been  generally  known,  would 
have  shocked  the  civilized  world.  But  only  a  few,  perhaps  half 
a  dozen,  white  men  were  scattered  through  the  country,  at  the 
time,  without  the  means  of  any  communication  with  their  coun- 
trymen for  lengtiiened  periods,  and  the  ftmeral  rites  of  Umnante 
passed  unheeded  by  the  world. 

Probably  about  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  a  Kaffir 
tribe  made  its  way  from  the  sea-coast  inwardly,  to  a  range  of 
country  lying  to  the  north-east  of  Natal,  where  it  settled,  ex- 
terminatipg  the  races  whom  it  found  in  possession,  and  spread- 
ing terror  at  the  name  of  Zulu — ^tiie  denomination  both  of  tiie  chief 
and  the  tribe.  The  wars  of  these  people  were,  frt>m  their  earliest 
days,  wars  of  extermination — their  domestic  system  one  of  relent- 
less despotism.  As  tiie  king  possessed  unbridled  powers  of  life 
and  death  over  his  subjects,  so  did  each  head  of  a  family  over  his 
wives  and  concubines,  of  which  he  kept  as  many  as  he  could,  or 
as  he  chose.  It  was  reserved,  however,  for  Chaka  to  carry  these 
laws  out  in  their  utmost  severity,  and  to  enact  others  which 


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CHAKA — ^KING  OF  THE  ZULUS.  293 

doubled  the  horrors  of  the  system  of  his  ancestors — actually  im 
posing  the  punishment  of  death  upon  such  violators  of  his  courtly 
etiquette  as  happened  accidentally  to  cough,  sneeze,  spit,  or  make 
any  unseemly  noise  before  his  delicately-nerved  majesty.  Chaka 
was  descended  from  the  founder  of  the  tribe  Zulu,  and  the  mem- 
bers of  the  family  were  equally  renowned  for  cruelty  and  desperate 
courage-^but  to  both  these  (qualities,  in  their  greatest  extreme, 
Chaka  united  boundless  ambition,  and,  for  his  position,  a  remark- 
able degree  of  military  genius.  It  may,  therefore, be  imagined,  that 
Essenzingercona,  the  father  of  Chaka,  looked  with  great  alarm 
npon  the  progress  of  his  hopeful  son.  And  as  it  was  the  old  law 
of  the  Zulus,  as  soon  as  the  reigning  monarch  gave  symptoms 
of  age — as  soon,  indeed,  as  the  first  grey  heirs,  or  the  first 
wrinkles  began  to  appear — that  the  heir-apparent  should  murder 
his  nearest  relative  with  all  his  friends  of  the  same  standing, 
and,  after  more  or  less  fighting,  seize  upon  the  throne — it  may 
be  imagined  that  Essenzingercona  looked  with  more  than  usual 
terror  on  the  energetic  Chaka,  and  proceeded  to  take  measures  for 
reversing  the  usual  constitutional  arrangement.  Chaka,  having 
good  spies  abroad,  fled  with  a  younger  brother  to  a  neighbouring 
tribe,  by  whom  they  were  hospitably  received,  and  with  whom  they 
remained  until  the  death  of  the  old  king,  and  the  accession  of 
another  of  Chaka's  brothers.  The  new  monarch,  Chaka  deter- 
mined to  defeat,  and  assert  his  own  claim  to  the  throne.  His 
friends  and  patrens,  the  Umtatwas  tribe,  equipped  an  army  to 
help  him,  and  the  forces  in  their  war-dresses — of  tigers*  tails 
round  their  necks,  otter-skin  caps,  and  bullocks*  tails  round  their 
limbs — eacbwith  a  shield  of  bullock's  hide  stiffened,  and  calcu- 
lated for  carrying,  suspended  on  inside  brackets,  half  a  dozen  or 
more  assegais — movea  against  each  other.  Chaka  and  his  Um- 
tatwas were  signally  beaten  by  the  Zulus,  who  had  been  well 
disciplined  by  his  father,  and  the  whole  party  retired  in  disgrace. 
The  ambitious  temper  of  Chaka,  however,  soon  set  him  on  other 
schemes.  Pretending  to  be  sick,  and  then  having  it  reported  that 
he  was  dead,  his  brother  proceeded  penitently  to  the  capital 
city,  or  kraal  of  Zulu,  and  made  a  humble  apology  for  his  re- 
bellion, which  was  accepted,  and  he  was  once  more  taken  into 
favour,  and  admitted  into  the  close  intimacy  of  the  king.  The 
hyx)ocrite  soon  found  means  to  communicate  with  Chaka,  and 
Chaka  was  soon  hovering  about  the  court  in  disguise.  The  con* 
spirators  watched  their  time.  The  forgiven  brother  struck  the 
king  when  he  was  in  the  bath,  and  gave  the  signal.  Instantly^ 
Chaka  rushed  to  his  aid,  and  the  business  was  speedily  accom- 
plished —  the  principal  murderer  immediately  proclaiming  his- 
right  to  the  throne.  For  this  purpose,  Chaka  haa  certain  advan* 
tages  of  birth.  The  event  happened  during  a  storm,  and  the  peo- 
ple believed  that  all  sorts  of^  signs,  symbols,  and  portents  had 
accompanied  it.  Besides,  there  were  some  untoward,  or  anoma* 
lous  circumstances — or  such  in  Zulu  eyes^all  of  which  combined, 
induced  the  people  to  believe  that  a  child  had  been  bom  of  super- 
natural qualities,  and  to  pay  it  particular  honours.    As  Chaka 


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%9i  CHAKA — ^KINa  OF  THE  ZULUS. 

grew  up,  be  soon  acquired  wit  enough  to  encourage  this  idea, 
and  behaved  so  as  to  foster  it  in  the  nunds  of  all  about  him.  He 
now  experienced  its  benefit,  and  asserting  his  spiritual  as  well  as 
his  temporal  claims,  found  numerous  adherents^  To  murder  as 
many  as  he  could  catch  of  his  brother's  particular  friends  and 
councillors  was  Chaka's  first  proceeding,  both  to  secure  himself 
the  more,  and  to  impress  the  nation  with  a  sense  of  the  energetic 
policy  which  was  his  full  intention.  His  next  exploit— ^poswbly 
by  way  of  showing  his  gratitude  to  the  tribe  who  had  so  kindly 
sheltered  his  brother  and  himself,  and  shed  their  blood  for  the 
recovery  of  his  throne — was  to  attack  them,  to  exterminate  more 
than  one  half  of  the  race,  and  to  force  the  rest  to  join  his  people 
and  acknowledge  his  power.  Tribe  after  tribe  then  fell  beneath 
his  arms  in  rapid  succession^  until  Chaka  had  obtained  what  in 
Europe  would  have  been  an  independent  territory.  AH  the  plun- 
der, of  course,  was  his.  The  wealth  of  cattle— the  Zulu's  treasure, 
the  young  women,  whom  he  could  sell,  and  whose  progeny  he 
could  sell  for  cattle,  the  wild  beast  furs,  the  elephant,  and  finer 
still,  the  hippopotamus,  ivory — from  all  these  things  Chaka  heaped 
up  enormous  treasures,  and  built  five  or  six  palaces,  in  each  of 
which  he  kept  as  many  hundred  concubines,  who,  it  was  remarked, 
never  produced  any  progeny  other  than  girls,  Chaka  assigning  as 
the  reason  the  superstitious  circumstances  connected  with  his 
own  birth.  A  more  practical  view  may  be  probably  suggested 
by  the  incredulous. 

Chaka  having  now  to  govern,  for  him,  an  immense  empire,  set 
himself  steadily  to  discipline  his  army.  His  system  partook  of  se- 
veral ingenious  principles,  physical  and  moral.  In  ths  first  place, 
he  impressed  it  upon  his  fighting  men,  that  if  they  valued  their 
lives,  their  only  chance  was  to  take  those  of  their  enemies.  That 
if  they  ran  away,  they  would  be  killed  to  a  far  greater  certainty 
than  if  they  stood  and  fought  boldly.  That  every  regiment  which 
as  a  general  body  was  worsted,  should  sufier  death  in  its  totality, 
and  that  if  any  soldier  lost  his  assegai,  he  should  be  stabbed  by 
his  comrades.  The  consequences  of  this  system  of  morcUe  was 
of  course  to  make  men,  whether  they  had  courage  or  no,  fight 
like  demons  for  the  mere  preservation  of  their  own  lives.  Chaka 
had  so  ordered  it  that  a  chance  was  all  they  had,  and  that  chance 
could  only  be  attained,  by  standing  their  ground,  and  using  their 
assegais  like  maniacs.  Before  the  days  of  Chaka,  these  weapons, 
which  are  very  sharply  ground,  and  very  finely  poised,  were  used  as 
javelins,  and  as  such  frequently  lost,  being  indeed  sometimes  carried 
off  in  the  bodies  of  the  persons  wounded.  Chaka,  with  his  usual 
acuteness,  investigated  this  subject,  and  after  trying  actual  experi- 
ments with  his  own  troops,  partly  armed  with  one  assegai  to  use  as  a 
spear,  partly  with  a  dozen  to  use  as  javelins,  he  found  that  the  one 
carried  spear  was  far  superior  to  the  twelve  darted,  so  that,  for  the 
future,  all  the  Zulu  soldiers  were  armed  only  with  spears,  shields^ 
and  knob-kerries,  a  weapon  like  a  life-preserver,  and  used  for  close 
combat  With  these  troops  so  disciplined  and  moralized^-or  rather 
demoralized,  Chaka  had  no  need  to  fear  any  enemy :  but  he  went 

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qHAXA — KINGr  OF  THE  ZULUS.  295 

fnrtber  still.  Besides  bis  ordinary  soldiers,  Chaka  organized  a 
special  body  of  '^  warriors,^'  wbo  were  what  Napoleon  would  have 
called  regiments  of  ilite.  These  men  were  trained  iirom  their 
yoQth  to  think  of  nothing,  and  practise  nothing  but  fighting  and 
bloodshed.  They  were  not  allowed  to  marry,  or  to  contract  fmy 
female  acquaintance,  ibr  fear  of  their  becoming  inyolved  in  any- 
thing like  human  ties.  They  were  daily  exercised  in  every  pur- 
suit likely  to  increase  strength  and  activity,  and  were  fed  on 
nothing  but  beef,  under  the  idea  of  its  making  them  more  brutal 
and  ferocious. 

These  men  were  trained. to  an  obedience  which  made  them 
machinery.  A  look  firom  the  King,  and  a  warrior  ran  his  comrade 
through  the  back ;  a  word  and  a  sign  when  his  majesty  walked 
abroad,  and  a  father  was  obliged  to  massacre  his  son,  or  a  son  his 
father,  the  perpetrator  being  himself  destroyed  if  he  showed  the 
slightest  sign  of  feeling  or  flinching.  When  any  firiend  of  the 
Kmg  died,  the  people  were  summoned  to  weep  round  the  palace, 
and  if  any  were  unable  to  squeeze  out  a  tear,  the  ^^  warriors'* 
rushed  upon  them,  and  either  with  knob  kerries  or  assegais — both, 
by  the  way,  the  Dutch  names  for  the  weapons — murdered  them. 

The  country  at  large  was  ruled  upon  the  same  universal  prin- 
ciple of  death,  death,  death !  Lying,  on  any  evidence  or  no  evi- 
dence, was  death.  Theft,  the  same.  Speaking  ill  of  the  King, 
the  same,  with  many  other  still  smaller  offences,  and  the  pleasure 
of  the  King,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Each  large  kraal  had  a  chief 
or  indoona.  If  this  man  offended  the  King,  not  only  he,  but  the 
whole  kraal  suffered,  save,  indeed,  those  who  could  find  refuge  in 
the  woods  or  the  swamps.  An  accusation  of  sorcery  was  speedy 
death  in  Zulu.  As  every  disease  was  held  to  be  the  effect  of  a 
charm  applied  by  an  ^^  Umturgartie,''  or  evil-Hisher,  and  every 
death  other  than  firom  violence  was  esteemed  unnatural,  the  '^  Imy- 
angars,''  or  discoverers  of  charms  and  their  employers,  had  often 
enough  to  do.  These  wretches  resembled  our  own  witch-finders 
of  days  gone  by,  in  the  respect  that  they  accused  of  sorcery  pre- 
cisely anybody  they  liked,  or  anybody  they  might  be  bribed  to. 
Their  mode  of  proceeding,  however,  was  different,  consisting  in 
smelling  all  around  the  locality  supposed  to  be  infected.  This 
smelling  process  was  carried  on,  and  is  indeed  yet  carried  on, 
through  a  series  of  the  most  frantic  jumpings,  bowlings,  and  con- 
tortions of  the  hands,  face,  and  limbs,  which  increase  in  vehe- 
mence as  the  Imyangar  declares  that  the  scent  gets  warmer,  and 
all  the  kraal  rings  to  the  responsive  yelling  of  the  assembled  in- 
habitants ;  until  gradudly  working  himself  up  to  a  firenzy,  the 
witch-catcher,  perspiring  at  every  pore,  with  flashing  eyes  and 
foaming  mouth,  and  limbs  reeling  firom  mingled  excitement  and 
fie^gue,  swoops  upon  some  unfortunate  being,  whom  he  selects 
and  denounces  as  a  sorcerer.  Instantly,  and  without  requiring 
the  least  tittle  of  proof,  the  crowd  close  round  the  denounced 
person,  and  in  a  moment  he  has  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  supposed 
offences. 

Nearly  the  same  power  was  possessed  by  the  husbands  over 

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296  CHAKA — ^KING   OF  THE  ZULUS. 

their  wives.  The  hoasehold  was  a  minor  Zulucracj ;  women  have 
come  to  English,  Dutch,  and  Portuguese  settlers  in  Natal  and 
Zulu,  and  entreated  them  to  save  their  lives,  as  their  husbands  had 
appointed  them  to  come  to  a  certain  place  at  a  certain  hour  for 
the  purpose  of  being  murdered.  A  handful  of  snuff,  or  a  roll  of 
tobacco,  or  a  few  beads,  however,  generally  settled  the  matter ; 
but  as  soon  as  a  wife  becomes  too  old  to  bear  further  progeny, 
her  fate  is  sealed.  It  is  sometimes  the  same,  too,  with  the  old 
men  ;  Chaka  actually  held  an  old  man  massacre,  in  which  a  mise* 
rable  quantity  of  blood  was  shed,  and  the  locality  of  which  is  still 
called  ^^  old  man^s  picking  place/'  Chaka  justified  himself  for 
this  to  an  English  traveller  by  insisting  on  the  uselessness  of  sup* 
porting  people  who  were  too  weak  and  old,  not  only  to  fight,  but 
to  work.  Both  extremes  of  the  age  of  the  male,  seem  in  Zulu  in 
nearly  equal  danger,  as  male  children  are  often  made  away  with, 
the  parents  preferring  to  rear  the  females,  from  whom,  by  the  time 
they  attain  the  age  of  fourteen,  they  can  accumulate  great  herds^ 
of  cattle  by  selling  the  young  ladies  for  from  six  to  ten  cows  a 
piece,  for  slaves  or  wives ;  c*est  ^gal. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  Chaka,  amid  all  his  murderings,  was 
a  great  encourager  of  fites  send  popular  amusements — of  which 
singing  and  dancing  were  the  principal  features.  Great  gather* 
ings  of  the  people  for  these  purposes,  from  time  to  time,  took 
place.  Chaka  himself  was  the  poet,  and  shouted  out  the  songs, 
clad  in  his  dancing-dress,  in  which  he  afterwards  capered  a  series 
of  pas  seuh  amid  the  enthusiastic  plaudits  of  the  spectators.  It 
is  true  that  any  one  who  did  not  applaud  would  have  stood  a  fair 
chance  of  an  assegai  through  his  body,  but  this  only  made  the 
assemblage  the  more  admiringly  demonstrative.  ChaJ^a  was  very 
particular  in  composing  new  songs  every  year — ^the  grand  annual 
occasion  being  what  we  may  call  the  harvest-home  —  the  first 
fruits  of  the  season  being  brought  to  the  palace,  where  the  kiny 
performed  some  ridiculous  ceremonies,  running  and  leaping  about, 
and  then,  after  eating  a  mouthful  of  the  new  corn,  tossing  a  cala- 
bash among  the  people  as  a  signal  that  they  might  eat  also.  Ta 
eat  before  was  death. 

Like  other  great  potentates,  Chaka  maintained  a  system  of 
espiannagcy  particularly  in  the  army,  of  the  disaffection  of  which  he 
was  naturally  highly  jealous.  When  a  marauding  expedition  was 
sent  forth,  it  was  a  common  practice  to  tell  the  chiefs  of  the 
different  divisions  of  the  warriors,  different  stories  as  to  their 
route,  reuniting  them  at  one  point,  known  only  to  the  commander- 
in-chief.  The  supposed  supernatural  powers  of  Chaka,  however, 
were,  after  all,  his  main  resource  and  his  main  safeguard.  He 
concocted  a  diary  of  the  periodical  visions  which  he  received 
from  the  spirit  of  Umbeah,  an  old  Zulu  chief  greatly  renowned 
for  his  wisaom,  and  always  insisted  that  he  governed  Zulu  through 
the  wisdom  of  the  said  Umbeah.  All  this  the  nation  implicitly 
credited.  In  fact,  it  was  the  onl;|r  religion  they  had  to  believe, 
and  when  the  king  announced  a  vision  of  Umbeah,  a  vast  multi- 


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CHAKA — KING  OF  THE  ZULUS.  297 

tode  assembled  round  the  palace,  and  he  told  them  whaterer 
cock-and-bullism  he  chose  to  invent. 

These  ghost-stories  he  supported  by  schemes  of  mystification 
very  cunningly  made  up.    For  example,  a  woman  came  to  the 

Ealace  and  reported  that  the  night  before  a  lion  had  entered  her 
ut  and  taken  her  husband  from  her  side,  without  apparently 
doing  him  any  further  injury.  Chaka,  upon  this,  ordered  great 
search  to  be  made  for  this  good-natured  lion,  and  sent  forth  his 
best  hunters  to  capture  it.  Neither  lion  nor  man,  however,  were 
found  until  about  three  months  afterwards,  when  the  man  sud- 
denly made  his  appearance  in  the  midst  of  Chaka's  warriors  upon 
a  festival-day,  and  being  brought  before  the  sovereign,  told  a  long 
«tory  of  how  he  had  been  conveyed  under  ground  to  a  region 
where  there  were  plenty  of  cows  and  beautiful  girls,  and  where 
the  good  Zulus  who  fell  bravely  in  battle  went,  and  where  he  had 
seen  Umbeah,  who  charged  him  to  communicate  to  the  people 
that  all  that  Chaka  had  told  them  concerning  his  visions  was 
quite  true,  and  that  they  were  in  future  to  believe  everything 
Chaka  said.  The  king,  after  pretending  great  edification  at  this 
statement,  had  the  man  taken  with  signal  honours  to  his  palace, 
where  he  remained,  until  proceeding  one  day  into  the  woods,  he 
never  returned.  Chaka  gave  out  that  he  was  carried  off*  by  a 
leopard,  and  amused  his  warriors  by  sending  them  to  hunt  down 
all  the  beasts  of  the  kind  in  the  vicinity. 

We  now  approach  the  period  in  1827  of  the  massacre  on  the 
occasion  of  the  death  of  Umnauty.  This  woman  had  been  the 
wife  of  Chaka's  father,  Essenzingercona,  and  was  Chaka*s  mother. 
Her  husband  had  sent  her  away  for  infidelity,  and  for  some  time 
she  had  lived  in  adultery,  but  ultimately  retired  into  solitude,  in 
which  she  died.  After  the  event  had  been  announced  to  Chaka, 
he  did  not  speak  for  a  week,  but  lay  silent  at  the  door  of  his  palace. 
He  then  roused  himself,  entered  it,  and  sent  for  two  or  three  of  his 
eldest  counsellors  and  most  trusted  indoonas.  After  long  delibera- 
tion, orders  were  issued  for  a  general  mourning-match ;  those  who 
did  not  make  their  appearance,  or  who  could  not  weep,  were  to  suffer 
death.  Upon  these  grounds  commenced  as  atrocious  a  massacre 
as  was  ever  recorded  in  history.  The  "warriors"  went  in  bands 
around  the  country,  burning  the  kraals  and  slaughtering  their 
inhabitants  for  disobeying  the  king^s  commands  —  commands 
which  the  poor  wretches  had  never  heard  of— Chaka's  real  object 
being  the  institution  of  a  species  of  holocaust  for  his  mother's 
manes,  and  those  who  came  to  mourn  fieured  by  hundreds  like 
those  who  nominally  disobeyed  the  summons.  Crowds,  too, 
were  led  up  to  the  grave  and  slaughtered  around  it,  while  ten 
young  virgins  were  burned  alive  to  join  Umnanty  as  her  hand- 
maids in  the  land  of  Umbeah.  Every  night  during  the  conti- 
nuance of  the  massacre,  which  lasted,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree^ 
for  a  fortnight,  Chaka  danced  and  sung  before  the  people  as 
part  of  the  ceremonial  paid  to  his  mother's  spirit. 

After  this  glut  of  blood  and  desolation,  there  seems  to  have 
been  a  pause  of  satiety  in  Chaka's  career,  and  the  murders  com* 

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298  CHAKA — KING  OP  THE  ZULUS. 

nitted  were  only  those  wMcb  the  tyrant  believed  necessary  for 
his  own  preservation,  the  indoonas  and  counsellors,  who  had 
influence  with  the  people.  At  the  same  time  he  endeavonred 
to  cnhirate,  as  mnch  as  possible,  the  friendship  of  the  English  and 
Dutch  traders,  and  was  particularly  pleased  when  presents  were 
sent  him,  as  it  was  considered  politic  to  do  by  the  Cape  Govern- 
ment. Red  cloth  always  delighted  him,  and  one  magnificent 
red  cloak,  which,  however,  was  described  by  an  English  spectator 
as  mere  scarlet  serge,  he  made  an  attendant  wear  and  walk  before 
him  in  it,  so  that  he  might  contemplate  all  its  beauties.  Chaka 
was  dreadfully  alarmed  the  first  time  he  saw  his  face  in*  a  mirror, 
and  was  with  difficulty  assured  that  it  was  simply  a  reflection  like 
those  in  water.  On  understanding  this,  he  ordered  the  glass  to 
be  brought  out  in  public,,  and  vapoured  and  danced  before  it. 
The  Zulus  were  struck  dumb  at  this  exhibition  of  the  courage  of 
their  king  in  venturing  to  confront  his  own  spirit,  and  his  reputa- 
tion increased  accordingly. 

But  the  mirror  began  to  reveal  to  Chaka  disagreeable  truths. 
Grey  bristles  began  to  mingle  in  the  fantastic  coiffure  of  a  Zuln 
monarch  with  the  black,  and  he,  who  had  taken  so  many  lives,  now 
began  to  tremble  for  bis  own,  gradually  woiking  himself  into  a 
state  of  nervous  terror  which  hannted  his  very  soul.  He  had  still 
several  brothers  living,  for  the  male  ofispring  of  his  father  had 
been  something  astonishing,  and  two  of  these,  Dingaan  and 
Unslumgami,  excited  his  particular  apprehensions.  Still  he  con- 
tinued, by  observing  all  sorts  of  precautions,  to  hope  for  the  best. 
He  had  heard  from  an  English  trader  of  hair-dye,  and  he  became 
fi-antically  eager  to  procure  it,  ofiering  in  secret  great  amounts 
in  cattle  for  this  precious  agent,  ^ich  he  conceived  to  be  a 
charm.  Unfortunately  Chaka,  however,  failed  in  all  his  endeavours 
to  procure  the  blackening  liquid.  There  appears  to  have  been 
some  mistake  constantly  made  about  it,  and  the  primitive  pemi- 
quiers  of  the  Cape  Colony  deluged  the  monarch  with  oils,  poma- 
tum, and  all  sorts  of  specifics  for  making  the  hair  grow,  but 
not  for  making  it  black,  until  at  length  Chc^a  got  so  much  out  of 
humour  upon  the  subject,  and  on  others,  that  he  began  to  re- 
sume his  old  blood-shedding  propensities.  His  fate  was  now 
soon  decided  on.  One  day,  sitting  before  his  palace,  admiring 
his  herds  of  cattle  being  driven  in  review  before  him,  a  man 
who  had  been  his  own  servant,  and  who  had  been  loitering  about 
with  a  spear  such  as  cattle  were  killed  with,  suddenly  stepped  up 
to  the  king  and  threatened  him  with  the  weapon,  while  the  two 
brothers,  Dangaan  and  Unslnmgami,  came  behind  and  stabbed 
him.  The  unhappy  wretch  fell,  then  rose,  made  some  attempt  to 
run,  and  was  again  pierced  through  by  the  servant,  on  which  he 
fell  again  and  expired,  muttering  something  about  being  allowed 
to  live  to  be  his  brother^s  servant. 

So  died,  then,  the  greatest  shedder  of  blood  in  wantonness  of 
whom  we  really  have  any  record,  since  the  dawn  of  civilization. 
What  horrors  of  the  same  sort  may  exist  in  the  unexplored  dis- 
tricts of  Central  Africa  we  know  not ;  but  from  alkwe  dO|know  of 

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LAMBETH   CHUHCH. 

the  fierce  character  of  the  general  sonthem  races  of  Africa,  the 
Kaffirs  in  all  their  modifications,  the  Bushmen,  and  the  strange  di- 
minutive tribe,  the  Earthmen,  now  dying  away — from  the  atrocities 
also  which  we  are  but  too  well  aware  were  perpetrated  upon  our  own 
nnfortunate  soldiers  whom  the  Kaffirs  captured,  we  may  conceive 
almost  any  amount  of  cruelty  and  recklessness  of  life.  The  rule 
of  Chaka  over  the  Zulus  was  no  doubt  an  exceptional  case.  He 
was  a  man  of  almost  superhuman  courage,  energy,  ferocity,  and 
wantonness  of  life.  The  thirst  for  blood,  indeed,  seems  to  have 
been  an  hereditary  propensity  in  the  family,  which,  in  the  case  of 
Chaka,  developed  into  an  intense  monomania  by  the  force  and 
energy  of  his  general  mental  characteristics,  produced  this  mon- 
strous character,  whose  career  we  have  just  sketched,  and  which, 
however  it  may  horrify,  may  be  depended  on  as  being  strictly 
and  literally  true. 

We  may  add  that  Dangaan  succeeded  Chaka,  and  turned  out  a 
modified  edition  of  his  brother.  He  was  also  murdered,  but  not 
by  any  of  his  own  family.  The  present  king.  Panda,  is  still  a 
brother  of  this  seemingly  inexhaustible  household.  He  has,  how- 
ever, altered  all  Chaka  and  Dangaan's  barbarous  laws,  encourages 
trade,  and  has  been,  as  yet,  a  faithful  ally  of  the  Natal  Government. 


PRACTICAL  JOKES. 

BY  MBS    MOODIE. 


There  are  numbers  of  facetious  and  well-meaning  people,  who 
delight  in  practical  jokes  —  who  would  think  themselves  highly 
insulted  if  you  were  to  say  one  word  against  their  favourite  amuse- 
ment. Yet  a  more  pemicioiis  or  cruel  method  of  entertainment 
can  scarcely  be  imagined.  All  practical  jokes  have  a  malicious 
tendency ;  and  it  is  hardly  possible  for  a  truly  benevolent  person 
to  receive  any  pleasure  from  them.  The  laugh  is  always  raised  at 
the  expense  of  another ;  and  the  feelings  of  those  upon  whom 
such  jokes  are  perpetrated  are  never  once  taken  into  consideration, 
by  the  perpetrator.  The  more  they  are  annoyed  or  wounded  the 
greater  the  fun.  Some  of  the  most  croel  things  have  been  done 
tmder  the  cover  of  a  joke;  and  some  of  the  most  dreadful  acci- 
dents have  occurred  from  the  indulgence  of  this  ill-natured  pro- 
pensity. It  is  my  intention  to  illustrate  this  subject  fairly,  by 
giving  instances  of  the  grave  and  gay,  iibt  humorous  and  the 
terrible,  that  have  come  imder  my  own  c^servation,  or  have  been 
told  to  me  by  persons  whose  veracity  was  onquestioBable. 

I  will  commence  my  task  with  a  true,  but  very  sad  tale,  which 
I  had  from  the  lips  of  a  dear  and  venerated  relative,  who  was 
unfortunately,  and  to  his  everiasting  regret,  an  actor  in  the 
tragedy. 


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300  PBACTICAL  JOKES, 

In  the  town  in  which  mj  friend  was  born  and  brought  up,  and 
which  has  since  merged  into  a  portion  of  the  vast  metropolis 
of  Britain,  a  few  young  gentlemen  who  had  distinguished  tnem- 
selves  at  school,  and  were  now  engaged  in  acquiring  various  pro- 
fessions, formed  themselves  into  a  literary  association,  which  met 
twice  a  week  at  the  house  of  a  friend. 

This  was,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  debating  society,  in  which  scientific 
subjects  were  given  for  discussion,  on  which  papers  were  written, 
and  speeches  made,  to  illustrate  more  clearly  the  object  in  view, 
self-culture,  and  moral  and  intellectual  improvement.  No  drink- 
ing or  smoking  was  allowed  in  the  club,  ana  quarrelsome  members 
were  subject  to  a  forfeit  on  the  first  offence,  and  expelled  if  they 
continued  refiractory. 

As  the  society  was  instituted  with  a  view  to  mutual  benefit,  and 
the  members  were  all  fiiends  and  schoolmates,  their  meetings  were 
both  harmonious  and  instructive. 

In  this  society,  said  my  old  friend,  I  perfected  myself  in 
mathematics,  and  learned  navigation  and  trigonometry,  and  this 
was  chiefly  to  keep  on  an  equal  footing  with  my  two  friends,  John 
and  William  W — ,  who  both  afterwards  became  admirals  in  the 
British  navy.  My  brother,  the  two  W — 's,  and  two  fine  lads  of 
the  name  of  Rosier,  the  sons  of  a  widowed  lady,  and  great  favour- 
ites with  us  all,  belonged  to  my  class. 

One  night,  our  subject  had  been  the  belief  in  ghosts ;  that  it 
had  existed  in  all  ages,  and  appeared  to  be  sanctioned  by  the 
Saviour  himself.  ^^  I  am  not  a  spirit."  This  led  to  a  long  discus- 
sion. Some  of  us  allowed  the  possibility  of  supernatural  agency, 
others  turned  it  into  ridicule,  and  rejected  it  as  unworthy  the  be- 
lief of  a  rational  creature.  Edward,  the  elder  of  the  two  Rosiers, 
declared  his  scepticism  in  such  decided  terms,  that  John  W — , 
who  had  frankly  confessed  his  belief  in  ghosts,  asked  him  abruptly, 
^^How  he  would  like  to  spend  a  night  alone  in  a  church  ?*' 

"  I  have  not  the  least  objection,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "  If  I 
found  it  disagreeable,  it  would  not  be  the  ghosts  that  would  trou- 
ble me." 

^^  Edward,"  said  my  fiiend,  *^  I  think  your  courage  would  fail 
you,  when  it  came  to  the  trial ;  for  independently  of  all  superstitious 
dread,  the  loneliness  of  the  place  and  hour,  connected  with  other 
circumstances,  of  a  mysterious  and  awful  nature,  that  cling  about 
an  ancient  religious  edifice,  would  be  enough  to  daunt  a  bolder 
spirit  than  yours.  I  am  not  a  coward,  as  you  all  know ;  but  I 
would  not  like  to  trust  myself  alone  in  such  a  place.  It  is  not 
ghosts  that  I  fear,  but  my  imagination  is  so  fertile  it  might  conjure 
up  phantoms  still  more  terrific." 

"  Ah  !  we  know  how  nervous  you  are,  S — ,*'  said  Edward,  with 
a  smile ;  ^^  but  try  me,  that  is  all  I  request,  and  if  I  turn  coward, 
twit  me  with  it  ever  after." 

^' And  when  will  you  make  the  experiment?^'  we  all  asked  in  a 
breath. 

**  To-morrow  night,  if  you  please." 

"  And  in  what  church  ?" 


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LAMBETH  CHURCH.  301 

"Old  Lambeth.'' 

"  You  have  made  a  bad  choice,"  said  my  friend.  "  It  is  a  solemn 
awful  place,  and  looks  like  the  haunt  of  all  the  ghosts  since  the 
time  of  the  Conquest" 

**  It  is  my  native  church,"  said  he  gravely.  "  I  was  baptized 
there,  and  I  love  the  venerable  pile." 

"  Well,  well,  you  shall  have  your  own  choice ;  but  it  would  not 
be  ours,"  said  his  comrades.  '^  And  now  for  arrangements ;  how 
is  it  to  be  ordered  ?" 

"  I  know  the  sexton,"  said  Edward  ;  "  he  will  give  me  the  key. 
I  shall  choose  the  belfry  for  my  watch.  I  don't  mean  the  chamber 
of  the  bell,  but  that  portion  of  the  church  that  is  situated  directly 
under  it.  You  must  allow  me,  gendemen,  a  small  table,  a  stool, 
a  book,  and  four  wax  candles.  The  church  is  so  large  that  I 
should  be  fancying  all  sorts  of  things  without  sufficient  light.  If 
danger  exists,  I  should  like  to  confront  it  like  a  man,  and  not  be 
fighting  with  my  own  shadow  in  the  dark.  At  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  presume  my  watch  will  end,  as  you  well  know  that  all 
ghosts  vanish  with  the  crowing  of  the  cock." 

There  was  something  in  this  speech,  said  my  old  friend; 
that  led  me,  and  his  brother,  Henry  Rosier,  to  suspect  that  our 
hero  was  not  quite  so  brave  as  he  wished  us  to  think  him.  We 
exchanged  glances.  Henry  smiled,  and  looked  down,  but  we 
forbore  to  communicate  our  thoughts  on  the  subject. 

Every  one  present  agreed  to  Edward's  request,  and  we  pro- 
mised to  arrange  everything  according  to  his  wishes.  The  table, 
the  book — ^which,by  the  way,  was  Dr.  Young's  "Night  Thoughts" — 
and  the  candles,  were  to  be  ready  by  ten  o'clock  the  following 
night,  and  he  was  to  meet  us  in  the  porch  of  the  old  church, 
where  we  were  to  see  him  duly  installed,  and  then  take  our 
leave. 

Soon  after,  the  meeting  broke  up,  and  the  Rosiers  had  shaken 
hands  with  us  to  part  for  the  night ;  for  their  path  home  lay  in  an 
opposite  direction,  when  Henry  lingered  a  moment  behind,  and 
wnispered  to  me, 

"  Tom,  we  must  play  Ned  a  trick;  I  have  got  a  famous  plan  in 
my  head.    You  shall  hear  it  to-morrow." 

Henry  Rosier  was  a  lively  rattle-brained  fellow.  Clever 
enough,  but  too  volatile  to  make  the  most  of  his  talents.  He  was 
always  up  to  all  sorts  of  fiin,  and  was  the  instigator  of  every  mis- 
chievous prank  in  the  town.  There  was  not  one  of  us  on  whom 
he  had  not  played  off  some  practical  joke  ;  but  his  wit  and  good- 
humour  made  him  a  favourite  with  all.  His  brother  and  Henry 
were  the  most  attached  of  friends,  though  no  two  people  could  be 
more  unlike  in  character.  Edward  was  grave,  serene,  and  thoughtful. 
His  inclinations  led  him  to  the  pulpit,  and  among  his  young 
associates,  he  went  by  the  name  of  the  parson.  Henry  had 
determined  already  on  being  a  soldier,  and  considered  it  no 
small  honour  to  the  £unily,  his  father  having  died  upon  the  battle- 
field. 

Early  the  next  morning  Henry  came  to  me,  and  after  laugh- 

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302  PRACTICAL   JOKES. 

ing  very  heartily,  disclosed  his  plan ;  which  appeared  so  inno- 
cent, that  not  only  the  two  W — s,  bot  my  brother  and  myself, 
entered  into  it  heart  and  soul. 

'^  Ah  !  'tis  a  glorious  trick,^  he  said,  rubbing  his  hands ;  ^^  and 
it  cannot  fail  to  give  him  a  glnff.  For,  between  ourselves,  I 
don't  think  the  fellow  is  so  brave  as  he  pretends  to  be — at  any 
rate,  this  will  put  his  courage  to  the  proo^will  frighten  him  out 
of  his  wits,  and  give  us  all  a  good  laugh.** 

"  But  how  will  you  manage  it?"  said  I. 

'^  Oh !  the  simplest  way  in  the  world.  I  will  go  to  Jones  the 
tallow-chandler  and  get  him  to  cast  ns  four  large  wax  candles, 
leaving  a  hollow  tube  filled  with  gunpowder,  just  in  the  centre  of 
the  candle,  at  the  distance  which  he  supposes  it  will  take  for  the 
candle  to  bum  down  to  by  the  witching  hour  of  night.  When  the 
flame  reaches  the  gunpowder,  the  candles  will  be  extinguished 
with  a,  horrible  explosion,  and  such  an  infernal  smell  of  brim- 
stone, that  poor  Ned  will  be  forced  to  acknowledge  that  Old 
Nick  himself  puflfed  them  out." 

We  all  laughed  at  the  whimsical  idea,  and  complimented  Henrj 
on  his  ingenuity;  while  he,  quite  beside  himself,  clapped  his 
hands  and  cut  a  thousand  fantastic  antics. 

"  It  will  be  capital  sport !"  he  cried.  "  We  will  all  watch  in 
the  porch  ;  I  long  to  see  the  grave  face  that  our  dear  philosopher 
will  make,  when  whiz — whiz — ^whiz,  out  go  all  the  candles.  I 
think  it  will  be  his  last  night  alone  in  a  church." 

At  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  all  was  ready,  and  we  accom- 
panied Ned  with  lanterns,  for  it  was  a  very  dark  October  night, 
to  the  venerable  old  pile.  The  church  loomed  through  the  fog 
like  the  ghost  of  the  vanished  age  that  had  witnessed  its  pristine 
glory.  It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  superstitious  awe, 
continued  my  friend,  that  I  unlocked  the  massive  door,  and  we 
foimd  ourselves  standing  within  the  ancient  place  of  worship. 

Edmund  stepped  briskly  forward,  and  placed  his  little  table 
beneath  the  belfry,  which  commanded  a  view  up  the  main  aisle ; 
and,  lighting  his  treacherous  candles,  took  his  seat,  and  in  a  gay 
tone  bade  us  all  good-night. 

"  Edmund,"  said  I,  "  give  over  this  frolic.  Perhaps  you  wiB 
repent  your  obstinacy  when  you  find  yourself  all  alone." 

^  You  must  think  that  I  am  troubled  with  a  bad  conscience,** 
said  he,  ^  to  be  so  much  afraid  of  my  own  company.  I  assure 
yon,  on  the  contrary,  that  I  feel  quite  happy,  and  wish  you  all 
heartily  away." 

We,  laughing,  withdrew,  but  only  to  the  porch  of  the  church, 
leaving  the  door  ajar,  so  that  we  could  watch  him  unseen,  and 
enjoy  his  astonishment  when  the  lights  went  out. 

^^  The  church  clock  struck  eleven.  Our  friend  Rosier  con- 
tinued calm  and  serene,  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  bis  book. 
Once  or  twice  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  took  a  turn  round  the 
church,  with  arms  folded,  and  wrapped  in  a  sort  of  devotional 
meditation,  which  gave  a  fine  expression  to  his  very  interesting 
countenance. 


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LAMBETH  CHURCH  303 

"  Ned  is  a  hero ! "  said  Henry  in  a  whisper,  "  I  did  him  injus- 
tice.    But  twelve  o'clock  will  try  his  mettle." 

Edward  sat  down  to  his  book  again,  and  seemed  so  lost  in  its 
pages,  which  were  new  to  him,  that  he  did  not  again  raise  his 
head  until  the  bell  in  the  old  turret  above  him  commenced  to  toll 
the  midnight  hour.  I  thought  his  cheek  looked  paler  than  usual, 
but  the  night  was  very  damp  and  cold,  and  the  wind  sobbed  and 
howled  its  mysterious  hiUaby  in  the  time-worn  turrets  of  the  old 
grey  tower.  He  was  evidently  anxious  to  close  his  vigil,  and  be 
commenced  counting  the  strokes  of  tbe  bell, — "  One — two — 
three.**  His  voice  was  drowned  in  a  tumultuous  hurricane  of 
sound.  Simultaneously  the  candles  were  whirled  aloft  in  the 
air ;  and  went  out  amid  a  thundering  din,  and  a  cloud  of  black 
smoke,  which  hid  the  watcher  from  our  sight  We  all  burst  into 
a  roar  of  laughter,  which  was  returned  to  us  in  hollow  unearthly 
echoes  from  the  long  aisles  of  the  building. 

"  Ned,  mv  boy  !  how  are  you?— has  the  devil  flown  away  with 
you  i^  criea  Henry,  unclosing  tbe  dark  lantern  and  rushing  into 
the  church* 

You  may  imagine  our  feelings,  when  we  found  the  hero  of 
the  night  lying  insensible  upon  Uie  pavement,  and  to  all  appear- 
ance dead. 

One  of  the  party  ran  for  a  coach  ;  while  Henry,  almost  beside 
himself,  continued  to  chafe  the  hands  and  temples  of  his  uncon- 
scious brother,  and  to  call  upon  him  in  the  most  endearing 
manner  to  look  up — ^to  answer  him — to  tell  him  that  he  forgave 
him  for  his  cruel  joke. 

With  bitter  tears  of  unfeigned  sorrow  and  regret  at  the  melan- 
choly termination  of  our  frolic,  we  lifted  the  body  of  Edward 
into  the  coach,  and  took  him  home  to  his  a£Bicted  mother. 

Poor  mother  !  I  dare  not  picture  her  grief.  For  many  years 
it  was  the  most  painfrd  recollection  of  my  life. 

Edward  Rosier  recovered  to  existence,  but  his  senses  had 
deserted  him  for  ever.  That  fine  intellect,  that  had  been  the 
pride  of  his  mother's  heaii,  and  had  endeared  him  to  us  all,  was 
extinguidied  for  ever,  and  her  adored  boy  was  a  moping  idiot 
for  life. 

This  circumstance  had  such  an  effect  upon  tbe  gay  thoughdeas 
Henry,  that  he  was  never  after  seen  to  smile.  The  conscious- 
ness of  having  planned  the  joke,  preyed  upon  his  mind  and 
broke  his  heart.  Before  two  years  had  passed  away,  those  fine 
lads  and  their  mother  slept  within  the  precincts  of  the  (Ad  church 
which  had  been  the  theatre  of  this  frightful  tragedy. 


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304 


A  JOURNEY  FROM  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO 
ST.  PETER'S. 

Returning  to  my  hotel,  I  was  caught  by  my  Piedmontese  doc- 
tor, and  taken,  a  little  against  my  will,  but  not  knowing  where 
else,  to  dine  at  the  t(ible  (Phdie  of  the  Minerva,  our  own  being 
only  an  hotel  garni,  where  you  may  breakfast  but  cannot  dine. 

The  Minerva  is  a  celebrated  tcHble  (Phdtej  much  frequented  by 
artists,  being  a  shade  cheaper  than  the  others.  There  was  a  large 
room  crowded  with  hungry  jaws  much  overgrown  with  beard. 
They  kept  us  waiting  a  good  while  after  the  specified  time  before 
the  soup  was  brought  in ;  and  then,  though  we  were  near  the 
fountains  of  that  prefatory  balm  to  hungry  stomachs,  weary  with 
waiting,  which  stood  on  a  table  behind  us,  they  kept  ladling  out 
and  sending  it  smoking  away  to  distant  parts  of  the  room.  After 
asking  a  considerable  number  of  waiters  to  remember  me  now,  if 
ever  they  expected  me  to  remember  them  hereafter,  I  got  at  the 
end  of  five  minutes,  not  a  plate  of  soup,  but  a  recommendation 
from  a  disinterested  and  philosophical  waiter  to  be  patient  till 
soup  came  to  me,  for  there  were  many  people  who  wanted  soup, 
but  I  should  get  it  in  time. 

I  felt  much  inclined  to  get  up  from  table  and  lead  off  number 
one  and  three  in  his  right  and  left  eye,  but  I  reflected  that  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  feelings  he  might  sacrifice  appearances,  and  stick 
me  in  the  back  with  a  carving  knife  before  I  got  through  my  second 
course.  So  I  said  nothing,  and  got  up  and  went  away  to  dine  at 
an  hotel  in  the  Via  Condotti,  where  they  charged  fivepence  more, 
but  where  the  waiters  were  more  accustomed  to  feed  the  hungry 
British  lion.  I  was  not  sorry  that  my  placid  Piedmontese  had 
patience  to  remain. 

Next  day  I  determined  to  make  my  way  to  St.  Peter's,  and 
plunged  boldly  into  the  intervening  labyrinth.  Asking  my  way 
diligently,  I  at  last  emerged  upon  the  river,  which  I  passed  by  a 
bridge  closely  lined  with  statues,  opposite  the  Castle  of  St.  An- 
gelo,  from  which  the  bridge  takes  its  name. 

Everybody  has  seen  prints  of  the  Castle  of  St  Angelo,  which 
looks  like  the  round  tower  of  Windsor  Castle  microscopically 
magnified,  and  crowned  with  a  small  village  piled  in  a  pyramidal 
group,  with  a  winged  archangel  at  the  top. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  river  the  road  turns  to  the  left,  skirts 
the  quay,  turns  in  from  it  a  little,  and  enters  the  great  Piazza 
about  a  third  of  a  mile  long,  at  the  end  of  which  you  see  St. 
Peter^s  at  full  length,  not  looking  so  big  as  it  is,  because  you 
fancy  yourself  much  nearer  than  you  are,  but  nevertheless,  ^'  quite 
calculated  to  strike  one  as  a  considerable  heap  of  building,"  as  I 
heard  a  lady,  conjectured  to  be  from  Philadelphia,  remark  on  the 
spot. 


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A  JOURNBT  FROM  WESTMINSTER  ABBET,  ETa  305 

The  end  of  the  Hazza  where  you  enter  it  is  narrower  than  the 
other,  and  of  irregular  shape,  with  unsymmetrical  buildings,  seem* 
ing  as  if  it  had  been  intended  to  be  pulled  down  and  swept  awa^. 
There  are  glittering  fountains  on  either  side  of  a  tall  obelisk  in 
the  middle.  The  end  immediately  in  front  of  the  cathedral  is 
enclosed  between  two  crescent  colonnades,  which,  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance, bear  to  the  main  building  about  the  proportion  of  a  fender 
to  a  fire-place ;  but  when  you  approach  one  of  the  pediment- 
topped  portico  extremities,  you  see  that  the  columns  are  six  feet 
in  (tiameter,  and  fifty  or  sixty  feet  high.  The  circle  they  almost 
enclose  is  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  across. 

Perhaps  the  best  way  to  get  a  good  idea  of  the  gigantic  size  of 
St  Peter's  is  to  stand  close  to  one  of  these  horns  of  the  crescent, 
and  bearing  in  mind  that  it  is  the  same  size  at  the  other  end,  to 
see  how  it  curves  away  to  almost  nothing  at  the  foot  of  that  great 
mountain  of  architecture. 

The  pavement  of  the  Piazza  rises  in  long  sloping  steps  to  a 
platform  before  the  portico.  The  portico  is  very  large,  and  set  on 
pillars  twelve  feet  thick  and  a  hundred  feet  high ;  but  it  does  not 
look  large  enough,  and  there  is  a  want  of  depUi,  the  pillars  stand- 
ing close  to  the/a^ade.  While  they  were  about  it  they  might  as 
well  have  made  them  twenty -four  feet  in  diameter,  and  carried 
them  up  to  the  top  of  the  /(iqade^  for  they  are  of  course  built, 
there  being  no  stones  to  be  found  a  hundred  feet  long  and  twelve 
thick. 

In  fine,  the  outside  of  St.  Peter's  is  very  striking  from  its  size, 
far  more  than  from  any  beauty  or  grandeur  of  design ;  and  the 
husband  of  the  transatlantic  lady,  whom  I  met  again  on  the  plat- 
form, remarked  he  ^^  should  expect  it  might  have  been  an  expen- 
sive job  to  put  up  this  monument;  the  Capitol  at  Washington  is 
not  a  circumstance  to  it." 

In  the  great  corridor  or  cloister,  which  makes  a  sort  of  vestibule 
before  the  heavy  oilskin  doors  which  flap  over  the  entrances  of 
the  temple,  there  are  a  quantity  of  pestiferous  guides  who  wish  to 
explain  St.  Peter's  to  you.  It  is  a  favourite  superstition  of  mine 
to  avoid  being  introduced  to  any  person  I  hope  to  like,  almost  all 
the  pleasant  acquaintances  I  have  made  having  been  by  fortuitous 
collision.  But  I  have  a  still  stronger  objection  to  being  intro- 
duced to  any  grand  or  sublime  object  in  nature  or  art,  by  some 
garrulous  showman,  firom  whom  you  cannot  help  catching  by 
contagion  some  of  the  hackneyed  weariness  and  familiarity  with 
which  he  tells  you  in  the  same  words  the  same  things  he  has  been 
telling  fifty  thousand  gaping  foreigners  for  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century. 

Therefore  I  declined  to  listen  to  their  eager  buzzings,  and  lifting 
up  with  a  great  muscular  efibrt  a  comer  of  one  of  the  ponderous 
lead  and  oilskin  curtains,  which  are  a  most  persuasive  argument 
to  prevent  the  public  from  leaving  the  doors  open,  squeezed 
myself  in  under  it,  and  I  stood  within  the  greatest  temple  in 
Christendom. 

I  walked  straightforward  towards  a  pretty  little  altar  which 

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306  A  JOUBMSY  FBOM 

stands  in  the  centre,  looking  something  like  an  cdd-fashiooed  bed 
with  spiral  posts.  We  all  know  that  when  you  come  to  it^  this 
altar  is  ninety  feet  high ;  but  on  entering  St.  Peter's  all  your  ideas 
of  feet  and  fathoms  are  confounded  in  one  vague  sense  of  indefinite 
vastness.  But  as  you  advance  over  acres  of  marble  flagstones  the 
great  round  gap  of  the  dome  opens  wider  and  wider,  till  with  a 
giddy  wonder  of  upliiled  eyes  you  stand  within  its  magic  circle. 
To  stand  beneath  the  dome  looking  up  into  that  greatest  of  vaults 
which  our  pigmy  race  has  set  up  beneath  the  heavens,  was  my 
first  desire,  and  has  always  since  been  my  principal  pleasure  in 
St.  Peter's. 

There  is  a  sort  of  awful  expansion  of  feeling  within  that  great 
hollow,  as  if  your  soul  was  set  in  a  huge  exhausted  receiver  and 
swelled  like  a  wizened  apple  by  some  drawing  quality  in  space. 
It  is  quite  a  different  sensation  firom  what  you  feel  under  the  starry 
dome  of  a  summer  evening  sky.  There  the  expansion  of  the  soid 
seems  to  radiate  itself  away  into  the  infinite  transparency  of 
heaven ;  but  here  there  is  a  sense  of  oppression,  and  a  certain 
mixture  of  fear,  though  you  cannot  reasonably  be  much  afraid  of 
the  dome  tumbling  down  upon  you,  still  less  of  your  tumbling  up 
into  the  dome.  Still  if  you  are  an  imaginative  animal  in  any 
degree,  to  stand  beneath  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  will  give  you 
what  the  famous  Mrs.  Peggoty  describes  as  ^^  a  turn,"  which  I  take 
to  be  a  sort  of  metaphorical  charming  up  of  the  sublime  and  awful 
elements  in  your  nature,  which  the  greater  part  of  mankind  de- 
light in :  takmg  a  moral  '^  turn''  by  way  of  keeping  their  soul  in 
proper  exercise,  very  much  as  they  would  benefit  their  body  by 
taking  a  physical  turn  in  the  garden.  I  suppose  something  of  this 
sort  and  a  reflection  or  two  as  to  how  little  ader  all  man  can  do  when 
you  see  his  most  magnificent  uttermost,  makes  up  the  greater  part 
of  the  preference  which  the  largest  temple  in  the  world  can  pos- 
sess beyond  the  smallest.  A  sublime  and  vast  solemnity  of  archi- 
tecture, a  softened  light  that  only  half  reveals  the  shadow,  aisles 
receding  far  away  into  the  dim  forest  of  columns,  where  the  distant 
music  of  the  vesper  hymn  dies  away  in  the  whisper  of  the  con- 
fessional, certainly  has  more  influence  to  draw  the  human  mind 
towards  worship  than  a  small  sanded  and  white-washed  methodist 
chapel. 

There  are  certain  puritans  who  want  to  have  an  inward  spiritual 
grace  double  distilled,  and  for  that  purpose  would  reject  all  out- 
ward visible  signs.  These  worthy  people  cry  out  ^^  We  want  no 
assistance  from  outward  senses.  God  is  a  spirit,  and  we  worship 
him  in  spirit  and  in  truth."  But  they  forget  that  all  the  knowledge 
of  God  they  have,  came  to  their  spirit  through  the  medium  of  their 
senses,  for  they  understand  the  Scripture  only  by  their  acquaint- 
ance with  the  outward  world;  and  why  should  not  the  furniture  of 
devotion  be  such  as  harmonizes  best  with  prayer  in  a  world  which, 
it  seems  to  me,  we  were  sent  into  chiefly  to  learn  to  pray. 

However,  the  nature  of  man  adapts  itself  to  all  circumstances. 
In  sects  where  there  is  the  greatest  parsimony  of  ornament,  there 
is  the  greatest  extiavagance  iu  words.    I  am  convinced  that  there 


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W£STMINST£It  ABBEY   TO  ST.  PETER's.  307 

is  as  much  idolatry  in  groaning  and  grovelling  before  some  florid 
phrase  of  erotic  adoration  as  in  kneeling  before  a  beautiful 
picture  or  statue  of  the  Virgin.  There  are  love-feasts  in  some 
of  the  rastic  sects  where  the  faithful  relate  what  the;  call 
^^ blessed  experiences^  or  "sweet  experiences/'  which  are  very 
analogous  to  what  rigid  Protestants  would  consider  idolatrous  pic- 
tures of  saints,  only  Uiat  these  passages  are  depicted  in  unctuous 
worda  instead  of  oil  colours,  are  more  coarsely  daubed,  and  gene- 
rally have  the  disadvantage  of  being  passages  firom  the  life  of  a 
great  sinner  lately  reformed,  the  relation  of  whose  sins  is  listened 
to  with  great  attention,  and  is  usually  much  more  objectionable 
than  the  subsequent  repeutance  is  likely  to  be  edifying. 

I  walked  round  the  building  inside,  to  get  a  general  idea  of  it ; 
peeped  into  its  collateral  chapels,  and  took  a  passing  stare  at 
statues  of  Popes,  venerable  old  giants  with  keys  in  their  hands, 
and  triple  tiaras  on  their  wrinkled  brows,  looking  down  benevo- 
lently from  white  marble  monuments.  One  of  these,  by  Cauova, 
is  guiurded  by  the  celebrated  sleeping  and  waking  lions;  these 
formidable  animals  crouch  at  the  feet  of  two  female  figures — a 
stout  lady  crowned  with  long  spikes,  and  a  moare  graceful  maiden 
reclining  with  her  head  on  her  hand,  supposed  to  be  Faith  and 
Hope,  or  any  other  Christian  Graces  the  reader  may  prefer. 

There  is  a  monument  of  the  last  of  the  Stuarts  set  up  by  George 
IV.  A  pyramidal  group  of  three  small  medallions  hung  up  about 
a  street  aoor.  It  is  rather  a  poor  and  flat  slab  of  marble.  George 
the  Magnificent  might  have  given  rather  handsomer  relief  to  his 
poor  relations  after  he  was  finally  assured  that  they  could  not 
trouble  him  any  more  by  occasionally  asking  him  for  a  crown, 
nor  do  discredit  to  the  family  by  coming  on  ^e  parish. 

I  also  saw  a  very  stiff*  and  ugly  statue  of  Jupiter  in  black 
marble,  stretching  up  his  head  and  one  hand  as  if  struck  with 
extreme  astonishment  at  being  taken  for  St.  Peter,  and  having 
the  greater  part  of  his  great  toe  kissed  away  by  devout  lips.  After 
some  reflection  as  to  whether  I  should  kiss  this  sacred  and  cele* 
brated  toe  or  not,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  as  this  was  my 
first  visit  to  his  mansion,  it  would  only  show  a  proper  respect;  so 
I  observed  some  pious  seafaring  men  to  see  how  it  was  properly 
done,  and  ruling  my  behaviour  accordingly,  approached,  put  my 
forehead  under  the  sandal,  which  projects  conveniently  from  the 
pedestal,  wiped  the  toe  with  my  pocket  handkerchief,  kissed  it, 
and  having  put  my  forehead  under  it  again,  made  a  bow  and 
departed. 

On  my  return  I  skirted  the  Tras-tevere  bank  of  the  river,  till 
I  came  to  the  Ponte  Sesto.  The  views  of  the  river  at  this  angle 
are  picturesque  on  both  sides.  Up  the  stream  you  see  St.  Peter's 
dome  soaring  over  gardens  and  psJaces ;  downwards,  the  crowded 
little  island  of  St  Bartholomew,  between  the  two  wings  of  bridges 
which  connect  it  with  the  quaintly  huddled  company  of  tall, 
narrowy  old-fashioned  dwellings  which  overhang  the  water  on 
either  hand.  Floating  on  the  yellow  ripples  are  some  huge  black 
monsters,  with  gaui^  mis-shapen  water-wheels  moving  slowly 


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308  A  JOUBNBir  FROM 

round  as  the  stream  flows  beneath  them,  seeming  like  great  grim 
water-spiders  on  the  look-out  for  little  boats. 

Having  re-crossed  the  Tiber,  I  had  to  be  very  troublesome  to 
the  citizens  of  Rome,  in  order  to  find  my  way  to  the  end  of  the 
Corso.  It  began  to  rain  while  I.  was  yet  struggling  in  the 
meshes  of  the  labyrinth,  and  it  persevered  in  raining  more  or 
less  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

This,  however,  was  the  first  corso  day  of  the  Carnival,  and  a 
few  of  the  most  determined  revellers,  who  had  laid  in  their  stock 
of  bouquets  and  sugar-plums,  and  had  ordered  their  carriage 
and  costumes,  were  not  to  be  dissuaded  by  the  weather  from 
making  their  appearance  and  trundling  up  and  down  in  the  wet 
to  pelt  and  be  pelted,  whether  by  their  fellow  men  or  the  ele- 
ments. I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  seemed  to  me  a  very 
sloppy,  damp,  lugubrious  sort  of  mirth,  and  if  I  were  the  Pope 
I  would  issue  an  edict  against  its  taking  place  on  wet  days. 

Melancholy  drabbled  mountebanks,  throwing  showers  of  pellets 
and  clouds  of  lime  at  one  another,  with  wet  and  whitened  fingers 
like  a  plasterer^s,  or  flinging  up  a  mop  of  wet  flowers  at  a  balcony 
of  moist  beauties  under  umbrellas.  LitUe  boys  picking  up  the 
bouquets  which  have  missed  their  mark,  and  fallen  into  the  river 
of  mud,  and  throwing  them,  all  muddy  as  they  are,  to  print 
themselves  in  the  manner  of  a  rough  woodcut  on  the  whitest  dress 
that  offers  itself  to  the  little  boy's  notice.  Little  boys  of  a  more 
commercial  spirit,  rescuing  the  dirty  bouquet  firom  the  mud  a 
second  time,  and  carrying  it  to  a  neighbouring  fountain  to  wash  and 
sell  again.  French  soldiers,  armed  with  cabbages  and  cauliflowers 
and  lettuce  and  endive  instead  of  flowers,  and  presenting  them  with 
the  politest  grimaces  to  any  half-drowned  fair  lady  who  came  by 
in  the  carriages.  Such  was  my  first  day's  experience  of  the  Car- 
nival at  Rome,  and  which,  now  even  in  fine  weather  they  say, 
like  everything  that  is,  is  not  what  it  was. 

I  had  no  intention  to  be  sulky  and  unsociable,  and  not  to  enjoy 
the  Carnival  as  much  as  I  could,  but  after  giving  this  sort  of 
amusement  a  fair  trial  for  about  an  hour,  I  relinquished  the  glory 
of  being  rained  upon  in  such  a  cause,  carrying  home  as  a  trophy 
a  clean  bouquet  of  snowdrops  and  box  leaves,  which  I  caught  in 
its  fall,  and  of  which  I  sent  home  a  flower  and  a  leaf  to  a  certain 
young  lady  in  my  native  land,  about  whom  I  do  not  intend  to 
trouble  the  reader  with  any  further  information. 

Do  you  want  to  know  something  about  the  society  I  found  in 
Rome  ?  I  brought  three  letters  of  introduction,  one  to  a  starving 
prince  of  a  great  Papal  family,  in  the  gaunt  and  hungry  splendour 
of  an  uncomfortably  enormous  palace.  He  was  a  high  featured, 
noble  looking  man,  with  genUe  and  courtly  manners,  dressed  like  an 
English  linendraper,  in  patterns  of  some  years  ago,  when  checks 
and  stripes  were  timidly  oeginning  to  grow  large, — a  period  when 
they  were,  perhaps,  more  obnoxious  to  the  eye  than  after  they 
subsequently  lost  themselves  in  their  own  immensity.  The  prince 
received  me  with  distinguished  politeness,  asked  tenderiy  after  Uie 
dear  friend  who  had  charged  me  with  a  letter — returned  mv  call 


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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO  ST.  PETER'S.  309 

on  a  rainy  day,  as  I  sat  shivering  (orer  a  wood  engraving  of  my 
armorial  bearings  for  a  book  plate,  with  which  I  amused  my  rainy 
days  daring  the  Carnival)  in  my  cold  apartment,  which  smokes 
Tiolendy  when  I  have  a  fire  lighted ;  and  that  is  the  beginning  and 
end  of  my  acquuntance  with  the  Roman  nobility. 

My  second  letter  was  to  a  broken-down  bald-headed  diplomate, 
up  a  great  many  pair  of  stairs,  who  was  nearly  as  civil,  and  did  as 
much  for  me  in  the  way  of  society. 

The  third  was  to  a  celebrated  sculptor, — a  very  solemn  gentle- 
man, who  seems  to  labour  under  the  impression  that  his  con- 
versation ought  to  be  as  sublime  as  his  chiselling.  There  is  a 
certain  statuesque,  almost  monumental  impressiveness  in  his 
manners,  which  leads  you  at  first  to  suppose  he  is  telling  you 
something  very  fine,  which  very  seldom  proves  to  be  the  case. 
His  works,  however,  are  as  poetical  as  his  words  are  prosy ;  and 
marble  is  a  more  lasting  material  than  breath.  He  was  good 
enough  to  show  me  his  studio. 

But  Rome,  at  the  Carnival  time,  draws  your  acquaintance  un- 
expectedly together,  so  that  you  practically  want  no  introductions. 
I  met  a  stout  and  intelligent  young  physician,  whom  I  had  known 
at  Cambridge,  and  at  his  house  an  excellent  portrait  painter,  whom 
I  had  met  at  literary  breakfast  parties  in  town.  Through  him  I 
became  acquainted  with  all  the  artists  who  frequent  the  Lepri 
restaurant  and  the  Cafe  Greco  over  the  way,  where  you  dine  and 
drink  cofiee  in  an  atmosphere  of  fi'eedom,  art,  smoke,  and  jokes, 
and  laughter,  with  indifferent  eatables  and  drinkables,  and  the 
most  independent  style  of  waiting,  in  a  sublime  muddle,  which  I 
preferred  to  the  occasional  exceptions  when  any  of  my  country- 
men and  women  were  good  enough  to  ask  me  to  a  lodging-house 
dinner,  sent  in  from  the  cook-shop,  which  is  the  only  method  by 
which  English  hospitality  can  be  faintly  carried  on  in  Rome. 

A  college  friend  turned  up  from  the  coffee  plantation  in  Ceylon, 
which  he  had  preferred  to  a  fat  family  living.  He  had  under  his 
wing  a  youthful  cousin,  whose  principal  quality  was  being  heir- 
apparent  of  a  British  peer.  This  merit,  as  much  perhaps  as  the 
excellent  company  of  my  fiiend  the  coffee  planter,  drew  enough  of 
the  flower  of  Albion's  youth  to  their  rooms  for  smoking  and  con^ 
versation  and  brandy  and  water,  to  prevent  my  forgetting  what 
Albion's  youth  is  like ;  so  that  I  was  not  solitary  during  my  moist 
CamivaL 

Did  not  Cato  say  that  man  was  a  schoolboy  to  the  end  of  bis 
days  ?  At  any  rate,  he  learnt  Greek  at  eighty.  It  truly  seems  to 
me  that  this  is  a  sad  '^  lower-boy  ^  sort  of  world,  where  one  never 
can  get  much  beyond  the  **  fourth-form  "  drudgeries  and  indig- 
nities of  sapping  koSl  fagging.  What  are  the  House  of  Commons, 
the  Bar — even  polite  dining-out  society — but  institutions  for  mak- 
ing men  sap  up  their  lessons  out  of  school,  whether  from  blue- 
books,  briefs,  or  the  morning-papers,  and  say  it  off,  as  the  case 
may  be,  for  Uie  benefit  of  Amphitryon,  a  jury,  or  Mr.  Speaker. 

If  you  run  away  from  the  turmoil  and  slavery  of  home,  you 
merely  fall  into  another  form  of  discipline*     You  have  a  new 

VOL.  XXXIV.  C^f^r\n\o 

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310  A   JOURNEY   FROM 

grammar  and  handbook  to  undergo ;  and  oh !  what  a  night-mare 
chaos  of  things  you  really  must  see  !  O  Rome !  Rome !  thou 
giant  heart  and  nucleus  of  all  sight-seeing  !  who  shall  sit  down  of 
a  rainy  morning,  and  cast  his  eye  over  Murray's  two  hundred  and 
thirty  close-printed,  double-columned  account  *of  what  is  to  be 
seen  in  thee,  and  not  feel  his  heart  sink  within  him  ? 

The  author  of  these  pages,  who,  understanding  that  the  fas- 
tidious public  are  not  fond  of  the  too-frequent  use  of  the  per^ 
sonal  pronoun,  has  made  up  his  mind  to  supply  its  place  with  a 
revolving  cycle  of  ingenious  paraphrases,  which  have  the  double 
advantage  of  filling  up  more  paper,  and  avoiding  the  appearance 
of  egotism — finding  his  heart  sink  lower  and  lower,  every  time  he 
looked  into  the  Handbook  at  the  description  of  Rome,  or  out  of 
window  at  the  everlasting  shower-bath  condition  of  Rome  itself — 
grew  at  last  rebellious  and  stubborn. 

'^  Does  a  man  travel  to  amuse  himself^  or  to  bore  himself?  that 
is  the  question"!  he  cried.  "Why  is  every  man  to  see  everything 
imless  he  be  such  a  man  as — when,  many  oblivious  years  after  his 
return,  people  in  his  native  land  shall  talk  about  it — take  a 
pleasure  and  pride  in  being  able  to  say,  ^  I  saw  it  when  I  was  in 
Rome.'  ^  Let  us  travel  in  those  countries  where  there  are  most 
sight-worthy  things  to  be  seen ;  'but  let  us  live  in  peace  when  we 
are  there,  and  allow  the  lottery-wheel  of  a  calmly-revolving  ex- 
istence, pleasantly  and  unexpectedly,  turn  up  those  objects  which 
it  is  our  destiny  to  see.  What  we  see  thus,  we  shall  enjoy.  It 
may  take  us  longer,  and  we  may  not  see  so  many  things  after  all, 
but  such  impressions  as  we  do  receive  will  be  pleasurable  instead 
of  the  contrary.  Why  should  we  gulp  the  wonders  of  the  world 
like  boys  eating  rolls  and  treacle  against  one  another  for  half-^t^ 
crown  at  a  country  fair  ?" 

So  said  the  young  gendeman  who  undertook  some  months  ago 
to  weave  you  a  slender  panoramic  ribbon  of  his  travels  from 
Westminster  to  Rome,  and  who,  like  many  greater  and  worthier 
men,  not  unfrequcntly,  is  found  talking  about  his  work  when  he 
ought  to  be  doing  it. 

The  rain  fell  as  if  it  had  been  sent  on  purpose  to  put  out  the 
Carnival,  and  kept  falling  till  a  good  deal  of  the  city,  which  lies 
very  low,  in  places,  was  flooded.  From  the  ingenious  construc- 
tion of  the  drains,  this  beautifiil  Venetian  phenomenon  of  watery 
streets  does  not  require  the  river  to  overflow  its  banks.  The 
water  rises  up  out  of  the  drains  to  exactly  the  level  father  Tiber 
may  happen  to  adopt.  The  Pantheon  stands  on  very  low  ground, 
and  is  flooded  first  of  all.  A  small  lake  rises  in  the  dip  of  the 
piazza,  where  the  ground  has  kept  its  ancient  level  around  the 
building.  The  grey  old  columns  of  the  porticoes  stand  ankle- 
deep  in  it,  with  Uieir  shadows  trembling  and  wriggKng  down,  as  if 
they  felt  cold  in  this  wintry  weather. 

You  have  to  go  a  good  way  round  to  a  back-door,  which  does 
not  look  much  like  the  door  of  a  church,  being,  if  I  remember 
right,  No.  10  in  the  street  behind  the  Rotunda.  It  is  opened  by 
some  lay  helper  of  the  under-sacristan,  who  leads  you  through 


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W£STMINSTEB  ABBEY   TO   ST.  PETEE's.  311 

some  dark  passages  and  a  candle-lit  cell  behind  the  high  altar 
where  the  only  priest  not  swamped  out  of  the  establishment  is 
dozing  his  hours  before  a  crucifix.  You  now  emerge  upon  the 
high  altar. 

The  vast  rotunda,  about  fifty  yards  in  diameter,  is  corered  by  a 
broad,  unbroken  sheet  of  water,  twenty  inches  deep,  on  which 
you  look  from  the  high-altar  steps,  or  still  better,  if  you  are  active 
and  venturesome,  from  the  marble-balustrade  altar  rails,  which 
ratiier  interfere  with  your  view  from  the  steps,  but  may  be 
reached  by  a  slippery  and  perilous  jump,  or  the  sacristan's  as- 
sistant will  fish  yon  up  a  floating-bench,  and  make  a  bridge 
for  you. 

When  you  are  on  the  marble  balustrade,  and  can  look  down  on 
the  whole  sheet  of  water  without  any  intervention,  you  will  see 
one  of  the  strangest  effects  in  the  world.  You  seem  as  if  you 
were  suspended  inside  an  egg  one  hundred  yards  long,  pierced 
with  a  little  hole  at  both  ends,  both  holes  fcdl  of  sky  and  sun- 
shine. You  feel  as  if  you  would  fall  through  into  the  vast  hollow 
below  your  feet,  and  out  into  the  lower  sky.  This  egg  is  belted 
with  a  double  range  of  columns  and  altars,  right-and-wrong-way 
up,  set  foot-to-foot.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  whole  dome  of  the  Pan- 
theon, joined  to  its  exact  counterpart,  turned  upside-down  in  the 
floor,  which  the  water  converts  into  a  complete  mirror.  The  little 
hole  at  the  top  is  nine  yards  wide,  and,  with  the  light,  has  let  in 
the  wind  and  rain  ever  since  Agrippa  built  it,  I  believe,  about 
thirty  years  before  Christ ;  and  this  clear,  blue,  unglazed  eye  of 
Heaven  is  sole  and  sufficient  light.  There  is  a  grand,  simple, 
satisfactory  roundness  in  the  interior  of  the  Pantheon,  which 
makes  it  to  my  mind  by  fieur  ihb  best  of  domes.  It  is  much 
broader  in  proportion  to  its  height  than  any  other.  It  seems  to 
me  that  the  cupola  is  half  of  a  sphere  which»  if  complete,  would 
rest  upon  the  earth  ;  but,  instead  of  the  lower  semi-sphere,  it  is 
continued  with  a  cylinder  of  the  same  height  and  diameter. 

One  of  the  altars  which  gird  the  rotunda,  is  the  chapel-tomb  of 
Rafael.  On  the  entablature  of  the  altar  is  hung  a  palette,  which, 
though  the  Guide-book  says  nothing,  I  hope  was  one  he  used. 
His  bones  lay  behind  the  altar,  and  were  raked  up  some  time  ago, 
and  drawn  and  cast,  after  which  they  fell  to  pieces.  It  is  the  des- 
tiny of  our  bodies  to  mingle  with  dust,  but  there  is  something  un- 
comfortable in  the  idea  of  being  raked  up  and  crumbled,  after 
four  hundred  years,  with  a  seasoning  of  fresh  plaster-of-Paris.  It 
seems  to  impair  Uie  respectability  of  old  bones  with  a  sort  of 
botched-up,  bran-new,  restored-antique  character.  I  had  more 
sentiment  for  the  possible  palette,  than  the  disturbed  and  begyp- 
sumed  bone-dust. 


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312 


NOTES  ON  FOREIGN  LITERATURE. 

In  commencing  our  notices  of  Foreign  Literature,  we  cannot, 
of  course,  undertake  to  make  up  arrears,  but  must  begin  at  once 
with  some  of  the  most  recent  publications. 

One  constituent  of  value,  the  political  economists  tell  us,  is 
limitation  of  supply ;  and  in  this  point  of  view  an  Italian  book 
may  always  take  precedence  of  a  French  or  German  one  of  equal 
literary  merit.  "  The  Blind  Girl  of  Sorrento  "  has,  however,  indi- 
vidual claims  to  notice.  The  plot  is  well  wrought  out,  and  the 
redundant  crop  of  evil  and  misery  often  springing  from  the  fatal 
root  of  a  single  crime  forcibly  exhibited.  In  the  character  of  the 
ugly  deformed  hero,  Gaetano,  there  is  vigour  and  promise,  but  the 
fair  Beatrice  is  but  the  regulation,  lovely  blind  girl  of  the  stage 
and  the  circulating  library,  and  the  Marchese  Rionero,  an  amiable 
but  twaddling  "  heavy  fether.'*  On  the  whole,  too,  there  is  some- 
what too  much  fondness  for  strong  ingredients,  and  the  colours 
are  sometimes  laid  on  in  a  style  that  reminds  one  of  the  celebrated 
painting  of  a  Saracen's  head,  formerly  to  be  seen  at  the  vene- 
rable establishment  on  Snow  Hill,  the  whole  effect  being  rather 
grim  than  tragic. 

Here  is  a  passage  not  without  merit,  approaching  rather  too 
nearly  the  revolting,  indeed,  for  our  own  taste,  but  not  more  so  than 
appears  to  be  considered  admissible  in  modem  fiction : — 

•*  It  was  the  accustomed  hour  of  lecture  at  the  lower  anatomical  hall  in  the 
Hospital  of  Incurables,  and  a  numerous  body  of  young  students  was  assembled. 
These  lecture  halls  have  since  been  greatly  improved,  but  at  that  time  they  were 
so  damp,  dirty,  and  fetid,  that  they  reminded  you  of  shambles.  The  bodies  which 
form  the  subjects  of  the  lectures  are  regarded  as  of  greater  or  less  importance, 
according  to  their  freshness,  or  the  degree  of  rarity  of  the  disease  that  has  oc- 
casioned death.  Male  subjects  cost  more  than  female,  and,  among  the  latter, 
the  young  more  than  the  old. 

**  It  was  the  body  of  a  young  woman  that  now  lay  extended  on  the  marble 
table»  while  about  fifty  young  men  were  scattered  about  in  noisy  groups  on  the 
benches  talking,  lauehing,  singing,  and  some,  with  perfect  sang-froid,  taking 
their  luncheon  on  the  same  table.  The  professor  had  not  yet  arrived,  and 
amorous  stories  and  college  anecdotes  were  hailed  with  shouts  of  merriment, 
and  clamorous  beating  of  sticks  on  the  benches.  Gaetano  alone  took  no  part  in 
this  ribaldry,  but  shrunk  into  a  comer — his  1^  crossed,  and  leaning  on  it  the 
elbow  that  supported  his  chin,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  with  a  wild  look  upon  the 
dead  body.  An  old  wora-out  hat,  with  a  mourning  hat-band  was  on  his  head, 
and  he  was  too  deeply  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts,  to  perceive  that  some 
of  his  companions  a  litde  way  from  him,  were  amusing  themselves  with  bis 
awkward  appearance. 

**  A  considerable  part  of  the  lecture  hour  passed,  and,  at  length,  it  was  an- 
nounced, that  the  Professor  would  not  come,  as  he  had  been  taken  ill. 

'*  *  He  and  the  lecture  may  go  to  the  devil,*  cried  one  of  the  students,  *  what 
business  has  he  to  keep  us  studious  youths  waiting  ? ' 

**  *  So  much  the  better,'  said  a  thin,  squeaking,  voice  from  one  of  the  top* 
benches.    <  I  shall  have  time  to  go  and  see  my  Louisella.' 

'*  *  Au  revoir,  my  litde  dear,'  said  a  third,  tapping  the  cheek  of  the  dead  body, 
*  You  may  go  now ;  there  11  be  no  performance  this  morning.' — And  so  they 

^  La**  CSeca  dl  Sorrento."    Oenova.    Griuseppe  Rossi.     1858. 

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NOTES  ON  FOREIGN   LITERATURE.  3)3 

were  noisily  dispersing  in  Tarioos  directions,  when  a  deep,  sonorous,  voice  made 
itself  heard  by  all,  causing  universal  surprise. 

*' ^  Gentlemen,' it  said,  'pray  remain,  I  will  take  the  Professor's  place ;-^ 
the  disease  of  which  this  woman  died  has  been  studied  by  me  with  the  utmost 
attention  through  all  its  phases.  I  have  also  communicated  my  observations  to 
the  Professor,  who  has  declared  them  correct.  I  offer  to  the  intelligence  of  my 
companions,  the  fruits  of  two  months'  patient  clinical  investigation.' 

"  The  students  looked  at  one  another,  and  to  the  ironical  expression  which 
their  features  showed  in  the  first  moment,  succeeded  profound  astonishment* 
for  they,  as  well  as  the  Professor,  had  been  in  the  habit  of  regarding  Gaetano 
as  little  better  than  an  idiot— and  it  was  the  first  time  that  they  had  heard  his 
Toice. 

'* '  Speak  then,  Signor  Gaetano,'  said  one  of  them  at  last,  and  then  they  all 
cried  in  chorus, '  to  the  subject  1   to  the  subject !' 

'*  Gaetano  sat  down  in  the  Professor*s  chair ;  his  face  was  excessively  pale 

'  Gentlemen,'  he  began,  with  a  voice  in  which  only  a  slight  tremor  was  per- 
ceptible— '  this  woman  now  before  you,  and  on  whom  I  am  about  to  use  the 
anatomical  knife,  this  woman  was — my  sister  I' 

**  A  sensation  and  a  murmur  of  horror  ran  through  the  benches  of  students, 
but  the  face  of  Gaetano  remained  unmoved. 

"  *  This,  my  unhappy  sister,'  he  went  on,  '  fell  into  an  illness  of  long  dura- 
tion, in  which,  for  want  of  means  to  provide  for  her  cure,  I  was  compelled  to 
send  her  to  the  hospital.  But  the  art  of  medicine  was  exerted  in  vain  for  her. 
Long  days,  and  still  longer  nights,  I  have  watched  beside  her  pillow,  observing 
every  movement  of  the  disease — counting  every  beat  of  her  kind  and  loving 
heart*  I  saw  her  slowly  wasting  away  day  by  day,  without  uttering  a  com- 
plaint, and  kissing  in  thought  the  inexorable  hand  that  was  laid  on  her  lungs. 
Poor  girl  I  she  has  died  at  eighteen  years  of  age.  Oh  I  how  nature  delights  to 
destroy  her  most  beautiful  works  !^and  now  she  is  thrown  upon  this  marble  to 
be  as  I  said  just  now  the  sport  of  your  careless  gaiety ;  a  deformed  man  and  a 
dead  body  are  fit  subjects  for  mockery,  and  so  much  the  more  if  they,  were 
poor.'         *  *  The  young  men  were  silent,  and  looked  at  him  with 

astonishment,  not  unmixed  with  fear. 

*'  *  And  now,  gentlemen,'  Gaetano  went  on» '  I  will  proceed  to  the  pathological 
anatomy  of  this  body — I  will  point  out  to  you  the  seat  of  the  disease,  and  ex- 
plain the  formation  of  the  tubercles  in  the  parenchyma  of  the  lungs,  and  trace 
their  subsequent  progress.  Do  not  fear  that  my  hand  will  tremble  when  I 
have  to  open  the  bosom  of  my  sister.  I  have  no  sensibility  of  any  kind.  Look 
in  my  face,  and  see  if  I  have  not  done  well  to  brutalise  my  heart.  If  too  much 
feeling  killed  this  poor  girl  it  will  certainly  not  kill  me.* — And  Gaetano  b^an 
to  trace,  step  by  step,  from  the  first  symptoms  to  the  final  catastrophe*  the  re- 
morseless disease  of  which  his  sister  liad  been  the  victim.  He  glanced  at  the 
medical  history  of  phthisis  in  various  times  and  nations,  making  many  citations 
firom  high  authorities;  he  drew  a  vivid  picture  of  the  devastation  which  is 
made  in  the  respiratory  organs  of  the  patients  of  that  malady;  but  when,  ap- 
proaching the  table,  he  was  about  to  use  the  knife,  his  companions  stopped 
him ;  they  then  took  him  away  from  the  place,  and  accompanied  him  to  his 
abode,  saluting  him  with  their  applause  and  expressions  of  admiration  and 
respect." 

Among  the  merits  of  the  "  Cieca  di  Sorrento,"  especially  con- 
sidering that  young  ladies  form  the  majority  of  English  readers  of 
Italian  novels,  we  must,  by  no  means,  overlook  its  perfectly  pure 
tone  of  morals.  Here  is  no  tampering  with  the  distinctions  of 
right  and  wrong,  no  dragging  down  of  the  highest  and  holiest  as- 
sociations and  images  to  the  level  of  theatrical  properties,  nor  any 
of  that  adroit  balancing  on  the  verge  of  blasphemy,  which  are 
among  the  favourite  devices  of  Parisian  novelists— even  of  those 
by  no  means  to  be  classed  among  the  positively  licentious.  We 
have  more  than  one  specimen  of  the  kind  among  the  freshest 

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314  NOTES   ON  FOREiaN  LITBRATUEE. 

flowers  of  French  Belles  Leitres  now  on  our  table,  to  whicli  wa 
shall  presently  refer. 

"Persons  and  Things  under  the  Restoration  and  the  July 
Monarchy,^*  is  a  kind  of  sequel  to  a  previous  work  of  the  same 
authoress,  called  ^'  KecoUecliong  of  Paris.*^  The  gleanings  are 
somewhat  scanty, — of  a  field  preriously  reaped.  Many  distin- 
guished names,  such  as  Humboldt,  Arago,  Royer  CoUard,  Thiers, 
&c.,  sparkle  over  her  pages^  but,  as  in  the  often  mentioned  Irish 
mines,  *^  if  in  pursuit  you  go  deeper,  allured  by  the  gleam  that 
shone,"  you  will  probably  experience  some  disappointment.  The 
style  nevertheless  is  pleasing,  and  free  from  pretension,  and  recol- 
lections that  extend  over  a  period  of  thirty-five  years,  many  of 
which  were  passed  in  the  most  distinguished  circles  of  Paris,  can 
hardly  fail  to  bring  to  light  many  things  worth  remembering. 

The  author  of  "  WanderiLnga  through  the  North  Eastern  and 
Central  Provinces  of  Spain ''t  hfts  the  qualifications  for  the  task 
of  a  previous  residence  of  several  years  in  the  country,  and  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  its  language  and  natural  history.  He 
commences  his  journey  firom  Bordeaux,  and  gives  a  striking  de- 
scription of  the  exten»ve  tract  of  sand,  pine-woods,  and  heath, 
known  as  the  Landes. 

**  Tiie  diUgences  at  present  take  the  road  by  Mont  de  Motsod,  which  has  been 
but  lately  coostnicted,  and  makes  a  considerable  circuit,  while  the  old  one  is 
perfectly  straight ;  but  it  is  nevertheless  preferable  as  it  runs  on  solid  ground, 
and  passes  through  more  considerable  places.  The  old  road  crosses  only 
narsny  flats,  and  touches  on  none  but  the  most  wretched  little  hamlets,  where 
the  ground  is  so  loose  and  slimy  tliat  the  houses  caa  be  built  only  on  piles. 

'*  The  great  level  moors  between  here  and  Bayonne  are  covered  with  low 
brushwood  and  various  kiads  of  heath  and  broom,  which  from  a  distance  ap- 
pear tinged  with  a  brown  or  reddish  hue,  like  the  great  heaths  of  Northern 
Germany.  These  silent  brown  moors,  with  here  and  there  a  clear  little  pond 
gleaming  out  like  a  mirror,  numerous  insects  humming  round  the  wild  flowers 
on  its  banks,  and  water-fswl  flying  about,  but  with  no  otlier  sound  to  break  the 
profound  stillness  of  the  woody  solitude,  make  a  very  pecuUiu:  impression.  Th« 
road  in  these  dist^cts  consists  entirely  of  piles;  the  woods  principally  of  the 
Spanisli  pine,  which  is  much  larger  than  our  common  fir,  and  bears  needles  six 
inches,  and  cones  four  or  ^ve  inches  long.  This  fine  tree  is  dbtinguished*  too» 
by  its  great  wealth  of  resin«  and  for  this  reason  the  boiling  of  pitch  and  making 
turpentine  oil  is  here  carried  on.  on  a  large  scale.  Almost  all  tne  trees  as  far  as 
I  could  see  were  cut,  and  I  saw  in  the  middle  of  the  woods  low  huts  made  of 
turf»  and  trunks  of  trees  laid  across,  which  probably  serve  for  boiling  the  pitch. 
From  time  to  time  we  passed  great  cuttings  where  enormous  piles  of  brush  wood, 
fire-wood,  and  timber  lay  heaped  up.  The  old  cuttings  where  the  stumps  are 
rooted  out,  or  rotting  away,  are  covered  usually  with  short  grass,  and  on  these 
spots  I  often  saw  large  flocks  of  long-wooled  sheep,  not  unlike  the  Spanish 
merino,  feeding  under  the  care  of  brown  shepherds,  and  snappish  haJf-wild 
dogs. 

''  Between  Bazas  and  the  little  town  of  Roquefort,  at  which  we  arrived  at 
^ye  in  the  afternoon,  along  a  stretch  of  six  geographical  miles,  we  only  passed 
two  little  towns  of  very  poor  aspect,  called  Captieux  and  Les  Traverses.  In 
both   these  were  still  standing  trees  of  liberty,  with  rags  of  the  tri-cdoitr 


*  **  Personen  und  Zustande  aus  der  Restauration  und  dem  Juli  Konigthum — 
von  der  Verfasserin  der  Erinnerungen  aus  Paris.**    Berlin.     Besser. 

t  **  Wanderungen  durch  die  Nord-ostlicben  und  Central  Ptofiaaen  Spa- 
meat."    Von  Dr.  Moritz  Wakomm.    Leipaig,  1862. 


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NOTES  ON  FOEEiaN  LITERATURE*  316 

bleached  by  wind  and  weather,  flying  at  their  tops ;  but  nine  months  later  when 
I  passed  again  they  were  all  gone.  Now  and  then  we  passed  a  lonely  peasant's 
cottage,  a  public  hpuse,  or  a  foree,  lying  on  or  near  the  road  in  the  midst  of  the 
woods,  and  usually  under  some  Targe  oak-trees  as  yet  entirely  bare. 

"  Roquefort  was  quite  a  surprise  to  us.  It  lies  on  both  banks  of  the  Me- 
douze,  a  river  rising  in  the  neighbouring  department  of  the  Gers,  which  has 
worn  itself  a  deep  channel  through  the  cnalk  of  the  hilly  country,  and  a  lofty 
bridge  of  five  arches  is  flung  boldly  from  one  chalk  clifi*  to  the  other,  across  the 
foaming  stream,  connecting  the  two  portions  of  the  town. 

"Rich  vegetation  adorns  the  declivities  of  the  woody  hills,  and  pleasant 
country  houses,  shaded  by  fruit  trees  that  lie  in  the  verdant  lap  of  the  pretty  val- 
ley, and  on  the  banks  of  the  broad  clear  water.  One  did  not  expect  such  a 
sight  in  the  middle  of  the  desolate  wilderness  of  the  Landes,  and  indeed  it 
vanished  almost  immediately  afterwards  like  a  picture  in  the  clouds ;  for  scarcely 
had  the  diligence  climbed  the  line  of  hills  forming  the  right  bank  of  the  river, 
than  we  plunged  again  into  the  dark  woods  and  brown  heaths  of  the  Landes." 

Of  tlie  condition  of  the  Basque  provinces,  the  author  speaks  in 
ibe  most  encouraging  manner.  Here,  at  least,  is  no  sign  of  tbe 
languor,  depression,  and  even  retrograde  tendencies  observable 
in  many  parts  of  Spain :  industry  is  flourishing  ;  roads  good  and 
safe ;  the  land  diligently  and  successfully  cultivated ;  the  people 
in  general  physically  and  intellectually  well  provided  for.  Much 
of  this  prosperity  may  probably  be  attributed  to  the  position 
of  the  peasantry,  who,  as  the  feudal  system  never  took  root  in 
these  provinces,  are  mostly  the  owners  of  their  farms.  Like 
roost  peasant  proprietors,  the  Basques,  are  remarkable  for  their 
persevering  industry,  which  might  be  carried  perhaps  even  to 
injurious  excess,  but  for  a  vehement  fondness  for  social  recreation^ 
to  which  the  great  abundance  of  holidays  affords  ample  means  of 
gratification. 

*'  In  Bilbao  scarcely  a  week  passes  without  a  Ratnaria  (saint's  day  with  a 
fair  and  a  pilgrimage),  to  which  flock  gentle  and  simple,  old  and  young,  from  att 
the  countiV  round.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  gaiety,  the  Bas(jue  is  mostly  mind- 
ful of  prudence,  and  of  the  claims  of  home  and  wife  and  children.  One  rather 
peculiar  trait  of  his  character  is  a  pride  of  ancestry,  usually  confined  to  a  higher 
class  of  society.  Even  a  day-labourer,  toiling  to  maintain  himself  by  the  labour 
of  his  hands,  will  preserve  in  some  corner  of  his  hut  a  mouldy  parchment  testi* 
fying  in  scarcely  legible  characters,  that  his  ancestors  from  the  remotest  genera- 
tions have  been  freemen  and  'old  Christians;'  that  his  blood  is  uncontaminated 
by  any  mixture  with  that  of  the  Infidels,  and  that  his  native  soil,  unlike  that 
of  Aragon  and  the  Castiles,  has  never  been  trodden  by  the  foot  of  a  Moor.** 

**  One  of  the  peculiar  charms  of  the  Basque  landscapes  is  the  great  number 
of  single  houses  and  £irms  which  lie  scattered  about  over  mountain  and  valley, 
and  which  have  been  seemingly  erected  only  on  consideration  of  the  nature  of  the 
ground — the  neighbourhood  of  water,  &c.  The  oldest  of  these,  called  Caserio's, 
whose  foundation  dates  often  from  a  very  high  antiquity,  all  show  in  their  mode 
of  building  the  peculiar  Basque  type.  The  gable  side  is  the  broadest,  and  the 
entrance  which  is  placed  on  this  side  is  high  and  broad  enough  to  let  in  a  laden 
horse  or  mule.  Through  this  you  pass  into  a  space  paved  with  stones  or  tiles, 
or  sometimes  only  earth  trampled  down.  This  is  the  common  dwelling-place 
of  the  family,  the  place  where  they  work  and  eat,  and  where  their  food  is  pre- 
pared. Near  the  hearth  is  ranged,  on  shelves  or  nails,  the  whole  stocE  of 
lutchen  utensils;  and  sunk  in  niches  in  the  walls  are  the  huge  earthen  jars  for 
keeping  water.  The  fire,  as  usually  in  Spain,  is  only  raised  a  few  inches  above 
the  ground,  the  place  being  fenced  off  by  moveable  iron  bars,  and  out  of  the 
chimney  bangs  a  iarg^  hook  to  hang  a  kettle  on.    Tbe  plan  in  making  the  fire 


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316  NOTES  ON  FOREIGN  LITERATURE. 

18  to  lay  a  great  log,  bouffh,  or  trunk  of  a  tree  at  the  back,  some  long  pieces  in 
front  parallel  to  it,  and  then  on  this  foundation  a  layer  of  small  wood  and  twigs, 
which  are  easily  brought  to  a  blaze  by  the  aid  of  the  bellows,  indispensable  in  » 
Spanish  housekeeping.'* 

We  would  willingly  accompany  Dr.  Wilkomm  further  in  his 
rambles  through  these  interesting  regions,  but  are  warned  of 
having  already  devoted  to  him  more  space  than  we  can  well 
spare. 

From  Biscay  he  proceeded  through  Navarre,  Aragon,  and 
Valencia  to  Madrid,  whence  he  made  several  long  excursions  in 
various  directions',  visiting  also  Toledo,  Salamanca,  and  the  rich 
silver  mines  of  Hiendelaencina.  His  final  summing  up  of  his 
observations  is : — 

"  Give  Spain  only  ten  years  more  peace  and  internal  tranquillity  (which  there 
18  every  reason  to  expect),  and  this  country  will  recover  its  proper  position 
among  the  states  of  Europe.'* 

"Travels  and  Tales,  by  Dr.  Yvan,'**  is  a  light  and  agreeable 
narrative  of  a  six  months^  residence  in  the  Eastern  Archipelago, 
and  a  visit  to  China  and  the  Isle  of  Bourbon,  whither  the  author, 
who  is  a  physician,  was  dispatched  on  a  scientific  mission  by  the 
government  of  Louis  Philippe,  but  his  scientific  acquirements 
seem  only  to  have  sharpened  his  powers  of  observation,  without 
rendering  his  style  less  pleasant  for  non-scientific  readers.  We 
can  readily  forgive  his  occasional  jealous  flings  at  the  advantages 
obtained  in  various  quarters  of  the  world  by  the  natives  of  that 
**  foggy  England,"  whom  he  complains  of  meeting**  wherever  there 
was  a  hifteck  to  eat,  a  fine  situation,  or  a  delicious  climate  to  be 
enjoyed.*'  "  How  does  it  happen,"  he  asks,  "  that  the  nation  pre- 
eminently artistic,  who  knows  better  than  any  other  how  to  appre- 
ciate the  marvels  of  creation,  and  how  to  identify  itself  with  the 
genius  of  other  nations,  does  not  dispute  with  its  jealous  neigh- 
bours the  possession  of  a  happiness  that  God  has  created  for  all 
nations,  and  not  alone  for  one  ?  *'  Ah,  how,  indeed  !  unless,  per- 
adventure,  the  Doctor's  premisses  admit  of  dispute.  But  a  plea- 
santer  task  than  that  of  pointing  out  trivial  defects  will  be,  the 
selection  of  a  few  passages  that  may  serve  to  give  our  readers 
some  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  entertainment  here  offered  them. 
Here  is  a  glimpse  of  the  island  of  Pulu-Penang,  on  the  coast  of 
Malacca. 

'' '  See  Naples  and  then  die,'  sav  the  Itab'ans  in  their  enthusiasm  for  the  city 
bathed  by  a  sea,  frequently  agitated  by  cold  northerly  winds,  and  perfumed  by 
some  meagre  orange  trees,  whose  petals  are  from  time  to  time  withered  by  frost. 
What  would  this  poetical  people  say  if  it  knew  Pulu-Penang,  the  island  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales?  Pulu-Penang,  which,  placed  in  the  centre  of  the 
Malay  countr}',  ii  the  Paradise  of  this  Eden  of  the  universe !  It  is  on  this 
comer  of  the  earth  that  God  has  realised  the  idea  of  a  perpetual  spring,  and 
isolated  it  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  in  order  that  it  should  not  be  invaded  by  a 
coarse  and  covetous  crowd.  It  is  the  domain  of  the  poetical  people  of  India, 
the  Parsee,  the  Hindoo,  the  Javanese,  the  industrious  Chinaman,  some  select 
Europeans,  priests  of  foreign  missions  and  of  the  English,  the  kings  of  the 


♦  ••  Voyages  et  B^its  par  le  Docteur  Yvan."    2  vols.  Paris,  1853. 

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NOTES  ON  FOSEION  LTTERATUBB*  317 

known  nnivene.  For  them  does  this  priTileged  soil  ripen  the  fruits  of  all  tro* 
pic  climates,  from  the  banana  of  the  old  Indian  world,  to  the  litchi  of  Fo-Kien 
and  Kouang-Tong.  For  them  it  adorns  its  bosom  with  the  flowers  of  all  coun- 
tries, the  scented  camelia,  the  red  jasmine,  the  lotus,  and  the  rose.  And  as  if 
there  were  not  enough  of  enjoyment,  it  offers  to  the  men  of  all  countries  a 
climate  appropriate  to  their  desires  or  their  wants. 

'*  The  mountainous  cone  which  commands  the  island  is  di? ided  into  climatic 
zones  with  as  much  regularity  as  the  scale  of  a  thermometer ;  at  the  foot  of 
this  volcanic  elevation  you  find  the  warm  temperature  of  the  oceanic  renons ; 
at  its  summit  the  tonic  freshness  of  Laguna  or  Solassy ; — a  bracing  dimate 
that  invigorates  without  the  painful  contractions  occasioned  by  our  sharp  winter 
cold. 

**  This  paradise  came  into  possession  of  the  Bnglish  by  having  been  given  by 
the  King  of  Kheda  as  a  wedding  dower  to  his  daughter,  who  married  an  Eng- 
lishman. The  happy  husband,  with  the  consent  of  his  royal  consort,  named 
it  Prince  of  Wales's  Island,  and  presented  it  to  his  country ;  and  since  then 
it  lias  under  the  English  Government  become  a  place  of  resurrection  for  the 
bold  conquerors  of  India.  It  is  there  that  these  proud  traders  who  have  in- 
vaded the  world  in  rendering  it  tributary  to  their  productions,  go  to  recover 
health  that  has  been  worn  out  in  commercial  struggles ;  combats  a  hundred 
times  more  honourable  than  the  victories  obtained  by  the  limping  heroes  of  the 
Invalidet, 

"  The  operation  of  this  climate  is  almost  infallible ;  the  organisation,  debili- 
tated by  the  humid  heat  of  Calcutta,  Madras,  or  Bombay,  recovers  here  as  well 
as  at  Cape  Town  or  Teneriffe  the  energy  that  has  been  lost  for  years.  In 
ancient  times  it  would  have  been  supposed  that  Hygeia  had  made  her  abode  on 
this  charming  island,  and  the  restored  invalids  would  have  proclaimed  through 
the  world  the  miracles  effected  by  the  beneficent  power  of  this  health-giving 
divinity.  At  present,  when  there  is  not  much  faith  in  occult  powers,  the  pos- 
sessors of  this  fine  country  second  the  restorative  action  of  the  climate,  by  ap- 
propriating it  to  the  exigencies  of  a  tranquil  and  comfortable  existence. 

**  The  rrince  of  Wales's  island  is  not  much  larger  than  Jersey,  and  you  may 
make  the  tour  of  it  in  a  single  day,  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  that  encircle 
it  with  a  leafy  girdle.  But  within  this  small  extent  is  what  the  learned  men  of 
the  middle  ages  called  a  microcosm ;  it  is  a  little  world  in  itself,  with  plains  and 
valleys,  rivers,  bays,  and  even  Alps.  On  the  slopes  of  the  hills  have  been 
planted  the  clove-tree  with  its  brown  stars,  the  odoriferous  cinnamon,  the  nut- 
meg, whose  yellow  fruit  hides  itself  beneatli  shining  leaves  resembling  those  of 
the  laurel,  and  the  plains  are  occupied  by  the  sugar-cane  with  stems  as  robust 
as  the  enormous  bamboos  of  Yu-Nan. 

*'  The  town  of  Penang  is  prettily  situated  on  the  sea-shore,  and  inhabited 
mostly  by  Europeans  and  Chinese.  Only  the  people  from  the  temperate  coun- 
tries, ambitious  and  eaaer  for  gain  as  they  are,  nave  been  induced  to  pen  them- 
selves into  houses,  which,  though  white  and  pretty,  are  still  houses.  The 
Indians  and  Malays  have  made  themselves  nests  under  the  trees  and  among  the 
flowers. 

"  Never  has  her  majesty,  the  Queen  of  Great  Britain  (whom  God  preserve !), 
ever  inhabited  so  charming  a  palace  as  the  humblest  of  her  subjects,  a  poor 
Mal^»  or  what  is  still  lower,  a  miserable  Bengalee,  may  possess  at  Penang. 

"  Poor  Queen  I  she  is  condemned  never  to  enjoy  her  own  riches.  If  she 
could  but  once  see,  even  in  a  dream,  her  possessions  in  India,  her  palaces  at 
Calcutta,  her  gardens  at  Benares  and  Ceylon,  her  grottoes  at  Elephanta,  her 
villas  at  the  Pdnte  de  Galles,  Singapore,  and  Makc^  she  would  say  with  the 
before-mentioned  Italian,  *  See  my  dominions,  and  then  die.'" 

ConsideriDg  the  present  alanning  prevalence  of  the  military 
fever,  which  occasionally  attacks  our  pacific  population,  it  may  be 
well  not  to  lose  any  opportunity  of  reminding  the  English  reader 
of  the  real  nature  of  that  charming  game  of  war,  with  which  we 
have  lately  been  so  often  feasting  our  imaginations ;  we  will  there- 
fore accompany  Dr.  Yvan  on  a  little  excursion  of  this  kind  made 
into  the  interior  of  a  beautiful  island,  which  he  calls  Basilan,  lying 


318  JSKXTES  OK  FOREIGN  UTEBATUJEtE. 

to  the  north-east  of  Mindanio,  the  most  southerly  of  the  Philip- 
pine Islands. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  premise,  that  this  expedition  was  under- 
taken in  reprisal  of  an  outrage  committed  by  two  of  the  Malay 
natives,  on  the  crew  of  a  French  man-of-war's  boat.  King  Looi» 
Philippe  had  dispatched  a  vessel  to  these  seas,  with  the  purpose 
of  searching  out  amongst  the  spots  of  land,  not  yet  subject  to  any 
European  power,  one  which  he  might  take  possession  of  in  the  name 
of  France,  that  is  to  say,  the  inhabitants  of  which  might  be  feeble 
enough  to  be  robbed  with  impunity.  The  poet  need  not  have 
uttered  any  lament  for  th^ 

"  Good  old  times. 

When  they  should  take  who  had  the  power,"  &c. 

Allowing  a  little  change  of  latitude  and  longitude,  it  appears  it 
is  still  as  much  the  rule  as  ever. 

The  officer  charged  with  this  mission  stopped  before  the  island 
of  Basilan,  and,  under  the  pretext  of  making  a  hydrographical 
survey  of  its  coasts,  began  to  study  the  position  of  the  point  an 
which  he  proposed  afterwards  to  plant  the  French  flag.  ^  He 
directed  this  reconncnssaneey'  says  Dr.  Yvan,  ^  with  extreme  pru- 
dence,'" and  the  engineers  also  had  orders  to  execute  their  labours 
with  the  greatest  circumspection.  This  need  not  surprise  us. 
People  about  to  trespass  on  their  neighbours'  property  generally 
do  proceed  with  great  prudence  and  circumspection.  A  young 
officer  belonging  to  the  expedition,  however,  neglected  these  pru- 
dent precautions,  and  venturing  too  far  up  one  of  the  rivers,  was 
suddenly  attacked  and  killed  by  two  Malays,  who,  most  likely, 
though  they  did  not  imderstand  French,  had  some  suspicion  of 
the  motives  that  brought  the  corvette  to  their  shores. 

The  slayer  of  the  Frenchman  was  a  chief,  or  king,  as  it  is 
called,  of  one  of  the  numerous  little  nationalities  ^drich  divide  the 
island  among  them,  and  when  afterwards  attacked  by  the  French 
troops,  he  brought  about  a  hundred  men  to  the  combat,  and  even 
when  defeated  retained  a  hostile  attUode,  and  made  no  proposals 
of  peace. 

The  French  corvette  then  sailed  for  Hole,  to  make  further 
preparations  for  war,  and  returned,  provided  also  with  a  docu- 
ment from  a  personage  denominated  the  Sultan  of  Holo,  stating 
that  the  people  of  Banian  were  his  legitimate  subjects,  though 
now  in  a  state  of  rebellion  against  his  authority,  and  that  he 
would  be  greatly  obliged  to  his  French  friends  and  allies  to  under- 
take their  chastisement;  adding,  also,  that  if  they  should  wish  after- 
wards to  make  the  acquisition  of  the  territory,  he  would  be  happy 
to  part  with  it  for  the  consideration  of  fifty  thousand  piastres.  Who 
could  gainsay  the  lawfulness  of  war  undertaken  on  such  authority 
as  this? 

On  a  conical  volcanic  island,  lying  dbse  to  the  shore,  the  French 
constructed  a  temp<»aKy  observatory,  with  ropes  and  beans  fiaut- 
ened  to  the  tops  of  trees,  whence  they  could  overibok  tlw  countij 
that  was  to  be  the  scene  of  their  opentiont* 

••  We  coald  see  the  w^-cafeiTated  fields  of  the  Malays — the  peaceable 

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NOTES  ON  FOBEION  UTSRATURB*  S19 

dwelUngft  scaitered  h^re  asd  tfaeffe*-4be  inhahttMiti  driving  herds  of  mmi  and 
baffidoea»  everythiDg  looking  quiei  and  happ>.'* 

On  the  retorn  of  the  expedition,  when  Dr.  Yvan  looked  again 
on  the  same  country  the  vhole  left  bank  of  the  riTer  was  on  fire» 
the  houses  and  magazines  of  rice  were  burnt,  and  the  spots  before 
coyered  with  beautiful  trees  were  barren  and  desolate.  SmaU 
bodies  of  men  had  been  sent  about  the  country  for  the  expresa 
purpose  of  setting  fire  to  the  Malay  habitations,  cutting  down  the 
cocoa  trees,  and  destroying  the  crops. 

'*  I  was  associated  in  one  of  these  expeditions.  We  proceeded  vp  the  banks 
of  a  river  for  about  half  an  hour  till  we  reached  a  Blalav  house,  that  was  a  per- 
fect model  of  elegance.  The  fli^t  of  steps  that  led  to  the  verandah  was  carved 
like  the  woodwork  of  the  middle  ages.  The  apartments  were  exquisitely  clean 
— trees  of  Inxoriant  growth  shaded  the  roof,  and  a  fittle  hidden  brook  murmured 
aloBg  an  avenue  of  bananas.  Near  the  hoost  was  a  large  shed  thatched  wkb 
leaves,  under  which  four  prom»  were  in  the  process  of  eonstruction.  The  wotk 
left  unfinished — the  forsaken  house  seemed  to  make  a  melancholy  appeal  to  us, 
and  the  h'ttle  brook  to  murmur  a  prayer  to  be  spared.  But  alas !  their  language 
W|s  not  understood.  A  whirlwind  of  smoke  soon  rose  from  the  top  of  the 
pretty  dwelling;  the  elegant  carved  balustrade  crackled  in  the  flames;  the 
aoilptured  proas  were  blackened  and  charred  and  the  trees  fell  beneath  the 
hatchets  of  the  men  like  grass  beneath  the  scythe — and,  in  a  few  ho«rs»  there 
was  nothing  left  of  all  the  riches  of  the  homestead." 

In  a  comer  of  the  garden  Dr.  Yvan  discovered  a  little  elevation 
covered  with  odoriferous  plants,  which  he  had  no  doubt  was  a 
septdehre, — and  aprt^s  of  this,  we  have  a  piece  of  sentiment 
amusingly  French.  He  was  induced  to  violate  it,  he  says,  in 
order  to  obtain  some  skulls  for  his  phrenological  collection,  and 
having  called  two  sailors,  '^  undertook  the  work  of  profanation.'' 
But  when  on  digging  a  Httle  way  he  discovered  the  body  of  a 
child  about  three  years  old,  he  was  ^'seized  with  bitter  regret,  cot 
some  leaves  of  the  banana  and  odoriferous  flowers,  and  having 
thrown  them  on  the  body  and  replaced  the  lid,  went  away  sorrow- 
fully. What  the  Doctor  expected  to  find  when  he  opened  a  tomb, 
one  is  at  a  loss  to  conceive.  Indeed,  he  expressly  states,  that  he 
wished  **  to  enrich  his  phrenological  coHection."  Did  the  pathos 
lie  in  the  precise  age  of  the  infant,  or  the  precise  degree  of  decom- 
position in  the  remains  ?  *^  Phlegmatic  islanders  "  as  we  are,  we 
are  unable  to  enter  into  his  feelings. 

In  "  Henry  Eberhard  Paulus  and  his  Times  "  •  we  have  a  bio- 
graphy of  a  well  known  and  much  respected  Heidelberg  Professor, 
who  has  lately  died  at  the  age  of  ninety,  leaving  behind  him, 
besides  a  mass  of  correspondence  with  distinguished  persons,  the 
memorials  of  a  life  worthy  of  record  for  its  own  sake,  as  well  as 
for  the  interesting  glimpses  it  affords  of  society  and  manners, 
during  the  long  period  over  which  it  extends. 

A  new  and  greatly  improved  edition  of  the  "  History  of  German 
Poetry,"  t  by  Professor  Gervinus,  is  also  a  book  which  the  stu- 
dents of  German  literature  will  be  glad  to  hear  of;  though  it  ia 
only  adapted  to  such  as  are  disposed  to  give  a  very  considerable 
amount  of  time  and  attention  to  the  subject. 

*  "  Henrich  Eberhard  Paulus  nnd  seine  Zeit.**    Stuttgard,  1853. 

f  *'  Geschiehteder  Deutsd)enDichtung,''voa  G.  G.  Gervinus.  I^paig,  1853* 

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NOTES  ON  FOREIGN  LITERATURE. 

Among  the  French  books  on  onr  table,  it  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  sajy  are  several  productions  of  M.  Alexandre  Dumas ;  and  for- 
tunate is  it  for  us  that  the  style  of  this  most  clever,  amusing,  vain 
and  volatile  of  littSrateurs  is  sufficiently  familiar  to  most  readers 
to  make  criticism  nearly  superfluous.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to 
follow  him  in  a  mere  enumeration.  Panting  Time  toils  after  him 
in  vain ;  and  we  are  strongly  inclined  to  put  faith  in  the  portrait 
we  have  somewhere  seen,  representing  him  with  a  pen  attached 
to  each  finger  of  each  hand,  and  each  one  writing  its  own  separate 
novel.  Of  his  "M6moires,"  •  we  have  now  before  us  volume  xv. 
and  number  1  of  the  new  series,  which,  however,  might  as  well 
have  been  called  volume  xvi.  of  the  old,  since  it  is  simply  a  con- 
tinuation. They  carry  on  the  story  of  the  July  revolution  of  18S0, 
and  to  those  who  know  our  Alexander  the  Great,  it  will  seem  a 
mere  matter  of  course  that  he  took  an  important  part  in  the  most 
remarkable  events  of  the  time.  It  is  one  of  his  peculiarities,  indeed 
that  wherever  he  goes  he  is  sure  (on  his  own  authority)  to  be  found 
playing  what  actors  call  ^^  first  business."  * 

Here  are  a  few  of  what  we  might  call  the  humours  of  the  three 
**  glorious  days." 

••  Charras,  when  he  left  Carrel  and  me,  had  gone  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main, and  done  all  he  could  to  get  a  gun — but,  on  that  28th  of  July,  1830,  a 
guD  was  not  a  thing  so  easy  to  be  got.  He  had  heard  something  about  a  gentleman 
who  was  distributing  powder  at  the  small  gate  of  the  Institute,  and  he  set  off  to 
introduce  himself  to  that  worthy  citizen.  But  not  only  had  he  no  gtm  to  give, 
but  when  he  found  that  Charras  had  none,  he  refused  to  give  him  the  powder. 
Thereupon  Charras  hit  on  a  verv  sagacious  mode  of  proceeding.  '  I  will  go 
to  where  they  are  fighting,' he  said,*  and  place  myself  in  the  midst  of  them;  then, 
as  soon  as  a  man  is  killed,  I  can  constitute  myself  bis  legatee,  and  take  his 
gun.*  In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  he  had  proceeded  along  the  Quai  des 
Orfevres,  and  on  the  Quai  des  Fleurs,  he  met  a  division  of  the  15th  Light,  and 
was  spoken  to  by  one  of  the  captains — but  as  he  was  alone,  and  had  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  they  let  him  pass,  and  he  gained  the  Pont  Notre  Dame,  and  the 
suspension  bridge,  where  the  insurrection  was  at  that  moment  raging.  He 
waited,  and  he  had  not  to  wait  long.  A  man  was  struck  in  the  eye  by  a 
bullet,  and  rolled  at  his  feet — and  Charras  seized  on  his  gun.  A  boy  who  had 
been  watching,  probably  with  the  same  desien,  ran  up,  but  was  too  late. 
Charras,  however,  was  not  much  better  off,  tor  though  he  had  a  gun,  he  had 
neither  powder  nor  ball.  '  I  *ve  got  some.'  said  the  gaming  and  he  pulled  out 
of  his  pocket  a  packet  of  fifteen  cartridges. 

<«  *  Give  them  to  me,'  said  Charras. 

**  *  No,  I  wont;  but  I'll  divide  'em  between  us,  if  you  like.' 

*•  •  Very  well.     Divide  them  then.* 

"  *  Here  are  seven,*  said  the  boy,  '  and  then  we  're  to  take  turns  with  the 
gun.' 

<«  *  Well — if  it 's  a  bargain,'  and  Charras  fired  his  seven  Umes,  and  then 
handing  the  gun  to  the  boy»  crouched  down  behind  the  parapet.  From  an 
actor,  he  had  become  only  a  spectator,  and  therefore  sheltered  himself  as  well 
as  he  could.  But  the  boy  haa  only  fired  four  out  of  his  seven  times  when  the 
charge  was  made  which  I  had  witnessed  from  a  distance— he  had  rushed  on 
the  bridge  with  the  rest,  and  I  saw  him  no  more.  Like  Romulus,  he  vanished 
in  a  tempest." 

*  4e  *  «  « 

"  At  the  moment  when  Etienne  Arago  was  carrving  the  proclamation,  an- 
nouncing the  forfeiture  of  the  Bourbons,  signed  Atuact  Secretary  of  ike  Pro^ 

*  **  Mteoires  d'Alex.  Dumas,"  tome  15roe.  deuxiemei6rie  Ir.  1853. 

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ROTES  ON  FOREIGN  LITERATUBE.  321 

visional  Government/  he  met  in  the  MtrM  dee  Tnnoeenie,  an  old  actor  named 
Chariet  coming  along  with  in  immense  crowd.  The  two  principal  persons, 
who  appeared  to  be  leading  it,  or  to  be  led  by  it,  wore,  one  the  uniform  of  a 
captain,  and  the  other  that  of  a  general.  The  captain  was  Eyariste  Du* 
moulins,  the  Editor  of  the  Gmsiituiionnelt  the  general  was  "  General 
Dttbonrg.' 

'^Bnt  who  was  General  Dubouig?  Nobody  knew.  Where  did  he  come 
from?  Trolj,  from  an  old*cIothes-m«i,  who  had  lent,  let,  or  sold  him  his 
general's  uniform.  When  it  was  discovered  that  the  epaulettes  were  wanting, 
since  that  was  an  accessory  too  important  to  be  neglected,  Chariet,  the  actor, 
had  run  and  got  a  pair  out  of  the  wardrobe  of  the  Op6ra  Comique,  and  so  now 
the  General  was  complete,  and  had  set  out  on  his  march. 

"  *  Who  are  all  these  people ! '  asked  Etienne. 

"  '  Thev  are,'  replied  Chariet,  Uhe  procession  accompanying  General  Dubourg 
to  the  Hotel  deVilfe.' 

••  *  But  who  is  General  Dubourg?' 

<**Who?  oht  why  he  is  General  Dubourg.'  The  explanation  was  suffi- 
cient. .  .  • 

**  Processions  always  more  slowly,  and  this  one  of  course  did  nothing  out  of 
order.  Etienne  had  time  to  run  with  his  despatch  to  the  National,  and  by 
walking  &st  to  get  back  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  before  General  Dubourg  had 
made  his  entree. 

«*  •  Baude,'  he  cried,  when  he  got  there,  •  do  you  know  who  is  coming?' — 
•Nol' 

"  •  A  general/— •  What  general?* 

*<*  General  Dubourg.  Do  you  know  him?'— *  Not  firom  Adam.  Is  he  in 
uniform?' 

« <  Yesl' — '  Oh,  well,  a  uniform  will  do  rery  well.  Let  General  Dubourg 
come  in ;  we  '11  put  him  into  a  back  room,  and  bring  him  out  if  we  want  him.' 
And  they  put  the  general  into  a  back  room,  accordingly,  brought  him  something 
to  eat  as  he  said  he  was  hungry,  and  then  two  proclamations  to  sign. 

*'  To  do  General  Dubourg  justice,  howeyer,  he  was  quite  ready  to  resign  his 
dignity  on  the  arrival  of  General  La&yette ;  but  for  five  nours  he  was  ostensibly 
master  of  Paris,  and  for  two  hours  his  name  was  in  every  mouth." 

The  following  is  characteristic  both  of  the  man  and  the  time* 

'*  Arago  had  come  to  General  Lafayette  to  report  the  flieht  of  the  Due  de 
Chartres,  and  to  get  some  powder  for  his  men  ;  but  so  much  had  been  wasted 
that  it  had  become  very  scarce.  If  Charles  the  Tenth  had  returned  on  Paris, 
there  was  not  the  means  of  firing  four  thousand  shots. 

'*  *  General,*  said  I,  approaching  him  when  Arago  was  gone, '  did  I  not  hear 
you  tell  Arago  just  now  that  you  were  short  of  powder?' 

** '  Yes,  indeed,'  said  the  general ;  '  though,  perhaps,  I  was  wrong  to  con. 
fess  it.' 

«« *  Shall  I  go  and  fetch  you  some?*— •  You ?* 

••'Yes,  II'— 'Where  then?' 

••  •  Where  it  is  to  be  had — at  Soissons,  or  La  Fere.'—*  They  won't  give  it 
you.' 

"'I'll  take  it.'- •  You  take  it?    How  ?' 

"•  By  force.'— •  By  force?' 

•••Why  not?  the  Louvre  has  been  taken  by  force.' — *  You're  mad,  friend,* 
said  the  general. 

'*  *  No  1  I  swear  I  am  not* — '  You  are  tired ;  go  home,  you  can  hardly  speak. 
They  tell  roe  you  passed  the  night  here.' 

••  *  General,  give  me  an  order  to  go  and  get  the  powder?' — *  No  I  luAl  you, 
a  hundred  time9,  no.' 

"  •  Decidedly,  you  will  not?'—'  I  don't  wish  to  get  you  shot.' 

'**  *  Very  weft  I    But  you  '11  give  me  a  pass  to  General  Gerard?' 

«« <  Oh  I  as  for  that,  willingly.  M.  Bonnelier,  make  out  a  pass  for  M.  Dumas 
to  General  Gerard.' 

«<  <  Bonnelier  is  busy,  general ;  1 11  make  it  out  myself,  and  you  can  sign  it. 


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322  NOTES  ON  FOREIGN  LITERATURE. 

*<' You  are  right,  Iamtii«d,  I  had  better  go  hose.' 

*<  I  went  to  a  table  aad  wrote  out  a  paaa  in  these  wor6» : 

«  •  July  80th,  1830.     One  o'clock. 

Permit  M.  Dumas  to  pass  to  General  Gerard.' 

*<  I  presented  the  pen,  Lafayette  signed,  and  I  withdrew  with  my  order ;  but 
before  presenting  k,  I  adcted  between  the  signature  and  the  words  '  G^eneral 
Gerard,'  *to  whom  we  recommend  the  propomi  whiek  M,  DmmoM  hat  not 
mgdeJ" 

Furnished  with  this  instrument,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  reach- 
ing General  Gerard,  who  of  course  inquired  what  the  proposal 
was :  but  the  story  must  be  told  in  the  hero's  own  words. 

*' '  It  is  this,  general.  M.  de  Lafayette  told  me  pust  now  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  that  they  were  in  want  of  powder ;  and  that  if  Charles  the  Tenth  were 
to  return  on  Paris,  they  could  not  fire  four  thousand  musket  shots.' 

*' '  That  is  yery  true ;  and  il  is  rather  an  anxious  consideration.' 

*<  <  Well,  I  proposed  to  General  Lafayette  to  go  and  get  some.' 

"  *  Get  it  I  where?'—*  At  Soissons.* 

** '  But  how  get  it?' — <  There  are  but  two  ways,  I  suppose.  I  will  first  ask 
for  it  politely.* 

"*  Of  whom?' — *  Of  the  commandant  of  course.' 

"*  And  if  he  refuse?*—*  Why  then  I  must  take  it.' 

**  *  Yes,  yes  I  but  once  more,  how  will  you  take  it  ?*— *  Leave  that  to  me,' 

'* '  And  YOU  mean  to  say  that  this  is  the  proposal  which  Greneral  Lafayette 
recommenos  to  me  ? ' 

**  *  You  see  the  phrase  is  precise ;  "to  Greneral  Gerard,  to  whom  we  recom- 
mend the  proposal  which  M«  Dumas  has  just  made/'* 

**  <  And  he  did  not  think  you  insane  ? ' 

** '  To  say  the  truth,  I  must  own  we  did  discuss  that  point  for  a  moment.' 

*<  *  Didn't  he  tell  you  that  it  was  twenty  to  one  you  would  get  shot  in  such 
an  expedition.' 

<<  *  I  believe  he  did  express  himself  to  that  effect* 

'**  And  notwithstanding  that  he  recommends  your  proposal?' 

*'  *  I  convinced  him.' 

**  *  But  why  then  did  he  not  give  you  the  order  you  ask  for  himself.' 

«<  Because  he  considered,  general,  that  the  orders  to  be  given  to  military 
authorities  should  emanate  from  you,  and  not  from  him.' 

'**  Hum,'  said  the  general,  biting  his  lips. 

«*«  Well,  general?'—*  Well  then,  it  is  impotsibie.' 

**  *  How  impossible  ?' — '  I  cannot  compromise  myself  so  far  as  to  give  such 
an  order.' 

"  *  Why  not,  general,'  said  I,  looking  him  in  the  face ;  '  if  I  compromise  my- 
self so  far  as  to  execute  it.' 

**  He  started  and  looked  at  me  in  his  turn. 

**  *  No,'  said  he,  *  I  cannot  do  it.     Apply  to  the  provisional  government.* 

^**  The  provisional  government?  oh  I  certainly  if  one  could  find  it.  For  my 
part  I  have  asked  afler  it  of  everybody  I  met,  and  in  the  room  where  I  was 
told  I  should  certainly  find  it,  I  found  nothing  but  a  table  and  a  number  of 
empty  bottles.     I  have  got  here  the  reality,  do  not  refer  me  to  the  shadow.' 

*'  *  Write  the  order  yourself  said  the  general. 

"  *  On  condition  that  you  will  copy  it  with  your  own  hand ;  the  order  will  be 
more  attended  to.' " 

After  a  little  more  hesitation,  the  order  was  made  out  and 
signed,  another  dexterous  interpolation  made,  and  M.  Dumas 
returned  to  the  astonished  Lafayette,  who,  not  dreaming  of  the 
trick  put  on  him,  agreed^  since  his  colleague  had  compromised 
Idmseff  so  far,  to  support  the  movement  on  his  part  by  an  appeal 
to  the  patriotism  of  the  ctril  authorities,  and  thereupon  the  daunt- 


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NOTES  ON   F0RC30N  UTERATUBE.  323 

less  hero,  Alexander,  departed  for  Soissons,  accompanied  only  by 
a  young  painter  and  a  tricoloured  flag.  How  these  two,  and 
another  friend  picked  up  on  the  road,  contrired  to  hoist  the  tri- 
coloured flag  on  the  church  of  Soissons  at  the  very  moment  when 
the  demand  for  the  powder  was  being  presented  at  the  magazine, 
and  thereby  persuade  the  military  guardians  of  the  treasure  that 
the  town  was  in  full  revolution,  and  that  resistance  would  be  use- 
less ;  how,  by  a  series  of  adroit  manoeuvres,  within  the  limits  cer^ 
tainly  of  phyncal  possibility,  but  bearing  a  good  deal  more  resem- 
blance to  the  contrivances  of  the  stage,  than  to  incidents  of  real 
life,  M.  Dumas  did  finally  obtain  possession  of  three  thousand 
pounds  of  powder,  and  return  with  it  in  triumph  to  Paris ;  to  tell 
all  this  in  his  own  captivating,  but  not  very  concise,  style,  would 
occupy  more  space  than  we  can  afibrd.  In  confirmation  of  the 
truth  of  this  surprising  story,  we  are  referred  to  an  official  report 
in  the  "  Moniteur,"  of  the  9th  of  August,  published  by  order  of 
Lafayette.  Afler  all,  the  grand  exploit  proved  fruitless.  In  the 
forty-four  hours  of  M.  Dumas's  absence  a  change  of  scene  had 
taken  place  on  the  political  theatre,  and  the  stage  was  occupied 
by  the  monarchy  of  July.  Who  shall  say  what  might  have  hap- 
pened had  he  remained? 

We  have  left  ourselves  little  room  to  speak  of  the  notable 
romance  of  '^  Isaac  Laquedem,'*  by  the  same  author,  but,  fortu- 
nately, it  is  one  from  which  we  are  not  much  inclined  to  make 
extracts.  If  the  reader  could  venture  for  a  moment  to  imagine 
the  New  Testament  got  up  as  a  drama  of '^  thrilling  interest,*'  1^ 
would  have  some  idea  of  the  character  of  this  egregious  produc- 
tion ;  and,  nevertheless,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,  we  really 
believe  it  has  been  written  without  any  flagitious  intention,  and 
that  the  writer  is  entirely  unconscious  of  the  shock  the  mere  men- 
tion of  such  an  enterprize  will  occasion  to  many.  His  choice  of  a 
hero,  who  is  no  other  than  our  old  acquaintance  the  ^^  Wandering 
Jew,"  is  certainly  fortunate  in  one  respect.  A  gentleman,  whose 
life  has  already  extended  to  more  than  eighteen  himdred  years, 
and  who  may  therefore  claim  almost  an  equal  number  of  volumes, 
is  the  very  subject  for  the  ceaseless  flow  of  M.  Dumas's  eloquence^ 
and  we  hail  it  accordingly. 

^^  Tales  for  Rainy  Days  "f  are  introduced  by  a  laudatory  preface 
firom  Madame  George  Sand.  They  are  slight  pleasing  tales,  one 
of  the  best  of  which,  that  entitled  ^^  La  S<)8e  d'Automne,""  turns 
on  the  incident,  at  all  events  not  hackneyed  in  fiction,  of  a  lady 
past  the  meridian  of  life  being  attacked  by  true  love,  a  malady 
which,  like  measles,  hooping-cough,  and  others  incident  to  the 
early  years  of  our  existence,  is,  we  believe,  considered  likely  to 
prove  more  dangerous  when  occurring  at  a  later  period. 

*  "  Isaac  Laquedem,"  bj  Dtunas. 

t  **  CoBtei  pour  les  Jours  de  Pkie,"  p»  Edonard  Plouvier. 


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324 


THE  CRISIS  IN  AFFAIRS  OF  THE  LORD  OF 
MISRULE. 

The  Empire  of  Turkey  may  be  said,  ^'  DOt  to  put  too  fine  a 
point  upon  it,'*'  to  exist  chiefly  for  the  embassies.  It  is  the  great 
diplomatic  battle-field  of  Europe,  and  the  time  is  quite  come 
when  it  should  cease  to  be  so. 

While  the  present  state  of  affairs  lasts,  Turkey  will  be  a  con- 
stant subject  of  quarrel  and  discussion  ;  in  the  end  it  will  certainly 
and  inevitably  cause  an  European  war. 

It  is  hard  to  describe,  it  would  be  impossible  to  exaggerate  the 
fearful  state  of  things  that  the  great  name  of  England  is  employed 
to  support.  The  internal  government  of  Turkey  is  a  tissue  of 
low  intrigue,  lying,  corruption,  oppression,  weakness,  incapacity, 
rashness,  vice,  nonsense,  waste,  absurdity,  and  eunuchs.  It  has 
never  been  anything  else.  The  conduct  of  its  foreign  affairs  is  a 
solemn  farce,  under  the  special  patronage  of  the  embassies — first 
one,  then  another,  whoever  bullies  loudest  or  bribes  most  cun- 
ningly has  the  upper  hand  for  the  time  being. 

In  a  word,  we  are  supporting  a  barbarous  race  of  fanatic 
infidels ;  of  men  half  savages,  who  curse  us  in  their  prayers ;  who 
blaspheme  our  God  and  deface  his  image ;  who  trade  in  human 
flesh ;  who  murder  and  imprison  women ;  who  are  debased  be- 
neath the  beasts  of  the  field  by  such  vices,  that  our  northern 
nature  shudders  to  reflect  a  moment  on  them  ;  in  whose  streets  it 
is  unsafe  for  a  Christian  man  to  walk  alone  in  broad  daylight ; 
whose  houses  it  is  death  for  him  to  enter. 

The  Arab  was  a  fine  fellow ;  but  no  good  ever  came  of  the 
Turk.  He  was  always  lazy,  insolent,  debauched,  and  cruel. 
His  right  to  the  country  he  burdens  and  eats  up,  was  that  of 
violence  and  conquest;  it  was  followed  by  unheard-of  horrors. 
The  world  owes  the  Turks  nothing.  During  the  whole  four 
centuries  that  they  have  inhabited  one  of  the  finest  countries  in 
the  world,  they  have  produced  no  single  individual  eminent  in 
any  one  art  or  science.  Their  reign  has  been  one  weary  history 
of  savage  wars,  or  ignoble  concession  abroad ;  absurd,  or  melan- 
choly misrule,  rebellions,  murders,  usurpations,  licence,  corrup- 
tion, and  oppression  at  home. 

Such  is  the  system  which  healthy-hearted  honest-minded  Eng- 
land has  been  supporting  for  years.  There  is  no  denying  the 
facts;  every  one  who  knows  anything  at  all  of  the  Turkish 
Empire  cannot  have  even  the  satisfaction  of  a  doubt  about  them. 
There  is  no  escapmg  the  deduction.  Every  statesman  must  have 
made  it  internally  for  these  last  hundred  years. 

But  if  the  governments  of  Europe  take  half  a  dozen  busy, 
important,  elderly  gentlemen,  and  say  to  each  of  them — ^^  We 
will  make  you  de  facto  a  co-sultan  of  a  pleasant  country,  we  will 


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CRISIS  IN  THE  AFFAIRS  OF  THE  LORD  OF  MISRULE.      325 

give  you  more  powers  and  influence  than  is  good  for  you ;  you 
shall  have  a  palace  to  live  in  as  large  as  the  three  chief  offices  in 
Downing  Street  put  together.  We  beg  your  acceptance  of  from 
6000/.  to  10,000/.  a  year.  If  you  want  any  more  to  keep  up  your 
dignity,  pray  draw  upon  us,  we  shall  always  be  happy  to  honour 
your  drafts  for  secret  service  money.  You  shall  have  a  large  staff 
of  subordinates  (the  country  is  warm,  and  you  may  be  somelimes 
out  of  temper).  We  will  give  you  a  delightful  country-house, 
and  place  a  fleet  of  line  of  battle  ships  more  or  less  at  your 
disposal.  You  shall  be,  in  fact,  the  only  great  official  now  going 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  an  embarrasser  at  Constantinople.  All 
we  ask  of  you  in  return  is  to  try  to  bind  up  a  bundle  of  rotten 
sticks.  We  know  they  cannot  hold  together  long,  but  still  do 
try,  you  will  oblige  us." 

I  say,  that  if  you  speak  to  an  elderly  gentleman  in  these  terms, 
it  is  highly  probable  that  this  elderly  gentleman  (be  he  who  he 
may,  for  I  bluffly  disclaim  any  idea  of  personality)  will  do  his 
best  to  comply  with  your  desire,  and  will  make  a  great  fuss  in  his 
efforts  to  do  so. 

But  he  cannot  change  the  sticks.  There  they  are  rotten  as 
ever,  and  if  he  binds  so  fast  and  so  close,  and  uses  such  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  expensive  red  tape,  that  the  rotten  sticks 
really  cannot  come  asunder,  why  they  can  still  do,  as  they  have 
been  doing  .for  years,  and  crumble  to  pieces  internally  in  the 
perfection  of  their  rottenness. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  estimate  the  immense  sum  of  money 
which  is  spent  yearly  by  England,  France,  and  Austria  to  main- 
tain a  state  of  things  which  never  ought  to  have  existed,  which  is 
a  disgrace  to  the  rest  of  Europe.  A  state  of  things  which  has 
made  Mussulman  rule  wherever  it  has  been  known  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  another  word  for  tyranny  and  wrong;  a  slate  of  things 
which  makes  good  men  sigh,  and  bad  men  sneer,  which  calls 
aloud  to  man  and  Heaven  to  end  it. 

The  great  European  powers  have  each  a  highly  paid  ambas- 
sador with  two  or  three  secretaries,  more  attaches  than  he  knows 
by  sight,  dragoman,  and  sub  dragoman  (interpreters),  policemen, 
boatmen,  and  servants,  all  paid  by  his  government  to  contribute  to 
his  glory  .The  real  worth,  the  only  part  of  the  business  important 
to  anybody,  is  performed  by  a  consul-general,  who  is  appointed 
besides,  and  who  has  a  fresh  staff  of  hangers-on,  also^  paid  by 
*  government.  The  commerce  at  Constantinople  is  indeed  con- 
siderable, but  nothing  like  what  it  would  be  under  a  good  govern- 
ment and  laws,  which  rendered  property  secure.  A  great  deal 
too  large  a  portion  of  the  goods  consigned  here  also  are  sent  by 
traders,  who  commit  large  commercial  frauds  elsewhere.  Hence 
the  market  is  often  glutted,  and  goods  may  be  bought  at  Galata 
under  the  cost  of  manufacture.  Of  the  difficulties  at  the  Custom 
House,  of  the  vexatious  delays,  and  of  the  open  bribery  by  which 
they  can  alone  be  remedied,  nothing  need  be  said  here. 

Thus  much  is  certain.  If  the  Turkish  Empire,  as  it  is,  exists 
much  longer,  Russia  will  infallibly  take  possession  of  it.     We 

'vol.  XXXIV.  rAn.n]o 

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826  THE  CRISIS   IN   THE  AFFAIRS   OF 

may  prop  it  up  now  and  again.  But  we  cannot^  and  we  shall  not 
prop  it  up  always,  and  the  day  our  support  is  withdrawn,  will  be 
the  beginning  of  the  end. 

We  cannot  support  Turkey  for  ever,  because  it  seems  ex- 
tremely probable  that,  at  no  very  distant  period,  we  may  have 
to  fight  for  ourselves,  perhaps  even  for  oar  hearths  and  altars. 
We  shall  not  support  it  for  ever,  because  a  new  race  of  statesmen 
are  growing  up  among  us,  who  will  not  see  the  public  money 
squandered  so  uselessly,  so  sinfully.  Yet  if  it  is  plain  that  for 
Russia  to  get  possession  of  Constantinople  might  turn  out  a 
dangerous  thing  for  the  liberties  of  the  world,  there  is  certainly 
no  reason  why  the  world  should  run  any  such  danger.  Let  a 
Congress  be  summoned  at  London,  Vienna,  Paris,  or  Berlin,  for 
the  final  settlement  of  this  troublesome  and  costly  question, 
Austria,  France,  and  Prussia,  are  quite  as  jealous  and  alarmed 
at  the  policy  of  Russia  as  we  can  be.  If  the  Czar  mean  mischief, 
the  sooner  we  master  his  hand  the  better. 

To  this  congress  let  us  contrive  to  send  for  once  a  few  sensible, 
conciliating,  prudent,  practical,  men.  Suppose  they  should  not 
be  lords,  with  an  eye  to  Government  patronage,  but  only  men  of 
high  known  ability — let  their  business  be  to  found  a  new  king- 
dqm  of  Greece,  of  which  Constantinople  shall  be  the  capital.  It 
is  generally  understood  that  there  would  be  no  great  difficulty  in 
persuading  the  childless  king  Otho  to  abdicate.  In  |he  contrary 
case  there  should  be  much  less  difficulty  in  deposing  him.  The 
interests  of  no  man  should  be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  pro- 
gress and  civilization  throughout  the  world. 

Do  not  let  us  be  met  with  silly  observations  about  the  miserable 
state  of  Greece  as  she  is.  Such  a  kingdom  as  king  Otho  rules  is 
an  absurdity.  It  has  been  a  melancholy  absurdity  irom  reasons 
known  to  all  the  world — reasons  it  revolts  one  to  recapitulate,  but 
from  no  fault  of  the  Greeks  themselves.  Greece  was  almost  the 
onlv  country  where  kingly  ambition  would  have  been  possible, 
and  even  truly  great  and  glorious  in  its  results,  without,  for  once, 
being  identified  with  war. 

We  mean  no  harsh  personality  in  saying,  had  Leopold  ruled 
over  Greece,  instead  of  Otho,  he  would  have  left  as  fine  and 
promising  an  inheritance  to  his  son  as  any  in  the  world.  But 
when  the  banished  and  patriot  Greeks,  the  heart  and  sinews  of 
the  new  country,  came  to  it,  they  were  driven  back  and  dis- 
couraged'. The  population  of  the  land  is  leas  than  that  of  a  petty 
German  grand-duchy,  while  Greek  arms  are  fighting  and  Greek 
intellects  exhausting  themselves  in  the  service  of  the  infidel. 
The  land  they  would  have  tilled  in  that  mother-country  which 
was  their  very  soul-dream,  lay  waste ;  the  commerce  they  would 
have  established  blesses  other  States.  Baron  S.,  with  his  mil- 
lions, lives  at  Vienna,  and  the  splendid  talents  of  M.  A.  waste 
themselves  uselessly  with  the  subtleties  of  the  schools,  and  the 
glories  of  other  days,  as  he  looks  from  the  balconies  and  terraces 
of  his  palace  on  the  Bosphorus. 

There  would  be  no  insurmountable  difficulty  in  establishing  a 


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THE  LORD  OP   MISRULE.  327 

new  kingdom  of  Greece  upon  a  wise  and  proper  footing — let 
diplomacy  try  to  puzzle  us  as  it  will.  There  is  a  capital  way  of 
getting  rid  of  a  diplomatic  difficulty  ;  it  is  to  ignore  its  existence. 
Princes  we  have  in  plenty.  There  is  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  a 
clear-headed,  sensible  man,  who  has  been  well  brought  up.  The 
Duke  of  Brabant ;  any  of  the  Orleans'  princes,  except  the  Duke 
de  Nemours,  who  would  be  as  likely  to  get  into  difficulties  speed- 
ily as  the  brothers  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria.  Lastly,  or  firstly, 
as  you  will,  the  land  that  was  ravished  by  the  red  hand  of  Ma- 
homet the  Second  from  the  brave  Constantino  Paleologus  might 
be  restored  to  the  chief  of  the  honourable  house  of  Cantacuzene. 
I  see  but  little  reason  why  the  Turks  should  not  be  driven  back 
from  the  Hellespont  to  the  Euphrates,  and  all  their  bigotry,  vio- 
lence, ignorance,  and  eunuchs  with  them. 

Let  the  United  Powers  impose  upon  the  new  sovereign  the  ne- 
cessity of  making  railroads,  and  establishing  a  good  system  of 
communication  throughout  his  country,  for  it  might  be  made  one 
of  the  largest  food-producing  kingdoms  in  the  world,  if  the  food 
when  grown  could  only  find  its  way  to  a  sure  and  a  fair  market, 
instead  of  being  seized  by  a  tribe  of  rapacious  Pashas. 

If  the  country  were  once  civilized  it  would  be  safe.  It  would 
be  able  to  protect  itself.  Russia  knows  this  so  well,  that  it  is 
owing  to  her  intrigues  even  the  railway  between  Constantinople 
and  Belgrade  has  not  been  commenced  long  ago.  The  Greeks 
are  a  fine  race  of  men,  too,  and  we  may  hope  in  them.  Hope  in 
their  energy,  ambition,  self-denial ;  their  thirst  for  knowledge,  their 
heroic  bravery  and  keen  wit.  Let  diplomacy  cry  out  as  it  will, 
there  is  little  reason  to  fear  but  that  the  other  Christian  subjects 
of  the  Porte  would  be  glad  to  live  under  a  better  state  of  things, 
and  that  a  few  years  of  good  government  and  equal  rights  would 
eradicate  the  jealousy  existing  among  them.  As  it  is,  they  are 
simply  what  misrule  has  made  them ;  what  it  will  make  any  race 
of  men,  Hungarians  or  Irishmen,  Jews  or  Poles. 

After  the  settlement  of  the  question  in  the  manner  we  have  in- 
dicated, the  world  may  be  quite  easy  about  the  designs  of  Russia. 
No  Czar  will  ever  march  bis  rude  hordes  into  a  well-governed 
country  if  he  can  help  it.  He  will  dread  too  much  the  infection 
of  ideas,  the  winning  charm  of  freedom,  and  will  know,  that 
wherever  ignorance  grows  enlightened,  the  days  of  absolutism  are 
numbered. 

We  give  no  more  than  the  rough  outline  of  our  project ;  but  are 
quite  ready  to  consider  it  in  detail,  if  any  one  were  disposed  to 
break  a  lance  with  us.  And  of  one  thing  we  are  quite  convinced : 
there  is  no  middle  course.  Constantinople  must  pass  away  from 
the  rule  of  the  Moslem,  or  tlussia  will  take  it  the  first  time  she 
dares.  Finally,  if  there  existed  as  many  sound  political  reasons 
for  supporting  Turkey  as  tiiere  are  for  not  doing  so,  they  could 
not  for  a  day  justify  us  in  aiding  the  continuance  of  the  evil 
enacted  there — and  before  God  and  posterity  we  are  answerable, 
for  it. 

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328 


THE  ROOKS,  THE  RAVEN,  AND  THE  SCARECROW. 

A    FABLE. 

A  FLOCK  of  rooks  in  conclave  stood 

Upon  the  branches  of  an  oak ; 

The  subject  was  the  dearth  of  food  ; 

And  thus  a  half-fledged  rookling  spoke : — 

"  You  all  are  hungry — so  am  I. 

Debating  will  not  break  our  fast. 

Yon  fresh-sown  croft  looks  temptingly : 

Let^s  down  and  seize  the  rich  repast ! 

'T  is  true  some  risk  attends  the  deed. 

But  faint  heart  ne'er  fair  lady  won. 

Then  follow  me.     First  let  us  feed, 

And  talk  it  o'er  when  it  is  done  ! "  * 

From  oaken  spray  each  yearling  bird 

Salutes  this  speech  with  hoarse  applause. 

When  loud  above  the  din  was  heard 

A  grey-poird  veteran'*s  warning  caws  :— 

*'  Rash  friends,  yon  awful  form  beware ! 

With  outstretch^  arm  and  threatening  hand 

Better  to  starve  awhile  than  dare 

The  vengeful  owner  of  the  land !  " 

He  ceased.    Conflicting  counsels  rackM 

Alternate  now  the  ebon  throng. 

Hunger  the  rookling*s  counsel  backed, 

While  prudence  deemM  that  counsel  wrong. 

All  longM  to  pick  the  golden  grain ; 

All  fearM  the  trusty  watchman's  gun. 

Each  point  was  argued  o'*er  again, 

And  all  left  off  where  they  begun. 

But  now  from  out  the  hollow  oak 

A  sapient  raven  thrust  his  head. 

And,  with  a  keen  sarcastic  croak, 

Thus  to  the  rookery  he  said : — 

**  Blind  gulls  ye  are !     For  shame  !  for  shame 

Of  rooks  ye  don^t  deserve  the  name ! 

The  fearful  figure  which  you  see 

Is  but  a  man  of  straw  to  me — 

A  heap  of  rags — a  stick  or  two, 

Set  up  to  frighten  fools  like  you  ! 

*  In  another  report  of  the  honourable  and  somewhat  **  fast"  gentleman's 
maiden  speech,  this  passage  is  rendered  as  follows : — 
**  First  let  us  have  our  grain,  and  afler 
*  Chaff,*  if  you  please  (loud  c*:eers  and  laughter)." 


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THE  BOOKS,  THE  RAVEN,  AND  THE  SCARECROW.  329 

Full  oft  1  Ve  watch'd  him  from  m j  lair, 

To  prove  him,  ay  or  no,  a  man ; 

At  length  I  made  the  problsm  square, 

And  thus  my  close  deduction  ran  : — 

When  angry  tempests  rend  the  sky, 

And  lightnings  cleave  the  troubled  air, 

Both  man  and  beast  to  shelter  fly, 

Yet  he  remains  impassive  there. 

Last  summer,  too,  a  rabid  bull 

RushM  through  the  field  with  frantic  rage ; 

No  mortal  would  have  met  him  full 

In  front,  the  unequal  war  to  wage ! 

Nor  rabid  bull,  nor  hail,  nor  rain. 

Nor  thunder  daunts  his  torpid  soul. 

Believe  me,  when  I  say  again, 

No  man  is  that,  but  scarecrow  foul ! 

But  that  I  do  not  feed  on  grain. 

Myself,  good  folks,  would  lead  the  way. 

Then  hasten  to  the  bounteous  plain, 

Whilst  I  for  your  adventure  pray ! " 

Down  swoop  the  horde,  with  famine  fierce ; 

Their  passions  now  no  fear  restrains ; 

A  thousand  bills  earth's  bosom  pierce, 

And  rifle  thence  the  farmer's  grains ; 

Impunity  fresh  courage  lends ; 

They  strut  around  the  harmless  "  Guy." 

Nay,  one  his  crownless  hat  ascends, 

And  flaps  his  pinions  vauntingly. 

Oh  !  short-lived  triumph  !     Scarce  his  tongue 

On  air  a  boastful  note  had  flung. 

When,  rattling  from  the  neighbouring  copse. 

Two  barrels  flash  !     The  rookling  drops ! 

Nor  he  alone  ! — with  ruthless  force 

Sweeps  o'er  the  plain  the  leaden  shower ! 

The  black-robed  tribe  confess  its  power 

In  many  a  glossy,  mangled  corse ! 

The  raven  saw,  uprais'd  his  eyes. 

And,  sighing,  murmured — "  Who  'd  have  thought  it  ? 

Alas  !  we  cannot  all  be  wise : 

They  lack'd  experience  —  and,  they  've  bought  it !  ** 

MORAL. 

Of  sagest  counsellors  beware. 
Unless  of  risk  they  take  their  share. 
For  enterprise  or  speculation 
There 's  nothing  like  co-operation ! 


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330 


A  GOSSIP  ABOUT  LAURELS  AND  LAUREATES. 

The  laurel  is  the  fig-tree  of  the  poet.  He  sits  under  its  shadow 
with  a  double  assurance  of  fame  and  protection.  What  a  book 
might  be  written  on  laurels  !  How  intimately  they  are  mixed  up 
with  the  history  of  poetry,  the  romance  of  love,  and  the  annals 
of  crime.  The  ancients  crowned  their  poets  with  bays,  which, 
says  old  Selden,  "  are  supposed  not  subject  to  any  hurt  of  Ju- 
piter's thunderbolts,  as  other  trees  are.'^  Petrarch  regarded  the 
laurel  as  the  emblem  of  his  mistress,  and  is  said  to  have  been 
so  affected  by  the  sight  of  one  on  landing  from  a  voyage,  that 
he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  it.  From  this  leaf,  too, 
which  has  formed  the  coronal  of  the  Muses  through  all  time,  the 
subtlest  poison  is  distilled,  and  the  assassinations  committed  by 
the  agency  of  laurel-water  would  make  a  curious  companion- 
volume  to  the  lives  of  the  laureates.  Thus  there  is  an  adjusting 
element  in  the  laurel  to  avenge  as  well  as  to  reward,  and  the  love 
which  finds  its  glory  in  the  bays  may  also  extract  its  vengeance 
from  them.  We  need  not  go  beyond  the  poets  themselves  for 
illustrations  of  the  two  principles  of  good  and  evil — the  life  and 
death — typified  in  the  laurel.  Their  noblest  works  exhibit  the 
one ;  their  abuse  of  their  power,  their  littlenesses,  their  satires, 
envy  and  detraction  betray  the  other.  We  have  two  familiar 
examples  in  Dryden  and  Pope.  If  the  ^*  Religio  Laici,"  and  the 
"  Annus  Mirabilis,"  the  "  Essay  on  Man,''  and  the  "  Rape  of  the 
Lock"  contain  the  living  principle,  may  we  not  carry  out  the 
metaphor  by  saying,  that  "  Mac-Flecknoe  "  and  the  "  Dunciad" 
were  written  in  laurel-water  ?  Prussic-acid  could  not  have  done 
its  work  more  effectually  than  the  ink  which  traced  these 
anathemas.  The  laurel  that  confers  immortality  also  carries  death 
in  its  leaves. 

This  is  a  strange  matter  to  explore.  There  is  a  warning  in  it 
that  dulls  a  little  of  the  brightness  of  all  poetical  glories.  Sup- 
pose we  assemble  under  a  great  spreading  laurel-tree  all  the  poets 
who  have  worn  the  bays  in  England*  and  drank  or  compounded 
their  tierces  of  wine  from  Ben  Jonson  to  Tennyson — let  us  hear 
what  confessions  they  have  to  make,  what  old  differences  to 
re-open  or  patch  up,  what  violated  friendships  to  re-knit,  mingled 
with  reproaches  and  recriminations — 

"  Digesting  wars  with  heart-UDitiDg  loves." 

It  will  be  as  good  as  a  scene  at  the  "  Mermaid,"  with  a  commen- 
tary running  through  to  point  a  moral  that  was  never  thought  of 
when  the  Browns  and   Draytons  met  over  their  sack.     First  of 

*  For  whose  histories,  traced  chronolopically,  the  reader  is  referred  to  a 
recent  volume  of  pleasant  literary  biography,  called  **  The  Lives  of  the  Lau- 
reates.'*   By  W.  S.  Austin,  Jun.,  B.A.,  and  John  Ralph,  M.A. 


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LAURELS   AND   LAUREATES.  331 

ftll,  here  is  Beu  Jonson  telling  us  how  he  escaped  having  his 
ears  cropped,  and  his  nose  slit  (rather  more  ceremoniously  than 
the  like  office  was  performed  on  Sir  John  Coventry)  for  having 
assisted  in  casting  odium  on  the  Scotch ;  and  how  by  a  begging 
petition  to  Charles  I.,  he  got  the  pension  of  a  hundred  marks, 
worth  about  thirteen  shillings  and  four  pence  each,  raised  to 
so  many  pounds,  with  a  tierce  of  wine  in  perpetuity  added  to 
them,  for  the  benefit  and  delectation  of  his  successors.  Upon 
this,  Dryden,  taking  a  large  pinch  of  snuff,  observes,  that  his 
successors  had  little  to  thank  him  for ;  that  nothing  could  exceed 
the  meanness  of  Charles  II.,  who  rewarded  men  of  letters  by 
empty  praise,  instead  of  keeping  them  out  of  jails  by  a  little  timely 
munificence ;  that  he  had  said  as  much  in  a  famous  panegyric  of 
his  upon  that  monarch's  memory,  insinuating  his  contempt  for  the 
shabbiness  of  the  deceased  sovereign,  in  a  line  which  the  stupid 
people  about  the  court  took  for  an  extravagant  compliment; 
and  that,  as  for  the  tierce  of  Canary,  it  was  well  known  that 
James  II.,  who  had  as  much  sympathy  for  poets  and  poetry  as 
one  of  his  own  Flemish  coach-horses,  had  robbed  him  of  it  when 
be  wore  the  laurel,  although  he  changed  his  religion  with  the 
change  of  kings,  and  celebrated  high  mass  in  the  '^Hind  and 
Panther,^  with  a  thousand  times  more  splendour -than  ever  it  was 
celebrated  in  the  private  chapel  at  Whitehall. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  Shadwell  will  sit  by  quietly,  and 
hear  such  remarks  as  these  in  silence ;  accordingly,  no  sooner  has 
Dryden  concluded  (no  one  will  venture  to  speak  while  Dryden 
is  speaking,  out  of  that  old  habit  of  deference  with  which  he  used 
to  be  treated  at  Will's  Coffeehouse)  than  Shadwell,  rolling  his 
great  globular  body  right  round  to  the  table,  and  looking  with 
rather  an  impatient  and  impudent  stare  at  Dryden,  reminds  him 
of  the  obligations  he  owed  to  James  II.,  who,  if  he  deprived  him 
of  his  tierce  of  Canary,  increased  his  pension ;  and  as  there  is 
no  longer  any  reason  for  being  delicate  about  sdbh  subjects,  he 
adds,  that  the  whole  world  believes  that  he  changed  his  religion 
for  the  sake  of  that  petty  one  hundred  pounds  a  year.  At  all 
events,  that  the  coincidence  of  the  conversion  and  the  gratuity 
looked  very  much  like  one  of  those  astrological  conjunctions  from 
which  men  like  Dryden  himself,  drew  ominous  inferences ;  and 
that  even  Dr.  Johnson,  who,  considering  his  own  strong  opinions 
on  religion,  was  singularly  generous  to  Dryden's  memory,  could 
not  resist  observing,  that  *'  that  conversion  will  always  be  sus* 
pected,  which,  apparently,  concurs  with  interest;  and  he  that 
never  finds  his  error  till  it  hinders  his  progress  towards  wealth 
and  honour,  will  not  be  thought  to  love  Truth  for  herself."  The 
theme  is  too  tempting  for  Shadwell  to  stop  here ;  it  revives  the 
ancient  grudge  in  all  its  original  bitterness,  and  he  cannot  help, 
for  the  ghost  of  him,  closing  up  with  a  touch  of  his  ancient 
dare-devil  humour  to  the  effect  that,  for  his  part,  he  can  not 
say  he  was  much  surprised,  when  he  heard  of  Dryden's/^^rversion; 
that  he  had  seen  it  plainly  enough  all  along,  even  so  far  back  as 
the  trial  of  Shaftesbury ;   that,  in  fact,  he  believed  all  religions 


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332  A   GOSSIF  ABOUT 

were  the  same  to  a  man  who,  within  the  compass  of  a  few  months, 
had  prostituted  his  pen  to  Puritanism^  Protestantism,  and  Popery  ; 
that  the  true  solution  of  the  case  was  to  be  found  in  the  charge 
long  before  brought  against  him,  and  that  he  was  now  more  than 
ever  convinced,  that,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  Dryden  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  an  atheist. 

This  does  not  disturb  Dryden  much,  although  it  shocks  the 
ghostly  company  of  laureates  sitting  round  about,  some  of  whom 
belong  to  a  more  polite  age,  and,  intimate  as  they  are  with  these 
Billingsgate  conflicts  in  books,  are  not  prepared  to  be  personally 
mixed  up  in  one  of  them.  But  Dryden's  calmness,  and  that  slow 
confident  smile  of  contempt  with  which  he  surveys  the  rotundity 
of  ShadwelFs  person,  as  if  he  were  again  taking  its  measure — 

*•  Round  as  a  globe,  and  liquored  every  chink !" 

re  assures  tliem.  If  Dryden  is  not  hurt  at  being  called  an  atheist, 
why  should  they  ?  Every  man  looks  to  himself  in  this  world,  and 
human  frailty  still  haunts  the  inspirations  of  these  laurelled  shades. 
Dryden  is  going  to  say  something — he  takes  another  huge  pinch, 
and,  tapping  his  box  with  the  air  of  a  conqueror,  repeats  the 
terrible  name  of  "  Og !  *"  two  or  three  times,  with  increasing  em- 
phasis at  each  repetition.  Concerning  the  term  Atheist,  he  says, 
he  disposed  of  that  long  ago,  and  flung  it  back  with  interest  upon 
the  "  bufibon  ape  "  who 

<*  Mimicked  all  sects,  and  had  his  own  to  choose.*' 

He  was  quite  content  to  rest  upon  the  controversy,  as  he  left  it  iu 
the  great  convocation  of  beasts  he  had  brought  together  under 
the  auspices  of  the  British  lion,  and  whenever  such  reeling  asses 
as  Shadwell  should  show  themselves  able  to  comprehend  the  mass 
of  theological  learning  he  had  heaped  up  in  weighty  couplets  for 
the  use  of  disputants  iu  all  time  to  come,  he  would  be  ready  to 
answer  any  indictment  they  might  concoct  against  him.  In  the 
meanwhile,  he  would  recommend  Shadwell  to  control  his  tongue, 
and  try  to  look  sober,  and  mend  his  manners.  Rochester  had 
done  him  greater  mischief  by  praising  his  wit  in  conversation  than 
ke  had  ever  done  him  by  exposing  his  stupidity  in  print ;  and 
one  thing  was  quite  certain,  that  whatever  Shadwell  might  have 
sufiered  in  reputation  from  Dryden's  pen,  to  that  same  pen, 
charged  as  it  was  with  contempt,  he  was  solely  indebted  for  his 
elevation  to  the  laurel.  Shadwell  should  remember  that,  and  not  be 
ungrateful.  If  he,  Dryden,  had  not  singled  him  out  as  the  True- 
Blue  Protestant  poet,  and  given  him  that  appellation  at  a  time 
when  it  was  likely  to  stick,  King  William  would  never  have  de- 
graded the  ofl[ice  which  he,  and  Ben,  and  Will  Davenant  had  held, 
to  confer  it  upon  a  fellow  who,  whatever  his  drunken  companions 
of  the  tavern  might  think  of  him,  was  never  a  poet,  as  he  had 
long  ago  told  him,  of  God's  own  making. 

Now,  as  Shadwell  had  always  been  remarkable  in  the  flesh 
for  intemperance  of  all  sorts,  and  was  as  "  hasty  ^'  in  his  temper 
as  in  his  plays,  of  which  he  usually  composed  an  act  in  four  or 


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LAURELS   AND   LAUREATES.  333 

fire  days,  we  may  easily  imagine  how  he  would  retort  upon 
Dryden  after  such  a  speech  as  this.  The  most  vulnerable  part  of 
Dryden's  character  was  his  jealousy  of  other  poets,  and  Shadwell, 
naturally  enough,  indemnifies  himself  for  all  such  abuse,  by 
ascribing  it  to  envy.  He  refreshes  Dryden's  memory,  by  re- 
calling the  praises  he  used  to  lavish  upon  him  before  they  quar- 
relled. Did  he  not  once  say  in  a  prologue,  that  Shadwell  was 
the  greatest  of  all  the  comedy  writers,  and  second  only  to  Ben 
himself  (who,  by  the  way,  was  the  only  man  Shadwell  would 
consent  to  b;;  second  to) ;  and  he  would  now  tell  him  to  his  face, 
that  the  real  spring  of  the  malignity  with  which  he  afterwards 
pursued  him,  was  his  success  in  the  theatre.  He  never  could 
forgive  him  his  success.  He  hated  every  man  that  succeeded. 
How  used  he  to  treat  poor  Crowne  ?  Was  it  not  notorious  that 
when  a  play  of  Crowue's  failed  (which,  he  confessed,  was  no 
uncommon  occurrence),  Dryden  would  shake  hands  cordially  with 
him,  and  tell  him  that  his  play  deserved  an  ovation,  and  that  the 
town  was  not  worthy  of  such  a  writer ;  but  when  Crowne  hap- 
pened to  succeed,  he  would  hardly  condescend  to  acknowledge 
him.  He  could  not  help  admitting  that  Crowne  had  some 
genius;  but  then  he  would  account  for  it  by  saying,  that  his 
father  and  Crowne's  mother  were  rery  well  acquainted.  Who 
was  Dryden's  father?  He  never  knew  he  had  a  father.  He 
doubted  the  fact.  He  might  have  had  a  dozen,  for  all  he  knew, 
but  he  never  heard  of  any  one  in  particular. 

This  sort  of  scurrilous  personality  is  not  agreeable  to  Nahum 
Tate.  He  has  not  forgotten  his  share  in  the  Psalms,  and  thinks 
that  it  becomes  him  to  put  a  stop  to  a  discussion  which  borders 
on  licentiousness.  He  does  not  pretend  to  say  who  Dryden'^s 
father  was ;  but  he  knows  both  Dryden  and  Shadwell  well,  and 
bears  an  allegiance  to  the  former  (who  rendered  him  the  greatest 
honour  his  miserable  life  could  boast)  that  will  not  suffer  him  to 
hear  Dryden  lampooned  in  this  fashion  with  impunity.  If  Dry- 
<Ien  was  envious  of  rivals,  it  was  a  failing  incidental  to  all  men ; 
but  he  could  tell  Shadwell  that  his  contempt  was  larger  than  his 
envy,  as  Shadwell  might  discover,  if  he  would  sit  down  quietly 
and  dispassionately,  and  read  the  second  part  of  ^^  Absalom  and 
Achitophel"  once  more.  He  might  recommend  the  perusal  of 
that  book  with  perfect  propriety,  because  it  was  well  known  to  all 
writers  and  critics  that  the  particular  passages  which  related  to 
Shadwell,  and  his  friend  Eikanah  Settle,  were  not  written  by  him. 
Perhaps  the  internal  evidences  would  be  sufficient  to  show  that 
He  did  not  set  up  for  a  poet,  although  he  did  write  all  the  rest  of 
the  poem,  and  made  an  alteration  of  Shakspeare^s  '^  Lear,"*  which 
still  keeps  the  stage  in  preference  to  the  original  itself.  It  must 
be  admitted  that  it  was  quite  consistent  with  a  modest  appre- 
ciation of  his  own  merits,  to  plume  himself  a  little  on  those 
incidents  in  a  career  to  which  posterity  attached  a  value  his 
gnidging  contemporaries  denied.  It  was  sou:ething,  he  thought, 
to  be  honestly  proud  of,  that  his  Psalms  are,  to  this  hour,  used  in 
the  Church  of  England,  and  that  the  name  of  Nahum  Tate  is 


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334  A   GOSSIP   ABOUT 

likely  to  go  down  to  the  end  of  time,  or  at  least  as  long  as  the 
English  language  lasts,  in  every  parish  church  and  playhouse  in 
the  kingdom.  He  might  be  a  very  bad  poet.  It  was  not  for  him 
to  say  anything  on  that  point.  But  he  should  be  glad  to  be 
informed  what  other  English  poet,  from  the  earliest  times  to  the 
present  hour,  could  boast  of  ministering  so  variously  and  so 
constantly  to  the  profit  and  pleasure  of  the  English  people — on 
the  Sundays  in  the  organ-loft,  helped  out  by  a  general  chorus  of 
the  congregation,  and  all  through  the  week  on  the  stage,  for  he 
supposed  there  was  hai'dly  a  day  in  the  week  in  which  ^*  King 
Lear,"  as  he  improved  it,  was  not  played  somewhere  ?  Yet  how 
was  he,  who  had  left  these  imperishable  legacies  to  posterity, 
treated  by  his  own  generation  ?  It  was  true  he  succeeded  Shad* 
well  in  the  laureateship.  Laureateship !  Starvation  !  Talk, 
indeed,  of  pensions  and  tierces  of  Canary ;  talk  of  duns  and  bailiffs. 
When  the  Earl  of  Dorset  died,  he  ought  to  have  died  too,  for  he 
had  lived  literally  on  the  charity  of  that  pious  nobleman,  and 
when  he  lost  his  patron  he  was  left  to  starve.  Was  he  not 
obliged  to  fly  from  his  creditors  and  take  refuge  in  the  Mint, 
where,  to  the  shame  of  the  age,  he  died  of  want  i  To  be  sure, 
that  is  a  common  fate  amongst  the  poets,  and  he  ought  not  to 
complain  of  a  dispensation  under  which  so  many  better  men  had 
suffered;  but  that  was  the  least  of  it.  Once  he  was  dead  he 
might  have  been  left  to  his  repose.  The  jibe  and  the  sarcasm, 
however,  followed  him  to  his  grave.  What  had  he  done  to  Pope, 
who  was  only  lisping  verse  when  he'was  at  the  height  of  his 
fame,  that  be  should  hold  him  up  to  universal  ridicule  i  And 
bow  had  it  happened  that  every  pretender  to  verse  or  criticism, 
history  or  biography — ^not  one  in  a  hundred,  perhaps,  of  whom 
had  ever  read  a  line  of  the  Psalms — should  with  one  accord 
fix  upon  bis  name  as  the  common  mark  for  their  ignominious 
ribaldry  ? 

Nicholas  Rowe  hears  these  lamentations  with  an  appearance  of 
some  uneasiness.  He  was  always  believed  to  have  been  rather  of 
a  religious  turn,  and  there  is  a  misapprehension  abroad  concerning 
the  succession  to  the  laureateship,  which,  as  an  honest  man,  he 
desires  to  correct.  And  so,  drawing  his  hand  somewhat  solemnly 
over  his  chin,  and  turning  his  handsome  face  mildly  towards  our 
rufiied  Nahum,  he  calls  to  his  recollection  the  time  and  circum- 
stances  of  his  death.  He  tells  him  that  Dr.  Johnson,  who  has 
made  several  mistakes  of  a  graver  kind,  expresses  some  fears  that 
he,  Nicholas  Rowe,  obtained  the  laurel  by  "  the  ejection  of  poor 
Nahum  Tate,  who  died  in  the  Mint,  where  he  was  forced  to  seek 
shelter  by  extreme  poverty."  Nothing  could  be  more  erroneous. 
Upwards  of  a  fortnight  elapsed  after  that  melancholy  event 
before  he  was  appointed.  He  hoped  his  friend  Nahum  would  do 
him  justice  with  posterity  on  that  point  It  really  made  him  very 
uncomfortable;  for,  ghost  as  he  was,  he  looked  back  with  a  justi- 
fiable satisfaction  to  a  life  of  irreproachable  integrity,  and  he 
wished  it  to  be  understood  that  Mr.  Tate  enjoyed  all  the  honours 
and  advantages,  whatever  they   were,  of  the  office    of   Court 


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LAURELS   AND   LAUREATES.  335 

Poet  up  to  the  moment  of  his  demise.  He  was  sorry  that  the 
translator  of  the  Psalms  should  have  had  so  much  occasion  for 
putting  their  divine  philosophy  into  practice.  Want  was  a  hard 
thing.  He  could  not  account  for  Mr.  Tate's  distresses.  It  was 
no  business  of  his  to  intrude  upon  the  private  sorrows  of  a  brother 
poet ;  but  he  knew  that  Mr.  Tate  had  his  pension,  or  ought  to 
have  had  it,  to  the  last  hour  of  his  chequered  struggle.  For  his 
own  part,  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of,  except  that  the  full  tide 
of  prosperity  flowed  in  upon  him  rather  late  in  life.  He  enjoyed 
three  uninterrupted  years,  however,  of  high  and  palmy  existence, 
which  was  more,  he  suspected,  than  many  poets  could  count  up 
through  their  variegated  lives,  and  at  the  close  he  was  honoured  with 
tributes  which  enabled  him  to  rest  satisfactorily  in  a  fine  tomb. 
He  must  say  that  he  did  not  agree  with  his  predecessor  in  the 
slur  he  flung  upon  Pope.  Mr.  Tate  might  have  personal  reasons 
for  taking  posthumous  oflfence  at  the  *^  Dunciad.'^  Of  course 
people  will  sometimes  be  carried  away  by  their  feelings ;  but 
Pope  was  a  great  poet,  and  a  judicious  critic,  and  had  written  an 
epitaph  for  a  certain  monument  in  Westminster  Abbey,  which  he 
could  not  help  esteeming  as  one  of  the  most  exquisite  things  in 
the  whole  range  of  funereal  literature.  In  that  epitaph.  Pope 
stated  that  he,  the  author  of  *^  Jane  Shore,''  was, 

••  Blessed  in  his  genius — in  his  love  too  blest." 

He  always  thought  that  line  a  remarkable  specimen  of  con- 
densed expression.  It  said  nearly  everything  of  him  that  he 
eould  have  wished  to  be  said;  and  had  he  written  it  himself, 
which  he  had  not  the  presumption  to  suppose  he  could  have 
^one,  there  was  only  one  slight  improvement  he  would  have 
desired  to  make.  It  was  true  to  the  letter ;  but  it  did  not  tell  the 
whole  truth.  Pope  forgot  that  be  had  been  married  a  second 
time.  The  line  did  not  bring  out  the  full  flavour  of  that  double 
happiness.  The  merest  verbal  alteration  would  adapt  it  feli- 
citously to  the  true  state  of  the  case  ;  thus  : — 

*•  Blessed  in  his  genius — in  his  love  twicer  blest !" 

That  would  have  been  a  complete  biography.  At  the  same  time, 
he  had  no  doubt  that  Pope  avoided  any  allusion  to  his  first  wife, 
irom  a  fetling  of  delicacy  towards  the  second,  at  whose  expense  the 
monument  was  built  He  might  have  thought  it  scarcely  decorous 
to  record  upon  the  marble  erected  by  one  lady  the  fact  that 
the  gentleman  who  slept  below  had  been  previously  blest  by 
another  lady.  Of  the  laureateship,  as  an  asylum  for  the  last 
suffering  poet  of  an  age,  or  as  a  reward  for  the  most  distinguished, 
he  did  not  feel  that  it  became  him  to  say  much.  Mr.  Tate  was 
better  qualified  to  speak  on  that  subject,  as  he  held  the  bays 
longer  than  anybody  else,  having  been  upwards  of  three-and- 
twenty  years,  or  thereabouts,  singing  in  the  purlieus  of  the  palace. 
What  sort  of  songs  Mr.  Tate  sang,  he  confessed  he  did  not  know. 
He  never  read  any  of  them.  They  might  have  been  very  numer- 
ous, and  of  an  excellence  as  unique  as  the  Psalms.     He  could 


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336  A   GOSSIP   ABOUT 

only  speak  to  his  own  discharge  of  those  arduous  duties ;  and 
here  he  could  conscientiously  declare  that  he  never  omitted  a 
legitimate  occasion  of  glorifying  the  throne  by  the  exercise  of 
whatever  little  Pindaric  skill  he  could  devote  to  the  service  of  the 
House  of  Hanover. 

The  eulogy  on  Pope  could  not  fail  to  produce  a  sensation 
amongst  the  laureled  hearers.  There  is  hardly  a  man  amongst 
them  of  this  period  who  had  not  suffered  at  his  hands ;  and  none 
had  greater  reason  to  resent  Rowers  praises  than  the  versifier  who 
succeeded  him  in  office.  The  outside  world  has  never  heard  of 
the  Reverend  Lawrence  Eusden — yet  here  he  sits  amongst  the 
group  of  laureates,  looking  as  pert  and  panegyrical  as  any  of  them. 
What  manner  of  poet  he  was,  may  be  best  described  by  such 
critical  terms  as  fustian,  rhodomontade,  stuff,  rubbish,  and  the 
like.  He  seems  to  have  been  expressly  intended  by  nature  for 
the  dignity  which  a  friendly  Lord  Chamberlain  imposed  upon 
him  in  an  access  of  delirium,  just  as  an  intoxicated  Viceroy  of 
Ireland  once  conferred  knighthood  on  some  sweltering  boon- 
companion.  He  wi'ote  hard  for  the  office  before  he  obtained  it. 
All  the  spontaneous  verses  of  his  that  have  come  down  to  us,  are 
laureateous  in  character. '  They  are  coronation  and  birth-day  odes 
in  disguise — divine  right  rhvmes,  of  the  true  entire  possibilities  of 
pork  stamp — they  go  the  whole  extremities  of  Court  adulation — 
have  a  prophetic  aroma  of  the  Canary  in  them — and  point  him 
out  for  the  office  long  before  he  could  have  dreamt  of  leaping 
into  it.  For  twelve  dreary  years  he  showered  down  his  official 
lyrics  upon  an  ungrateful  public.  The  critics  hissed  him — the 
poets  shunned  him — lords  and  ladies  bore  his  flatteries  ac  well  as 
they  could.  They  were  obliged  to  do  duty  in  that  as  in  other 
horribly  fatiguing  things.  It  was  like  standing  behind  the 
Queen's  chair  at  the  Opera  all  night.  What  could  be  done  ?  He 
was  a  parson  and  poet-laureate,  a  combination  which  courtiers 
could  not  openly  resist.  It  does  not  appear  whether  he  drank  the 
whole  tierce  of  Canary  himself,  or  compromised  it  for  a  pipe  of 
port,  or  a  puncheon  of  whiskey ;  but  probability  is  in  favour  of 
the  last  supposition,  for  he  is  known  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life, 
as  we  are  informed  by  his  last  biographers  (and,  we  presume, 
they  are  the  last  he  will  ever  have),  to  have  given  himself  up  to 
drinking  and  Tasso.  He  lived  in  a  state  of  conspicuous  ob- 
scurity. Poet  laureate  as  he  was  for  that  long  dismal  term  of 
a  dozen  years,  and  writing  hard  as  he  did  all  sorts  of  eulogistic 
extravagancies,  there  is  nothing  known  whatever  of  his  life, 
beyond  the  two  least  important  items  in  it — his  birth  and  his 
death. 

He  makes  a  motion  as  if  he  were  about  to  say  something,  and 
the  dreaded  name  of  Pope  is  already  hovering  on  his  lips,  when 
every  one  of  the  laureates  turns  his  back  upon  him.  Even  Pye 
looks  aside  with  the  air  of  a  high-born  gentleman,  for  bad  a  poet 
as  he  is,  he  is  Horace  and  Virgil,  and  a  hundred  Homers  com- 
pared with  Lawrence  F.usden.  Colley  Cibber  breaks  in  on  the 
awkward  pause,  and  feels  it  necessar)'  to  apologise  for  having 


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LAURELS  AND   LAUREATES.  337 

allowed  himself  to  be  appointed  successor  to  the  last-named  indi- 
vidual. But  he  assures  his  friends  that  it  was  purely  a  political 
appointment.  He  avows  frankly  that  poetry  was  not  his  forte. 
He  hopes  he  is  too  good  a  judge  to  be  misled  by  any  egotism  of 
that  sort  He  never  was  a  poet,  and  he  knows  it  quite  as  well  as 
they  can  tell  him.  He  is  fully  aware  of  his  strength  and  his 
ireakness.  He  thinks  that  he  has  substantial  claims  upon  posterity 
as  a  dramatic  writer.  Changes  of  habits  and  manners  operate 
fatally  on  the  permanence  of  comedy ;  but  he  had  as  little  reason 
to  complain  of  neglect  as  greater  writers.  What  had  become  of 
!Eth€rege  and  Wycherley?  Was  Congreve  or  Vanbrugh  ever 
heard  of  now  ?  Why  should  he  murmur  at  a  fate  in  which  they 
participated  ?  One  thing  he  had  done,  which  would  make  him 
remembered  as  long  as  books  were  read.  He  need  not  say  that 
he  alluded  to  the  Apology  for  his  life.  Perhaps  they  might  say 
he  had  done  a  better  thing  in  living  the  life  that  called  for  such  an 
apology.  Of  course.  He  must  have  lived  it,  or  he  could  not 
have  had  the  materials  to  work  upon.'  That  wcu  a  book — an 
enduring  book.  It  outlived  the  libels  of  Pope.  It  was  better 
known,  more  read,  and  certainly  contained  more  agreeable  reading 
than  the  ^^  Dunciad.^'  At  least,  that  was  his  opinion.  He  did 
not  pretend  to  say  that  his  appointment  to  the  laureateship  was 
altogether  a  proper  appointment ;  but  he  could  not  help  remark- 
ing that  he  considered  an  actor  equal  to  a  parson  any  day. 
He  was  not  so  bad  an  actor  as  Eusden  was  a  parson ;  and  the 
amount  of  merit  a  man  discovered  in  whatever  he  undertook  to 
do  was  the  standard  by  which  he  should  be  relatively  tested.  It 
would  be  invidious  to  make  any  comparison  with  his  predecessor 
on  the  score  of  poetry.  He  had  always  acted  candidly  in  his 
controversies,  and  even  when  Pope  hunted  him  with  malevolent 
falsehoods,  he  answered  him  openly  and  honestly.  He  would 
take  no  advantage  of  Mr.  Eusden;  but  as  it  was  clearly  impossible 
that  any  person  who  had  been  decently  educated,  or  who  had 
enough  of  capacity  to  put  two  lines  of  correct  English  into  a 
couplet,  could  sink  the  office  lower  than  it  had  been  sunk  by  that 
gentleman,  he  believed  there  was  no  great  vanity  in  taking  credit 
to  himself  for  not  having  left  it  in  a  more  degraded  state  than  he 
had  found  it. 

Mr.  William  Whitehead,  and  the  Reverend  Thomas  Warton,who 
were  next  in  succession  to  the  laurel,  may  be  excused  for  exhibit- 
ing a  little  dissatisfaction  at  Mr.  Gibber's  observations.  White- 
head, the  most  industrious  of  all  the  makers  of  odes,  and  Warton, 
the  most  refined,  have  special  reasons  of  their  own  for  dissenting 
from  most  of  these  remarks.  Whitehead  thinks  Mr.  Gibber  a 
little  vulgar.  It  is  easily  understood  why  he  should  be  rather 
sensitive  on  the  matter  of  gentility.  No  men  are  so  genteel  as 
men  of  obscure  birth — the  thing  they  ought  to  be  most  proud  of, 
when  they  have  lifted  themselves,  as  Whitehead  did,  by  the  force 
of  their  merits  into  high  positions.  But  Whitehead  is  evidently 
nervous  on  this  point.  He  wishes  it  to  bo  seen  that  he  is  a  gen- 
tleman, and  would  have  it  known  that  he  visits  lords.     Let  as 


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338  A   GOSSIP  ABOUT   LAURELS  AND   LAUREATES. 

forgive  him  the  foible.  He  makes  so  large  a  demand  on  our 
forbearance  in  other  respects  that  we  can  afford  to  tolerate  his 
weakness  in  a  trifle  of  this  nature.  If  we  could  as  easily  pardon 
his  forty-eight  odes  as  we  can  overlook  his  ambition  to  be 
thought  well  of  in  good  society,  it  would  be  more  to  the  purpose 
of  his  fame.  But  Whitehead  is  no  longer  to  be  found  among  the 
British  Poets.  He  is  like  a  racer  that  has  fallen  away  out  of 
sight,  and  his  place,  in  the  language  of  the  turf,  is — no^where. 
Not  so  Warton.  He  stands,  like  a  granite  statue,  on  his  History 
of  Poetry.  But  his  pedestal,  solid  as  it  was  when  it  was  first 
set  up,  is  crumbling  rapidly  under  his  feet.  ^Fhe  opening  of  a 
thousand  new  sources  of  knowledge  since  his  tiipe  has  developed 
to  us  at  once  the  extent  of  his  industry  and  the  inadequacy  of  its 
results.  It  is  no  longer  a  history  to  which  students  can  repair  with 
safety;  but  it  will  always  be  regarded  with  respect  as  a  pioneer 
labour  which  has  facilitated  the  onward  progress  of  subsequent 
research.  Warton  might  justly  object  to  the  indifferent  tone  in 
which  Gibber  speaks  of  the  laureateship.  He  had  himself  adorned 
the  office  with  graceful  chaplets,  disclosing  much  ingenuity,  learn* 
ing  and  taste.  He  does  not  choose  to  be  confounded  with  the 
poetasters  and  parasites  who  brought  it  into  scandal  and  disre- 
pute. He  knows  how  many  men  of  rank  in  the  republic  of  letters 
refused  to  be  laureated,  and  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  drink 
the  Canary.  But  he  had  accepted  the  crown,  and  tapped  the 
tierce,  and  redeemed  the  honour  of  the  poetic  royalty.  He  says 
as  much  to  the  bards  around  him ;  and  says  it  with  an  impas'- 
sioned  voice,  that  calls  up  a  similar  vindication  from  his  suc- 
cessor. 

To  him  Pye — at  the  Epic  writers  have  it.  But  what  Pye  said 
may  be  unhesitatingly  consigned  to  oblivion  with  his  own  Epic, 
which  nobody  bom  within  the  last  thirty  years  ever  heard  of, 
and  the  name  of  which  shall  not  be  disentombed  by  us. 

For  any  further  information  concerning  the  Laureates — going 
as  far  back  as  old  Drayton,  whose  fine  head,  in  the  only  portrait 
that  is  known  of  him,  is  always  encircled  by  a  wreath,  we  refer 
the  curious  reader  to  the  volume  of  biographies  just  published 
by  Messrs.  Austin  and  Ralph.  It  is  a  book  full  of  biographical 
particulars,  and  critical  suggestions,  and  will  amply  repay  the  hour 
consumed  in  its  perusal. 


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S39 


A  "JUICY*'  DAY  IN  KENSINGTON  GARDENS. 

BY  ALFRED  W.  COLE. 

'TwAS  in  the  leafy  month  of  June, 

The  hour  was  half-past  five  ; 
At  Kensington  the  Gardens  soon 

With  beauty  were  alive. 

^is  true  the  wind  was  rather  high, 

As  fi'om  the  east  it  blew. 
And  rather  chilly,  while  the  sky 

Looked  very  murky  too. 

But  who  could  think  of  clouds  or  wind  ? 

Or  who  would  dare  to  say 
He  had  a  fear  within  his  mind 

Twould  rain  on  tuch  a  day  ? 

Then  let  the  east  wind  blow  its  worst — 

The  band  is  blowing  too — 
And  if  those  nasty  clouds  should  bur^t, 

They  c^in  but  wet  us  through. 

How  gaily  look'd  each  bonnet  pink  ! 

How  chaste  each  bonnet  white  ! 
Alas !  what  mortal  then  could  think 

How  soon  'twould  look  a  "  fright  ?" 

Three  drops  came  down ! — "  We  'd  better  go^ 
"  Ah !  no— we  'd  better  stop ; 
We  never  could  escape — and  so— 
Besides  it 's  siich  a  drop^ 

We  ni  stand  beneath  that  nice  large  tree 

Until  it  has  done  drizzling, 
And  then  'twill  be  such  fun  to  see 

Those  dainty  bonnets  *^  mizzling." 

It  isn't  leaving  off  the  least. 

But  still  it^  quite  diverting; 
The  music— ev'rything  has  ceas'd, 

Except  the  rain — and  flirting. 

The  wet  begins  to  patter  through : 

This  isn't  quite  such  fun — 
I  really  think,  'twixt  me  and  you, 

We  'd  better  "  cut  and  run.'' 

See  yonder  cottage— don'*t  you  think 
We  'd  better  make  for  that  ? 


Or  woe  betide  each  bonnet  pink 

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And  woe  betide  each  hat ! 


r 


340  A   "juicy'"    day   in   KENSINGTON   GARDENS. 

Away  we  go — we  reach  the  cot, 
And  gladly  through  the  door 

We  pass — ^but,  bless  me,  what  a  lot 
Have  entered  it  before  ! 

No  matter — we  shall  find  a  place — 

At  all  events  we  '11  try, 
And  should  we  be  confiuM  for  space 

Twill  help  to  squeeze  us  dry. 

The  cottage,  too,  looks  neat  and  well, 

The  landlady  polite. 
With  cakes  and  ginger-beer  to  sell. 

And  linen  snowy  white. 

And  six  sweet  children,  who  Ve  been  sent 
As  blessings,  we  must  hope, 

Exhaling— little  dears  I—the  scent 
Of  cakes  and  yellow  soap. 

The  hours  flew  by — the  rain  still  fell — 

And  yet  within  that  cot 
(Spite  of  the  yellow  soapy  smell) 

I  envied  no  man's  lot. 

We  quizzed,  we  chatted,  and  we  smiled — 
Some  may  have  flirted  slightly — 

But  time  was  ne'er  so  well  beguiled 
Nor  seem'd  to  pass  more  lightly. 

At  length,  when  no  one  cared  or  thought 

If  raining  cats  and  dogs, 
A  "  ministering  angel "  brought 

Umbrellas,  cloaks,  and  clogs. 

Then  well  wrapp'd  up  we  sallied  out 
And  patter'd  through  the  wet, 

Looking,  I  feel  beyond  a  doubt, 
A  very  happy  set. 

The  night  was  pass'd  in  mirth  and  joy. 

And  here  is  all  I  say — 
May  pleasure  ne'er  have  more  alloy 

Than  on  that  "  juicy"  day  ! 

My  midnight  taper 's  almost  burnt. 

My  story,  too,  is  ended. 
But  one  thing  more  that  day  I  learnt — 

Jemima's  legs  are  splendid. 


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RSVIBW8.  341 

Facts  and  Faces;  or,  Ihe.Mutual  Connexion  between  lineai  and 
Mental  Portraiture,  morally  considered.  With  Pictorial  lUus-r 
trations.  By  Thomas  Woolnoth,  Esq.,  Engravef  in  Ordinary 
to  the  Queen. 

This  volume  is  at  once  amusing  and  instructiye.  It  is  a  prac- 
tical guide  to  the  study  of  the  "  human  face  divine,"  founded  upon 
principles  of  philosophical  inquiry,  emanating  from  the  mind 
of  a  trained  and  skilful  observer,  a  veteran  in  experience,  and 
an  enthusiast  in  the  pursuit  of  all  branches  of  knowledge  con- 
nected with  fine  art.  Mr.  Woolnoth  has  popularized  the  subject 
by  the  delivery  of  lectures;  apd  the  success  ne  has  met  with  has 
encouraged  him  to  publish  these  in  a  more  extended  form,  ap- 
propriately illustrated.  We  cordially  recommend  this  attractive 
work  to  dl  who  feel  interested  in  the  study  of  one  of  the  most 
curious  and  absorbing  topics — the  art  of  reading  human  character. 

On  the  Decline  of  Life  in  Health  and  Disease;  being  an  Attempt 
to  Investigate  the  Causes  of  Longevity,  and  the  best  Means  of 
attaining  a  Healthful  Old  Age,  By  Barnard  Van  Oven,  M.D., 
Fellow  of  the  Royal  Medical  and  Surgical  Society,  &c.  Lon- 
don :  John  Churchill,  Princes  Street,  Soho. 

"  The  materials  of  the  Pharos,"  said  the  wise  Arabian,  "  lay 
scattered  all  over  the  laud  of  Egypt,  but  when  built,  a  child  might 
walk  round  it;"  and  the  aphorism  is  not  inapplicable  to  the  work 
before  us,  for  out  of  irresistible  but  isolatecl  fc^U,  equally  dis- 
persed, overlooked  and  neglected,  the  author  has,  with  vast  labour 
and  research,  constructed  a  beacon  which,  if  less  sublime,  is  at 
least  far  more  useful.  It  is  the  conviction  of  Dr.  Van  Oven  that 
the  majority  of  mankind  pass  the  first  half  of  existence  in  a  sort  of 
sluttish  profusion  of  health  and  good  spirits,  and  that,  having  duly 
squandered  those  blessings,  they  waste  the  autumn  of  life  in  a 
desponding  and  inert  regret,  and  a  supine  neglect  of  those  means 
by  which  their  lost  advantages  might  be  retrieved  and  life  pro- 
longed in  comparative  vigour  far  beyond  the  ordinary  period.  To 
the  prematurely  infirm,  the  drooping  and  the  nervous,  the  perusal 
of  this  book  must  be  like  a  re-animating  draught  of  some  newly- 
found  elixir  vitcB.  But  the  resemblance  fails  in  this,  that  its  pages 
contain  not  one  drop  of  quackery.  The  author  does  not  promise 
the  questionable  sempitemity  of  GuUiver^s  Strullbruggs,  but  speaks 
in  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  science,  and  with  a  mild 
wisdom,  which  may  breathe  hope,  solace  and  encouragement  to 
ears  that  had  forgotten  their  very  sound. 

In  the  words  of  the  author,  the  work  proposes  to  show,  "  that  at 
the  present  time,  in  this  country,  the  duration  of  life  generally 
falls  far  short  of  that  which  man  is  capable  of  attaining ;"  and 
^'  that  any  one  who  has  attained  a  healthy  maturity  may  mate* 
rially  prolong  that  period,  and  avert  the  accession  of  decay ;  and 
that  diey  who  appear  inevitably  destined  to  suffer  disease  may, 
for  a  long  time,  keep  it  in  abeyance,  and,  when  it  does  appear,  may 
mitigate  its  evils  and  procrastinate  a  fatal  result."      He  substan- 

VOL.   XXXIV.  Digitized  bA^  A  ^^ 


342  WINE  AND   WATER. 

tiates  these  views  not  by  reasoning  only,  but  by  a  series  of  tables, 
recording  the  names  of  nearly  seven  thousand  individuals  who 
attained  to  ages  of  one  hundred  years  and  upwards. 

We  heartUy  recommend  this  extraordinary  little  work  to  all 
who  are  interested  (and  who  is  not  ?)  in  the  momentous  subject 
to  which  it  relates. 


WINE   AND   WATER. 

CoHB,  drink,  fHends,  while  my  muse 
Bursts  forth  in  praise  of  water ; 
1 11  prove  its  firm  supporter, 
Though  some  its  worth  abuse. 
Without,  to  my  poor  thinking. 
This  liquid  they  malign. 
We  scarce  should  now  be  drinking 
Good  wine !  good  wine!  good  wine ! 

When,  from  the  sun's  fierce  power, 
The  grape  is  scarce  surviving. 
Its  health  at  once  reviving, 
Oft  comes  a  welcome  shower, 
*Tis  water,  then,  while  curing 
The  parched  and  thirsty  vine,' 
'Tis  water  then  insuring 
Our  wine !  our  wine  !  our  wine ! 

While  on  the  banks  I  stand, 
The  ships  I  view  with  pleasure. 
Whose  decks  bear  me  a  treasure 
Of  wine  from  every  land. 
I  thank  the  mighty  river 
That  brings  the  juice  divine. 
For  water  *s  then  the  giver 
Of  wine !  of  wine !  of  wine  I 

Then  from  its  praise  don't  shrink. 

Don't  let  dull  fools  abuse  it : 

For  all  things  we  can  use  jt, 

For  all — except  for  drink. 

Then  join,  my  fViends,  in  chofus. 

In  water's  praise  combine ; 

But  fill  the  glass  before  us 

With  wine !  with  wine  I  with  wine ! 

M.  A.B. 


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ASPEN  COURT, 

AND   WHO   LOST    ATiD   WHO    WON    IT. 

^  ®ale  of  our  ©ton  ®me. 
By  StfiRLEY  Brooks, 

AUTHOR  OT  ^*MI88   VIOLET   AND   HER  OFFERS." 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   QUARTER  OF   A   MINUTE. 

"  Bbhbarsing  a  charade,  young  people?"  said  Mrs.  Forester, 
^ho  followed  Hey  wood ;  into  the  room,  as  Mary  Maynard  was  ex- 
tricating herself  froim .  Garlyon's  unresisting  arms.  "  May  one 
know  the  word  ?  I  am  a  great  authority  in  such  matters,  though 
really  I  do  not  think  that  I-  could  improve  this  part  of  the  per- 
formance.   What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Hey  wood  ?" 

''  Such  things  are  not  much  in  my  way,"  said  the  priest,  care- 
lessly, "  but  our  good  young  Secretary  seems  to  act  with  much 
ease,  and  ^s  if  he  had  previously  rehearsed  the  situation." 

"  Not  with  me,"  said  Miss  Maynard,  very  calmly  walking  to  a 
mirror  and  rearranging  her  hair,  '*  as  we  nev^rmet  in  our  lives, 
at  least,  so  far  as  I  know,  until  this  evening.  He  is  not  a  bad 
actor,  but  he  wants  enthusiasm.  But  you  may  remember  your 
promise,  Mr.  Bernard,"  she  added,  returning  to  the  table  and 
taking  a  seat,  "  and  you  may  give  me  some  of  those  white  grapes." 

Carlyon  obeyed,  not  exactly  sorry  to  be  employed;  for  the 
situation,  which  certainly  he  had  jiot  done  much  to'  bring  about^ 
began  to  be  a  sort  of  false  position. 

'^  Mr.  Hey  wood  knows  the  word,"  he  said,  "  and  therefore  it  is 
useless  to  go  on  with  the  charade,  which  has  increased  my  opinion 
of  his  talents.  The  second  part  must  be  very  clever  to  be  half  so 
good  as  the  first." 

''  I  dare  say  it  will  give  your  talents  some  scope,"  said  Hey- 
wood,  drily.  ^'  I  should  not  have  intruded  at  such  an  hour,  Mrs. 
Forester,  but  for  hearing  from  Lord  Rookbury  that  you  had  a 
party.  I  never  interrupt  such  conclaves,  except  by  accident,  as 
Carlyon  knows.  By  the  way,  Bernard,  I  am  in  St.  Albans 
Place — ^look  in  upon  me." 

The  tone  of  the  little  group  became  constrained,  and  Mrs* 
Forester  declared  that  she  meant  to  be  at  church  in  the  morning, 
and  would  not  be  kept  up  any  longer. 

*'  Very  liberal  in  you  to  call  that  ugly,  pokey,  proprietary 
preaching-house  a  church,"  said  Heywood.  *'  Even  as  a  Ca- 
tholic, I  am  surprised  at  you,  while  that  Protestant  Giovanni 
there  must  be  actually  shocked.  Why  don^t  you  give  things 
their  right  names,  Mrs.  Forester  ?" 


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344  ASPEN   COURT. 

"  The  edifice  is  nothing — the  edification  everything/'  said 
beautiful  Mrs.  Forester,  demurely^ 

^'  It  is  the  Minister  that  draws  you  there,  then,''  said  Heywood 
in  an  under  tone.  "  So  I  hear.  Does  he  lend  you  a  secretary  to 
carry  your  prayer-book  ?" 

*'  It  is  not  you  who  ought  to  tease  me,"  said  the  lady,  but  not 
looking  in  the  least  ofiended.*  And  soon  afterwards  the  men 
went  away. 

*'  I  like  her  having  you  here,''  said  Hejrwood  with  a  quiet 
laugh,  almost  before  the  door  bad  closed  oa  them..  ''  I  do  like  it. 
There's  a  new  display  of  that  amiable  straightforward  perse- 
verance which  is  the  great  charm  of  some  women.  "  She  'U  have 
your  master  yet,  sir,  your  Evangelical  Talus  of  the  iron  flaiL 
Won't  even  let  his  secretary  alone,  but  gets  up  a  supper  and 
a  flirtation  for  him  the  instant  he  is  installed.  Don't  be  ungrate- 
ful, Bernard  Carlyon.  It  is  a  sad  wicked  world,  but  show  it 
an  example.  Help  the  poor  woman  if  you  can,  and  especially 
give  her  the  earliest  information  of  Selwyn's  movements.  WUt 
he  be  at  chapel  to-day  ?  " 

"I  hardly  know,"  replied  Bernard,  wishing  to  try  whether  Hey- 
wood thought  him  mystified.  "  But  as  a  matter  of  the  merest 
guess,  I  should  say  that  he  would  not." 

"  Then  you  are  clearly  defrauding  Mrs.  Fcurester  of  her  sup^per 
and  the  other  little  amusements  provided  for  you,  by  goiag  away 
and  leaving  her  in  error.    Go  back  and  tell  her." 

"  And  perhaps  prevent  her  receiving  nobody  knows  how  mnoh 
— what  did  she  term  it — edification.  No,  no,  I  hope  I  am  more 
scrupulous/'  replied  Bernard,  with  gravity.  Some  further  talk 
in  the  same  tone  brought  them  to  Jermyn  Street,  whence  Hey- 
wood, renewing  his  invitation  to  Carlyon  to  call,  dropped  down 
upon  that  most  gloomy  but  most  convenient  ^'  place  "  which 
reminds  us  of  our  first  martyred  Christian  and  last  martyred 
borough. 

The  Botherhithe  House  party  had  been  on  the  Friday,  and  the 
supper  in  Park  Street  on  the  Saturday.  On  the  following  Taet- 
day  morning  Bernard  received  a  letter  from  A^en  Court,  where 
Mrs.  Wilmslow  begged  his  immediate  presence.  The  letter  was 
short,  but  so  earnest,  that  Carlyon,  whose  regard  for  the  writer 
had  attained  a  warmth  unusual  with  him,  resolved  to  obey  the 
summons.  A  congi  from  Selwyn  was  speedily  obtained,  but  it 
occunred  to  Bernard,  that  as  his  connection  with  the  TVilmslowB 
bad  originated  solely  in  his  position  with  Mr.  Molesworth,  it  would 
be  proper  to  inform  that  person  that  he  proposed  to  revisit  them. 
He  made,  tiierefore,  for  Red  Lion  Square,  but  found  from  his  old 
comrades  that  Mr.  Molesworth  had  left  town  for  some  days-*- 
not  however,  for  Gloucestershire.  Carlyon,  therefore,  wrote  to 
Mr.  Molesworth,  apprising  him  of  his  intention  to  mn  down 
to  Aspen,  and  departed  by  the  railway.  During  the  joursey 
he  naturdly  speculated  as  to  the  emergency  which  had  caused 
Mrs.  Wilmslow  to  summon  him,  and  pretty  speedily  settled  tfaflt 
the  case  was  one  of  pecuniary  mishap.   In  fact,  he  pictured  Heniy 


Digitized  by 


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ABPDf  comer.  S45 


WikoBlow  IoIHb^  on  €oe  oftbc  cevichet  in  his  smokiBg-rooa^ 
Hid  dniikiiig  bnuidj  and  wate^  with  a  brace  of  dirtj  bat  jooaie 
emtodcans. 

At  one  oi  those  huge  stations,  where  the  line  expands  into  a 
great  area  of  iron  wajs,  and  where  superficial  people  mnf  snpfMsa 
that  the  rolling  stock  is  bred^  from  the  multitude  of  loose  engines, 
large  and  small,  straying  and  feeding  in  all  directtons^  and  run- 
ning into  and  out  of  sheds^  apparently  at  tbeir  own  whim,  the 
Gloncester  train  stopped.  A  few  nuAntes  later,  and  as  the  beU 
rsng  for  the  down-train  tra^diers  to  finish  their  excellent  soup, 
and  leave  off  admiring  the  iar-glancing  Daughters  of  the  Eail  who 
serve  it^  and  whose  tasteful  toilettes  make  travelling  dowdies  veiy 
sarcastic  for  the  frst  half  hour  after  lunch^  the  up-train  arrivied. 
Bernard  had  regained  his  own  corner  of  the  carriage,  as  the  latter 
train  ^ided  slowly  to  a  stand-isrtall,  and  a  oMving  panorama  of 
fiiees  slid  past  him.  The  newly  arriving  train  stopped,  and  he  was 
fisoe  to  face  with  Lilian  Trevelyan. 

In  a  moment,  of  course,  Bemard^s  heart  was  in  a  flutter,  and 
his  hand  extended.  But  no  little  hand  came  from  the  opposite 
window  to  meet  his  own.  Lilian  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a 
moment,  he  thought,  sorrowfully,  and  then,  seeming  to  catch  a 
glance  from  her  opposite  companion,  bowed  very  slightly,  and  with 
averted  eye,  and  cast  her  eyes  nfon  a  book  on  her  lap.  The  rsil- 
w^y  whistle  shrieked,  and  all  was  over  in  &r  less  time  than  it  has. 
taken  to  teU  it. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  Carlyon's  mind  was  little  occupied,  dar- 
ing the  remainder  of  that  journey,  with  plans  for  Mrs.  Wilmslow'a 
benefit. 

What  worlds  would  he  have  flung  away  to  have  been  able  to 
persuade  himself  that  in  the  hurry,  and  the  travelling  cap,  and 
the  shadow  of  the  station  roo^  he  had  not  been  recognized.  Even 
such  a  wounding  thought  as  that — the  thought  that  the  chosen  of 
his  heart  should  not  have  made  him  out  by  the  least  glimpse 
of  one  feature — a  thought  that  under  any  other  drcumstanoes- 
he  would  have  spumed  from  him  in  wrath — such  a  conviction 
would,  at  that  moment,  have  been  unspeakable  consolation.  But^ 
wonderful  as  is  a  lover's  power  of  compelling  himself  to  believe 
what  he  desires  to  believe,  some  things  are  beyond  him.  The 
credo  quia  impossUnle  est  of  theology  will  not  hold  good  in  love- 
affairs.  Lilian  knew  him  as  well  as  he  knew  her.  They  had  met 
but  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  but  each  had  had  time  to  read  a 
whole  history  in  the  face  of  the  other,  and  to  know  that  the  other 
had  done  the  same.  There  was  no  regecting  the  mystery— it  must 
be  solved. 

Needless  to  say  which  way  Bemard^s  convictions  went.  Cer* 
tain  suspicions  of  his  own,  relative  to  the  little  scene  at  Mrs« 
Forester's,  instantly  attracted  other  suspicions  which  were  floating 
in  tine  atmosphere  of  the  young  gentleman's  perturbed  imagina- 
tion,  and  the  whole  were  speedily  agglomerated  into  a  coherent 
plot  against  him.  A  practical  mind^  too,  was  Bernard's,  and  of 
QMne  practical  men  never  go  wrong.    Mr.  Heywood  had  seea 

DigitizedlytiOOQlC 


S46  ASPEN  COUBT. 

the  affair  with  Mary  Maynard,  on  the  Sunday  morning,  and  had 
therefore  had  ample  time  to  write  a  full  account  of  it  to  Miss 
Trevelyan ;  and  she  was  naturally  offended^  and  having  no  time 
for  explanation,  and  not  choosing  to  be  hypocritical^  and  smile 
when  angry,  had  taken  the  only  means  in  her  power  to  let  him  see 
her  feelings. 

The  first  shock  of  the  incident  of  course  jarred  upon  all  sen- 
sation, and  set  Bernard  wrong  with  everybody  and  everything 
around  him.  It  inspired  him  with  a  contemptuous  dislike  of  his 
fellow-travellers,  made  him  regard  the  beautiful  country  about  him 
as  hard  and  commonplace,  and  caused  him  to  feel  that  the  journey 
he  had  undertaken  would  be  a  failure^  and  that  he  was  foolish  and 
hasty  in  making  it.  For  a  little  shake  puts  the  human  instrument 
vilely  out  of  tune, — and  that  quarter  of  a  minute  had  a  whole 
world  of  discouragement  in  it.  But  we  get  over  these  things.  In 
a  short  time  Carlyon  began  to  review  the  matter  more  calmly,  and 
he  had  scarcely  done  so  when  sunshine  broke  in  upon  his  mind, 
and  a  few  miles  further  on  the  journey  which  was  separating  him 
from  Lilian,  he  might  have  been  found  comforting  himself  with 
great  earnestness.  First,  he  thought  of  the  sorrowful  look  which 
had  crossed  her  face  for  a  second,  and  this  cheered  him  exceed- 
ingly ;  for,  as  he  argued,  with  remarkable  novelty,  no  one  looks 
sorrowful  except  when  a  strong  interest  is  felt.  So  that  he  really 
began  to  be  obliged  to  Lilian  for  having  given  him  so  delightful  an 
assurance  of  her  regard.  How  indignantly  he  now  spurned  at 
the  possibility  that  he  had  not  been  recognized,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  say. 

Then  he  began  to  calculate  how  speedily  he  could  come  to  an 
explanation  with  her — hardly  before  the  following  evening — and 
this  naturally  brought  him  to  the  consideration  of  what  he  should 
say.  The  truth  ?  No  man  really  and  honestly  in  love  ever  told 
the  truth  yet.  If  he  states  things  as  they  are,  he  sees  them  from 
a  point  of  view  which  no  lover  can  occupy.  It  is  quite  enough 
for  him  to  state  them  as  he  wishes  them  to  be.  Else,  he  only 
vindicates  his  truth  as  an  historian,  at  the  expense  of  his  truth  as 
a  lover,  and  is  a  sober  man  affecting  to  be  intoxicated — a  con- 
temptible sight,  at  the  best,  and  infinitely  less  respectable  than 
the  intoxicated  man  affecting  to  be  sober.  I  will  not  out- 
rage Carlyon^s  character  by  assuming  that  he  was  so  false  and 
hollow  as  to  think  of  telling  Lilian  the  truth.  He  was  only 
thinking  how  best  he  should  put  the  matter,  so  as  to  arrive  most 
speedily  at  the  greatest  happiness  for  both — a  complete  reconcilia- 
tion. He  might  have  saved  himself  much  trouble,  and  Mary 
Maynard's  black  hair  would  not  have  come  sweeping  across  his 
mental  eye  so  often,  if  he  had  known  that  Lilian  had  never  heard 
of  his  having  supped  in  Park  Street. 

What,  he  wondered,  had  Heywood  said  ?  There  was  one  com- 
fort, he  must  have  written,  for  Bernard  had  called  that  morning 
in  St.  Albans  Place^  and  missed  him  by  a  few  minutes  only.  So 
that  there  was  a  letter,  which  Lilian  would  produce,  and  its  false- 
hoods and  false  colouring  (detestable  things,  thought  Benuurd) 

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ASPEN  COURT.  347 

could  be  exposed.  Meantime  he  could  trust  in  her  affection^ 
which  would  be  strong  enough^  he  argued^  to  forgive  him^  if 
wrongs  and  which  ought  therefore^  assuredly,  to  acquit  him  where 
the  case  was  doubtful.  Herein  he  reasoned,  perhaps,  with  more 
logic  than  experience,  as  some  authorities  hold,  that,  in  love 
matters,  you  had  better  be  guilty  than  be  wrongly  suspected,  first, 
inasmuch  as  you  will  be  much  more  earnest,  and  therefore  much 
more  successful  in  obtaining  a  reconciliation,  and,  secondly,  as 
you  will  appeal  to  the  heart,  rather  than  to  the  head  of  your 
mistress.  But  this  is  mere  scandal,  let  us  hope. 
^  So,  comforting  himself,  Carlyon  could  even  acknowledge  the 
beauty  of  the  sunset,  in  which  the  rich  Gloucestershire  foliage 
was  waving  and  glowing. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 
THE   OWL   AGAIN. 

So  far  from  finding  the  Ambassador  in  the  state  of  detention 
which  Carlyon  had  considered  probable,  the  latter,  as  his  chaise 
turned  the  last  comer,  and  approached  the  house,  beheld  Mr. 
Henry  Wilmslow  walking  up  and  down  the  terrace.  As  the 
sound  of  wheels  reached  his  ear,  the  owner  of  Aspen  Court  gazed 
out  sternly,  his  hand  upon  his  forehead,  to  ascertain  who  was 
venturing  upon  his  domain.  And,  seated  near  the  lai^  door,  and 
in  the  full  warmth  of  the  evening  sun,  was  another  figure  speedily 
recognised  by  Bernard.  It  was  that  of  Lord  Rookbury.  Henry 
Wilmslow^s  look  of  surprise  as  he  recognized  Carlyon  was  not  lost 
upon  the  latter. 

''  She  has  not  told  him,  trusting  to  my  having  sense  enough  to 
manage  it,  and  I  have  blundered.  By  Jove !  though,  I  ^U  make 
a  dash  for  it,  and  save  her  a  scene  with  that  ass.'^ 

"  So  ho !  Master  Lawyer,'^  exclaimed  the  gentleman  Bernard 
had  thus  designated.  "  Who  expected  you,  I  wonder  ?  What  'b 
in  the  wind  now?" 

"  That's  the  only  way,"  thought  Carlyon,  alighting.  "Why," 
he  said,  "  surely,  I  can^t  have  beaten  Mr.  Molesworth  ?" 

"  D — n  it,  I  don^t  know  why  you  shouldn't,"  retorted  Henry 
Wilmslow,  brilliantly,  "  he  deserves  beating,  I  dare  say,  as  much 
as  any  other  of  the  trade.  Present  company  always  excepted, 
of  course,  ha!  ha!" 

"  Thanks  for  the  exception,  which  certainly  mends  matters," 
said  Bernard,  affecting  to  be  heartily  amused.  "  But  do  you 
mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Molesworth  is  not  here  ?  " 

"  Here !  no,  man,^^  said  the  Ambassador,  whose  grin  rapidly 
toned  down  into  a  discomfited  expression,  as  he  began  to  compre- 
hend that  the  lawyer  was  coming.     "  What  should  he  do  here?" 

"  That  he  must  tell  you  himself,''  said  Bernard,  '^  for  I  have  no 
idea  why  he  should  come.  All  I  know  is,  that  I  was  in  his  office 
this  morning— that  I  was  requested  to  come  down  here,  and  that 
he  left  town  before  I  did.     Since  you  say  he  has  not  ja*rived.  he 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


S48  JLSnK  COGR. 

must  be  detained  somewliere.    I  mntt  ask  yotur  hoopkalify  ntil 
tiie  mystefT^ifl  cleared  up.^ 

''  I  sMj,  Lord  Rookbnrj^^  aaid  Henrji  vaUnag  away  finom  Beeu 
nard  without  replying^  ^  here's  a  screw  k>ose.''  And  gmng  up  to 
kis  noble  firiend^  he  commniiicated  the  newa. 

''What,  Mr.  Secretary!''  said  the  Earl,  ''leavincr  tiH»  Ckiiena. 
mant  to  take  care  of  itself  while  yon  run  into  the  covstry  aftev 
the, ladies.  I  cautioned  you  against  that  sort  of  thing  at  Bothem 
kiilhe  House — it  won't  do  for  a  man  who  has  his  way  ta  make* 
Wait  till  you  are  a  Premier,  and  tketiJ^ 

'^  If  be  has  come  with  that  yiew,  he  'II  be  dcvilidily  sold,  won't 
he,  my  lord  ?"  said  Heary.  *'  Bird 's  flovm,  Mr.  Secretary,"  added 
the  Ambassador,  with  an  ill-bred  man's  readiness  to  catch  up  a 
soubriquet,  and  use  it. 

"  Not  having  come  with  that  view,"  said  Carlyon,  determined 
to  preserve  his  good-humour,  ^  the  sale  is  postponed  until  further 
notice."  And  his  laugh  was  not  a  bad  imitation  of  the  ex- 
oflScer's. 

**  Nobody  here  but  Mrs.  Wihnslow,"  said  her  husband.  "  But 
if  you  want  anything  to  eat,  I  recommesd  yon  to  go  and  make 
leve  to  her  for  it."  And  with  this  gracious  intimation,  he  turned 
his  back  upon  Carlyon,  and  spoke  in  a  lower  voice  to  the  EarL 

"  Bem§  dreadfully  famished,"  said  Bernard,  ''  I  will  avail  my- 
srif  of  your  permission."  And  he  was  passing  into  the  housey 
when  Lord  Bookbury  said,  looking  keenly  at  him, 

^  I  say,  Mr.  Cariyon,  you  are  no  longer  hi  Moleswwth's 
employ — how  happens  it  that  yon  are  doing  his  errands?" 

<'  I  conclude,"  said  Bernard,  carelessly,  ^  that  my  having  so 
recently  had  much  to  do  with  Mr.  Wilmslow's  business  made  it 
not  unreasonable  to  ask  me  to  attend  on  an  emergency." 

^  And  what  is  the  emergency  ?  for  I  know  nothing  about  it, 
nor  does  my  friend  Mr.  Wilmslow,  I  believe." 

*'  Not  I,"  said  Henry,  pleased  at  the  title  of  Lord  B.ookbury's  . 
friend,  and  disposed  to  be  haughty  thereupon.     ''  And  it  seems  a 
d — d  queer  thing  to  me,  and,  in  fact,  not  the  thing  at  all,  that  a 
set  of  lawyers  should  be  rushing  into  a  gentleman's  house  without 
giving  him  notice  of  any  kind." 

''  I '])  stop  thia/*  muttered  Bernard,  beginning  to  get  indignant. 
*  I  thought,  Mr.  Wilmslow,"  he  said,  '^  that  you  had  had  enough 
of  notices  from  hiwyers,  in  your  time,  not  to  make  you  so  partictu 
larly  fastidious  about  missing  one." 

"  Nealdy  pfented,'*^  said  Lord  Kookbury,  who  was  always  most 
amiably  impartial  in  applauding  a  hit,  whether  friend  or  foe  sitf- 
fered.  His  approbation  stifled  any  retort  from  Wilmslow,  and 
Biemard,  not  sorry  to  cut  the  discussion  short,  raised  his  hat  and 
entered  the  house.  Crossing  the  well-known  hall,  he  proceeded, 
unannounced,  to  Mrs.  Wilmslow's  drawing-room. 

'^  Hear  what  be  says  to  yonr  wife,"  said  the  Eart,  qvickly. 

He  should  have  spoken  more  clearly,  kiMMring  what  a  donkey 
he  had  to  deal  with.  Perhaps,  howeter,  the  British  Bmt  wonU 
hardly  horfe  cared  to  say  '^  Listen  at  the  door,**  though  thai' 


donm  oomat.  §4$ 


he  memt^  Mid  wfai^  he  gsve  Htnry  ertdit  fot  baving  i 
ilood,  wken  tli«  h*ter  cmm  badi  with  tbe  aecowit  thai  CarljrtMi 
iMd  sind  1k>  Mrs«  Wilmslow  just  wkit  he  had  Mod  to  them,  and 
that  die  kwked  very  glad  to  see  hiiD« 

'^  How  do  70U  know  how  she  looked  ?''  said  the  EaH. 

••  Why,  waso^t  I  in  tbe  foosa/*  said  Henrjr,  simpiy. 

**  Oh  I  70«  were  ia  tbe  room !  Ah  t  to  be  sore^  you  wcnre  in  the 
room.  Ck  eooorse  yoa  were  in  the  room.  Hew  the  light  ftdk  oa 
that  water^  beyond  the  plantation  thare !  Noble  place  thk^  Wilaa- 
tAow,  and  one  that  desenres  to  be  in  good  haods.^ 

"  Yoor  lordAip  is  irery  good  to  flatter  me^"  said  Mr.  Wifan. 
slow,  who  did  not  see  the  expression,  neither  good  nor  flattering^ 
which  Lord  Kookbory  put  on  in  reply  to  the  acknowledgment. 
"  Of  coarse,  crippled  as  I  am,  I  can  do  little^  but  one  of  these 
days^  if  your  lordship^s  plan  should  be  worked  out,  I  hope  you'll 
be  abie  to  say  something  to  me  whieh  I  shall  deserre.^' 

^  We  '11  hope  so,  Wilmslow,  we  'U  hope  so*  Do  yoa  semembsv 
—of  oomrse  jfm  do-— those  fine  lines  of  Akenside^s — 

"  Calm  as  the  Judge  of  Truth  at  letigth  I  come. 
To  weigh  thj  merits  tmd  prcmounce  thy  doom. 
So  shall  my  trust  from  all  reproach  be  free. 
And  earth  and  time  confirm  the  stem  decree." 

*'  Now  yoa  repeat  them/'  said  Wilmslow,  "  I  remember  them 
perfectly,  bat  they  had  gone,  hke  thousands  of  similar  things.^' 

"  Great  story-teller,  thb  man/'  said  Lord  Kookbujry^  takisg  up 
a  Tolome  ei  Alexandre  Dumas. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Wilmslow  and  Bernard  were  coming  to 
their  own  explanations.  Jane  explained  that  she  had  intended  to 
meet  him,  but  had  fonnd  it  impossible  to  go  out  unobsenred,  and 
she  thanked  him  for  his  ruse,  deploring  that  she  was  compelled  to 
the  humiliation  oi  being  thankful  for  a  piece  of  deception.  And 
after  every  hurried  apology  for  calling  Bernard  into  the  country^ 
and  begging  him  to  pardon  any  questions  which  might  seem 
peremptory,  bnt  which  she  feared  might  be  interrupted  if  she  pal 
them  less  quickly,  she  entreated  him  to  explain  to  her  precisely^ 
the  position  of  herself  and  her  husband  in  regard  to  tbs  Aspen 
Court  property. 

It  will  be  remembered,  I  hop^  that  in  one  of  the  yery  earliesi 
chapters  of  this  book,  we  have  seen  that  Carlyon,  anticipating  this 
very  question,  demanded  of  his  then  employer  how  be  sbonld 
answer  it>  and  gave  a  promise  arising  out  of  its  being  found  that 
Bernard  knew  far  more  than  Molesworth  had  intended. 

'^  Bo  noty^  replied  Carlyon,  ^'  suppose  that  I  am  hesitating  over 
the  answer.  I  promise  not  to  leave  you  without  satisfying  you  <m 
all  points.  But  it  wiU,  perhaps,  not  retard  explanation,  Mrs« 
Wilmslow,  if  you  tell  me  in  the  first  place  why  yim  now  require, 
hastily,  what  you  had  so  many  opportunities  of  asking  at  leisure 
when  I  waa  staying  here.^' 

'^  Ob,  Mr.  Carlyon,^'  she  aaawered, "  if  you  oonld  understand  mj 
leelinga — if  yon  could  comprehend  the  state  of  gratitude  and  Iran* 
fniUity  into  whieh  a  nu^ther  is  lifted,  when  abe  sudden^  fijidi 

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350  ASPEN   COURT. 

herself  able  to  remove  her  children  from  a  condition — '^  and  here 
poor  Jane,  whose  nerves  were  obviously  all  unstrung,  begun  to 
weep  at  old  recollections.  Self-possession  returned  to  her  after 
some  moments^  and  she  continued,  ''  I  can  only  say  that  we  had 
had  troubles  enough,  and  I  was  too  glad  of  an  interval  of  peace 
to  care  to  disturb  it  by  asking  about  the  future.  But  now  I 
must  know  all,  for  deeper  matters  are  involved  than  mere  money. 
Bernard,  let  me  speak  to  you  as  a  mother  might  speak  to  her  son. 
Is  that  Lord  Rookbury  your  friend  V^ 

"  We  were  strangers  till  we  became  acquainted  in  hunting.  The 
first  day  we  passed  together  he  offered  to  serve  me,  and  did/' 

*'  For  his  own  purposes.^' 

*'  Why  does  any  one  serve  another  ?  Lord  Rookbury  began 
rather  earlier  in  our  acquaintanceship  than  usual,  that  is  all.'' 

'^Do  not  speak  so,  at  least  not  to  me,  Bernard,"  said  Mrs* 
Wilmslow,  turning  her  still  beautiful  blue  eyes  with  a  kindly  ex- 
pression (but  that  they  always  had)  full  upon  him.  ^'  For  I  know 
that  you  yourself  would  do  much  to  serve  poor  me,  who  can  do 
nothing  for  you  in  return." 

"  And  God  knows,  if  you  believe  that,  Mrs.  Wilmslow,"  said 
the  young  man,  moved  out  of  his  ordinary  self-possession, ''  you 
amply  repay  anything  I  could  do.  And  now  tell  me,  what  is  it 
that  you  apprehend  from  Lord  Rookbury  ?  Be  quite  sure  that 
you  can  tell  me  nothing  about  him  that  will  startle  me." 

*'  And — you — say — that,"  said  Jane,  slowly,  gazing  on  him  with 
that  steady  yet  vacant  expression  which  may  precede  either  a 
shriek  or  a  fall.  But  she  struggled  with  her  heart,  good,  loving 
creature  that  she  was,  and,  for  the  time,  conquered.  "  He  is  a 
very  bad  man,"  she  repeated,  in  a  gentle,  low  voice. 

"  Nay,  nay,  do  not  let  us  make  things  blacker  than  they  need 
he,"  said  Bernard,  strangely  puzzled.  "  Bad  and  good  in  these 
days  are  words  of  comparison,  and  I  dare  say  Lord  Rookbury  is 
not  worse  than  many  people  who  are  thought  better.  But  what 
on  earth,  dear  Mrs.  Wilmslow,  can  this  old  man's  character  be  to 
^ou,  that  the  question  should  agitate  you  thus  ?  Do  I  guess  right 
— that  he  has  become  Mr.  Wilmslow's  creditor?  Well,  Wilmslow 
had  better — I  am  sorry  to  say  it  to  you — have  sought  out  the 
keenest  usurer  in  London,  because  he  will  be  equally  cheated, 
and  be  obliged  to  bear  with  the  cheat  in  silence ;  but  your  pro- 
perty will  gradually  recover  itself,  and  our  noble  friend  will  be 
paid,  and — but  you  do  not  Usten — yon  are  very  ill.  May  I  call  a 
servant?" 

*'  I  am  very  ill,  but  I  am  listening,"  said  Mrs.  Wilmslow,  with 
forced  calmness.  ^'  Sit  down.  So  he  is  most  cruel  and  exacting 
in  money  dealings  ? " 

"  So  they  say.  But  there  is  this  also  said,  namely,  that  his 
avarice  is  a  whim  rather  than  a  habit— it  is  not  money  for  its  own 
sake  that  he  cares  about,  but  as  a  means  of  power — and  he  some- 
times does  things  that  are  liberal  enough.  Mr.  Wilmslow,  if  he 
be  Lord  Rookbury's  debtor, — ^you  do  not  contradict  me — may 
have  the  good  fortime  to  be  dealt  with  kindly.     But  without 

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ASPB!f  COUBT.  851 

relying  on  this^  which  would  be  foolish^  let  us  see  what  can  be 
done. 

"  Beniard,  you  have  seen  Lord  Bookbury  at  home?** 

"Yes,  you  remember  I  passed  a  night  at  Rookton  Woods.  It 
was  then  that  he  offered  me  the  introduction  to  Mr.  Selwyn.*' 

'^  Whom  did  you  see  there  beside  the  Earl  ?'* 

"  An  exceedingly  pretty,  little  girl  named  Lurline,  whom  I 
should  have  taken  for  his  grandchild,  but  that  he  has  no  married 
children,  and  who  afterwards  called  him  papa;  she  may  have  been 
some  adopted  favourite.^' 

"  You  know,  Bernard,  that  it  is  not  so.'* 

'*  I  have  no  right  to  know  it — nor  do  I.  But,  to  speak  as  frankly 
as  you  ought  to  be  spoken  to,  I  have  one  clue  to  Lurline's  history. 
Looking  at  the  Earl's  pictures,  I  accidentally  said  that  I  liked 
what  was  pretty,  and  cared  little  about  legitimacy.  He  said,  with 
his  curious  curl  of  the  lip," — Jane  shuddered — "  that  Rookton 
Woods  might  be  able  to  gratify  me ;  and,  later  in  the  evening, 
the  child  puzzled  me  by  saying  that  I  had  promised  to  be  fond  of 
her.     The  nonsense  is  not  worth  repeating.** 

" On  your  honour,  Bernard,  did  you  see  that  child's  mother?** 

"  No,  upon  my  honour ;  nor  have  I  the  slightest  reason  to  know 
that  such  a  person  exists.** 

" Bernard,**  she  said,  in  a  calm,  sad  voice,  "I  am  a  helpless 
woman  in  a  lonely  house.  I  have  no  money — it  is  all  taken  away 
— and  I  am  watched  for  fear  I  should  escape.  No  creature  so 
powerless  can  be  imagined.  And  they  have  taken  my  children 
from  me,  all  my  children.  Even  my  little  darling  Amy,  they  have 
taken  her  too.  Ah  I  I  see  what  you  are  thinking,  but  I  am  as 
rational  as  yourself,  Bernard.** 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.Wilmslow,  what  are  you  saying  ?  We  do  not 
take  away  children  in  these  days,  at  least  not  by  force,  and  with- 
out law.  You,  who— may  I  say  it — have  always  been  my  model  of 
reason  and  kindness, — I  am  utterly  ashamed  to  find  myself  pre- 
suming to  offer  you  advice — but  surely  there  must  be  some  strange 
misunderstanding.  Who  could  take  the  young  ladies  away  from 
Aspen?**  He  hardly  knew  what  he  said,  for  such  a  revelation 
from  the  calm,  mild  Jane  Wilmslow,  made  him  doubt  whether  he 
were  dreaming  or  awake. 

"  There  was  no  force  used,  and  no  law,  Mr.  Carlyon,  nor  was  it 
necessary.  Yesterday  Mr.  Wilmslow  drove  up  to  his  door  in  a 
phaeton  which  has  been  lent  him  by  Lord  Rookbury,  and  took 
the  three  girls  for  a  drive.    He  returned  at  night  without  them.** 

"  Having  left  them,  where — in  heaven's  name  ?  Pshaw,**  he 
added,  '^  I  am  a  fool  for  helping  to  agitate  you.  He  has  left  them 
on  a  visit— where?** 

"At  the  seat  of  your  friend.  Lord  Rookburv,  at  Rookton 
Woods.** 

"Well,**  said  Bernard,  "it  was  a  strange  thing  to  do,  a  very 
strange  thing ;  but,  except  for  its  strangeness,  I  see  no  very  great 
harm  in  it,  and,  certainly,  nothing  to  cause  you  all  this  distress. 
Surely,  it  cannot  be  necessary  to  say  that,  at  Rookton  "VVCoods,  the 

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us  AanN  GOUBT. 

house  of  a  nobleman  old  enoo^  to  be  thmr  gnrndStJUker,  tbej  mk 
receive  the  most  graceful  attention,  and  I  am  only  surprised  tluit 
Lord  Bookbury  it  below^  and  not  taikinf;  yom  across  the  eowtrj  to 
join  them.'' 

^^  You  have  not  beard  all,  Bernard.'' 

''No,  I  feel  that,"  said Carlj? on;  *^  praj,  tell  me  what  I  an  tare 
I  should  hear." 

"  Lord  Bookbury  has  proposed  for  Emma." 

''The  old  Earl — ^has  proposed  to  marry  Miss  Wilmslow  I"  r»* 
peated  Carlyon,  fairly  astonished  this  time;  "asd  she — hui  aha 
could  hardly  hesitate." 

"  K  forty  years  had  been  taken  from  his  age,  mmi  the  union  ren- 
dered rational,  Emma  would  have  hesitated  as  little  aa  Ae  did  wheii 
he  asked  for  her  hand  in  thi^  hall.  Emma  loves  her  viother,  as4 
comprehends  what  her  mother  has  endured; — ^no  earthly  tempta^ 
tion  could  induce  a  daughter  of  Jane  Tracy  to  marry  a  {KoAi* 
gate." 

"  He  was  refused,  of  course.  And  do  I  understand  that,  aftsr 
that,  and  knowing  it,  Mr.  Wilmslow — " 

"  Yes.  You  have  described  Lord  Bookbury,  and  best  know 
whether  he  is  a  man  likely  to  be  deterred  by  a  girl's  r^eetion^ 
when  that  girl's  family  is  in  his  power.  Mr.  Wilmslow  is  hit 
slave,  and  I  am — ^my  husband's." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Carlyon,  speaking  something  hastUy^ 
"  but  all  this  sounds  like  an  affair  of  the  stage,  not  of  reality.  I 
can  understand  that  Mr. Wilmslow  owes  Lord  Bookbury  mioo^, 
and  may,  therefore,  be  under  his  influence;  but,  when  we  come  to 
forcing  marriages  out  of  simple  debts,  the  matter  becomes  slightlj 
melo-dramatic.  Why,  Molesworth  would  have  paid  the  di^  a 
dozen  times.     Why  did  you  not  apprise  him  f" 

"  You  will  refuse  to  believe,  too,  that  I  was  watched,  and  wff 
letters  suppressed,  until  Emma  was  at  Bookton  Woods :  thea, 
constraint  was  no  longer  needed — I  wrote  to  you." 

"  But  how  does  this  visit  advance  the  suit  7    Do  you  believe  in 
I  dungeon-chapels  and  midnight  marriages?    Dear  Mrs.  Wilmakw, 
are  you  not  playing  with  your  fears  ?" 

"  I  am  speakuig  of  my  child,"  replied  Mrs^  Wilmslow,  simply. 

"  I  still  confess  to  you  that  I  cannot  eeaapcehend  how  iiim 
Wilmslow's  visit  to  Boekton  Wood%  eurieualy  timed  thaagh  it  is, 
should  advance  Lord  Bookbury's  suit  for  her  hand." 

"  Bernard,"  said  Mrs.  Wilmslow,  with  a  deadly  caknosessy  "  wy 
husband  has,  through  the  last  twenty  years,  brought  many  sad 
and  shameful  things  to  the  knowledgis  of  lua  wile — Giod  forgive 
him  for  it !  the  feajrful  teaching  has  not  bean  leat.  Do  yom  not 
understand  me?  My  child  has  been  the  goaat  of  Larlinc^ 
mother  I" 

Wilmslow's  loud,  sycophant  laugh,  and  the  footsteps  of  '. 
and  of  the  Earl  in  the  passage,  spiyred  Carlyoa  a  fcfjy. 


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CHAP.  XZYUI. 

▲  TOCma  WIPK*k  TROCTBLn. 

A  www  dajs  elapsed,  during  whicL  Mr.  Kctlier  reported  aatdsfac- 
tovjr  progreat  with  Mr.  Paul  Chequerbent't  creditors^  most  of 
wbom  came  to  terms  even  without  the  ^plicatioa  of  the  screw 
which  the  former  gentlemaii  kept  ready  in  case  of  need«  "  Why 
did  he  keep  away  from  me  ?^'  was  the  general  inquiry.  '^  I  did  not 
want  to  hurt  him^  but  if  a  party  will  not  be  seen  or  heard  of,  it 
looks  shy/'  So  Mr.  Kether  duly  cautioned  Paul  against  such  a 
display  of  shyness  for  the  fnture,  and  Paul  promised  to  struggle 
with  his  natural  modesty,  as  the  other  assured  him  it  was  not  ap- 
preciated in  mercantile  circles.  The  aunts  and  godmother  behaved 
pretty  well,  but  would  seem  to  have  had  their  eyes  a  little  opened 
on  previous  occasions^  as  they  insisted  on  their  advances  being  de^ 
posted  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Kether,  and  not  in  those  of  the  peni- 
tent prisoner,  a  precaution  which  Paul  declared  to  be  highly  in- 
sulting after  the  lavish  outlay  of  pathos  and  protest  which  he  had 
made  in  his  appeal  to  their  sympi^ies.  But  the  cheques  came  up, 
carefully  drawn  in  neat,  stiff,  old  ladylike  hands,  and  Mr.  Chequer- 
bent  justly  observed  that  painters  might  talk  as  they  pleased,  but 
Bever  did  a  Uttle  bit  of  colour  produce  so  cheerful  an  effect  as  the 
pink  paper  of  a  cheque  in  a  letter  to  a  hard-up  man. 

Less  lucky  was  the  pocur  little  clerk  incarcerated  with  him,  and 
whose  spirits  Paul  good-naturedly  tried  to  keep  up,  with  less  suc- 
cess day  after  day.  Physically,  as  well  as  mentally^  the  unfortunate 
Mr.  Mooter  became  more  and  more  wretched,  as  the  period  of  his 
imprisonment  was  prolonged,  and  yet  seemed  no  nearer,  its  termina- 
tion. For  it  is  not  a  very  new  remark  that  those  who  are  accustomed 
to  luxuries  and  comforts  are  often  better  able  to  endure  privations 
than  those  to  whom  such  matters  are  greater  rarities — anybody 
who  has  had  the  misfortune  to  take  a  rough  journey  with  his  ser- 
vant has  made  the  observation — it  also  occurred,  I  believe,  to  the 
bUe  Duke  of  Wellington,  when  certain  military  officers^  of  the  most 
delicate  dandyhood,  rather  distinguished  themselves  in  one  of  his 
severest  campaigns,  by  complimenting  the  cdtekite  a  la  chair  de 
cheval,  while  the  privates  were  almo^  in  mutiny  against  their  ra* 
lions.  Mooter  was  a  clean,  tidy,  regular  little  man,  who  hung  his  walls 
at  home  with  maxims,  written  in  a  fine  hand,  and  framed,,  whereby 
he  reminded  himself  that  there  was  a  place  tor  everything  and  that 
everything  should  be  in  its  plaee,  that  a  stitch  in  time  saved  ninOi 
that  cleanliness  was  next  to  godliness,  and  that  if  he  took  care 
of  the  pennies  the  pounds  would  take  care  of  themselves.  Hii 
dotbes-brudi  had  its  hocdc,  and  so  had  his  hat-brush,  and  he  "  did 
BOt  like''  to  see  one  in  the  plaee  of  the  other,  and  the  pleasing 
way  in  which  he  looped  iqp  and  laid  away  pieces  of  strings  until 
wanted,  would  have  delighted  Teresa  Tidy  hersdf,  and  have  fur- 
Bished  her  with  a  nineteenth  rule  of  life*  This  was  not  the  crea- 
ture to  brook  with  any  degree  of  t4)Ieration  the  careless^  slipshod^ 
iKktory  life  of  adingy  sponging-house.  At  first  he  struggled  to  be 


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S56  MsnH  cauBV, 

**  Then,  in  coane,  jroa  can  wait  a  little  kmger,  being  vsed  to 
it/'  observed  Mr.  Janies,  widiotrt  even  looking  up  from  the  artkie 
be  was  examining.    ^Wetl,  my  dear,  and  what  does  your  »- 
spected  mother  want  on  this  remarkable  article  ?  ** 
**  Twenty  pounds,  if  yon  please,  sir,^'  said  Mary,  ooafidently. 
"  Shillings,  yon  mean,^'  said  tibe  pawnbroker,  beUeFing  that  m. 
her  fluster  she  bad  used  the  wrong  word.     ^  Well,  yon  see,  it  *m 
Teiy  Kgbt,  and  good  for  nothing  except  as  old  silTer,  to  break  np/^ 
''  But,''  exclaimed  Mary,  in  a  troubled  whisper,  and  scarcely 
believing  her  ears,  "  pray  examine  it,  sir.     It  is  of  very  great 
value  indeed,  and  was  a  wedding  gift.''    And  the  agitated  little 
woman  subsided  into  her  stall,  convinoed  that  he  had  only  to 
look  at  the  article  again  to  obtain  a  due  sense  of  its  value.    Bolt 
the  pawnbroker  shook  his  head. 

'^  I  woidd  rather  not  take  it,"  he  said,  handing  it  back  to  her, 
'^  but  I  '11  make  it  the  pound,  tf  you  like." 

''  One  p<mnd,  sir  V  said  poor  Mary,  who  felt  as  if  at  least  that 
weight  of  lead  had  descended  upon  her  good  little  heart.  ''  But, 
sir,  I  want  the  money  I  mentioned  most  particulaiiy — ^it  is  a. 
matter  of  life  and  death-^and  we  should  be  sure  to  redeem  it — my 
mother,  Mrs.  Artish,  is  a  most  respectable  woman,  who  has  lived  for 
seventeen  years  at  No.  11,  Bayling  Place,  close  by." 

**  All  very  likely,  my  dear,''  replied  the  youth,  "  but  that 's  all 
I  can  do  for  you.  Just  go  home  and  ask  your  mother  whether 
she'll  take  the  money.  Now,  Modier  Sudds,  which  of  your  cus- 
tomers is  good  enough  to  lend  you  her  shemeeses  this  time  ?" 

"  You  will  have  your  joke,  Mr.  James,"  said  the  woman,  open- 
ing her  neatly  pinned  square  bundle.  Here's  nx,  and  for  the 
love  of  heaven  don't  tumble  'em.  Precious  row  I  got  into  about 
that  handkerchief  you  lost  for  me — what  a  power  of  oal^s  I  bad 
to  swear  before  the  lady  would  believe  I  never  had  it." 

'*  I  dessay  you  keep  in  very  good  practice  at  that  work,  Mrs. 
Sudds.  Sometimes  I  should  idmost  believe  you  mysdf,  if  I  did 
not  know  you  so  well.  In  a  minute,"  he  added,  nodding  to  a  tall, 
weU-dressed,  dissipated  looking  man,  with  an  imperial,  who  had 
leant  forward  to  watch  Mary  Mooter,  and  now  nuule  signs  to  the 
pawnbroker,  who  appeared  to  know  him.    "  I  've  sent  up  for  it." 

'^  Keep  it  to-night,"  said  the  other ;  ''  on  second  thoughts,  I 
think  I  want  the  money." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  '11  get  you  back  the 
duplicate,  which  is  gone  up  staurs." 

*^  Take  care  of  it  for  me,"  said  the  other  hastily,  and  darted 
out.    The  pawnbroker  saw  through  the  game  in  a  moment. 

''  My  dear,"  he  said,  sharply  beckoning  Mary,  who  had  been 
slowly  refolding  her  treasure  in  its  papers.  She  brightened  up, 
poor  thing,  in  the  hope  that  he  was  going  to  make  a  bett»  ofer, 
and  drew  close  to  the  counter. 

'^  If,"  he  whispered,  '^  a  man  with  a  tuft  on  his  chin  speaks  to 
on,  the  less  you  speak  to  him  the  better  for  your  moth^,  and,** 
e  added,  observing  that  Mary^  glove  was  ot,  ''for  somebody 
else^  I  see.'' 


I 


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▲tPEn  oooan:  9S7 


She  KsteMd  witiiMrt  much  ^ompvehemicm  of  his  ttMnfaig,  and 
flftdljr  eut  of  the  plaoe^  and  towmnds  her  mother's.    As  she 
meted  the  eoraer  of  Bayling  Plaoe,  Jtm  iras  aeooited  hy  a 
tall  stranger^  who  said  in  a  gODtlemanly  voi^  and  raising  bis 

•*  I  beg  yoar  parcba.    Are  you  Mrs.  Artish'lB  daughter  ?" 
^'  Yes,  air/'  said  Mary,  surprised. 

''  She  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  Does  she  Tery  much  want  llie 
money  which  yon  have  been  trying  to  get  at  the  pawnbroker's  ? 
I  am  not  rich,  but  sooner  than  that  woman  should  want,  I  would 
-"-never  mind.    1^11  me,  ie  she  in  any  distress  ?^ 

He  spoke  so  earaesdy,  and  as  one  who  did  not  wish  to  make 
many  words  before  acting,  that  Mary  felt  she  had  a  friend.  She 
briefly  explained  her  trouble,  and  the  stranger  listened  with  atten- 
tion. 

*'  He  is  locked  up  for  thirty-five  pounds,  you  say  f  said  the 
.  stranger,  thoughtfutfy. 

'^  Yes,  but  we  had  five  in  the  house,  and  mother  has  six,  and 
we  could  manage  the  other  four — if  we  had  only  the— the 
twenty,'^  said  Mary,  in  whose  eyes  the  sum  had  become  not 
lightly  to  be  named,  since  the  sad  defeat  of  her  teapot. 

"  It  is  strange,^  said  the  other.  "  I  was  in  the  shop  with  you, 
and  had  actually  put  down  ten  pounds  to  redeem  some  things  of 
my  own,  when  something  suggested  to  me  to  hold  the  money. 
There  is  ten  for  you,'^  he  added,  placing  a  note  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  sir ! "  said  Mary;  her  heart  running  over  with  thanks, 
^  whom  am  I  speaking  to?     Come  in  and  see  mother.'* 

"  No,"  said  the  stranger,  sadly.  ''  No,  I  should  not  be  wel- 
come ;  at  any  rate  not  yet.  Promise  me,  as  the  only  return  for 
what  I  may  do,  that  you  will  not  mention  to  Mrs.  Artish  that  3^oa 
have  seen  me.  I  will  tell  you  my  name,  of  course ;  it  is  Russell ; 
but  not  a  word  to  your  mother,  until  I  desire  it.'' 

"  Of  course,  sir,''  said  little  Mary,  "  you  have  a  right  to  name 
your  own  terms ;  but  if  you  think  mother  bears  any  old  grudge 
against  you,  or  anybody,  I  assure  you — " 

''  Hush,  hush !  Not  a  word  of  it,"  said  the  other,  impressively. 
"  You  revive  recollections  which  had  better  be  1^  alone.  Your 
mother  served  me  well,  and  I — but  no  matter.  Time  is  precious. 
It  is  now  nine  o'clock,  and  if  your  husband  is  to  be  released  to- 
night, we  must  be  speedy.  I  have  only  another  sovereign  or  two 
about  me,  but  at  home  I  have,  I  think,  enough  to  make  up 
the  balance.  Come  on  to  my  house  at  once,  and  I  will  give  it 
you." 

^'  How  shall  I  ever  thank  you  t"  said  poor  Mary,  exulting  in  tiie 
thought  of  her  husband's  liberation. 

"  Your  mother  shall  thank  me,"  said  the  stranger,  *'  when  the 
time  comes.  Here,  cab!"  he  cried,  as  a  vehicle  crawled  slowly 
along.  The  tired,  hard-mouthed  animal  was  incontinently  tugged 
round,  and  the  cab  drew  up  by  the  lamp-post  near  which  they 
stood.  The  stranger  opened  the  door,  handed  the  young  wife  in^ 
and  spoke  to  the  driver  in  a  low  voice. 

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358  A8PBK  COURT. 

What  caDsed  Mary  at  that  instant  to  look,  earnestly  into  her 
benefactor's  face?  What,  as  she  did  so,  and  noticed  that  he  wore 
a  large  imperial,  brought  back  the  words,  unheeded  when  spoken, 
of  the  familiar  h^t  well- meaning  shopman?  What  instinctiTeljr 
told  her,  the  next  instant,  that  something  was  wrong?  She  sprang 
from  the  seat  she  had  taken  in  the  further  corner  of  the  vehicle 
to  the  door.  One  little  foot  was  on  the  ground,  as  the  stranger 
tried  to  prevent  her  coming  out. 

"  Don't  stop  me,  Mr.  Russell,"  said  the  young  wife,  her  meek 
little  spirit  now  fairly  in  arms. 

"  I  would  n't,  Mr.  Russell,  if  I  was  you,'*  said  a  male  voice  at 
his  elbow.  It  was  that  of  the  young  pawnbroker.  "  Would  you, 
pleeceman  B  150?'' 

''  I  should  say  not,"  said  the  officer  in  question,  coming  up  on 
the  other  side.  Mary  stood  aghast  at  the  cab  door,  as  the 
"  situation''  developed.  The  benevolent  Mr.  Russell  saw  that  he 
was  beaten,  and  had  he  been  a  prudent  man  would  have  bowed, 
paid  the  cabman,  and  disappeared.  But  a  course  of  town  revelry, 
pursued  recklessly,  weakens  the  judgment,  and  prevents  the  pas- 
sions from  being  under  the  complete  control  which  a  wise  man  would 
desire.  In  his  hasty  wrath,  the  melodramatic  stranger  threw  him- 
self on  guard,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  before  the  officer  could 
interfere,  the  sop-disant  Mr.  Russell,  with  a  very  fierce  curse,  had 
delivered  a  smashing  blow  into  the  face  of  the  pawnbroker,  which 
sent  him  down  at  the  foot  of  the  lamp. 

"  Take  that,  and  mind  your  own  business  in  future,"  said  Mr. 
Rnssell,  with  a  savage  laugh.  The  officer  seized  him  by  the 
collar. 

'^  Just  the  thing,"  said  the  policeman.  "  Wuss  assault,  more 
unprovoked,  I  never  see.  For  you,  ra'm,  I  should  say  the  sooner 
you  went  home  the  better.    And  as  for  you,  cabby,  cut  it." 

'^  But  here  is  his  money,"  said  Mary,  holding  out  the  bank  note 
at  arm's  length,  as  if  afraid  it  would  injure  her ;  *'  take  his  money, 
pray  do." 

"  Money  no  object,"  said  the  officer, "  especially  when  the  notes 
comes  out  of  the  Bank  of  Elegance ;  curl  your  hair  with  it,  m'm; 
he's  got  plenty  more  in  his  pocket,  I  dessay." 

"  I  warned  you  against  him,"  said  the  pawnbroker,  sorrowfully 
picking  himself  up,  and  holding  his  hand  over  his  astonished  nose, 
'*  but  I  doubted  you  minded  me,  and  I  owed  him  a  grudge.  Don't 
forget  your  tea-pot." 

And  the  plaintiff,  the  defendant,  and  the  executive  departed, 
leaving  Mary  to  return,  in  no  slight  state  of  bewilderment,  to  her 
parent's  first-floor  front." 


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859 


CAMPS  AND  MANGEUVR^. 

It  18  a  difficult  matter  at  the  present  time  to  penetrate  into  auj 
Prench  circle,  caste,  or  class,  or  make  oneself  at  home  there. 
There  is  great  distrust,  great  silence^  a  good  deal  of  shame,  and 
altogether,  a  foreigner  finds  himself  shunned,  and  little  spoken  to, 
unless  under  very  peculiar  circumstances.  Of  all  the  classes  in 
France,  none  keep  to  themselves  more  strictly  and  completely 
than  the  army.  I  believe  they  do  so  in  all  countries.  Even  in  Eng- 
land, military  officers  have  a  kind  of  freemasonry  amongst  tbem,  as 
effectual  and  exclusive  as  the  freemasonry  of  other  ctdlings.  In 
France  this  used  not  so  much  to  be  the  case ;  but  it  has  become  so* 
And  hence  I  found  it  a  matter  of  extreme  difficulty  to  get  into 
an  officer's  tent  or  barraque,  at  the  camp  at  Satory,  so  as  to  see  a 
little  more  of  the  spirit  of  things,  than  could  be  seen  from  gal- 
loping across  that  wide  plain  at  the  tail  of  a  battery.  How  I 
succeeded  need  not  concern  the  reader ;  it  being  only  necessary 
just  to  tell  him  that  I  made  friends  at  Satory,  fed  and  chatted  with 
them,  and  found  it  amusing  to  accompany  them  to  the  expedition, 
which  I  see  fills  two  columns  of  our  journals — the  military  attack 
upon  St.  Germains. 

I  cannot  boast  of  its  being  at  all  pleasant  or  in  the  least  instruc- 
tive :  though  seldom,  perhaps,  have  such  crowds  been  collected,  or 
such  numbers  come  to  witness  the  manoeuvres  of  war.  First  of  all, 
the  weather  was  exceedingly  cold,  which  was  not  counteracted  by 
any  degree  of  excitement,  caused  by  the  operations.  It  was  wisely 
done  to  break  up  the  camp  at  Chobham  early,  and  keep  the 
regiments  when  camped  a  very  limited  time  under  canvas.  For 
after  all,  what  enables  the  soldier  to  bear  such  hardships,  but 
novelty  and  excitement.  When  novelty  disappears,  and  excite- 
ment subsides,  he  feels  cold  more  keenly,  ennui  more  heavily^  and 
disease,  which  somehow  or  another  respects  a  buoyant  spirit,  is  sure^ 
to  fix  its  fangs  on  a  wearied  or  languid  one.  The  operations, 
against  St.  Germains  were  undertaken  at  the  close  of  the  season. 
Then  the  Emperor  was  not  to  be  present ;  he  always  takes  care 
to  make  some  gratuity,  and  procure  some  comfort. 

The  order  was  given,  however,  and  must  be  obeyed.  Pots 
and  pans  were  packed  and  forwarded;  the  required  number  or 
tentlets  prepared,  and  despatched  also  by  that  most  useful  but 
despised  portion  of  the  army,  the  train.  The  most  striking 
feature  in  the  great  reviews  of  Satory  was  the  cavalry,  of  which 
very  large  bodies  could  at  times  be  mustered,  and  which  is  now 
one  of  the  most  efficient  arms  in  the  French  service.  During 
the  Bourbon  reign,  the  cavalry  were  exceedingly  ill  horsed ;  no 
wonder,  since  Napoleon,  in  the  Russian  and  other  campaigns, 
had  lost  nearly  100,000  horses,  of  one  kind  or  another.  Even 
under  Louis  Philippe,  when  every  thing  like  equippement  was 
largely  provided  for,  cavalry  horses  were  not  up  to  par.     Bu 

VOL.  xxxir.  ^  c      T 

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960  CAMPS  AND  MANCEUVBES. 

Louis  Napoleon^s  agents  made  very  large  and  extensive  purchases 
both  in  England  and  in  Germany ;  so  that  no  cavalry  can  at  the 
present  moment  be  better  mounted  than  the  French.  No  cavalry^ 
however,  were  st^oned  in  the  camp  of  Satory.  The  long  line  of 
tents  were  occupied  by  iofantry  and  artillery  done.  The  cavalry 
legiments  were  quartered  in  the  vast  barracks  of  YersaiUes.  The 
infantry  at  Satory  used  to  complain  that  the  cavalry  wen 
aristos;  so  well  were  they  housed  and  cared  for^  and  so  seldom 
were  they  called  forth  to  join  in  the  fatigues  and  manoeuvres  of  the 
camp.  There  is  even  more  for  cavalry  to  learn  in  encampment  than 
infantry.  But  their  camps  are  generally  in  fertile  countriea;  such 
as  the  vicinity  of  St.  Omers,  or  Luneville,  where  the  plains  of  Artois^ 
or  Lorraine,  afford  deep  pasturage  for  the  horse,  as  well  as  ample 
field  for  their  mancBuvres. 

The  cavalry  were  lying  snug  in  their  barracks,  whilst  the  artillery 
followed  the  high  paved  road  to  St.  Germaios,  and  the  infantry 
marched  through  the  woods  of  La  Selle.  Half-way  between 
Versailles  and  St.  Cloud  is  a  beautiful  park  and  splendid  mansion, 
that  of  Beauregard,  the  property  and  title  of  which  has  been  con- 
ferred on  his  friend,  Mrs.  Howard,  by  the  Emperor.  It  is  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  ruined  park  of  Marly,  ODce  famous  as  the 
abode  of  royalty.  A  far  more  beautiful,  but  more  humble  resi- 
dence, is  the  villa  of  Louvecienne,  on  the  declivity  of  the  hills,  as 
they  drop  down  to  the  Seine.  This  was  built  by  Louis  XV.,  and 
given  to  Madame  du  Barry,  who  inhabited  it  as  late  as  the  year 
1792,  when  she  was  torn  from  it  in  extreme  old  age  to  perish 
under  the  guillotine.  The  soldier  knew  nor  cared  nothing  for  such 
sites  or  reminiscences.  The  name  and  the  spot  that  attracted 
his  regard  and  respect  was  La  Malmaison ;  along  the  domain- wall 
ofwhichoneof  the  divisions  moved.  It  is  surpri;iing  how  well- 
read  the  French  soldier  is  in  everything  relating  to  the  Emperor. 
Fleury  De  Chabonlon  is  the  popular  source.  They  were  well 
aware  that  the  Emperor  had  returned  to  Malmaison,  in  1815  ; 
Josephine,  who  inhabited  it,  having  not  long  previously  died. 
Here  he  was  in  appearance  attended,  but  really  guarded  by 
officers  in  the  pay  of  Fouch^.  And  yet,  whilst  the  Prussians  were 
occupying  St.  G^rmains,  and  the  English  crossing  the  hills  above 
Argenteuil,  Napoleon  had  ideas  of  rallying  the  scattered  French 
troops  at  Bueil,  and  in  the  valleys  around,  to  make  a  last  fight, 
imd  endeavour  to  retrieve,  by  some  millitary  miracle,  his  expiring 
fortunes.  If  so,  it  was  remarked,  he  would  have  done  precisely  in 
reality,  what  the  troops  were  about  to  accomplish  in  a  sham  fight. 
He  would  have  moved  through  the  wood  of  Vezinet,  and  surprised 
tiie  Prussians  in  St.  Germains.  This  was  the  only  thought  that 
gave  life  and  spirit  to  the  present  plan  of  action,  in  w^hich  no 
soldier  seemed  otherwise  interested.  The  park  of  Malmaison,  it 
is  known,  was  long  since  sold  by  the  family  of  Prince  Eugene, 
and  cut  up  into  villas  and  small  partitions.  The  old  house  itself, 
and  a  certain  quantity  of  the  high  forest  that  surrounded  and 
surrounds  it,  were  purchased  by  Queen  Christina.  She  was  there 
but  the^  other  day  with  her  husband,  and  she  keeps  up  the  Mal- 
maison in  excellent  order  and  repair.  ^         . 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


CAMM  ARI>  XAKnUYiaU  HI 

'  Tbe  Smey  m  it  flows  frcmi  Argeateui],  mad  ttrikes  agamit  the 
keigfat  of  BougiTml,  forms  almost  an  island,  whidi  is  eoTered  bj 
ttie  wood  of  Yesinet,  and  whidi  contains  the  two  villages  oif 
(%aton  and  Croissy.  The  attadung  arm j  was  to ;  eater  this 
kland  by  tbe  bridge  of  Chatoo,  and  biTonac  in  the  wood,  after 
having  made  preparatioDs  for  throwing  a  bridge  of  pontoons  oyer 
Ae  river  for  their  passage  in  the  morning  towards  St.  Germains. 
It  was  at  first  intended  to  throw  this  bridge  over  the  river  at 
Croissy,  a  league  £rom  St.  Oermains,  and  removed  from  its  fire* 
This  would  have  been  the  military  way  of  proceeding.  Bat  it 
would  not  do  as  a  fite.  The  passage  of  the  river  should  take 
place  early  in  the  morning,  and  the  advance  on  St.  Oermains  be 
dow. 

It  was  thought  more  advisable  to  ertabHsh  the  pontoon  bridge 
Bcaiiy  opposite  St.  Germains,  and  thus  concentrate  attack  and 
defence,  so  that  both  could  be  seen  at  one  glance  by  the  crowd  of 
visitors  firom  the  Great  Terrace.  As  the  troops  descended  on  the 
Friday  from  the  heights  of  Louvecienne  to  the  road,  that  runs  by 
Malmaison,  they  were  met  by  Marshal  Magnan,  who  had  ridden 
from  Paris  with  his  staff,  amidst  which  were  some  of  the  Bona- 
parte princes,  and  several  fbreigpi  officers.  There  were  two 
Anstrians  and  a  Russian,  the  former  in  light  blue  and  white 
uniforms,  the  latter  with  dark  blue,  which  left  the  wearer  undis- 
tinguishable  from  the  French  officers  around.  Marshal  Magnan 
is  a  tall,  portly  man,  gigantic  in  limb  and  feature,  the  sise  of  the 
latter  being  increased  by  the  small  kepiy  or  red  cap,  which  he  usually 
wears.  He  distinguished  himself  in  Africa,  where  he  must  have 
attracted  the  same  admiration  that  Kleber  did,  by  his  stalwart  form. 
The  operations  of  Friday  were  limited  to  a  feint  attack  and  de- 
fence of  the  bridge  of  Chatou,  which  the  troops  crossed  to  bivouac 
in  the  wood.  The  soldiers  prepared  their  awnings,  for,  in  truths 
their  great  coat  was  their  tent.  The  Marshal  alone  had  a  com- 
plete canvas  dormitory. 

I  have  often  heard  of  the  gaiety  of  Frenchmen  in  a  bivouac,  as 
I  have  heard  of  the  extreme  vivacity  of  the  French  in  social  con- 
verse. It  has  been  my  lot  to  observe  a  very  great  want  of  both. 
The  French  regiments  at  Yesinet  went  about  their  task  of  en- 
campment with  certainly  less  gaiety  than  prevailed  at  Chobham. 
There  was  far  less  good  will  in  all  they  did,  although  it  must  be 
owned,  there  was  more  expertness.  A  camp  is  a  dirty  place, 
even  when  meat  is  brought  to  it  ready  killed,  and  with  nothing 
save  the  pot  to  boil.  What  must  it  be  in  actual  warfare,  when 
the  butcher^s  trade  must  be  plied  next  door  to  the  cook^s,  and 
almost  at  the  same  time?  The  men  were  more  blackened  by 
overlooking  the  soup  pots  than  by  the  blazing  of  the  powder. 

M.  Emile  Pemre,  Director  <rf  the  railway,  gave  a  grand  dinner 
to  the  Marshal,  his  suite,  his  generals,  and  the  strangers,  in  the 
Ch&teau  of  Crotssy,  which  belongs  to  the  Bailway  Company. 
Pereire  is  one  of  the  celebrities  of  the  day.  Originally  of  the 
Jewish  persuasion,  and  a  writer  in  the  ^^  National^'  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Political  Economy  and  Finance,  he  was  placed  at^e  head 

c  cCoogle 


S€^  CAMP8  AND  XANCEUVBES. 

of  tbe  St.  Germains  Bailwaj^  a  small  enterpriae.  Bat  Pereire  liat 
aince  become  the  inventor  of  the  Credit  Fonder,  and  is  suppoaed 
worth  a  couple  of  millions  sterling.  Owing  much  of  his  fortune 
to  the  Imperial  rfgmt^  M.  Pereire  stands  well  with  the  Emperor* 
'  The  next  morning  the  pontoon  bridge  was  thrown  across  the 
river,  whilst  the  troops  were  massed  on  either  side  for  attack  or 
defence;  very  pretty  for  show,  but  I  should  think  not  at  all 
resembling  actual  war.  By  right,  protecting  works  should  have 
been  thrown  out,  or  a  place  chosen  where  natural  embankments 
would  supply  their  place.  But  here  were  regiments  massed  on 
either  side  of  the  bridge,  which  would  have  been  annihilated  by 
cannon-shot,  had  the  number  of  guns  fired  been  duly  loaded. 
Of  what  use  can  this  semi-acting  of  war  be?  From  eleven 
o'clock  till  two  the  roar  of  artillery  from  either  bank  was  inces* 
aant,  and  that  of  musketry  also.  The  object  of  the  firing  on 
one  side  was  to  protect  the  bridge  in  the  progress  of  erecting,  the 
other  to  retard  or  destroy  it.  I  should  doubt  .much  that  any« 
thing  was  learned  or  gained  by  this  cannonading,  except  that  it 
attracted  thousands  of  visitors.  The  entire  terrace  and  town 
of  St.  Germains  were  fiill  of  strangers,  the  greater  part  of  them 
peasantry  from  the  surrounding  region.  They  seemed  to  take  as 
much  interest  in  the  proceedings  as  the  good  folks  from  town. 
Every  wall,  every  tree,  every  roof,  the  church  steeple,  the  bams^ 
vineyards,  the  parapets,  were  all  full  to  toppling  over.  None  but 
the  militsury  were  allowed  to  approach  the  banks  of  the  river ;  but 
these  were  as  crowded  with  masses  of  infantry,  as  the  rising 
grounds  with  a  more  motley  crowd. 

Yet  the  sham-fight  was  a  very  slow  afiair  from  noon  till  two 
o'clock.  At  that  hour  it  was  announced  that  the  pontoon  bridge 
was  completed,  and  that  it  was  time  for  the  defenders  of  the  left 
bank  to  beat  a  retreat.  This  they  soon  began  to  do,  of  course, 
with  louder  discharges  of  artillery  and  musketry.  As  they 
retreated,  General  St.  Amaud,  Minister  of  War,  passed  over  the 
}>ontoon  bridge,  accompanied  by  a  numerous  staff  of  foreign 
officers.  Marshal  Magnan  proceeding  over  the  regular  bridge  and 
up  the  high  road.  The  retreating  army  had,  in  the  meantime, 
forced  their  guns  into  a  field  that  overlooked  the  road,  and 
there,  together  with  a  regiment  of  infantry,  and  some  troops  of 
dismounted  dragoons,  pretended  to  carry  on  an  obstinate  defence, 
and  keep  in  check  the  two  advancing  columns.  This  was  the 
prettiest  and  most  life-like  part  of  the  sham  action.  In  a  little 
time  the  battery  was  galloped  off,  and  the  governor  of  St.  Ger- 
mains beat  a  rapid  retreat  to  the  terraces.  About  half  way  up 
the  ascent  the  two  columns  and  generals  met,  and  their  suites 
mingled  in  ascending  to  the  town. 

There  could  not  be  a  greater  contrast  than  that  between 
Magnan  and  St.  Arnaud,  the  former,  a  large  bluff  soldier,  the 
latter,  a  lean  and  pale  Cassius,  full  of  intellect,  his  features 
expressive  of  cool  and  cunning  daring; — ^precisely  such  a  man  aa 
one  would  have  supposed  capable  of  planning  and  executing  the 
camhd'eiai  of  the  2nd  of  December.    The  stories  told  of  St* 


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CAMPS  AND  MAHOCUYBES*  S6ft 

Amand  are  innumenible,  and  rise  to  all  heights  of  yiHanf.  No 
doubt  the  greater  part  of  them  are  exaggerated  and  untrue.  But 
it  neither  adds  to  the  moralitj  of  the  soldier^  nor  the  stability  of 
myemment^  that  such  stories^  as  are  told  of  St.  Amaud^  should 
be  related  in  the  barrack-room  or  over  the  bi? ouac  fire.  One  of 
the  favourite  stories  is  that  of  his  duel  with  General  Comemuse, 
of  which,  I  believe,  not  a  word  is  true.  It  is  related  that  a  sum 
of  money  disappeared  from  the  chimney-piece  of  the  Emperor, 
that  Comemnse  accused  St.  Amaud,  and  that  St.  Amaud  chal- 
langed  and  shot  him.  It  would  be  easy  to  contradict  and  dis- 
prove every  circumstance  of  the  story,  and  a  free  press  would  soon 
vindicate,  expose,  and  refute  it.  But  the  misfortune  of  a  censor- 
ship is,  that  information  and  calumny  circulate  in  whispers,  for 
fear  of  the  censorship  and  prosecution  that,  in  consequence,  the 
false  circulates  with  the  true,  and  that  the  public  has  not  the 
power  or  the  right  to  distinguish  between  them.  St.  Amaud  is 
very  courteous  and  kind  to  strangers.  A  large  posse  of  foreign 
ofiScers  accompanied  him  on  the  present  occasion,  Austrians  and 
English  the  most  conspicuous  and  most  numerous,  but  there  were 
also  Russians  and  Prussians.  Most  of  them  had  bivouacked  with 
the  general,  except  the  English,  who  prudently  limited  their 
campaigning  to  daylight,  and  showed  none  of  them  the  hospi- 
talities or  amenities  of  the  French  at  Yezinet. 

Amidst  the  multitude  of  soldiers,  there  was  certainly  no  ardour 
for  war.  There  was  little  enthusiasm,  no  hatred,  none  of  the 
elements  or  incentive  to  combat,  exce^  the  very  tranquil  one  of 
the  desire  to  become  perfect  in  the  profession,  and  to  make  the 
most  of  it.  But  this  animates  a  very  small  portion  of  finy  army. 
I  verily  believe,  that  if  all  the  armies  in  Europe  were  collected, 
and  consulted  as  to  their  wishes,  and  their  wishes  finally  granted 
them,  more  than  nine-tenths  of  the  armed  multitudes  would 
scatter  themselves  on  the  instant,  and  return  to  their  homes. 
Many  a  Frenchman  used  to  be  anxious  to  cut  the  throat  of  an 
Englishman,  and  to  shoot  a  Prussian,  which  two  people  largely 
reciprocated  the  sentiment ;  no  such  feeling  at  present  remains. 
I  do  not  believe  that  the  French  army  think  more  of  Waterloo 
than  it  does  of  Leipzig.  There  is  a  general  admission,  that 
Napoleon  tried  too  much,  and  a  general  feeling,  that  an  enlarged 
frontier  would  neither  add  to  the  prosperity  nor  to  the  glory 
of  the  country. 

I  cannot  but  think,  that  what  has  chiefly  contributed  to  extin- 
guish the  ardour  for  war  and  the  thirst  for  the  military  profession, 
has  been  the  immense  augmentation  of  the  numbers  employed 
in  war.  If  so,  the  thirst  of  battling  is  likely  to  expire  by  its  own 
•excess.  In  the  olden  time  armies  were  small,  the  regular  mili- 
tarv  profession  pursued  by  a  few,  who  thus  considered  themselves 
a  class  apart  from  the  people,  with  sympathies  and  ambitions  of 
their  own.  A  corps  of  80,000  men  was  then  a  respectablei  army  in 
the  hands  of  the  Great  Frederic  or  the  Great  Gustavus.  OfBoers 
were  better  paid,  generals  more  rewarded;  more  licence,  more 
plunder,  more   privilege  was   allowed   to   the   militaiy.    Now 

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M4  GAMn  Aim  IfANCEUTSBk 

soldiers  msrch  to  Hie  fidd  hy  Imndreds  of  tiiooMiiicIs,  and  Move 
lUce  a  lerj  en  wume,  tbmn  s  puJced  bodj.  But  in  suck  mukiftiidos 
there  is  no  enthnsiasiD,  no  esprit  de  eorp$.  Snch  large  bodies  caa 
only  be  raised  bj  conscription  or  forced  recruiting,  and  the  €0»» 
sequence  is,  that  three-fomtha  are  peasants  in  heart  and  in  Ian* 
gnage,  caring  little  for  the  soldier  trade.  This  is  eanneDtlj  tlit 
case  in  France  and  in  Austria,  and,  I  beliere,  noir  also  in  Riissin. 
The  small  army  of  England  would  diow  more  glee  im  entering  on 
a  campaign  than  the  legions  of  Austria  or  Bussia. 

'WiU  the  system  of  laige  armies  ever  be  put  an  end  to? 
Never,  no  doubt,  until  some  general  arises  during  the  oonrse  of 
the  war,  and  demonstrates  th^  success  and  great  military  results 
can  be  attained  by  small,  enthusiastic,  well-disciplined,  and  trained 
armies,  Th^«  are  some  powers,  Prussia  and  England  for  ex- 
ample, whose  interest  it  is  to  discover  and  show  how  small  armies 
may  be  effectuaL  Prussia  especially,  which  was  a  first-rate  power 
under  the  Great  Frederic,  has  fallen  to  a  second-rate  one,  merely 
because  it  is  unable  to  bring  into  the  field  at  once  the  large  armies 
that  either  Austria  or  France  could  muster.  For  Prussia  mia- 
trusts  her  landwehr,  and,  without  her  landwehr,  has  not  half 
the  military  force  of  her  neighbours.  Prussia,  cowardly  yielding 
to  the  menaces  of  Austria  in  1849,  seems  inexplicable  to  moet 
people.  But  the  fact  is,  that  she  has  no  great  fortresses,  nor 
lines  of  defence  against  an  invask>n  from  the  south,  and  no  army 
without  her  landwehr,  which,  if  brought  into  action  at  oncec, 
would  place  the  monarchy,  as  at  Jena,  at  the  mercy  of  one 
defeat 

Whether  large  or  small  armies  are  to  be  employed,  depends 
very  much  on  the  freedom  of  a  country,  upon  its  revenue,  and 
upon  its  system  of  military  defience.  A  free  country  would  never 
devote  half  its  revenue,  or  three-fourths  of  it  to  the  army,  as  is  the 
ease  with  Austria  and  Russia.  Austria,  not  contented  with  its 
numerous  army,  has  covered  its  empire  with  fortresses,  some  of 
which,  such  as  Lintz,  would  require  an  army  to  defend  them. 
At  the  same  moment  another  cotmtry,  less  powerful  than  Austria 
and  more  vulnerable,  has  not  erected  a  single  fortress,  and  this 
is  Prussia.  It  has  Erfurt,  Magdeburg  and  Spandau,  but  none 
on  the  Bohemian  frontier,  where  the  old  fortresses  are  falling  to 
decay.  It  is  strange  the  different  policy  in  two  military  empires, 
one  trusting  to  fortresses,  the  other  refusing  to  spend  money  in 
any  such  precautions  or  system  of  defence.  Napoleon  intro- 
duced the  system  of  monster  fortresses  and  of  monster  armies. 
He  planned  Alexandria  and  Mayence  each  to  contain  a  laige 
army.  He  ML  principally  by  adherence  to  this  system.  He  Idfc 
Beariy  100,000  men  in  different  German  fortresses.  He  £dt 
assured,  that  the  allies  could  not  advance  with  such  fortresses  and 
garrisons  in  their  rear.  The  allies,  however,  took  no  heed  of 
them.  They  passed  over  the  Rhine  witii  all  their  soldiers,  and  he 
wanted  the  100,000  to  oppose  to  them.  Loots  Philippe's  govern- 
ment followed  the  same  system  in  the  fortification  of  Paris,  which 
it  would  require  nearfy  200,000  men  to  man  and  deted. 

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CAMPt  ANB  MAKOiUTUtS.  '  9S$ 

.  It  was  evident  even  to  the  Bon-nilitaiy  maEn,  who  observed  tlio 
favourite  manoeuvFes  and  fietd-dayi  oa  the  great  plain  of  Satorj, 
that  the  sole  idea  in  the  miads  of  the  generals  and  officers  waa  the 
moving  with  ease  and  precision  large  bodies  of  men,  where  tbej 
preferred  practising  upon  the  tactics  of  the  battle  of  Isly^  where 
the  artillery  did  the  work,  sof^rted  by  large  squares  or  masses 
of  infantry,  against  which  all  the  efforts  of  tbe  Moorish  horse 
failed  of  course.  To  break  an  enemy's  army  by  artillery,  aisd 
then  cut  up  and  destroy  it  by  cavahry,  seems  die  favourite  tactica 
of  soldiers  at  this  day.  The  war  in  Hungary  on  both  sides  was 
nothing  but  this.  The  Hungarians  had  no  infantry,  whilst  Aus- 
tria and  Bussia  employed  them  as  little  as  might  be.  Our  battles 
in  the  northwest  of  India  were  conducted  on  the  same  principle, 
and  Lord  Gough  failed  once  from  not  employing  it.  The  Turkish 
war  would  be  tbe  same  to-morrow,  if  it  broke  out. 

How  different  from  our  great  Peninsular  campaigns,  in  whidi 
the  British  infautry  did  their  portion  of  the  work  -—  and  such 
work  1  In  the  entire  of  the  campaigns  of  the  allies  against 
France  in  1812, 1813  and  1814,  there  is  not  one  martiai  fi^t  oa 
either  side  to  be  compared  to  the  taking  of  Badajos  and  of  Ciudad 
Bodrigo.  Nor  Prussian,  nor  Russian,  no,  nor  French  stormed 
breaches  like  these.  Nor  are  there,  or  were  there,  any  soldiers  in 
Europe  that  would  have  done  it,  save  our  own.  And  the  fact  is, 
throughout  the  entire  war  no  armies  ever  attempted  to  take 
towns,  as  the  British  did.  The  French  jeer  us  for  our  failure  at 
Bergen-<^-Zoom.  But  the  thing  is,  where  did  they  ever  make 
such  an  attempt  ?  The  French,  in  their  conquest  of  Europe,  won 
battles,  but  formed  no  sieges.  The  allies,  in  the  discomfiture 
of  the  French,  followed  them  over  fields  and  fought  them  there, 
but  they  formed  no  serious  sieges,  or  at  least  conducted  none  with 
skill,  coorage  or  daring.  Tbe  military  education  of  the  British 
army  was  in  fact  made  in  sieges,  and  its  courage  tried  in  storm- 
ing parties,  after  which  the  perils  of  the  field  are  easily  encoun- 
tered. And  hence,  wherever  the  French  in  1814  met  Russian, 
Prussian  and  Austrian  in  equal  numbers,  they  beat  them.  So 
they  did  beat  the  Prussians  in  1815.  But  the  English  infantry 
they  could  not  overcome. 

The  siege  and  capture  of  a  fortress  is  a  peculiarly  British  feat. 
Other  armies  have  won  more  signal  battles  than  the  English,  and 
have  experienced  more  remarkable  campaigns.  But  in  modem 
times  the  English  are  invincible  in  the  capture  of  strong  fortified 
cities.  If  there  are  camps  for  British  soldiers  to  play  tl^  game  of 
war,  let  them  play  that  part  in  which  they  exceL  Let  the  numerous 
eavalry  of  the  Freoch  repeat  the  battles  of  Wagram  and  Isly.  Let 
English  troops  beleaguer  a  fortress,  make  approaches  to  it,  efiieet 
a  breach,  and  take  it  by  stona.  It  would  be  more  amusing,  more 
national,  and  more  instructive  thim  Chobbam. 

Tbe  camp  of  Satory  has  just  broken  up,  and  been  just  termi- 
Bated  by  military  games  and  a  fite.  The  games  took  place  in  a 
hippodrome  form^  for  the  occasioOyand  as  the  September  waa- 
tlm  has  proved  the  finest  of  the  year,  the  pastime  possessed  this 

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CAMPS  AND  MANCEUVRBS. 

great  advantage.  My  farewell  of  Satory  was  thas  in  a  merry- 
making. My  first  view  of  it  was  more  striking  and  more  solemn. 
All  who  have  seen  the  field  will  recollect  the  large  and  brilliant 
pavilion  erected  near  the  clump  of  trees.  Casual  visitors  t-ake  it 
for  a  general^s  tent.  It  is^  however,  an  altar.  And  of  a  Sunday 
the  military  population  of  the  camp  muster  in  front  of  it,  drawn 
up  in  regiments  round  it  as  a  centre,  whilst  military  mass  is  per- 
formed in  the  open  air.  The  array  at  Satory  in  the  midst  of  the 
Sunday  ceremony  is  more  striking,  than  to  find  the  enemy  mus- 
tered in  the  smoke  and  the  operations  of  Isly.  I  cannot  think 
either  French  officers  or  soldiers  seem  deeply  affected  by  the  reli- 
gious ceremonies,  in  which  they  are  of  late  compelled  to  take 
part.  The  looks  which  the  soldier  casts  at  the  legion  of  priests, 
who  come  forth,  is  not  fraternal.  Above  all,  the  regiments  from 
Africa  have  not  brought  home  any  very  devout  or  religious  feel- 
ings. The  Emperor  would  do  well  to  send  his  soldiers  to  school, 
before  he  sends  them  to  mass. 

There  is,  however,  it  must  be  added,  no  hatred  of  any  kind ;  no 
rancour  savouring  of  the  feeling  which  prevailed  under  the  first 
Eevolution,  or  under  the  Restoration; — there  is  no  animosity,  no 
vengeance.  Indeed,  whilst  the  two  great  classes  of  civilians,  the 
working  men,  and  the  educated  gentry,  have  strong  political  feel- 
ings,  and  personal  predilection,  and  fear  not  to  express  them,  the 
military,  both  officers  and  soldiers,  maintain  a  neutral  attitude, 
and  there  is  little  burst  of  enthusiasm,  or  party  feeling.  It  is 
difficult  for  soldiers  to  be  congregated,  and  to  have  served  with- 
out strong  preference  for  certain  generals,  and  showing  dislike 
for  others.  But  nothing  of  the  kind  is  apparent.  Such  a  thing 
as  a  cheer  of  approbation,  or  a  murmur  of  disapprobation,  is 
unknown.  To  look  at  them,  or  even  mingle  with  them,  you  may 
say  the  French  army  was  a  collection  of  machines.  What  senti- 
ment this  apparent  apathy  or  coldness  may  cover,  it  is  impossible 
to  divine. 

Singular  to  say,  the  nations  most  distinguished  by  military 
ardour,  at  present,  are  the  Turks  and  the  Italians.  The  numerous 
accounts  from  the  Turkish  encampments  throughout  the  Balkan, 
and  along  the  Danube,  represent  the  utter  impossibility  of  making 
Mussulmans  understand  the  use  of  arming,  of  marching  and  spend- 
ing millions^  in  order  merely  to  make  peace. 

Travellers  who  have  visited  the  camp  of  the  Piedmontese  army 
on  the  plains  of  Marengo,  mention  the  general  belief  and  de- 
sire therp,  that  the  complication  of  events  in  the  East,  would 
bring  on  a  collision  between  Austria,  and  France,  and  Italy.  The 
Duke  of  Genoa,  so  lately  in  England,  commanded  the  manoeuvres 
and  reviews  at  Marengo. 

We  have  no  wish  that  such  dreams  should  be  realized.  On  the 
contrary,  however  picturesque  may  be  camps  and  armies,  we 
desire  to  return  to  the  system  of  the  Great  Frederic;  small, 
efficient  armies,  and  a  larger  defensive,  but  a  semi-military  force. 
The  temptation  to  aggression  would  thus  be  removed,*and  every 
nation  left  less  prepared  for  invasion  or  assault,  would  becoTne 
indomitable  amidst  its  own  fields  an  d  national  defencesoQlc 


367 


A  GOSSIP  ABOUT  NEW  BOOKS. 

There  are  readers  of  books  in  Autumii  as  well  as  in  Spring. 
Indeed  the  autumnal  season,  when  grave  business  is  often  thrown 
to  the  winds,  is  provocative  of  much  reading,  especially  of  light 
reading,  and,  whether  at  the  open  window  of  the  sea-side  house, 
in  the  shooting-box,  in  the  travelling  carriage,  on  the  rail-road  or 
in  the  steam-boat,  our  contemporarj  literature  plays  no  insigni- 
ficant part  in  the  strenuous  idleness  of  the  months  of  September 
and  October. 

Of  Historical  and  Biographical  works  there  is  no  very  abundant 
growth.  Miss  Costello^s  Memoirs  of  Mary  of  Burgundy,*  however, 
may  be  classed  in  either  category.  It  is  one  of  those  works  partly 
historical,  partly  biographical,  which  combine  the  solid  import- 
ance of  the  one  with  the  vivid  interest  of  the  other.  It  is  plea- 
santly and  conscientiously  written  by  one  full  of  the  subject* 
Miss  Costello  knows  well  the  people,  the  places,  and  the  times  of 
which  she  writes.  Such  a  book,  too,  could  only  be  written  by  a 
woman.  It  is  altogether  a  touching  story,  one  of  which  the 
simple  historical  truth  is  as  interesting  and  afiecting  as  the  skill 
of  the  romancer  can  make  it.  Miss  Costello's  authentic  narrative 
is  as  absorbing  as  Mr.  Grattan^s  romance. 

In  Mr.  Browne's  "  History  of  Roman  Classical  Literature **  t  we 
have  a  work  of  a  very  different  class.  In  his  previous  dissertation  on 
the  ^^  Classic  Literature  of  the  Greeks 'Vthere  is  sufficient  guarantee 
for  the  excellence  of  this  companion  volume.  It  is  capital  vacation 
reading.  We  do  not  know  a  better  book  for  those  who  are  study- 
ing, or  pretending  to  study,  who  are  being  coached,  or  pretending 
to  be  coached,  in  Devonshire,  in  Wales,  in  the  Channel  Islands, 
or  any  other  of  those  enchanting  spots  which  are  so  much  fre- 
quented by  studious  undergraduates  in  the  autumn,  to  take  down 
to  their  scholastic  retreats.  A  vast  deal  about  Latin  literature 
may  here  be  learnt  in  a  very  short  time.  Scholarship  is  made 
easy  in  this  volume.  Mr.  Browne  is  a  ripe  scholar,  and  he  is  a 
very  pleasant  writer.  If  we  have  anything  to  complain  of,  it  is, 
that  he  has  curtailed  overmuch  the  critical  portion  of  his  work. 
We  should  have  liked  a  few  more  illustrative  extracts,  character- 
istic of  the  style  of  the  principal  Latin  writers,  with  such  discern- 
ing remarks  upon  them,  as  Mr.  Browne  is  capable  of  making.  But 
in  these  days  of  over-expansiveness  and  prolixity  such  conciseness 
is  a  fault  on  the  right  side. 

It  was  natural  that  a  work  of  fiction  from  the  pen  of  so  eminent 
a  man  as  the  Marquis  Azeglio,  an  historical  romance  by  one  who 

*  "  Memoirs  of  Mary,  the  Young  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  and  her  Cotem- 
poraries."  By  Louisa  Stuart  Cost^lo,  Author  of  a  "  Summer  among  the 
Socages  and  the  Vines.'*    1853. 

t  •*  A  History  of  Roman  Classical  Literatare."  By  R.  W.  Browne,  M.A.» 
Professor  of  Classical  Literatare,  in  King's  College,  London.    18!^. 

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A  008SIP  ABOUT  NEW  BOOKS. 

is  himself  an  historical  character,  should  excite  unusual  attention. 
We  confess,  however,  to  some  prejudices  of  our  ovi-n.  We  seldom 
address  ourselves  with  much  eagerness  to  the  perusal  of  trans- 
lated stories,  and  even  in  the  translation  of  Azeglio'^s  '^  Niccolo  do 
Lapi,^*  we  expected  to  find  more  historical  research  than  human 
interest.  We  have  hardly  yet  recovered  our  taste  for  the  histo- 
rical romance,  surfeited  as  we  once  were  by  the  works  of  SooU^ 
James,  Ainsworth,  and  other  smaller  writers  of  the  same  clasa. 
The  cravings  of  the  public  are  now  for  highly-wrought  fictions  of 
domestic  interest.  We  like  the  plain  coat  and  trowsers,  the  round 
hat  and  the  walking-stick,  better  than  the  coat  of  mail,  the  jerkins, 
the  casque,  the  halbert  and  the  arquebus.  But,  if  anything  could 
lure  us  back  to  the  premiers  amours  of  our  younger  days,  it  is 
such  a  story  as  the  "  Maid  of  Florence.''  We  have  here,  thanks 
to  Mr.  Felgate,  an  admirable  translation  of  a  charming  work.  It 
is  an  historical  romance,  but  with  only  just  enough  of  history  in 
it  to  give  colouring  to  the  romance.  The  history  enhances,  it 
does  not  overlay,  the  human  interest  of  the  story.  Of  the  plot 
itself  we  shall  not  speak.  It  is  ingeniously  constructed,  and 
there  is  a  certain  dramatic  unity  in  it,  in  spite  of  its  ramifications. 
Often,  as  it  branches  off  into  new  fields  of  adventure,  now  to 
follow  the  fortunes  of  one  actor,  now  of  another,  the  author  keeps 
the  several  threads  of  the  narrative  skilfully  in  hand,  and  all  are 
made  to  converge  to  one  common  centre  of  action.  The  dif- 
ferent personages  of  the  story  are  admirably  individualized. 
There  is  a  force  and  distinctness  about  the  portraiture  wbiqh 
shows  the  hand  of  the  master  scarcely  less  than  the  admirable 
grouping,  the  vivid  contrasts,  in  some  places,  and  the  graduated 
resemblances  in  another,  indicate  the  master  mind  of  the  designer. 
How  grandly  the  central  figure  of  the  group — the  fine  old  Niccolo 
de  Lapi  —  stands  out  sturdy  and  bold,  in  all  his  rugged  trulhful- 
ness  beside  the  silken  courtier,  Troilus,  the  beautiful  traitor,  the 
charming  villain,  whose  mission  it  is  to  seduce  women  and  to 
betray  men.  Scarcely  less  excellent  than  these  is  the  portrait  of 
the  good  old  trooper,  Fanfulla,  in  whom  the  simplicity  of  the 
child  is  united  with  the  courage  of  the  hero  and  the  strength  of 
the  giant,  who  cuts  off  the  head  of  an  enemv  with  a  single  blow, 
and  sells  his  charger  to  buy  food  for  a  baby. 

But  if  there  be  a  bold  vigorous  handling  in  these  masculine 
portraits,  there  is,  on  the  other  band,  the  utmost  delicacy  of  touch 
and  refinement  of  treatment  discernible  in  the  womanly  imperson- 
ations. We  must  speak  of  these  somewhat  more  in  detail,  for  the 
beauty  of  the  group — at  least,  as  it  appears  in  our  eyes — is  not  to 
be  set  forth  without  some  minuteness  of  explanation.  What  we 
wish  to  say  is  this.  In  the  ^^  Maid  of  Florence  ^  there  are  three 
principal  female  characters,  who  seem  to  represent  the  gradations 
of  feminine  chastity  and  corruption.  We  speak  merely  of  outward 
pwrity  and  impwriiy — the  contamination  of  the  body.    It  appears 


*  «  The  Maid  of  Florence;  or,  Niccolo  de  1^."  By  the  ICarqmt  liaswiio 
D'Azeglio,  Ex-Prime  Minister  of  Sardinia.  Translated  from  the  ItaliaB  by  W. 
Fdgate,A.M.    Sfdb. 


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A  ooanr  aboot*  kew  books. 

lo  luLve  hetdBi  the  dciigii  of  Um  ai^or  to  dMW  bow  circnnmiaBiceft^ 
iBore  Uian  natonl  dispoeitioD,  nake  the  difierence  between  tbe 
extremes  of  wonanly  puriiy  and  degradation  —  how  the  same 
inatinets  of  womanly  love,  existing  in  diierent  breaata,  one  may, 
nnder  tbe  force  of  curcnmataDcei,  become  a  virtnons  wife,  and  the 
other  a  polluted  coniiesan.  Laodamia — tbe  Maid  of  Florence — 
danghier  of  Niecolo  de  Lapi,  ia  the  incarnation  of  feminine  chastity; 
Selvaggia,  daui^ter  of  Barlaam,  the  Jew,  the  impersonation  of 
feminine  pollution.  The  one  ^s  a  noble-spirited,  loving  father, 
who  protects  her;  tbe  other,  a  sordid,  unloving  father,  who  betrays 
her.  Selvaggia,  whilst  yet  almost  a  child,  is  sold  to  a  wealthy 
proSigate.  ^le  passes  from  one  protector  to  another  until  she 
beeomes  the  feOower  of  the  camp.  There,  in  the  midst  of  a  lile 
of  riotous  excitement,  she  becomes  acquainted  with  a  young 
soldier,  as  virtuous  as  he  is  brave,  and,  for  the  first  time,  the  sealed 
waters  of  pure  womanly  love  are  unloosed  within  her,  and  she 
jpegards  with  instinctive  loathings  all  the  impure  environments  of 
ber  life.  She  would  give  up  everything  for  one  kind  word  from 
him ;  she  would  willingly  die  for  his  sake.  This  youth — ^this 
Lambert— is  betrothed  to  one  of  the  daughters  of  Niecolo  de  Lapi 
— be  is  beloved  by  tbe  other,  Laodamia.  This  Laodamia  is,  as  we 
have  said,  in  all  the  outward  circumstances  of  her  life,  the  very 
antithesis  of  poor  Selvaggia.  She  is  exposed  to  oAtward  danger — 
at  one  moment,  indeed,  she  is  on  the  extremest  verge  of  ruin ;  bat 
circumstances  &vour  her,  and  she  escapes. 

Kow,  midway  between  these  two  extremes — between  the  chaste 
Laodamia  and  the  degraded  Selvaggia — is  Laodamia^s  sister,  Lisa. 
Lisa  is  enamoured  of  a  gay  young  gallant — the  worthless  Troilus, 
of  whom  we  have  spoken — who  ddudes  her  into  a  secret  and  a 
&lse  marriage,  deserts  her,  returns  again  that  he  may  betray  ber 
father,  and  then  endeavours  to  seduce  her  sist^.  This  poor  Lisa, 
then,  is  not,  after  all,  a  vtife,  though  she  is  the  mother  of  Troilus^ 
child.  Outwardly,  she  is  contaminated,  polluted,  degraded.  Tbe 
world  would  spedc  of  ber  as  unchaste.  She  was  no  more  than  tbe 
mistress  of  Troilus.  Tbe  mistress  is  the  link  between  tlie  wife  and 
the  courtesan.  Here,  then,  we  have  the  three  gradations  of  tbe 
womanly  state.  All  had  equally  loving  hearts.  The  vile  courtesan, 
Selvaggia,  under  favouring  circumstances,  would  have  been  as 
good  and  as  faithful  a  wife  as  tbe  chaste  Laodamia.  She  would 
have  lived  and  she  would  have  died  for  her  lord. 

Now,  this  is  a  great  truth — a  great  lesson.  It  is  one,  too,  to 
which,  it  appears  to  us,  there  is  a  growing  inclination  to  listen. 
No  two  works  in  respect  of  machinery  and  costume,  of  incident 
and  of  character,  can  be  more  unlike  than  the  Marquis  Azeglio^s 
"  Maid  of  Florence,'*  and  Mrs.  GaskeU's  "  Ruth.*'  And  yet  ibey 
breathe  m«ch  tbe  simie  spirit.  Tbe  same  great  lesson  of  cbaritj 
and  toleration  is  to  be  learnt  from  them  both.  The  world  hiis 
been  much  too  prone  to  think  more  of  tbe  corruption  of  the  body 
than  of  the  corruption  of  the  heart — to  believe  that  the  former 
necessarily  indicates  tbe  latter,  and  to  take  no  account  of  circum* 
stances.    It  is  to  be  hoped  that  ere  long  we  shall  think  more 

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370  A  GOSSIP  ABOUT  NEW  BOOKS. 

wisely  and  more  truthfully  of  these  tbing8—-Dot  attaching' to  th'ent 
only  the  gross  material  significance  which  appeals  to  the  outward 
eye.  The  poor  outcast  Selvaggia,  in  the  Marquis  Azeglio*s  noble 
fiction,  has  no  less  claim  to  the  womanly  sympathy  and  affection 
of  the  chastest  of  her  sex,  than  if  she  had  never  been  foully 
wronged,  and  thrown,  in  her  helplessness,  upon  the  world.  This 
picture  is  one  to  be  dwelt  upon  with  all  tenderness  and  humility. 
It  is  as  beautiful  as  it  is  true — as  interesting  as  it  is  instructive. 

There  is  a  novel  before  us,  named  "Charles  Delmer,"*  which, 
like  the  "Maid  of  Florence,**  seems  to  have  been  written  by 
one  who  has  mixed  largely  in  the  great  affairs  of  the  world.  It 
is  a  political  novel,  and  is  the  work  of  one  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  parties  and  the  men  who  have  fought  on  the  political 
arena  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century — a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury laden  with  great  events.  We  do  not  know  who  is  the 
author  of  this  clever  book,  but  it  is  impossible  to  question  his 
ability.  "Charles  Delmer"  is  rather  a  gallery  of  political  por- 
traits, than  a  narrative  of  fictitious  adventure.  There  is  life 
and  animation  in  it,  and  it  is  not  wanting  in  incident;  but  its 
merits  will  be  best  appreciated  by  those  who  can  discern  the 
remarkable  fidelity  of  its  portraiture.  These  portraits  are  struck 
off  with  great  ^breadth  and  vigour;  they  are  truthful  without 
malice — racy  without  bitterness.  The  hand  that  drew  them 
has  not  been  guided  by  the  animosity  of  Party.  The  most 
conspicuous  feature  in  the  gallery  is  that  of  Jacobi,  iu  whom  the 
reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  tracing  the  lineaments  of  the  late 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.  The  likeness  is  a  kindly  one — but 
unmistakeable.  Peel  and  Lord  John  appear  without  any  disguise. 
The  present  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  is  there  also,  sketched 
by  no  friendly  hand.  The  hero  of  the  story,  Charles  Delmer, 
appears  to  be  partly  a  fictitious — partly  a  real  personage.  The 
reality  appears  to  be  derived  from  the  character  and  career  of 
Charles  Buller.  Indeed  Charles  Delmer  may  not  unfairly  be  pre- 
sumed to  be  a  fancy  portrait  of  that  lamented  statesman,  llie 
embellishments  are  considerable;  but  there  is  beneath  them  a  solid 
substratum  of  truth.  The  book  is  one  that  has  already  been  much 
talked  of,  and,  doubtless,  it  will  find  its  way  to  many  a  shooting- 
box,  or  be  stowed  away  in  many  a  travelling- carriage,  during  this 
idle  month  of  September,  for  the  amusement  of  those  who,  whilst 
Parliament  was  sitting,  had  little  leisure  for  the  perusal  even  of /Ae 
political  novel  of  the  year.  And,  in  truth,  there  is  much  to  be  learnt 
from  '^Charies  Delmer.^  It  is  as  good  reading  as  any  Blue-book ; 
quite  as  instructive,  and  a  hundred  times  more  arousing.  "  Politics, 
count  on  it,  demand  a  large  spice  of  the  devil,*^  said  Jacobi  to 
Charles  Delmer.  And  a  political  novel  is  worth  little  that  has  not 
some  of  this  spice.  It  appears  to  us,  that  in  these  volumes  there 
is  just  enough  of  it,  and  no  more.  There  is  nothing  that  is  not 
"  within  the  limits  of  becoming  devilry^  But  there  is  spice  in 
almost  every  page. 

Very  different  from  this  work    is  Mr.  Readers    new  story, 
•  ••  Charles  Delmer— a  Stoiy  of  the  Day.-    2  vols.  1853. 

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A  GOSSIP  ABOUT  NEW  BOOKS.  871 

^  Christie  Johnstone.'*  ^  It  is  a  book,  indeed,  Jmi  generis.  Mr. 
Keade  describes  it  as  ^^  a  faultj  but  genuine  piece  of  work."*  That 
it  is  a  genuine  piece  of  woric,  we  see  plainly  enough,  but  we  do 
not  veiy  cleariy  recognize  its  faults.  If  we  were  to  judge  it  by  a 
standard  with  which  it  was  never  intended  that  it  should  confonn, 
it  would,  doubtless,  be  very  easy  to  say  what  the  story  is  not, 
because  it  is  very  easy  to  see  what  it  was  never  intended  to  be. 
It  is  in  all  respects  thoroughly  unconventional.  It  is  a  novel  not 
in  three  volumes,  but  in  one,  with  incident  and  character  suffi- 
cient for  a  novel  of  the  recognized  trade  dimensions,  and  heart 
enough  for  half  a  dozen  such  works.  Christie  Johnstone,  the 
heroine  of  the  story  which  bears  her  name,  is  the  orphan  daughter 
of  a  Newhaven  fisherman.  She  is  one  of  Nature^s  own  nobility, 
though  she  catches  and  she  cries  **  caller  herrin',"  and  has  a  rich 
Doric  brogue  past  all  denial.  We  do  not  know  whether  there  are 
many  such  young  fish-wives  in  Newhaven,  but  if  there  are,  we 
should  like  vastly  to  live  among  them.  Some  may,  perhaps,  say, 
that  there  are  not  many^  and  that  there  is  not  one  ;  but,  as  Lord 
Ipsden,  or  perhaps  the  author  through  Lord  Ipsden,  says,  "  art  is 
not  imitation,  but  illusion  f  and  the  illusion,  in  this  instance,  is 
assuredly  a  beautiful  one. 

As  a  piece  of  homely  pathos  going  straight  to  the  heart,  we 
know  nothing  more  exquisitely  touching  thair  this  slory  of 
"  Christie  Johnstone."  Many  of  the  incidents,  as  that  which  tells 
how  one  of  these  Newhaven  fishermen  and  his  son  are  drowned  in 
the  Firth,  and  how,  when  the  tidings  are  brought  in,  none  of  his 
comrades  have  the  heart  to  communicate  the  doleful  news  to  the 
wife  and  mother,  who  are  waiting  their  return;  or  that  which  shows 
us  Christie  Johnstone  arresting  the  progress  of  the  fierce  drunkard, 
Sandy  Listen,  on  the  way  to  the  wbiskey-shop,  and  daring  him 
to  strike  herfather^s  daughter;  or, more  than  all,  that  in  which 
is  brought  so  vividly  before  us  Christie,  with  her  young  brother, 
putting  out  to  sea  to  save  a  drowning  man,  a  bather,  who  is  being 
carried  out  by  the  tide  —  are  described  with  apower  and  a  truth- 
fulness rarely  excelled  in  modem  fiction.  The  manly  courage 
blended  with  the  maidenly  modesty,  educed  by  such  a  circumstance 
as  this,  beautifully  exhibit  both  the  true  heroine  and  the  true 
woman.  And  whilst  in  this  the  skill  of  the  painter  of  character 
is  strikingly  developed,  there  is  a  minute  objectiveness  in  the 
manner  in  which  all  the  outer  adjuncts  of  this  exciting  scene  are 
described,  which  shows  that  Mr.  Reade  possesses  other  artistic 
qualities  than  these.  Indeed,  it  appears  to  us  that  there  is  in 
*'  Christie  Johnstone  "  a  rare  union  of  the  descriptive  and  the  dra- 
matic. Nothing  of  its  kind  could  be  much  better  than  the  de- 
scription of  the  great  take  of  herrings  in  the  thirteenth  chapter. 
It  is  impossible  to  read  it  without  partaking  of  the  excitement  of 
the  sport — without  almost  thinking  that  one  has  one's  hand  upon 
the  bursting  net  Altogether,  indeed,  the  work  is  entirely  what 
the  author  says  of  it,  a  "  genuine  piece  of  work,''  and  we  are  much 
.  ♦  "  Christie  Johnstone."  A  Novel.  By  Charles  Reade,  Esq.,  Author  of 
«*  Peg  Woffington." 

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97i  A  CKMIP  ABOUT  KEW 

miftakai  if  H  does  net  plate  bini  wfaevB,  ondtiiiBUj,  ke  cmf^to 
be,  ?n  the  front  rank  of  oor  popvhr  wiilen  of  fictimi. 

Differing  greatly,  agaiB,  from  ^  Clnistie  Jolmatone,*  is  the  woili 
which  next  preseots  itself  to  o«r  in>tioe — the  ^^  life  and  Death  of 
Silas  BarBStarke.**  ^  It  is  not  a  story  of  the  preseat  day.  It  is  a  story 
of  the  times  of  the  Commonwealth  and  the  Resloratioa.  It  is  aa 
iDiistration  of  the  master  •passion  of  avariee.  Silas  Bamslarlce  sells 
himself  body  and  soul  to  Mammon.  In  bis  unholy  greed  he  treads 
down  all  the  sympathies  and  affections  of  humanity.  He  qsases, 
indeed,  almost  to  be  a  man.  The  picture  is  a  refolting  one ;  but 
it  is  drawn  with  no  common  power.  The  book  is,  altogether,  one 
not  easily  to  be  thrown  aside.  It  i«  extremely  unlike  the  ^'School 
for  Dreamers.**  It  belongs  to  a  different  class  of  fictioa.  Instead 
of  the  light  and  satirical,  we  have  the  grave  and  tbe  passtooate. 
**  Silas  Bamstarke  ^  is  gloomy  and  tragic.  There  is  something  in 
it  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  Greek  drama.  There  is  an  ineritable 
Nemesis  brooding  over  tbe  nnhaf^py  man^  as  we  plainly  see,  from 
the  first.  **  What  profit  hath  he,  that  he  hath  laboured  for  tbe 
wind  ?  All  his  days  he  eateth  in  darkness,  and  he  has  much 
sorrow  and  wrath  with  his  sicknesa.**  So  saith  tbe  Preacher  of 
those  who  have  ^^  riches  kept  for  the  owners  thereof  to  their  hort.** 
The  sickness  of  Silas  Barnstarke  was  the  plague;  and  he  perished 
miserably.  The  story  is  a  short  one ;  but  it  is  foil  of  incideal 
and  full  of  character;  and  we  lay  it  aside  with  an  enhanced 
opinion  of  the  powers  of  the  writer. 

Bat  any  record  of  tbe  current  literature  of  September  and 
October  would  be  most  imperfect  without  some  notice  of  the 
completion  of  Mr.  Dickens'  last  serial  fietioo.  ^ Bleak  House** 
is  finished;  Jamdyce-and-Jamdyce  is  at  as  end.  They  who 
firom  month  to  month  have  dwelt  with  eager  attention  on  the 
narrative  of  Esther  Summerson,  have  now  placed  the  voIuom  on 
their  shelves,  often,  we  will  venture  to  say,  to  be  taken  down,  and 
wept  over  again,  with  new  interest  and  new  emotion. 

A  book  which,  Mr.  Dickens  himself  assures  us,  has  had  more 
readers  than  any  of  his  former  works,  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  inde* 
pendent  of  criticism.  But  the  critic,  nevertheless,  must  say  some- 
thing about  it  That  ^  something''  is  very  easily  said.  Cr  Bleak 
House  "  is,  in  some  respects,  t^  worst  of  Mr.  Dickens'  fictions, 
but,  in  many  more,  it  is  the  bestj 

It  is  the  worst,  inasmuch  as  m  no  other  work  is  the  Jendency 
to  disagreeable  exaggeration  so  conspicuous  as  in  this,  wliere  are 
a  great  number  of  dramatis  persame  moving  about  in  tliis  story, 
some  of  them  exercising  no  perceptible  influence  upon  its  action 
or  in  any  way  contributing  to  the  catastrophe  of  the  piece/y  They 
disappear  from  the  scene,  give  no  sign,  and  when  we  come  to 
look  back  upon  our  transient  acquaintance  with  them,  we  begin  to 
suspect  that  the  story  would  have  profited  more  by  ^  their  room 
than  by  their  company."  Now  such  characters  are  only  service^ 
able  in  fiction,  when  they  represent  a  class,  and  something  is 

•  **  The  Life  and  Death  of  Silas  Bamstarke,**  By  the  Author  of  the 
•*  School  for  Fathers,"  "  The  School  for  Dreamers,**  &c.     185S. 


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A  GOSSIP  ABOUT  NSW  hOOKB.  979 

Sined  to  moralitj,  if  notbiag  to  art  When,  on  tbe  other  handy 
ej  are  exaggerated  exceptions,  and  represent  nothing  which  we 
have  erer  seen,  or  heard,  or  dreamt  of,  we  cannot  but  regard  them 
as  mere  excrescences  which  we  should  like  to  see  pruned  awaj. 
Of  what  conceivable  use,^or  example,  is  such  a  personage  as 
Mr.  Harold  SkimpoleT]  He  does  not  assist  the  story,  and,  apart 
from  the  story,  he  is  simply  a  monstrosity.  That  there  are  a  great 
inany  people  in  the  worid  who  sit  lightly  under  their  pecuniary 
obligations  is  unhappily  a  fact,  but  if  Harold  Skimpoles  are  mor- 
ing  about  anywhere,  we  will  answer  for  it  that  they  do  not  meet, 
in  any  known  part  of  this  habitable  globe,  such  a  number  of 
tolerant  and  accommodating  friends  as  Mr.  Dickens'  ^  child  ^  is 
represented  to  have  encountered.  But,  leaving  such  personages 
as  Mr.  Skimpole,  Mrs.  Pardiggle,  Mr.  Chadband  and  others,  to 
advert  slightly  to  those  who  do  exercise  some  influence  upon  the 
development  of  the  plot,  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  Mr.Dickena 
has  committed  a  grave  error  in  bringing  together  such  a  number  of 
extraordinary  personages,  as  are  to  be  found  huddled  en  mctsse  in 
this  romance,  the  Small  weeds,  the  Krooks,  theGuppys  and  others. 
As  for  poor  Miss  Flight,  we  recognize  her  presence  as  a  legitimacy, 
for  she  is  the  veritable  chorus  to  the  great  Chancery  tragedy, 
which  is  here  so  terribly  sustained,  even  to  the  dark  cata.<^trophe 
of  the  death  of  the  young  victim.  But  is  it,  we  ask,  within  the 
rightful  domain  of  true  art  to  make  tbe  unnatural  in  character  thus 
predominate  over  the  natural  ?  Qn  **  Bleak  House,"  for  every  one 
natural  character  we  could  namehalfa  dozen  unnatural  onesTYor 
every  pleasant  personage,  half  a  dozen  painful  ones.  SudTTma- 
racters,  for  example,  as  the  Smallweeds,  in  which  the  extreme  of 
physical  infirmity,  resulting  from  constitutional  decay,  is  painted 
with  a  sickening  minuteness,  are  simply  revolting. 
rXbere  is  nothing,  indeed,  more  remarkable  in  ^  Bleak  House " 
than  the  almost  entire  absence  of  humour.'?  In  this  story  the 
r^otesque  and  the  contemptible  have  taken  the  place  of  the 
^nmorousT^There  are  some  passages  in  the  history  of  Mr.  Guppy 
which  raise  a  smile,  but  beyond  these  we  really  do  not  remember 
anything  provocative  of  even  a  transient  feeling  of  hilarity.  It 
would  seem,  however,  that  in  proportion  as  Mr.  Dickens  has 
ceased  to  be,  what  he  was  once  believed  to  be  only,  a  humorous 
writer,  he  has  been  warmed  into  a  pathetic  one.  [The  pathos  of 
**  Bleak  House  "  is  as  superior  to  that  of  "  David  Uopperfield,^ya8 
"  David  Copperfield  "  was,  in  this  respect,  superior  to  any  oTlhe 
author's  former  productions.  There  are  passages,  indeed,  in  it 
which  nothing  can  excel. 

The  chief  merit  of  "Bleak  House''  lies,  indeed,  in  these  de- 
tached passages.  ([There  are  parts  which,  without  hesitation,  may 
be  pronounced  tnore  powerful  and  more  tender  than  anything  that 
Dickens  ever  wrote — but  the  whole  is  disappointing.  We  feel 
that  the  slory  has  not  been  carefully  constructedjj  and  that  the 
undue  elaboration  of  minor  and  unimportant  characters  crowding 
the  canvas,  and  blocking  up  the  space  at  the  author's  command, 
has  compelled  such  a  slurring  over  of  required  explanations  towards 

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874  A  GOSSIP   ABOUT  NEW  BOOKS. 

the  end  of  the  Btoiy^  that  the  reader  lays  down  the  last  number  of 
the  series  scarcely  believing  that  he  is  not  to  hear  anything  more. 
The  want  of  art  is  apparent,  if  we  look  only  at  the  entire  worlu 
Bnt  there  is  wonderful  art  in  the  working  out  of  some  of  the 
details.  The  narrative  of  the  pursuit  of  Lady  Dedlock  may  be 
instanced  as  one  of  the  most  powerful  pieces  of  writing  in  the 
English  language.  There  is  profound  pathos,  as  there  is  also 
high  teaching,  in  the  description  of  the  death  of  the  poor  outcast, 
Joe ;  and  very  touching  too  is  the  sketch  of  the  last  moments  of 
Richard  Carstairs,  done  to  death  by  his  Chancery  suit.  Of  single 
characters  there  are  some  at  least  which  may  be  cited  as  new  to 
Mr.  Dickens*  pages.  The  trooper,  George,  is  a  noble  fellow,  and 
we  are  always  right  ^lad  to  "meet  him.  "  Caddy  Jellaby  is  another 
who  never  comes  amiss  to  us.  Mr.  JUjicket  is  a  portrait  that  stands 
out  from  the  canvas  just  like  a  bit  of^fe.  And  we  cannot  help 
blinking  that  poor  Ric^  with  his  no-character^  is  as  truthful  a  bit 
of  painting  as  there  is  in  the  whole  book.  Of  Mr.  Jarndyce  and 
Esther  Summerson  we  hardly  know  what  to  say.  We  should  like 
to  have  substantial  faith  in  the  existence  of  such  loveable,  self- 
merging  natures,  whetlier  belonging  to  elderly  gentlemen  or  young 
maidens.  But  we  cannot  say  that  we  have.  Indeed,  the  finsS 
disposal  of  Esther,  after  all  that  had  gone  before,  is  something 
that  so  far  transcends  the  limits  of  our  credulity,  that  we  are  com- 
pelled to  pronounce  it  eminently  unreal.  We  do  not  know  whe- 
ther most  to  marvel  at  him  who  translers,  or  her  who  is  transferred 
from  one  to  another  like  a  bale  of  goods.  Neither,  if  we  could 
believe  in  such  an  incident,  would  our  belief  in  any  way  enhance 
our  admiration  of  the  heroine.  A  little  more  strength  of  character 
would  not  be  objectionable — even  in  a  wife. 

We  have  instanced  these  defects, — defects  which  our  reason 
condemns, — defects  spoken  of  commonly  by  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands of  readers  in  nowise  professing  to  be  critics,  mainly  with 
the  intent  of  illustrating  the  wonderful  genius  of  the  writer,  whose 
greatest  triumph  it  is  to  take  the  world  captive  in  spite  of  these 
accumulated  heresies  against  nature  and  against  art.  Everybody 
reads — everybody  admires — everybody  is  delighted — everybody 
loves — and  yet  almost  ej^erybody  finds  something  to  censure, 
something  to  condemn,  ^he  secret  of  all  this,  or,  rather,  for  it  is 
no  secret,  the  fact  is,  thafalmost  every  page  of  the  book  is  instinct 
with  genius,  and  that  Charles  Dickens  writes  to  the  hearts,  not  to 
the  heads,  of  his  readers.^ It  is  easy  to  say, — as  we  have  said, 
and  not  falsely  either, — (Eat  "Bleak  House"  is  untruthful.  If 
there  were  not  wonderful  truthfulness  in  it,  it  would  not  have 
touched  so  many  hearts.  But  the  truthfulness  is  in  the  individual 
details;  it  is  truthfulness  in  untruthfulness.  There  are  minute 
traits  of  character, — little  scraps  of  incident, — small  touches  of 
feeling,  strewn  everywhere  about  the  book,  so  truthful  and  so 
beautiful,  that  we  are  charmed  as  we  read,  and  grieve  when  we 
can  read  no  longer.  It  is  unreasonable  to  look  for  perfection  any- 
where, but  if  the  whole  of  such  a  work  as  "  Bleak  House  "  were 
equal  to  its  parts,  what  a  book  it  would  be ! 


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375 


THE  WEIRD  MAN .♦ 

Careless  of  all,  to  that  dread  room  I  went. 
And  heard  them  say  that  I  was  penitent. 
They  gave  me  absolution,  and  again 
They  turned  me  forth  upon  the  busy  scene 
Of  the  cold  selfish  world,  a  blighted  thing, 
A  wounded  flutterer,  with  a  broken  wing, 
Hopeless  and  fearless,  turned  me  forth  to  die. 
But  for  the  pity  of  one  watchful  eye. 

He  was  an  aged  man,  and  I  had  done 
Some  passing  kindness  to  his  only  son. 
He  saw  me  wander  out  unmeaningly. 
And  when  he  knew  no  curious  eye  could  see. 
He  stole  forth  silently  unto  the  place, 
And  bent  a  searching  gaze  upon  my  face  ; 
*^  It  is  the  same,**  he  said,  and  shook  with  fear, 
''  Accursed  torture  hath  wrought  strangely  here. 

''  Not  many  weeks  ago  and  he  was  borne, 
Rejoicing  in  gay  manhood^s  early  mom. 
To  those  unholy  cells,  and  now  be  shows 
like  one  in  whose  dull  veins  the  life>blood  froze. 
Chilled  by  the  rough  touch  of  untimely  age, 
Ah  !  he  hath  studied  since  a  bitter  page 
Of  sorest  anguish,  and  the  deadly  strife 
Hath  been  to  him  as  years  of  common  life.** 

He  bore  me  to  their  home,  where  many  a  day 

In  that  half  senseless  tranced  state  I  lay; 

He  watched  me  like  a  mother,  then  he  brought 

Their  prattling  infants  round  me,  '^  for  if  aught 

Can  stir  this  heavy  sorrow  it  will  be 

Young  laughing  childhood*s  artless  witchery.** 

And  so  in  truth  it  was,  for  I  awoke 
From  that  dull  trance,  and  once  again  I  spoke. 
My  own  voice  startled  me  at  first ;  it  seemed, 
I  talked  at  random,  and  as  one  who  dreamed. 

I  know  not  how  it  was,  perchance  the  prayers 
Of  innocent  hearts  were  heard  for  me,  but  airs, 
As  firom  good  angePs  wings,  came  o*er  my  soul. 
So  did  sweet  childhood's  mirth  my  bitterness  control. 

Ere  long  I  left  them,  for  I  would  not  stay 
Within  that  hated  place  one  needless  day. 

*  CoDtiQued  from  p.  272. 


VOL.  XXXIV. 


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S76  THE  WEIRD  HAN. 

It  was  a  weary  journey  ihat  I  made, 
And  heavy  langonr  on  my  steps  delayed. 
My  very  gait  was  tHmeir'^toot  nrf  fe«t 
Had  kept  time  nimbly  with  my  glad  heart's  beat. 
Their  movement  now  was  weak  a»d  watering, 
Besides,  it  was  die  ftrsH  Sunt  heal  of  spring. 
But  a  few  months  were  gone,  bat  they  had  shed 
Untimely  snows  <apoB  my  Aided  head. 
And  chilled  the  genemus  cnireiit  of  my  Mood. 
My  weary  path  jml  skirted  the  «maH  wood, 
So  dear  to  me  of  ohL    Its  trees  were  b«re 
Of  their  green  mantle ;  Winter's  froeen  air 
Had  breathed  upon  them  sternly,  and  the  Spring 
Waved  over  them  but  now  his  quicke«iing  wing. 
O'er  me  had  swept  a  winter  of  the  soul; 
Upon  its  frozen  breath  no  spring-mrs  stole* 
I  was  another  msB — my  heart  was  chilled ; 
Harder  and  hateful  thovghts  my  spirit  fifled. 
It  seemed  not  so  at  first ;  whilst  yet  I  stayed 
Within  that  home  where  happy  ehildren  played, 
My  bitter  sleep  was  broken  by  the  sound 
'  Of  sweetest  music  floating  gaily  round 
My  opening  ears,  and  for  a  passing  hoar 
The  melody  of  those  soft  strains  had  power 
To  charm  my  dm^^  spirit  as  it  rose 
To  waking  ooneciousness  of  all  its  woes. 
Too  soon  perchance  I  left  them ;  for  there  grew 
Strange  bitterness  within  me,  till  I  knew 
No  fellowship  of  soul  with  living  thing; 
From  man  I  turned  with  loathing,  and  would  fling 
My  imprecations  o'er  him  ;  e'en  the  flight 
Of  merry  birds  around  me,  or  the  sight 
Of  the  gay  things  which  fill  the  air,  I  cursed ; 
I  hated  all,  and  what  was  happiest,  worst. 

This  grew  not  up  at  once,  but  day  by  day ; 
To  its  first  risings  I  had  given  way ; 
Like  the  fresh  trembling  flakes  which  silently 
Shoot  o'er  some  pool,  beneath  the  clear  cold  sky. 
At  quiet  midnight :  the  new  field  but  now 
Beneath  the  feet  of  dancing  elves  would  bow ; 
With  silent  course  a  stubborn  strength  it  gains. 
And  thick-ribbed  ice  the  restless  water  chains ; — 
And  so  my  heart  was  hardened,  and  became 
Meet  for  the  tempter's  purpose.    Bitter  shame. 
Remembrance  of  intolerable  wrong, 
A  maddened  thirst  for  vengeance,  fierce  and  strong 
As  love  of  life  in  youth,  together  glowed 
Within  my  burning  soul.     No  mark  1  showed 
For  outward  notice,  but  it  spread  within. 
Till  I  grew  ripe  for  every  deadly  sin* 


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XBOD  irmmp  wul  Htl 


I  dwelt,  too,  in  «  wi^j  ckj^  wImto 
None  knew,  none  lo?^  me  ;  Uie  OBfreebiag  «ir 
Of  nnbonght  Madncas  netier  healed  the  mait 
Of  lonely  «arrow.    On  a  •tiieken  heart; 
More  daddy  thea  the  Toaeelosa  deaert,  ftoiraa 
The  populons  toliAttde  ef  noiqr  lowns; 
For  1  have  stood  aad  aeea  tlunn  hy  iba  hour 
Pass  and  repass,  as  the  wuttd's  ceaaelaas  power 
Drives  wave  on  wu^e  iowaida  aeioe  bealea  sbcm^ 
And  aoone  wonld  aaimler  hf,  ei  wiabing  jnore 
To  see  and  to  be  eeeD,  thaa  aogbt  beside. 
And  stop,  aad  islkf  snd  gase  on  either  aide ; 
While  some,  walh  hasty  feoi  aad  eager  eye. 
And  moving  lips  which  8|»ake  not^  hunied  by : 
The  bounduig  step  of  youlh,  the  busy  tttad 
Of  calmilatkig  eunhood,  aad  the  head 
Whose  palsied  shake  moved  -qiiicher  than  the  ieet 
The  strong  staff  acaroe  supported ;  ali  W4iuld  meet 
Within  that  crewded  passage  4  yet  from  all 
My  weasy  gase  aaw  daily,  there  would  iaU 
On  me  no  look  <xf  reoogaMtkm ;  none 
Smiled  when  they  saw  me.    As  the  misty  ium 
Shines  coldly  on  the  ice-field,  every  eye 
Grazed  ob  me  aa  tt  passed  unmeaniogly. 
This  was  to  be  alone — to  be — to  live — 
Within  a  swarming  hive,  where  none  would  give 
One  kind  thought  to  me,  or  one  cheedul  woid^ 
My  mind  turned  in  upon  itself,  and  stin^ 
Still  bitterer  haitred  up,  and,  hacder  tbougbJt, 
Until  to  deepest  crime  my  aoul  was  hrouj^t. 

I  often  mused  upon  ffae  cursed  charge 
Which  had  sapped  all  my  peace,  and  then  at  large 
My  evil  thoughts  would  wander.     Could  it  be 
That  in  such  lore  there  was  reality  f 
And  yet  why  not  ?  since  in  us  and  around 
These  unseen  spints  dwell ;  and  who  shall  bound 
Their  power  and  presence  ?     Deep  within  my  sou 
The  tainted  spot  was  spreading,  till  the  whole 
Grrew  sick  and  cankered ;  in  the  early  hour 
Of  my  mind's  youth,  this  evil  love  of  power. 
Like  some  foul  plant  in  springtime,  scarce  was  seen 
Amidst  the  general  burst  of  various  green. 
Now  all  beside  had  withered ;  it  remained. 
And  spread  o'er  all ;  the  poisonous  stock  retained 
Its  blighting  nature ;  and  T  iain  would  learn 
Secrets  of  power  from  which  pure  spirits  turn 
With  holy  loathing;  for  I  sought  to  know 
Forbidden  things  the  enemy  can  show. 

Nay,  stast  aot,  Oscar;  thou  hast  nought  to  fear ; 
I  have  no  tale  to  tell  ^  forms  which  scare 

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378  THE  WEIRD  MAN. 

The  feeble  dream  of  crones,  and  grace  so  well 

The  idle  fables  withered  dotards  tell 

To  trembling  ears ;  it  was  not  thus  I  knew 

That  my  bad  vows  were  heard,  and  that  I  drew 

Power  more  than  man's  from  evil  communing : 

Yet  I  hay e  felt  that  presence,  like  the  wing 

Of  unseen  birds  beating  the  tremulous  air. 

Unholy  strength  was  given  me  to  dare 

To  listen,  in  the  silent  breath  of  even, 

For  voices  which  came  not  from  things  of  heaven ; 

Nor  from  the  lips  of  feeble,  earth-bom  men, 

Unheard  by  those  around  me ;  yet,  e*en  then, 

Distinct  to  me,  though  dull  and  accentless, — 

The  shadow  of  a  voice.    I  could  not  guess 

Whence  it  came  to  me ;  for  its  piercing  sound, 

Which  reached  my  inmost  soul,  came  floating  round, 

Upon  the  pulses  of  the  general  air, 

Like  distant  echoes — heard  now  here,  now  there. 

And  in  my  dreams  I  saw  a  shadowy  form, 

T  was  still  the  same — scarce  seen — as  when  a  storm 

O'er  canopies  the  heaven,  and  casts  a  gloom 

O'er  dusky  portraits  in  some  ancient  room. 

Yet,  though  half  veiled  in  gloom,  't  was  sometimes  turned 

More  full  upon  me,  and  my  sense  discerned 

Majestic  beauty ;  yet  it  was  not  fair, 

Nor  pleased  the  gazer's  eye :  for  gathered  there 

Blackness  of  woe  and  hate ;  and  ever  still 

A  scornful  smile  dwelt  on  it,  which  might  fill 

The  boldest  heart  with  shuddering.    I  have  seen 

Those  features  waking;  stifling  crowds  have  been 

Thick  jammed  together,  so  that  men  might  tread, 

Upon  the  living  floor,  from  head  to  head ; 

But  in  a  moment  I  have  caught  that  eye. 

And  been  alone  with  it,  tho'  all  were  by. 

For  power  I  thirsted ;  power  was  granted  me ; 

And  all  I  asked  for,  was,  or  seemed  to  be. 

Put  freely  in  my  hands, — wealth,  honour,  fame, 

(For  tho'  none  loved,  yet  many  feared  my  name) 

The  cloying  sweets  of  sense — and,  dear  to  pride, 

The  joy  of  devils,  hatred  gratified. 

True  these  were  mine ;  yet  ever  with  them  all, 

A  settled  sense  of  misery  would  fall 

Upon  my  burdened  spirit ;  with  a  smile 

Of  scornful  hatred  all  was  granted ;  while 

An  aching  unreality  possessed 

Each  promised  joy,  and  tortured  my  torn  breast. 

E'en  while  enjoyed,  mere  shadows  Uiey  would  seem, 

The  unreal  phantoms  of  a  busy  dream. 

My  sense  was  undeceived,  and  forced  to  know, 

What  men  call  matter,  as  a  juggling  show, 


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THE  WEIRD  MAN.  379 

A  fleeting  picture  painted  on  the  mindy 
Which  was  not,  tho'  't  was  felt, — all  undefined, — 
Grasped  at  in  vain  when  present,  and  when  gone, 
Leaving  behind  no  trace  to  look  upon. 
This  poisoned  every  pleasure  ;  for  I  grew 
To  doubt  of  all  things,  so  that  I  scarce  knew 
Whether  I  wa|^  or  not — or  whether  there 
Were  any  round  me.    Forms  I  saw  them  wear, 
Or  sometimes  thought  I  saw,  yet  scarce  could  say. 
Perchance  I  walked  in  sleep,  and  so  did  they. 
Oh  !  it  was  horrible,  to  live  in  doubt 
Of  mine  own  self,  and  all  things  round  about 
And  when  I  asked  for  light,  the  evil  one 
Would  smile  in  bitterness,  and  from  the  sun 
With  which  he  seemed  to  lighten  me,  would  cast 
A  thicker  darkness  o'er  me  than  the  past 

I  cannot  tell  thee  all.     Yet  this  I  may; 

It  waa  a  hateful  service,  day  by  day : 

My  sad  heart  smote  me ;  oft  I  longed  to  be. 

Myself  again,  in  any  weakness  iree. 

Yet  that  was  past;  it  was  a  fearful  stake 

I  played — and  lost,  and  never  more  could  break 

The  viewless  fetters  wound  about  my  soul. 

Which  held  my  raging  spirit  in  controul. 

Men  called  me  mad ;  they  said  that  racking  pain. 

And  torturing  solitude  had  crazed  my  brain ; 

For  that  I  spoke  to  shadows,  things  of  nought, 

The  mocking  phantoms  of  diseased  thought 

That  when  I  felt  a  presence  which  I  deemed 

The  mighty  evil  one,  I  idly  dreamed ; 

And  spoke  unmeaningly,  as  dreamers  do. 

Time  has  been  since,  when  I.  have  thought  so  too : 

When  puzzled  memory,  brooding  on  that  time, 

Its  features  strange,  its  anguish  and  its  crime, 

Has  gazed  upon  them  till  my  sight  would  ache. 

As  men  look  back  on  visions  when  they  wake. — 

The  tangled  web  a  vagrant  fancy  weaves. 

Perplexed  with  contradictions,  till  she  leaves 

The  restless  head,  more  weary  for  its  sleep. 

Whilst  o'er  the  wakened  mind  there  still  will  creep, 

The  imeasy  sense  of  tossed  and  troubled  thought. 

Whate'er  it  was — or  true  or  false — it  brought 

Deep  misery  o'er  me.    living  hope  had  fled. 

And  with  its  flight,  the  heart  of  life  was  deaid ; 

Yet  with  despair  there,  came  a  certain  joy 

(Sure  thus  the  fiends  are  made) :  I  could  employ 

My  evil  powers  for  evil :  I  coidd  wreak 

My  hatred  on  mankind,  for  they  would  seek  ^         t 

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S80  THB  WiaGD  XAir. 

Help  from  me  in  tlwir  needl,  and  cocoMel  wise, 

Beyond  Ae  lAeffl  of  man.    Btfofe  my  ayes 

What  secret  Ahigs  weir%  spread  I  as  (K>fDe  taD  spise 

Draws  from  the  thfeateoiiig  elocid  the  li^aid  m 

Of  deadly  lightsiiig,  so  thare  ease  to  ne^ 

All  yarious  forms  of  erime  aad  munay* 

The  weak  were  there,  beeaase  their  strengl^  was  aaudl, 

Whilst  their  fieree  hearts  butaed  hotly ;  iSey  weald  dO^ 

A  greater  meiglrt  fhsn  theirs  te  serve  dMoor  arHy 

Arid  deal  agaifist  tbeir  foes  the  Mif^Hing  dswaOf 

Of  some  fiend's  miscMeC    Wives  wovid  ceene  te  seek 

Some  potent  speil  of  CK^wer  eBoagk  to  break  < 

The  wanton  chane  wfricb  other  eyes  bed  tkrewm 

O'er  faithless  hearts  whidi  should  be  tbeim  ak»e. 

The  spendthrift  heir  sought  to  ne,  to  be  told 

How  long  the  grtidged  Efe  of  age  woirid  hiAd, 

The  wealth  he  hungered  for,  away  from  him. 

The  faded  cheek,  and  sunken  eye^baU  dim^ 

Would  ask  for  youthful  bloom,  or  secret  arts. 

To  win  again  the  homage  of  young  hearts. 

And  all  I  loved  to  torture,,  whflst  I  seemed 

To  help  ihem  on  to  what  their  fancy  deemed 

Would  give  tbem  happiness;  with  evil  guile 

I  had  been  cheated;  and  my  heart  would  smile, 

In  very  bitterness  of  mirth,  to  see 

How  they  all  fluttered  on  uneasilv' 

Into  the  web  whose  tangling  meshes  crossed 

Their  onward  petb,  tiU  troth  and  hope  weie  leat. 

Before  their  stroiniog  eyee^  wild  faikey  shed 

Her  idly-briDiat  lights,  aed  diey  were  kd 

To  plunge  their  sinking  footsteps  deeper  yeC 

Oh !  these  are  hoirofs  I  would  Mm  Ibiget; 

For  I  could  tell  thee  tales  of  woe,  whidi  would 

Harrow  thy  spirit  up,  and  seed  thy  blood 

Back  on  Aty  ffessing  heart;  smA  misery, 

As  e'en  in  evil  dreams  yoensg  beaita  n^er  eee^ 

Until  the  momiBg  dews  have  passed  away. 

And  they  ate  scorched  and  fnnl  at  hoi  nocoiday. 

Amongst  the  rest^  aa  aged  father  cane. 

Not  aged  to  wesknees;  one  in  vrhon  the  flame 

Of  life  burned  strongly  yet;;  his  spirit  wursed 

Longings  of  base  ambitioD;  to  be  first 

Amongst  hie  fellow  dares,  by  any  arts; 

It  matteted  not  to  hiai  that  UeecKag  hearts 

Were  tramiikd  piecemed  down :  hie  resdess  eye 

Gleamed  with  die  tiniid  glance  of  ciwdigr. 

Twas  a  foul  story  boldly  spohea;  bwg 
No  sense  ef  shanse  open  has  practised  teogoe 
Its  hesitating  weiaht:  stimight  on  he  spoke: 
He  started  not,  when  first  Ins  evil  broke 

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THB  "WVOLD  MAK.  3tl 

On  his  own  listening  ear,  nor  Uusbed  ttie  wbtle; 
His  blinded  soul  was  darkened  thro'  long  guile. 
Enry  and  chilling  avmce  had  grown 
With  his  hear^  growih,  and  made  it  hard  as  stone. 

He  had  &  davgjktei.    Fair  she  was^  he  said. 

And  good  af  fiur ;  uffOfh  the  k>w-bom  naid 

Count  Bertran^'a  gaze  bad  realed.    He  had  seent 

And  loved  aa  sach  aiea  love;  far  he  had  been 

Wedded  from  joath  to  pleaayture ;  thwarted  ne'ex^ 

And  with  a&  inaeleat  and  haogbty  air, 

He  wooed  old  WeiiMtf'&  daughter :  deeouag  hu^ 

That  he  did  honour  imto  one  as  pure 

As  e'er  was  heart  of  virgin  i]tfioGeace» 

Although  he  sought  her  lightly;  but  the  fimce 

Of  maiden  modesty  he  found  too  strong ; 

Yet  still  he  ignorantly  deemed,  e'er  long,, 

He  should  betray  her  heart;  tbo'  not  a  word. 

Of  looser  love  the  higb^soukd  maiden  heard. 

As  in  some  northern  forest's  depth,  the  breeae^ 

When  Sprmg'a  warm  breathing  woos  the  wbiqieriag  trees. 

From  feathery  pine,  and  tufted  cedar  sbakeay 

In  showers  of  sparkliag  dust,  the  gathered  flakea 

Of  parted  Winter's  snow,  her  spirit  cast 

Each  evil  thought  away,  and  so  there  passed. 

No  shade  upon  ita  brightness.    Bertram's  pride 

It  strangely  moved,  that  he  should  be  deiued. 

The  flying  good  more  fierody  he  pursued. 

With  other  eves,  than  he  had  ever  viewed 

Another  maiden,  Bertha  now  he  saw. 

His  lawless  will  bad  ever  been  hia  law. 

An  untamed  spirit  diafed  beneath  the  rein. 

Yet  better  loved  tbe  damsel  for  bis  pain. 

And  he  would  offer  all  to  win  her  band. 

His  knightly  name,  bis  castle,  and  broad  land. 

But  Bertha  heeded  not    There  was  a  time. 

E'er  she  had  linked  bis  name  with  thought  of  crime. 

When  it  may  chance  that  such  a  suit  Iwl  given. 

To  his  dark  soul  that  choicest  gift  of  heaven 

The  dewy  brightness  of  Love's  opening  flowec^ 

The  firesb  fond  heart  of  womaa'a  morning  hour. 

But  that  waapassed:  nor  had  she  aeen  him  morey 

Save  at  old  Weimar's  bidding :  for  his  door 

Was  open  to  the  Count;  and  he  would  labt 

That  such  a  suit  tbe  damsel's  ear  should  gam. 

He  feared  Um  not,  nor  loved  him ;  but  to  be 

Thus  linked  ki  blood  wiih  old  nobility. 

Moved  his  base  spirit :  so  he  would  Uiat  I, 

Upon  hia  child,  the  hidden  art  should  tiy« 

And  so  he  Imragbt  me  home,  and  made  me  known 
Unto  the  damsel  as  bis  friend  alone  ; 


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S82  THE  WEIRD  HAK. 

And  she  suspected  not  a  hid  intent, 
Nor  aught  had  heard  of  me ;  and  so  I  went, 
Secure  in  heartless  craft :  but  on  my  eyes, 
There  burst  a  vision  decked  in  gorgeous  dyes, 
Bright  forms  of  beauty;  as  in  dreamy  sleep 
Float  round  some  holy  maid  high  watch  to  keep. 
For  she  was  passing  fair;  such  heavenly  light 
Was  shed  around  her  that  my  fading  sight, 
Like  the  spent  wave,  against  a  thwarting  rock. 
Fell  bafBed  and  abashed :  as  by  the  shock 
Of  lightning^s  sharpest  glancing;  when  the  eye 
Overpowered  by  splendour,  sees  uncertainly 
But  dizzy  motes  which  fill  the  peopled  air. 
And  having  seen  her,  scarcely  did  I  dare 
Again  upon  that  dazzling  form  to  gaze. 
Sure  there  was  fascination  in  her  face, 
So  did  it  hold  my  captive  eye  in  thrall. 
For  I  must  gaze,  and  gazing  ventured  all. 
And  she  was  pure — ^not  purer  falling  snow ; 
Simple  as  childhood's  laugh ;  she  did  but  know 
That  I  was  Weimar's  friend,  and  so  she  spoke 
With  innocent  boldness,  for  her  father's  sake, 
A  welcome  greeting  to  me.    I  became 
Their  frequent  guest,  until  the  hidden  flame. 
Which  they  would  have  me  kindle  in  her  breast. 
By  my  bad  power  my  jrielding  soul  confessed. 
And  she  subdued  my  unresisting  heart 
By  spells  of  mightier  force  than  magic  art 

Yet  none  suspected  me,  and  so  I  grew 

More  intimate  each  day.    And  litUe  knew 

That  crafty  Evil  One  who  led  me  on. 

Step  after  step,  the  healing  light  which  shone 

Into  my  bosom's  darkness.    Sin  to  sin 

He  deemed  me  adding,  and  that  he  should  win 

More  certainly  my  souL    Yet  virtuous  love 

Was  kindling  in  me,  lighted  from  above. 

They  were,  perchance,  the  last  far-buried  seeds 
Of  kindlier  human  feelings;  evil  weeds 
Had  poisoned  all  besides :  but  these  still  kept 
The  principle  of  life,  although  they  slept 
Unknown,  unthought  of,  till  the  quickening  ray 
Of  her  soul's  sunshine  woke  them  into  day. 
Twas  long  before  I  whispered  to  her  ear — 
My  full  heart  wildly  tossed  by  hope  and  fear — 
The  love  I  bore  her :  not  unmoved,  it  seemed, 
She  heard  the  whisper.    In  that  joy,  I  deemed 
All  sorrow  passed  with  me.    From  out  the  cloud 
So  thick  and  stifling,  which  had  grown  to  shroud 
My  darkened  soul,  there  poured  a  golden  light 
Pure  as  the  dawn  of  Heaven,  so  soft  and  bright 


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THE  WEIBD  MAN.  383 

I  could  not  think  of  darkness.    It  were  long 
To  tell  thee  all  that  followed.    Deep  and  strong 
Was  Weimar's  anger ;  yet  at  last  we  won 
His  grudged  consent,  and  Bertha  was  my  own. 

And  even  now  was  loosed  the  icy  chain ; 

The  natural  current  of  my  blood  again 

Flowed  as  in  Man.    Nor,  henceforth,  sought  I  more 

That  cursed  presence:  yet  HE  gave  not  o'er 

His  captive  victim  so ;   but  ever  came 

First  mild,  with  specious  smiles,  but  then  in  flame 

With  threatenings  terrible  to  sense,  if  I, 

His  plighted  slave,  should  ever  dare  deny 

The  deadly  compact  which  had  linked  my  soul 

To  his  accursed  power ;  sometimes  his  control 

Seemed  broken  for  a  time,  and  I  was  free. 

But  then  in  dreams  he  would  revisit  me — 

His  power  was  great  in  dreams — and  then  I  woke 

In  breathless  agony;  and,  waking,  spoke 

As  dying  men  may  speak,  in  sight  of  death. 

With  the  last,  suruggling,  agonized  breath. 

She  was  my  succour:  for  a  holy  air 

Floated  around  her;  and  He  did  not  dare 

Invade  that  sacred  presence :  God's  own  might 

Dwelt  in  her  innocence,  and  put  to  flight 

The  hated  powers  of  evil ;  she  would  still 

My  troubled  spirit  oft:  all  thoughts  of  ill 

Floated  at  once  away  when  she  was  nigh. 

As  rising  waves  bear  with  them  silently 

The  gathered  leaves  which  playful  winds  have  borne 

And  laid  upon  the  shore ;  but  deep  would  mourn 

My  stricken  heart,  for  I  was  yet  the  prey 

Of  doubt  and  darkness ;  as  the  trembling  spray 

Some  light  bird's  foot  hath  left,  which  trembles  still. 

My  spirit  shook  e'en  with  departing  ill. 

I  heard  her  speak,  oh  !  those  were  angel  sounds ; 

This  dull  cold  heart  at  their  remembrance  bounds 

Sh^  spoke  of  faith ;  my  swelling  thoughts  would  heave ; 

Oh  how,  like  her,  I  thirsted  to  believe ! 

In  youth's  fresh  fragrance  my  whole  heart  had  bowed 

With  questionless  submission,  but  the  crowd 

Of  hard,  bold  doubtings  long  had  brooded  there. 

And  choked  my  soul's  breath  with  the  poisonous  air 

Of  their  proud  reasonings,  till  I  could  not  be 

A  child  in  innocent  simplicity. 

It  was  a  fearful  struggle ;  and  the  night 

Of  hopeless  gloom,  but  for  her  holy  light, 

Had  gathered  thickly  round  me ;  in  the  hour 

Of  present  evil  her  o'ermastering  power 

Still  set  my  spirit  free ;  and  she  would  sing 

With  richer  melody  than  birds  of  spring 


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aM  im  WSBD  MMM. 


To  soothe  mj  trouUed  soul,  sad 

Calm  thovglMt  of  pew»  to  vmi  akns  mcktd  bum. 


^^  Come  walk  with  me,  '1  will  cheer  thy  spirit^  love^ 
And  we  will  listen  while  the  coshat  dove 
Speaks  softly  to  his  mate,  and  stirs  the  aix 
As  the  light  gales  which  oa  their  sweet  breath  bear 
The  wild  flower's  fragrance — stirs  the  glas^  face 
Of  the  broad  lake  which  sleeps  in  the  embrace 
Of  slumbering  trees  which  throng  its  shaded  bank.** 

MADHAir. 

^'  I  cannot  walk  with  thee ;  of  old  I  drank 
Fnll  draughts  of  nature's  sounds  r^;ht  eagerly. 
It  was  my  boyhood^s  pleasure  still  to  be 
A  watchfiil  listener  to  the  under  noCea 
Of  her  sweet  voice,  to  hear  each  song  which  floats 
Upon  the  eveningi^s  gale,  or  at  midday 
My  listless  length  in  the  long  grass  to  lay, 
Hearing  the  insect's  ham ;  the  general  sound 
Of  living  happiness  which  echc^  round 
The  joyful  earth ;  but  I  am  altered  now. 
Stem  sorrow  sets  her  seal  upon  my  brow. 
These  sounds  of  joy  are  not  for  men  like  me.^ 

And  I  had  broke  from  her  ;  but  suddenly 
As  from  an  angePs  lyre  sweet  notes  I  heard 
Soothing  the  ruffled  bieaat,  dark  sorrow  slined. 

BEKTWA^  SOlfO. 

Say  Bot  an  nature's  notes  are  gay, 

That  evei|T  aeond  igoiees, 
That  earth  and  air,  wbete'er  we  stay, 

Anfmlloihmpfy  voices; 
Ob  way  not  all  aroimd  is  glad 
And  only  thou  art  sad. 

Though  joy  and  kyrei«  every  tree 
The  merry  birds  are  whkpertng, 

Thovgh  ereiry  bnsk  b  Ml  of  g^ 

Aa  leavea  with  dew-dropa  g^tatening. 

Yet  mournful  notes  are  wi^fted  hii^ 

In  morning's  breath  aad  evenia^a  ai|^ 

Go  stand  in  yonder  tangled  brd^e 

While  m^ht-Ieafed  fern  is  i^anetng: 

Those  brandling  stems  safe  covert  make 
For  the  dappled  fewn*s  Hght  dancing. 

List !  (aa  the  timid  creatures  fly, 

With  bounding  fbot  most  ncnselessly), 


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To  that  deep  Mtc^  wUek  aK  afwnd 
The  heatk«nr  gfea  is  wakiag^ 

The  m^Aiei'B  ealft;  as  avi  &  aamd 
As  the  sob  wbeo  hearts  aae  ' 

As  plaintiye  and  as  wild  a  tone, 

As  listennvrcar  holh  hnovn. 

Or  steod  bcsi^  Ae  sea, 
WWb  its  loD^  tmdl  aoUenlj 

Sweeps  o'er  the  loBcly  besdi ; 
Or  listen  for  tbs  ■ote% 
Which  as  An>' isefcs  it  floatey 

The  aigkioghseesseas  teach 
To  echo's  amBnid  racs,  oa  tke  niU  haCii  koaly 


Then  mark  the  sea.  bird's  csjv 
As  steadKbF  they  fly, 
Tbair  wM  sad  watdifcl  ^e 
Fixed  keti^  a|mt  thee. 
Their  kag  wiags  satslielcbcd  wide, 
As  they  Teer  ftam  aids  to  aide, 
And  seem  at  will  to  ride 
All  motionless  and  atiU  oa  tbs  btsczas  of  the  ses. 

All— all  are  maaisial  soimda,, 

And  wed  for  aumcaer^  ear% 
Not  for  flie  heart  wfakh  gafly  boanAi, 

And  eyes  wbick  acfer  kaew  tean^ 
Are  Nature's  beaaties  plaaaed  alini^ 
Or  taaed  her  Tsrioas  tone. 

The  brigbtaaai  sad  the  gkcy 

Of  the  dassfiag  sai^t  da^y 
And  the  glad  bird's  «eaaelcss  starf. 

As  the  aaeuji  wmadelsy 

Bavals  forth  ipoak  crery  apr^r; 
'    These  are  for  dancing  hearts  and  laughing  eyes, 

BoidRfs  sie  odier  dyes 
Ofsofceictbeaaay:  Acre  sse  wnatUag  doads. 

And  tBl>ffriTTg  miat  whidi  ahroods 
Day's  gaosh  ralcDitoinv  sa  thai  ^es  winch  waqp 

iMl  aoottnng  Natore  keep 
Tfaae  wi&  Iheit  sadoeaa;  whispeasd  aaaiuima  iqieak 

Ts  hearts  which  shaoat  breah 
In  knidsad  asie%  the  sostow-striekea  esr 

Lo wdi  sighl  w«A  «9  hesr. 

There  wss aday  whsa  she  wsfdd  hare«s  go 
AndwOTihip  widi  hsr;  Mttie  did  Om  kaow 
My  caldhsarft  atmAgaBcas  teas  ila  cnly  LoacI, 
Its  cursed  irieadAip  with  the  pawsaa  abhomd. 

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886  THE  WEISD  MAN. 

She  would  not  be  denied,  and  so  I  went : 
It  was  just  past  the  holy  days  of  Lent ; 
And  Easter  hymns  rose  up  in  full-voiced  tide, 
E'en  as  we  entered,  to  the  Crucified. 

Faithless  I  stood  among  the  faithful  throng ; 
Yet,  as  I  mused,  the  power  of  holy  song 
Came  sweetly  o'er  my  soul.    I  thought  of  days 
When  my  own  infant  tongue  had  learned  such  lays : 
I  saw  my  mother's  form — her  tender  eye. 
As  for  her  child  she  pleaded  earnestly. 
My  life  was  spread  before  me ;  all  its  hues 
Of  sin  and  mercy ;  and  I  could  not  choose 
In  that  blest  hour,  but  raise  a  struggling  prayer. 
Half  winged  by  hope — half  stifled  by  despair. 
Upon  the  Merciful  I  dared  to  call,  .  . 

And  even  with  the  prayer  there  seemed  to  fall 
Upon  my  parched  dry  heart,  which  so  long  knew 
Nor  rain,  nor  verdure,  a  refreshing  dew. 
As  the  first  dew  of  herbs,  when  each  stalk  plays 
With  evening's  balmy  breath  in  summer  days. 

Sweet  airs  of  mercy  o'er  my  spirit  stole. 
And  loosed  the  very  fetters  of  my  soul. 
Yet  had  I  conflicts  oft ;  in  visions  still 
My  soul  was  haunted  by  the  powers  of  ill. 
Sometimes  I  dreamed  of  every  painted  show. 
Which  sparkles  gaily  with  ambition's  glow — 
The  golden  palace,  and  the  hum  of  men 
Thronging  its  courts  with  service ;  Fancy,  then, 
Took  up  the  half-heard  buzz,  and  with  my  name 
Sounded  the  rising  breath  of  empty  fame. 
But  with  it  all,  I  heard  a  ceaseless  noise, 
Dull,  accentiess,  yet  piercing,  then  a  voice 
Would  ever  whisper  m  my  half-stunned  ears. 
So  low  its  silver  strains,  none  else  could  hear, — 

^^  This  is  not  peace ;  fly  hence  and  be  at  rest, 
Where  £uth  shall  calm  and  hope  shall  glad  thy  breast." 
E^en  as  I  w^oke  I  heard  that  heavenly  tone ; 
It  seem'd  like  Bertha's  voice ;  but  when  alone. 
How  fiercely  raged  the  strife,  ah  !  none  can  tell ; 
With  what  black  vengeance  yawn  the  gulfs  of  hell 
For  those  who  sport  with  sin.    The  happy  song, 
Which  holy  hearts  still  chaunt  who  pass  along 
The  untainted  path,  their  virgin  spirits  firee 
As  childhood's  babbling,  singing  joyfully. 
Their  song  of  Faith  and  Hope  I  could  not  learn ; 
Strange  doubts  oppressed  me,  and  could  but  discern, 
Clad  in  dark  clouds  of  vengeance,  black  with  storm^ 
The  guiding  hand  and  the  imagined  form 


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THE  WEIRD  MAN.  387 

Of  the  Almighty  Judge.     Sad  years  pas  ed  on 
Before  the  mists  of  unbelief  were  gone. 
They  clung  to  my  sick  soul,  and  tainted  all 
Life's  purity ;  and  ever  would  they  fall 
Upon  the  brightest  joy.    They  fled  at  last, 
And  I  could  breathe  at  will,  as  one  safe  passed 
Through  sulphurous  gales  into  a  purer  air. 
Long  time  did  she,  as  some  pure  spirit,  cheer 
My  struggling  conflict  onward ;  long  she  gave 
Fresh  strengdi  to  my  faint  heart,  when  o'er  the  wave 
Of  coming  woe,  she  poured  her  full-toned  song 
Of  faithful  hope  and  resignation ;  lon^ 
She  was  the  spring  of  after-joy,  when  life 
Flowed  in  a  smoouier  current,  free  from  strife. 
She  was  thy  mother,  Oscar!  oh!  how  sore 
An  anguish  fell  upon  me,  when,  once  more, 
I  turned  alone  on  life  from  her  closed  grave—- 
But  then  I  knew  that  she  was  sent  to  save 
An  erring  soul ;  and  I  could  meekly  bow 
To  God's  high  will,  and  with  a  patient  vow 
Of  better  service — from  a  bleeding  heart 
Bless  His  great  name  who  sent  the  sorer  smart. 

The  old  man  paused ;  for  there 

Was  gathering  the  big  tear 

Within  his  aged  eye — 
As  when,  through  all  the  air. 
Tumultuous  currents  bear 
The  troubled  thunder-clouds  across  a  summer  sky. 

Then  in  a  deep  embrace 
Was  buried  that  bright  face 

Of  youthfrd  piety; 
And,  for  a  little  space. 
The  father's  straining  gaze 

Fed  on  him  happily. 
His  trembling  fingers  close 
The  open  volume,  and  they  rose. 


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A  JOURNEY  FEOM  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO 
ST.  PETERS 

Thb  Pantheon  aad  Ckiom&am  beiag  tihe  twio  pnneiMl  an- 
tiquities of  Rome,  I  msio  WBf  CDBtaved  to  eonfoitiid  m%  eons 
eums  of  tiieir  naaea  in  nr  BMnoiy  wbiie  k  was  yet  tvxbid  with 
Uie  sudden  infinx  of  all  llome,  nd  ever  sinoe^  I  imwe  iriways 
called  them  by  tkek  wwmg  naMea.  Peiltapa,  ako,  die  Cokaseum 
in  Regent's  Paik  beiag  aaade  Um  aba|p6  aad  siae  of  the  Faatheon 
of  its  real  namesake,  may  have  aggnivaled  Mm  Mra.  Naekleb^ism, 
which  I  had  to  compromiae  hy  caQiiig  tbem  the  Paaacemi  and 
Colothron  irretpeetively.  TheKftm,  baring  lately  tdd  you 
somethbg  about  the  Paadieon,  far  want  of  any  better  ooier  or 
method,  I  feel  incHned  to  4ell  you  aomethiiig  about  the  Coloa- 
seum  now. 

It  was  towards  sunset  when  I  saw  it  first,  deaeending  the  Capi- 
toline  hill,  and  looking  acmes  the  Fcnin.  But  I  should,  perhaps, 
not  overlook  the  Fomm  without  a  passing  glknpse  of  irhat  it  is 
like.  Imagine  a  dreary,  oblong  common,  whose  aeaioer  end  is 
much  broken  wkh  gaping  grayel-pits,  fiom  the  bottom  of  vhich 
— as  if  it  was  the  resurrection-day  of  a  buried  city,  decayed  old 
temples  coming  unexpectedly  to  life  again,  seem  to  have  risen 
on  their  shaky  columns  to  look  about  fer  missing  shoulder-blades 
of  pediments,  and  collar-bones  of  coinke  preparatory  to  stepping 
out  of  their  graves. 

One  triumphal  arch,  breast-high  in  the  ]Ht,  shows  at  the  bottom 
of  it  a  bit  of  huge,  dark-stoned  pavement,  which  the  shoes  of 
Horace  and  Virgil  helped  to  polish,  the  continuation  of  which 
pavement  either  way  is  covered  by  thirty  feet  of  ibe  dust  of  ages. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  common,  where  the  ground  rises  a  little, 
another  triumphal  arch  seemed  to  have  got  clear,  already  to  be  on 
the  way  to  the  Colosseum.  To  the  left  are  some  long-lived 
veterans  who  appear  to  have  fraternised  with  a  subsequent  gene- 
ration of  modem  churches,  and  never  to  have  been  buried  at  all. 
Bounding  the  other  side  of  the  Forum,  lies  a  huge,  long,  shape- 
less mound  of  ruin,  which  looks  as  if  it  had  really  quite  forgotten 
what  it  ever  was  like,  and  did  not  know  what  to  pick  out  of  the 
xmclaimed  bones  in  the  fosses,  and  felt  hopeless  of  ever  making 
up  its  mind  or  body.  To  complete  its  confusion,  somebody  has 
built  a  red-brick  villa,  with  stuccoed  terraces,  and  cockney  urns 
at  the  top  of  it.    The  palace  of  the  Caesars  once ! ! 

Such  IS  the  Forum,  beyond  which  you  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
g^ant  amphitheatre ;  and  when  you  have  passed  through  the  tri- 
umphal arch  of  Titus,  decorated  with  bas-reliefs  of  the  spoils  of 
Jerusalem,  among  which  the  seven-branched  candlestick  is  con- 
spicuous, you  come  upon  the  Colosseum  in  all  its  glory. 

At  first  sight  of  that  enormous  round  mass  of  solid  masonry, 
with  ruins  on  ruins  of  arches  and  columns,  you  feel  as  if  you  had 
come  upon  the  lower  story  of  the  tower  of  Babel.    Such  a  base- 


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jouBNET  FROM  wwgiwamam  abbey  to  st.  peter's.  S89 


it  M  all  llie  ta/doM  ot  ihewaMuif^hvmmotXogAegto 
teild  If)  to  tlie  Mkf  ia  rad  ecraest,  aad  fiina  wUck  voa  coidd  Aot 
iponder  tbey  sbould  b^re  geme  awsj  dkbearteAed,  wlieii  thtf 
iurijr  saw  what  a  job  it  ivas  lifaely  to  be.  It  is  boik  of  a  fine, 
iftwn-ooloiiBed  steve,  vbicb  lends  itself  eepacsaUy  to  tbe  goldcB 
effiadB  of  aa  Italian  sonaet.  Tbe  smIs  towards  ne  was  in  bioad 
vbadoWy  pievoed  tbffCMig^  tiers  of  arches  fcmn  the  seenHBgiy  £reA 
aateoor.  I  wish  I  eoidd  give  yoo,  bm  af^proprisfto  burst  of  entfaii- 
aiasK — aoaMthia^  tbatsboald  caaae  jo«  apleasant  glow  of  adb- 
JiflM^  MM  ifjavL  ImmL  aeen  it  yoimelf ;  bat  after  waituig  to  recellecft 
a&d  aaaljae  ay  feelings  and  meatal  gacalationB  in  onler  to  trana- 
£ise  Ibeai  into  poetical  phraseology  adapted  to  the  occaaaoa,  id 
eeeflis  to  me,  I  only  said  to  nyself,  ^^  That's  the  grandest  mia  I 
ever  saw,  by  Jove !  and  I  'm  ^ad  I  'to  seen  it  fu:  Sae  first  time  by 


I  went  in  b^MStb  aa  sarcbway,  goavded  by  a  French  aoldiac 
The  inside  reauaed  me  of  a  mined  bee-hire,  whose  bees  have  died 
of  hanger,  and  left  At  esqity  comb  to  fall  to  pieces — a  cnunbling 
mass  of  ianaaeraUe  vaulied  bells,  sloping  up  from  the  arena  to 
the  broken  rim  of  the  <Miter  wall.  Or,  what  will  pediaps  give  yoa 
a  better  idea  of  the  Jbrm,  I  seemed  to  aland  in  the  crater  of  some 
extinct  volcano  which  had  thrown  up  a  hollow  mountain  of  craan 
bliog  cavernous  ardiitectnTe  aroand.  ^11  this  cnmd>littg  aiaas  is 
plesDBantly  tailed  with  shrabs. 

**  The  trees  which  gtew  along  the  brohen  apcbes,^  if  trees  they 
were,  must  have  beai  cat  doam  since  Manfred  was  there ;  but 
what  are  shrubs  ia  pvose  may,  pediaps,  be  legitimately  called  tseas 
ia  blank  Ta:se. 

I  felt  mdined  to  climb  to  tbe  top,  which  in  the  distance  did  not 
seem  difficult,  but  the  steep  caverns  which  sloped  up  to  the  first 
ambulariam  were  all  so  broken  into  great  chasms  with  yawning 
Tanlts  beneath,  aad  the  scarcely  practicable  footing  which  re- 
mained seemed  so  likely  to  fall  away  with  the  fin^  touch  that  I 
did  not  much  like  the  adventure.  Still  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of 
a  guide  to  disturb  my  reflections,  such  as  they  might  be.  I  wan- 
dered along  among  tiie  fragments  of  the  base,  dividing  my  atten- 
tion between  the  search  for  a  place  of  asoent,  and  welching  a  pro- 
cession of  monks  towards  ^ne  of  the  altars,  which  smcrounded  the 
Biena,  whose  droning  chaunt  filled  tbe  place  with  hcdlow  mourn- 
fill  echoes. 

At  last  I  found  «  convenient  approach  with  steps  in  good  con- 
ditioa,  whose  only  disadvanti^;eous  attribute  was,  that  the  en- 
trance was  impeded  by  a  great  wooden  gate  ten  or  twelve  £Bet 
high  with  iron  spikes  at  the  top.  Considering  tbe  transient 
struggle  with  this  barrier  a  less  evil  than  the  possibility  of  Uyas- 
bling  into  a  yawning  vault,  I  got  over  it,  went  up  tbe  steps, 
passed  along  interior  galleries,  came  out  upon  brosd  tenaoes  of 
BMisonry,  went  up  other  steps,  tiU  I  reached  the  highest  lim  of  all, 
at  an  abruptly  broken  ccomer  of  which  I  sat  down  on  a  large  loiodk 
of  white  marble,  which  seemed  partof  a,oolamn's  base,  and  thence 
O0Btea>plated  the  vast  hollow  of  the  Amphitheatre. 

JNineSty-thousand  q>ectators  this  amphitheatre  would  ^^Jl  Jf^ 


S90  A  JOUBNET  FROM 

buzzing,  distracted,  thousands,  looking  at  Persian  silks,  sculpture^ 
circular  pumps,  and  ko-hi-noors,  as  in  the  great  hire  of  '51 — ^but 
ninety  thousand  human  souls,  as  with  one  eye  and  one  heart,  all 
intent  upon  one  desperate  struggle  of  life  and  death.  How  these 
walls— now  murmuring  with  the  feeble  echoes  of  that  evening  hymn 
— shook  with  the  shout  of  ninety  thousand  long-drawn  breaths,  as 
the  popular  gladiator  of  the  day,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  hewed 
down  some  grim  barbarian  giant !  Imagine  the  thrilling  murmur 
of  suspense — the  swelling  tumult  of  applause — the  terrible,  crash- 
ing thunder  of  execration  from  ninety  thousand  eager  breasts — 
all  silent  beneath  the  dust  of  ages  now,  and  this  huge  ring  of  ruin 
left  to  bear  witness  for  ever,  and  blush  with  every  setting  sun  for 
enormous  crimes,  the  wonder  of  whose  memory  shall  haunt  these 
mouldering  stones  to  the  end  of  time  I 

The  Church  hath  put  forth  her  withered  arm  and  consecrated 
this  old  iniquity  to  the  thousands  of  Christian  martyrs  whom  wild 
beasts,  brought  from  the  desert,  tore  for  the  amusement  of  the 
populace.  The  roaring  of  lions,  and  the  shrieks  of  mangled  vic- 
tims seem  to  echo  hoarsely  from  the  hollow  vaults,  in  answer  to 
the  droning  fnars,  who  are,  perhaps,  praying  for  their  souls. 

In  the  meantime,  the  official  guide  and  guardian  of  the  spot  had 
perceived  me  sitting  on  my  block  of  white  marble  on  a  lofty 
angle  of  the  ruin,  and  began  to  wonder  who  the  deuce  I  was,  and 
how  the  deuce  I  got  there.  His  outcries  from  the  mouth  of  the 
den  where  he  prowls  for  curious  strangers  had  no  doubt  suggested 
to  my  imagination  the  mingled  tones  of  Christian  martyrs  and 
Numidian  lions,  but  when  he  came  out  and  disclosed  himself  with 
authoritative  threatening  attitudes,  added  to  his  martyrly  and 
beastly  bowlings,  I  took  no  sort  of  notice,  and  waited  till  he  should 
come  up. 

This  he  shortly  did,  breathless  with  rage,  and  asked  me  what  I 
meant  by  getting  up  to  the  top  of  the  Colosseum  without  a  guide. 
He  would  have  me  arrested  and  punished.  How  had  I  got  up  ? 
It  was  a  wonder  and  a  pity  I  had  not  broken  my  neck.  I  said  I 
was  an  Englishman,  accustomed  to  go  without  asking  any  ques- 
tions wherever  1  chose,  and  could.  That  I  objected  to  guides  be- 
cause I  generally  found  them  bores,  and  I  was  sorry  to  say  even 
he  had  not  proved  an  exception.  That,  as  he  had  disturbed  the 
course  of  my  meditations,  I  was  about  to  go  down,  but  I  should 
go  down  at  my  own  pace,  and  by  my  own  ways ;  he  was  welcome 
to  follow  me  to  satisfy  himself  that  I  did  not  carry  away  his 
Colosseum  in  my  pocket ;  but  if  he  wished  to  hurry  me,  or  take 
me  down  by  any  other  way  than  what  I  chose  myself,  he  would 
have  to  do  it  by  main  force,  which,  as  he  was  a  small  man,  it 
would,  perhaps,  be  more  prudent  for  him  not  to  attempt.  That  if 
he  had  been  civil  I  should  have  given  him  something,  as  I  had 
incurred  the  inconvenience  of  climbing,  not  to  avoid  his  fee,  but 
his  company;  but,  as  he  had  misinterpreted  my  motives,  and 
spoken  unkindly  to  me,  I  should  give  him  nothing  but  advice  to 
be  more  considerate  in  future. 

This  address  did  not  tend  to  soften  his  rancour,  and  when,  after 
ranging  about  pervicaciously  for  different  points  ^^(^PWx^  came 


W£STMINSTKR  ABBEY  TO  ST.  PETEB^S.        .         391 

down,  and  went  out  under  the  archway,  he  was  very  anxious  to 
persuade  the  sentry  to  take  me  into  custody.  Luckily  the  sentry 
could  not  understand  Italian,  and  the  ^^  martyr  and  beasts''  French 
was  not  swiilrflowing,  so  I  leisurely  removed  myself  from  the  spot, 
while  the  explanation  was  going  on,  and  by  the  time  the  business 
was  fairly  beaten  into  the  military  understanding,  the  centrifugal 
force  of  prudence  had  carried  me  beyond  the  circle  of  his  au- 
thority* 

The  next  time  I  saw  the  Colosseum  was  by  moonlight.  It  was 
after  one  of  Wattlechope  of  Wattlechope's  evening  parties.  Wattle- 
chope's  evening  parties  are  celebrated  for  being  the  dullest  things 
in  Rome  (which  is  not  a  lively  place),  except  his  dinners.  Of  the 
dinners  we  can  speak  only  by  report,  for,  as  Wattlechope  dis- 
covered, by  comparing  my  card  with  the  Peerage  and  Baronetage, 
that  I  was  a  younger  son, — and  as  he  was  entirely  exempt  from 
the  slightest  touch  of  that  fashionable  vice  of  Metropolitan  society 
which  impels  stupid  people  to  feed  young  men  of  literature  and 
trt^-erature  about  town,  he  made  the  unpardonable  mistake  q^  not 
asking  me  to  dinner.  I  have  already  disclaimed  all  pretence  to 
being  an  impartial  historian ;  the  significant  fact  I  have  just  put 
him  in  possession  of  will  at  once  show  the  reader  why — having  at 
any  rate  to  give  some  account  of  English  society  in  Rome,  I  have 
determined,  in  so  doing,  to  make  a  type  and  example  of  Wattle- 
chope. 

Nobody  can  see  Wattlechope  get  into  his  carriage  in  the  midst 
of  the  piazza  d'Espagna  without  seeing  at  once  that  he  is  a 
squire  of  immense  acreage.  There  is  a  magisterial  rotundity, 
'^  with  good  capon  lined,''  a  pufiy,  short-necked  elevation  of  chin, 
asthmatically  consequential — a  beefy  depth  and  breadth  of  purple 
jowl,  flanked  by  gleaming  shirt-collars,  in  comparison  with  which 
battle-axe  blades  were  but  feeble  weapons — all  these  infallible 
signs,  and  more  there  are  in  Wattlechope  of  Wattlechope's  out- 
ward man,  which  proclaim  him  justice  of  the  peace,  deputy  lieu- 
tenant and  landowner  to  the  amount  of  several  thousands  per 

annum  in  the  county  of  .    That  county  of is 

to  Wattlechope  what  the  "  flowery  enclosure  "  (Chinese  Empire) 
is  to '*  Heaven's  son "  (the  Chinese  Emperor).  To  that  central, 
favoured  district,  the  rest  of  England,  and  still  more  the  rest  of 
the  world,  is  only  a  sort  of  marginal  supplement,  faintly  sketched 
and  coloured,  like  the  adjacent  parts  of  the  county  map.  Every- 
thing in  Wattlechope's  world  is  measured  by  his  county.  For 
instance,  in  bis  estimation,  the  greatest  man  at  present  in  Rome  is 
not  Pius  the  Ninth,  but  a  simple  youth  of  incipient  sporting  ten- 
dencies (principally  expressed  by  an  ardent  animosity  towards 
cats)  in  that  halfboot  and  dogwhistle  period  of  aristocratic  bump- 
kincy  between  the  nursery  and  college,  when  his  father^s  game- 
keeper and  huntsman  are  the  principal  heroes  of  a  young  gentle- 
man's imagination. 

The  young  gentleman  in  question  is  the  eldest  son   of  the 

lord-lieutenant  of  the  county  of .     Him  Wattlechope  asks  to 

dinner  every  other  day,  till  he  '*  swears  he  won't  go,  and  it  is  a  deuced 


VOL.  xxxiv. 

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MS  ▲  JOURMET  FBOX 

flbame  old  W —  only  sports  cbampagne  now  and  then.'.^  Suck  Lb 
gratitude ;  but  old  W —  calls  him  bjr  his  Christian  name,  belbve 
company,  with  an  elaborate  independent  freedom,  mixed  witk 
parental  patronage :  and  is  proud  to  think  he  may  live  to  call  hint 
Dy  his  Christian  name  when  he  is  a  real  Viscount  and  Lord* 
lieutenant,  and  rules  in  his  respected  father's  stead  oyer  the 

county  of .    Wattlechope  not  only  does  not  ask  qualified 

persons  to  dinner  to  amuse  his  persons  of  importance  (in  — 
and  other  counties),  but  insists  on  gobbling,  like  an  old  turkey* 
cock  at  the  foot  of  his  own  table,  uttering  a  voluminous  stream  of 
noisy  and  consequential  tediousness.  Such  are  his  dinners*  and 
his  eveing  parties  are  like  unto  them,  with  only  this  shade  of 
advantage,  that  a  few  more  people  come,  a  shade  less  important 

in and  other  counties,  but  perhaps  more  useful  in  conversa-> 

tion,  so  that  Wattlechope,  though  he  goes  gobbling  about  among 
the  groups  with  aU  his  might,  is  diluted  and  overwhelmed  hj 
numbers :  he  gets  purpler  and  purpler  in  the  face,  and  opens  his 
glazy  goggle  eyes  to  the  utmost  stretch,  as  he  wanders  round  and 
round  like  a  destroying  comet-fiend,  the  constellations  breaking 
up  and  vanishing  into  space  at  his  terrible  approach.  Still  this 
nebulous  and  plimetary  system  of  revolving  boredom  is  preferable 

to  being  a  fixed  star  of or  other  counties,  and  being  gobbled 

at  irremediably  for  a  whole  long  dinner-time. 

The  moral  of  all  this  is  evident.  Everybody  who  dined  with 
Wattlechope  said  his  dinners  were  dull  and  bad :  if  he  had  asked 
me  I  should  have  said  the  samey  and  written  nothing  about  him. 

Let  all  dinner-giving  squires  firom and  other  counties  take 

warning,  that  if  they  see  hungry  lurching  pen-and-ink  looking 
younger  sons,  whom  they  doubt  whether  to  ask  to  dinner  or  not, 
they  should  at  once  stop  their  mouths  with  good  victuals  or  bad, 
for  fear  the  said  lurching  pen-and-ink  vagabonds  interlard  them 
them  for  ever,  like  the  unfortunate  Wattlechope,  between  the 
Colosseum  by  sunset,  and  the  Colosseum  by  moonlight. 

So,  now  for  the  Colosseum  by  moonlight  Clouds  of  silvery 
grey  were  sailing  leisuiely  athwart  the  heavens,  where  hir  Phosbe 
beamed  with  fiUhl  light  over  the  roof  crowned  shoulder  of  the 
Capitoline,  as  we  wended  our  way  along  the  silent  Corso.  At  the 
Piazza  di  Venezia,  where  the  Corso  ends,  we  turned  to  the  left, 
and  came  to  the  Forum  of  Trajan.  Here  rises  the  celebrated 
column  of  that  emperor,  swathed  in  its  spiral  belt,  embossed  with 
long-drawn  victories  on  Danube's  banks,  surmounted  by  Peter, 
the  Galilean  fisherman.  The  Forum  Trajani  is  an  irregularly 
shaped  plot  of  sunken  ground,  where  a  great  number  of  broken 
shads  of  dark-coloured  columns  and  lie  about  in  a  confusion 
which  is  rather  shabby  than  picturesque.  Hence  into  the  real 
Forum  Romanum,  which  looks  well  by  moonlight,  the  fluted 
columns  and  richly  graven  fragments  of  frieze  they  support, 
seeming  larger  and  more  majestic  in  the  beautiful  uncertainty  of 
night.  Under  the  grim  vast  massive  arches  of  the  Temple  of 
Peace,  out  over  some  broken  ground,  and  the  giant  ruin  stands 
before  us. 


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WBSTMINSTBR  ABBIT  TO  St.  PETEB'S.  898 

-  Beneath  Ae  entrance,  and  here  and  there  through  the  arches 
et  the  galkry-rims,  moving  torch-gleams  flicker  and  disappear. 
We  enter.  The  moon's  broad  disk  just  peeps  into  the  arena 
above  the  loftj  ledge,  whose  dark  fringe  of  shrubs  upfifts  a  tuft 
distinctlj  traced  upon  her  lucent  chin.  By  the  way,  it  sounds 
a  fifttle  ridiculous,  you  think,  to  talk  about  the  moon's  chin,  which 
poets  have  not  much  mentioned,  confining  themselves  to  her 
brow.  But  as  her  brow  would  not  express  what  astronomers 
term  the  moon's  lower  limb,  but  the  contrary,  you  have  no  choice 
bat  to  be  satisfied  either  with  this  innovation  of  the  astronomical 
paraphrase. 

The  moonlight  slanted  in  across  the  great  hollow,  leaving  a 
segment  black  and  pierced  with  pale  shafts  of  moonlight,  and  while 
the  rest  of  the  ring  was  silver-frosted  over  its  crumbling  surface, 
dimly  ribbed  with  galleries,  and  perforated  with  dark  cavern-mouths. 
We  were  pounced  upon  by  a  party  of  guides  with  flaring  torches, 
whose  tossing  manes  of  flame  and  comet-like  wake  of  sparks, 
added  a  great  deal  of  picturesque  eflect  to  the  massive  archi- 
tecture through  which  we  wound  our  way  upwards.  From  the 
top  we  looked  down  into  the  great  abyss  of  the  arena  and  out 
upon  the  palace  of  the  Caesars,  and,  hearing  the  watch-dogs 
baying  beyond  the  Tiber,  felt  inclined  to  be  poetical :  we,  all  of 
us,  one  after  another,  sig^ly  failed  to  recollect  more  than  the 
first  two  lines,  and  a  snatch  or  two  here  and  there  of  that  celebrated 
piece  about  the  Colosseum  in  Manfred,  which,  certainly,  is  a 
good  and  rather  a  sublime  description ;  'tis  pity  it  was  not  written 
in  better  blank  verse.  Some  of  us  equally  failed  to  extemporise 
anything  better,  in  which  we  were  interrupted  by  the  future  lord- 
lieutenant  of  the  county  of ,  to  whose  classic  memory  the 

baying  of  the  watch-dogs  had  recalled  some  choice  story  about  a 
^^  terrier  bitch  killing  fifty  rats  in  two  minutes  and  three-quarters, 
which  she  would  have  done  in  style,  (mly  a  great  buck-rat  got  her 
by  the  nose,  and  she  howled  like  a  good  'un,  and  they  had  to 
coax  her  on  for  a  quarter  of  minute  before  she  would  go  in 
agam." 

One  sunshiny  Sunday  afternoon,  for  the  weather  at  last  thought 
better  of  it  when  the  Carnival  was  long  past,  I  made,  as  in  duty 
bound,  a  pilgrimage  to  the  graves  of  Shelley  and  Keats.  The  Pro- 
testant burial-groimd  is  a  pleasant  little  grassy  nook  embowered  with 
spiry  cypresses  in  a  comer  of  the  **  crumbling  walls  of  Rome," 
close  to  the  gate  of  St.  Paul,  between  the  massive  pyramid  of 
Cains  Cestitis  (which  is  built  into  the  wall)  and  the  artificial 
mound  of  Testaccio.  There  was  son^  difliculty  about  entering 
the  precinct,  which  was  guarded  by  a  sentinel,  not  so  much  to 
protect  the  sacred  dust,  as  because  there  is  a  powder  magazine  in 
the  immediate  vicinity,  but  though  the  sentry  had  proved  obdurate, 
ihe  corporal  in  the  next  guard-house  listened  to  reason.  It  would 
be  a  charming  spot  to  be  buried  in  if  there  were  not  such  a 
crowd  of  common-place  undistinguished  monuments  in  posses- 
sion of  the  ground:  so  much  so,  that  after  ranging  about 
patiently  for  half  an  hour,  I  waa  <A>liged  at  last  to  bribe  the 

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894  A  JOURNEY  FROM 

gardener's  boy  to  show  me  Shellej's  grave.  It  is  a  plain  little 
dab,  level  with  the  ground;  ronnd  it  some  pious  hand  has  planted 
violets.  But  where  is  the  grave  of  Keats?  surely  somewhere 
near !  No,  he  lies  in  the  old  burial  ground — this  is  the  new  I 
There  was  only  a  year  between  their  deaths,  and  some  stupid 
change  intervened,  or  the  old  ground  was  unluckily  so  full,  that 
one  kttle  urn  of  burnt  ashes  was  too  much  for  it.  I  grubbed  up 
a  violet  root,  and  carried  it  to  the  old  burial-ground,  which  is  a 
little  square  entrenchment,  carefully  fortified,  as  if  the  excluded 
corpses  were  likely  to  make  an  insurrection,  and  take  possession 
unawares.  Eeat's  gravestone  stands  near  the  entrance.  The 
ground  was  so  strong,  I  had  some  difficulty  in  digging  a  hole  to 
plant  my  violet  at  its  foot.  I  felt  at  the  time  a  pleasant  con* 
sciousness  of  having  done  a  good  deed,  but  I  was  told  afterwards 
that  violets  transplanted  in  flower  will  not  grow. 

SONNET 

On  a  root  of  Violet  tratuplantedfrom  the  Grave  of  Shelley  to  that  of  KeaU. 

Ohy  friends  so  near  yet  sundered,  where  ye  sleep 
Beneath  Rome's  rampart — lest  your  spirits  fret, 
I  from  one  grave  a  root  of  violet 
Transplant  upon  its  brother  grave  to  weep 
When  evening  dew  the  sofl  blue  eyes  shall  steep. 
The  breeze  shall  bear  their  fragrant  sighs,  nor  let 
Their  former  home  the  kindred  flowers  forget. 
Which  thus  between  your  graves  communion  keep. 

They  tell  me  flowers  transplanted  in  their  bloom 

Wither  and  die.    But  shall  these  violets  fiuie? 

No !  of  congenial  dust  the  soil  is  made. 

And  they  shall  thrive  upon  the  early  tomb 

Of  genius  rooted  up  and  hence  conveyed. 
Whose  fame  bears  blossom  still  and  breathes  perfume. 

One  morning  I  met  the  greatest  man  in  (Wattlechope's)  Rome 
in  the  Via  Condotti,  and  he  asked  me  to  go  out  for  a  ride  in  the 
Campagna.  I  agreed,  on  condition  that  we  did  not  go  out  to 
gallop  promiscuously  for  galloping's  sake  (as  is  the  custom  of 
young  Englishmen,  to  the  great  detriment  of  Roman  hacks),  but 
to  take  a  wide  and  steady  circuit  through  the  ruin-sprinkled  plain 
towards  the  Alban  hills.  We  sallied  forth  by  the  gate  of  San 
Lorenzo.  Not  far  along  the  road  to  Tivoli  is  the  BasiUca,  which 
marks  the  burial-place  of  St.  Lawrence — a  very  curious  old 
church,  with  rich  Alexandrine  pavement,  and  curious  Byzantine- 
looking  columns.  In  the  crypt  there  are  rusty  old  gratings, 
through  which  you  can  see  into  the  catacombs,  where  piles^of 
skulls  grin  and  scowl  out  of  the  gloomy  vaults  with  hollow  eyes, 
and  teeth  that  gleam  in  the  torch-light.  Continuing  our  radius 
towards  Tivoli,  till  we  were  seven  or  eight  miles  from  Rome,  we 
turned  to  the  right,  and  made  an  arc  of  the  circuit,  keeping  about 
the  same  distance  from  the  city.  The  plain  is  grassy  and  railed 
in  large  enclosures  to  about  this  distance.  We  passed  many 
broken  remains  of  round  towers  and  ruined  lines  of  aqueducts, 
under  the  arches  of  which  shaggy  shepherds  sat  in  the  shade  and 


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WEfimflNSTEB  ABBEY  TO  ST.  PETER'S.  395 

watcbed  their  flocks.  There  is  a  grand  desolation  in  this  tract  of 
ruin,  which  is  described  by  a  great  modem  author  in  so  striking  a 
passage,  that  it  remains  on  my  memory  a  permanent  stumbling- 
olock  to  any  original  description  of  my  own. 

*^  Tombs  and  temples,  overthrown  and  prostrate ;  small  frag- 
ments of  columns,  friezes,  pediments ;  great  blocks  of  granite  and 
marble:  mouldering  arches,  grass-grown  and  decayed;  ruin 
enough  to  build  a  spacious  city  from,  lay  strewn  around  us. 
Now  we  tracked  a  piece  of  the  old  road  above  :  now  we  traced  it 
beneath  a  grassy  covering,  as  if  that  were  its  grave.  In  the  dis- 
tance, ruined  aqueducts  went  stalking  on  their  giant  course  along 
the  plain ;  and  every  breath  of  wind  that  swept  towards  us,  stirred 
early  flowers  and  grasses,  springing  up  spontaneously  on  miles  of 
ruin.  The  unseen  larks  above  us,  who  alone  disturbed  the  awful 
silence,  had  their  nests  in  ruin ;  and  the  fierce  herdsmen  clad  in 
sheepskins,  who  now  and  then  scowled  out  upon  us  from  their 
sleeping  nooks,  were  housed  in  ruin.  The  aspect  of  the  desolate 
Campagna,  in  one  direction,  where  it  was  most  level,  reminded 
me  of  an  American  prairie ;  but  what  is  the  solitude  of  a  region 
where  men  have  never  dwelt,  to  that  of  a  desert  where  a  mighty 
race  have  left  their  footprints  in  the  earth  from  which  they  have 
vanished :  where  the  resting-places  of  their  dead  have  fallen  like 
their  dead ;  and  the  broken  hour-glass  of  Time  is  but  a  heap  of 
idle  dust.** 

The  geometrical  figure  we  had  adopted  caused  us  to  jump  over 
and  break  down  a  certain  proportion  of  fences,  and  at  last,  when 
we  got  to  a  great  road  leading  back  to  Rome,  which  was  to  form 
the  other  radius  of  our  quadrant,  the  gateless  railings  wei-e  so  stifi* 
and  high  that  we  felt  hopeless  of  getting  our  jaded  hacks  over  or 
through  them.  In  one  place,  however,  an  interval  was  filled  up 
by  a  vast  stone  trough  about  eight  yards  long,  four  wide,  and 
apparently  only  two  or  three  feet  deep.  Afler  a  council  of  war, 
it  was  determined  there  was  nothing  else  for  it,  so  I  spurred  my 
reluctant  animal  till  he  reared  himself  over  the  stony  rim  and 
plunged  splash  into  the  water,  which,  luckily,  did  not  reach  my 
stirrups.  He  was  glad  enough  to  jump  out  at  the  other  side, 
after  skating  about  a  little  on  the  slimy  weed-grown  bottom  of  the 
trough.  The  other  horse  luckily  followed,  and  having  thus 
emerged  from  our  troubles  upon  the  Naples  road,  we  cantered 
back  to  Rome,  which  we  entered  by  the  Lateran  and  Colosseum. 
The  greatest  man  in  (Wattlechope^s)  Rome  was  of  some  service 
to  me  on  this  expedition,  having  a  fine  practical  eye  for  gates  in 
the  distance,  being  also  a  good  hand  at  engineering  a  gap  in 
too  formidable  fences,  and  taking  a  line  of  country.  He  promises 
well,  for  his  age,  to  be  a  good  and  prudent  rider,  not  rash,  but  bold 
enough  on  a  pinch.     I  may  venture  to  prophecy  he  is  likely  to  be 

more  distinguished  as  master  of  the  hounds  in  the  county  of , 

than  in  his  place  among  the  hereditary  statesmen  of  the  realm. 

Families  who  find  a  difficulty  in  disposing  of  a  number  of  pretty 
daughters  will  not  find  Rome  a  bad  place  for  the  purpose.  A  great 
flight  of  young  men,  such  as  they  would  never  persuade  to  dance 

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896  JOURNEY  FROM  W£8TiaN8TER  ABBEY  TO  8T.  PETER'SU 


with  them  at  dieir  own  ooontj  baHs,  alight  upon  this  dty,  and  i 
there  from  the  Carnival  to  the  Holy  Week.  Theae  young  gentle- 
men are  particularly  desolate  for  the  want  of  ladies*  society,  whida 
is  very  scarce  in  Rome,  where  the  Pope  diacomrages  all  lofe- 
making.  I  went  to  a  subscription  ball  at  the  Palazxo  Braschi, 
which  I,  and  all  the  other  young  goitlemen,  thought  exeembhr 
bad.  When  you  hear  a  young  man  say  a  ball  is  execrably  bao^ 
it  means  that  yoang  lacUes  were  at  a  premium,  which  ntraljr 
happens  in  England.  The  proportions  of  supply  and  demand 
regulate  value,  and  I  can  assure  young  ladies  of  decent  birth 
and  pretensions  in  the  way  ol  looks  and  money,  that  they  will 
circulate  at  a  figure  150  per  cent  higher  here  than  in  their  natfare 
garden.  There  is  a  romance  about  picking  up  a  wife  at  Rome, 
which  gives  an  interest  to  the  commonest  materials,  just  as  a  bad 
picture  or  a  bad  statue,  which  was  brought  fiNNB  Rome,  is  looked 
upon  with  more  respect  than  if  it  had  been  found  in  Wardow 
Street  There  are  speculators  who  realise  large  sums  by  buying 
up  unsaleable  pictures  in  London  and  exporting  them  to  Rone^ 
where  they  are  bought  up  greedily.  living  is  not  dear  in  Romep 
except  the  lodgings.  Young  ladies  might  be  exported  £n» 
England  at  from  SO/,  to  40/.  a  head.  Parents  have  to  consid«* 
there  is  a  certain  danger  of  thdr  young  ladies  being  captivated 
by  penniless  foreigners  with  ambrosial  whiskers ;  but  no  spee»* 
lation  can  be  undertaken  without  some  little  risk.  The  Englisk 
society  in  Rome  is  almost  entirely  English.  Foreigners  should 
be  avoided  altogether,  especially  music-masters  and  artists,  tka 
latter  being  usually  far  more  agreeable  and  fiuKinating  than  the 
gawky  pink  young  men  with  yellow  moustaches,  who  are  the 
true  birds  of  passage,  for  whom  yon  have  to  spread  your  nets. 

There  was  one  heiress  in  Rome.  She  had  pert  missy  manneniy 
and  looked  what  you  might  have  called  lady-like  if  she  had  been 
a  lady's  maid ;  but  you  cannot  imagine  what  a  great  lady  she  was 
with  her  forty  thousand  pounds,  and  nose  which  turned  up  a  little 
both  actually  and  metaphorically.  She  was  called  beautiful  and 
clever,  and  agreeable,  and  had  princes  of  papid  descent  \jiBg  at 
her  feet — at  least  I  thought  they  lied.  I  did  not  myself  think  she 
was  good  at  the  money,  and  did  not  ask  to  be  introduced  to  her 
for  fear  of  being  snubbed.  But  she  caused  me  to  be  introduced 
to  her  at  one  of  Watllechope'^s  parties,  and  a  few  days  after  drove 
her  chariot  wheels  over  me  in  the  Juggemantiness  of  her  heett. 
I  am  sure  that  elsewhere  so  common-place  an  heiress  would  not 
have  treated  me  so  cavalierly  on  so  little  provocation,  and  I 
mention  the  unpleasant  fact,  at  a  sacrifice  of  peraonal  feeling,  te 
sobstantiate  the  fact  that  young  ladies  are  at  a  premium,  and 
young  gentlemen  at  a  corresponding  depreciation. 


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JOURNALS,  AND  JOURNAL-KEEPERS. 

It  may  be  said  of  the  Joonialist,  aa  it  has  been  said  of  tbe 
Poet,  tbat  ^nascitur  non  fit" — be  is  born,  be  is  not  to  be  made. 
We  do  not  mean  by  Journalists,  writers  in  the  Jonmals-^t^. 
neaiben  of  the  fourth  estate.  We  speak  of  writers,  or  *^  keepers  ^ 
of  joomals — people  who  write  down,  from  day  to  day,  in  a 
maauscript  volume,  all  tbat  they  see,  all  that  they  do,  and  yerj 
much  of  what  they  think.  It  may  seem  to  be  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  worid  to  accomplish  so  commonplace  a  literary  feat  But 
tfiare  is  nothing,  in  truth,  so  difficult.  We  do  not  speak  with 
reference  to  tbe  question,  of  quality.  We  do  not  say  that  it  is 
difficult  to  keep  a  good  journal;  but  that  it  is  difficult  to  keep 
any  journal  at  sdl.  Hundreds  try ;  and  hundreds  fail.  They  who 
succeed  are  but  the  rati  nanies  in  the  gurgite  va$io  of  over- 
whelming failure.  It  is  very  easy  to  begin — ^but,  in  nineteen 
cases  out  of  twenty,  the  beginning  is  also  the  end.  How  many 
^  BM>numents  of  an  unaccomplished  purpose  "  may  be  found 
among  the  papers  of  literary  men — journals  begun,  and  carried 
on  for  a  week  or  a  fortnight — fragments  of  great  works,  unao- 
compHshed  promises — edifices,  of  which  only  the  foundation  is 
laid— the  superstructure,  left  to  itself,  for  want  of  the  literary 
capital  of  perseverance !  An  interesting  chapter  might  be  written 
<m  the  subject.  It  would  be  no  small  thing,  indeed,  to  enquire 
whether  Society  is  the  gainer  or  the  loser  by  the  difficult  of 
which  we  speak.  It  is  certain  that  any  man  of  good  intelligence, 
jotting  down  fi*om  day  to  day  all  that  he  sees,  all  that  he  does, 
and  much  of  what  he  thinks,  can  hardly  fail  to  create  in  the  end 
%  mass  of  literary  matter  both  instructive  and  arousing.  But  then 
on  the  other  hand,  much  would  be  recorded  which  it  would  be 
better  not  to  record^  and  many  revelations  would  be  made  of 
matters  befove  which  it  would  be  better  that  the  veil  should  re- 
main closely  drawn.  Perhaps,  in  the  end,  the  balance  of  evil, 
between  omission  and  commission,  would  be  pretty  equally  struck. 

Tbe  ablest  men  are,  for  the  most  part,  the  busiest  They  who 
see  much,  and  do  much,  are  those  who  have  little  time  to  record 
what  they  see  and  do.  Hence  it  is  that  journals  are  commenced, 
and  not  finished — that  the  intention  outruns  the  performance, 
and  that  men  seeing  and  doing  much,  and  profoundly  impressed 
with  the  conviction,  that  a  record  of  what  they  see  and  do  would 
be  both  diverting  and  instructive — seldom  get  beyond  the  good 
intention.  There  is  nothing,  indeed,  beyond  tbe  brave  resofaition 
but  the  useless  regret  Thousands  of  men  have  lamented  that 
they  never  kept  a  journal,  and  thousands  will  contniue  to  utter 
the  same  vain  lamentations.  There  is  no  help  for  it.  Perse- 
veiance  is  a  rare  quality,  and  journal-keeping  is  very  diflicult 
Lord  Bacon  has  somewhere  Mdd,  that  a  searvoyage,  by  reasett 

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398  JOURNALS  AND  JOURNAL-KEEPERS. 

of  its  weariness  and  monotony^  is  prorocative  of  journal-keep- 
ing. In  other  words,  that  people  are  well-disposed  to  keep  jour- 
nals when  there  is  nothing  to  enter  in  them.  This,  indeed,  is 
a  fact;  and  one  in  which  the  whole  philosophy  of  the  matter  is 
contained.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  keep  a  journal  when  one 
has  very  much  to  enter  in  it.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  women 
are  better  journalists  than  men.  They  have  not  so  much  to  do. 
Whether  they  are  by  nature  more  stable  and  persevering  we  do 
not  pretend  to  say.  The  few  men  who  really  keep  journals  are, 
as  we  have  said,  bom  journalists.  We  mean  by  this,  that  they 
have  certain  inherent  qualities  which  enable  them  to  triumph 
over  the  antagonistic  circumstances  of  which  we  speak.  Cir- 
cumstances are  against  journal-keeping;  but  men,  bom  journal- 
keepers,  are  greater  than  circumstances.  Now  women  are  often 
bom  journal-keepers,  and  circumstances  are  seldom  against  them. 
Wherefore  it  is  that  they  more  frequently  shine  in  this  department 
of  literature  than  men. 

We  have  been  thinking  of  these  things,  as  we  hurried  over  the 
pages  of  Mrs.  Colin  Mackenzie's  Indian  Journal.  Some  im- 
portant books  on  the  subject  of  India  and  its  government  have 
been  published  during  the  present  Session.  There  is  not  one  of 
them  which  Mrs.  Mackenzie's  Journal*  does  not  in  some  manner 
illustrate.  The  record  of  the  every-day  life  of  an  intelligent 
English  lady  in  the  ^*  Mission,  the  Camp,  and  the  Zenana,"  must 
have  a  suggestiveness  very  valuable  at  a  time  when  everything 
that  relates  to  the  condition  of  the  natives  of  India,  and  to  our 
connection  with  the  country,  has  a  peculiar  claim  to  public  at- 
tention. This  Journal,  as  the  name  implies,  is  extremely  varied. 
It  relates  to  military  affairs — to  missionary  matters — and  to  the 
domesticities  of  native  Indian  life.  Although  that  which  relates 
to  the  Camp  and  the  Zenana  may  be  more  interesting  to  the  gene- 
ral reader^  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  tlie  portion  of  the  work 
illustrative  of  the  Mission  is  both  the  most  important  and  the  most 
novel.  Mrs.  Mackenzie  is  a  Presbyterian,  and  a  member  of  the 
Free  Kirk.  The  information  which  she  gives  us  respecting  the 
educational  and  missionary  proceedings  of  Dr.  Duff  and  his  col- 
leagues is  of  the  highest  interest.  When  at  Calcutta,  she  visited 
the  Free  Church  institutions,  and  those  subsidiary  to  it  iu  the 
suburbs.  Of  a  visit  to  one  of  these  branch  schools,  she  gives  the 
following  account. 

'*  C.  could  not  afford  the  time,  but  Dr.  Duff  offered  to  take  me  with  his 
daughter  to  Barauagar,  where  an  examination  of  the  Branch  School  was  to  be 
held.  On  our  way  he  showed  us  the  new  Mission  House,  and  buildings  for 
converts,  now  just  on  the  point  of  occupation,  and  pointed  out  the  old  Institu- 
tion, which  was  full  of  scholars,  his  former  house,  and  the  trees  which  he  him- 
self had  planted.  We  abo  passed  the  Leper  Asylum,  where  these  unfortunate 
people  have  a  maintenance  on  condition  of  not  going  out  of  the  compound; 
and  the  Mahratta  ditch,  made  to  defend  Calcutta  from  those  dreaded  invaders. 
We  had  a  very  pretty  drive ;  Baranagar  itself  is  a  sequestered  rural  spot,  like  an 
illustration  in  '  Paul  and  Virginia.' 

*  "  Life  in  the  Mission,  the  Camp,  and  the  Zenana;  or,  Six  Tears  in  India." 
By  Mrs.  Colin  Mackenxie.    d  vols.    1858. 


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JOURNALS  AND  JOURNAL-KEEPERS.  399 

^  Mr.  Smith,  the  mif nonary,  lives  in  a  veiy  [Mrettj  one^toried  Dadre  house, 
with  a  tank  before  it,  and  the  school  is  a  thatched  bamboo  Bangalow,  close  by. 
There  are  about  two  hundred  pupils.  Mahendra  once  taught  there.  They 
have  at  present  an  excellent  half-caste  Christian  master,  and  a  very  clever 
Hindu  teacher,  brought  up  at  the  Assembly's  Institution.  Mrs.  Hutton,  the 
wife  of  the  good  English  chaplain  at  Dumdum  (who,  on  the  Staples  objecting  to 
the  English  baptisimd  service,  himself  brought  a  Free  Church  Missionary  to 
baptize  their  child,  and  was  present  at  the  holy  ordinance),  was  the  only  other 
la<fy  present ;  but  Dr.  Clark  of  Dumdum,  Mr.  Ewart,  and  Mr.  McKail  were 
there,  and  all  examined  the  boys.  They  answered  extremely  well  in  mentd 
arithmetic,  geography,  Roman  and  English  historv,  geometry,  and  Scripture 
history,  &c.  The  eldest  class  read  and  explained  a  long  passage,  taken  at 
random,  from  '  Paradise  Lost,'  book  second,  describing  Satan's  flight.  Dr.  Duff 
asked  what  was  meant  by  Satan  puttine  on  his  wings.  One  answered,  *  he  put 
them  into  practice'  (meaning  use).  This  was  the  onlv  mistake  that  I  remem- 
ber. On  English  history,  Mr.  Ewart  asked  about  the  civil  wars,  and  then 
inquired  whicn  was  best,  war  or  peace  ? — they  all  answered  '  peace,*  with  great 
leal.  Mr.  Ewart  observed,  '  there  might  be  some  just  wars,  adding,  suppose  an 
enemy  were  to  burst  into  this  coimtry,  plundering  and  destroying  everything, 
would  you  not  fight?'  *No,  no,'  said  they.  Mr.  Ewart,  who  is  a  very  fine 
powerful  man,  and  gives  one  the  idea  of  beine  full  of  manly  determination  and 
courage,  was  so  astonished  that  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  *  but 
would  you  not  fight  for  your  home$ — ^your  own  famih'es?'  •  No,'  said  they,  'the 
Bengalis  would  not  fight — thev  are  all  cowards.'  I  am  not  quite  sure  if  he  asked 
whether  they  themselves  would  not  fight,  or  if  their  countrymen  would  not  do 
so,  but  the  answer  was  as  above ;  and  Mr.  Ewart  remained  dumb  and  amazed." 

There  is  very  much  more,  and  of  equal  interest,  relating  to 
these  institutions,  but  we  wish  to  show  the  varied  contents  of  these 
charming  volumes.  We  can  not,  however,  whilst  on  missionary 
subjects,  refrain  from  quoting  the  following : — 

**Dr.  DufiTgave  me  a  most  interesting  account  of  good  Df.  Carev's  death. 
He  was  with  him  a  short  time  previously  when  he  was  in  perfect  health.  The 
last  sheet  of  his  '  Beng&li  Testament '  was  brought  in.  He  burst  out  into 
thanksgiving,  saying,  with  tears,  he  had  prayed  to  be  permitted  to  finish  that  woric 
before  he  was  summoned  hence,  and  that  he  was  now  ready  to  depart.  After 
this  he  began  gradually  to  decline,  and  the  next  time  Dr.  Duff  visited  him  with 
his  loved  colleague.  Dr.  Marshman,  he  was  very  near  death,  very  feeble,  and 
just  gliding  away  from  earth.  Dr.  Duff  reminded  him  of  the  circumstance  of 
their  last  interview,  and  added  that  he  thought  if  any  man  could  use  the  language 
of  St.  Paul, '  I  have  fought  a  good  fi^ht,'  &c.,  it  was  Dr.  Carey.  The  venerable 
man  raised  himself  up  in  bed,  and  said,  '  Oh  no,  I  dare  not  use  such  very  strong 
language  as  that,  but  I  have  a  strong  hope,  ttrong  hope^*  repeating  it  three  times 
with  the  greatest  energy  and  fervour :  he  fell  back  exhausted,  and  when  a  little 
revived  his  fi'iends  took  their  leave.  As  they  were  going,  he  called,  *  Brother 
Marshman.'  On  Dr.  Marshman  returning,  he  said,  'You  will  preach  my  fune- 
ral sermon,  and  let  the  text  be,  *  By  grace  ye  are  saved.'  As  Dr.  Duff  observed, 
the  humility  yet  confidence  of  this  aged  saint  were  very  beautiful." 

After  this,  we  have  a  translation  of  a  letter  which  Akbar  Khan, 
the  famous  Cabool  sirdar,  addressed  to  Captain  Mackenzie — a 
letter  full  of  expressions  of  kindness  and  friendship,  complaining 
that  the  English  officer  had  not  written  to  him.  On  this  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  obsen^es : — 

**  As  the  last  injunction  he  gave,  on  sending  the  hostages  and  captives  to  Ba- 
miim  was  to  cut  the  throats  of  all  who  could  not  march;  and  as  he  knew  full  well 
that  my  husband  was,  from  extreme  illness,  incapable  of  walking  a  hundred  yards, 
you  inayjudge  howfar  this  loving  epistle  accords  with  such  a  parting  benediction. 
His  intention  in  writing  was  to  endeavour,  through  the  medium  of  my  husband, 
to  establish  a  good  understanding  with  the  British  Government." 


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400  JOURNALS  AMD  JOURNAL-KSSPKRC 

This  appears  to  ns  to  be — mriiilenttoiiallj — onjnst  The  Cabal 
prisoners  were  told  that  Akbar  Khan  had  sent  the  instmctioiis 
referred  to  by  Mrs.  Mackenzie — bat  it  was  subsequently  ascer- 
tained that  no  such  instructions  had  been  really  sent  The  cbieft, 
in  whose  custody  these  prisoners  were,  employed  this  racM  as  a 
means  of  enhancing  the  price  of  their  liberation. 

From  the  chiefs  of  Caubnl  the  transition  is  not  very  abrupt  to 
the  Ameers  of  Sindh.  So  much  has  been  said  lately  about  these 
fallen  princes,  that  the  following  passage — part  of  an  account  of 
Mrs.  Mackenzie's  interview  witi^  the  Ameers — will  be  read  wilh 
so  commcm  interest : — 

*'  I  o£Sned  the  necklace  to  Muhammad  Khan  for  his  intended  bride,  whom  he 
expects  to  join  him«  the  brooch  to  Shah  Muhammad  for  his  wife,  and  the  ear* 
rings  to  the  fiit  Yir  Muhammad,  as  an  encouragement  to  him  to  marry.  The 
idea  seemed  to  dirert  him  extremely.  The  chief  Amir  held  out  his  hand  to  hb 
kinsmen,  to  examine  their  presents,  and  then  made  me  a  speech,  saying  that  his 
mtidude  was  not  transitory,  but  would  last  as  long  as  ms  life,  and  quoted  a 
Persian  verse  to  this  effect : — *  I  have  made  a  covenant  with  my  beloved  friends, 
that  onr  friendshtp  shall  last  while  the  soul  remains  in  the  body,' — this  was  quite 
in  the  st^e  of  Canning's  heroine — *  A  sudden  thoncht  strikes  me,  let  us  swear 
eternal  mendship.'  So  here  I  am,  the  sworn  friend  of  a  Sind  Amir.  I  had  a 
strong  mclination  to  laugh,  but  it  would  have  been  monttrons  to  have  done  so; 
so  I  expressed  the  gratification  I  really  felt  at  their  reception  of  a  small  mark 
ofkindness. 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  give  you  an  idea  of  their  h%h.bred  courteous  man- 
ner. I  a^ed  them  for  their  autographs,  which  they  each  gave  me,  and  in  re- 
turn requested  mine,  which  I  wrote  on  three  sheets  of  paper,  and  added  one  of 
those  pretty  little  coloured  wafers  with  our  arms,  the  meanmg  of  which  Dr.  C. 
expounded  to  them.  They  had  had  long  conversations  with  my  husband  pro- 
vioudv,  and  were  pleased  at  hearing  that  he  and  Colonel  Outram  were  friends. 
We  showed  them  Akbar  Khan*s  letter,  which  the  chief  Amir  read  intbemdo- 
dlous  chauntine  way  used  by  the  Arabs  and  Persians,  stopping  every  now  and  then 
with  his  mouth  and  eyes  beaming  with  humour,  at  some  outrageously  bare&oed 
expression  of  afiection  from  such  a  personage.  I  have  seldom  seen  a  finer  or 
more  expressive  fiice, — ^when  quiet,  it  has  a  strong  tinge  of  melancholy,  but  lights 
up  with  feding  and  wit,  so  as  almost  to  tell  you  what  he  is  saying  before  the 
interpreter  can  repeat  it." 

Mis.  Mackenzie  also  visited  the  Rigah  of  Sattarah.  We  had 
marked  for  insertion  an  accomit  of  the  visit,  but,  in  spite  of  the 
manifold  attractions  of  the  book,  we  are  compelled  to  limit  omr 
quotations. 

What  litde  space  is  left  us  must  be  occupied  with  brief,  sofl^ 
gestive  {Hckings  from  this  attractive  jomnal.  Here  in  a  few  words 
is  a  fact,  which  has  arrested  the  attention,  and  provoked  die  medi- 
tations of  all  thoughtful  dwellers  in  the  East. 

**  Innunefable  passages  of  Scripture  derive  fresh  force  in  this  countiy;  for 
instanoe,  ia  reading  the  fictt  Psalm  the  other  morning, '  He  shall  be  Uke  atise 
planted  by  the  mert  of  waters/  9tc^  on  raising  my  eyes  I  beheld  every  tree  in 
the  prden  planted  by  a  watercourse,  without  which,  in  this  burning  dime^  it 
would  not  brine  forth  its  fruit  in  due  season,  but  its  leaf  would  wither;  and  I 
felt  how  forcible  an  emblem  it  was  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  never  failiDg 
supplies  of  the  water  of  life,  fbr  the  spiritual  Ufe  and  fruitfuliiess  of  the  pfamts 
«r  the  Lsid's  vineyaid." 

Here  is  a  hint  in  iSie  following  passage  worth  noting. 
"  I  have  found  that  a  MuUah,  in  controversy  with  Bir.  Ffimder  of  Am? 
aHeget  the  custom  of 'kissiBg  and  putting  their  ams  round  the  waists  of  slur 


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JOURNALS  AND  JOUBNAIrKEEPERS.  401 

men's  grown-up  daughters,  sisters,  and  wives,'as  an  anument  against  Christi- 
anity. The  '  kissing '  appears  to  have  been  added  by  the  imaginative  Mulkih, 
but  I  do  not  see  how  a  waltz  or  polka  could  possibly  be  defended  in  the  eyes  of 
an  oriental.  I  hope  Mr.  Pfander  explained  to  him  that  ChristianiQr  does  not  (as 
he  alleees)  sanction  these  practices,  for  it  teaches  os  to  *  abstain  from  all  appear- 
ance of  eioL' " 

It  is  not  strange  Aat  the  Mooikh  associated,  kissing  and  wahz* 
ing.  The  idea  is  by  no  means  a  novel  one.  Byron,  we  thinb^ 
has  told  us  of  the  grare  Mabomedans,  who  asked, 

*«•  If  nothing  followed  all  this  palming  work." 

Mrs.  Mackenzie's  husband,  Captain  Colin  Mackenzie,  who  dis* 
tinguished  himself  so  greatly  throughout  the  entire  period  of  our 
troubles  in  Afghanistan,  was  appointed  to  raise  and  command  a 
new  corps  for  service  in  the  Punjaub.  The  constituents  of  the 
regiment  were  various,  and  among  them  were  many  Afghans.  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  was  much  struck  by  the  characteristics  of  these  men. 
^  I  do  like  these  Afghaas,**  she  says  in  one  place,  with  a  nawe 
earnestness  which  is  very  refineshing.  She  gives  us  one  anecdote 
of  their  good-heartedness— of  their  simple,  kindly  courtesy — which 
we  cannot  forbear  fiN>m  quoting.  Mrs.  Mackenzie  had  received 
from  England  the  painful  tidings  of  the  death  of  her  ftther.  Her 
English  Mends  enquired  after  her,  but  never  named  the  subject 
of  her  loss.  Her  native  friends  were  less  reserved,  and,  it  ap- 
peared to  her,  more  sympathising.  Of  this  we  have  a  touching 
illustration : — 

*'  That  hc^  borly  Naib  Rassaldar,  Atta  Muhammad,  came  here  a  few  days 
ago ;  and  on  bearing  of  the  loss  I  had  sustained,  he  begged  C.  to  tell  me  how 
grieved  he  was,  and  then  opening  his  hands  like  the  leaves  of  a  bode,  said,  *  Let 
ns  hme  a  fatiha^  or  prayer.'  C,  put  his  hands  in  the  same  position,  and,  with 
his  face  quite  red  ^th  emotion,  and  hb  eyes  full  of  tears,  Atta  Muhammad 
nrayed  that  €k>d  would  bless  and  comfort  me,  and  that  the  blessing  of  Jesus  the 
Messiah  might  come  upon  me.  Then  they  both  stroked  their  beards.  The 
heartiness  asd  earnestness  with  which  it  was  done  quite  touched  ne." 

With  this  we  must  reluctantly  conclude  our  extracts.  We  should 
be  almost  afraid,  indeed,  to  follow  Mrs.  Mackenzie  far  into  the 
"  Camp,"  she  is  so  bold  in  her  revelations.  She  speaks  of  ugly 
matters  which  will  create  discussion,  and  we  are  not  compelled  to 
meddle  with  the  "  hot  iron"  ourselves. 

Altogether  the  journal  is  very  interesting.  Since  Maria 
Graham's  famous  Letters,  nothing  better  upon  the  pregnimt  sub- 
ject  of  India  has  emanated  from  a  female  pen,  much  indebted  as 
we  are  to  lady-writers  fin*  their  illustrations  of  Indian  life.  They 
see  things  behind  the  Purdah,  which  men  cannot  see ;  and  can  go 
further,  therefore,  into  the  domesticities  of  Indian  life.  What 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  has  written  about  the  Zenana  she  has  written  plesr 
santly  and  well.  Indeed^  the  contents  of  her  book  amply  fulfil 
the  promise  of  the  title.  It  was  written  with  no  design.  It  is 
really  a  collection  of  journal-letters  written  to  friends  in  England; 
bnt  if  the  three  suggestive  words  on  her  title-page  had  been  set 
before  her  at  the  outset,  she  could  not  have  written  a  better  work 
about  THE  Mission,  THE  Camp,  and  the  Zenana. 


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402 


THE  LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT  * 

MT  SOJOUBN  AT  BATH. — TUE  LATE   8IK  JOHN  BOANS. 

To  recur  to  the  circumstance  of  my  first  attending  Mr.  Soane  at 
his  lodgings  in  North  Parade,  Bath.  I  have  stated  how  my  familiar 
"  good  morrow  "  met  with  a  most  supercilious  recognition,  and  how 
I  felt  that  the  master  and  man  were  by  no  means  ^^  birds  of  a 
feather."  After  he  had  recovered  from  his  alarm  at  the  "  natural 
and  prompt  alacrity  ^  of  my  greeting,  he  beckoned  me  to  the 
chair,  which  was  in  readiness  for  me  before  the  writing-desk  on 
the  table : — 

^^  I  *m  glad  to  find  you  Ve  punctual*  Have  you  comfortable 
lodgings?"— "Yes,  sir." 

"  You  '11  now  write,  as  I  shall  dictate."  He  then  sat  down,  and 
indicated  his  defective  sight  by  feeling  about  the  table  for  some- 
thing which  he  could  not  see.  I  was  fearful  of  being  too  officious, 
and  left  him  to  find  out  that  his  spectacles  were  lying  pushed  up 
above  his  brow.  He  found  them  there  at  last,  and,  catching  my 
eye  at  the  moment,  said,  in  a  self-pitying  tone  of  reproof,  "  Ah  ! 
it's  very  amusing,  I  dare  say.  You  might  as  well  have  told  me  !" 
— ^^  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  I,  with  a  humility  which  I  fear 
was  rather  affected  ;  and,  having  charged  my  pen,  I  brought  it  in 
readiness  over  my  paper.  Again  my  "  prompt  alacrity  "  disgraced 
me.  A  huge  drop  blotted  the  virgin  foolscap,  and  the  dictator 
suggested  that  I  had  better  wait  for  his  dictation,  and  not  be 
"  quite  so  prodigal  of  the  ink."  "  There,"  said  he,  "  take  another 
sheet  of  paper,  and  donH  do  that  any  more." 

He  proceeded  to  dictate  on  the  subject  of  his  then  dominant 
vexation,  the  new  law  courts  at  Westminster ;  and,  to  make  a  long 
story  short,  this  was  the  matter  which  brought  us  to  Bath,  and 
occupied  us  for  some  weeks ;  him,  in  spasmodic  attempts  to  make 
his  meaning  clear  to  me ;  and  me,  in  anxious  but  vain  efforts  to 
make  it  clear  to  others.  I  see,  in  Donaldson's  "  Review  of  the 
professional  life  of  Sir  J.  Soane,"  the  record  of  his  having  "  pub- 
lished a  brief  statement  of  the  proceedings  respecting  the  new 
law  courts,  Westminster;"  but  I  know  not  whether  any  of  my 
confused  and  disjointed  matter  is  preserved  therein,  for,  such  are 
the  sorrowful  associations  connected  with  my  secretaryship,  in  re- 
lation \o  that  statement,  that  I  have  never  looked  into  it  in  its 
published  form.  I  allude  to  nothing  that  can,  in  any  essential, 
detract  from  the  regard  due  to  Soane's  character, — to  that  cha- 
racter which  Mr.  Donaldson  has  eulogised  as  having  been  practi- 
cally illustrated  by  acts  of  "  unbounded  munificence,"  proving 
^^  that  his  heart  was  alive  to  the  wants  and  distresses  of  the  unfor- 
tunate, the  fadierless,  and  the  widow."  "  His  liberality,"  says  the 
same  writer,  "  whether  in  the  promotion  of  art,  or  the  relief  of 
misery,  knew  no  bounds;"  and  his  eulogist  concludes  with  the 
ennobling  declaration  that  Sir  John  Soane's  memonr  "  is  entiUed 
to  our  admiration,  our  gratitude,  and  our  respect."  The  vexations, 

*  Contioued  from  p.  114. 

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UFB  OF  AN  ARCHITBCT.  403 

however,  which  now  beset  bim,  in  connection  with  the  then  erect- 
ing buildings  at  Westminster,  were  quite  enough  to  ^^  curdle 
nature's  kindly  milk''  in  a  breast  less  sensitive  than  Soane's; 
and,  therefore,  their  resultant  effects,  however  cruelly  they  bore 
upon  me,  must  not  be  taken  as  evidence  against  his  humanity. 
He  had  been  commissioned,  by  the  Lords  Commissioners  of  the 
Treasury,  to  prepare  plans  for  a  certain  building  on  a  certain  site. 
Having  been  submitted,  they  were  altered  as  required,  sanctioned 
by  the  highest  authorities,  and  proceeded  with  according  to  order. 
When  the  works  were  &r  advanced,  an  important  portion  of  them 
was  ordered  to  be  taken  down  again;  the  architect  being  called 
upon  to  submit  to  the  insulting  interference  of  some  ^^  honourable" 
amateur.  Comments  that  have  been  called  '^  illiberal,  unjust,  and 
false,"  appeared  in  the  public  papers,  and  were  repeated  by  mem- 
bers of  parliament ;  while  ^^  envy,  jealousy,  and  the  base  passions 
of  man,"  were  said  to  be  in  active  operation  against  the  venerable 
professor. 

Every  morning,  punctually  to  my  time,  I  was  at  my  table,  and 
he  ready  to  begin ;  and  indeed  he  did  little  else  but  *^  begin." 
Day  after  day,  a  somewhat  differently  worded  preamble  was  our 
chief  occupation ;  and  I  remained,  from  nine  till  five,  with  my  pen 
on  the  move,  and  my  apprehension  on  the  stretch,  endeavouring 
to  extract,  and  secure  upon  paper,  the  meaning  of  the  disjointed 
utterances  which  formed  the  matter  of  his  dictation.  Often,  he 
would  lose  himself,  and  ask  me  where  he  was  ?  But,  as  I  may 
have  been  wholly  incapable  of  following  him  into  his  confusion,  I 
felt  equally  incompetent  to  get  him  out  of  it.  On  one  occasion  he 
snatched  the  sheet  of  foolscap  from  before  me,  looked  at  what  I 
had  last  written,  threw  the  paper  up  into  the  air,  and,  putting  his 
knuckles  to  his  temples,  *^  wished  to  6 —  they  were  pistols,  that  he 
might  blow  out  his  brains  at  once ! " 

As  I  had  no  idea  of  promoting  suicidal  impulses,  I  rose  from 
my  seat ;  and,  in  a  tone  of  irrepressible  emotion,  stated,  ^^  diat,  as 
it  seemed,  my  efforts  to  serve  were  inefficient  from  the  over- 
anxiety  which  attended  them ;  and  as,  instead  of  being  an  aider  to 
good,  I  was  simply  an  abettor  to  evil,  occasioning  additional  irri- 
tation where  too  much  already  existed, — I  had  better  at  once  take 
my  respectful  departure." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  few  moments,  with  an  expression  in 
which  astonishment  and  pity  were  curiously  mingled,  leaving  it  a 
matter  of  speculation  to  which  of  us  these  emotions  applied ;  and 
he  then  pointed  to  my  chair,  saying,  "  Don't  be  a  d — d  fool — sit 
down!" 

Had  he  been  still  under  the  influence  of  his  fury,  he  would  most 
likely  have  replied,  in  the  softest  and  blandest  tone,  ^^  Pray  go, 
sir;  and  take  great  care  of  yourself;"  but,  as  he  was  evidently 
subdued  by  my  manner  and  words,  he  simply  uttered,  with  voice 
neither  mitigated  nor  aggravated,  the  very  rational  and  comforting 
request  signified  by  the  expression  quoted.  I  sat  down.  He 
then  resumed  his  dictation,  and  we  proceeded  for  a  short  time 
tolerably  well ;  after  which  he  amiably  suggested,  that  I  should 

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404  LTFB  OP  AN  ARCHITBCT. 

'^  go  and  take  an  hour's  walk  (Hwas  a  fine  day,  and  k  would  do  me 
good),  while  he  went  to  take  a  bath.**  I  thanked  him  and  rose  ta 
go ;  when  he  beckoned  me  towards  him,  and  taking  my  hand,  said^ 

with  mMnistakaUe  earnestness,  ^  Recollect,  W ^  if  I  ever  say* 

anything  which  iMnrts  yonr  feelmgs,  /  snflferfor  it  a  great  deal  more 
than  you  do.'* 

I  conld  ha^e  hogged  him ;  but  I  suffered  him  to  leave  the  honse 
unhngged,  because  I  had  no  great  ccmfidence  in  the  permanent 
character  of  his  tenderness.  The  policy  of  my  self-restraint  was 
soon  shown.  When  we  met  again  at  our  table,  he  reassumed  his 
severity  of  purpose  and  I  my  dl*wakefiit  attention.  At  length  he 
seemed  doubtful  on  a  point  concerning  which  I  thought  myself 
fortunate  in  being  able  to  inform  him.  I  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion.    He  gave  me  one  of  his  queer  looks,  and,  after  a  pause, 

replied,  "  W ,  did  you  ever  hear  the  saying,  *  Go,  and  teach 

your  grandmother  to  suck  eggs  ?  *  ** — **  Yes,  sir,  1  have^  was  the 
rejoinder,  somewhat  petulantly  spoken.  "Well,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  don't  knock  me  down :  I  only  asked  the  qi:Ksti(Hi.'' 

The  foregoing  anecdotes  alone  would  suffice  to  show  how 
mutual  was  our  misery.  In  this  way  we  passed  much  of  our  time 
from  nine  in  the  morning  till  five  in  the  afternoon,  when,  with  a 
relieved  heart  and  exhausted  n^ind,  I  went  off  to  my  boarding- 
house  to  dinner.  My  occupations,  however,  were  not  at  an  end. 
Having  been  with  the  Architect  during  the  former  part  of  the  day, 
I  had  yet  to  pass  the  evening  with  the  gentleman;  in  plain 
terms,  I  rejoined  my  employer  while  at  his  wine  after  dinner,  and 
remained  with  him  till  nine  Or  ten.  Our  day-communion  began 
with  a  sulky  greeting  and  ended  without  a  civil  adieu ;  but  our 
evening  companionship  was  of  a  very  different  and  far  more  agree- 
able description. 

"  How  are  you,  sir,  this  evening  ?  ** 

"  Why — I  'm  very  comfortable,  W ,  thank  ye.   Take  a  glass 

of  wine ;  it  won't  hurt  ye.** 

Tea  following,  I  made  it ;  and,  of  course^  went  through  every 
observance  of  duty  towards  my  host,  who  r^eived  the  minutest 
attention  with  the  most  amiable  recognition.  T^t^en  came  the  espe- 
cial object  of  the  evening ;  and  this  was  no  otheK^han  my  reading 
aloud  from  a  French  edition  of  Gil  Glas,  while  my  Bearer  remained 
behind  the  skreen,  that  his  eyes  might  be  secured  vfom  the  glare 
of  the  fire  and  candles.  He  was  therefore  out  of  my  stj\ght;  and  it 
was  the  more  curious  to  hear  him,  every  now  and  then,  vxclaim,in 
a  tone  of  admiring  and  compassionate  interest,  ^'  P-o-o-r^Pil*  **  He 
would  occasionally  correct  my  pronunciation,  often  tewng  nie, 
however,  with  amiable  indulgence,  that  I  read  ^'fe-ry  welll''  But 
"  P-o-o-r  Gil !"  was  still  the  burden  of  his  comment,  repe»ed  on 
every  occasion  which  brought  opportunity  for  it ;  the  very  Aarrot- 
note  of  his  half-dozing  sympathy  was  **  P-o-o-r  Gil ! "  So  ^aP^  m 
an  inclination  to  sleep  suggested  his  bed-time,  he  would  stojP  n^y 
reading  with  a  "  Thank  ye,  that  111  do— for  the  present ;  thar  Jk  ye. 
I  think  I  '11  go  to  bed  now."  Having  then  lighted  his  candle  and 
shown  him  to  his  bed-room,  widi  no  end  of  amiable  and  sof^^poken 


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LIFB  or  AN  ARCHITBar.  40S 

<<  thank-ye'sy''  I  was  free  for  the  brief  Temnaat  of  the  nigfat,  and 
joined  for  a  short  time  the  party  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  board* 
ing-honse, —  a  queer  assemblage  of  old  maids  and  bachelors,  who 
received  my  jokes  with  good  nature,  and  little  thought  how  great 
was  the  contrast  between  my  cTening  mirth  and  my  morning's 
sadness. 

On  two  or  three  occasions  Gil  Bias  gave  place  to  a  free  commu- 
nication on  the  subject  of  John  Some  and  his  fiumily  sorrows. 
'^  Poor  dear  Mrs.  Soane  !  ^  was  at  such  times  as  frequent  a  chorus 
as  P-o-o-r  ^^  Gil !"  at  others;  and  he  would  bring  tears  into  my 
eyes  with  the  narration  of  the  sufferings  of  his  wife  and  himself 
under  the  conduct  of  his  son ;  though  one  could  not  but  take  into 
consideration  the  probable  fact  that  the  temper  which  misguided 
the  child  was  transmitted  from  the  father,  and  that  if  the  former 
had  done  what  was  perfectly  unjustifiable,  the  latter  had  possibly 
omitted  to  do  perfect  justice  to  one  whose  errors  were  as  much  the 
results  of  circumstance  and  of  natural  causes,  as  of  culpable  and 
unfilial  wilfulness.  The  old  gentleman,  at  all  events,  was  under 
an  impression  that  his  wife  had  died  under  the  pressure  of  mental 
affliction,  and  that  he  himself  was  ^  dying  of  a  broken  heart  ;*"  but, 
considering  that  the  cause  of  his  distress  had  occurred  long  before, 
that  he  was  now  seventy-three,  and  that  he  lived  to  be  eighty-four, 
we  are  left  to  the  conclusion,  that  a  ^^ broken  heart"  is  not  always 
a  dying  matter.  I  would  throw  no  discredit  on  the  fracture  of  a 
heart.  It  may  be  as  practical  a  fact  as  the  breaking  of  a  leg,  but, 
by  parity  of  reasoning,  it  is  equally  susceptible  of  being  ^^  put  to 
mending  f  and,  if  not  mended  surgically,  it  may  be  mended  self- 
ishly. In  other  words,  if  philosophy  and  resignation  cure  it  not, 
leaving  it  sound  as  before,  constitutional  vitality,  however  clumsily, 
will  give  it  readherence  and  a  discontented  existence,  of  both 
tears  and  years. 

On  my  entering  my  eccentric  employer's  room  one  morning,  I 
found  him  sitting  on  a  sofa,  between  two  ladies.  He  never  looked 
more  hilarious  and  happy.  I  ventured  a  greeting  of  free  off-hand 
cheerfulness.  "  How  ao  you  find  yourself  to-day,  sir  ? " — "  Why,** 
said  he  (with  a  touch  of  that  more-sly-than-shy  gallantry  of  which 

I  have  spoken),  "  I  wonder,  W ,  how  you  can  ask  the  question, 

seeing  how  you  find  me.  For  my  own  part,  I  rather  /o^,  than 
*  find'  myself,  in  such  company."  It  was  a  happy  day  to  me^  too, 
the  only  happy  one  I  had  at  Bath ;  for  the  presence  of  these 
ladies  dismissed  the  Westminster  Law  Courts  for  the  time,  and  I 
was  free  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  whole  holiday.  They  started  me 
also,  with  a  few  words  of  kindly  sympathy  secretly  administered. 
They  knew  what  their  old  friend's  temper  was,  and  what  my  trials 
must  be ;  but  they  bid  me,  if  I  would  consult  my  own  interest,  to 
stick  to  that  of  my  employer,  and  put  up  with  his  eccentricities. 

I  know  not  what  the  fate  may  have  been  of  those  who  practised 
^^  fawning"  that  ^'  thrift  might  follow,"  but,  in  spte  of  the  qualities 
which  entitled  Sir  J.  Soane  to  ^  admiration,  gratitude,  and  re- 
spect," I  fancied  mysel/enAtied  to  a  gentler  consideration  than  he 
could  afford ;  and  each  succeeding  day  found  me  less  competent 

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406  LIFE  OF  AN  AROHITECT. 

to  do  without  it.  We  returned  to  London.  He  took  up  his  abode 
at  Chelsea ;  and  there  I  continued  to  be  closeted  with  him,  week 
after  week,  with  a  half-holideiy  only  on  Sundays.  He  had  such  an 
aversion  to  Sabbath  ^^  laziness,^  that  I  wondered  he  had  compro- 
mised his  principles  of  perpetual  industry  by  building  any 
churches.  His  irritability  seemed  to  be  daily  increasing ;  and  I 
could  only  wonder  how  he  could  hare  lived  so  long  among  men, 
who,  at  the  best,  are  limited  in  patient  submission.  I  never  saw 
any  one  out  of  a  lunatic  asylum  so  bereft  of  reason's  influence  as 
he  frequently  was.  My  health  was  suffering  to  an  extent  which 
induced  the  notice  of  all  my  friends,  and  I  should  have  now  lefb 
him  at  once,  if  he  had  not  been  obliged  to  return  to  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  where  I  was  to  derive  such  comfort  and  sustainment  as  the 
companionship  of  his  official  staff  might  afford.  My  kind  friend, 
Mr.  Baily,  and  my  fellow  secondaries,  enabled  me  by  their  sympa- 
thising consideration,  to  remain  a  little  longer  in  this  eccentric 
man's  employ ;  but  the  hour  of  our  separation  soon  arrived.  He 
was  going  one  afternoon  to  his  professional  duties  at  the  Bank  of 
England,  and  desired  previously  to  see  me  in  his  private  room. 
I  have  not  the  remotest  recollection  of  the  trivial  offence  by  which 
I  occasioned  it ;  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  fury  he  exhibited. 
He  upbraided  Heaven  as  having  left  him  reduced  to  the  last  state 
of  helplessness ;  and,  invoking  death  as  his  only  remaining  friend, 
he  hastened  into  his  carriage,  apparently  with  the  purpose  of 
driving  direct  to  that  grim  tyrant's  abode. 

I  remained  alone  in  his  room,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  formed  my 
resolution.  Making  free  with  his  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  I  wrote  a 
farewell  letter,  repeating  the  observations  I  had  made  at  Bath, 
and  determining  to  be  no  longer  the  victim  of  his  increasing  irri- 
tability, nor  the  cause  of  it.  At  the  same  time,  while  doing  this, 
I  felt  a  sincere  interest  in  the  man,  amounting  to  attachment,  if 
not  to  affection ;  and  my  letter  was  filled  with  expressions  of  un- 
affected regret  at  my  utter  inability  to  seiTe  him.  Leaving  the 
letter  on  his  table,  I  took  leave  of  my  fellows  in  office,  and  walked 
home  to  my  lodgings, — "  a  poor  man  out  of  work." 

How  full  of  misery  were  my  meditations  that  evening,  I  need 
hardly  say.  Even  love  failed  to  stimulate  me,  except  despair- 
ingly ;  and,  after  the  true  sentimental  fashion,  I  posted  off  an  im- 
mediate and  ^'  most  earnest  request"  to  my  mistress,  that  she 
would  forthwith  "  go  and  forget  me  !"  Certes,  it  might  have  been 
no  bad  '^  go"  for  her,  if  she  had  taken  me  at  my  word.  Assuredly 
she  might  have  "  bettered  herself"  by  going ;  and  nothing,  worthy 
to  be  regarded  as  her  loss,  would  have  been  involved  in  the  for- 
getting.  But  her  reply,  as  might  be  expected,  was  one  to  her 
own  honour  and  my  shame.  She  delicately  suggested  how  young 
gentlemen,  who  take  such  pains  to  make  young  ladies  remember 
diem,  should  consider  that  the  "go,  forget  me"  system  may  be 
simply  one  of  skulking  and  indolent  bankruptcy,  seeking  the  bene- 
fit of  a  self' relieving  act,  which  merits  something  more  castigatory 
than  mild  oblivion.  She  intimated,  that,  when  I  had  proved  the 
inefficacy  of  manly  and  "  persistive  constancy," — of  determination, 


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LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT.  407 

effort,  and  patience, — it  would  then  be  time  enough  for  her  to 
"  go,"  and,  in  that  case,  for  me  to  "  forget  ;^  and  she  conclnded  by 
rather  alarmingly  demanding  of  me  '^  whether  I  meant  what  I  had 
gaid?"  At  the  same  time  she  approved  of  my  leaving  Mr.  Soane, 
and  consigned  my  future  movements  to  the  advice  of  my  friends. 

Before  recording  my  next  proceedings,  I  will  presume  on  the 
reader's  curiosity  to  know  how  Mr.  Soane  received  my  adieu,  and 
what  subsequently  occurred  between  us.  It  was  long  before  I  was 
made  acquainted  with  the  effect  of  my  letter ;  for,  mutual  tor- 
mentors as  we  were,  there  was  no  good  to  be  anticipated  from  my 
seeing  him  any  more  while  we  continued  in  our  then  relative  posi- 
tion. Even  my  fellow-clerks  knew  nothing  of  my  abode,  and,  but 
for  an  accidental  meeting  with  one  of  them  in  the  streets,  I  might 
never  again  have  seen  John  Soane.  I  learned  from  my  informant, 
that  when  his  master  returned  from  the  Bank  he  seemed  to  be  in  a 
most  remarkable  condition  of  amiability.  Having  rung  the  bell, 
which  he  concluded  I  should,  as  usual,  personally  reply  to,  he 
addressed  the  young  man  who  entered  as  if  he  had  been  myself. 

"  Well,  W ,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  bland  cheerfulness,  *'  I  've 

had  a  most  pleasant  meeting  with  the  board ;  and  I  Ve  been  de- 
lighted too,  at  hearing  that  my  poor  man  is  quite  out  of  danger. 
You  can't  think  how  happy  it  has  made  me  !"  What  "board"  he 
had  met,  and  what  "  poor  man "  was  out  of  danger,  would  have 
been  to  me  a  mystery  ;  but  he  had  a  habit  of  presuming  on  the  in- 
tuitive knowledge  and  sympathy  of  the  world  at  large  in  respect 
to  his  particular  affairs  and  feelings. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "  Mr.  W 

is  gone." 

"  Gone  !"  exclaimed  the  veteran,  in  a  tone  of  upward  crescendo. 

"  I  believe,  sir,  he  has  lefi  a  letter  for  you.    Yes,  here  it  is." 

"  Read  it,"  said  the  architect. 

The  clerk  began ;  but  he  had  not  read  two  lines,  before  the 
letter  was  snatched  out  of  his  hands. 

"  There ;  that  '11  do,"  said  Mr.  Soane,  "  that  '11  do.  Poor  fellow! 
Poor  fellow!" 

Weeks  passed  on ;  and  nothing  more  was  said  concerning  me. 
At  length  he  opened  upon  the  subject  himself  to  one  of  his  clerks. 

"  Do  you  know  where  W is  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  We  have  not  seen  him  since  the  afternoon  he  left, 
and  we  were  never  acquainted  with  his  place  of  abode." 

"  If  any  of  you  should  fall  in  with  him,"  replied  Mr.  Soane, 
with  the  most  touching  tenderness,  "  I  wish  you  'd  tell  him,  that, 
when  he  may  be  coming  this  way  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see 
him." 

We  did  not,  however,  meet  again  until  I  waited  on  him  as  an 
author,  to  submit  to  his^  inspection  my  "  Select  Views  of  the  Roman 
Antiquities,"  consisting  of  a  series  of  lithographs  from  the  draw- 
ings which  I  had  made  at  Rome  in  1825-26,  and  which  had  been 
shown  to  him  on  the  occasion  of  our  first  interview.  He  received 
me  with  much  kindness ;  made  no  allusion  to  my  having  left  him 
so  abruptly ;  approved  of  my  past  doings  and  future  schemes ; 


VOL.  XXXIV.  ^^^^^^^y(£«OgIe 


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408  LIFK  OF  AN  ASCHITKCT. 

gave  me  five  goiiieas  for  mj  book,  (instead  of  only  three,  which 
was  its  price),  said  be  sbotdd  **  value  it,  not  only  for  its  own  worthy 
bat  in  respect  to  the  interest  he  felt  in  its  author,^  and  begged 
that  I  woold  look  in  npon  him  now  and  then  to  let  him  know  hoir 
I  might  be  going  on. 

Years  passed  on,  and  I  saw  bin  again.  I  was  dien  an  abchi- 
TBCT— as  important  in  mj  own  locality  as  he  in  his.  ^^I  kneuf 
yovL  *d  get  on,**  said  he ;  ^^  and  I  dare  say  that  you  have  already 
found  diat  your  having  been  with  me  has  been  of  some  little 
benefit.  Perhaps  it  may  do  you  some  good  yet  When  I  'm  dead 
and  gone,  you  11  meet  with  some  people  who  '11  think  none  the 
worse  of  yon  when  you  say,  *  I  was  with  old  Soane.'" 

His  last  mark  of  kindness  was  shown,  in  presenting  to  me  lua 
^^  Description  of  his  House  and  Museum,"  a  handsomely  bound 
and  costly  work,  not  pnbEsbed,  and  of  which  only  one  hundred 
and  fifty  copies  were  printed.  On  the  top  of  the  title  page  is 
written,  "  To  —  W — ,  Esq.,  from  the  author,  with  kind  recollec- 
tions ;"  and,  at  the  bottom,  is  his  autograph  signature,  John  Soane. 
He  died,  about  sixteen  months  after  ^e  issue  of  this  book,  on  the 
20th  of  January,  1837,  aged  84  years.  He  was  not  knighted  till 
September,  1831. 

Though  I  did  not  remain  many  months  with  Sir  John  Soane,  I 
saw  more  of  him  than  others  who  had  known  him  for  as  many 
years ;  and  the  result  of  my  observation  was,  that  he  had  been 
most  unfortunate  in  the  circumstances  which  entirely  overthrew 
all  power  of  self-government.  His  professional  position,  his  wealth, 
and  his  insulation  fi:om  all  sense  of  family  obligation,  left  him  ap- 
parently open  to  the  adulation  of  the  interested,  the  sycophantic, 
and  the  designing ;  but,  though  his  vanity  might  be  gratified  by 
the  flatterer,  I  ever  fancied  him  too  shrewd  to  become  the  victim 
of  any  thiift-seeking  fawner.     He  was  much  more  the  victim  of 
his  own  uncompromising  pride  and  morbid  irritability.     The  for- 
mer rendered  him  a  frequent  sufferer  under  mortification,  while  the 
latter  occasioned  him,  almost  constantly,  to  manifest  symptoms  of 
being  on  the  verge  of  madness.     The  fact  is,  he  never  possessed 
any  real  strength,  moral  or  intellectual.     He  had  more  sensitive- 
ness than  feeling,  more  perseverance  than  power,  more  fancy  than 
genius,  and  more  petulance  than  ardour.    His  industry  and  good 
fortune  had  effected  more  than  his  mental  advance  and  moral 
culture  enabled  him  to  improve  upon  ;  and  he  presumed  on  his 
acquired  fame,  instead  of  progressing  with  efforts  to  substantiate 
his  right  to  it.     Criticism  overtook  him ;  rivalry  went  a-head  of 
him ;  domestic  vexations  worried  him ;  he  had  nothing  but  bis 
undying  ambition  to  sustain  him.     In  the  end  there  was  a  reaction 
of  sympathy  and  regard  towards  him,  which  ripened  into  admira- 
tion and  esteem.    He  was  honoured  by  hissovereign, reverentially 
addressed  by  his  professional  brethren,  and  he  died,  gratified  fully 
at  the  last,  leaving  a  rich  legacy  to  his  country,  and  much  less 
than  was  expected  to  certain  of  his  friends  and  followers. 

The  builaings  he  has  left  behind  him,  as  monuments  of  his 
professional  skill  and  artistic  feeling,  are  certainly  the  most  uncon- 


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LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT.  409 

ventional  that  have  been  erected  in  our  day;  and,  knowing  nothing 
of  the  lectures  he  delivered,  as  professor  of  architecture,  at  the 
Royal  Academy,  I  am  left  to  wonder  what  may  have  been  the 
principles  of  taste  and  design  he  sought  to  enforce.  So  far  as  his 
stnictures  proclaim  him,  he  had  neither  the  feeling  of  the  Ghreek 
for  simple  majesty,  nor  that  of  the  Roman  for  scenic  grandeur,  nor 
that  of  the  Goth  for  picturesque  effect,  nor  that  of  the  schoolman 
for  precedent ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  he  seems  to  have  taken  from 
each  a  kind  of  negative  hint  that  operated  in  the  production  of  a 
result,  just  showing  that  he  had  observed  them  asxaused  them  with 
a  perfectly  independent  and  exclusive  regard  for  his  own  peculiar 
and  personal  distinction.  The  consequence  has  been  that,  if  any 
one  shall  ask,  ^'  In  what  style  is  such,  or  such,  of  his  buildings  ?'' 
the  answer  would  be,  "  It  is  of  such  or  such  a  variety  of  the 
Soanean  ;'*  i,e,  it  is,  more  or  less,  his  (nm  entire ;  or  his  own,  com- 
mingled with  classic  feature  or  detail.  But,  though  the  most  ori- 
ginal of  modem  architects,  it  does  not  follow  that  he  was  supreme 
in  power.  As  before  observed,  he  had  more  fancy  than  what  de- 
serves the  name  of  genius ;  and  even  his  fancy  was  limited,  for  he 
repeated  lumself  till  he  became  as  it  were  the  passive  slave  of  his 
own  mannerism.  He  had  pliant  ingenuity,  not  productive  inven- 
tion ;  the  creative  exhausted,  he  could  but  rearrange  ;  his  refine- 
ment tended  towards  littleness ;  he  could  not  be  vulgar,  but  he 
was  impotent  to  command  the  homage  of  popular  admiration,  in 
the  fuU  sense  of  the  word.  He  has,  however,  done,  much  that  may 
work  good  upon  our  future  architectural  progress.  With  exem- 
plary boldness,  he  struck  effectively  at  the  tyranny  of  precedent ; 
and  he  has  shown,  by  the  results  of  his  own  originality,  what  may 
be  done  by  men  of  more  strength  and  as  much  courage.  If  there 
be  little  of  his  external  architecture  that  is  worthy  of  unqualified 
approval,  there  is  much  of  his  internal  design,  not  only  to  be 
admired,  but  ipiitated.  To  compensate  for  frivolity  and  feintasti- 
cism,  there  is  more  than  a  balance  of  playful  grace  and  studied 
elegance.  In  the  disposition  of  his  floor-plans  he  was  proverbially 
felicitous,  especially  as  it  regarded  the  adaptation  of  such  acci- 
dental divergences  and  by-comers  as  the  irregular  form  of  the 
site  might  present  to  his  management.  In  fine,  there  was  virtue  in 
his  very  faults,  for  they  were  corrective  of  those  common-place 
proprieties  which  only  retard  the  advance  of  invention  and  origi- 
nality. 

Poor  dear  old  tyrant ! — what  a  life  he  led  me  !  How  I  sympa- 
thized with,  yet  feared  him ;  yet  fearing  more  for  him  than  for 
myself;  for,  in  the  face  of  my  servitude,  I  patronized  him 
with  my  pity.  My  old  friend,  John  Britton,  says  he  used  to 
think  of  me  as  Caleb  Williams  with  Falkland,  in  Godwin's  novel. 
I  was  a  "  poor  Gil,"  a  very  "  poor  Gil ; "  but  I  felt  at  the  time 
he  was  poorer  than  myself;  still  poorer  in  self-sustainment  and  in 
the  saving  strength  of  humility. 


rr  2 

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410 
PRACTICAL  JOKES. 

BY  MRS.  HOODIE. 
BEN   BACKSTAY. 

Yes,  't  is  a  pretty  mischief-loving  elf; 
That  mirth-provoking  girl,  with  her  black  eyes. 
And  rosy  cheeks,  and  downward  floating  locks, 
Through  which  those  dark  orbs  flash  into  your  heart. 
Like  wand'ring  meteors  through  the  clouds  of  night, 
I  would  declare  my  love ! — but  that  I  dread, 
The  roguish  smile  that  hovers  round  her  lips, . 
And  nestles  in  her  round  and  dimpled  chin ; 
Would  speak  in  tones  of  wildest  merriment. 
And  laugh  the  suitor  and  his  suit  to  scorn  I 

S.  M. 

Our  last  paper  on  practical  jokes,  was,  we  must  confess,  some- 
what of  the  saddest ;  and  in  order  to  make  an  atonement  for  the 
gloomy  thoughts,  to  which  it  might  gire  rise  in  the  breasts  of  some 
of  our  readers,  we  have  chosen,  in  this  paper,  a  livelier  illustration 
of  our  theme. 

The  hero  of  our  present  tale — whom  we  will  for  the  time  being 
christen  Ben  Backstay — was  the  son  of  a  widow  lady  of  our  ac- 
quaintance. Ben  was  a  midshipman  in  the  East  India  Company^s 
service — a  fine,  dashing,  rattling  young  fellow  of  eighteen,  who, 
during  the  time  that  his  ship  was  in  port,  came  down  to  spend 
a  glorious  holiday  in  his  native  village,  to  delight  the  heart  of  his 
good  mother,  to  astonish  all  the  old  ladies,  with  a  relation  of  his 
wonderful  adventures  at  sea,  and  to  make  love  to  the  young  ones. 

Our  sailor  possessed  a  handsome,  manly  person,  joined  to  no 
small  share  of  vanity,  which  made  him  very  particular  with  re- 
gard to  his  dress  and  appearance.  His  uniform  jacket  was  always 
of  the  very  finest  quality,  and  made  to  fit  him  like  a  second 
skin.  His  neatly-plaited  shirt  of  dazzling  whiteness,  and  his  rich 
black  silk  neckerchief,  tied  with  studied  and  becoming  careless- 
ness, his  very  bluntness  had  method  in  it,  and  was  meant  to  pro- 
duce a  certain  effect.  Ben  considered  himself  the  very  beau 
ideal  of  a  sailor.  He  was  prond  of  the  profession ;  and  diought 
that  the  profession  ought  to  be  proud  of  him.  He  never  lost  sight 
of  it  for  a  moment.  His  voice  had  that  peculiar  tone  of  command 
which  all  nautical  men  acquire ;  and  his  very  carriage  had  some- 
thing free  and  easy  about  it,  which  reminded  you  of  the  roll  of 
the  sea. 

Ben  was  a  devoted  admirer  of  the  ladies ;  but  then,  he  devoutly 
believed,  that  they  worshipped  him  in  return ;  and  with  this  pleas- 
ing conviction  deeply  impressed  upon  his  mind,  he  was  always  in 
love  with  some  pretty  girl  or  other,  or  fancied,  which  almost  came 
to  the  same  thing,  that  they  were  in  love  with  him.  But  a  hand- 
some, agreeable,  young  fellow  like  Ben  Backstay,  is  always  sure 
of  frie*nds  and  advocates  among  the  gentler  sex. 


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BEN   BACKSTAY.  411 

• 
Oar  bero  had  not  been  at  home  many  days,  before  he  feU  des- 

Eerately  in  love  with  a  charming  black-eyed  girl,  who  resided  with 
er  aunt,  at  a  large  country  town,  twelve  miles  distant  from  C 

Lodge,  where  Mrs.  Backstay  lived. 

Now,  it  happened  very  unfortunately  for  our  love-sick  sailor, 

that  pretty  Margaret  G had  been  for  some  months  engaged, 

and  was  on  the  very  eve  of  committing  matrimony  with  a  cousin. 

Ben  Backstay  never  thought  of  enquiring  if  the  light  craft  that 
caught  his  roving  fancy  was  chartered  by  another,  and  he  gave 

chase  accordingly.     Margaret  G ,  who  dearly  loved  a  joke, 

the  moment  she  perceived  his  intentions,  determined  to  enjoy  one 
at  his  expense. 

Whilst  his  love-fit  was  at  its  very  height,  Ben  received  from  the 
young  lady  a  note  of  invitation  to  a  ball  which  was  to  be  given  to 
all  the  young  folks  in  the  neighbourhood,  at  her  aunt's  house. 

In  his  excess  of  joy  Ben  determined  to  have  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  made  expressly  for  the  occasion.  Not  satisfied  with  the 
quality  of  the  cloth  that  could  be  procured  at  the  good  old  sea^ 

Eort  of  Y ,  he  sent  to  London,  a  distance  of  more  than  a 
undred  miles:  and  requested  a  friend  to  send  him  a  certain 
quantity  of  the  finest  broadcloth  that  could  be  got  for  money. 

The  cloth  duly  arrived  by  the  mail,  and  gave  great  satisfac- 
tion. But  now  a  fresh  difficulty  arose ;  was  there  a  tailor  in  the 
place  whom  ho  dared  entrust  the  cutting  out,  and  making  up 
of  the  precious  suit?  A  consultation  was  held  with  his  mother 
and  sisters  as  to  the  person  most  eligible  for  this  grand  work. 

Mrs.  Backstay  recommended  to  his  notice  Mr.  Ezekicl  Balls, 
who  set  forth  upon  a  sky-blue  board  in  letters  of  gold,  that  he  had 
been  instructed  in  the  art  of  cutting  out,  by  the  celebrated  Schultz 
of  Bond-street  Ben  pronounced  Mr.  E.  Balls  and  his  sky-blue 
board  a  humbug ;  and  felt  more  inclined  to  patronize  Mr.  Sewell 
— whose  very  name  seemed  to  imply  a  good  hand  at  the  needle. 
The  voice  of  the  women  at  length  prevailed,  as  in  most  cases  it 
generally  does,  and  Ben  walked  off  to  the  town,  followed  by  a 
boy  carrying  the  bundle  of  cloth. 

After  superintending  the  cutting  out  of  the  new  suit,  and  giving 
the  tailor  the  most  minute  directions  as  to  the  fashion,  trimmings, 
&c.,  Ben  returned  to  the  Lodge,  satisfied  with  the  idea,  that  his 
appearance  at  the  ball  would  be  quite  irresistible,  and  create  a 
sensation  among  the  ladies.  With  this  impression  on  his  mind, 
he  surveyed  himself  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  large  mirror,  that  hung 
suspended  over  the  piano  in  the  sitting-room,  and  stroked  his  very 
handsome  whiskers  with  an  air  of  great  self-complacency. 

Now,  be  it  known  unto  our  readers,  that  these  whiskers  were 
Ben  Backstay's  delight ;  and  he  looked  upon  them  as  second  to 
no  whiskers  in  creation.  Adonis  himself— if  the  renowned  lover 
of  the  Paphian  Queen  wore  such  rough-looking,  common,  ap- 
pendages— could  not  have  sported  a  handsomer  pair,  a  rich  dark 
brown,  fine  in  texture,  yet  crisp  and  curly ;  admirably  adapted  to 
set  off  to  the  best  possible  advantage,  the  warm,  bright  ccyouring 
of  his  lips  and  cheeks.    Ben  would  not  have  parted  witli  tbeuLfor 

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412  PAPERS  OK  PRACTICAL  JOKES. 

• 

the  comniand  at  a  ship.  He  would  have  consented  nk  readily  to 
^it  with  bis  liead. 

Alas !  for  our  sea  bean,  he  had  a  sister.  She  was  One  amotig 
a  many,  to  whom  Providence  had  bound  him  by  the  ties  of  kin- 
dred ;  who  loved  mischief  as  kittens  love  milk ;  who  let  no  oppor- 
tunity pass  of  playing  off  upon  old  and  young,  her  wicked  tricks. 
Helen  Backstay  was  a  perfect  genius  at  practical  jokes ;  and  we 
could  fill  a  whole  paper  with  her  pranks  without  recording  one 
half  of  her  impish  frolics. 

Day  after  day  Helen  had  watched  with  eyes  brimful  of  mirth^ 
the  adoration  pai^  by  brother  Ben  to  the  whiskers  in  the  glass, 
and  she  secretly  vowed  to  sacrifice  them  upon  the  shrine  of 
vanity. 

Innocent  as  a  lamb  of  the  mischief  hatching  against  Mm,  out 
sailor,  fatigued  with  his  long  walk,  the  moment  he  had  taken  his 
dinner,  lounged  down  upon  the  so&  to  enjoy  his  afternoon  nap. 

This,  by  the  by,  was  a  common  practice  with  master  Ben  ;  and, 
generally,  the  moment  he  awoke,  he  walked  to  the  piano  on  the 
pretext  of  looking  at  the  music  his  sisters  had  been  playing,  but 
this  was  only  a  pretext,  for  the  plain  truth  of  it  was,  that  ht 
wanted  to  take  a  sly  look  at  himself  in  the  glass. 

To  have  calculated  all  the  glances  thrown  by  him  and  his  sis- 
ters on  that  mirror  during  the  day,  would  have  made  a  curious 
question  in  arithmetic. 

Whether  his  long  interview  with  Mrs.  Balls  had  made  Ben 
drowsier  than  usual  we  cannot  tell,  but  he  certainly  slept  soundet 
than  was  his  wont.  Watching  her  opportunity,  sister  Helen  stole 
jfrom  her  chair,  and  softly  knelt  down  beside  him  armed  with  a 
very  fine  pair  of  scissors ;  we  see  her  yet — her  fine  profile  bent 
over  her  unconscious  victim,  half  shaded  by  the  luxuriant  tresses 
of  her  soft  auburn  hair.  It  would  ha\'e  made  an  admirable  sub*- 
ject  for  a  painter ;  the  half  comic,  half  serious  expression  of  her 
beautiful  face. 

Ah !  mischievous  Nell !  did  no  feeling  of  pity  withhold  thy 
impious  hand  ?  Dids't  thou  not  i^member  that  thou  wert  in- 
fringing one  of  the  laws  of  thy  country— that  cutting  and  maim- 
ing is  a  capital  offence — and  dost  thou  turn  a  grave  law  of  the 
land  into  a  capital  joke. 

Ah !  now  thou  commencest  the  work  of  destruction  in  good 
earnest — cHp,  clip,  clip.  See,  be  starts.  Does  he  fancy  that  a 
iy  stings  his  cheek  ?  He  shakes  his  head ;  he  pots  op  his  hand 
with  an  impatient  gesture  to  his  face,  and  now  unconsciously  turns 
in  his  sleep,  and  places  hhnself  in  a  more  convenient  position  for 
the  destroyer :  clip,  clip,  clip,— there  is  ^mething  spiteful  in  the 
sharp  click  of  those  malicious  scissors.  How  bare  the  rosy  cheek 
begins  to  look ;  how  promitiently  stands  out  the  cheek  bones  and 
chin,  so  lately  shaded  and  mellowed  by  the  rich,  dark,  curling 
hair. 

Alas !  for  o«r  ^oor  sailor,  the  last  hair  is  shorn,  and  the  naughty 
girl  Milling  triumphantly  at  the  success  of  her  stratagem,  lays  hSt 
finger  on  her  lip  to  enjoin  silenoe,  and  rising  eaittiodsly  from  her 

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BSM   BAORSTAT.  418 

qm>t\j  and  deimirelj  takes  up  her  work  firon  the  table, 
aud  resumes  her  seat. 

Happily  unconscions  of  his  loss,  Ben  awoke  a  few  minotes 
after,  and  stretching  himself  like  a  tame  lion,  walked  mechanically 
to  the  glass.  Helen  bends  her  head  more  assiduously  over  b^ 
work,  and  the  other  sisters  watch  him  with  ill-suppressed  smiles. 

Why  does  he  start  back,  as  if  he  had  seen  a  spectre  in  lieu  of 
that  comely  countenance  7  Why  does  he  rub  his  eyes,  and  then 
his  chin,  and  look  again  and  again  at  the  mirror  as  ^  he  doubted 
the  evidence  of  his  senses,  or  was  still  under  the  delusion  of  a 
dream  ?  Can  it  be  true  that  one  of  those  incomparable  whiskers 
is  really  gone — ranished  from  his  face  during  his  sleep,  and  he 
not  discover  tim  cause  of  the  abstraction  ? 

He  glances  round  the  apartment,  his  eyes  in  a  fine  phrenzy 
rdling,  whilst  peals  of  laughter  assail  his  ears  on  all  sides. 

^  Ah,  Miss  Helen ! "  he  cried,  unable  longer  to  resist  the  uni« 
▼ersal  cachtnnation,  ^^  this  is  some  of  your  work.  What  a  fright 
I  look ;  a  perfect  scarecrow.  I  shall  be  the  ugliest  fellow  at  the 
ball.  But,"  cried  he,  whisking  her  up  in  his  arms,  ^^  since  you 
have  turned  the  laugh  npon  me,  it  is  only  &ir  that  you  should  form 
a  part  of  the  entertainment.** 

Then  carrying  her  into  a  spare  room,  from  whence  th^e  was  no 
possibility  of  escape,  he  locked  her  in,  and  putting  the  key  in  his 

pocket,  walked  off  to  spend  the  evening  at  Y ,  leaving  the  fair 

prisoner  to  ei^oy  in  solitary  confinement  the  resiidt  of  her  frolic. 

Ah  !  Ben,  Ben  !  you  know  nothing  of  women,  still  less  of  sister 
Helen ;  unable  to  get  out,  she  diligently  set  herself  to  work  to 
hatch  more  mischief.  With  her,  to  think  and  act  were  almost 
simultaneous,  and  during  her  imprisonment  she  concocted  the  fol- 
lowing billet,  as  if  coming  from  Mr.  Balls  the  tailor ;  and  early 
the  next  morning,  she  transcribed  the  same  upon  a  bit  of  soiled 
paper,  which  she  folded  and  directed  like  a  butcher's  bill,  and 
carefully  deposited  in  the  post-office.  This  elegant  epistle  was 
handed  to  Ben  at  break&st  the  following  momiag. 

Deer  Sur, 

Hi  ham  the  most  hunfortunatest  hov  men,  aving  appened  vith 
ha  grate  haxbident  to  your  dress  cote.     Me  guse  Was  to  ott,  ven 
hi  vent  to  press  hout  the  seems,  hand  burnt  ha  large  ole  rite  bin  the 
middel  hov  the  back.     Hi  ave  jined  hit  has  vel  has  cold  be  hex 
pected.     So  hi  opes  you  vil  hoverlook  my  sad  missfbrtin. 

Yours  Sur  to  command,  hin  grate  hanxiety, 

E.  Balls. 

**  By  Jove !"  cried  Ben,  "  what  farrago  of  nonsense  is  all  thisi 
Here,  Nell,  you  are  a  good  hand  at  making  out  cramped  writisig. 
Do  come  and  see  if  you  can  read  this.*' 

With  the  utmost  apparent  difficnUy,  Mias  Nell  contrived  to 
spell  out  the  note. 

^  Wfai[t— how !  You  cauH  mean  Hiat  Oh,  eonfonnd  the 
bimgling  brute  \ — he  smrely  has  not  spoilt  my  coat.  But  I  wtH 
take  the  price  of  it  out  of  his  bonea  P*  * 


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414  PAPERS  ON  PRACnCAL  JOKES. 

As  he  finished  speaking,  the  culprit  himself  made  his  appear- 
ance, followed  by  the  servant  with  a  bundle  tied  up  in  a  yellow 
silk  handkerchief  under  his  arm. 

Ezekiel  Balls  was  a  tall,  thin,  slouchy  looking  man,  with  large 
heavy  black  eyes,  that  turned  every  way  in  his  head,  like  the 
eyes  of  a  crab.  Such  eyes  were  nerer  made  to  look  another 
honestly  in  the  face.  They  rolled  hither  and  thither,  with  a 
crouching,  fawning  expression,  and  it  was  only  by  stealth  that  you 
caught  him  in  the  act  of  looking  straight  at  you. 

Ben  cast  one  disdainful  glance  at  Mr.  Balls;  and  compre- 
hended in  a  moment  the  cowardly,  cringing,  disposition  of  the 
man,  and  with  a  most  sublime  pity  despised  him  accordingly. 

"So,  you  awkward  rascal!"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  the 
terrified  tailor,  who  instinctively  shrunk  from  the  warlike  appear- 
ance of  his  employer,  and  shuffled  a  few  steps  backwards  towards 
the  door.  "  How  can  you  have  the  impudence  to  show  your 
ugly  face  here  ?  Now,  just  be  off !  or  I  will  show  you  the  way 
out — a — sight  quicker  than  you  came  in.  As  to  the  suit  you 
have  spoiled  for  me,  you  may  keep  it  yourself,  and  if  you  fail  to 
fiimish  me  with  one  as  good,  I  will  send  you  to  jail ! " 

"  The  good  Lord  defend  us  !  What  does  your  honour  mean  r " 
said  the  man,  opening  his  eyes  and  mouth  in  blank  astonishment. 
"  Will  you  please  to  look  at  the  coat  and  trowsers  ? " 

"  Curse  your  impudence,  fellow !  Have  you  not  already  told 
me  that  you  have  spoilt  the  coat  7" 

The  tailor  became  more  mystified  every  moment. 

"  Spoilt  your  coat,  sir  ?  There  is  some  strange  mistake,  sir ;  I 
have  not  spoilt  your  coat.'* 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  have.     You  have  burnt  a  hole  in  it." 

"  Whoever  told  you  that  stoiy,  Mr.  Backstay,  told  an  infernal 
lie !  God  forgive  me  for  swearittgy^  he  added,  in  a  softer  tone. 
"  But  I  suppose  it  was  that  villain  Sewell.  He  does  all  he  can 
to  put  business  past  me,  and  rob  me  of  my  customers,  by  invent- 
ing all  sorts  of  malicious  reports.  I  bum  a  hole  in  a  gentleman's 
dress  coat !  I,  who  sensed  me  apprenticeship  with  Schnltz  ?  Why, 
sir,  the  thing's  impossible  !" 

"  Will  you  deny  your  own  handwriting?"  and  the  angry  Ben 
handed  him  the  note. 

The  tailor  took  and  handled  it  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if  he 
were  touching  a  burning  coal,  at  length  he  stammered  forth  : 
^^  This  here  is  not  my  handwriting,  sir.  I  was  an  orphan,  and 
my  poor  mother  was  unable  to  send  me  to  school ;  I  can  neither 
read  nor  write.  I  was  an  errand-boy  at  the  great  Schultz's,  and  he 
took  a  kind  of  liking  for  me,  and  gave  me  his  business.  I  can't 
read  the  note,  sir.     Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  read  it  for  me  ?" 

This  was  rather  a  poser.  Ben  looked  doubtingly  at  the  tailor, 
and  with  some  difficulty  read  aloud  to  the  wandering  and  indig- 
nant tradesman  the  precious  document. 

To  picture  the  countenance  of  the  man  while  the  communica- 
tion was  being  made  public,  would  be  impossible.  He  gasped 
for  breAh,  his  rage  nearly  choked  him. 


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BEN   BACKSTAY  416 

**  Tis  all  a  lie,  sir, — a  base  lie !  invented,  as  I  told  you  before, 
by  that  villain  Sewell,  in  order  to  injure  me.  But  1 11  have  my 
revenge.  Give  me  the  note,  sir, —  I'll  kill  him — I'll  take  the 
law  of  him.  I — I — I H  knock  his  brains  out  with  his  own 
goose ! '' 

The  laughter,  which  the  wicked  Helen  could  no  longer  repress, 
began  to  awaken  a  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  her  mother,  that  the 
note  was  some  trick  of  hers ;  and,  suddenly  snatching  the  dingy 
epistle  from  her  son's  hand,  she  flung  it  behind  the  fire,  assuring 
the  angry  tailor  that  it  was  all  a  joke — a  trick  which  ene  of  his 
sisters  had  played  upon  Mr.  Backstay. 

It  was  not  until  Ben  had  tried  on  the  new  suit,  and  submitted 
every  part  of  it  to  the  most  rigid  examination,  that  he  could 
convince  himself  that  all  was  right.  The  coat,  fortunately  for  him 
and  the  tailor,  was  an  excellent  fit,  which  instantly  restored  Ben 
to  his  former  good-nature.  He  shook  hands  with  the  tailor,  and 
laughingly  apologized  for  his  late  violence,  which  he  hoped  that 
Mr.  Balls  would  forget  in  a  draught  of  home-brewed  ale.  ^'  These 
girls,"  he  continued,  "  will  have  their  joke ;  they  won't  let  a 
fellow  alone,  and  because  he  is  a  sailor,  they  consider  him  fair 
game." 

Mr.  Balls  accepted  the  promised  peace-offering,  and  after 
drinking  a  good  health  to  Mr.  Ben  and  the  ladies,  bowed  and 
smirked  himself  out. 

^^Oh,  mamma!"  exclaimed  Helen,  the  moment  the  tailor  was 
beyond  hearing,  '^why  did  you  betray  me,  and  prevent  those 
tailors  from  coming  to  the  scratch  ?  What  capital  fun  it  would 
have  been !" 

"  Helen,  Helen  !  when  will  you  leave  off  these  foolish  practical 
jokes  ?  You  might  have  been  the  cause  of  those  men  killing  each 
other." 

*•  The  geese  !"  said  Helen.  "  It  would  have  ended  in  a  harm- 
less hiss  or  two." 

The  day  of  the  ball  at  ftngth  arrived,  and  after  spending  a 
full  hour  in  the  adornment  of  his  outer  man,  Ben  Backstay 
mounted  Helen's  pony,  and   galloped   off  gaily  to  the  town  of 

B   .     He  was  received  with  much  kindness  by  Mrs.  G 

and  her  daughters,  who,  with  the  fair  Margaret,  were  more  flat- 
tering than  usual  in  their  attentions.  Ben,  who  considered  him- 
self perfectly  irresistible,  concluded  that  they  were  all  in  love 
with  him  ;  and,  for  fear  of  raising  hopes  which  he  could  not 
realize  (for  he  well  knew  that,  however  charming  each  in  her 
own  person  might  be,  it  was  impossible  to  marry  them  all)  he 
conscientiously  confined  all  his  flirtations  to  Miss  Margaret. 
I  During  the  evening,  he  took  various  opportunities  of  declaring 
his  passion  to  the  young  lady;  and  at  last  went  so  far  as  to  entreat 
her  to  bestow  upon  him  a  lock  of  her  beautiful  dark  hair,  which 
he  assured  her,  would  be  kept  by  him  as  a  sacred  relic  when  he 
should  be  far  away  at  sea.  ' 

After  a  little  reasonable  opposition,  Margaret  G consented 

to  grant  his  request.     But  fearing,  she  said,  the  indignation  of 

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416  PAPERS  OK  ntACriCAL  JOKES. 

her  cimi  end  cousins,  shoutd  her  indiscretion  come  to  their  ears, 
she  be^ed  him  to  wsit  onder  Ae  shade  ofiht  staircase,  when  he 
left  the  ball-room  to  return  home ;  and  she  would  fluig  the  coFoled 
lock  orer  the  bamsten,  enclosed  in  a  small  packet. 

Ben  was  in  raptures,  and  promised  the  most  profound  secrecy;. 
After  the  festivities  of  the  evening  had  been  broogbt  to  a  dose, 
our  love-inspired  sailor  repaired  to  the  appointed  spot,  his  heoi 
beating  high  widi  excHeuttut,  and  hoping  that  this  stolen  intar- 
view  would  end  in  the  happy  termination  of  his  suit. 

He  waited  for  a  few  roittudes  in  breathless  suspense,  when  a 
light  step  sounded  on  the  stair,  and  the  soft  voice  of  Margsiet 

G gently  pronoanced  his  name.    Ben  q)rang  forward,  and 

cai^t  a  momentary  glance  of  the  white  ganneats  of  his  beloved, 
and  the  next  instant,  a  small  sealed  parcel  was  caught  in  his  out- 
stretched eager  hand. 

^  Don't  open  it,  before  you  reach  home,^  whispered  the  maiden, 
and  disappeared. 

Ben  retired  in  a  sort  of  dreamy  ecstasy,  and,  mounting  hoa 
horse,  took  the  road  that  led  homewani. 

The  distance  was  twelve  miles — twelve  long  miles,  over  rough, 
cross-country  roads ;  but  twelve,  or  twenty,  would  have  been  aU 
one  to  him,  he  never  marked  the  distance,  and  the  horse,  if  it  had 
been  mischievously  inclined,  might  have  led  him  a  dance  over 
moor  and  moss,  like  another  will-o'-the-wisp,  and  he  would  never 
have  heeded  its  frolics,  so  completely  was  his  mind  absorbed  in 
rapturous  visions  of  ftiture  bUss — love  in  a  cottage  Inth  Margaret 

6 ,  or  the  said  young  lady,  reigning  queen  on  board  a  fine 

East  Indiaman,  commanded  by  himself.  The  most  improbaUe 
things  became  possible  to  Ben,  in  diat  hour  of  love  and  romance. 

But  our  sailor's  night-dreams,  like  the  day-dreams  of  the  po<» 
adventurer  in  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainment,  were  doomed  to 
experience  a  strange  disappointment. 

On  arriving  at  home,  he  found  his  tuo  youngest  sisters  sittng 
Qp  for  him :  but  before  answering  tnir  eager  inquiries  about  the 
ball,  he  took  the  packet  from  Ins  bosom,  and  hurried  to  the 
candle. 

**  A  treasure,  girls !    A  lock  of  Margaret  G 's  beautiful  hair,** 

^^  Indeed !"  cried  both  the  girls  in  a  breath.  ^  Did  she  actuaUj 
give  you  a  lock  of  h^  hair  ?  Yon  are  joking,  Ben ;  we  will  not 
believe  it." 

^'  Then  here  it  is,"  said  the  amorous  sailor,  pressing  the  UlOs 
packet  to  his  lips,  before  be  tore  open  the  envelope.  If  you 
doubt  the  truth,  come  and  look  for  yourselves." 

Beader,  imagine  if  you  oan,  the  feelings  of  our  lover,  when  hb 
eye  rested — not  upon  a  rich,  silky  lock  of  his  beloved'%  jet-Uack 
ludr,  but  upon  a  irfiite,  grizaded,  straight,  wiry  bunch,  ^cot  from 
die  fixwty  pow  of  her  ffreat  yranimsiher^  who  had  reached  ikm 
eocemtric  age  of  one  hundred  and  sex  yeaia.  Ben  swcwe— the 
girls  laughed  themselves  ill,  and  his  love-fit  for  the  fiur . 
was  cured  from  that  hour. 


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417 
SLAVERY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

BY  MISS   SEDGEWIC£. 

BfiFOHB  the  American  Revolution,  slareiy  extended  throughout 
the  United  States.  In  New  England  it  was  on  a  very  limited  scale. 
There  were  household  slaves  in  Boston,  who  drove  the  coaches, 
cooked  the  dinners,  and  shared  the  luxuries  of  rich  houses ;  and  a 
few  were  distributed  among  the  most  wealthy  of  the  rural  popula- 
tion. They  wt;re  not  numerous  enough  to  make  the  condition  a 
great  evil  or  embarrassment,  but  quite  enough  to  show  its  incom- 
patibility with  the  demonstration  cf  the  truth,  on  which  our  decla- 
itition  of  Independence  is  based,  that  **  all  men  are  bom  equal,'* 
and  hare  ^*  an  inalienable  right  to  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness.^ 

The  slaves  in  Massachusetts  were  treated  with  almost  pa- 
rental kindness.  They  were  incorporated  into  the  femily,  and 
each  puritan  household  being  a  sort  of  religious  structure,  the 
relative  duties  of  master  and  servant  were  clearly  defined.  No 
doubt  the  severest  and  longest  task  fell  to  the  slave,  but  in  the 
household  of  the  farmer  or  artisan,  the  master  and  the  mistress 
shared  it,  and  when  it  was  finished,  the  white  and  the  black,  Kke 
the  feudal  chief  and  his  household  servant,  sat  down  to  the  same 
table,  and  shared  the  same  viands.  No  doubt  there  were  hard 
masters  and  cruel  mistresses,  and  so  there  are  cruel  fathers  and 
exacting  mothers :  unrestrained  power  is  not  a  fit  human  trust. 
We  know  an  old  man,  who,  fifty  years  ago,  when  strict  domestic 
discipline  was  a  cardinal  virtue,  and  ^  spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the 
child**  was  written  on  the  lintel,  was  in  the  unvarying  habit,  **  after 
prayers  ^'  on  a  Monday  morning,  of  setting  his  children,  boys  and 
girls,  nine  in  number,  in  a  row,  and  beginning  with  the  eldest,  a 
lad  of  eighteen.  Ire  inflicted  an  hebdomadal  prospective  chaise- 
ment  down  the  whole  line,  to  the  little  urchin  of  three  years.  And 
the  tradition  goes,  that  tm  possible  transgressions  of  the  week 
were  never  underrated — thai  these  were  supererogatory  stripes  for 
possible  sins,  or  chance  misdemeanors ! 

But  this  was  a  picturesque  exception  ft*om  the  prex'-ailing  mild- 
ness of  the  parental  government,  and  so  were  the  cruelties  exercised 

upon  her  slaves  by  a  certain  Madame  A ,  who  lived  in  Sheffield, 

a  border-town  in  the  western  part  of  Massachusetts,  exceptional 
from  the  general  course  of  patriarchal  government.    This  Madame 

A b^onged  to  the  provincial  gentry,  and  did  not  live  long 

enough  for  the  democratic  wave  to  rise  to  her  high-water  mark. 
Her  husband,  as  was,  and  is,  not  uncommon  in  New  England, 
combined  the  dutiies  of  the  soldier  and  the  magistrate,  and  honom^ 
ably  discharged  bo^.  He  won  laurels  in  "  the  FVench  war,**  (Ae 
war  waged  in  the  Northern  British  provinces),  and  wore  them 
meekly.  The  plan  of  Providence  to  prevent  monstrous  discrepan- 
cies, by  mating  the  tall  with  the  short,  the  fat  with  the  lean,  the 
sour  with  tbe  sweet,  Ac.,  was  illustrated  by  General  A*— — 
and  his  help-meet.    He  was  the  gentlest,  most  benign  of  Hien ; 

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418  SLAVERY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

she,  a  shrew  untaineable.  He  was  an  *  Allworthy,'  or  *iny  Uncle 
Toby/  He  had  pity,  tolerance,  and  forgiveness  for  every  human 
error.  Tliere  was  no  such  word  as  error  in  Madame  A 's  vocab- 
ulary. Every  departure  from  her  rule  of  rectitude  was  criminal. 
She  was  the  type  of  punishment.  Her  justice  was  without  scales 
as  well  as  blind,  so  that  she  never  weighed  ignorance  against  error, 
nor  temptation  against  sin.  He  was  the  kindest  of  mastei's  to  his 
slaves;  she,  the  most  despotic  of  mistresses.  Happily  for  the  ser-» 
vile  household,  those  were  the  days  of  the  fixed  supremacy  of  man. 
No  question  of  the  equality  of  the  sexes  had  impaired  woman'*s 
contentment,  or  provoked  man's  fear  or  ridicule.  The  current  of 
his  authority  had  run  undisturbed  since  first  the  river  Pison  flowed 
out  of  Eden.  No  "woman's  rights'  conventions^'  had  dared  to 
doubt  the  primitive  law  and  curse,  "thy  desire  shall  be  to  thy 
husband,  and  he  shall  I'ule  over  thee  :*'  so  that,  as  we  intimated, 

the  servants  of  Madame  A ,  suffering  under  her  despotism,  had 

always  a  right  of  appeal  to  a  higher  tribunal.  Whatever  petty 
tyrannies  the  magnanimous  General  might  quietly  submit  to  in  his 
own  person,  he  never  acquiesced  in  oppression  of  his  people. 
Among  them  was  a  remarkable  woman  of  unmixed  African  race. 
Her  name  was  Elizabeth  Freeman,  transmuted  to  "  Betty,"  and 
afterwards  contracted  by  lisping  lips  from  Mammy  Bet,  to  Mum- 
Bett,  by  which  name  she  was  best  known. 

It  has  since  been  luminously  translated  in  a  French  notice,  into 
Chut  Balet. 

This  woman,*  who  was  said  by  a  competent  judge  to  have  "  no 
superiors  and  few  equals,"  was  the  property,  "  the  chattel "  of 

General  A .     She  had  a  sister  in  servitude  u-ith  her,  a  sickly 

timid  creature,  over  whom  she  watched  as  the  lioness  does  over 

her  cubs.     On  one  occasion,  when  Madame  A was  making  the 

patrol  of  her  kitchen,  she  discovered  a  wheaten  cake,  made  by 
Lizzy  the  sister,  for  herself,  from  the  scrapings  of  the  great  oaken 
bowl  in  which  tlie  family  batch  had  been  kneaded.  Enraged  at 
the  *^  thief,"  as  she  branded  her,  she  Aized  a  large  iron  shovel  red 
hot  from  clearing  the  oven,  and  raised  it  over  the  terrified  girl. 
Bet  interposed  her  brawny  arm,  and  took  the  blow.  It  cut  quite 
across  the  arm  to  the  bone,  '^  but,*'  she  would  say  afterwards  in 
concluding  the  story  of  the  frightful  scar  she  earned  to  her  grave, 
^^  Madam  never  again  laid  her  hand  on  Lizzy.  I  had  a  bad  arm 
all  winter,  but  Madam  had  the  worst  of  it  I  never  covered  the 
wound,  and  when  people  said  to  me,  before  Madam, — ^  Why, 
Betty!  what  ails  your  arm?'  I  only  answered — *ask  missis!" 
Which  was  the  slave  and  which  was  the  real  mistress  ? 

*  Our  readers  may  have  seen  some  account  of  this  woman  by  Miss  Marti- 
neau,  1  believe,  in  her  ** Society  in  America;"  but  as  that  account  was  but 
partial,  and  by  a  stranger,  I  have  thought  that  one  more  extended,  without 
exaggeration  or  colouring,  in  every  particular  true,  might  be  acceptable  at  a 
time  when  *' Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  has  excited  curiosity  as  to  the  individual 
character  of  the  African  race.  It  was  said,  perhaps  truly,  by  that  distinguished 
man,  Charles  Pollen,  that  if  you  could  establish  the  eaiudity  of  the  slave  with 
the  master  in  a  single  instance,  you  had  answered  tne  argument  for  slavery 
furnished  by  the  inferiority  of  the  African  race. 


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SLAVERY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.  41 J 

She  had  another  characteristic  story  of  the  days  of  her  servitude ; 
and  she  retained  so  vivid  an  impression  of  its  circamstances,  that 
when  she  related  them  in  her  old  age,  the  blood  of  her  hearers 
would  curdle  in  their  veins. 

"  It  was  in  May/f  she  would  say,  "just  at  the  time  of  the  apple 
blossoms;  I  was  wetting  the  bleaching  linen,  when  a  smallish  girl 
came  in  to  the  gate,  and  up  the  lane,  and  straight  to  me,  and  said, 
without  raising  her  eyes,  *  where  is  your  master  ?  I  must  speak 
with  him/  1  told  her  that  my  master  was  absent,  that  he  would 
come  home  before  night.  '  Then  I  must  stay,'  she  said,  ^  for  I 
must  speak  with  him.'  I  set  down  my  watering  pot,  and  told  her 
to  come  with  me  into  the  house.  I  saw  it  was  no  common  case. 
Gals  in  trouble  were  often  coming  to  master.^'  (*  Girls  in  trouble,^ 
is  a  definite  rustic  phrase,  indicating  but  one  species  of  trouble). 
**  But,"  she  continued,  "  I  never  saw  one  look  like  this.  The  blood 
seemed  to  have  stopped  in  her  veins;  her  face  and  neck  were  all 
in  blotches  of  red  and  white.  She  had  bitten  her  lip  through ; 
her  voice  was  hoarse  and  husky,  and  her  eyelids  seemed  to  settle 
down  as  if  she  could  never  raise  them  again.  I  showed  her  into 
a  bedroom  next  the  kitchen,  and  shut  the  door,  hoping  Madam 
would  not  mistrust  it,  for  she  never  overlooked  anybody's  wrong- 
doing but  her  own,  and  she  had  a  particular  hatred  of  gals  that  had 
met  with  a  misfortin ;  she  could  not  abide  them.  She  saw  me  bring 
the  gal  in — it  was  just  her  luck — she  always  saw  everything.  I 
heard  her  coming  and  I  threw  open  the  bedroom  door;  for  seeing 
I  could  no  way  hide  the  poor  child — she  was  not  over  fifteen — I 
determined  to  stand  by  her.  When  Madam  had  got  half  across  the 
kitchen,  in  full  sight  of  the  child,  she  turned  to  me,  and  her  eyes 
flashing  like  a  cat's  in  the  dark,  she  asked  me,  ^  what  that  baggage 
wanted  ? '  *  To  speak  to  master.'  *  What  does  she  want  to  say  to 
your  master  ?*  *  I  don 't  know,  ma'am.'  *  I  know,'  she  said — and 
there  was  no  foul  thing  she  didn't  call  the  child ;  and  when  she 
had  got  to  the  end  of  her  bad  words,  she  ordered  her  to  walk  out 
of  the  house.  Then  the  gal^aised  her  eyes  for  the  first  time;  she 
had  not  seemed  to  hear  a  word  before.  She  did  not  speak — sh? 
did  not  sigh — nor  sob — nor  groan — ^but  a  sharp  sound  seemed  to 
come  right  out  of  her  heart;  it  was  heart-breaking  to  hear  it. 

"  *  Sit  still,  child,'  I  said.  At  that  Madam's  temper  rose  like  a 
thunder-storm.  She  said  the  house  was  hers,  and  again  ordered 
the  gal  out  of  it.  *  Sit  still,  child,'  says  I  again.  *  She  shall  go,* 
says  madam.  *  No,  missis,  she  shan't,'  says  I.  *  If  the  gal  has  a 
complaint  to  make,  she  has  a  right  to  see  the  judge;  that's  law- 
ful, and  stands  to  reason  beside.'  Madam  knew  when  I  set  my 
foot  down,  I  kept  it  down;  so  after  blazing  out,  she  walked 
away." 

One  should  have  known  this  remarkable  woman,  the  native  ma- 
jesty of  her  deportment,  the  intelligence  of  her  indomitable,  in*e^ 
sistible  will,  to  understand  the  calmness  of  the  stranger-girl  under 
her  protection,  and  her  sure  victory  over  her  hurricane  of  a  mis- 
tress. 

"  When  dinner-time  came,''  she  continued^  "  I  offered  the  child 

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4SA  SUlVEBY  IM  IOSW  £K0LAVI». 

a  pari  of  miiie ;  I  had  no  right  to  take  Madam's  food  tad  give  it 
to  her,  aad  I  didn't;  bat,  poor  Utile  cffeatttve,  she  eould  no  more 
eat  than  if  she  were  a  dead  corpse;  »he  tried  when  I  beflrged  faer^ 
but  she  could  not  Master  came  home  at  evening.'*  (It  might 
ba^e  been  noticed  of  Mum-Belt,  that»  to  the  end  of  her  Ufe,  when 
referring  to  the  days  of  her  servitude,  she  spoke  of  Genend  A--^ 
as  ^^my  master,''  and  tenderly,  ^^  my  old  master !''  but  always  of 
her  mistress  as  *^  Madam.^)  ^  I  got  speech  of  master  as  he  waa 
getting  off  his  horse.  I  told  him  that  theie  was  a  poor  afflicted 
gal— a  chUd,  one  might  call  her — ^had  been  waiting  all  day  to  speak 
to  him.  He  bid  me  bring  her  in,  after  supper,  I  knew  Madaj» 
would  berate  her  to  master,  but  that  did  not  signify  with  him. 
When  he  sent  word  he  was  ready,  1  took  a  lighted  cajsdle  in  each 
hand,  and  tcdd  the  child  to  follow  me.  She  did  not  seem  fright- 
ened ;  she  was  just  as  she  was  in  the  morning,  'cept  that  the  red 
blotches  had  gone,  and  she  was  all  ooe  dreadfij  waxy  white. 

^^  We  went  to  the  study.  Master  was  sitting  in  his  high-baoked 
chair,  before  his  desk.  Master  could  not  scare  her,  he  looked  ao 
pitiful.  I  sets  down  the  candles,  walked  back  to  the  wall,  and 
stood  there ;  I  knew  master  had  no  ol9ectioas,^**master  and  I  un« 
derstood  one  another.  ^Come  hither,'  says  master.  The  gal 
walked  up  to  the  desk.  *What  is  your  name?' — ^TamorGra^ 
ham.' — *  Take  off  your  bonnet,  Tamcnr.'  She  took  it  off.  Her 
hair  was  brown — a  pretty  brown,  and  curly,  but  all  a  tangle. 
Master  looked  at  her."  When  Mum-Bett  got  to  the  point  of  her 
slory,  (every  word,  as  she  often  repeated  it,  is  "  cut  in*'  my 
memory),  the  tears  started  from  her  eyes,  and  she  quietly  wiped 
them  away  with  the  back  of  her  hand.  She  was  not  given  to 
tears.  They  were  not  her  demonstration.  ^^  If  ever  there  was  a 
pitiful  look,"  she  continued,  ^^  it  was  that  look  of  master's.  I  can 
see  it  yet.  *  Now  hold  up  your  hand,  Tamor,'  be  said,  *  and  swear 
to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so 
help  you  God !'  She  did.  *  Sit  down  now,  child,'  he  said,  and 
drew  a  chair  himself.  She  kind  of  fell  into  the  chair,  and  clasped 
herliands  tight  together." 

We  cannot,  and  it  is  not  needful  for  our  purpose  that  we  should, 
go  into  the  particulars  of  the  wretched  girl's  story.  It  was  steeped 
in  horrors ;  in  homely  rustic  life,  a  repetition  of  the  crime  of  the 
Cenci  tragedy.  The  girl  had  knit  her  soul  to  her  task,  and  she 
went  unfalteringly  through  it 

^'  Once,"  said  Mum-Bett,  ^^  my  master  stopped  her,  and  said, 
^  Do  you  know,  child,  that  if  your  father  is  committed,  and  con- 
victed, on  your  oath,  he  must  die  for  the  crime  ?'  *  Yes,  sir,  I 
know  it !"  ^  You  say  he  has  pursued  you  again  and  again ;  why 
did  you  not  complain  before  ?'  *  I  escaped,  sir, — and  for  my  mo- 
ther's sake— and  my  little  brother's — ^poor  boy !'  and  then  she 
burst  out  like  a  child,  and  cried,  and  cried,  and  wrung  her  hands.^ 

After  the  examination.  General  A gave  the  girl  into  Mum- 

Bett's  hands,  with  orders  that  every  thing  should  be  done  for  her 
security  and  comfort.  The  father  was  apprehended — his  child 
was  confronted  with  him.     ^^He  was  an  awful-looking  man,^ 


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SLAYEET  IN  KCW  EtfCUUUIO.  4S1 

Mfufli-Bett  tokl,  ^  Hekftd  dMrt  gsej  Mr,  but  not  dose  ecoffoif 
aad  when  I  led  Tjuboov  in,  k  rose,  and  everjr  hair  stood  stiff  sod 
upright  on  his  head.  IVe  seen  awfiil  si{^ts  in  my  day,  baft  bo«' 
thing  near  to  that.'' 

Much  corrobovatrve  testimony  was  obtained.  There  was  then  no 
court  for  capital  triak  in  Berkshire,  theeounly  of  General  A— *— ^s 
xesidenee.  The  culprit  was  transferred  to  Hampshire  to  be  tried. 
While  Tamor  remained  at  the  Oeneral's  she  received  a  message, 
requesting  her  to  cone  to  a  sequestered  lane  at  twilight,  to  mmet 
ber  mother.  Nothing  suspecting^  she  went,  and  was  seised  and 
eairried  off,  by  two  men,  agents  of  her  father,  who  hoped  to  escape 
l^  abducdng  the  witness.  A  posse  of  militia  was  called  out,  and 
■be  was  found  in  durance^  in  a  hut  in  the  depth  of  a  wood.  The 
mother  and  child  did  meet  once,  and  but  once.  They  locked  their 
arms  around  each  other.  The  mc^er  shridied— 4he  girl  was 
silent — lirid,  and  when  they  were  parted,  more  dead  than  alire. 

The  father  was  condemned.  The  daughter,  at  her  earnest  in- 
stance, was  sent  off  to  a  distant  prorince  where  it  was  understood 
she  died  not  long  after. 

Mum-Bett's  character  was  composed  of  few  bat  strong  ele« 
ments.  Action  was  the  law  of  her  natore,  and  conscious  of  supe- 
riority to  all  around  her,  she  felt  servitude  intolerable.  It  was  not 
the  work — work  was  play  to  her.  Her  power  of  execution  was 
marvellous.  Nor  was  it  awe  of  her  kind  master,  or  fear  of  her  des* 
potic  mistress,  but  it  was  the  galling  of  the  harness,  the  irresisti- 
ble longing  for  liberty.  I  have  heard  her  say,  with  an  emphatic 
shake  of  the  head  peculiar  to  her :  ^^  Any  time,  any  time  while  I 
was  a  slave,  if  one  minute's  freedom  had  been  offered  to  me,  and  I 
had  been  told  I  must  die  at  the  end  of  that  minute,  I  would  have 
taken  it — just  to  stand  one  minute  on  God's  airth  a  free  woman — 
I  would.^' 

It  was  soon  after  the  close  of  the  revolutionary  war,  that  she 
chanced  at  the  village  ^*  meeting  house,"  in  Sheffield,  to  hear  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  read.  She  went  the  next  day  to 
the  office  of  Mr.  Theodore  Sedgewick,  then  in  the  beginning  of 
his  honourable  political  and  legal  career.  ^*  Sir,''  said  she,  *^  I 
beard  that  paper  read  yesterday,  that  says,  ^^  all  men  are  bom 
equal,  and  that  every  man  has  a  right  to  A-eedom.  I  am  not  a 
dumb  critter ;  won't  the  law  give  me  my  Ireedom  ?''  I  can  ima- 
gine her  upright  form,  as  she  stood  dilating  with  her  fresh  hope 
based  on  the  declaration  of  an  intrinsic,  inalienable  right.  Such  a 
resolve  as  hers  is  like  God's  messengers — wind,  snow,  and  hail — 
irresistible. 

Her  application  was  made  to  one  who  had  generosity  as  well  as 
intelligence  to  meet  it.  Mr.  Sedgewick  immediately  instituted  a 
suit  in  behalf  of  the  extraordinary  plaintiff;  a  decree  was  obtained 
in  her  favour.  It  was  the  first  practical  construction  in  Massa- 
chusetts of  the  declaration  which  had  been  to  the  black  race  a  con- 
stitutional abstraction,  and  on  this  decision  was  based  the  free* 
dom  of  the  few  slaves  remaining  in  Massachusetts. 

Mum-Bett  immediately  transferred  herself  to  the  service  of  her 


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422  SLAVERY   IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

champiou,  if  service  that  could  be  called,  which  was  quite  as  much 
rule  as  service.  She  was  in  truth  a  sort  of  nurse — -gouvernanie  in 
his  house — an  anomalous  office  in  our  land. 

The  children  under  her  government  regarded  it,  as  the  Jews  did 
theirs,  as  a  theocracy ;  and  if  a  divine  right  were  founded  upon 
such  ability  and  fidelity  as  hers,  there  would  be  no  revolutions. 
Wider  abuses  make  rebels.  Soon  after  the  close  of  the  war,  there 
was  some  resistance  to  the  administration  of  the  newly  organised 
State  Oovemment  in  Massachusetts.  Instead  of  the  exemption 
from  taxation  which  the  ignorant  had  expected,  a  heavy  imposition 
was  necessarily  laid  upon  them,  and  instead  of  the  licence  they 
had  hoped  from  liberty,  they  found  themselves  fenced  in  by  legal 
restraints.  The  Jack  Cades  banded  together;  dishonest  men 
misled  honest  ones ;  the  government  was  embarrassed  ;  the  courts 
were  interrupted  ;  and  disorder  prevailed  throughout  the  western 
counties.  A  man  named  Shay  was  the  leader ;  the  rising  has  been 
dignified  as  Shay's  war.  There  were  some  skirmishing,  and  one 
or  two  encounters  called  battles ;  but  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
wounds  and  three  or  four  deaths,  it  was  a  bloodless  contest — chiefly 
mischievous  for  the  fright  it  gave  the  women,  and  the  licensed 
forays  of  the  dishonest  and  idle,  who  joined  the  insurgents.  Those 
who  had  fancied  that  equality  of  rights  and  privileges  would  make 
equality  of  condition  ;  that  the  mountains  and  mole-hills  of  gentle 
descent,  education,  and  foitune  would  all  sink  before  the  proclama- 
tion of  a  republic,  to  one  level,  were  grievously  disappointed ;  and 
the  old  war  was  waged  that  began  with  the  revolt  in  Heaven,  and 
has  been  continued  down  to  our  day  of  socialism.  The  gentlemen 
were  called  the  **  ruffled  shirts  ;**  they  were  made  prisoners  where- 
ever  the  insurgents  could  lay  hands  upon  them ;  their  houses 
were  invaded,  and  their  moveable  property  unceremoniously  seized 
by  those  whose  might  made  their  right. 

Mr.  Sedge  wick  was  a  member  of  the  state  legislature,  and  ab- 
sent from  his  home  on  duty,  at  Boston.  His  family  were  trans- 
ferred to  a  place  free  from  danger  or  annoyance ;  all  his  family, 
with  the  exception  of  the  servants,  and  one  young  invalid  child, 
Mum-Bett's  pet  Leave  her  castle  she  would  not,  and  her  particu- 
lar treasure  she  felt  able  to  defend.  She  adopted  a  rather  femi- 
nine mode  of  defence.  She  drew  her  bars  and  bolts,  hung  over 
the  kitchen  fire  a  large  kettle  of  beer,  and  sounded  her  tmmp  of 
defiance,  the  declaration  that  she  would  scald  to  death  the  first 
invader. 

The  insurgents  knew  she  would  keep  her  word,  and  on  that  oc- 
casion they  preserved  their  distance. 

The  fear  of  personal  molestation  having  subsided,  the  family  re- 
turned to  their  home.  They  were  not,  however,  secure  from  levies 
by  the  honest  insurgents,  and  thefts  by  the  dishonest.  For  them 
all,  Mum-Bett  had  an  aristocratic  contempt.  She  did  not  recog- 
nise their  "new-made  honour,''  but  accoutered  and  decked  as  they 
were  in  epaulets  and  ivy  boughs,  they  were,  to  her,  **  Nick  Bot- 
tom the  weaver,  Robin  Starveling  the  tailor,  Tom  Snout  the 
tinker,"  &c. 


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SLAVERY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.  42S 

The  captain  of  a  company,  with  two  or  three  subalterns,  came 
to  Mr.  Sedgwick's  with  the  intent  to  capture  Jenny  Gray,  a  beau- 
tiful young  mare,  esteemed  too  spirited  for  any  hand  but  the  ma». 
ier  of  the  family,  and  ^^  gentle  as  a  dog  in  his  hand,'*  Mum-Bett 
would  say.  So  a  cowardly  serving  man  obeyed  the  order  to  bring 
Jenny  Oray  from  the  stable,  and  saddle  and  bridle  her.  Mnm^* 
Bett  stood  at  the  open  house-door,  keenly  observing  the  procedure. 
The  captain,  with  much  diiBculty,  for  the  animal  was  snorting 
and  restive,  mounted ;  but  whether  from  an  instinct  of  repulsion^ 
or  from  some  magnetic  sign  from  Mum-Bett  (I  suspect  the  latter), 
she  reared  and  plunged,  and  threw  her  unskilled  rider  on  the  turf 
behind  her.  Again  the  Captain  mounted,  and  again  was  thrown; 
the  third  time  he  essayed  with  like  default,  then  having  got  some 
hard  bruises,  he  stood  off,  and  hesitated.  While  he  did  so^ 
Mum-Bett  started  out,  unbuckled  the  saddle,  threw  it  one  side, 
and  leading  Jenny  Gray  to  a  gate  that  opened  into  a  wide  field, 
skirting  a  wooded,  unfenced,  upland,  she  slipped  off  the  bridle, 
clapped  Jenny  on  the  side,  and  whistled  her  off,  and  off  she  went, 
careering  beyond  the  hope  of  Captain  Smith,  the  joiner. 

Alas !  Jenny  Gray  was  not  always  so  fortunate !  One  dark  night 
she  disappeared  from  the  stable,  and  the  last  that  was  seen  of  hex, 
she  was  galloping  away  into  the  State  of  New  York,  bearing  one 
of  the  Shay  leaders  from  the  pursuit  of  justice. 

On  another  occasion,  when  a  party  of  marauders  were  making 
their  domiciliary  visits  to  the  houses  of  the  few  gentry  in  the  village, 
they  entered  Mr.  Sedgwick's,  and  demanded  the  key  of  the  cellar. 
In  those  days,  the  distance  now  traversed  in  a  few  hours  was  a 
week's  journey.  The  supplies  of  to-morrow,  now  sent  from  New 
York  on  the  order  of  to-day,  were  then  laid  in  semi-annually,  and 
Mr.  S.'s  cellar  was  furnished  for  six,  months'  unstinted  hospitality. 
Mum-Bett  led  the  party,  embodying  the  dignity  of  the  family  in 
her  own  commanding  manner.  She  adroitly  directed  their  atten- 
tion first  to  a  store  of  bottled  brown  stout.  One  of  the  men  knocks 
ing  off  tlie  neck  of  a  bottle,  took  a  draught,  and  pithily  expressed 
his  abhorrence  of  the  '  bitter  stuff.'  ^  How  should  you  like  what 
gentlemen  like?'  she  asked  in  a  tope  of  derision  bitterer  than  the 
brown  stout.  *  Is  there  nothing  better  here  ? '  they  asked.  *  Gentle- 
men  want  nothing  better,'  she  answered  with  contempt,  and  they, 
partly  disappointed,  but  more  crestfallen,  turned  back  and  left 
uutasted,  liquor  which  they  would  have  been  as  ready  as  Caliban 
to  swear  was  *  not  earthly,'  was  '  celestial  liquor.'  She  managed 
her  defensive  warfare  to  the  end  with  equal  adroitness.  She  had 
secreted  the  watches  and  few  trinkets  of  the  ladies»  and  small 
articles  of  plate,  in  a  large  oaken  chest  containing  her  own  ward- 
robe ;  no  contemptible  store  either.  Bett  had  a  regal  love  of  the 
solid  and  the  splendid  wear^  and  to  the  last  of  her  long  life  went 
on  accumulating  chintzes  and  silks. 

When,  after  tramping  through  the  house,  they  came  to  Bett's 
locked  chest  and  demanded  the  key,  she  lifted  up  her  hands,  and 
laughed  in  scorn. 

"Ah!   Sam  Cooper,*'  she  swd,  ^' you  and  your  fellows  arena 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Digitized  bKft)OgIe 


4fi4  SULVEBT   IN  KEW   ElKSLAND. 

butler  thaa  I  thougbt  yoa.  Yo«  call  me  ^wencb^  mA  ^Bigger/ 
and  ]roa  wte  not  abore  nuBmagixig  my  chest  Yoa  will  hate  to 
break  it  opeaa  to  do  it  !^'  Sam  Cooper,  a  qnondam  broom^peAar 
(to  whom  Bett  had  poiated  out,  in  their  progress,  his  worthless 
brooms  rotting  in  the  cellar)  was  the  leader  of  the  party.  ^  He 
tamed/'  she  said,  ^  and  slunk  away  Uke  a  whipped  cur  as  he  was!" 

We  bare  marked  a  few  striking  points  along  the  course  of  her 
life,  but  its  whole  course  was  like  a  noble  river,  that  makes  rich 
and  glad  the  dwellers  on  its  borders. 

She  was  a  guardian  to  the  childhood,  a  friend  to  the  maturity,  a 
staff  to  the  old  age  of  those  Ae  served.  More  than  once,  by  a 
courageous  assumption  of  responsibility,  by  resisting  the  abaunl 
medical  usages  of  the  time,  in  denying  cold  water  and  fresh  air  te 
burning  fevers,  she  saved  precious  lives. 

The  time  came  for  leaving  even  the  shadow  of  service,  and  she 
retired  to  a  freehold  of  her  own,  which  she  had  purchased  with  her 
savings.  These  had  been  rather  freely  used  by  her  only  child,  and 
her  granddrildren,  who,  like  most  of  their  race,  were  addicted  to 
festive  joys. 

In  the  last  act  of  the  drama  of  life,  when  conscience  upheaves 
the  barren  or  the  bloated  past,  and  poor  humanity  quails,  she 
met  death,  not  as  the  dreaded  tyrant,  but  as  the  angel-mea* 
senger  of  God.  Some  of  the  ^'  orthodox*^  pious  felt  a  technical 
yet  sincere  concern  for  her.  Even  her  worth  required  the  passport 
of  ^^  Church  Membership.''  The  clergyman  of  the  village  visited 
her  with  the  rigors  of  the  old  creed,  and  presenting  the  terrors  ot 
the  law,  said, "  Are  you  not  afraid  to  meet  your  God  ?"  "  No,  Sir,^ 
she  replied,  calmly  and  emphatically — *^  No,  Sir.  I  have  tried  to 
do  my  duty,  and  I  am  not  afeard  I**  She  had  passed  from  the 
slavery  of  spiritual  conventionalism  into  the  liberty  of  the  children 
of  God. 

She  lies  now  in  the  village  burial  ground,  in  the  midst  of  those 
she  loved  and  blessed ;  of  those  who  loved  and  honoured  her.  The 
first  ray  of  the  sun,  that  as  it  rose  over  the  beautiful  hills  of  Berk- 
shire, was  welcomed  by  her  vigilant  eye,  now  greets  her  grave;  its 
last  beam  falls  on  the  marble,  inscribed  with  the  following  true 
words: — 

*'Elisakth  Fessman, 

(known  bj  the  name  of  Mum-Bett), 

(Ked  Dec.  a8tb,  1829. 

Her  supposed  age  was  85  years. 

She  was  bom  a  slave  and  remahied  a  slave  for  nearly  thirty  years.  She  could 
neither  read  nor  write ;  yet  in  her  own  sphere  she  had  no  superior  nor  equal* 
She  neither  wasted  time  nor  property.  She  never  riolated  a  truth,  nor  fidled  to 
perform  a  daty.  In  every  situation  of  domestic  trial  she  was  the  most  ef**' 
ficient  helper  and  the  tenderest  friend.    Good  mother,  farewell  I  ** 


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415 


MISS  BARBARA  BLISS  AND  HER  MISERIES. 

BY    ALFRED  W.    COLE. 

Never  did  an  author  propose  to  himself  a  harder  task  than  that 
of  describing  the  charms  of  Miss  Barbara  Bliss.  She  was  not  a 
fine  woman,  not  a  pretty  woman,  not  a  wonderful  woman,  not  a 
strong-minded  woman.  In  short  one  might  multiply  her  negatives 
ad  if^finiium ;  but  as  in  figures  five  hundred  times  nothing  is  still 
nothing,  so  in  the  case  of  Miss  Barbara  Bliss  five  hundred  repeti- 
tions of  the  qualities  and  characteristics  she  did  not  possess  would 
still  leave  the  reader  uninformed  of  a  single  one  that  she  did  pos- 
sess. Let  us  try  to  seize  (figuratively  of  course — heaven  forbid  that 
we  should  do  it  literally !)  on  some  of  Miss  Barbara^s  actual 
charms.  First  she  was  tall  and  thin ;  next  her  nose  was  long  and 
thin :  her  eyes  were  small,  sharp,  and  piercing ;  her  mouth  was 

£  inched,  her  teeth  were  never  visible,  though  her  dentist  says  she 
ad  some  of  her  own  ;  her  chin  was  pointed ;  and  so  was  her  head, 
up  to  the  organ  of  self-esteem,  which  is  just  about  the  crown  of  the 
pericranium ;  her  hair  was  light  brown,  and  very  rough  and  bristly, 
so  that,  oil  it  as  she  might,  it  always  looked  as  if  she  had  only  just 
taken  off  her  night-cap  after  a  disturbed  night's  rest — it  was  clear 
that  the  only  moisture  about  it  was  from  the  oil  aforesaid,  and  even 
that  it  seemed  to  swallow  up  and  utterly  absorb,  as  the  great  desert 
of  Zahara  would  serve  an  April  shower.  Her  figure  would  illus- 
trate a  parallelogram  better  than  Hogarth's  line  of  beauty.  If  to 
all  this  we  add  the  ordinary  brown  stuff  dress,  made  very  tight,  and 
without  a  particle  of  ornament ;  long  hands  that  seemed  to  shoot 
out  like  the  feelers  of  a  lobster,  and  a  skin  of  the  colour  of  parch- 
ment or  old  point  lace  (the  latter  is  the  more  polite  simile),  per- 
haps the  reader  will  have  just  the  faintest  idea  of  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  Miss  Barbara  Bliss. 

Miss  Barbara  lived  in  a  house  very  like  herself,  being  tall,  nar- 
row, brown  and  seedy-looking,  and  situate  somewhere  across  the 
Thames,  but  whether  it  was  in  Lambeth  or  Southwark,  or  Clapham 
or  Kennington,  or  Brixton,  we  really  do  not  know,  our  acquaintance 
with  all  these  regions  being  limited  to  a  general  birds-eye  view 
of  them  firom  a  four-horse  drag  on  a  Derby-day,  She  lived  alone 
too ;  unless  a  cat,  and  a  parrot,  a  marmozet  monkey,  and  an  old 
servant  of  all-work  can  be  considered  to  form  a  family.  How  she 
passed  her  time  who  shall  tell  ?  but  she  stitched  a  great  deal,  though 
what  she  stitched,  or  for  whom,  we  cannot  say.  This,  however,  is 
a  lady's  mystery.  Lady  Fanny  Faddle  is  eternally  working  with 
her  needle,  embroidering,  crocheting,  and  even  sewing — and  yet 
Lady  Fanny  has  not  a  morsel  of  her  own  work  in  her  possession, 
nor  can  any  one  of  her  most  intimate  friends  produce  a  specimen 
of  it.  Mrs.  Shillitoe  appears  to  be  for  ever  labouring  under  a 
frightful  accumulation  of  plain  needle^work,  and  the  rapidity  with 

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4S6  HISS  BARBABA  BLISS 

wbich  her  pointed  little  bit  of  steel  is  constaDtly  moviog,  the  hoo* 
rated  state  of  her  left  fore-finger,  and  her  consumption  of  sewing 
and  darning  cotton  are  facts  which  speak  for  themselves.  And 
yet  Mrs.  Sbillitoe  is  a  trifle  slatternly :  we  have  detected  a  bole  in 
her  stocking  and  a  rent  in  her  collar  more  than  once,  while  all  the 
little  Shillitoes  have  torn  pinafores  and  dilapidated  frocks.  What 
becomes  of  all  the  fruits  of  these  ladies'  industry  ?  Was  there  not 
a  faint  response  from  the  '^  Fancy  Fairs,*'  and  ^^  Ladies'  Visiting 
Societies,"  or  was  it  only  echo  ? 

Miss  Barbara  Bliss,  in  spite  of  her  happy  name,  was  not  a 
happy  woman.  She  had  two  great  sources  of  grief,  one  imaginary 
(as  tee  think),  and  the  other  real.  The  first  was  that  she  had  been 
disappointed  in  love,  as  she  informed  the  world — her  young  heart's 
affections  rudely  crushed  and  so  forth.  Certainly  she  had  kept 
the  secret  of  her  love  well,  for  none  even  of  her  own  family  knew 
anything  about  it,  or  that  the  individual  breathed  or  ever  had. 
breathed,  on  whom  Miss  Barbara  had  bestowed  her  heart— except 
a  young  man  at  a  linendraper's  who  would  have  married  her  with 
pleasure,  but  that  he  possessed  the  inconvenient  impediment  of 
being  married  already. 

The  second  source  of  grief  to  Miss  Barbara  Bliss  was  a  nephew:. 
He  was  a  source  of  grief  to  nearly  every  one  who  had  the  misfiir- 
tune  to  be  connected  with  him,  and  especially  to  Miss  Barbara, 
who  had  been,  and  still  was,  his  guaidian,  and  to  whom  his  extra- 
vagance, his  mad  pranks,  and  his  eternal  scrapes  were  something 
horribly  alarming. 

Charley  Bliss  was  a  particularly  ^'  fast^  young  man :  so  fast  that 
he  always  got  a-head  of  his  means,  large  as  they  were,  and  in  the 
race  with  that  imaginarv  being  the  constable  (whom  people  are 
said  to  have  outrun,  that  are  afterwards  outrun  by  a  SheriflTs 
officer)  tiic  constable  stood  no  chance  at  all,  but  was  utterly 
^'  distanced.'^  In  his  very  school  days  Charley  became  intimatdy 
acquainted  with  that  distinctive  feature  of  modem  commerce 
^^  tick.^'  In  fact  Charley  expressed  his  belief  that  he  had  been 
**  bom  on  tick,''  which  being  mentioned  to  a  Scotch  friend,  the 
latter  suggested  ^^  Well,  and  mayhap  the  laddie's  father  never  paid 
the  Accoucheur." 

It  was  in  order  to  correct  this  tendency  to  extravagance,  no 
doubt,  that  Charley  was  sent  into  that  admirable  school  of  eco» 
nomy — the  army.  His  father  and  mother  were  dead,  and  Charley 
was  heir  to  £30,000.  The  27th  Lancers  were  just  the  men  who 
could  appreciate  a  fellow  of  that  sort,  and  Charley  Bliss  became 
highly  popular  in  his  corps.  But  alas !  for  poor  Miss  Barbara, 
his  aunt  and  guardian !  what  peace  of  mind  or  body  could  she 
hope  for  while  Charley  was  drawing  bills  on  her  that  she  could  not 
pay,  lending  more  money  to  other  men  than  he  was  allowed  far 
himself,  driving  four-inhand,  and  whisking  about  between  Winda^ 
and  Richmond,  with  Mademoiselle  Violette  of  Her  Majastjr^a  Thea- 
tre, and  the  Grand  Opera  at  Paris  ? 

Whenever  the  postman  rapped  at  Miss  Barbara's  door,  she 
always  dreaded  the  well-known  hand  of  her  nephew  wiUi  hia 

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AND   HER  MISERIES.  4S7 

demand  for  the  immediate  transmission  of  a  ^^  hundred  or  two"  by 
letnm  of  post  Or  as  she  sat  knitting  a  lamp-stand  or  darning  a 
stocking^  she  was  under  constant  apprehension  of  being  startled  bj 
the  arrival  of  Charley's  tandem  with  the  knowing  tiger  and 
vicked-looking  leader,  or  even  of  his  brougham  with  a  distant  and 
indistinct  view  of  something  (or  somebody)  in  a  great  deal  of  lace, 
and  silk,  and  jeweller}^  inside,  after  Charley  had  stepped  out ;  for 
Miss  Barbara  ^*  really  does  believe  that  he  brought  that  good-for- 
nothing  hussy  (Mademoiselle  Violette,  of  &c.)  up  to  her  very  door 
cnce* 

One  day  Charley  brought  a  very  different  sort  of  person  than 
liademoiselle  Violette,  not  only  up  to  his  aunt's  door,  but  into  her 
▼ery  house,  her  very  room,  all  among  the  needle-work,  and  the 
caty  and  the  parrot,  and  the  marmozet  monkey.  The  individual 
thns  introduced  to  Miss  Barbara's  abode  was  a  brother  officer  of 
the  27th  Lancers,  one  Captain  O'Grady,  whose  country  we  need 
not  mention,  for  his  name,  as  well  as  his  physiognomy  proclaimed 
it.  He  was  a  good-looking  fellow  with  an  enormous  moustache 
and  a  very  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

**  Allow  me,  my  dear  Aunt,*'  said  Charley  (he  was  always  very 
affisctionate),  '^  to  introduce  my  excellent  and  valued  friend.  Cap- 
lain  O'Grady.'' , 

Miss  Barbara  made  a  prim  bend  of  her  head — O^Orady  made  a 
bow  that  would  have  driven  the  renowned  Simpson  of  Vauxhall 
wild  with  envy — ^it  was  a  perfect  study. 

**  Believe  me — my  dear  madam,  this  is  the  honour  that  I  Ve  soli- 
cited so  earnestly  and  so  long,  and  till  this  day  without  effect,*'  he 
said,  in  the  most  respectful  of  tones. 

Miss  Barbara  felt  her  frigid  reserve  inclined  to  melt  a  little,  and 
we  rerily  believe  she  would  have  even  smiled  had  it  not  been  for 
O^Grady's  enormous  moustache.  The  good  lady  always  connected 
nanghtiness  of  some  kind  or  other  with  moustachios.  A  great 
many  unsophisticated  people  (especially  such  as  reside  in  suburban 
ifistricts)  do  so.  At  all  events  she  begged  him  to  take  a  seat,, 
and  tamed  to  her  nephew  with  an  inquiring  glance,  that  meant 
**  what  have  you  brought  him  here  for)"  But  Charley  was  en- 
tirely engrossed  with  his  own  right  boot  at  the  moment — at  least 
lie  stared  hard  at  it,  and  perhaps  it  was  tight,  for  there  was  a 
spasmodic  twitching  about  the  muscles  of  his  face  that  may  have 
been  the  effect  of  pain. 

^  What  a  charming  abode  you  have  here  !**  exclaimed  O^Grady, 
Charley's  right  boot  gave  him  a  sharper  twinge  than  ever. 

^  It*8  a  very  humble  one,^  said  Miss  Barbara,  not  quite  satisfied 
•of  her  visitor^s  sincerity,  in  spite  of  his  serious  looks. 

^  Pardon  me,  my  dear  madam,  /  cannot  regard  any  abode  as 
hnmble  which  is  graced  by  female  worth,  and  adorned  by  female — 
oh  l**  The  last  word  was  a  sharp  cry  of  pain,  for  the  parrot  had 
cimied  down  the  bars  at  the  back  of  O^Grady's  chair,  and  along 
the  ado  of  the  seat,  till  attaining  a  favourable  position,  it  had 
seised  his  little  finger  tightly  with  its  beak.  Miss  Barbara  rushed 
lo  tke  rescue,  the  parrot  screamed,  O'Grady  swallowed  his  oaths 
and  socked  his  finger,  and  Charley  roared  with  Ia»ghte^QQQ[^ 


428  MISS  BARBARA   BLU8 

^'  I  'm.  afraid  you  're  serioiuly  hurt,"  said  Miss  Baibara,  anxi- 
ously. 

**  Oh  no»  don't  mention  it  P'  replied  O'Grady,  who  would  h«fe 
given  the  world  to  let  off  one  little  soothing  oatk 

^*  Let  me  see,"  said  Miss  Barbara,  forgetting  her  maiden  frigi- 
dity in  her  anxiety. 

"  Certainly,''  said  O'Grady,  as  he  immediately  placed  his  hand 
in  Miss  Barbara's,  and  gave  her  a  look  that  might  hare  softened 
the  shell  of  a  tortoise. 

^^  You  had  better  let  me  rub  it  with  opodeldoc,"  said  Miss 
Barbara. 

^^  You  may  do  cuiything  you  please  with  me,"  answered  O'Grady, 
sinking  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  throwing  a  little  tr«- 
mulousness  into  it  that  made  it  sink  into  Miss  Barbara's  very 
soul. 

The  opodeldoc  was  brought,  and  Miss  Barbara  applied  it  most 
artistically.  When  she  had  finished,  O'Grady  did  noi  take  away 
his  hand. 

^^  I  have  finished,"  said  Miss  Barbara,  gently  pushing  away  the 
hand. 

^^  I  'm  Sony,"  sighed  O'Grady,  with  another  tender  look.  Ifias 
Barbara  blushed. 

^'  But  really,"  said  O'Grady,  after  a  moment's  panse,  ^^  I  am 
fi>rgetting  my  duty.  Miss  Bliss,  I  am  commissioned  in  the  naane 
of  our  raess,  (don't  be  alarmed,  for  some  of  us  are  not  scape- 
graces," with  a  glance  towards  Charley,)  ^^  to  invite  you  to  a  pic- 
nic in  Richmond  Park  on  Wednesday  next." 

^^  Invite  meP^  exclaimed  Miss  Barbara,  with  a  look  of  inmnenae 
surprise,  and  just  a  little  indignation. 

"  Now  pray  don't  refuse,"  cried  O'Grady.  "  There  will  be  the 
Colonel's  wife  and  his  three  daughters,  and  the  Major's  daughter, 
and  Captain  Sackville's  wife,  and  Burges'  sister,  and  Lady  Tattle- 
dom  has  promised  to  come  if  she  possibly  can.  The  company 
will  be  the  most  select  and  agreeable,  I  assure  you,  especially  if 
you  will  also  honour  us  with  yours." 

Miss  Barbam  was  softened.  She  talked  a  little  about  ^^  never 
going  out,"  and  a  few  such  faint  excuses ;  but  O'Grady  saw  the 
citadel  giving  way,  followed  up  the  assault,  and  carried  it  by 
storm.  Miss  Barbara  promised  to  go  ;  O'Grady  promised  to  send 
a  caniage  for  her ;  they  bade  farevrell,  and  if  Captain  O'Grady 
squeezed  Miss  Barbara's  hand  just  a  trifle  at  parting,  it  was  doubt- 
less only  from  excitement,  gratitude,  and  embarrassment. 

Not  till  they  had  reached  the  street,  and  got  clear  of  the  honse, 
could  O'Grady  allow  the  dutiful  nephew  to  give  way  to  a  roar  of 
laughter,  which  he  was  unable  to  control  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterwards.  .__ 

Wednesday  came  at  last,  though  it  seemed  a  k>ng  while  on  the 
road,  as  Wednesdays  and  all  other  days  do  when  they  are  longed 
for.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  Miss  Bsibara  Bliss  did  long  for  it; 
though  she  had  a  few  feais  conneoted  with  its  advent  aba,  for  slia 


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AND  nUtJOSBBIBS.  4tt 

had  spMt  mn  tofinitj  of  time  aad  trouble  ia  the  piepaiatiaii  of  her 
costmne  for  the  et'vntful  day.  But  when  the  pink  and  white  mii8« 
Im,  and  the  light  blue  bonoet  with  the  violeDt  eruption  of  roeea  on 
it  were  complete,  and  Miss  Barbara  Bliss  tried  them  on  before  the 
glass,  it  would  have  been  a  great  pity  if  she  had  not  been  satisfied 
with  her  appearance ;  but  she  was.  Never  bad  Miss  Baibara  locked 
to  well  in  Miss  Bart>ara'8  opinion,  especially  when  over  the  pink 
and  white  dress  she  threw  the  muslin  visite  which  she  had  bought 
at  the  great  comer  shop  a  little  way  off,  where  she  saw  it  ticketed 
''  seven  and  sixpence,  £>r  fetei — very  chaele,''  so  that  it  was  in 
every  respect  suited  to  Miss  Barbara,  and  to  the  occasion. 

At  half -past  eleven  o'clock,  a.m.,  a  very  neat  landau,  with  a  pair 
of  chestnuts,  drove  up  to  Miss  Bliss's  abode.  She  was  enrap- 
tured at  its  appearance ;  and  when  the  coachman  sent  in  word 
that  he  came  by  Captain  OXjrady's  orders  to  fetch  *^  her  ladyship  "* 
to  the  picnic,  she  thought  Captain  O'Orady  one  of  the  most  gen* 
tlemanlike  men  in  the  world^  and  actually  pardoned  his  large 
sioustache. 

Amidst  the  gaping  surprise  of  her  neighbours.  Miss  Barbara 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  was  whirled  away  at  a  rapid  pace 
towards  Richmond  Park.  A  little  more  than  an  hour's  arive 
brought  her  up  to  the  gates,  and  as  the  coachman  had  a  pass,  they 
were  admitted,  and  he  drove  to  the  spot  which  had  been  selected 
for  the  picnic. 

At  last  he  began  to  pull  up.  Miss  Barbara  looked  about  her ; 
there  were  Ci^tain  O'Grady  and  her  nephew  Charley  approaching, 
and  there  were  several  other  moustacboed  young  heroes  a  litde 
way  off;  and  there  was  a  cloth  spread  on  the  turf,  and  there  were 
servants  in  attendance,  and  all  the  usual  preparations  for  a  feast. 
But,  alas !  there  was  not  the  least  sign  of  a  petticoat  or  a  bonaet 
in  sight ! 

**  I 'm  afiraid  I  ''m  too  early,"  said  Miss  Barbara,  after  receiving 
O'Grady's  very  warm  greetings ;  "  we  drove  so  fast.'* 

"  Not  at  all,"  cried  the  Captain, "  not  a  bit  of  it." 

^*  But  where,"  asked  the  lady,  glancing  round,  ^  where  ore  die 
other  ladies?" 

"Where  indeed!"  repeated  O'Grady,  "see  bow  you  shame 
them  all.  Miss  Bliss !  no  doubt  they've  all  been  keeping  the  car- 
riages waiting  while  they  beautified  themselves.  Such  artificial 
creatures  as  Mme  women  make  themselves!"  with  a  glance  that 
imphed  how  completely  wasted  would  be  any  superfluity  of  care 
for  personal  adornment  in  one  so  gifled  with  natural  charms  as 
Miss  Barbara  Bliss. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  group  of  young  heroes,  who 
were  all  bowing  with  the  utmost  grace  and  respect,  as  Charley 
and  O'Grady  introduced  them  one  after  another  to  Miss  Barbara. 

A  veiy  keen  observer  might  have  detected  signs  of  a  secret  un« 
derstanding  between  the  gentlemen  present — some  good  joke  that 
they  M&re  enjoying  or  going  to  enjoy ;  but  Miss  Barbara  per- 
ceived it  not;  sne  was  too  much  engrossed  by  the  unceasing  at- 
tentions of  Captain  O'Grady,  and  one  or  two  others  of  the  party. 


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480  MI8S  BARBARA  BUSS 

to  notice  it  At  the  same  time  she  felt  very  wicomfortable  at 
being  the  only  lady  present  among  these  martial-looking  young 
men,  of  whom  there  were  about  a  dozen,  and  the  eldest  could  not 
be  above  twenty-eight  years  of  age. 

**  Lady  Tattledom  can't  come,"  whispered  O'Grady  to  her.  "  I'  m 
80  sorry ;  she  would  have  so  thoroughly  appreciated  you.^ 

**I'm  very  sorry  too,"  said  Miss  Barbara.      "But  the  other- 
ladies  don't  seem  to  come." 

"  They  are  very  late,^'  said  O'Grady.  And  again  the  queer  look 
passed  round  among  the  young  gentlemen. 

"  Suppose  we  just  begin  an  attack  on  something  light,"  suggested 
one  of  the  party.    "  Say  a  lobster  salad,  now.'' 

**  Certainly,"  chimed  a  chorus  of  voices. 

^'  Take  a  seat.  Miss  Bliss,"  said  O'Grady. 

^^  Oh,  really  I  couldn't,'^  exclaimed  Miss  Barbara,  looking  quite 
alarmed,  as  she  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  being  seated  on  the  grass 
with  a  dozen  dragoons.    "  Besides,  won't  they  think  it  nide  ?" 

^*0h,  not  at  all!"  replied  the  Captain.     "We're  all  like  one> 
family,  you  know :  we  never  take  offence  at  what  is  done  by  the 
jrest" 

"  Upon  my  word  I  don 't  tliink  I  could  sit  down,"  said  Miss 
Barbara,  getting  more  and  more  alarmed. 

**0h  yes,  you  could,''  said  O'Grady,  gently  forcing  her  down 
and  throwing  himself  into  an  easy  position  by  ner  side. 

**  Champagne,  ma'am,''  said  a  servant,  before  she  knew  where 
she  was,  thrusting  a  glass  of  the  sparkling  wine  into  her  hand. 

O'Grady  bowed  to  her  at  the  moment,  with  another  glass,  and 
she  sipped  the  wine. 

"  Drink  it  all— cfo  drink  it,"  said  O'Grady  with  one  of  his  own 
looks,  and  down  went  the  contents  of  Miss  Barbara's  glass. 

Some  lobster  salad  was  on  her  plate— a  dozen  hirsute  young 
fellows  were  lolling  on  the  grass  around  her ;  the  champagne  corks 
were  flying;  every  instant  she  was  swallowing  the  insidious  liquor, 
challenged  by  one  or  other  of  tlie  party — and  this  was  Miss  Bar- 
bara Bliss,  the  quiet  and  the  demure,  who  lived  in  the  brown  old 
house  with  the  cat  and  the  parrot,  and  the  marmozet  monkey,  and 
the  old  servant-of-all-work ! 

"  Why  don 't  the  other  ladies  come  ? "  she  whispered  to  O'Grady, 
(for  master  Charley  took  care  to  keep  a  long  way  off).  She  was 
getting  more  and  more  alarmed,  and  a  trifle  suspicious. 

**It's  very  unfortunate,"  said  O'Grady,  with  a  solemn  face; 
**  but  we  've  had  very  bad  news." 

** Dear  me!  what  news?"  she  asked. 

*^  The  fact  is,  the  colonel's  wife  is  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  the  rest 
of  the  ladies  are  gone  to  see  her." 

^'  And  won't  they  come  at  all  ?  '*  she  demanded  in  trembling 
tones. 

**I  'm  afraid  not,"  replied  O'Grady. 

''And  do  you  expect  me  to  stay  herea/(m^?"  she  half  shrieked. 

''Alone!  my  dear  madam,  how  can  you  say  it's  alone  you  are? 
Won't  /  protect  you  ?  *^ 


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AND  HER  MISERIES.  431 

^^ Goodness  gracious!'*  exclaimed  Miss  Barbara.  ^^I  wish  I 
were  alone." 

"  Don't  say  that,^  exclaimed  O'Gradj  very  softly  in  her  ear, 
and  with  another  of  those  wonderful  looks  that  penetrated  the 
recesses  of  Miss  Barbara's  heart. 

^^  I  must  go  directly 9*^  she  said,  but  in  a  much  gentler  tone. 

**  Not  a  bit  of  it !  **  cried  O'Grady,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  arm 
with  a  pressure  that  thrilled  through  her  as  much  as  his  look. 

^^  Champagne,  ma'am,*'  said  the  servant,  filling  her  glass  again  ; 
and  one  of  the  party  bowing  to  her  at  the  moment  she  drank  it  off. 

"  Sing  us  a  song,  O'Grady,'*  cried  a  young  Cornet. 

**  With  all  my  heart/'  responded  the  Captain,  and  with  a  capital 
voice  off  he  started  with 

"  Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms." 

And,  oh  !  what  expression  he  threw  into  his  tones  and  into  his 
eyes  as  he  fixed  his  gaze  on  Miss  Barbara  Bliss,  and  seemed  to  be 
singing  to  her  /  Never  had  the  virgin  heart  of  Barbara  thumped 
so  obstreperously,  though  we  are  bound  to  admit  and  believe  that 
she  was  very  indignant  too. 

Just  as  O'Grady  reached  the  middle  of  the  first  verse,  Miss 
Barbara,  who  felt  that  she  must  depart  ^-ithout  a  moment's  delay, 
uttered  a  Httle  scream — fixing  her  eyes  towards  the  nearest  path, 
along  which  a  fat  man,  with  a  fat  wife,  and  a  fat  child,  and  a  large 
basket,  were  walking;  and  the  fat  lady  was  tossing  her  head  in 
surprise  and  contempt — for  was  it  not  Mr.  Chubley,  and  Mrs. 
Chubley,  and  Master  Chubley  ?  and  weren't  they  Miss  Barbara 
Bliss's  next-door  neighbodrs  ?  and  hadn't  they  seen  her  sitting  on 
the  grass  with  no  other  company  than  a  dozen  moustachoed 
dragoons  ?  and  how  were  they  to  know  that  her  nephew  was  one 
of  them?  and  didn'^t  all  the  horrors  of  her  situation  come  upon 
her  like  a  thunderclap,  annihilating  at  a  blow  all  the  more  soothing 
effects  of  the  pic-nic  and  the  scenery,  the  champagne,  and  Captain 
O'Grady's  voice  and  glances,  and  leaving  her  truly  a  distressed 
damsel — an  unprotected  and  injured  female  ? 

In  another  instant,  without  even  an  excuse.  Miss  Barbara  Bliss 
had  risen  and  was  hurrying  across  the  park,  attended,  as  in  duty 
bound,  by  her  half-penitent  and  very  much  frightened  nephew. 
She  cast  but  one  glance  behind  to  look  at  the  Chubleys,  but 
instead  of  them  she  saw  the  group  she  had  left  in  a  violent  fit  of 
laughter,  and  most  boisterous  in  his  mirth  of  all  the  party  was 
perfidious  Captain  O'Grady. 

Miss  Barbara  has  resigned  her  guardianship  of  her  hopeful 
nephew,  and  she  has  quitted  her  brown  house  for  some  other,  and, 
to  us,  unknown  abode.  And  Mrs.  Chubley  sometimes  speaks 
quite  disrespectfully  of  her  memory,  and  even  winds  up  her  de- 
nunciations with— 

"  And  an  old  thing  like  her  too !  ^' 


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432 


ORIGINAL  ANECDOTES,  SOCIAL  AND  POLITICAL, 

COLLBCTBD   DURING  THB   LAST   HALF  CENTUKT. 
BT  A  DISTINGUISHED  FBXNGH  AUTHORESS* 

Talleyrand. — At  a  small  private  party  in  Paris,  one  even- 
ing, some  difficulty  was  found  in  making  up  a  whist  table  for 
the  Prince  de  Talleyrand.  A  young  diplomat  present,  who  was 
earnestly  pressed  by  the  hostess,  excused  himself  on  the  grounds 
of  not  knowing  the  game.  **  Not  know  how  to  play  whist,  sir  ?  " 
said  the  Prince,  with  a  sympathizing  air ;  **  then,  believe  me,  you 
are  bringing  yourself  up*  to  be  a  miserable  old  man  !" 

The  Vestris  Family. — ^The  pomposity  of  the  elder  Yestris,  the 
^  diou  de  la  danse^  and  founder  of  the  choregraphic  dynasty,  has 
been  often  described.  In  speaking  of  his  son,  Augustus,  he  used 
to  say,  *^  If  that  boy  occasionally  touches  the  ground,  in  bb  pas 
de  zepkjfTf  it  is  only  not  to  mortify  his  companions  on  the  stage*** 

When  Vestris  pire  arrived  from  Italy,  with  sev^al  brothers,  to 
seek  an  engagement  at  the  Opera,  the  family  was  accompanied  by 
an  aged  mother;  while  one  of  the  brothers,  less  gifted  thau  the 
rest,  officiated  as  cook  to  the  establishment  On  the  death  of 
their  venerable  parent,  the  diou  de  la  daiuej  with  his  usual  booa- 
bastic  pretensions,  saw  fit  to  give  her  a  grand  intermeut,  and  to 
pronounce  a  funeral  oration  beside  the  grave.  In  the  midst  of 
bis  harangue,  while  apparently  endeavouring  to  stifle  his  sobs,  he 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  his  brother,  the  cook,  presenting  a  most 
ludicrous  appearance,  in  the  long  mourning  doak,  or  train,  which 
it  was  then  the  custom  to  wear.  ^^  Get  Jong  with  you,  in  your 
ridiculous  cloak  !  **  whispered  he,  suddenly  cutting  short  his  elo* 
quence  and  his  tears.  ^^  Get  out  of  my  sight,  or  you  will  make 
me  die  with  laughing.*^ 

A  third  broth^  of  the  same  august  finmily  passed  a  great  portion 
of  his  youth  at  Berlin,  as  secretary  to  Prince  Henry  of  rrussia^ 
brother  of  Frederick  the  Great  He  used  to  relate  that  Prince 
Henry,  who  was  a  connoisseur  of  no  mean  pretensions,  but  pre* 
vented  by  his  limited  means  from  indulging  his  passion  for  the 
arts,  purchased  for  his  gallery  at  Rheinsberg  a  magnificent  bust  of 
Antinous— a  recognised  antique.  Feeling  that  he  could  not  have 
enough  of  so  good  a  thing.  His  Royal  Highness  caused  a  great 
number  of  plaker  casts  to  be  struck  off,  which  be  placed  in 
various  positions  in  his  pleasure-grounds.  When  he  received 
visits  from  illustrious  foreigners,  on  their  way  to  thjs  court  of 
his  royal  brother,  he  took  great  pleasure  in  exhibiting  bis  gar- 
dens ;  explaining  their  beauties  with  all  the  sest  of  a  cicerone. 
^*  Thai  is  a  superb  bust  of  Antinous,'^  he  used  to  say,  *^ Another 
fine  Antinous, — an  unquestionable  antique.**  A  little  further  on, 
^^  Another  Antinous — a  cast  from  the  marble.^  ^^  Another  Antinousy 


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ORIGINAL   ANECaXITES,   SOCIAL  AND   POLITIOAL.         4S3 


which  jon  cumot  bil  to  mimm/*  And  so  oo,  through  all  the 
thvee  huachred  copies ;  Taryingy  «t  ereiy  new  specimen  bis  phrase 
and  intonation,  in  a  manner  which  was  faithfiilljr  «Bd  naat  amus- 
iagly  pourtmyed  by  the  mimicry  of  his  ex-eecretary.  Vestris  used 
to  relate  the  story  in  Paris,  in  preaeace  of  the  Ftussian  ambassador, 
who  conoborated  its  authenticity  by  shouts  of  laughter.  Prince 
Henry  of  Prussia,  however,  in  spite  of  this  artistic  weakness, 
distinguished  himsdf  worthily  by  his  talents  and  exploits  daring 
the  Seven  Years'  War. 

Lama&tine. — ^An  eminent  Royalist,  still  living,  unable  to  pai^ 
doB  one  of  the  greatest  modem  poets  of  France  for  having  con- 
tributed, in  1848,  to  the  proclamation  of  the  Republic,  obwsrved, 
cm  noticing  his  subsequent  endeavours  to  calm  down  the  popular 
enthusiasm  be  had  so  much  assisted  to  excite, — ^^  Ay,  ay  !  an 
incendiary  disguised  as  a  fireman  !^' 

Sbmontillb. — Monsieur  de  Semonville,  one  of  the  ablest  tac- 
ticians of  his  time,  was  renaricable  for  the  talent  with  which, 
amidst  the  crush  of  revolutions,  he  always  managped  to  maintain 
his  post,  and  take  care  of  his  perscmal  interests.  He  knew  exactly 
to  whom  to  address  himself  for  support,  and  the  right  time  for 
availing  himself  of  it.  When  Talleyrand,  one  of  his  most  intimate 
friends,  heard  of  his  death,  he  reflected  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
drily  observed, — ^^  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  make  out  what  interest 
Semonville  had  to  serve  by  dying  just  now." 

The  Makquis  dr  XiMEMfis.— Some  forty  years  ago,  one  of  the 
most  assiduous  frequenters  and  shrewdest  critics  of  the  ^^  Theatre 
Fran^ais  ^  was  a  certain  Maniuis  de  Ximenes ;  a  man  considerably 
advanced  in  years,  who  had  witnessed  the  greatest  triumphs  of  the 
French  stage,Mn  the  acting  of  Le  Kain,  Mademoiselle  Clairon, 
and  Mademoiselle  Dumesnil,  and  whose  good  word  sufficed  to 
create  a  reputation.  He  had  all  the  traditions  of  the  stage  at  his 
fingers'  end,  and  few  young  actors  ventured  to  undertake  a  staur 
dard  part  without  previously  consulting  the  old  Marquis. 

When  Lafond,*  the  tragedian,  made  his  dibut^  he  was  extremely 
solicitous  to  obtain  an  approving  word  from  the  Marquis  de 
Ximenes.  One  night,  after  playing  the  part  of  Orosmane  in  Vol- 
taire's tragedy  of  ^^  Zaire,''  with  unbounded  applause,  the  actor,  not 
content  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  public,  expressed  to  the  friends 
who  crowded  to  his  dressing-room  with  congratulations,  his  anxiety 
4o  know  the  opinioa  of  the  high*priest  of  theatrical  criticism — 
^  I  must  hurry  down  to  the  Foyer y^  said  he.  ^*  The  Marquis  is  sure 
to  drop  in  while  the  after-piece  is  performed ;  I  long  to  hear  what 
he  says  of  my  reading  of  the  part." 

On  altering  the  /oyer,  the  old  gentieman  was  seen  to  advance 
towards  the  lion  of  the  night;  and  Lafond,  highly  flattered  by  this 
aet  of  gracioiiBness,  instantly  assumed  an  air  of  grateful  diffidence. 

*^  Monsieur  Lafond,"  said  the  Marquis,  in  a  tone  audible  to  the 
whole  assembly,  ^  you  have  this  night  acted  Orosmane  in  a  style 
that  Le  Kain  never  attained." 

*  Wlio  Bust  aet  be  oonfoaaded  with  the  adwarahfa  oooiediaa,  Lafont,  so 
popular  at  the  St.  James'i  Theatre.  ^  , 

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434  ORIGINAL  ANECDOTES, 

^*  Ah  !  Monsieur  le  Marquis,^  faltered  the  gratified  hifttriao. 

'^  I  repeat,  sir, — in  a  style  that  Le  Kain  never  attained. — 8ir^ 
Le  Kain  knew  better,'" 

Before  Lafond  recovered  his  command  of  countenance^  tlie 
'malicious  old  gentleman  bad  disappeWed. 

Marie  Antoinette. — The  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette  wa» 
one  of  the  kindest-hearted  of  human  beings,  as  might  be  prored 
by  a  thousand  traits  of  her  domestic  life.  One  evening,  Monsieor 
de  Chalabre,  the  banker  of  Her  Majesty^s  faro-table,  in 
gathering  up  the  stakes,  detected  by  his  great  experience  in 
handling  such  objects,  that  one  of  the  rouleaux  of  fifty  lonis  d'er, 
was  factitious.  Having  previously  noticed  the  young  man  bjr 
whom  it  was  laid  on  the  table,  he  quietly  placed  it  in  his  pocket, 
in  order  to  prevent  its  getting  into  circulation  or  proving  the 
means  of  a  public  scandal. 

The  movements  of  the  banker,  meanwhile,  were  not  unobserved. 
The  Queen,  whose  confidence  in  his  probity  had  been  hitherto 
unlimited,  saw  him  pocket  the  rouleau ;  and  when  the  company 
assembled  round  the  play*table  were  making  their  obeisances 
previous  to  retiring  for  the  night,  Her  Majesty  made  a  sign  to 
Monsieur  de  Chalabre  to  remain. 

^^  I  wish  to  know,  sir,^'  said  the  Queen,  as  soon  as  thej  were 
alone,  ^' what  made  you  abstract,  just  now,  from  the  play-tabk,  n 
rouleau  of  fifty  louis  ?" 

"  A  rouleau.  Madam  ?"  faltered  the  banker. 

*^  A  rouleau,"  persisted  the  Queen,  "  which  is,  at  this  moment^ 
in  the  right-hand  pocket  of  your  waistcoat." 

"  Since  your  Majesty  is  so  well  informed,**  replied  Monsieur  de 
Chalabre,  ^^  I  am  bound  to  explain  that  I  withdfew  the  rouleau 
because  it  was  a  forged  one.'' 

"Forged!''  reiterated  Marie  Antoinette, with  surprise  and  in- 
dignation, which  were  not  lessened  when  Monsieur  de  Chalabre 
produced  the  rouleau  from  his  pocket,  and,  tearing  down  a  strip 
of  the  paper  in  which  it  was  enveloped,  proved  that  it  contained 
only  a  piece  of  lead,  cleverly  moulded  to  simulate  a  rouleau. 

"Did  you  notice  by  whom  it  was  put  down?"  inquired  the 
Queen.  And  when  Monsieur  de  Chalabre,  painfully  embarrassed, 
hesitated  to  reply,  she  insisted,  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of  n» 
denial,  on  a  distinct  answer. 

The  banker  was  compelled  to  own  that  it  was  the  young  Connt 

de  C ,  the  representative  of  one  of  the  first  families  in 

France.  * 

"  Let  this  unfortunate  business  transpire  no  fiirther,  sir,**  said  the 
Queen,  with  a  heavy  sigh.  And  with  an  acquiescent  bow.  Mon- 
sieur de  Chalabre  withdrew  from  his  audience. 

At  the  next  public  recepUoq  held  in   the  apartments  of  llie 

Queen,  the  Count  de  C ,  whose  father  was  Ambassador  from 

the  Court  of  Versailles  to  one  of  the  great  powers  of  Emropc^ 
approached  the  play -table  as  usual.  Bui  Marie  Antoinette  in^ 
stantly  advanced  to  intercept  him. 

"Pardon  me.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  she,  " if  I  forbid  yon 
again  to  appear  at  my  faro-table.     Our  stakes  afe>  mndi^lon 

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SOCIAL  AND   POLITICAL.  435 

liigh  far  60  yooBg  n,  man.  I  promised  your  mother  to  watch  over 
you  in  her  place,  during  her  absence  from  France,  and  preserve 
yoa»  as  far  as  lay  in  my  power,  from  mischance.** 

The  Count,  perceiving  that  his  misdeeds  had  been  detected, 
coloored  to  the  temples.  Unable  to  express  his  gratitude  for  so 
ndld  a  sentence  of  condemnation,  he  retired  from  the  assembly, 
mad  was  never  again  seen  to  approach  a  card-table. 

Chaeles  the  Tenth. — When  Martignac  was  first  proposed 
as  Prime  Minister  to  Charles  the  Tenth.  '^  No  !"  said  the  King, 
^  Martignac  would  never  suit  me.  He  is  a  verbal  coquette,  who 
holds,  above  all  things,  to  the  graceful  svmmetry  of  his  sentences. 
To  secure  a  well-turned  phrase,  he  would  sacrifice  a  royal  preroga- 
tive. A  minister  should  not  hold  too  jealously  to  the  success 
of  his  prosody.'^ 

La  Place. — La  Place,  the  celebrated  geometrician  and  astro- 
nomer, was  passionately  fond  of  music ;  but  he  preferred  the  school 
to  which  be  had  been  accustomed  from  his  youth.  During  the 
feud  between  the  Gluckists  and  Piccinists,  he  sided  warmly  with 
Piccini;  and  ever  afterwards  retained  a  strong  partiality  for  Italian 
nuinc.  In  latter  years  he  rarely  attended  the  theatre ;  but  was 
tempted  by  the  great  reputation  of  the  Freischutz,  produced  at 
Paris  under  the  name  of  the  ^'  Robin  des  Bois,"  to  witness  the  per- 
finrmance.  As  a  peer  of  France,  the  author  of  the  Micanique 
CHegle  was  entitled  to  a  seat  in  the  box,  set  apart,  at  the  Odeon, 
ibr  the  members  of  the  Upper  House;  which,  unluckily,  happened 
to  be  situated  near  the  brass  instruments  of  the  orchestra.  At  the 
first  crash,  the  brows  of  La  Place  were  seen  to  contract.  At  the 
second  bray,  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  seized  his  hat.  '^  Old  as  I 
am,  thank  God  I  am  not  yet  deaf  enough  to  endure  that ! "  said 
he ;  and  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  theatre. 

Lemercibr,  the  Dramatist. — Nepomuc^ne  Lemercier,  au-> 
ibor  of  the  successful  tragedy  of  ^^  Agamemnon,''  and  the  brilliant 
play  of  "  Pinto"  (which,  though  styled  by  the  severe  canons  of 
Parisian  criticism  a  drama,  is  in  fact  the  wittiest  comedy  produced 
in  France  between  Beaumarcbais'  ^^  Marriage  de  Figaro**  and 
Scribe's  ^^  Bertrand  et  Raton,**),  was  quite  as  original  in  his  habits 
;as  in  his  works.  Paralysed  on  one  side  from  his  earliest  youth,  he 
maintained,  under  all  sorts  of  vicissitudes,  the  most  philosophical 
equanimity.  Of  himself  and  his  writings,  he  judged  as  they  might 
have  been  criticised  by  a  stranger.  When  reading  a  MS.  play  to 
a  friend,  if  some  particular  passage  excited  admiration,  he  would 
observe,  ^^  Yes,  it  is  tolerably  good.  But  the  piece  will  probably  fall 
long  before  they  come  to  ihatJ^  In  his  time,  at  the  classical 
theatre  at  Paris,  the  smallest  scenic  innovation,  or  breach  of  the 
unities,  was  fatal  to  a  piece.  Yet  in  his  play  of  ^^  Christopher  Co- 
lumbus,** Lemercier  had  the  audacity  to  place  the  first  act  in 
Madrid,  the  second  on  board  ship  in  the  New  World.  Dam- 
nation, under  such  circumstances,  was  inevitable.  So  striking, 
however,  were  the  situations,  and  so  profound  the  reflections  scat- 
tered through  the  piece,  that  much  applause  was  audible  even 
through  the  storm  of  hisses.-  Lemercier,  stationed  behind  the 
acenes,  finding  the  ease  hopeless,  ordered  tb^  iffjifl^'^  ^  ^^  1^ 


4SS  ORIGINAL  ANECDOTES^ 

down.  The  acton,  bowever,  rerigtcd; — tile  namiger  deoNirred. 
Wben,  k)!  Lemercier,  baring  quietly  stepped  down  into  llie 
prompter's  box, — (wfaieb  in  Fimee  is  placed  as  wiA  us  at  tbe 
ItaKan  opera) — snatched  away  tbe  M^.,  and  carried  it  oft  It  was 
now  impomible  to  proceed,  for  tbe  aotbor  bad  left  tbe  boose;  as4 
an  explanation  was  horriedly  offered  to  tbe  public.  According  to 
tbe  usual  contrarietj  of  buman  nature,  tbe  previons  malcontents 
became  still  more  furions,  on  finding  themseWes  defrauded  of  the 
remainder  of  a  piece  so  full  of  original  scenes  and  memorable 
thoughts,  and  clamoured  to  have  tbe  representation  repeated. 

After  ceasing  to  write  for  tbe  stage,  Lemercier,  wbo  was  a  yerf 
learned  man,  deliirered  a  remarkable  course  of  lectures  on  Litera- 
ture, at  the  Ath^nee  of  Paris.  His  obeerfnl  disposition  remained 
unimpaired  to  the  last,  even  by  bis  physical  calamities.  One  day^ 
as  be  was  reading  to  the  members  of  the  French  Academy  a  new 
drama — a  comedy,  strange  to  say,  bearing  tbe  title  of  **  Attila,** — 
be  paused  suddenly.  **  I  must  throw  myself  on  yonr  indulgence^ 
gentlemen,*"  said  be,  mildly,  **  I  am  struck  blind,  and  cannot  pro- 
ceed." He  had  in  truth  totally  lost  bis  eyesight ;  which  he  nercr 
recovered.  A  short  time  afterwards,  he  made  his  appearance  at 
the  Academy,  where  one  of  his  colleagues  had  undertaken  to  read, 
in  his  name,  a  charming  Essay  on  tbe  writings  of  Pascal,  which 
be  bad  just  completed.  At  the  close  of  the  lecture,  his  friends 
crowded  round  him  with  congratulations.  But  alas !  poor  Lemer- 
cier could  not  rise  from  bis  chair  to  offer  his  thanks ;  be  had  been 
stricken  with  universal  paralysis.  He  was  conveyed  home  with 
the  utmost  tenderness  by  bis  brother  academicians,  and  two  days 
afterwards  expired. 

Philioor. — Pbilidor,  wbo  preceded  Gr6try  as  a  popular  com- 
poser of  comic  operas,  was  better  known  as  the  finest  chess-player 
in  Europe.  In  his  youth,  and  on  his  travels  in  Holland,  England, 
and  Germany,  he  turned  bis  skill,  in  this  particular,  to  account,  as 
a  means  of  subsistence.  While  occupied  in  a  game  of  chess,  be 
was  able  tp  direct  tbe  moves  of  a  second  game,  the  table  being 
placed  out  of  bis  sight ;  which  was,  at  that  period,  a  great  achieve- 
ment. In  his  latter  years,  he  was  averse  to  undertaking  this ;  bat 
the  Count  d'Artois,  afterwards  Charles  the  Tenth,  was  so  desirous 
to  witness  the  exploit,  that  he  offered  to  stake  a  hundred  louis  d*or8 
against  Pbilidor's  success.  The  incomparable  player  still  declined, 
assuring  bis  Royal  Highness  that  he  was  certain  to  win.  Tbe 
Count,  however,  persisted,  and  having  previously  determined  to 
pay  to  Pbilidor,  under  any  circumstances,  tbe  hundred  louis  which 
be  had  deposited  for  that  purpose  in  the  hands  of  a  third  person, 
he  proceeded  to  bribe  the  player,  under  Philidor's  instructions,  not 
to  rollow  exactly  the  orders  of  his  master.  Accordingly,  at  about 
the  twentieth  move,  his  king  was  check-mated,  *' Impossible  \^  said 
Hrilidor,  ^  the  knight  takes  the  queen.*  *^  The  knight  is  not  there. 
It  is  a  bishop." 

Pbilidor  paused  for  a  moment  to  recall  tbe  moves  of  the  game. 
I*  I  see  how  it  is,**  said  be,  **  at  tbe  fifth  move  you  moved  tbe  biHiop 
iaatead  of  tbe  knight  as  I  desired,"  which  wi»  precisely  tbe  case. 
Convinced  of  bis   skill,  tbe  following   day  tbe  Count  d*ArtofS 


SOCIAL  AND  POLITICAL.  499 

sent  Um  tbe  forfeited  stakes,  in  a  lumdsoHM  gold  box,  set  wkh 
diamonds. 

Thk  CoimssB  BB  D— — . — ^Madame  la  Comlesse  de  D > 

one  of  tbe  wittiest  women  in  Parts,  had  a  daughter,  who  by  ftst- 
ing,  and  an  over-striet  exereise  of  tbe  duties  of  the  Catholic  rdi* 
gioUy  seriously  injured  her  health. 

**My  dear  cbild,^  said  her  mother,  ^^you  have  alvi^ays  been 
SEU  angel  of  goodness.  Why  endeavour  to  become  a  saimi  ?  Do 
you  want  to  sink  in  the  world  P*^ 

The  Mahechal  db  Richblieu. — The  Mar6chal  de  RicheHeu 
became,  in  his  old  age^inconyeniently  deaf;  but  no  one  knew  better 
how  to  turn  his  infinnity  to  account.  As  First  Gentleman  of  the 
Bedchamber,  the  three  principal  theatres  of  Paris  were  under  his  di- 
rection ;  and  tbe  old  Marshal  was  extremely  indulgent  in  sanctioning 
engagements  to  young  artists  of  merit,  or  actresses  of  promise.  One 
day,  having  been  apprised  that  tbe  directors  of  tbe  Op6ra  Comioue 
had  determined  to  dismiss  a  young  female  singer,  recommended 
to  his  good  offices,  he  summoned  Gr^try,  and  the  two  temainierB 
(members  of  the  company,  required  by  weekly  rotation  to  decide  on 
the  engagements  of  dibuiafUts).  ^^I  sent  for  you,  my  dear 
Gr6try,"  said  he,  ^  to  inform  these  gentlemen  your  opinion  of 
Mademoiselle  R .^ 

*'  My  opinion.  Monsieur  le  Marshal,  is  that  there 's  no  hope  of 
her,*^  replied  the  composer. 

*^  You  hear,  gentlemen,'^  said  the  Marshal,  turning  gravely  to 
the  other  two,  who  stood  at  a  respectful  distance,  *^  Monsieur 
Or6try,  the  best  of  judges,  says  he  has  great  hopes  of  her." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Gr6try,  "  that  Mademoiselle  R has  no 

ear."* 

^^  Ton  hear,  gentlemen,  Monsieur  Ghr6try  observes  that  the  young 
lady  has  an  excellent  ear.  Make  out,  therefore,  if  you  please,  an 
agreement  for  her  engagement  for  three  years.  I  have  the  honour 
to  wish  you  a  good  morning." 

The  Due  de  Berri. — The  unfortunate  Due  de  Berri  was,  in  . 
private  life,  a  kindly-affectioned  man.  The  servants  of  bis  house^ 
hold  were  strongly  attached  to  him,  for  he  was  an  excellent 
master.  He  used  to  encourage  them  to  lay  up  their  earnings  and 
place  them  in  the  savings  bank;  and  even  supplied  them  with 
account-books  for  the  purpose.  From  time  to  time,  he  used  to 
inquire  of  each  how  much  he  had  realised.  One  day,  on  address- 
ing this  question  to  one  of  his  footmen,  the  man  answered  that  he 
had  nothing  left ;  on  which  the  Prince,  aware  that  he  had  excel- 
lent wages,  evinced  some  displeasure  at  his  prodigality. 

^^  My  mother  had  the  misforiune  to  break  her  leg,  monseigneur," 
said  the  man.  ^^  Of  course  I  took  care  to  affi>rd  her  proper  pro-^ 
feesional  attendance.'*' 

Tbe  Prince  made  no  answer,  but  instituted  inquiries  on  the 
subject;  when,  finding  the  man's  statement  to  be  correct,  he  re- 
placed in  the  savings  bcmk  the  exact  sum  his  servant  expended. 

Trifling  acts  of  beneficence  and  graciousness  often  secure  the 
popularity  of  Princes.  Oarat,  the  celebrated  tenor,  was  one  of 
the  most  devoted  partisans  of  the  Due  de  Berri.    The  origin  of 


438  ORIGINAL   ANECDOTES, 

his  devotion  was,  however,  insignificant  The  fete,  or  name-day 
of  the  duke,  falling  on  the  same  day  with  that  of  Charles  the 
Tenth,  he  was  accustomed  to  celebrate  it  on  the  morrow,  by  sup- 
ping with  his  bosom  friend  the  Count  de  YaudreuiL  After  the 
Restoration,  Madame  de  Vaudreuil  always  took  care  to  arrange  an 
annual /e/«,  such  as  was  most  likely  to  be  agreeable  to  their  royal 
guest.  On  one  occasion,  knowing  that  his  Royal  Highness  was 
particularly  desirous  of  hearing  Garat,  who  had  long  retired  from 
professional  life,  she  invited  him  and  bis  wife  to  come  and  spend 
at  her  hotel  the  evening  of  the  Saint  Charles.  Garat,  now  both 
old  and  poor,  was  thankful  for  the  remuneration  promised ;  and 
not  only  made  his  appearance,  but  sang  in  a  style  which  the  Due 
de  Berri  knew  how  to  appreciate.  He  and  his  wife  executed  to- 
gether the  celebrated  duet  in  "  Orph^e,**  with  a  degree  of  per- 
fection which  created  the  utmost  enthusiasm  of  the  aristocratic 
circle. 

The  music  at  an  end,  the  Duke  perceived  that  Garat  was  look* 
ing  for  his  hat,  preparatory  to  retiring.  "  Does  not  Garat  sup 
with  us?'*  he  inquired  of  Madame  de  Vaudreuil.  "I  could  not 
take  the  liberty  of  inviting  him  to  the  same  table  with  your  Royal 
Highness,"  replied  the  Countess.  ^^  Then  allow  me  to  take  that 
liberty  myself,"  said  the  Duke,  good-humouredly.  "  You  are  not 
hurrying  away,  I  hope.  Monsieur  Garat?"  said  he  to  the  artist, 
who,  having  recovered  his  hat,  was  now  leaving  the  room.  ^^  Surely 
you  are  still  much  too  young  to  require  such  early  hours  ?  And 
as  we  must  insist  on  detaining  Madame  Garat  to  sup  with  us,  I 
trust  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  remain,  and  take  care  of  your 
wife." 

From  early  youth,  the  Duke  had  been  united  by  ties  of  the 
warmest  friendship  i^dth  the  Count  de  la  Ferronays.  Nearly  of 
the  same  age,  the  intercourse  between  them  was  unreserved ;  but 
the  Count,  a  man  of  the  most  amiable  manners,  as  well  as  of 
an  excellent  understanding,  did  not  scruple  to  afford  to  his  royal 
friend,  in  the  guise  of  pleasantry,  counsels  which  the  Duke  could 
not  have  done  more  wisely  than  follow  to  the  letter.  *  Every  day 
monseigneur  repeated  to  his  friend  that  he  could  not  live  a  day 
apart  from  him.  Such,  however,  was  the  impetuosity  of  the  Due 
de  Berri's  character,  that  storms  frequently  arose  between  them ; 
and  on  one  occasion  his  Royal  Highness  indulged  in  expressions 
so  bitter  and  insulting,  that  Monsieur  de  la  Ferronays  rushed 
■away  from  him  to  the  apartments  he  occupied  on  the  attic  story 
at  the  Tuileries,  resolved  to  give  in  his  resignation  that  very  night, 
and  quit  France  for  ever. 

While  absorbed  in  gloomy  reflections  arising  from  so  important 
a  project,  he  heard  a  gentle  tap  at  his  door.  **  Come  in !"  said  he; 
and  in  a  moment  the  arms  of  the  Due  de  Berri  were  round  his 
neck. 

'^  My  dear  friend,'^  sobbed  his  Royal  Highness,  in  a  broken 
voice ;  '^  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  very  wretched !  that  is,  if  I  am 
to  judge  by  the  misery  and  remorse  I  have  myself  been  enduring 
for  the  last  half  hour!" 


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SOCIAL  AND   POLITICAL.  439 

An  atonement  so  gracefully  made  effected  an  immediate  recon- 
ciliation. 

Louis  XVIII.  —  Monsieur,  afterwards  Louis  XVIII.,  per- 
ceiving that  his  brother,  the  Count  d'Artois,  and  the  chief  members 
of  the  youthful  nobility,  distinguished  themselves  by  their  skill  at 
tennis,  took  it  into  his  head  to  become  a  proficient  in  the  game; 
though  the  embonpoint  which  he  had  attained  even  at  that  early 
age,  rendered  the  accomplishment  of  his  wishes  somewhat  difficult 
of  attainment. 

After  taking  a  considerable  number  of  lessons  from  the  master 
of  the  royal  tennis  court  at  Versailles,  he  one  day  challenged  his 
royal  brother  to  a  match ;  and  after  it  was  over,  appealed  to  the 
first  racquet  boy  for  a  private  opinion  of  his  progress,  "  It  is 
just  this  here,"  said  the  garqon :  *'  if  your  Royal  Highness  wasn't 
quite  so  grossiery  and  had  a  little  better  head  on  your  shoulders, 
you  'd  do  nearly  as  well  as  Monseigneur  the  Count  d'Artois.  As 
it  is,  you  make  a  poor  hand  of  it." 

The  Lottery. — Before  that  national  evil,  the  lottery,  was 
abolished  in  France,  a  village  curate  thought  it  his  duty  to  address 
to  his  flock  a  sermon  against  their  dangerous  infatuation  for  this 
privileged  form  of  gambling.  His  auditory  consisted  of  a  crowd 
of  miserable  old  women,  ready  to  pawn  or  sell  their  last  garment 
to  secure  the  means  of  purchasing  tickets.  Nevertheless  the  good 
man  flattered  himself  that  his  eloquence  was  not  thrown  away,  for 
his  flock  was  singularly  attentive. 

"You  cannot  deny,"  said  he,  addressing  them,  "that  if  one  of 
you  were  to  dream  this  night  of  lucky  numbers,  ten,  twenty,  fifty, 
no  matter  what,  instead  of  being  restrained  by  your  duty  towards 
yourselves,  your  families,  your  God,  you  would  rush  off  to  the 
lottery  office,  and  purchase  tickets." 

Satisfied  that  he  had  accomplished  more  than  one  conversion 
among  his  hearers,  the  good  cur^  stepped  down  from  his  pulpit ; 
when  on  the  last  step,  the  hand  of  an  old  hag  who  had  appeared 
particularly  attentive  to  his  admonitions,  was  laid  on  his  arm. 

"  I  beg  your  reverence's  pardon,"  said  she,  "  but  what  lucky 
numbers  did  you  please  to  say  we  were  likely  to  dream  of?*' 

Talma. — ^Talma  used  to  relate  that,  once,  on  his  tour  of  provin- 
cial engagements,  having  agreed  to  give  four  representations  at  the 
Theatre  Royal  at  Lyons,  he  found  the  line  oi  phre  noble  cha- 
racters filled  by  a  clever  actor,  whom  Madame  Lobreau,  the  direc- 
tress of  the  company,  unluckily  found  it  impossible  to  keep  sober. 
On  learning  that  this  individual  was  to  fill  the  part  of  the  high 
priest  in  the  tragedy  of  Semiramis,  in  which  he  was  himself  to 
personify  Arsace,  Talma  waited  upon  him  in  private,  and  spared 
no  argument  to  induce  him  to  abstain  from  drink,  at  least  till  the 
close  of  the  performance. 

A  promise  to  that  effect  was  readily  given ;  but  alas !  when  the 
'curtain  was  about  to  draw  up,  to  a  house  crammed  in  every  part, 
the  high  priest  was  reported,  as  usual,  to  be  dead  drunk !  Horror- 
struck  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  give  back  the  money  at  the 
doors,  Madame  Lobreau  instantly  rushed  up  to  his  dressing-room^ 
and  insisted  on  his  swallowing  a  glass  of  water  to  sober  bim, 

VOL,  XXXIV,  H  H       - 


440  ORIGINAL   ANECDOTES, 

previous  to  his  appearance  on  the  stage.  Hie  nahappj  i 
mered  his  excuses  ;  but  the  inexorable  manageress  caused  him  to 
be  dressed  in  his  costumes  and  supported  to  the  side-soenes,  doring 
which  operation,  TaJma  was  undergoing  a  state  of  martyxdom. 

At  length  the  great  Parisian  actor  appeared  on  the  aU^e,  f(d- 
lowed  by  the  high  priest,  and  was  as  usual  overwhelmed  with 
appkuse.  But  to  his  consternation,  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of 
die  high  priest  to  reply,  the  delinquent  tottered  to  the  footlights, 
and  proceeded  to  address  the  pit. 

^^  Gentlem^i,"  said  he,  ^^  Madame  Lobreau  is  stupid  and  bar- 
barous enough  to  insist  on  my  going  through  my  part  in  the  state 
in  which  you  see  me,  in  order  that  the  performance  may  not  be 
interrupted.  Now  I  appeal  to  your-  good  sense  whether  1  am  in  a 
plight  to  personify  Orsoes  i  No,  no !  I  have  too  much  respect 
for  the  public  to  make  a  fool  of  myself! — Look  here,  Arsace  !" 
he  continued,  handing  over  to  Talma  with  the  utmost  gravity  the 
properties  it  was  his  cue  to  deliver  to  him  in  the  fourth  act. 
**  Here 's  the  letter, — here's  the  fillet, — ^here's  the  sword. — ^Please 
to  remember  that  Madame  Semiramis  is  your  lawful  mother,  and 
settle  it  all  between  you  in  your  own  way  as  you  think  proper. 
For  my  part,  I  am  going  home  to  bed.*' 

A  class  of  men  who — ^luckily,  perhaps — have  disappeared  from 
the  Parisian  world,  is  that  of  the  mysti^cateursj  or  hoaxers,  created 
at  the  period  of  the  first  revolution,  by  the  general  break-up  of 
society,  so  destructive  to  true  social  enjoyment*  To  obviate  the 
difficulty  of  entertaining  the  heterogeneous  circles  accidentally 
brought  together,  it  became  the  fashion  to  select  a  butt,  to  be 
hoaxed  or  mystified  by  some  clever  impostor,  for  the  amusement 
of  the  rest  of  the  par^.  Among  the  cleverest  of  the  my8tificate%trt 
were  three  painters,  who  had  proved  unsuccessful  in  their  profes- 
sion— ^Musson,  Touzet,  and  Legros.  The  presence  of  one  of 
these,  at  a  small  party  or  supper,  was  supposed  to  ensure  the 
hilarity  of  the  evening.  Sometimes  the  hoaxer  was  satisfied  to 
entertain  the  company  by  simple  mimicry,  or  by  relating  some 
humorous  adventure;  but  in  circles  where  he  was  personally 
unknown,  he  usually  assumed  the  part  of  a  fictitious  personage 
— a  country  cousin,  an  eccentric  individual,  or  a  foreigner.  Mus- 
son,  the  best  of  his  class,  exhibited,  in  these  impersonations,  the 
vis  conUca  in  the  highest  degree. 

One  day,  having  been  invited  to  meet,  at  dinner,  Picard*  the 
dramatist,  to  whom  he  was  a  stranger,  he  made  his  appearance  as 
a  rough  country  gentleman,  come  up  to  Paris  to  see  the  lions. 
Scarcely  were  Uiey  seated  at  table,  when  he  be^an  to  discuss  the 
theatres,  of  one  of  which  (the  Odeon)  Picard  was  manager.  No- 
thing, however,  could  be  more  bitter  and  uncompromising  than 
the  sarcasms  levelled  at  the  stage  by  the  bumpkin  critic ;  to  whom, 
for  some  time,  Picard  addressed  himself  in  the  mildest  tones,  en- 
deavouring to  controvert  his  heterodox  opinions.  By  degrees,* 
the  intolerance  and  impertinence  of  the  presumptuous  censor 
became  insupportable ;  and,  to  his  rude  attacks,  Picard  was  be- 
ginning to  reply  in  language  equally  violent,  to  the  terror  and 
anxiety  of  the  surrounding  guests,  when  their  host ^ut^r  end  to 


SOCIAL  AND   POUTtCAL.  441 

tbe  conteet  by  suddenly  exclaiming, — *^  Masson,  will  yon  take  a 
glass  of  wine  with  me?^ — on  which,  a  burst  of  laughter  frooa 
Picard  acknowledged  his  recognition  of  the  hoax  so  successfully 
played  off  upon  him  ;  and,  contrary  to  the  proyerb,  the  "  two  ol 
a  trade  ^  shook  hands,  and  became  friends  for  life. 

Perreoaux. — On  another  occasion,  Perr^gaux,  the  banker,  who 
had  nerer  even  heard  of  Musson,  was  invited  to  dine  at  the  house 
of  Monsieur  Lenoir,  the  keeper  of  the  Louvre  (to  whom  we  are  in- 
debted for  the  preservation  of  so  many  invaluable  monuments  at 
the  period  of  the  first  revolution,  but  who,  in  private  life,  loved 
misarief  like  a  child).  On  Monsieur  de  Penr^gaux's  arrival  at  the 
house  of  his  friend,  he  found  a  singular-looking  old  man  estab- 
lished by  the  fireside.  "  Take  no  notice  of  the  poor  old  gentle- 
Bum,"  said  Lenoir,  in  a  confidential  tone,  ^  it  is  an  old  uncle  of 
mine,  who  is  nearly  imbecile,  with  whose  eccentricities  I  am  forced 
to  put  up,  because  he  has  made  me,  by  his  will,  residuary  legatee 
to  his  fine  fortune.  We  never  let  my  poor  uncle  go  out  alone,  for 
he  has  lived  all  his  life  in  the  country,  and  does  not  know  his  way 
about  Paris." 

Throughout  dinner,  the  banker  could  scarcely  keep  his  eyes 
from  Lenoir's  rich  old  uncle ;  so  singular  were  his  contortions,  and 
so  grotesque  was  his  appearance.  Occasionally,  the  old  gentleman 
)oined  in  the  conversation,  but  always  by  the  most  ludicrously  ill- 
placed  remarks ;  and  bodi  Monsieur  Perregaux,  and  the  rest  of 
the  company  who  were  in  the  plot,  bad  the  utmost  difficulty  in 
keeping  their  risibility  within  bounds.  The  banker,  having  or- 
dered his  carriage  early,  retired  from  the  dining-room  after  dessert, 
without  having  been  let  into  the  secret  of  the  hoax  of  which  he 
was  the  object.  *  • 

Some  days  afterwards,  while  driving  in  his  chariot  on  the 
Boulerards,  in  company  with  a  friend,  he  caught  sight  of  Musson, 
lounging  leisurely  along.  "  Good  heavens !"  cried  he,  **  there  is 
that  poor  old  uncle  of  Lenoir's,  who  has  lost  his  way,  and  will 
certainly  come  to  harm.^'  His  companion  who,  like  himself,  was 
unacquainted  with  Musson,  sympathized  heartily  in  the  dilemma 
of  the  superannuated  old  provincial ;  and,  having  jumped  out  of 
the  carriage,  and  ordered  the  coachman  to  follow  them,  they  pro- 
ceeded in  pursuit  of  Musson,  overtook  him,  and  endeavoured  to 
induce  him,  by  the  tenderest  persuasion,  to  accompany  them  back 
to  the  faotise  of  bis  nephew.  Monsieur  Lenoir. 

On  recognising  the  banker,  Musson  instantly  resumed  his  part. 
"  No,  no,  no !"  cried  he,  in  a  childish  voice ;  "  I  can't  go  home ; 
I  won't  go  home ;  no,  no !  I'm  looking  for  a  toy--shop ;  I  want  to 
buy  myself  a  punchinello  !" — 

**  But  if  you  will  consent  to  return  with  us,  my  dear  sir,  your 
nephew  will  buy  you  as  many  punchinellos  as  you  desire,''  remon- 
strated Perregaux. 

**  No,  no,  no,  I  tell  you ! — I  like  to  choose  (or  myself;  I  came 
out  on  purpose  to  buy  a  punchinello.  There  are  no  pretty  toy- 
shops in  my  nephew's  neighbourhood.'* 

^  I  will  send  you,  this  erening,  l^e  best  punchinello  that  can 

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442         ORIGINAL   ANECDOTES,    SOCIAL  AND   POLITICAL. 

be  had  for  money/'  persisted  the  banker>  ^^  only  pray  get  into  my 
carriage!" 

By  this  time,  the  words  "  punchinello  '*  and  "  toy-shop/'  bandied 
between  two  grave-looking  men,  advanced  in  years,  were  begin- 
ning to  attract  the  notice  of  the  standers-by ;  and  on  the  Boule- 
vards, a  crowd  is  easily  collected.  The  banker,  alarmed  by  the 
prospect  of  a  ridiculous  scene  in  public,  hastened,  therefore,  to 
take  the  arm  of  the  unhappy  dotard,  and  gently  led  him  away,  in 
search  of  the  nearest  toy-shop.  Having  succeeded  in  finding  one, 
he  presented  his  companion  with  the  handsomest  punchinello  in 
the  shop.  "And  now,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "that  your  wishes 
are  accomplished,  let  me  entreat  you  to  come  home  with  me  at 
once,  and  tranquillise  the  anxieties  of  your  nephew." 

"  It  would  be  inexcusable  to  impose  further  on  so  much  hu- 
manity and  good  nature,'^  replied  the  old  man,  taking  off  his  hat, 
dropping  forty  years  of  his  age,  and  assuming  his  usual  tone  and 
deportment — "  my  name,  sir,  is  Musson ! " 

"  I  ought  to  have  guessed  it,"  cried  the  banker,  heartily  laugh- 
ing. "  But  that  rascal  Lenoir  shall  pay  for  his  tricks :  though  I 
ought  not  to  resent  a  circumstance  which  has  made  me  acquainted, 
even  as  a  dupe,  with  a  man  of  such  recognised  talent  as  Monsieur 
Musson." 

Jules  Janin. — In  the  height  of  the  quarrel  between  the  Ho- 
moeopathists  and  the  Faculty  of  Paris,  the  editor  of  a  medical 
journal,  having  somewhat  severely  attacked  the  disciples  of 
Hahnemann,  was  called  out  by  one  of  the  tribe.  "  Rather  hard,^^ 
said  he,  "  to  have  to  risk  one's  life  for  pointing  out  the  impotence 
of  an  infinitesimal  dose ! " — "  No  great  risk,  surely ! "  rejoined  Jules 
Janin,  who  was  present  at  the  discussion,  "such  a  duel  ought,  of 
course^  to  represent  the  principles  of  homoeopathic  science — the 
hundredth  part  of  a  grain  of  gunpowder  to  the  thousandth  part  of 
a  bullet!" 

CoRBiERES. — Monsieur  de  Corbieres,  Minister  of  the  Interior, 
under  the  Restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  having  risen  from  the 
humbler  ranks  of  life,  and  frequented  only  the  society  of  the 
middle  classes,  was,  though  an  able  man,  naturally  ignorant  of  a 
thousand  minor  points  of  etiquette  which  emigrated,  with  the 
Royal  family,  from  Versailles  to  Hartwell,  and  returned  with  them 
firom  Hartwell  to  the  Tuileries.  The  Breton  lawyer  was,  conse- 
quently, perpetually  committing  himself  by  lapses  of  politeness, 
which  afforded  much  laughter  to  the  King  and  court  But  his 
ready  wit  never  failed  to  get  him  out  of  the  scrape. 

One  day,  while  submitting  some  important  plans  to  Louis 
XVill.,  so  pre-occupied  was  he  by  the  subject  under  discussion, 
ihat,  after  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  he  placed  his  snuff-box  on  the 
tfible  among  the  paper;  and,  immeoiately  afterwards,  laid  his 
pocket-handkerchief  by  its  side. 

"  Yon  seem  to  be  emptying  your  pockets,  Monsieur  de  Cor- 
bidres,"  remonstrated  the  king,  with  offended  dignity. 

"  A  fault  on  the  right  side  on  the  part  of  a  minister,  sire !"  was 
ihe  ready  retort  "  I  should  be  far  more  sorry  if  your  majesty  had 
accused  me  ofJilUnff  them ! " —  ^         j 

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443 


A   HISTORY   OF   TENNIS. 

BY   EDWARD  JESSE, 
AUTHOR   OF   **  GLEANINGS   IN    NATURAL   HISTORY." 

If  history  may  be  considered  as  the  key  to  the  knowledge  of 
human  actions,  so  may  our  national  sports  be  found  to  illustrate, 
in  some  degree,  the  character  of  the  people  of  this  country.  In 
the  earlier  histories  of  it,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  much  low 
buffoonery,  as  well  as  rude  games,  were  practised,  and  even 
rewarded  by  persons  of  high  rank.  Indeed,  ancient  records  are 
still  in  existence  which  will  serve  to  prove  that  lands  were  held 
by  royal  charters,  under  such  conditions  and  for  such  feats  as,  in 
the  present  day,  would  scarcely  be  heard  of  in  the  purlieus  of 
St.  Giles\  In  searching  some  of  these  early  records  we  shall  find 
that  many  of  our  kings  amused  themselves  in  a  way  which  was 
not  thought  unworthy  of  their  regal  dignity.  Thus,  among  the 
private  expenses  of  Edward  the  Second,  there  is  a  charge  of 
twenty  shillings  as  paid  at  the  lodge  in  Wolmer  Forest  to  Morris 
Ken,  when  the  King  was  stag-hunting  there,  because  he  amused 
his  Majesty  by  often  falling  from  his  horse,  "  at  which  the  King 
laughed  exceedingly."  He  also  gave  a  sum  of  money  with  his 
own  hands  to  James  de  St.  Albans,  his  painter,  because  "he 
danced  before  the  King  upon  a  table,  and  made  him  laugh 
heartily." 

Bear  and  bull-baiting,  as  well  as  dog  and  cock-fighting,  were 
considered  as  royal  sports,  and  ladies  of  the  highest  rank  fre- 
quented these  barbarous  exhibitions,  which  were  occasionally 
varied  by  hawking,  archery,  racing  and  wrestling.  Even  in  later 
days,  we  find  Sir  Richard  Steele,  in  the  134th  number  of  "  The 
Tatler,"  reprobating  the  cruelty  practised  on  animals  in  the  sports 
at  the  bear-gardens ;  and  others  are  detailed  by  Strult,  in  his 
*'  Sports  and  Pastimes,"  of  the  people  of  England,  which  show 
but  little  sympathy  for  the  sufierings  of  animals. 

Of  all  games,  however,  ball-play  appears  to  have  been  one  of 
the  earliest,  and  to  have  continued  in  vogue  to  the  present  time. 
Herodotus  attributed  the  invention  to  the  Lydians,  and  Homer 
restricted  this  pastime  to  the  maidens  of  Corcyra.  Ball-play  was 
a  fashionable  game  in  France  from  the  earliest  times,  and  in  Eng- 
land we  had  bowling-alleys  and  bowling-greens,  as  well  as  foot- 
ball, at  least  as  long  ago  as  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Second. 
Coles,  in  his  Dictionary,  mentions  the  ball-money,  which,  he  says, 
was  given  by  a  new  bride  to  her  old  play*fellow8 ;  and  Bourne 
informs  us,  on  the  authority  of  Belithus,  a  ritualist,  that  in  an- 
cient times  it  was  customary  in  some  churches  for  the  bishops 
and  archbishops  to  play  with  the  inferior  clergy  at  hand-ball, 
even  on  Easter-day.  During  the  Easter  holidays  also  hand-ball 
was  played  for  a  tanzy-cake.* 

Fives,  probably,  came  into  vogue  in  more  recent  times.    Mr. 

*  See  Selden'B  •*  Tablctalk  on  Christmas."       r^^^^T^ 

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444  A   HISTORY   OF  TENNIS, 

Nichols,  in  his  "  Progresses  of  Queen  Elizabeth,'^  vol.  ii.  p.  19,  in- 
forms us,  that  ^^  when  that  Queen  was  entertained  at  Elv^etham, 
in  Hampshire,  by  the  Earl  of  Hertford,  after  dinner,  about  three 
o'^clock,  ten  of  his  lordship's  servants,  all  Somersetshire  meD,  in  a 
square  green  court  before  her  Majesty'^a  windowe,  did  hang  up 
lines,  squaring  out  the  forme  of  a  tennis-court,  and  making  a  cross- 
line  in  the  middle ;  in  this  square  they  (being  stript  out  of  their 
doublets)  played  five  to  five  virith  hand-ball  at  bord  and  cord^  as 
they  terme  it,  to  the  great  liking  of  her  Highness.** 

It  is  difficult  to  fix  the  time  when  tennis  was  first  introduced. 
When  it  was  so,  it  was  probably  a  very  different  game  to  what  we 
see  it  at  present.  Indeed  the  very  appellation  of  it  in  the  FrcDch 
language  (la  paume)  would  serve  to  prove  that  the  ball  was  origi- 
nally struck  with  the  naked  hand.  Thick  gloves  were  afterwards 
in  use,  to  defend  it,  and  at  a  later  period  cords  or  tendons  were 
fastened  round  the  hand  in  order  to  enable  the  player  to  give  a 
greater  impulse  to  the  ball.  The  racket  was  finally  introduced^ 
"  telle,"  says  Pasquier,  "  que  nous  voyons  aujourd'hui  en  laissant 
la  sophistiquerie  de  Gand."  This  anecdote  tends  to  fix  the  date 
of  modern  tennis.  Pasquier  was  born  in  1528,  and  supposing  the 
fact  to  have  been  communicated  to  him  when  he  was  about  twenty, 
by  an  informant  of  seventy-six,  the  result  will  lead  us  to  ascribe 
the  invention  of  the  racket  to  a  period  not  many  years  antecedent 
or  subsequent  to  1500. 

Shakspeare,  in  a  celebrated  passage  in  his  historical  play  of 
Henry  the  Fifth,  may  have  led  some  of  our  readers  to  suppose 
that  the  terms  now  used  at  tennis  must  have  been  about  a  century 
older  than  the  date  above  assigned  to  them.  In  the  answer  which 
the  hero  of  Agincourt  gives  to  the  ambassadors  who  brought  him 
a  tun  of  balls  from  the  dauphin,  Shakspeare  makes  him  say — 

**  When  we  have  match'd  oar  rackets  to  these  baUs» 
We  will  in  France  (by  God's  grace)  play  a  set 
Shall  strike  his  father's  crown  into  the  hazard. 
Tell  him  f  he  hath  made  a  match  with  sach  a  wrangler, 
That  all  the  Courts  of  France  will  be  disturbed 
With  chases." 

Holinshed,  however,  who  furnished  Shakspeare  with  some 
of  his  historical  details,  simply  relates  that  the  ambassadors 
**  brought  with  them  a  barrell  of  Paris  balles,  which  from  their 
mayster  they  presented  to  him  for  a  token  that  was  taken  in  verie 
ill  part,  as  sent  in  scorn  to  signifie  that  it  was  more  meet  for  the 
King  to  pass  the  time  with  such  childish  exercise  than  to  attempt 
any  worthie  exploit  Wherefore  the  King  wrote  to  him,  that  yer 
long  he  would  tosse  him  some  London  balles  that  perchance 
would  shake  the  walles  of  the  best  court  in  France.'*  Thus  it 
wxuld  appear,  that  of  the  technical  phrases  used  by  Shakspeare, 
Holinshed  only  supplied  him  with  the  term  court.  These  Paris 
balls  are  by  Caxton,  in  his  Continuation  of  Higden's  "  Poly- 
cronion,"  printed  in  1842,  called  **tenyse  baDes,"  that  term, 
though  apparently  unknown  in  France,  having  at  this  early  period 
been  brought  into  use  in  England. 

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A  HISTORY  OP  TENNIS.  445 

Whatever,  however,  the  antiquity  of  the  game  may  have  been, 
it  is  certain  that  the  adoption  of  the  racket  gave  rise  to  various 
other  improvements,  till  at  last  it  has  settled  mto  the  present 
interesting,  and  it  may  be  added,  scientific  mode  of  playing  the 
game,  and  from  jrhich,  most  probably,  there  will  be  no  deviation. 
Tennis  may  with  truth  be  said  to  combine  a  portion  of  the 
excellence  and  beauty  of  all  other  games  of  manual  skill,  while  at 
the  same  time  there  is,  perhaps,  no  game  in  which  a  man  can 
more  readily  exhibit  a  combination  of  strength,  skill  and  activity, 
as  well  as  of  peseverance  and  adroitness.    Those  only  who  under- 
stand the  game  can  form  an  idea  of  the  fascination  of  it,  or  the 
extreme  interest  produced  by  it  when  a  fine  match   has  been 
played  in  the  tennis  courts  of  Paris  or  London.     Nor  has  the 
game  been  confined  to  the  male  sex.     St  Foix,  in  his  ^'  Essai 
historique  sur  Paris,'^  vt>l.i.  p.  160,  says,  that  there  was  a  damsel 
named  Margot,  who  resided  in  Paris  in  1424,  who  played  at  hand- 
tennis  with  the  palm,  and  also  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  better 
than  any  man,  and,  what  is  most  surprising,  adds  the  author,  at 
that  time  the  game  was  played  with  a  naked  hand,  or  at  best,  with 
a  double  glove.     She  must  have  been  a  sort  of  Joan  of  Arc  of 
tennis,  and  was  contemporary  with  that  heroine.     According  to 
Pasquier,  Margot  was  a  native  of  Hainault,  and  went  to  Paris  in 
1421,  where  she  played  **  de  Tavant  train  et  de  I'arridre  tr^  habile- 
ment.** 

James  the  First,  if  not  himself  a  tennis-player,  speaks  of  the 
pastime  with  commendation,  and  recommends  it  to  his  son  as  a 
species  of  exercise  becoming  a  prince,  and  it  became  in  conse- 
quence a  favourite  game  with  Henry  Prince  of  Wales,  the  Mar- 
cellus  of  his  age.  Codrington,  in  his  life  of  Robert  Earl  of  Essex, 
the  princess  early  companion,  mentions,  that  Lord  Essex,  in  a 
passion  on  being  call&d  the  son  of  a  traitor,  struck  the  prince 
with  his  racket,  so  as  to  draw  blood.  The  King  on  hearing  it 
sent  for  Lord  Essex,  but,  on  being  made  acquainted  with  the  real 
circumstance  of  the  affair,  dismissed  him  unpunished. 

Charles  the  First  certainly  played  at  tennis  the  day  before  he 
finally  quitted  Hampton  Court,  and  Charles  the  Second  was  a 
constant  player  at  the  same  place,  and  had  particular  kinds  of 
dresses  made  lor  the  purpose.  The  tennis  court  at  Hampton 
Court  was  built,  as  ahready  stated,  by  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and  it  is, 
we  believe,  allowed  to  be  the  most  perfect  one  in  Europe.  The 
fine  polish  of  the  stone  floor  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  age,  and 
the  proportions  of  the  court  are  known  to  be  very  exact  The 
following  is  a  list  of  the  tennis  courts  in  England : — 

In  London,  2  —  one  in  James's  Street,  Haymarket,  the  other 
at  Lord'^s  Cricket-ground;  Hampton  Court,  1;  Oxford,  2;  Cam- 
bridge, 1 ;  Strathfieldsaye,  1 ;  Hatfield,  1 ;  Wobum,  1 ;  Lord 
Craven,  1 ;  Theobald's,  1 ;  Brighton,  1 ;  Leamiiigton,  1 ;  Good- 
wood, 1;  Petwortb,  1 ;— total  15. 

It  may  be  remarked,  that  neither  Ireland  nor  Scotland  can 
boast  of  possessing  a  teraris  coart,  and  we  beKeve  that  there  are 
not  more  than  four  or  five  on  the  C^ntineDt 


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446  A  HISTORY  OF  TENNIS. 

In  the  year  1821  a  tennis  Club  was  formed  in  London,  con- 
sisting of  fifty-eight  members ;  amongst  others,  were  the  late  Dake 
of  York,»  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  Lords  Anglesey,  Jersey,  Thanet^ 
&c. ;  and  of  which,  by  the  way,  the  late  Duke  of  Wellington  was 
an  honorary  member.  During  the  existence  of.  this  club,  many 
interesting  matches  were  played,  and  most  of  the  eminent  Frencli 
tennis  players  came  over  to  this  country  to  join  in  these  matches. 

That  the  French  excel  us  at  this  game  cannot  be  doubted, 
although,  at  the  period  referred  to,  one  Englishman,  Philip  Cox, 
had  greatly  distinguished  himself.  As  far  as  the  records  of  tennis 
are  known  to  us,  he  was  the  first  who  could  boast  of  having  beaten 
the  best  French  player  of  his  day  without  receiving  any  odds. 
This  player  was  Am6d6e  Charier.  Two  public  matches  were 
played  between  him  and  Cox.  The  first  was  shaiply  contested, 
and  Cox  won  by  only  the  odd  set  in  five.  The  other  match  was 
for  three  sets  only,  of  which  Cox  won  the  first  two. 

In  June  1823  a  fine  match  was  played.  Cox  and  Marquisio,  of 
whom  an  account  will  presently  be  given,  against  Barre  and  Louis> 
both  fine  French  players,  no  odds  being  given  on  either  side. 
The  first  two  sets  were  set  and  set  They  then  agreed  to  play  a 
third  in  order  to  decide  the  match,  but  this  arriving  at  games  all, 
they  recommenced  the  set,  which,  after  a  hard  contest,  was  won 
by  Cox  and  Marquisio.  It  should  bo  mentioned,  that  BaiTe  was 
then  considered  as  a  most  promising  young  player,  and  is  now, 
most  certainly,  the  best  tennis-player  in  Europe.  The  following 
year  the  same  match  was  played,  and  won  by  Barre  and  Louis, 
the  latter  at  that  time  certainly  but  little  inferior  to  Barre,  per- 
haps only  half-fifteen,  or,  at  the  most,  fifteen. 

One  of  the  finest  French  players  at  this  time  in  England  was 
Barcellon.  Whether  we  consider  him  as  unrivalled  as  a  teacher 
of  the  science  of  tennis,  or  recollect  his  unrivalled  performances 
in  the  tennis-court  in  James'^s  Street,  Haymarke^  we  cannot 
but  look  upon  him  as  a  master  of  the  art.  It  was  in  this  court 
that  we  once  saw  him  play  a  match  with  Monsieur,  afterwards 
Charles  the  Tenth,  giving  high  odds ;  nor  can  we  forget  the  plea- 
sure and  surprize  with  which  we  witnessed  his  performance. 

This  justly  celebrated  French  player  died  of  cholera  at  Paris  in 
the  eightieth  year  of  his  age.  His  long  residence  in  this  country, 
embracing  the  greater  part  of  the  French  revolutionary  war,  and 
continuing,  with  but  a  short  interruption,  up  to  the  period  of  the 
return  of  Louis  the  Eighteenth  to  raris  in  the  year  1814.  His 
celebrity  as  a  player,  and  his  almost  daily  exhibitions  in  Jameses 
Street,  with  almost  every  amateur  of  the  day,  would  entitle  him  to 
a  short  notice  firom  us. 

Barcellon  was  a  native  of  Montpellier.  He  had  a  swarthy  com- 
plexion, with  fine  dark  eyes.  His  form  was  slender,  but  well 
proportioned,  and  his  height  about  five  feet  eight  inches.  At 
the  age  of  twenty,  and  about  the  year  1769,  he  first  came  over  to 
this  country,  having  been  backed  to  give  John  Mucklow,  a  fine 
English  player,  then  eighteen  years  of  age,  huff  thirty.  This 
match,  high  as  were  the  odds,  ended  in  favour  of  Barcellon.    Be- 


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A  HISTORY   OP  TENNIS.  447 

fore,  however,  he  returned  to  Paris,  subseqent  matches  between 
these  two  took  place  at  much  lower  odds,  and  frequently  to  the 
advantage  of  Mucklow.  Indeed,  not  only  to  his  advantage,  for 
he  won  many  of  them,  but  because  he  had  thus  early  in  life  an 
opportunity  of  forming  his  play  from  the  most  perfect  model. 

In  the  thirty-second  year  of  his  age,  Barcellon,  and  his  brother- 
in-law,  Bergeron,  played  a  match  in  the  fine  tennis-court  at  Fon- 
tainbleau,  before  the  then  Queen  of  France,  the  unfortunate  Marie 
Antoinette,  against  the  celebrated,  and,  up  to  that  time,  unrivalled 
Magon  and  Charier.  This  may  be  considered  the  grandest  match 
on  record,  for  the  French  declare  that  there  has  never  been  a 
tennis  player  equal  to  Ma9on,  and  Charier  is  admitted  to  have 
been  but  little  inferior  to  him.  They  however  lost  the  match, 
though,  it  should  be  mentioned,  that  the  two  latter  had  passed 
their  prime,  and  were  obliged  to  yield  the  palm  of  victory  to  their 
pupils,  now  become  their  rivals.  In  consequence  of  Barcellon^s 
success  on  this  occasion,  he  was  made  on  the  spot  Paumier  au 
Roiy  which  appointment  he  held  for  forty-five  years,  so  that  this 
celebrated  match  must  have  been  played  about  the  year  1782. 

As  a  tennis  player,  Barcellon  could  not  well  stand  higher  than 
he  did  at  this  time ;  but  what  chiefly  distinguished  him  was  the 
gracefulness  of  his  manner,  enhanced  by  the  peculiar  gracefulness 
and  symmetry  of  his  form.  In  fact,  he  did  nothing  awkwardly, 
and  we  may  feel  warranted  in  saying,  that  had  he  gone  upon  the 
French  boards  he  would  have  been  the  Vestris  or  De  Hayes  of 
his  time. 

We  have  heard  it  asserted  that  his  brother-in-law,  Bergeron, 
was  a  superior  player,  and  perhaps  it  was  so ;  but  the  rudeness, 
not  to  say  brutality,  of  his  manners,  left  him  few  admirers.  He 
came  over  to  this  country  but  once,  at  which  time  his  powers 
were  extraordinary,  and  he  was  as  formidable  an  antagonist^  from 
his  temper  and  violence,  as  from  his  skill.  He  was  a  dissipated 
character,  corpulent,  and  drank  to  excess,  and,  what  is  curious, 
could  play  best  when  excited  by  wine.  When  questioned  as  to 
their  comparative  strength,  Barcellon  would  answer,  that  he  could 
always  beat  his  brother-in-law  when  he  caught  him  sober,  but 
that  when  half  drunk  he  was  invincible. 

Barcellon,  as  compared  with  our  own  players,  was  always  about 
half-fifteen  above  John  Mucklow,  his  contemporary,  and  perhaps 
equal  to  Cox,  taking  them  both  at  their  best. 

Marchisio  was  another  extraordinary  fine  player,  and  generally 
accompanied  the  French  markers,  Barre  and  Louis,  in  their  annual 
visits  to  this  country.  In  fact,  he  might  be  called  their  companion, 
guide,  and  nurse.  He  died  at  Paris,  after  a  short  illness,  on  the 
7th  of  December,  1830,  aged  52. 

Marchisio  was  an  Italian,  and  originally  a  marker  in  the  tennis 
court  at  Turin.  He  was  brought  up  there  under  his  father,  who 
was  the  master  or  proprietor  of  that  court.  When  the  French 
overran  Italy,  and  gave  peoples'  minds  other  matters  to  think  of 
than  tennis,  Marchisio  was  either  pressed  into,  or  voluntarily 
joined  the  French  army,  and  was  at  the  battle  of  Marengo ;  there 

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4M  A   HISTORY   OF  TENNIS. 

be  received  a  gan-shot  wound  in  the  kft  am.  Sometinie  after 
this  event  he  went  to  Paris,  and  endeavoured  to  better  htmsdf  by 
entering  into  some  mercantile  speculations.  Failing  in  these,  b^ 
had  again  recourse  to  tennis,  and,  by  practice  in  the  courts  s^ 
Paris,  he  soon  recovered  his  play,  and  showed  himself  but  litde 
inferior  to  Am^d^e  Charier^  the  admitted  best  performer  of  the 
day. 

Marchisio  first  came  over  to  this  country  in  1815,  where  his 
style  of  play  was  miK^h  admired,  and,  consisting,  as  it  did,  of 
quick,  easy,  and  certain  return,  without  any  overpowering  force, 
almost  every  amateur  of  the  day  was  disposed  to  try  his  strength, 
with  him.  In  these  matches,  he  reaped,  no  doubt,  a  good  harvest 
He  contrived,  through  the  favour  of  Monsieur,  or  the  Due  de 
Berri,  to  get  appointed  Paumier  au  Roij  this  being  the  first 
instance  of  a  foreigner  obtaining  that  distinction  in  France.  The 
appointment  excited  great  envy  and  jealousy  among  the  French 
tennis  players,  who  never  entirely  forgave  him  this  piece  of  good 
fortune. 

Of  his  play,  it  may  be  observed,  that  in  what  are  called  '^  cramp** 
matches,  he  was  able  to  give  the  amateurs  of  moderate  force,  the 
most  incrediUe  odds,  and  such  as  neither  Charier  or  Cox  would 
ofier.  For  instance,  he  gave  Lord  Granville,  no  mean  defender  of 
the  half>  court,  the  following  odds.  Half  court — that  is,  he  had  only 
half  the  court  to  play  in — 30,  or  t\i'o  certain  strokes  at  the  begin- 
ning of  each  game — barring  all  the  openings,  so  that  he  could  not 
force  the  dedans  when  he  had  to  win  yard  or  half-yard  chases—- 
and,  moreover,  he  was  restricted  from  ho€t8ting  against  either  of 
the  sidc'walls.  Am6dee  Charier  endeavoured  to  give  these  very 
odds  to  Lord  GranviUe,  but  certainly  failed. 

Marchisio  succeeded  in  this  description  of  match  partly  by  good 
management  and  patience,  but  chiefly  by  the  power  he  possessed 
of  dropping  the  ball  so  short  over  the  high  part  of  the  net,  as  to 
render  it  dilfficult  to  be  voUied  with  effect  or  certainty,  however 
forward  in  the  court  his  adversaries  might  stand.  The  late  Mr. 
Cnthbert  used  to  declare  that  of  all  the  markers  he  had  ever  played 
with  (and  he  had  played  with  them  all),  Marchisio  was  the  most  <^ffi- 
cult  to  beat,  not  because  he  gave  less  odds  than  he  fidriy  ought, 
but  because  he  managed  his/orce  so  well,  and  wearied  out  his  op- 
ponent by  his  unceasing  and  indefatigable  return. 

It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  in  a  single  match  against  a 
superior  player^  Maorchisio  was  not  seen  to  advantage.  There  was 
a  want  of  force  and  decision  in  his  stroke.  He,  indeed,  placed  his 
ball  admirably,  and  having  an  excellent  head,  was  sure  to  ^d  out 
the  most  exposed  or  undefended  part  oi  his  adversary's  court,  but 
he  had  at  the  same  time  but  little  power  of  cutting  a  ball  in  so 
decisive  a  manner,  as  to  make  the  return  oi  it  almost  impossible. 
In  James-street,  therefore,  where  the  walk  and  door  are  so  lively, 
he  could  not,  frequently,  decide  a  ball  against  such  a  player  as 
Cox,  except  by  masking  his  intention^  or  catching  him  oat  of  his 
place. 

Upon  the  whole,  though  Marchisio  never  attained  to  the  highest 

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A  BISTORT  09  TENNI&.  449 

^legree  of  excellence ;  tbere  was  mock  m  hb  plaj  to  be  admired.  * 
His  half-volley  was  inimitable — his  return  certain — ^faw  jadgmeBl 
accmate — and  his  style  good.     His  place  as  a  tOHiiB^layer  will 
seldom  be  met  with. 

But  it  is  time  to  give  some  notice  of  Barre.  This  extraordiziaTy 
player  exhibited  his  skill  in  the  James-street  tennis  coort,  about 
the  year  1820,  where  he  played,  then  being  a  very  young  man,  in 
several  matches  with  varied  success,  and  where  he  still  pbys  per- 
fectly unrivalled.  Louis  XVIII.  made  him  Paumier  au  RoL  As 
his  play  improved,  he  became  invincible,  and  will  give  incredible 
odds  to  any  antagonist.  As  a  proof  of  this,  he  would  readily  be 
backed  to  give  Tomkins,  oar  best  English  player,  and  the  master 
of  the  Brighton  tennis  court,  thirty  in  each  game  for  a  bUque.  He 
would  also  give  the  same  odds  to  Monsieur  Momieron,  one  of  the 
best  of  the  French  tennis  players.  In  fact,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to 
calculate  the  odds  which  Barre  could  not  ^e.  His  chases  are  so 
close — his  force  so  great  and  certain — his  retnm  so  quick — his 
judgment  and  calculation  so  extraordinary,  and  his  service  so  dif- 
ficidt  to  be  met,  that  we  have  watched  his  play  both  at  Paris,  in 
London,  and  at  Hampton  Court,  with  no  small  degree  of  pleasure 
and  astonishment.  Some  few  years  ago  he  played  in  a  iham-iiff 
match  at  Hampton  Court  before  the  Queen  Adelaide  and  a  large 
party,  with  Louis,  Monneron  and  Cox,  and  nothii^  could  be  more 
brilliant  than  the  play. 

In  adiUtion  to  what  has  been  said  of  htm  as  a  player,  it  would 
be  doing  Barre  an  injustice  not  to  mention  that  he  is  a  general 
iavourite  in  this  country,  where  be  is  a  regular  visitor,  and,  indeed, 
almost  a  resident. 

Louis  was  another  player  of  the  same  stamp,  but  never  equal  to 
Barre,  who  could  give  him  half-fifteen  in  his  best  day.  An  acci- 
dent, some  years  ago,  rendered  Louis  unable  to  show  bis  skill  in  a 
tennis-court.  He  was,  at  one  time,  celebrated  for  what  are  called 
cramp  matches.  He  distinguished  himself  in  one  at  Paris,  when 
he  played  Mr.  Hughes  Ball  with  a  boot-jack  instead  of  a  racket. 
He  also  played  one  match  with  a  man  on  his  back,  and  another 
with  a  donkey  fastened  to  him,  and  won  them  both.  He  was  a 
stout,  thick-set  man,  of  great  strength  and  activity,  and  a  perfect 
master  of  the  game  of  tennis. 

While  speaking  of  cramp  matches,  we  may  mention  that  Mr. 
Charles  Taylor,  so  celebrated  as  a  cricket  player,  played  a  match 
of  three  sets  at  Hampton  Court,  be  riding  on  the  back  of  a  pony, 
and  won  it  We  have  also  the  authority  of  the  late  Lord  Holland 
for  saying  that  his  great  relation,  Charles  James  Fox,  when  a 
young  man,  played  a  match,  in  the  same  court,  for  a  considerable 
wager,  the  condition  of  which  was  that  he  should  be  perfectly  , 
naked.    The  match  was  j^yed,  and  be  won  it. 

Among  the  French  gentlemen  players,  we  should  not  omit  to 
mention  Monsieur  Bonnet,  an  Avocat,  and  the  translator  of 
Sheridan's  plays,  a  work  which  did  kirn  much  credit,  considering 
the  difficulty  of  the  task,  especially  in  the  '^  Bivals."  He  was  a 
fine  player,  and  we  had  tne  pleasure  of  seeing  him  in  several 
matches  at  Ptois,  with  Barre,  Louis^  and  Monneron*    Lanret,  a 


460  A  HISTORY   OF  TENNIS. 

"Pompier  of  the  guard,  was  another  good  player,  but  Barre  could 
give  him  talf-thirty. 

We  will  now  proceed  to  describe  some  of  the  terms  used  at 
tennis,  for  the  information  of  such  of  our  readers  who  are  not 
tennis  players. 

The  size  of  a  tennis  court  is  generally  96  or  97  feet  in  lengthy 
by  33  or  34  wide.  A  line,  or  net,  hangs  exactly  across  the  middle, 
and  is  one  yard  in  height  at  the  centre,  but  rises  at  each  end,  so 
that  it  hangs  in  a  slope.  Over  this  net  the  balls  are  struck  with  a 
racket.  Upon  entering  a  tennis  court,  there  is  a  long  gallery^ 
which  goes  to  the  dedans.  This  dedans  is  a  kind  of  front 
gallery,  where  spectators  usually  stand,  and  into  which,  if  a  ball 
is  struck,  it  tells  for  a  certain  score. 

The  long  side  gallery  is  divided  into  different  galleries,  or  com- 
partments, each  of  which  has  its  particular  name;  viz.,  first 
gallery,  door,  second  gallery,  and  last  gallery.  This  is  called  the 
service  side.  From  the  dedans^  to  the  last  galleiy,  are  the  figures 
1,  2,  3, 4,  6,6,  at  a  yard  distance  each;  by  these,  the  chases,  which 
form  a  most  essential  part  of  the  game,  are  marked. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  net,  are  also  the  first  gallery,  door, 
second  gallery,  and  last  gallery.  This  is  called  the  hazard  side. 
Every  ball  struck  into  the  last  gallery  on  this  side,  reckons  for  a 
certain  stroke,  as  in  the  dedans.  Between  the  second  and  this 
last  gallery,  are  the  figures  1,  2,  to  mark  the  chaises  on  the  hazard 
side.  Over  these  galleries  is  a  covering,  called  the  pent-house,  on 
which  the  ball  is  played  from  the  service  side,  in  order  to  begin  a 
set  at  tennis.  This  ball  is  called  a  service,  and  must  fall  upon  or 
strike  the  side  pent-house  on  the  other  side  of  the  net,  and  drop 
within  certain  lines  on  the  hazard  side.  If  the  ball  fail  to  do  this, 
it  is  called  a  fault,  and  two  faults,  consecutively,  are  reckoned  a 
stroke  lost.  If  the  ball  should  roll  round  the  end  pent-house,  at 
the  opposite  side  of  the  court,  so  as  to  fall  beyond  a  certain  Hne 
described  for  that  purpose,  it  is  called  a  passe  ; — reckons  for  no- 
thing on  either  side,  and  the  player  must  serve  again. 

On  the  right  hand  wall  of  the  court,  from  the  dedans,  but  on 
the  hazard  side,  is  the  tambour,  a  part  of  the  wall  which  projects 
so  as  to  alter  the  direction  of  the  ball,  and  make  a  variety  in  the 
stroke. 

The  last  thing,  on  the  right  hand  side,  is  called  the  ffrille,  and, 
if  a  ball  is  struck  into  it,  it  is  a  certain  score. 

If  a  ball  falls,  after  the  first  rebound,  untouched,  it  is  called  a 
chase,  and  the  chase  is  determined  by  the  galleries  and  figures. 
When  there  are  two  chases,  the  parties  change  sides,  and  each 
party  tries  to  win,  or  defend  the  chases,  and  this  trial  of  skill  forms 
one  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  the  game. 

A  game  consists  of  four  strokes,  which,  instead  of  being  niuD- 
bered  1,  2,  3,  4,  are  reckoned  in  a  manner  somewhat  difficult  to 
understand. 

For  instance,  the  first  stroke  or  point  is  called    15 

The  second 30 

The  third 40  or  45 

The  fourth,  and  last       .... 

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A  HISTORY   OF  TENNIS.  451 

Unless,  indeed,  the  players  get  three  strokes  each,  when,  instead- 
of  calling  it  forty  all,  it  is  called  deuce,  after  which,  as  soon  as 
any  stroke  is  gained,  it  is  called  (advantage;  and,  in  case  the 
strokes  are  equal  again,  it  is  deuce  again,  and  so  on,  till  one  or  the 
other  gets  two  strokes  following,  when  the  game  is  won. 

The  following  may  be  called  the  odds  given  by  superior  to 
inferior  players.  For  instance,  a  bisque.  This  is  one  point  to  be 
scored  whenever  the  player,  who  receives  this  advantage,  thinks 
proper.  Suppose  a  game  of  the  set  to  be  40  to  30,  he,  who  is  40, 
by  taking  his  bisque,  secures  the  game. 

The  next  greater  odds  are  half-Jifieen,  a  term  difficult  to  be 
understood  by  persons  who  are  not  acquainted  with  the  game.  In 
these  odds,  nothing  is  given,  in  the  first  game,  but  one  point  (viz. 
15)  to  the  end,  and  so  on,  alternately,  for  as  many  games  as  the 
set  may  last. 

The  next  greater  odds  are  fifteen,  that  is,  a  certain  point  at  the 
beginning  of  each  game. 

Half-thirty  is  fifteen  one  game,  and  thirty  the  next,  and  so  on 
alternately. 

Thirty  is  two  certain  strokes  at  the  beginning  of  each  game. 

Forty  is  three  strokes  given  in  each  game. 

Rouud  service  is  another  odds  given.  To  constitute  it,  the  ball 
must  strike  both  the  side  and  end  penthouse,  which  renders  it  easy 
to  be  returned. 

Half-court  is  when  a  player  is  obliged  to  confine  his  balls  to 
one  half  of  the  court  lengthways,  at  his  option,  while  his  adver- 
sary plays  his  balls  where  he  pleases.  If  the  ball  is  struck  out  of 
the  defined  half-court,  it  is  the  loss  of  a  point. 

When  a  player  gives  touch  no  waU,he  is  restricted  firom  playing 
his  balls  against  any  of  the  walls,  except  in  the  service.  The 
openings  are  barred  by  these  odds. 

We  have  now  endeavoured  to  enable  our  readers  to  form  some 
idea  of  this  ancient,  manly,  and  most  interesting  game,  which  has 
been  in  great  and  deserved  estimation,  in  the  most  enlightened 
countries,  for  ages  past.  We  have  often  had  many  questions 
asked  us  by  persons  in  a  tennis  court,  who  have  seen  tne  game 
played  for  the  first  time.  To  such  persons  the  foregoing  remarks 
may  be  of  use,  while  to  those  who  have  a  knowledge  of,  and  ad- 
mire the  game,  the  preceding  account  of  the  most  celebrated 
tennis  player  cannot  fail  to  be  an  interesting  record. 


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452 


LONDON  HOMES. 

In  her  preface  to  the  little  rohiiDe,  wfaieb  bears  the  above  sugges- 
tive title,  Miss  Sinclair  says  that  she  attended,  this  year,  the  nume- 
lOQS  May  meetings,  heJdin  London,  and  **  was  greatly  surprised  to 
observe  that  the  worst  attended  of  all  tbese  assemblages  was  one 
to  improve  tiie  condition  of  the  London  Poor.  Scarcely  more  than 
fifty  spectators  assembled  in  the  room,  while  more  speakers  ap- 
peared on  the  platform,  than  fisteners  -on  the  benches.^  And  now 
we  have  got  the  Cholera  amongst  us. 

In  the  Spring  we  discoursed  briefly  upon  this  subject  of  *^  tele- 
scopic philanthropy '' — the  philanthropy  which,  ranging  out  into 
illimitable  space,  goes  in  search  of  benighted  and  suffering  myths, 
but  will  «ot  condesc^id  to  bestow  a  glanoe  upon  the  palpable 
misery  at  its  own  doors.  And  now  in  Autumn;  we  are  again 
forcibly  reminded  of  the  same  subject. 

It  is  not  a  pleasant  subject  at  any  time.  It  is  especially  un- 
pleasant now  that  the  Cholera,  like  a  great  noiseless  serpent,  is 
stealing  into  our  streets  and  beginning  to  twine  itself  around  the 
Laocoons  of  our  great  Metropolis.  When  last  that  dread  visitor 
came  coiling  itself  at  our  door-steps,  we  began  to  arpnse  ourselves 
from  the  apathy  in  which  we  were  sunk,  to  acknowledge  our  neg- 
ligence and  to  promise  that  we  woold  do  better.  And  now  that  it 
is  again  creeping  amongst  us  we  are  tremulously  doubting  whether 
we  hm>e  done  better. 

The  London  Poor,  says  Miss  Sinclair,  number  sympathisers  by 
scanty  tens — but  Borioboola-gha,  by  hundreds  or  thousands.  A 
mission  to  some  inhospitable  and,  for  aught  we  know,  some  fabu- 
lous island  in  a  distant  sea,  is  a  great  matter  to  stir  the  hearts  of 
people  who  come  up  from  remote  provincial  localities,  in  the  merry 
month  of  May,  and  crowd  the  benches  in  Exeter  Hall,  whilst 
strange-looking  gentlemen  on  the  platform  make  long  orations  in 
behalf  of  hilaresting  savages  with  unpronounceable  names,  and 
Sit  down  in  an  oleaginous  glow,  which  is  mistaken  for  celestial 
idior.  Now,  in  one  view  of  the  case,  at  all  events,  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged that  there  is  something  veiy  disinterested  in  such 
charity  as  this.  The  bettered  condition  of  the  inhabitants  of  Bo- 
rioboola-gha can  certainly  have  no  effect  upon  the  temporary  wel- 
fare of  the  people  of  the  British  isles.  It  little  matters  what  sort 
of  houses  these  interesting  savages  inhabit;  what  kind  of  diet  they 
affect  (human  flesh  or  other) — or  what  kind  of  garments  (if  any) 
they  wear.  Humanly  speaking,  whilst  serving  others,  these  sym- 
pathisers and  subscribers  do  not  serve  themselves.  If  they  are 
afraid,  therefore,  of  mixing  up  any  leaven  of  selfishness  with  their 
charity,  they  can  hardly  do  better  than  subscribe  through  their 
telescopes.  But  we  very  much  doubt  whether  any  one  of  them 
ever  takes  this  view  of  the  question. 


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LONDON   HOMES.  45S 

No;  we  fear  that  theee  syvpatbisers,  upon  tbe  ^  omne  ignotma 
pro  magnifieo*'  principle,  utterly  ignore  the  fiict  that  ^  cbaritjr  b^ 
gina  at  faome,'^  and  close  their  eyes  against  all  the  misery,  aU  the 
ignorance,  and  aU  the  vice  which  lie  reeking  at  their  own  doors. 
It  is  a  great  thing,  doubtless — Ood  forbid  that  we  should  think 
otherwise! — to  turn  heathens  into  Christians — sarages  and  barba- 
rians into  civilized  mett.  But  it  is  not  a  condition  of  soch  merito- 
rious performance  that  the  recipients  of  our  bounty,  wlieUier  in 
the  sliApe  of  bibles  or  broad-doth,  should  have  black  faces  and 
painted  bodies  and  wear  human  skulls  for  honorary  decorations. 
We  have  heathens  to  be  converted— savages  to  be  reclaimed — in 
those  not  very  remote  regions  of  Lambeth  and  Westminster — ^the 
one  of  which  is  believed  to  be  the  head-quarters  of  the  English 
Church,  and  the  other  of  the  British  Parliament  The  blackness  of 
their  ftices  may  not  be  even  skin-deep ;  but  their  ignorance  and 
their  heathenism — their  misery  and  their  vice — cannot  be  exceeded 
in  the  worst  parts  of  Borioboola-gha. 

All  this  ha^  been  said  before,  by  ourselves  among  others ;  but 
seemingly  said  to  so  litUe  purpose,  that  seeing  the  matter  is  a 
weighty  one,  we  might  be  excused  for  repeating  it,  even  if  we  had, 
at  the.present  time,  no  especial  reason  for  tbe  repetition.  But  we 
recur  to  it  now,  because  it  has  been  brought  anew  to  our  atten- 
tion, partly  by  Miss  Sinclair's  little  volume,  upon  ^  London 
Homes,'^  and  partly  by  something,  infinitely  less  welcome — the 
dreaded  approach  of  the  Cholera.  It  was  said,  when  the  pestilence 
which  walketh  in  darkness  was  last  amongst  us,  that  if  it  should 
ever  appear  again  in  the  great  Metropolis  of  £n^and  we  should  be 
better  prepared  for  its  reception.  Whether  the  anticipation  was  a 
just,  or  an  erroneous  one,  will  probably  soon  be  put  to  the  test.  It 
is  certain  that  a  temporary  impulse  was  given  to  the  cause  of  do- 
mestic philanthropy,  and  that  whilst  the  great  danger  stared  them 
in  the  face,  men  acknowledged  that  they  had  failed  in  their  duty 
to  their  neighbours  (and  to  themselves)  by  not  taking  heed  of  the 
condition  of  the  poor  by  whom  they  were  surrounded.  They  were 
told  by  competent  authorities,  and  they  were  not  slow  to  believe, 
that  their  own  negligence  had  rendered  London  a  very  hot-bed  for 
the  growth  and  diffusion  of  the  plague — that  if  they  had  bethought 
themselves  more  of  improving  the  sanatory  condition  of  all  those 
narrow  streets,  those  pestilent  lanes  and  alleys,  those  back  courts 
and  pent-up  yards,  wherein  the  poor  do  herd  and  congregate,  want- 
ing air,  wanting  light,  wanting  pure  water,  amidst  filth  and  Ibul 
odours,  amidst  feverish  exhalations  and  cursea  of  all  kinds  too  hor- 
rible to  mention,  the  great  scourge,  coming  from  its  far-off  Oriental 
home,  would  not  have  dwelt  so  long  or  busied  itself  so  destructively 
amongst  us.  All  this  Dives  heard  and  believed.  He  believed  and 
tremUed.  Then  he  began  to  promise  great  things.  Let  but  the  plague 
OBce  pass  away  finom  his  doors,  and  he  would  be  up  and  doing. 
Nay,  be  would  begin  at  once.  He  would  subscribe  his  money.  He 
would  observe  a  solemn  fast  He  would  bend  down  in  an  attitude 
of  profoundest  humiKatiom  before  the  Lord  of  4lie  pestilence,  in 
whose  hands  are  the  issues  of  life  and  death.    Doubtless,  be  was 

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454  LONDON  HOMES. 

sincere  at  the  time,  as  men  under  the  influence  of  a  great  panio 
are  sincere ;  and  he  meant  what  he  said.     But  the  terror  passed 
away.     The  angel  of  death  spread  its  wings  and  took  flight  frona 
our  shores^  leaving  tears  and  lamentations,  the  wail  of  the  wido^nr 
and  the  orphan  behind  it     And  what  then  ?  Did  Dives  keep  his 
promise?    Miss   Sinclair  says  that  in  the  month  of  May,  when 
meetings  are  held  in  London,  for  the  promotion  of  all  kinds  of  re- 
ligious and  benevolent  objects,  the  only  one  which  created  little 
interest  and  attracted  few  attendants  was  a  meeting  for  the  im- 
provement of  the  condition  of  the  London  Poor. 

Dives  sick,  is  one  person.  Dives  sound,  is  another.  The  fear 
of  death  passes  away,  and  with  returning  security  comes  back  the 
stony  heart  Is  this  well,  Dives  ?  Nay,  is  it  wise  ?  The  pesti- 
lence gone  to-day,  may  return  to-morrow.  There  is  an  old  pro- 
verb about  shutting  the  stable-door.  When  the  Cholera,  with  all 
its  ten'ors  is  among  us.  Dives  bethinks  himself  of  sanatory  mea- 
sures, and  commiserates  the  condition  of  the  poor.  The  town 
ought  to  be  better  drained ; — no  doubt  of  it.  Those  wretched 
back-streets,  and  hungry  alleys  within  a  stone's  throw  of  his  capa- 
cious mansion — streets  and  alleys  of  which  he  has  heard,  but 
which  he  has  never  seen — ought  to  come  down  and  be  re-placed 
by  others,  into  which  the  light  and  air  should  be  admitted  freely, 
and  nothing  foul  should  ever  accumulate ;  nothing  noxious  ever  be 
engendered. 

Yes,  Dives,  you  are  sure  to  be  too  late,  if  you  only  think  about 
doing  good  to  others  when  danger  threatens  yourself.  These 
London  homes — homes  such  as  Miss  Sinclair  has  described  in 
her  story,  a  story  written  with  the  best  of  objects,  and  full  of  the 
best  of  feeling — exist  at  all  times  amongst  us.  The  evil  is  always 
weltering  around  our  doors.  The  time  to  combat  it  is  always  the 
present  time.  To  wait  till  the  Cholera  comes,  is  to  wait  until 
filth  and  foul  air  are  irresistible,  and  the  dwarf,  which  we  might 
have  crushed,  has  grown  into  a  rampant  giant.  Think  of  the 
matter.  Dives,  to-day;  not  because  the  Cholera  is  creeping  in 
amongst  us,  but  because  it  is  to-day ;  think  of  it  to-day,  to-moiTow 
— every  day ;  this  year,  next  year,  every  year,  until  the  homes  of 
the  London  poor  cease  to  be  not  only  a  disgrace,  but  a  scourge  to 
the  London  rich.  Think  of  it  for  your  own  sake,  for  your  wife's 
sake,  for  your  children's  sake,  if  not  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  whom 
"  ye  have  always  with  you."  And  let  it  not  be  set  down  against 
you  any  longer,  that  when  the  pestilence  was  coiling  itself  around 
you,  you  feigned  humility  and  penitence ;  you  pretended  to  recog- 
nise your  short-comings,  and  you  promised  the  Almighty  to  remain 
no  longer  neglectful  of  your  duties  to  the  poor ;  but  that  when  He 
listened  to  your  prayers,  and  smote  no  longer,  and  took  the  cup  of 
trembling  out  of  your  hands,  you  forgot  your  promises,  waxed 
proud  and  indolent  again,  and  faring  sumptously  every  day  your- 
self, forgot  that  there  was  hunger  and  nakedness,  fever  and  filth, 
everywhere  around  you,  in  those  vile  dens  and  pestilent  rookeries, 
which,  in  the  daily  life  of  thousands  upon  thousands,  take  the  place 
of  London  Homes. 


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REVIEWS. 

There  and  Back  again  in  search  of  Beauty.     By  James 
Augustus  St.  John.     2  vols.  1853. 

Op  the  principal  books  of  travel,  as  Lady  Tennison^s  and  Mrs. 
Colin  Mackenzie'*s,  we  have  already  spoken  in  detail.  We  must 
not  omit,  however,  to  speak  of  Mr.  St.  John's  very  pleasant 
volumes;  under  the  quaint  title  of  "There  and  Back  again.*** 
The  book  has  many  of  the  characteristics  to  which  we  referred  in 
our  recent  notice  of  Mr.  St.  John's  "  Isis.**  It  is  equally  pictu- 
resque. There  is  the  same  impulsiveness  about  it ;  there  is  the 
same  bright  colouring ;  but  it  is  less  sensuous.  Mr.  St.  John  left 
his  wife  and  children,  and  set  out  from  Lausanne,  by  the  diK- 
gence,  in  "search  of  beauty.'*'  Before  he  is  half  through  his  first 
volume  he  tells  us,  that  he  chanced  upon  a  voung  lady  going  to 
chnrch,  who  called  forth  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  "  OA,  Dio 
santo/^  "  Never,  since  or  before,"  he  says,  "  have  I  seen  beauty 
so  perfect.  No  Madonna  ever  painted  by  Raffaelle,  no  Aphrodite 
ever  sculptured  by  the  Hellenic  chisel  could  equal  it."  After 
this  he  should  have  turned  back ;  he  went  in  search  tpf  beauty, 
and  he  had  found  it  It  is  well,  however,  for  the  reacbr  that  he 
did  not.  Mr.  St.  John  went  on;  and  he  has  given  ^ib*  two  as 
pleasant  volumes  as  we  could  care  to  read  on  the  beach  on  a  Sep- 
tember day.  There  is  altogether  a  dreaminess,  a  delightful  un- 
reality about  the  book  which  pleases  us  greatly.  It  may  all  be 
truth  to  the  letter,  but  it  reads  like  something  more  attractive  than 
plain  matter  of  fact.  At  all  events,  it  is,  as  we  said  of  "  Isis,**  a 
link  between  the  real  and  the  ideal,  and  it  leads  us,  by  no  very 
abrupt  transition,  into  the  legitimate  domains  of  Fiction.. 


Raymond  de  Monthault,  the  Lord  Marcher.    A  Legend  of 
the  Welsh  Borders.    By  the  Rev.  R.  W.  Morgan.    3  vols.  1853. 

Mr.  Morgan's  "  Raymond  de  Monthault "  is  a  "  Legend  of 
the  Welsh  Borders"  during  the  time  of  the  Lord  Marchers, 
and  it  is  a  very  graphic  picture  of  the  period.  But  the  period 
is  one  of  which  we  have  no  great  desire  to  be  thus  vividly  re- 
minded. Mr.  Morgan  candidly  admits, — and  if  he  did  not,  he 
would  have  abundantly  proved, — that  those  good  old  times,  or,  a& 
more  correctly  they  ought  to  be  called,  young  times,  were  exceed- 
ingly bad  limes.  Those  mediaeval  barbarians  were  not  by  any 
means  a  pleasant  race  of  men.  They  had  the  butcher-stamp  upon 
them,  and  smelt  of  the  shambles  much  too  strongly  for  our  taste. 
They  were  thieves  and  murderers  upon  a  large  scale,  and  had 
nothing  better  to  recommend  them  than  physical  hardihood  and 
brute  courage.    Such  as  they  were,  however, 

<*  Content  as  men-at-anns  to  cope 
Each  with  his  fronting  foe,"  ^igi^zed  by  GoOqIc 

VOL.  XXIV.  II 


456  REVIEWS. 

Mr.  Morgan  has  described  them  with  remarkable  power,  and 
what  we  may  at  least  presume  to  be  fidelity.  The  vraisemblance 
at  all  events  is  perfect  There  is  a  rugged  grandeur  about  the 
work  which  appeals  forcibly  to  the  imagination.  There  is  an 
Ossianic  obscurity — a  mistiness — a  remoteness — which  greatly 
enhances  the  effect,  and  makes  it^  in  parts,  almost  sublime.  The 
supernatural  terror  of  the  catastrophe  is  not  out  of  keeping  with 
the  antecedents  of  such  a  work.  The  "  dignus  vindice  nodus  "^  is 
not  to  be  disputed.  If  Mr.  Morgan's  romance  does  not  achieve 
popularity,  it  will  not  be  owing  to  any  want  of  power,  or  any 
want  of  skill  in  his  treatment  of  the  subject.  Time  was  when 
^^  Raymond  de  Monthault"  would  have  made  a  reputation.  Those 
good  Titanic  pictures  of  the  Lord  Marcher  and  Jarl  Bronz  are 
not  unworthy  to  be  hung  up  beside  the  best  of  those  in/^Ivanhoe.** 
But  the  taste  of  the  age  has  changed  since  Scott  wrote  his  fictions, 
and  the  historical  romance  has  well  nigh  lost  its  attractions.  This, 
at  least,  is  our  belief;  and  we  look  with  peculiar  interest  to  the 
result  of  the  present  publication,  as  the  amount  of  success  it 
achieves  will  very  fairly  indicate  the  soundness  or  unsoundness 
of  our  estimate  of  the  popular  taste.  *'  Raymond  de  Monthaulf* 
is  an  historical  romance ;  but  unlike  the  majority  of  these  works, 
the  scenes  which  it  describes  have  been  little  trodden  by  the 
novelist — the  men  and  the  times  are  but  little  known.  There  is 
nothing  hackneyed  or  worn-out  in  it,  as  in  those  oft-repeated 
tales  in  which  the  Raleighs  and  Buckinghams,  the  Rocbesters 
and  Montroses,  the  Marlboroughs  and  Walpoles,  figure  in  such 
wearying  profusion.  It  is  altogether  something  genuine  and  ori- 
ginal, written  with  a  strong  hand  by  one  full  of  bis  subject ;  and 
if  it  does  not  command  an  audience  it  will  not  be,  as  we  have 
said,  for  want  of  intrinsic  merit. 


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ASPEN  COURT, 

AND   WHO   LOST    AND   WHO    WON   IT. 

fSi  tSale  of  out  i&ton  Sdne. 
By  Shirley  Brooks, 

AUTHOR  OF  **lflSS  VIOLET   AND   HER  OFraRS." 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 
SECRETS   COMB   OUT. 

"Confidential  communications  broken  oflF/*  murmured  the 
Earl  to  himself,  as  he  entered  the  room  with  Hehry  Wilmslow* 
**  Our  young  secretary  is  diplomatising  without  his  patron's  leave. 
Well,  Mr.  Carlyon,*'  he  said,  **  how  did  the  Forester  supper  go 
off?  I  was  honoured  with  orders  to  attend,  but  could  not.  I 
hope  the  esteemed  lady  was  hospitable.'' 

*•  More  hospitable  than  Mrs.  Wilmslow,"  said  Carlyon,  who 
tliought  that  Jane  would,  perhaps,  be  glad  to  make  her  escape, — 
"  for  although  I  have  pleaded  my  extreme  need,  I  have  heard  no 
orders  given  for  my  comfort." 

'*  I  am  sure  I  beg  your  pardon,  Bernard,"  said  Mrs.  Wilmslow, 
catching  at  once  her  young  friend's  eye  and  meaning,  and  rising  to 
leave  the  room. 

**  There's  a  bell,  Mrs.  Wilmslow,  I  suppose,"  said  Henry,  with 
a  dictatorial  manner,  intended  to  prevent  her  going. 

"  But  I  have  rung  it  four  times  without  any  result,"  said  Ber- 
nard very  coolly,  and  opening  the  door  for  Jane,  who  went  out 
rather  hastily  under  cover  of  niis  little  bit  of  protection. 

"  A  vision  of  Mr.  Carlyon's  future  triumphs,"  said  Lord  Rook-> 
bury.  "  He  has  opened  his  budget  so  engrossingly  that  dinner  is 
quite  forgotten  in  the  House.  And  how  do  you  get  on  with  the 
religious  and  gracious  Selwyn  ?  Does  he  often  set  you  to  prepare 
Kpricis  of  a  chapter  of  Ezekiel  or  Habakkuk,  by  way  of  practice  ? 
And  is  it  true  that  he  calls  in  all  the  clerks  to  prayers,  before 
sending  out  a  dispatch  ?" 

"  I  should  disgrace  your  recommendation,  my  lord,  if  I  let  out 
official  secrets,"  said  Carlyon,  "  but  I  do  not  know  Uiat  it  will  be 
materially  injurious  to  tbe  public  interests  if  I  admit  that  we  get 
on  very  well.** 

"  He  gives  me  a  very  good  account  of  your  capacities,"  said  the 
Earl, "  and  I  think  that  if  you  would  let  him  convert  you,  he 
would  most  likely  introduce  you  to  a  capital  match,  by  way  of 
proving  that  Providence  takes  care  of  the  believer.  I  would  not, 
were  1  in  your  place,"  added  his  Lordship  significantly,  "  let  any 
trifle  stand  in  the  way  of  my  spiritual  and  temporal  prosperity*" 

*^  Such  a  prize  is  one  of  the  things  which  your  Lordship  likes 

VOL.XXXIY.  Digitized  byGbOgle 


458  ASPEN  COURT. 

to  see  won  by  those  in  whom  you  are  good  enough  to  be  inter- 
ested/' returned  Bernard,  reverting  to  Lord  Rookbury's  hint  given 
him  at  Rookton  Woods. 

"  By  Jove,  I  should  say  so  !  an  heiress  with  a  certainty,''  said 
his  Lordship,  emphasizing  the  last  word,  *^  is  exactly  the  person 
a  young  man  should  look  out  for.  What  do  you  say,  father 
Wilmslow?'' 

"  That's  the  time  of  day,  my  Lord,'*  said  Henry,  on  whom  the 
last  two  or  three  speeches  had,  of  course,  been  lost.  '^  And  these 
lawyers  have  such  opportunities,  looking  into  people's  title-deeds 
and  settlements,  and  knowing  how  the  land  lays." 

"  A  good  shot,  Carlyon,"  said  the  Earl,  looking  hard  at  him. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Bernard  carelessly, "  but  I  have  been  in 
London  so  long  that  I  have  forgotten  all  about  shooting." 

**  And  have  you  forgotten  all  about  the  young  ladies  of  Aspen?"' 
said  the  Earl,  *'  as  I  have  not  heard  you  make  any  inquiries  con-  -* 
ceming  them."    *'Now,"  said   Lord  Rookbury  to  himself,  "he' 
must  reply  that  he  has  heard  all  that  from  their  mamma." 

"  Mr.  Wilmslow  mentioned  to  me,  as  soon  as  I  arrived,  that 
they  were  away  from  home,"  said  Carlyon,  who  saw  that  an 
(claircissement  must  come,  but  also  saw  no  use  in  precipitating  it» 

"  But  did  not  tell  you  that  they  are  staying  at  Rookton  Woods^ 
as  of  course  Mrs.  Wilmslow  did  ?" 

"  Really,"  said  Bernard,  •*  one  almost  needs  some  second  assm*- 
ance  of  that  fact." 

"What  for?"  said  Henry  bluntly.  "Is  there  anything  extra- 
ordinary in  the  Miss  Wilmslows  going  to  visit  his  Lordship,  their 
neighbour  in  the  county,  and  if  I  may  say  so,  my  Lord,  their  father's, 
friend.  I  don't  understand  your  observation,  Mr.  Carlyon,  which 
seems  quite  uncalled  for." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Bernard,  with  much  deference,  "do  not  let 
me  be  misunderstood ;  I  only  meant  that  with  three  such  very 
agreeable  visitors  at  Rookton,  one  felt  surprised  to  meet  Lord 
Rookbury  anywhere  else." 

"There  it  is,  Wilmslow,"  said  his  lordship,  laughing,  "these 
young  fellows  cannot  imagine  it  possible  for  older  men  to  deny 
themselves  the  pleasure  of  the  society  of  women,  even  when  grave 
matters  are  in  question.'* 

"  I  could  not  be  aware  of  these,  my  Lord,  you  know,"  said  Carlyon. 

"  Why,  you  come  and  announce  them,"  said  Lord  Rookbury, 
sharply ;  "  you  tell  us  of  an  emergency,  and  that  Mr.  Molesworth, 
the  great  lawyer,  is  coming  down,  and  that  you  are  torn  from  the 
business  of  your  country  to  help  him,  and  tnen  you  say  that  you 
are  not  aware  of  grave  matters  being  in  question.  Arc  you  not  a 
little  inconsistent,  my  young  diplomat  ?" 

A  little  less  self-possession,  and  the  fiction  Carlyon  had  devised 
for  poor  Jane's  benefit  had  at  once  been  scattered.  But  Bernard 
met  Lord  Rookbury's  suspicious  eye  very  steadily,  and  repKed, 

"  But  may  I  ask  how  my  news,  brought  an  hour  ago,  aided  to 
bring  your  Lordship  from  Rookton  Woods,  which  you  must  have 
left  before  I  even  entered  the  county?" 

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ASFEN   COUBT.  459 

**  He  stands  cross-examining  very  well,**  said  the  Earl,  with  a 
smile.  ^  I  shall  leave  him  to  you,  Wilmslow/*  For  in  truth,  though 
the  keen  old  roan  believed  that  Carlyon  had  con>e  down  on  Mrs. 
Wilmslow^s  request,  be  did  not  wish  to  mortify  Bernard,  whom 
he  liked,  by  pressing  the  point,  and  much  preferred  that  Henry 
ahould  give  the  offence. 

"  Meantime,  as  a  witness  is  entitled  to  refreshment,**  said  Car- 
lyx)n,  "I  will  see  whether  mine  is  in  progress.'*  And  he  left  the 
room,  a  manoeuvre  which  occurred  to  the  Elarl  as  something  like 
that  of  castling,  in  chess,  when,  an  attack  being  prepared,  the 
citadel  itself  suddenly  shifts  its  place. 

"  Your  wife  has  managed  to  send  to  Molesworth,**  said  Lord 
Rookbury,  as  soon  as  the  door  closed,  *•  and  he  has  chosen  to 
get  this  youn^ter  to  come  down  to  reconnoitre.  That  is  the  state 
of  matters,  Wilmslow.** 

"  Curse  his  impudence,**  said  the  Ambassador,  angrily.  "  Don*t 
you  think  I  ought  to  kick  him  out  of  my  house?** 

What  a  mischievous  old  man  that  Lord  was.  Of  course  he  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  of  recommending  any  such  course,  but  he 
knew  that  Wilmslow  was  a  coward,  and  instantly  determined  to 
torment  him. 

**  Your  high  gentlemanly  spirit,**  be  said,  '*  has  pointed  out  the 
proper  course,  as  I  knew  it  would.**  And  as  Henr3r*s  face  grew 
graver  under  this  unexpected  answer.  Lord  Rookbury  quite 
chuckled. 

^  You  think. he  ought  to  be  turned  out?**  said  Mr.  Wilmslow^ 
immediately  softening  the  form  of  proceeding. 

*^  Kicked  out,**  said  the  ruthless  Earl,  **  was  your  first  expression, 
I  think.  And  the  impulses  of  an  aristocratic  nature  like  yours 
may  be  safely  trusted,*^  he  added,  respectfully. 

"  The  only  thing  that  makes  me  hesitate,**  said  Henry,  ^  is  the 
thought  that  be  is  in  some  way,  I  believe,  a  friend  of  your  Lord- 
ship*s.  That  is  the  only  thing,  and  the  respect  I  have  for  you 
would  make  me  suppress  my  natural  indignation,  and  simply  tell 
him — tell  him  in  a  note  perhaps, — that  he  had  better  go  away.** 

"  My  dear  Wilmslow,**  said  the  unhallowed  peer,  getting  up  and 
clasping  the  other*s  hand,  "  I  fully  feel  all  your  delicacy.  But  it 
shall  never  be  said  that  your  friendship  for  Charles,  Earl  of  Rook- 
bury, prevented  the  due  assertion  of  your  honour.  Act,  there- 
fore, as  you  deem  that  honour  dictates.** 

And  the  two  humbugs  stood  for  a  moment  hand  in  hand.  But 
as  Douglas  Jenrold  once  said  of  two  other  people,  if  they  were 
"  rowing  in  the  same  boat**  it  was  with  very  different  sculls. 

"  My  Lord,**  said  Henry,  "my  feeling  tells  me  instantly  to  go 
and  thrust  this  Mr.  Carlyon  out  of  my  doors.  The  only  thing  is 
(*  another  only  thing,*  said  the  Earl  to  himself,  all  the  time  look- 
ing affectionately  at  his  friend)  that  perhaps  we  ought  to  make  it 
quite  clear  that  the  matter  is  as  we  suppose,  which  you  know  we 
can  scarcely  say  we  have  ascertained.  And  then,  you  see,  these 
lawyers  maJce  so  much  o\^t  of  assaults  that  a  gentleman  is  never 
safe  in  acting  as  he  desires.  Does  the  thing  strike  your  Lordship 
inthatlig>t?**  kk2 


460  ASPEN  COURT. 

**Well/^  said  the  Earl,  thoughtfully,  having  amused  himself 
enough;  and  letting  his  victim  fall,  *^  there  is  sense  in  that,  too. 
On  the  whole,  then,  you  think  that  you  had  better  at  present 
abstain  from  any  extreme  course,  and  in  the  meantime  endeavour 
to  elucidate  the  position  of  circumstances/^ 

Long  words  always  charm  long  ears,  and  Henry  Wilmslow  was 
duly  charmed,  and  Carlyon  was  unmolested  at  his  dinner. 

"But  now,  Wilmslow,^'  said  Liord  Rookbury,  "look  here.  Car- 
lyon is  a  mere  interloper,  and  not  entitled  to  interfere  in  your 
adflfairs,  but  Moles  worth  is  in  another  position.  He  has  your  title- 
deeds,  you  tell  me,  and  is  your  creditor  to  a  very  large  amount. 
Have  you  thought  over  your  affairs,  as  you  promised,  and  come  to 
any  sort  of  idea  as  to  what  is  your  debt  to  him  >  ^' 

"  I  have  been  thinking  like  the  very  deuce,"  said  Henry,  "  but 
the  transactions  run  over  so  many  years  that  I  am  fairly  bewildered. 
We  must  have  had  a  precious  deal  of  money  out  of  him,  besides 
his  costs.'* 

"  Have  you  no  account  of  his — did  he  never  give  you  any  ?*' 

"  I  seem  to  think,''  said  Henry,  musing,  "  that  when  we  signed 
those  last  things  he  did  show  me  something. '' 

"  Signed  Mjhat,  signed  when,  signed  where,"  said  the  Earl  quickly; 
*^  You  never  told  me  of  that.  Let 's  hear  all  about  it.  What  were 
they,  eh  ?    That^s  the  main  point." 

"  Well,  if  you  ask  me  that,"  said  Henry,  slowly. 

"  I  do— of  course,"  said  the  impatient  peer. 

"  All  I  can  say  is  that  I  am  hanged  if  I  can  tell  you,"  continued 
Mr.  Wilmslow.  "  Jane  seemed  to  understand  them,  but  I  don't 
know  whether  she  did,  women  are  such  humbugs  and  hypocrites.^* 

"  If  she  did  she  won't  tell  now,"  said  the  Earl,  promptly.  "  But 
confound  you,  man,  you  must  know  whether  the  things  were 
mortgages,  or  settlements,  what  their  general  nature  was.  You 
would  not  be  such  a  preposterous  jackass  as  to  go  and  sign  in  the 
dark." 

"  No,  it  was  not  in  the  dark,"  said  the  literal  Henry,  "  though, 
by  the  way,  the  light  was  not  a  very  good  one,  being  only  a  lamp^ 
with  a  shade  to  it." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Lord  Rookbury,  snatching  at  the  merest  trifle^ 
"  then  you  signed  them  at  night,  after  regular  hours  of  business. 
Who  saw  you  sicn  ? — some  of  his  clerks^  eh  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Wilmslow,  "  I  know  all  of  them,  having  had  to  see 
them  a  good  deal  too  often.  I  think  Molesworth  had  somebody 
upstidrs,  whom  he  called  down  to  witness  our  signing." 

"And  at  night,  too,  but  there  might  be  nothing  m  that,"  pon- 
dered Lord  Rookbury. 

"  Yes,"  said  Henry  Wilmslow,  "  there  was  something  in  it.  I 
have  no  secrets  from  you,  my  Lord,  since  you  have  honoured  me 
with  your  friendship. 

"  Nor  I  any  from  you,  my  dear  fellow,  for  when  one  finds  a 
kindred  spirit,  one  trusts  everything  to  him,"  said  the  Earl,  "  you 
know  I  told  you  only  yesterday,  about  Mother  Carbuncle^  so 
get  on."  ^         T 

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ASPEN   COUET*.  461 

*'  You  did  so,  my  Lord/'  said  Henry,  ^*  and  I  hope  I  ara  worthy 
of  your  confidence.  I  was  going  to  say  that  the  real  reason  why 
this  business  was  transacted  at  night  was  that — that  I,  being  rather 
under  a  cloud,  and  I  may  say  up  a  tree — " 

'^  Deuced  odd  places  for  the  father  of  a  family !  '^  interjaculated  * 
Lord  Rookbury. 

"  Deuced  uncomfortable  ones  !  '^  said  Henry,  shrugging,  "  and  it 
was  rather  the  ticket, for  me  to  be  scarce  until  the  Philistines  had 
shut  up,  you  see/' 

"  Confound  your  slang  I  '*  said  the  hasty  Earl,  speaking  of  course 
with  the  freedom  of  friendship  to  the  man  he  had  just  eulogised. 
^'  You  mean  that  you  were  afraid  to  be  out  in  the  daylight,  because 
of  the  bailiffs  ! '' 

"  Something  of  that  sort,''  said  Henry,  a  little  sulkily,  for  the 
Earl  had  dashed  at  him  like  a  hawk. 

"Don't  mind   my  plain  speaking,  my  dear  Wilmslow,"  said 
Lord  Rookbury,  "  I  must  like  a  man  very  much  indeed  before  I 
frankly  let   him  know  my  mind.     And  this  was  your  condition 
when  you  signed  the  deeds.     When  was  this  ? 
"  Not  long  before  we  came  here," 
**  But,  after  the  decision  which  gave  you  Aspen  Court  r" 
"  Certainly,  certainly,  my  Lord.      I  remember  there  was  some- 
thing about  Aspen  Court  in  the  deeds." 

"I'll  be  bound  there  was,"  said  the  Earl.  "Tell  me,  Wilms- 
low, did  Molesworth  give  you  any  money  then  ? 

"  Yes,"  said  Henry,  "  then,  and  about  that  time,  we  had  a 
pretty  lump,  but  I  forget  the  amount."  He  did  not  forget  the  grand 
Ambassadorial  Cloak,  with  sables,  though,  which  took  the  money 
that  was  to  have  bought  clothes  for  his  girls,  and  a  good  deal 
more,  or  the  billiard-table,  Lester  Squarr. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Earl  to  himself,  "  this  is  what  Selwyn  would 
call  a  clear  manifestation  of  Providence  in  my  behalf.  By  mere 
accident  that  abominable  donkey  has  let  slip  out  a  very  important 
fact.  The  getting  hold  of  Aspen  Court  may  be  much  more 
difficult  than  I  had  imagined.  I  almost  wish  I  had  let  Miss 
Emma  alone  until  I  saw  my  way  clearer — however,  there's  no 
great  harm  done.  By  the  way,  ha !  I  say,  Wilmslow,"  he  said 
suddenly,  "let's  go  and  talk  to  Carlyon — that  is,  if  you  have  no 
insuperable  aversion." 

^^  What  you  can  do,  my  Lord  "  said  Henry,  unconscious  of  any 
sarcasm  in  what  he  uttered,  "  I  may  surely  do.  He  is,  I  dare  say, 
upstairs,  in  what  my  wife  calls  the  library,  because  she  has  no 
books,  ha!  ha  !"  ♦ 

"  No  news  of  Mr.  Molesworth  yet,"  asked  Lord  Rookbury,  as 
he  came  in,  followed,  of  course,  by  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  None,"  said  Bernard,  "  But  he  has  a  wonderful  knack  of 
always  turning  up  at  the  right  time." 

"  Very  pleasant,"  said  the  Earl,  "  especially  if  he  turns  up  a 
trump,  as  no  doubt  we  shall  find  him.    What  do  you  say,  Mrs. 
Wilmslow?" 
"We  found  Mr.  Molesworth  a  kind  friend  in  our  small  troubles," 

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462  A8PBX  COUBT. 

said  Jane,  meekly,  ^^and  a  successful  champion  in  our  large  onea^ 
But  what  a  man  will  be  at  the  last,  I  am  afraid  we  most  wait  for 
the  last  to  know/' 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  bad  reason  to  doubt  him/'  said  the  Sari, 
with  that  happy  manner,  evincing  interest  but  avoiding  introsion, 
which  he  had  studied  so  carefully,  and  found  so  useful,  especi- 
ally with  women  of  the  best  class. 

"Ah,  no,*'  said  poor  Jane,  "  my  days  for  ^trusting  or  doubtiii|^ 
are  pretty  well  done."  And  her  eyes  glistened,  but  she  affected 
to  busy  herself  about  some  household  trifle,  and  concealed  her 
agitation. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Carlyon,  what  can  you  have  been  saying  to  Mrs. 
Wilmslow  to  make  her  so  melancholy  ?"  said  Lord  Rookbury. 
^^  You  are  a  nice  person  to  enliven  the  Bower  of  Beauty,  as  we  used 
to  call  a  lady's  room,  in  my  younger  days." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Bernard,  ^'  I  almost  venture  to  hope 
that  I  have  talked  Mrs.  Wilmslow  into  something  like  cheerful- 


"  You  have  brought  her  some  good  news,  then  ?  Of  course  I 
must  not  ask  what  they  are,  but  perhaps  her  husband  may." 

"  Certainly,  I  have  a  right  to  hear  them,"  said  Wilmslow. 

"  Why  no,"  said  Carlyon,  who  determined  to  meet  the  inquisi- 
torial tendencies  of  Lord  Rookbury's  conversation  as  quietly  as 
possible,  '^  I  had  nothing  so  dignified  as  news  to  tell,  but  I  tried 
to  make  some  London  gossip  acceptable — not  a  very  easy  task^ 
for  Mrs.  Wilmslow  does  not  much  care  for  such  things,  but  she 
has  been  so  good  as  to  listen,  and  I  think  to  laugh.  What  an 
excellent  look-out  these  windows  give — almost  the  best  in  the 
line." 

"  Ask  Mrs.  Wilmslow  to  give  you  the  room,  when  she  gives  you 
Miss  Kate,"  said  Lord  Rookbury,  jerking  the  startling  speech  into 
the  middle  of  the  group,  like  a  shell. 

It  hit  the  three  others  very  suddenly  and  very  hard.  They  all 
three  sat  for  a  moment,  as  if  nothing  had  been  said,  and  then  the 
shell  exploded.  Carlyon  blushed  to  the  very  eyes  with  a  mixed 
feeling,  in  which,  however,  anger  was  a  large  component.'  Mrs, 
Wilmslow  experienced  a  choking  sensation  which  perhaps  prevented 
her  from  quite  knowing  at  the  instant  what  hurt  she  felt.  While 
the  coarser  nature  of  Wilmslow  received  its  shock  of  surprise,  and 
immediately  broke  out.  He  began  of  course,  with  an  oath,  and 
proceeded — 

**  Give  him  Miss  Kate !  your  Lordship  is  joking.  But  by  — , 
if  I  thought  that  my  wife  had  been  encouraging  the  young  gentle- 
man in  any  such  d — d  idea,  I'd  ."     He  clenched  his   fist 

and  ground  his  teeth,  his  oratorical  resources  not  supplying  him  oa 
the  instant  with  a  threat  of  sufficient  terror.  Lord  Rookbury 
smiled  to  see  how  instinctively  Wilmslow's  rage  walked  away  from 
the  two  men,  and  settled  upon  his  helpless  wife*  Wilmslow  was 
a  worthy  Ejiglishman,  as  police  reports  go. 

Carlyon  was  the  next  to  speak,  and,  in  the  confusion  of  ideas 
which  followed  the  Earl's  remark,  his  mind  snatched  at  the  first 


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ASP£N  COUBT,  46S 

one  which  offered,  and  which  was  idmost  fcM'ced  npoa  him  hf 
Wilmslow. 

"  The  young  gentleman,  Mr.  WiUnslow,''  he  said,  haughtilj, 
^^  is  not  in  the  habit  .of  accepting  any  encouragement  which  can 
expose  the  person  who  gives  it  to  insult  and  brutality.  I  don^'t 
suppose  that  you  can  understand  how  offensive  your  speech  is, 
and  certainly  it  is  not  in  Mrs.  Wilmslow's  presence  that  I  can 
reply  to  it  as  it  deserves.  But  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
imagine  that  I  have  said  to  you  exactly  what  you  would  least 
like  to  hear,  you  will  much  oblige  me.^ 

Henry^s  wrath  had  been  such  a  mere  impulse  that  it  speedily 
slunk  away  from  its  duty  of  sustaining  him  in  the  face  of  a 
counter-onslaught.  But  still,  under  the  eyes  of  his  wife  and  his 
patron,  a  man  must  show  some  fight,  and  Wilmslow  felt  himself 
bound  to  bluster  out  something  about  infernal  mistakes,  and 
people  forgetting  their  position,  and  the  desirabihty  of  Mr. 
Bernard  Carlyon's  walking  off  with  himself.  Bat  then  the 
woman's  turn  came,  and,  as  usual,  the  male  and  superior  crea- 
tures hud  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  the  figures  they  made  in  con- 
trast. 

"  Bernard,**  she  said,  *^  for  my  sake  you  will  do  as  you  have 
before  done  in  this  unhappy  house.  You  will  refrain  from  angry 
words.  But  I  do  ask  you  to  speak,  and  in  full  confidence  in  your 
honour,  I  beg  you  to  say,  not  to  Lord  Rookbury,  and  to  Mr. 
Wilmslow,  bat  to  a  mother  whose  heart  is  nearly  breaking, 
whether  there  has  ever  passed,  between  yourself  and  my  child, 
one  word  which  could  found  the  implication  his  Lordship  has 
chosen  to  make.  Look  in  my  face,  Bernard,  and  answer 
me.** 

She  raised  those  blue  eyes,  sadly,  but  trustfully,  and  awaited 
his  reply. 

"  Not  one,**  he  said,  with  great  earnestness.  What  was  there 
lurking  at  the  young  man*s  conscience  which  told  him  at  that 
moment  that  solemnly  as  he  spoke,  his  voice  fell  upon  his  own 
ear  with  some  short-coming  ?  That  he  spoke  the  truth,  yet  that  it 
needed  some  irresistible  confirmation  ?  Was  it  a  weakness,  or  a 
merit,  that  looking  into  that  troubled  mother*8  face,  he  determined 
to  give  that  confirmation,  though  it  was  the  yielding  up  a  secret 
he  would  gladly  have  kept  ?  A  moment  sufficed  for  the  doubt 
and  the  decision,  and  then  he  added — (count  it  in  his  favour — he 
often  goes  wrong). 

^*  And  although  an  unjustifiable  speech  ought  not  to  compel 
me  to  say  more,  it  is  to  you,  and  for  your  sake,  dear  Mrs. 
Wilmslow,  that  I  will  say  one  other  word.  My  affections  have 
very  long  been  placed  in  the  keeping  of  one  whom  you  never 
saw,  and — ^** 

She  would  not  let  him  finish,  but  took  both  his  hands,  held 
them  for  a  moment,  and  then  dropfung  them,  sank  upon  a 
couch  and  wept  outright.  But  I  do  not  believe  that  her  tears 
were  those  of  sorrow,  but  that  if  we  could  search  into  the  mysteries 
of  a  mother's  love,  her  heart  was  reviving,  after  a  harsh  and 
sudden  shock,  and  was  rejoicing  that  a  child's  confidence  had  not 


464  ASPEN  COURT. 

been  stolen  away  from  her.  I  think  that  Jane  Wilmslow  had 
suffered  too  much  of  mere  insult  and  outrage  in  her  time  to  feel 
the  ordinary  indignation  which  Lord  Rookbury's  speech  would 
have  called  up  in  a  mother  untried  by  the  insults  of  a  marriage 
with  a  man  who  had  been  "  a  little  too  gay.*' 

It  was  now  Lord  Rookbury's  turn,  and  if  anybody  who  reads 
this  story  could  have  seen  that  old  man's  face^  the  kindliness,  and 
the  appearance  of  being  himself  a  good  deal  hurt,  and  the  desire  to 
make  all  right  and  comfortable,  we  should  get  very  little  credit  for 
anything  we  may  hereafter  have  to  say  against  him. 

He  could  not  tell  them  how  he  regretted  his  having  been  be- 
trayed into  a  speech  which  had  given  pain.  He  solemnly  assured 
them  that  it  arose  from  a  certain  misunderstanding  on  his  part^ 
which  he  now  clearly  saw,  and  he  wondered  how  he  could  have  so 
far  blundered.  But  the  manly  and  spirited  conduct  of  his  young 
friend,  Mr.  Carlyon,  must  have  raised  him  in  the  estimation  of 
them  all,  and  he  could  not  help  adding — even  though  his  doing  so 
involved  a  little  revelation  on  his  part,  for  which  Mr.  Carlyon  was 
doubtless  not  prepared,  that  he  had  a  right  to  regret  an  engage- 
ment which  put  an  end  to  his  hopes  of  calling  that  gentleman  his 
brother-in-law. 

Now,  thought  his  Lordship,  ending  with  a  sweet  smile,  let  us  see 
whether  she  has  told  him.  But  Carlyon's  attention  was  turned 
upon  Jane,  who  became  very  pale  at  Lord  Rookbury's  last  words^ 
and  seemed  to  keep  herself  from  fainting  by  a  strong  effort. 

*^  Some  water,'*  he  said,  darting  to  the  bell,  and  pulling  violently, 
A  moment  or  two,  and  he  repeated  his  effort,  but  no  servant  ap- 
peared.    Dusk  was  coming  on. 

"  O,  by  George,''  said  Henry  Wilmslow,  glad  of  an  excyise  for 
resuming  peaceful  relations,  "  you  may  pull  the  house  down,  but 
you  will  get  no  hearing.  There 's  a  fight  out  by  Bogley  Bottom, 
and  one  of  the  fellows  is  cousin  to  our  servant  girls.  I  '11  lay  my 
head  the  sluts  have  run  off  to  know  how  the  affair  has  gone.  I 
should  have  gone  myself  but  for  his  Lordship  being  here." 
Lord  Rookbury  sprang  up  witn  a  boy's  agility. 
"  Bogley  Bottom,"  he  said,  with  something  almost  amounting 
to  agitation.  "  I  '11 — no,  no.  Here,  Carlyon.  Come  here,  man,'^ 
he  said,  stamping.     "  See  to  your  wife,  Wilmslow." 

His  gestures  were  so  sudden  and  imperative,  that  Bernard 
felt  they  ought  to  be  obeyed.  He  crossed  the  room  to  Lord 
Rookbury,  who  dragged  him  from  it  by  the  arm,  and  when  in  the 
passage,  said  a  few  hasty  words,  which  instantly  threw  Carlyon 
mto  a  still  fiercer  excitement.  He  broke  from  Lord  Rookbury's 
hold,  and  rushed  to  the  stair-head. 

"  Stay,  stay— one  moment — ^you  '11  save  time  by  it !  My  horse, 
one  in   a  million,  is  in  the  stable  here.    Take  him,  and  ride 

like ." 

It  was  a  strong  comparison,  no  doubt,  but  Carlyon  did  not  hear 
it — for,  with  a  word  of  assent,  he  fled  down  the  stairs,  and  in  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  Lord  Rookbury  heard  the  clatter  of 
well-known  hoofs,  as  a  reckless  horseman  dashed  away  from  Aspen 
Court.  /^         1 

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ASFEN   COURT.  465 


CHAP.  XXIX. 

THE  OWL  SETS   A   TRAP. 


Nothing  could  be  much  simpler  or  more  straightforward  than  the 
process  by  which  the  three  young  ladies  of  Aspen  became  the  in* 
voluntary  guests  of  the  lord  of  Rookton  Woods.  As  Mrs.  Wilm- 
slow  has  said^  their  papa,  driving  round  to  the  door  in  a  phaeton 
lent  him  by  the  obliging  Earl,  invited  them  to  take  a  long  round 
with  him,  and,  being  dutiful  daughters,  Emma,  Kate,  and  Amy 
were  speedily  hatted  and  jacketted,  and  packed  into  the  carriage. 
The  Ambassador,  who  had  previously  made  himself  acquainted  with 
the  road,  drove  straight  for  Rookton,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  the 
girls,  who  had  not  previously  been  taken  across  the  country,  that 
they  were  at  the  door  of  Lord  Rookbury^s  mansion,  until  the 
noble  owner  himself,  who  had  been  watching  their  progress  round 
the  curve  of  the  road,  (and,  it  may  be  added,  denouncing  Mr. 
Wilmslow  as  a  snob  for  driving  with  a  large  and  swaggering  ges- 
ture, which  the  latter  considered  magnificently  aristocratic,)  came 
out  to  hand  them  from  the  vehicle.  Then,  as  the  truth  flashed 
npon  them,  there  they  were,  and  what  were  they  to  do  ?  If  they 
or  Mrs.  Wilmslow  had  suspected  the  object  of  their  journey,  of 
course,  despite  their  duty  to  their  sire,  they  would  have  invoked 
the  mild  headaches,  and  slight  faintnesses,  and  gentle  shiverings, 
or  some  other  of  the  serviceable  little  ailments  which  good  fairies 
send  to  the  help  of  good  young  people  who  are  asked  to  go  any- 
where against  their  incUnations,  but  it  was  too  late  to  think  of  this 
now.  And  as  the  Earl  of  Rookbury,  with  the  most  gentle  and 
gentlemanly  manner  in  the  world,  came  out  to  welcome  them,  and 
thanked  them  for  taking  him  by  surprise,  (an  old  hypocrite  !)  and 
led  them  through  his  hall,  just  indicating  his  beautiful  Canovas  as 
things  which  he  must  show  them  when  they  came  out,  it  was  dif- 
ficult for  the  girls  to  feel  any  prolonged  embarrassment.  Lord 
Rookbury  had  learned,  ages  before,  the  art  of  placing  people  at 
their  ease  when  it  suited  him  to  do  so,  and  it  suited  him  just 
then,  very  particularly.  They  had  their  father  with  them,  too, 
which  was  something  after  all,  bad  style  of  father  as  he  was.  If 
they  had  noticed  the  intense  contempt  which,  for  one  second.  Lord 
Rookbury  concentrated  into  a  glance  at  Henry  Wilmslow,  as  the 
latter,  in  his  false  and  made  voice,  desired  that  the  carriage  might  be 
brought  round  again  in  an  hour,  the  poor  girls  might  have  had  their 
filial  instincts  unpleasantly  quickened. 

For  reasons  of  his  own,  I  suppose,  the  Earl  did  not  conduct  his 
visitors  through  his  house  by  the  usual  route,  but  ordering  lunch, 
he  led  them  in  and  out  among  the  labyrinths  of  which  mention 
was  made  a  long  time  ago,  and  in  each  room  he  seemed  rather  bent 
upon  directing  their  attention  to  some  single  object,  than  upon 
making  them  understand  the  plan  of  the  mansion.  Still,  he  did  all 
with  so  little  effort,  that  Emma  and  her  sisters  could  hardly  no- 
tice that  they  were  rather  hurried  from  point  to  poin|;.    They 

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466  ASPSH  COURT. 

saw  the  gallery,  and  the  library,  and  the  conservatory;  and  then. 
lunch  was  announced,  and  the  Earl  took  them  up  stairs  by  a  iight 
of  stone  steps  from  the  latter  to  tbe  drawing-room  floor,  whence 
crossing  two  or  three  passages,  they  came  to  a  charming  circular 
room,  furnished  with  great  elegance,  and  lighted  only  from  above. 
The  Rookton  Woods  servants  must  have  been  quick  as  well  as 
tasteful,  the  round  table  being  beautifully  set  out  with  flowers,  and 
silver,  fruit,  and  cut  glass, — the  pleasaotest  mixture  of  colour 
and  glitter. 

*'  O,  what  a  pretty  roomP'  said  Amy;  *^  1  feel  as  if  I  was  iaside 
a  kaleidoscope/' 

^^Very  weiy  said  the  Earl,  smiling,  ^and  we  will  turn  tbe 
kaleidoscope  for  you/'  And  placing  his  hand  to  the  wall,  a  con* 
trivance,  which  escaped  the  eye,  apparently  gave  motion  to  some 
outside  cylinder,  the  central  portion  of  each  of  the  brightly  painted 
panels  slid  away,  and  rose-coloured  glass  took  their  place.  The 
light  was  then  the  most  charming  that  ever  broke  upon  one  in  a 
dream  of  fairy-land, — or  at  the  end  of  one  of  Mr.  Planche's  ac- 
credited reveUtions  from  those  parts. 

^  Do  you  like  that  better  i'^  asked  Lord  Rookbury. 
^'No,''   said   Kate,   ^^but   I   should  like  to  know  how  it  is 
managed." 

^^  I  will  show  you  presently,'*  replied  tlie  Earl :  "  but  why  do  yom 
not  think  it  an  improvement  ?'' 

*^  I  think  the  first  arrangement  was  in  modi  better  taste,''  said 
Kate ;  "  besides,  we  lose  the  efiect  of  those  beautifully  painted 
walls,  which  I  suppose  are  copies  from  PompeiL" 

*'  They  are,"  said  the  Earl,  '^  and  I  see  you  are  a  critic  of  the 
first  force,  so  we  will  leave  things  as  they  were."  And  again 
touching  the  machinery,  the  panels  resumed  their  former  position, 
and  the  soft  light  came  down  from  above  upon  the  exquisite  com- 
binations and  colours  of  the  old  Pompeian  artists,  upon  which  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  discourse,  but  needless,  as  they  are  already 
reproduced  among  the  choicest  marvels  of  Sydenham  Palace, 
Paxtonia." 

*^  And  now  for  lunch,"  said  Lord  Rookbury.  "  If  I  had  known 
that  your  papa  was  going  to  be  so  very  kind  as  to  bring  you  to 
see  me,  we  would  have  had  all  sorts  of  nice  things,  for  my  confec- 
tioner, M.  Meringue,  has  his  talents,  and  will  break  his  heart  at 
finding  what  a  chance  of  appreciation  he  has  missed ;  you  roust 
promise  him  another.  Wilmslow,  we  are  like  John  o'  Groat 
here ;  there  is  no  top  or  bottom  to  our  table,  but  every  body  is  at 
the  head.  Amy,  sit  near  me.  Miss  Wilmslow  will  perhaps  take 
care  of  her  papa,  and  the  critic  will  cut  up  that  pdti  with  her 
usual  discrimination." 

^  I  wish  we  had  a  round  room  at  Aspen,"  said  Amy.  ''I  like 
round  rooms  because,  you  see,  there  are  no  comers  for  the  ghosts 
to  hide  in." 

^^  Don't  talk  such  cursed  stuff,"  said  her  papa,  angrily. 
*^Nay,  nay,"  interposed  the  Earl,  "I  think  she  is  perfectly 
right,  and  that  it  is  a  great  advantage,  and,  if  she  likes,  we  will 

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ASFSK  comet.  tff 

manage  to  build  ber  a  room  at  Aspen^  one  of  these  days,  in  the 
shape  she  prefers.^' 

**  It's  very  good  of  you  to  apologise  for  her,  my  Lord,'*  said  Mr. 
Wilmslow,  ^^  but  it  makes  one  sick  to  hear  a  girl  talk  such  infernal 
rubbish/'  he  added,  ivith  a  scowl  at  poor  Amy. 

'^  That 's  Chablis  next  you — drown  your  sensations,^'  said  the 
£arl,  in  a  sneering  voice.  For  to  do  him  justice,  he  hated  to  hear 
any  feminine  thing  spoken  coarsely  to — unless  there  were  satis- 
factory reasons  for  it,  in  which  case  his  Lordship  would  have 
abused  any  imaginable  Ophelia  as  deliberately  as  does  Hamlet 
himsel£ 

The  young  ladies  did  some  little  justice  to  the  Earl's  arrange- 
ments, and  Henry  Wilmalow  did  a  good  deal,  remarking  that  a 
spread  like  that  did  not  come  every  blue  moon,  and  Lord  Rook- 
bury  left  the  room  before  hb  omnivorous  guest  had  completed  his 
refection. 

*^  In  for  a  good  thing,  girls,"  said  Wilmslow>  with  his  mouth 
full,  as  the  Earl  closed  the  door.  ^<  Wouldn't  you  rather  be  here 
for  a  month  than  a  week  T" 

"  It  is  a  long  drive  home,  papa,"  said  Emma,  beginning  to  ad- 
just herself  for  departure. 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  "  demanded  her  father. 
^^  I  suppose  we  had  better  go  as  soon  as  Lord  Rookbury  comes 
back,"  urged  Emnoa. 

^^  I  suppose  you  will  go  just  when  I  please,  and  not  before,"  re- 
torted Mr.  Wilmslow. 

'^  Only  mamma  will  wonder  what  has  become  of  us,"  suggested 
Kate,  gently. 

"Let  her  wonder,"  replied  Henry  Wilmslow,  taking  a  large 
glass  of  wine.  He  seemed  trying  to  work  himself  up  into  a 
passion,  in  order  to  gain  resolution.  The  girls  continued  their 
preparations,  but  still  Lord  Rookbury  returned  not.  They  looked 
at  one  another,  and  their  father  went  on  filling  and  emptying  his 
glass.     Half  an  hour  passed,  and  still  no  Earl. 

"  How  very  odd  that  he  should  stay  away  ! "  said  Kate. 
"  Not  odd  at  all,"  said  Mr.  WUmslow.  "  What  the  devil  do 
you  mean  by  odd  ?  A  gentleman,  and  above  all  a  nobleman,  has  a 
right  to  do  as  he  likes  in  his  own  house,  I  should  suppose,  without 
being  called  to  account.  I  am  d — d  if  I  ever  h^d  a  more  in- 
sulting observation." 

"I  had  no  intention  of  being  insulting,  papa,"  said  Kate, 
quietly. 

"  Don't  tell  a  lie,  for  you  had,"  said  Wilmslow,  savagely,  but  yet 
not  caring  to  meet  the  child's  eye.  "  Insulting  hord  Rookbury, 
as  my  friend,  and  me  also,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  stand  it,  either 
from  you  or  anybody  else.  I  know  who  has  taught  you  to  do  it 
and  set  you  against  his  Lordship,  and  I'll  let  her  know  I  do  before 
long ;  but  as  for  you,  just  mind  what  you  're  after,  that 's  all."  And 
with  a  furious  gesture,  half  his  fury  being  sham,  he  gulped  down 
another  glass  of  wine,  spilling  some  of  it  over  his  dress  in  the  way, 
an  accident  which  helped  his  temper  to  the  desired  pitch,  especially 

Digitized  by  ^ 


468  ASPEN  CX>UBT. 

as  he  detected  a  little  smile  on  Amy's  face.  He  swore  an  oath 
which  need  not  be  written  down,  and  demanded  what  in  the  name 
of  the  worst  of  all  places  she  meant  by  sitting  there  grinning  at 
him. 

"  Why,  papa/'  said  Amy,  outspoken  as  usual,  *'  you  did  look 
very  funny  with  the  wine  running  from  both  comers  of  your 
mouth.'* 

"  Come  here,  Miss,"  replied  her  father,  doggedly.  The  wine,  to 
which  he  was  little  accustomed,  was  working  with  his  coarse 
nature,  and  the  fictitious  excitement  was  giving  way  to  a  real  one* 

Poor  little  Amv  turned  rather  pale  at  the  tone  in  which  he 
spoke,  but  nevertheless  sprang  to  his  side  with  an  alacrity  which 
should  have  disarmed  any  irritation.  He  gave  her  a  violent  slap 
on  the  face. 

"Take  that,"  he  said,  spitefully,  **and  now  see  if  you  find  any- 
thing to  laugh  at  in  your  own  face.  You'll  laugh  on  the  wrong 
side  of  your  mouth,  I  fancy,  this  time." 

Amy  did  not  cry — she  even  stood  patiently,  for  a  moment,  as  if 
waiting  the  pleasure  of  her  parent  to  deal  her  another  blow.  But 
Emma's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  Kate,  who  was  by  Amy's  side 
in  an  instant,  drew  her  away,  and  placed  her  in  Emma's  arms. 
Then  the  little  thing  began  to  sob  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  How  dare  you  commit  that  piece  of  impudence ! "  roared 
Wilmslow  to,  or  rather  at  Kate.  "  Bring  her  back  here — here — 
this  instant,  or,  by  G —  Fll  serve  you  the  same." 

'^  I  would  rather  you  struck  me  than  Amy,  papa,"  said  Kate, 
in  a  steady  voice,  "  because  Amy  has  been  ill." 

^*  Bring  her  here,  I  say,"  stormed  Wilmslow,  thumping  upon 
the  table, "  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you." 

"  Let  me  go  to  him,  Emmy,"  said  Amy,  her  eyes  streaming  and 
trying  to  extricate  herself  from  her  sister's  affectionate  clutch ; 
^^  he  may  kill  me  if  he  likes.  I  am  not  to  live  very  long,  and  it  is 
no  matter.     Let  me  go,  there's  a  darling." 

"  I  will  not,"  said  Emma  in  a  low  voice,  but  it  reached  Wilms- 
low. 

"  What's  that!"  he  shouted,  his  vile  passion  now  excited  beyond 
control.  He  rose  and  was  on  the  point  of  striding  across  to  the 
couch  on  which  Emma  sat,  embracing  Amy,  when  Kate  said,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm, 

"  Papa  !  Lord  Rookbury  is  watching  you." 

The  words  checked  him  in  an  instant.  He  looked  all  round  the 
room,  as  he  forced  his  inflamed  features  into  a  sort  of  smile  with 
which  to  greet  his  patron.  Lord  Rookbury  was  not  there.  But, 
following  Kate's  eye,  Wilmslow  saw  that  it  was  fixed  upon  a  por- 
tion of  the  ornamental  painting  on  the  wall.  He  could  see  nothing 
else,  but  instantly  gave  the  Earl  credit  for  having  some  spy  con- 
trivance which  Kate  had  detected.  And  the  reader  will  probably 
be  of  the  same  opinion.  Yet  it  happened  that  the  case  was  not 
so — the  idea  had  started  to  the  poor  girl's  brain  in  the  extremity 
o£  her  terror  lest  her  sister  should  be  maltreated,  and  she  hazarded 


Digitized  by 


Google 


ASPEN   COURT.  469 

it  as  a  last  chance.    Lord  Rookbury  was  a  couple  of  miles  irom 
the  house. 

*'  And  if  he  is/'  said  Henry,  with  an  effort,  bringing  his  angry 
husky  voice  to  a  laboured  jocularity  of  tone  "  what  *s  the  odds  ?  '* 
He  crossed  to  Amy,  and  taking  her  from  Emma,  who  instantly 
saw  that  all  peril  was  over,  gave  her  an  awkward  hug  or  two,  and 
told  her  not  to  cry — he  could  not  have  hurt  her. 

^'  The  hurt 's  nothing  **  sobbed  Amy,  whose  crimsoned  cheek, 
however,  showed  that  the  blow  had  been  a  severe  one,  "but  I 
hoped — I  hoped — you  had  got  out  of  the  way  of  striking  pers — 
persons,  since  you  came  to  Aspen,  and  that  I'm  afraid — you'll 
— you  '11  strike  mamma^  as  you  used  to  do." 

This  frank  declaration  might  have  proved  unlucky  for  the 
speaker,  but  Kate  retained  her  advantage,  and  by  another  look  to 
the  wall  (an  acted  lie,  Miss  Katherine  Wilmslow,  and,  I  suppose, 
a  sin)  continued  to  intimate  that  another  eye  was  upon  them. 

"  Nonsense,  child,  nonsense,"  said  Henry,  "  you  must  have 
been  dreaming.  Dry  your  eyes,  while  I  go  and  see  what  the  Earl 
is  about."  And  he  left  the  room,  and  (for  we  may  as  well  dispose 
of  him  at  once)  went  in  search  of  his  patron.  After  he  had  wan- 
dered about  the  house  for  some  time,  Jameson  came  to  him  with 
a  message  from  Lord  Rookbury,  in  obedience  to  which  Mr.  Wilms- 
low, with  much  alacrity,  made  eait  from  Rookton  Woods  without 
further  leave-taking. 

For  some  time  after  his  departure  Emma  and  Kate  naturally 
occupied  themselves  with  consoling  their  sister,  and  deploring  the 
condition  into  which  their  respectable  parent  had  brought  himself. 
But  as  time  wore  on,  and  there  were  no  signs  of  his  return,  or  the 
EarFs,  the  young  ladies  began  to  grow  uneasy,  and  at  last  agreed 
to  send  a  servant  to  their  papa.  This  was  a  sensible  resolve,  but 
not  fated  to  be  carried  into  effect,  for  all  their  researches  could  not 
detect  a  bell-handle  in  the  circular  room.  But,  they  argued,  there 
must  be  a  bell  somewhere  in  the  house,  and  Kate  undertook  the 
discovery.  Her  travel  was  brief.  The  door  of  the  room  opened 
to  her  hand,  but  that  of  the  passage  which  led  from  the  gallery  to 
the  apartment  they  occupied  was  fastened  from  without.  They 
were  prisoners. 

Then  they  almost  began  to  be  frightened.  Still,  Kate  and 
Emma  had  plenty  of  sense ;  and  it  speedily  occurred  to  them, 
that  their  father,  in  going  out,  had  secured  the  door  by  mistake, 
or  in  caprice,  and  must  release  them  in  due  time.  Amy,  however, 
was  by  no  means  so  easily  calmed,  and  grew  hysterical,  and  inti- 
mated her  belief  that  they  had  been  lured  into  a  dreadful  tower, 
and  were  to  be  starved  to  death,  and  stay  there  until  they  became 
skeletons.  And  the  child  dwelt  upon  the  word,  and  repeated  it  in 
a  way  which  had  a  painful  significance  for  her  sisters. 

Kate  grew  indignant,  and  determined  to  clatter  at  the  outside 
door  until  she  attracted  somebody's  attention.  But  on  trying  it 
she  found  that  she  could  make  very  little  noise,  the  door  being 
thickly  padded,  obviously  that  the  chamber  to  which  it  led  might 
be  as  quiet — even  when  the  house  should  be  full  of  visitors — asjitft 

^  Digitized  byVl^OOgle 


470  ASPEN  comrn 

wayward  proprietor  conld  desire.  She  gave  up  the  idea  in  despair, 
and  her  next  was  to  seek  for  the  machinery  by  which  the  Eaii 
had  shown  the  rose-coloured  windows^ 

"  I  know  whereabouts  the  contrivance  liw,*'  she  said,  '*  for  when 
Lord  Bookbury  touched  it  the  second  time,  I  laid  my  fork  in  the 
direction  to  which  his  hand  went.  Let  me  see — where  was  I 
sitting?'* 

And  Kate  proceeded  to  fix  upon  a  spot  in  the  wall  where  she 
was  certain  the  handle,  or  spring,  was  placed.  But  all  her  re- 
searches failed  to  discover  it. 

"  If  you  found  it,  dear,  there  would  be  no  use,'*  said  Erams^ 
"  for  I  noticed  that  the  windows  did  not  open.*' 

"  They  would  break,  I  suppose,'*  said  the  energetic  second  child 
of  the  house  of  Aspen.  "  However,  if  we  cannot  make  ourselves 
heard,  I  suppose  we  can  only  wait  in  patience.'*  And  they  did 
wait,  beguiling  the  time  with  conjectures,  and  with  assurances  to 
Amy  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  their  having  been  left  there 
to  perish.     Perhaps  papa  had  gone  to  sleep  oflF  the  wine. 

Evening,  however,  drew  on,  and  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  fell 
upon  one  side  of  the  dome-light  glass  roof  of  the  room.  The 
girls  became  weary  and  silent,  and  poor  Amy  actually  subsided 
into  a  disquiet  sleep,  ruffled  by  start  and  sob.  Dusk  approached^ 
but,  just  as  the  room  was  growing  gloomy,  a  figure  entered  it. 
Kate  sprang  to  her  feet  in  an  instant,  but  there  was  no  great 
cause  for  alarm.  Their  visitor  was  an  exceedingly  respectable  and 
respectful  looking  female  servant,  of  a  superior  order,  who  b^ged 
to  know  whether  she  might  attend  the  young  ladies  to  their 
rooms. 

**  Our  rooms  !"  said  Kate,  astonished.  "  Pray  where  is  papa — 
Mr.  Wilmslow  ?  Will  you  please  to  ask  him  to  come  to  us  di- 
rectly, or  show  us  where  he  is  ? " 

^^  He  has  gone  out  with  my  Lord,  Miss,  but  his  directions  were 
that  I  was  to  attend  you,  and  see  that  you  had  everything  you 
wished  for.** 

**  A  strange  time  to  go  out,  in  the  country,**  said  Kate.  "  Did 
you  understand  when  he  would  return  ?'* 

'^  He  did  i\ot  say.  Miss ;  but  Jameson  mentioned  something 
about  a  late  breakfast  to-morrow,  so  he  is  probably  coming  over 
in  the  morning.** 

"  Leaving  us  here  for  the  night,**  exclaimed  the  two  girls  5  and 
Amy,  awakened  by  the  voices,  sat  up,  and  gazed  wildly  about 
er. 

^^Whati//  mamma  tiiink  has  become  of  us?**  said  Emma, 
piteously. 

''Your  mamma,  Miss?^  said  the  female,  as  if  taking  a  cue. 
"  Mr.  Wilmslow  wrote  her  a  letter,  and  it  has  gone  oflF  three  hours 
ago  by  a  messenger  on  horseback.** 

"  Oh,  if  she  knows  where  we  are,*'  said  Emma,  "  a  great  weight 
is  off  my  mind';  but  it  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heard  of* 

Strange  or  not,  it  did  not  appear  to  the  girls  that  they  had  any 
clioice     Night  was  coming  oq>  and  they  were  sixteeii  miles  from 

Digitized  by  vjC 


ASPEN  COURT.  471 

liome.  AU  that  they  could  do  was  to  follow  their  gvide^  who  crossed 
the  room,  opened  a  door  opposite  to  that  of  the  entrance  and 
so  constracted  as  to  seem  part  of  the  wall  and  to  elude  obserration. 
It  opened  into  another  short  passage  which  led  to  two  small,  but 
pretty  apartments,  in  one  of  which  was  a  single  bed,  muslined 
and  fluted,  and  tridced  out,  rather  after  the  fashion  of  a  poetical 
upholsterer  than  an  artist,  and  in  the  other,  two,  of  similar  dainty 
adornment.  Candles  were  placed  in  each  room,  lighted,  from 
which,  of  course,  the  young  ladies  knew  that  there  must  be 
another  communication  with  the  house,  but  they  could  not  see 
it.  Their  attendant,  after  making  herself  as  useful  as  they  seemed 
inclined  to  permit,  informed  them  that  her  name  was  Pearse,  and 
that  she  was  ordered  to  be  in  constant  waiting  upon  them,  and 
withdrew  into  the  circular  apartment.  Kate,  remembering  the  bell 
dilemma  hastened  after  her,  and  to  her  exceeding  surprise  found 
the  room  illuminated  with  soft  light  sent  from  without  through  a  rim 
of  ground  glass  which  ran  round  between  the  walls  and  the  dome 
— and,  to  her  still  greater  astonishment,  that  the  table,  with  all  its 
varied  contents,  had  utterly  vanished.  She  stood,  for  a  moment, 
gazing  at  the  changed  aspect  of  the  apartment,  when  light 
gushed  up  from  the  floor,  and  the  table,  rearranged  with  a  perfect 
Kttle  dinner,  complete  to  the  finger-glass,  rose  once  more  to  its 
place.  It  had  not,  of  course,  been  intended  that  she  should  see 
this  process.  And,  for  some  undefinable  reason,  it  produced  any- 
thing but  a  pleasant  sensation  in  the  girl's  mind.  She  had  heard 
of  such  contrivances,  or  at  least  read  of  them,  but  could  not  re- 
member that  such  boards  had  ever  been  surrounded  by  the  best 
class  of  company. 

"  One  of  Lord  Rookbury^s  fancies,  I  suppose,'^  she  said,  de- 
scribing the  incident  to  her  sisters,  ^'and  he  thinks  it  will 
amuse  us.^' 

"  Perhaps  our  beds  are  on  the  same  things,*'  said  Amy  solemnly, 
^^  and  at  midnight  we  shall  descend  into  some  grim  charnel-house 
and  be  left  there  for  ever  and  ever.'* 

"  How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense,  dariing,"  said  Emma.  *^  You 
do  not  even  know  what  a  charnel-house  is.  I  wonder  where  you 
cansfht  hold  of  the  word.'* 

*•  Where  did  the  Veiled  Prophet  take  Zelica  from  the  dance  ?*' 
said  Amy,  shuddering.  **Did  not  the  dead  people's  eyes  glare 
out '' 

^  Be  quiet,  Amy,^  said  Kate,  anxious  to  break  off  the  train  of 
ideas  upon  which  the  child  had  fttstened,  ^  and  just  snap  my  brace- 
let for  me,  dear,  will  you.*' 

"  Yea,'*  said  Amy,  taking  her  sister's  pretty  arm  between  her 
own  hands,  and  calmly  adding,  ^^  A  snake !  Ah !  we  shall  have 
jrienty  of  snakes  down  there  in  the  pit.  How  they  will  wind  in 
and  out  among  our  bones  V* 

Emma's  distressed  look  at  hearing  the  child  pursue  this  singular 
theme  nearly  set  Kate  off  crying,  but  she  controlled  her  agitation, 
and  the  three  returned  to  the  other  room,  where,  with  the  aid- 
of  another  discovery  they  made,  namely,  a  collection  of  books  and 

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472  ASPEN   COURT. 

portfolios,  chosen  m  if  for  such  visitors,  the  evening  passed, 
though  heavily,  and  Pearse  reappearing,  and  having  no  tidings  of 
Mr.  Wilmslow  beyond  a  decided  assurance  that  he  would  not  be 
seen  that  night,  they  retired  early,  and  at  Amy's  express  desire,  to 
the  same  room,  where  Kate,  as  the  most  valiant  of  the  party, 
occupied  a  solitary  couch.  Amy  nestling  to  sleep  in  the  arms  of 
her  elder  sister. 

How  their  mother  passed  the  night  is  not  upon  record. 

The  rain  descended  heavily  the  following  morning,  which,  it 
will  be  remembered,  was  the  day  Carlyon  left  town,  in  obedience 
to  Mrs.  Wilmslow's  summons.  Pearse  was  duly  in  attendance, 
but  there  was  no  news  of  Mr.  Wilmslow. 

"  But  where  is  Lord  Rookbury  ?^*  demanded  Kate.  "  It  is  very 
singular  that  he  has  never  been  near  us  since  he  left  the  room 
yesterday.     Is  he  in  the  house  ? '' 

"  We  never  venture  to  know.  Miss,*'  was  Pearse's  reply.  *'  If 
my  Lord's  bell  rings,  it  is  answered,  and  it  has  not  rung  to-day* 
The  Lord  help  anybody  who  should  go  into  his  Lordship's  room 
before  it  rings." 

*^  Why,  he's  worse  than  Blue-beard,"  plumped  out  Amy. 

*'  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  so,  Miss,"  replied  Pearse ;  "  but  let 
anybody  offend  my  Lord,  and  it  '11  be  more  by  habgrab  than  good 
.  cunningness,  if  that  party  gets  off  easy." 

The  bit  of  paiois  occasioned  some  speculation,  and  after  break- 
fast, Kate,  who  had  been  considering  for  some  time,  said  to 
Emma — 

**  I  shall  trust  to  my  habgrab,  whatever  that  may  be,  and  explore 
the  house.  We  are  certainly  not  going  to  be  kept  here  any 
longer."  And  she  rang  the  bell,  Pearse  having  shown  her  its 
art^l  concealment — an  ivory  plate  forming  one  of  the  Pompeian 
flowers  on  the  wall.  Pearse  came,  and  Kate  signified  her  wish  to 
be  conducted  to  the  conservatory. 

*'  Certainly,  Miss,"  said  Pearse,  "  I  will  get  the  key."  And  she 
left  the  room.  An  hour  passed,  and  she  did  not  return,  nor  were 
all  the  indignant  girl's  performances  on  the  ivory  plate  of  the  least 
avail.    And  the  outside  door  was,  upon  trial,  found  to  be  locked. 

"  This  is  very  curious,  Kate,"  said  Emma.  **  It  looks  as  if  we 
really  were  prisoners." 

*^  It  is  something  more  than  curious,"  said  Kate  with  a  flashing 
eye.  **  It  is  an  indignity.  Ah !  something  occurs  to  me."  And 
with  a  light  and  hasty  foot  she  went  back  to  the  chamber  in  which 
they  had  slept.  NoUiing  had  been  touched  since  they  left  the 
room. 

^'  Emma,"  she  said,  returning,  ^'we  will  not  bear  this.  Perhaps 
mamma  has  never  been  informed  where  we  are.  Something  in 
the  way  that  woman  spoke  made  me  suspect  her.  It  is  now  mid- 
day, and  no  news  of  papa.  Let  us  leave  the  place."  The  young 
lady  spoke  in  a  low  but  determined  voice. 

**  It  is  just  what  I  should  like  to  do,"  said  Emma ;  **  but  how  on 
earth  to  get  out.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  guarded  on  every 
ride." 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


ASPEN  COURT.  478 

**  It  is  very  shocking  to  have  to  try  a  trick/'  said  Kate,  '^  but 
there  is  no  help  for  it,  for  here  we  will  not  stay.  That  servant 
will  not  come  back,  perhaps,  until  night,  and  dben  we  are  just 
where  we  were.  It  is  all  most  strange,  and  I  do  think  we  ought 
not  to  submit.  While  papa  was  not  quite  himself,  it  might  be 
forgiven,  but  now  we  must  return  home.  The  first  thing  is  to  get 
out  of  these  rooms.  Oh !  if  they  were  not  all  lighted  from  above. 
But  I  have  a  plan.  You  two  stay  here,  and  talk  and  laugh,  for 
I  have  some  notion  that  we  may  be  listened  to.  Do  not  come 
to  me  on  any  account." 

And  she  stole  very  quietly  into  the  bedroom  which  they  had 
not  occupied,  and  conceded  herself  in  a  very  artful  manner,  crouch- 
ing between  the  gaily  bedizened  bed  and  the  wall  near  which  it 
stood.  Her  patience  was  rather  severely  tried,  for  an  hour  must 
have  elapsed,  and  Kate  still  continued  in  her  hiding-place,  but  at 
last  she  was  rewarded.  She  distinctly  heard  the  tread  of  some 
one  in  the  adjoining  bedroom,  which  the  new  arriver  had  evidently 
come  to  arrange. 

"Then  the  door  is  in  that  room,^'  said  Kate,  "and  yet  we  could 
not  find  it.  Now,  if  she  sees  me  she  will  not  go  out,  and  if  I 
require  her  to  show  me  the  door,  we  shall  have  a  scene,  and  be 
defeated  after  all.     Ah  !  here  she  comes.     What  a  pretty  girl !  " 

The  pretty  girl  in  question  came  stealthily  into  the  room, 
glanced  round  it,  but  did  not  see  Kate's  bright  eyes  gleaming  at 
her  through  the  muslin.  She  tripped  forward  to  the  passage,  and 
silently  drew  a  bolt,  thus,  as  she  supposed,  preventing  the  young 
ladies  from  coming  to  their  apartment.  But  pretty  girls  will  be 
curious,  and  having  drawn  the  bolt,  the  young  servant  paused  to 
listen  to  the  conversation  of  the  prisoners.  Kate,  in  her  conceal- 
ment, instantly  suspected  that  this  was  the  case,  and  darted  from 
her  lair,  and  into  the  room  in  which  they  had  slept,  just  in  time  to 
find  a  second  hiding-place  before  the  servant  returned.  The  latter 
went  rapidly  through  her  work,  and  at  last  Kate  Wilmslow  had 
the  gratification  of  seeing  her  open  the  door  of  the  room.  A  large 
looking-glass  was  hung  against  it,  in  a  way  calculated  to  disarm 
suspicion  that  the  outlet  was  there,  and  it  swung  into  the  apartment 
with  the  door,  as  the  girl  opened  it.  "  But  if  she  shuts  it  again,'' 
thought  Kate, "  and  I  do  not  know  the  secret." 

Where  she  had  crouched  for  the  second  time,  her  head  was  just 
within  reach  of  one  of  the  toilette  tables.  The  girl's  back  was 
towards  her,  and,  quick  as  the  thought,  Kate  snatched  a  small  china 
bottle  from  the  table,  and  fiung  it  with  all  her  force  into  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  It  crashed  against  the  wall,  and  fell.  The  pretty 
country  girl  brought  out  an  unmistakable  oath,  and  rushed  to  see 
what  had  happened — another  moment,  and  our  light-Umbed  Kate 
was  on  the  other  side  of  the  secret  door.  Without  pausing  to 
listen  to  the  wonderment  of  the  domestic  as  to  whence  in  the  name 
of  All  Blazes  the  china  could  have  fallen,  Kate  skimmed  along  the 
gallery,  and,  taking  the  first  inviting-looking  door,  found  herself  in 
the  principal  drawing-room  of  Rookton  Woods,  This,  however, 
was  not  what  she  wanted,  and  after  a  rapid  glance  at  the  mag 


VOL.  XXXIV. 


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474  ASPEN  couirr. 

mficcntly-fiimished  room,  Kate  turned  ta  leave  it.  But,  as  she 
did  so,  there  ro&e,  over  the  back  of  a  large  lounging  chair,  the 
smallest  and  most  fairy-like  face  she  had  ever  seen,  and  a  child's 
voice  said — 

"  You  just  stop.    You^re  the  girl  with  the  big  eyes  that's  in 
bve  with  St.  Bernard.'* 


CHAPTBR  XXX. 

A   PET,    AND   HIS  BACKERS. 

The  command,  and  still  more,  the  charge  which  followed,  cer- 
tainly brought  up  poor  Kate  in  an  instant,  and  the  eyes  to  which 
the  allusion  had  thus  been  made,  opened  widely  enough  to  justify 
it.  And  then  the  speaker  glided  from  the  large  chair  and  con- 
fronted the  runaway.  Heedful  readers  will,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  re- 
member the  fairy-like  little  girl  who  roused  Mr.  Carlyon  from  bis 
slumbers  in  the  library,  and  who  now  stood  before  Kate  Wilms- 
low,  costumed  with  less  elaboration,  but  not  with  less  care  than 
when  she  presented  herself  to  Bernard  in  all  the  miniature  splen- 
dour of  a  full-dress  toilette  She  was  in  white,  her  high-made 
frock  terminated  at  the  neck  by  a  delicate  little  frill,  a  blue 
girdle  and  ivory  buckle  at  her  tiny  waist,  and  her  fair  hair  se- 
cured by  a  long  golden  comb  which  went  round  the  back  of  the 
head,  and  branched  into  ornament  at  the  temples — it  looked  like 
an  undress  coronets  Unwelcome  as  was  the  apparition,  Kate  con- 
fessed to  herself  that  she  had  never  seen  anything  so  charming. 

"  Well,  child,'^  proceeded  the  little  lady,'gaaing  up  into  Kate'a 
face.     "  Are  you  looking  for  the  parson  ?'' 

^^  Looking  for  whom,  dear/*  said  Kate  Wilmslow,  more  as- 
tonished than  before. 

'^  The  parson.  Because  he  is  not  here,  and  I  think  that  you 
might  wait  until  he  is  sent  to  you.  How  you  do  stare !  But  papa 
was  right,  and  you  have  beautiful  eyes.  I  shall  kiss  them — sit 
down  here.'*  And  rather  imperatively  pushing  Kate  to  a  couch, 
Lurline  sprang  upon  it,  lightly  as  a  bird,  and  brought  her  Ups  to 
the  eyes  of  her  new  acquaintance. 

"And  now,"  said  Kate,  smiling,  ^^ please  to  tell  me  who  you 
are?" 

"  Me  !'*  re{died  the  child.  "  I  am  somebody — everybody — any- 
body. You  may  call  me  Lurline,  or  anything  else,  you  like.  But 
what  have  you  dared  to  come  out  of  your  room  for  ?** 

"And  is  it  the  custom  in  this  house  to  lock  ladies  up  in  a  par- 
ticular room,  and  call  it  daring  if  they  come  out  ?" 

"  Ladies,  no.  But  we  locked  up  the  bride  and  her  bridesmaids 
until  they  were  wanted,  and  1  should  very  much  like  to  hear  how 
you  escaped.     I  suppose  you  bribed  one  of  the  servants." 

"  Indeed  I  did  noV'  said  Kate,  rather  indignant  than  amused  at 
the  precocious  worldliness  of  the  suggestion. 

"  Then  tell  me  how  you  managed,"  said  Lurline,  throwing  her 


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A8PSN  COURT.  47S 

anoDS  round  Eaters  neck,  and  laying  her  cheek  against  thai  of  her 
companion.  "  Tell  me,  there  ^s  a  dear,  and  I  won't  tell  anybody. 
I  swear  I  won't.  Dieu  me  damne  /  There,  I  never  break  my 
word  when  I  say  that.    Now." 

"  O,  yon  shocking  little  thing! "  said  Kate.  '*  Pray  don't  say 
sneh  words.  Do  you  think  I  would  not  believe  you  if  you  made 
a  promise?" 

^^  Sacrehleuy  I  do  not  know  why  you  should,"  said  Lurline. 
"  Why  should  I  keep  a  promise  to  you,  who  are  one  of  my 
enemies." 

"  I  your  enemy,  dear  child  !"  said  Kate.  ^*  What  nonsense  bat 
somebody  been  putting  into  your  head  I" 

^'  0, 19  it  nonsense  ?"  retorted  Lurline*  ^'  I  know  all  abont  it, 
and  if  you  think  you  can  deceive  me  with  your  hypocrisy,  you 
are  very  much  mistaken,  I  can  tell  yon.    Do  you  see  this  ear  f" 

"  Yes  I  do,  and  a  very  pretty  little  ear  it  is,  with  a  very  pretty 
earring  in  it." 

'^  Ah  I  welL  It  may  be  a  little  ear,  and  I  may  be  a  little  pitcher, 
but  I  can  hear  as  well  with  it  as  if  it  was  as  big  as  Pearse's.  So 
now  you  understand." 

Lurline's  mingled  worldliness  and  childishness  puzzled  Kate,  who 
could  know  nothing  of  the  young  lady's  antecedents,  but  Kate  had 
business  of  her  own  on  hand,  more  immediately  pressing  than  the 
solving  the  problem  of  this  quaint  little  fairy's  character.  One  thing 
was  certain,  namely,  that  her  own  escape  having  been  discovered, 
and  by  such  an  observer,  it  was  useless  to  think  of  farther  measures 
unless  Lurline's  co-operation  could  be  secured,  and  this  was  the 
next  thing  to  try  for.  And  Kate's  diplomacy  was  guided  by  an 
instinct  which  determined  her  to  go  straight  to  the  affections  of 
the  little  girl,  if  she  had  any. 

^^  And  so  you  have  been  told  that  I  am  your  enemy,  Lurline  ?" 
she  said,  kindly. 

"  Of  course  yon  are,"  replied  Lurline,  rubbing  her  fair  soft  dieek 
against  Kate's  with  a  caressing  action  curiously  at  variance  with 
her  words.  "  Not  my  worst  enemy,  because  she  is  locked  up,  I 
suppose?" 

"  Do  you  mean  one  of  my  sisters  ?" 

"  You  know  very  well  that  I  do.  Your  eldest  sister,  who  is  going 
to  be  Countess  of  Rookbury.    I  hate  her." 

"  And  you  hate  me  ?" 

**  I  hated  you  before  you  came  in,  and  I  shall  hate  yon  again  as 
soon  as  you  are  gone,  but  do  you  know  I  don't  hate  yon  so  much 
while  I  am  talking  to  you." 

"  But  I  want  you  not  to  hate  me  at  all,  nor  my  sister,  who  is 
the  best  and  kindest  girl  in  the  world,  and  would  kve  you  very 
much  if  you  would  let  her,  and  so  would  I.'' 

^  Bless  you,"  said  Lurline,  giving  Kate  a  little  pat  on  the  cheek, 
"  it 's  no  go,  dear,  none  whatsumever,  as  Pearse  says*  We  are  up 
to  the  move.  Of  course  you  will  try  to  smooth  me  over,  and  pet 
me,  and  make  much  of  me  for  a  little  while,  and  then  — croc*   We 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


476  A8PBN  COURT. 

are  prepared  for  all  that,  we  flatter  ourselves/'    And  again  she  laid 
her  face  to  Kate's. 

What  iff  to  be  done  with  this  perverted  little  being?  thought 
Kate. 

'^  Lurline  dear,  I  won't  pet  you,  I  promise  that.  But  tell  me 
something.  I  suppose  that  if  I  and  my  sisters,  whom  you  think 
your  enemies,  were  turned  out  of  this  house,  you  would  be  very 
glad?" 

**  Well,"  said  the  child  thoughtfully^  "  it  would  be  a  good  thing ; 
but  you  would  all  come  back  again,  so  it  would  be  no  great  good 
done,  ventrebleu/^ 

"  No,  that  we  never  would,"  said  Kate,  very  emphatically. 

Lurline  suddenly  twisted  her  face  into  a  singular  expression  of 
petulance,  and  sent  out  a  sort  of  taunting  sound. 

"  Nyeigh  I "  she  said,  or  rather  uttered.  *'  I  know  all  about  it. 
There 's  a  mamma  in  the  case,  and  she  doesn't  like  us,  and  would 
not  honour  us  with  the  match  if  she  could  help  it." 

^^  It  would  be  a  happy  thing  for  you,  dear,  if  you  had  such  a 
mamma,"  said  Kate  earnestly. 

"3for6fett,  you've  got  tears  in  your  eyes!"  said  Lurline, 
quickly.  "  I  did  not  want  to  make  you  cry — ^there — there,"  and 
she  kissed  Kate  with  real  feeling.  "  Never  cry,"  she  added,  de- 
sirous to  give  useful  counsel  to  a  weaker  friend^  '^it  show  folks 
where  to  hit  another  time.  You  should  bite  your  tongue  very 
hard,  and  then  you  can  always  keep  back  your  tears." 

"Lurline,"  said  Kate,  "we  want  to  get  away  from  Rookton 
Woods  as  soon  as  we  can,  and  you  may  be  quite  sure  we  shall 
never  come  back.  It  was  very  wrong  indeed  to  lock  us  up,  but  I 
have  managed  to  get  out,  and  I  am  determined  to  take  away  my 
sisters." 

"  That  seems  fair,"  siud  the  child*  "  I  think  I  will  go  and  talk 
to— to  somebody." 

"  If  you  do,"  said  Kate,  who  guessed  in  what  quarter  the  poor 
child's  guides,  philosophers  and  friends  dwelt,  "  there  will  be  no 
chance  for  us,  because  orders  have  been  given  that  we  shall  be 
kept  here." 

"Ah!  I  should  rather  think  they  had,"  said  Lurline.  "And 
upon  your. soul,  now,  you  want  to  go  ? " 

"  Do  not  talk  about  the  soul  in  that  way,  dear.  It  is  a  very 
solemn  thing  to  talk  about  at  all.  But  I  assure  you  that  we  do 
want  to  go.  And  though  I  do  not  know  this  house  very  well,  I 
think  I  can  manage,  if  you  will  not  give  the  alarm." 

"  Crac/^  said  Lurline  "  it's  settled.  But  I  will  do  it  all  for  you, 
every  bit  of  it.  I  will  get  you  off  in  style.  There  shall  be  no 
sneaxing  about  it.  I  will  do  it."  And  she  sprang  from  the  couch 
to  the  floor.    Kate  caught  her  by  the  sash. 

"  Stay,"  said  Kate.  "  As  soon  as  Lord  Rookbury  knows  that 
we  are  gone,  he  will  be  terribly  angry." 

"  liord,  yes,"  said  Lurline,  profanely,  "  there  '11  be  battle  and 
murder  and  sudden  death,  and  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things.  There 
will  be  the  old  one  to  pay  and  no  pitch  hot,  that 's  certain." 

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ASPEN   COURT.  477 

**  Well/^  said  Kate,  ^*  you  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  We 
want  to  go  very  much,  but  we  will  not  get  you  into  any  trouble. 
You  shall  not  be  scolded  by  Lord  Rookbury/' 

^'  And  should  you  care  whether  I  was  scolded  or  not/^  demanded 
the  child,  "  so  that  you  got  away  ?  '^  * 

'^  To  be  sure  we  should,  darling,  very  much,'*  said  Kate ;  **  and 
we  should  be  very  unhappy  to  think  that  we  had  caused  it.  So 
you  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  our  going/' 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  are  my  enemy  after  all,''  said  Lurline, 
throwing  her  arms  around  Kate's  neck.  "  Your  sister  is,  but  you 
are  not." 

"  If  you  saw  my  sister,  dear,  you  would  not  say  so.** 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  seen  her.  I  made  Wilkins  bring  me  into 
your  bedroom  last  night  when  you  were  all  asleep,  and  I  saw  you 
all.  You  slept  l)y  yourself,  but  the  child  was  with  Emma.  I  was 
disappointed,  though,  for  I  wanted  to  see  your  eyes,  and  I  forgot 
that  I  could  not  see  them  when  you  were  sleeping.  Well,  now, 
look  here.  You  stay  where  you  are."  And  she  darted  from  the 
room. 

Kate  was  in  a  sad  state  of  suspense.  She  hardly  knew  whether 
she  had  gained  her  point  or  not.  She  had  produced  an  impression, 
it  was  true,  but  the  nature  of  Lurline  had  been  so  singularly  cul- 
tivated that  it  was  impossible  to  say,  not  only  how  manifold  a 
sower  might  be  repaid  for  seed  laid  therein,  but  whether  the  grain 
would  not  change  its  character  in  the  ground,  and  come  up  some- 
thing else.  And  then,  though  the  immediate  business  of  escape 
was  the  subject  in  hand,  the  child's  first  words  insisted  on  claiming 
their  share  of  Kate's  perturbed  thoughts.  What,  had  the  secret 
she  had  hardly  dared  to  breathe  to  herself  been  made  the  common 
talk  of  Rookton  Woods,  even  in  the  servants*  hall  I  Poor  Kate 
was  in  an  unenviable  state  of  bewilderment,  when  Lurline*8  flying 
feet  were  heard,  and  the  next  moment  she  was  in  the  room. 

"  I  have  been  with  Lord  Rookbury,**  she  said.  And  she  seized 
the  bell-rope,  and  rung  vehemently. 

"  We  are  ruined,"  thought  Kate.  *^  But  I  will  not  return  to 
the  other  room.'* 

A  servant  entered. 

*^  Lord  Rookbury  desires  that  the  Misses  Wilmslow's  carriage 
may  be  brought  round  immediately,**  said  Lurline,  with  an  air  of 
unhesitating  command.  ^'  Send  Pearse  here,  and  put  lunch  in  the 
library.  Can  you  drive?**  she  asked,  turning  to  Kate  as  the 
servant  moved  away.  "  If  you  can,  perhaps  you  will  like  to  do 
so,  but  if  not  we  will  send  somebody  with  you.** 

"Yes,'*  said  Kate,  eagerly,  ^*  I  can  drive  very  well — a  little — 
quite  well  enough.** 

"  Your  sweetheart,  St.  Bernard,  taught  you,  I  suppose,*'  said 
the  enfarnt  terrible:  but  Pearse  entering  at  the  moment,  Kate's 
blush  passed  unheeded. 

"  Pterse,**  said  Lurline,  to  that  domestic,  who  looked  perfectly 
terrified  at  seeing  one  of  her  charges  out  of  the  cage,  "  go  to  the 
Misses  Wilmslow,  and  say,  with  his  Lordship*s  kindest  regards. 

Digitized  by 


478  ASPEN   COURT. 

tbat  he  is  very  sorry  a  fit  of  the  gout  prevents  his  coming;  to  bid 
them  good  bye^  and  that  thetr  carriage  is  at  the  door;  and  jmt 
sh^w  them  down  into  the  library.  You  come  with  me,  Miss 
Catherine.'' 

Pearse,  accustomed  to  obey  the  orders  of  tiie  little  fairy,  with- 
drew, and  Lniiine  conducted  Kate  downstairs.  It  may  be  needless 
to  say  that  Emma  and  Amy  were  soon  with  them,  and  that  the 
lunch  was  scarcely  tasted.  Lurline  did  the  honours  with  the 
utmost  gravity,  especially  patronizing  little  Amy,  whom  she  en- 
couraged very  pointedly.  The  carnage  was  announced,  and  Lur- 
line took  a  stately  farewell  of  Emma,  who  wanted  to  kiss  her,  but 
from  whom  the  child  drew  back,  but  embraced  Kate  widi  much 
warmth,  and  put  a  little  packet  into  her  hand,  begging  her  to  keep 
it,  and  Uiink  of  the  giver.  As  for  Amy,  Lurline  merely  patted 
her  on  the  shoulder  with  a  matronly  smile^  and  insisted  on  putting 
some  cake  into  paper  for  her.  They  entered  the  carriage,  aad 
Lurline,  on  the  steps  of  the  portico,  said, 

^^  I  hope  that  you  will  allow  me  to  say  to  the  Earl  Aat  yoa 
forgive  him  for  not  being  down  to  see  you  off,  because  he  reaUy 
feels  so  hurt  at  if 

The  permission  was  readily  given,  and  they  drove  off,  with 
hearts  in  a  flutter.  But  Kate's  self-possession  came  to  her  aid^ 
and  having,  as  usual,  observed  the  road,  she  easily  made  it  out 
again.    They  were  soon  far  away  from  Rookton  Woods. 

We  shall  have  to  follow  them,  but,  as  a  trifling  homage  to  die 
respected  unities,  let  us  here  insert  an  observation  or  two  which^ 
one  hour  later,  the  Earl  of  Rookbury  made,  when  having  awoke 
and  dressed  himself,  and  breakfasted,  he  went  to  the  circuiaur  roorn^ 
and  found  there,  not  the  three  young  ladies  from  Aspen,  but 
Pearse,  who  was  arranging  the  apartment,  and  Lurline,  who  was 
readily  an  exceedingly  fast  Palais  Royal  vaudeville.  Poor  Pearse, 
whose  terror,  when  she  found  that  she  had  been  mystified,  was 
hideous  rather  than  piteous,  had  evidently  a  belief,  founded  on  a 

Prevalent  Gloucestershire  story,  that  her  mildest  sentence  would 
e  that  she  be  carted  off  to  the  nearest  kennel,  and  flung  to  the 
raging  fox-hounds,  but  she  had  still  enough  of  woman  in  her  to 
shudder  for  what  might  happen,  when  Lord  Rookbury,  having 
heard  her  stuttering  story  through,  turned  to  Lurline,  and  looked 
at  her  hard  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Well,'*  said  the  Lord  Temporal,  ^  I  was  always  of  opinion 
that  your  mamma  was  the  eoolest — die  most  infernally  deliberate 
liar  in  Europe,  but  it  is  a  comfort  to  see  that  the  rising  generation 
is  likely  to  equal  the  virtues  of  its  predecessors — buf  (he  added^ 
with  a  savage  look  and  voice,  under  which  even  Lurline  turned 
pale),  ^*  don't  try  these  things  too  often  in  my  house.''  He  paused 
for  a  moment,  as  if  to  let  the  lesson  sink  in,  and  tb<m  said 
pleasMitly,  **  Now,  my  dear  child,  don't  let  the  day  slip  away 
without  taking  your  ride  I  Pearse,  you  goose,  order  MademoiscUe 
Lurline's  pony  I " 

Tlie  Earl  and  his  child  mounted,  and  she  cantered  by  his  side 
for  some  distance,  when  he  sent  her  back  with  the  groom.    Theii> 

Digitized  by  VjOOQI. 


ASPEN   COURT.  479 

Striking  across  the  country,  he  reached  Aspen  C!oart  in  time  to  bd 
seated  where  Bernard  Carlyon'  found  him  in  company  with  Mr. 
Wilmslow.  Not  one  word  of  what  had  happened  that  morning 
did  Lord  Rookbury  see  fit  to  reveal  to  his  friend.  It  was  his  whim 
to  wait,  and  see  what  happened.  The  young  ladies  had  not 
arrived. 

Nor,  indeed  was  it  exactly  probable  that  they  would  speedily 
appear.  The  road  from  Rookton  Woods  to  Aspen  Court  was 
sixteen  miles,  crow  flight,  and  the  single  horse  with  the  loan  of 
which  the  Earl  had  chosen  to  oblige  Wilmslow,  soon  discovered 
that  his  pretty  driver  was  not  one  quite  qualified  to  dictate  his 
rate  of  going,  and  accordingly  he  took  matters  his  own  way.  It 
was  dusk  when  the  girls,  who  were  beginning  to  get  uneasy  at 
their  prolonged  journey,  were  about  six  miles  from  Aspen.  At 
this  point  there  was,  as  Kate  remembered,  a  tolUbar;  and,  on 
approadiing  this,  they  were  somewhat  surprised  to  see  die  toll- 
house, a  cottage  of  some  size,  full  of  lights,  and  to  observe  several 
groups  of  men  lounging  about  the  usually  lonely  spot.  The  fact 
was,  a  fight,  of  some  local  interest,  had  taken  place  in  a  field  near 
the  neighbourhood,  where  the  Bogley  Pet  had  been  revenging  a 
previous  overthrow  received  at  the  fists  of  the  Slogging  Stunner, 
and,  though  fighting  with  more  ferocity  than  science,  had  cer* 
tainly  done  his  work  like  a  Briton  and  a  bruiser.  But  he  had  lost 
the  fight,  for,  after  smashing  the  Stunner  into  the  most  unhand- 
some mass  of  livid  and  bleeding  flesh  that  ever  was  sponged,  or 
came  staggering  up  to  the  last  call,  the  Pet,  exhausted  by  his  own 
desperate  efforts,  slipped  on  the  crimsoned  turf,  and  his  blow  fell 
foul.  In  ecstacies,  the  Stunner's  partizans,  from  whom  all  hope 
had  departed,  claimed  the  umpire^s  inevitable  decision,  and  carried 
off  their  own  senseless,  but  victorious,  ruffian.  The  keeper  of  die 
toll-bar  had  been  much  interested  in  the  fight,  having,  unlawfully, 
sold  a  good  deal  of  liquor  to  the  congregation,  and  bis  house  was 
just  now  occupied  chiefly  by  friends  of  the  Pet,  who  were  excited 
and  exasperated  at  the  accident  which  had  snatched  the  laurels 
from  the  bull  head  of  their  man. 

Mustering  all  her  courage,  Kate  Wilmslow  drove  slowly  but 
steadily  on,  nor  was  any  particular  molestation  offered  to  the 
party  beyond  a  few  of  those  choice  cuttings  from  the  garden  of 
ribaldry,  by  strewing  which  in  the  way  of  their  betters,  the  lower 
classes  in  England  love  to  compensate  themselves  for  their 
inferiority  of  position.  But,  imluckily,  in  her  desire  to  extricate 
the  carriage  from  the  throng,  poor  Kate,  unused  to  travelling, 
forgot  the  ceremony  of  payment  at  the  toll  bar,  and  drove  through 
it  The  keeper,  always  surly,  but  now  savage  between  liquor  and 
the  loss  of  some  bets,  was  standing  by  his  den,  and  no  sooner  did 
the  phaeton  pass^  with  intent,  as  he  supposed,  to  defraud  him  of 
his  dues,  than  he  roared  ferociously  to  those  around  to  stop  it. 
Too  glad,  of  course,  to  annoy  decent  people,  half  a  dozen  fellows 
immediately  clutched  at  the  reins,  with  as  many  coarse  shouts, 
the  horse  was  neariy  thrown  upon  his  haunches,  and  the  carriage 
forced  athwart  the  road,  before  the  frightened  girls  apprehended 

Digitized  by 


480  ASPEN   COURT. 

the  nature  of  the  crime  they  had  coromitted.  Up  came  the  gate* 
keeper^  and  in  an  insolent  tone  demanded  what  they  meant  by 
trying  to  cheat  the  toll. 

"We  had  no  idea  of  cheating/^  said  Kate^  "but  we  forgot 
that  there  was  anything  to  pay  here.'^ 

"  I  dare  say.  Devilish  likely/'  said  the  fellow,  with  a  brutal 
laugh,  echoed  of  course  by  others  round  him.  "  Well,  are  you 
going  to  pay  at  all,  or  block  up  the  road  all  night.'' 

Emma  and  Kate  put  their  hands  to  their  pockets,  and  to  their 
dismay,  discovered,  which,  indeed,  could  they  have  recollected 
themselves,  poor  things,  they  would  have  known  very  well,  namely, 
that  they  had  no  money  whatever.  Of  course  little  Amy  had 
none. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  man  threateningly,  "  I  want  my  money." 

Kate's  spirit  broke  out,  and  she  explained  firmly  enough,  that 
they  had  come  out  without  money,  that  they  were  the  daughters 
of  Mr.  Wilmslow,  of  Aspen,  and  had  come  over  from  Lord 
Rookbury^s,  and  that  the  toll  should  be  sent  down  to  him  in  the 
morning.    The  man  replied  with  a  jeering  laugh. 

"  Not  to  be  done.  Don't  believe  a  d— d  word  of  it.  Tried  to 
chouse  me  by  driving  through,  and  now  trying  to  gammon  me 
with  a  pack  of  lies.  Come  from  Lord  Rookbury's,  eh  ?  Likely 
three  gals  in  a  one  oss  pheaton,  and  no  servant,  comes  from  there. 
Nice  Lord  you  come  from,  I  don't  think.  What  should  you  say, 
Sammy." 

The  person  addressed,  a  thickset  debauched  looking  man,  in  a 
dirty  white  coat,  responded  promptly, 

"  I  think  the  best  thing  the  young  women  can  do,  is  to  get  out 
and  come  into  your  house,  and  then  we  can  talk  it  over,  with 
something  hot." 

There  was  an  applauding  shout  among  the  fellows  who  had 
now  collected  round  the  vehicle,  and  one  of  them  laid  hold  of 
Kate's  arm,  as  if  to  take  her  from  the  phaeton. 

^^  Dare  to  touch  me,"  said  Kate,  extricating  her  arm,  with 
a  spirit,  which,  despite  himself,  daunted  the  man.  But  the  gate- 
keeper was  less  penetrable. 

*'  Fine  airs,  by ^,"  he  said,  ^^  but  it  wont  carry  off  cheating. 

You  've  drove  through  my  gate  without  paying,  breaking  the  law, 
and  I  've  nine  minds  to  get  some  of  these  gentlemen  to  drive  you 
all  off  to  gaol." 

"  But  is  there  nothing  we  could  leave — some  ornament — any- 
thing ? "  said  Emma, in  extreme  terror.   "My  brooch —  anything — ^" 

Kate  suddenly  remembered  the  packet  which  Lurline  had  given 
her.  She  tore  it  open,  and  a  pretty  little  diamond  heart,  of  con- 
siderable value,  glittered  before  the  eyes  of  the  men. 

"  Come,"  said  a  lean,  shabby  looking  person,  with  a  keen  dark 
eye, "  that  looks  like  business.  I  think  if  the  young  lady  left  that, 
you  might  let  her  go  on." 

But  the  toll-man  was  in  a  dogged  and  impracticable  frame  of 
mind,  and  retorted  that  he  did  not  keep  a  pawnbroker's,  and  that 
he  would  have  his  money  or  nothing. 

"  I  think  I  could  venture  to  lend  the  lady  ($h^e^jip<@^(^{  that 


ASPEN   COUET.  481 

aflfiair/'  said  the  dark-eyed  man,  "  which  would  make  everything 
pleasant.  Hand  it  over,  my  dear,  and  let's  see  if  it^s  real — people 
are  so  apt  to  be  took  in,  in  this  wicked  world/' 

**  O/'  sobbed  Amy,  "  if  Mr.  Carlyon  was  here.'' 

*^  Mr.  Which,  my  dear?"  said  a  big  man  close  to  the  other  side  of 
the  vehicle.  He  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  had  taken  no 
part  beyond  looking  on. 

"  I  said  Mr.  Carlyon,  sir,"  said  little  Amy,  polite  amid  her  tears. 

*•  A  friend  of  ours." 

^^ Barnard  is  it?"  said  the  man  eagerly,  taking  his  hands  out 
of  his  pockets. 

"  Bernard,  sir,"  said  Amy,  quite  brightening  up. 

"  All's  one,"  said  the  other,  running  round  and  clearing  his  way 
to  Kate's  side  with  a  promptitude  his  heavy  figure  scarcely 
promised.  "  Stow  it  all,"  he  said  peremptorily  to  the  toll-keeper. 
*^  Hand  that  back,"  he  added,  laying  large  hold  of  the  dark-eyed 
man,  (who  was  slinking  away)  and  extorting  the  diamond  heart 
from  his  dirty  hand.  ^^  Keep  your  heart.  Miss,"  he  continued. 
*^  And  here 's  the  toll.  Master  Bowmudge ;  and  now  make  way  for 
the  ladies,  you  coves  ahead  there." 

"  And  suppose  I  don't  choose  to  take  it  from  you  ?"  said  Mr. 
Bowmudge,  insolently  "What  then ? " 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  terms  in  which  the  other  described 
what  Mr.  Bowmudge  would,  if  he  adopted  the  alternative  he  sug- 
gested, be  also  compelled  to  take,  render  his  rejouider  inadmissible, 
but  it  provoked  the  toll-keeper  to  such  an  extent  that  he  swore 
furiously  that  the  carriage  should  not  go  on.  But  the  morale  of 
his  party  had  been  materially  diminished  by  the  formidable  acces- 
sion of  the  big  man  to  the  opposition,  and  several  voices  told  him, 
with  curses,  not  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  but  to  take  the  money. 
He  was,  however,  just  in  that  condition  of  dogged  obstinacy  which 
is  so  singularly  unfavourable  to  the  adoption  of  one's  friends'  judi- 
cious advice.  He  seized  the  reins,  which  all  the  others  had 
abandoned. 

"  You  are  a  werry  sad  ass.  Bully  Bowmudge,"  said  the  big 
man,  almost  compassionately,  and  with  a  single  straightforward 
blow,  delivered  without  an  effort,  he  knocked  Mr.  Bowmudge 
away  from  the  horse's  head  and  ever  so  many  yards  from  the  spot. 
The  other  got  up  desperately  savage,  and  actually  began  to  strip 
for  fight. 

"Wouldn't  be  perlite,  Bowmudge,  till  the  ladies  is  gone," 
said  their  protector  coolly,  "  nor  werry  much  for  your  precious 
health  afterwards." 

A  horse's  hoofs  were  heard,  and  the  next  minute  up  came 
Bernard  Carlyon  at  a  gallop.  He  made  out  the  group  round 
the  carriage,  at  a  glance,  and  scarcely  drew  rein  until  close  at  its 
side.  A  cry  of  delight  from  Emma  and  Amy,  and  a  thankful 
look  from  Kate  were  his  welcome.  Before  he  could  speak,  the 
big  man  touched  him,  as  if  desirous  to  be  recognized,  and  then 
turned  away. 

"  You  here,  too  ?  "  said  Bernard.  "  I  should  have  been  easier 
if  I  had  known  it.      But  why  are  you  stopi)ed  ? "  he  asked  thee 


482  ASPEN   COURT. 

giris.    The  aflfair  Was  explained  to  him  in  a  minute.    He  turned 
white  with  anger. 

"Where  is  the  fellow?*'  he  said. 

Bowmudge,  not  looking  much  the  better  for  the  staggering 
blow  he  had  received,  came  up,  incited  by  some  of  the  crowd, 
who  were  just  in  the  temper  to  enjoy  a  litlle  more  mischief. 

"  Now  then  ?  *'  he  said,  confronting  Bernard,  with  a  scowl. 

"  What's  his  name,  ''said  Carlyon.  "  Somebody  read  it  me  off 
the  board  there  ? " 

"Benjamin  Bowmudge  is  his  name,"  said  the  big  maa^  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  And  what  then  ?"  demanded  the  individual  spoken  of.  *^  Who 
are  y<m  P"  he  added  with  an  oath. 

"A  friend  of  Lord  Rookbury's,"  said  Bernard,  "whose  visitors 
you  have  brutally  insulted.  Lord  Rookbury  never  forgives,  nor  do 
L  In  our  joint  names,  I  promise  you,  Mr.  Bowmudge,  that  in 
two  months  you  shall  be  ruined,  and  in  six  transported,  and  I  beg 
your  friends  to  witness  the  promise.  Pay  him  tJile  toll,"  he  added|, 
giving  the  big  man  money.  "And  now.  Miss  Wiimslow,  suppose 
we  drive  on." 

Kate  touched  the  horse,  and  the  carriage  went  forward,  Carlyon 
riding  at  her  right.  But  Bernard's  threat  had  driven  the  ruffian 
to  whom  it  was  addressed  to  the  verge  of  frenzy.  As  he  saw 
the  carriage  move  away,  he  uttered  a  wild  howl,  and  rushing  before 
Carlyon's  horse,  again  seized  the  rein  of  the  other.  He  had  better 
have  let  it  alone,  for  die  punishment  he  had  previously  re- 
ceived was  a  friend's  push  compared  to  the  chastisement  which 
now  desi^nded  upon  him.  Svringing  his  hunting  whip  over  bis 
head  Carlyon  brought  the  thong  with  a  fearful  slash  across  the  face 
of  Bowmudge,  who  in  the  extremity  ci  his  pain  let  go  the  rein, 
the  only  thing  Carlyon  desired,  for,  pushing  his  horse  forward, 
he  effectually  separated  the  carriage  from  the  assailant,  and, 
desiring  Kate  to  drive  on,  he  turned  upon  Bowmudge,  and, 
keeping  the  horee  prancing  round  him,  he  plied  his  whip  so  merci- 
lessly, and  with  such  precision,  that  the  ruffian's  head  and 
shoulders  were  speedily  in  scarcely  better  condition  than  those 
of  the  champions  who  had  that  day  battered  one  another  for  his 
gain.  Finishing  with  a  tremendous  downright  cut,  Bernard 
wheeled  his  horse,  and  hastened  after  the  carriage. 

"  I  have  taken  it  out  of  somebody,"  he  found  time  to  say  to 
himself,  half  scoffingly,  "and  he  deserved  all  he  got.  But 
I  think  he  would  have  got  off  easier,  but  for  the  scene  at  Aspen. 
Justice  is  vigorous  when  the  judge  is  a  little  excited." 


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483 


THE  RICH  AND  THE  POOR. 

If  there  be  one  great  truth,  which  more  than  all  others,  all  men 
theoretically  recognise,  but  nearly  all  practically  ignore,  it  is  this — 
"The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you."  Truly  they  are  always  with 
us.  East,  West,  North,  South,  in  Town,  and  in  Country,  there 
they  are  clustering  around  us.  Their  sufferings — though  we  may 
not  care  to  see  them,  are  always  staring  us  in  the  face.  In  good 
years  and  bad  years — good  harvests  and  bad  harvests — healthy  sea-  • 
sons  and  unhealthy  seasons,  the  poor  we  have  always  mlh  us.  But 
it  is  only  sometimeSy  and  under  peculiar  circumstances,  that  we  re- 
cognise the  fact. 

An  earnest  writer  in  the  Times  newspaper  who  often  gives 
ont  his  clear  trumpet-notes,  awakening  men's  minds  to  the  consi- 
deration of  great  questions  of  humanity — a  Christian  writer  and 
a  Christian  minister — has  recently  told  us  that,  in  these  days,  be- 
cause the  Cholera  is  amongst  us,  we  are  beginning  again  to  look 
into  the  condition  of  the  poor,  and  adopting  a  renewed  system  of 
house-to-house  visitation.  Truly,  this  system  of  house-to-house 
visitation  drags  to  light  many  painful  truUis.  Is  it  only  when  the 
Cholera  is  amongst  us  that  these  truths  ought  to  be  known  ?  We 
put  some  such  question  as  this  a  month  ago.  The  Poor  are  just 
as  much  the  Poor  —  when  the  Cholera  is  not  amongst  us. 

This  is  a  very  transparent — but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  a  very 
solemn  common-place.  To  see  through  a  thing,  too,  is  not  always 
to  see  it ;  and  the  very  transparency  of  the  fact,  in  this  case,  seems 
to  hide  it  from  the  common  eye.  It  is  well  that  something  should 
be  done,  from  time  to  time,  to  render  it  a  little  more  gross  and  pal- 
pable. We  can  hardly  expect  that  people  should  voluntarily'make 
acquaintance,  in  the  flesh,  with  scenes  of  misery  and  horror,  which 
the  said  flesh  shudders  to  contemplate.  It  would  be  very  instruc- 
tive, doubtless,  to  people  tendedy  reared  and  carefully  educated^ 
with  all  the  accompaniments  of  rank  and  wealth,  to  fill  them 
with  the  belief  that  the  world  is  a  very  pleasant  place,  to  accom- 
pany one  of  the  "  house-to-house^  visitants,  who,  in  the  Cholera 
times,  penetrate  the  recesses  of  squalid  poverty,  and  become 
familiar  with  sickness,  with  misery,  and  with  vice  in  all  its  most 
revolting  aspects.  What  lessons  would  be  learnt !  What  astound- 
ing revelations  would  be  made  to  the  silken  denizens  of  Belgravia 
and  Tybumia  !  They  would  see  the  loathsome  outside  of  things. 
An  hour  or  two  would  soflSice  for  that.  But  there  is  always  "  a  soul 
of  goodness  in  things  evil,**  though  it  takes  some  time  to  penetrate 
to,  and  discover  it.  It  is  easy  to  discern  the  sufferings — easy  to 
discern  the  iices  of  the  Poor;  but  it  takes  longer  time  thoroughly 
to  understand  their  virtues. 

To  expect  people — beyond  the  exceptional  few,  who  are  worthy 
to  be  ranked  among  the  saints,  and  heroes  and  martyrs  of  the  age — 
to  leave  their  luxurious  drawing-rooms  or  their  comfortable  libraries 
to  plunge  into  the  **  pestilent  lanes  and  hungry  alleys,"  where 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


484  THE   RICH  AND   THE   POOR. 

fever  and  Cholera  are  stabled  and  stalled  knee-deep  in  filth  and 
odour  of  all  kinds,  were  only  to  form  expectations  with  the  stamp 
of  disappointment,  and  the  brand  of  folly  upon  them.  But  thoug^b 
the  Mountain  cannot  be  made  to  go  to  Mahomet,  Mahomet  maj* 
be  taken  to  the  Mountain ;  and  some  knowledge  at  all  events  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  poor  may  be  transplanted  to  the  luxurious  drawing- 
rooms  and  the  comfortable  libraries  of  which  we  speak.  There  are 
those  who  will  not  see  such  things  in  their  fleshly  significance,  but 
who  will  read  of  them  in  the  printed  page.  They  do  not  look: 
quite  so  ugly  there  ;  and  there  is  nothing  contagious  about  them. 

This  is  a  sort  of  vicarious  house-to-house  visitation,  which  is 
not  without  its  uses.  People  see  truths  in  this  way,  with  others* 
eyes  ;  but  they  do  see  them,  and  such  seeing  is  better  than  total 
blindness.  It  is  well  that  they  who  lie  softly,  dress  luxuriantly  in 
purple  and  fine  linen  and  fare  sumptuously  every  day,  should  be 
sometimes  reminded  that  there  are  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands around  them,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  their  own  lordly 
palaces,  who  would  fain  eat  of  the  crumbs  which  fall  fi'om  their 
table,  and  cover  themselves  with  the  cast-off  garments  of  the 
lowest  of  their  lackeys.  Books,  therefore,  which  embody  these 
sad  truths  in  such  words  as  rich  men  will  care  to  read  have  always 
good  teaching  iu  them.  They  may  not  have  such  an  effect  upon 
us,  as  if  we  could  read  these  truths  of  which  we  speak  through  a 
telescope  and  satisfy  ourselves  that  they  who  claim  our  sympathies 
live  a  few  thousand  miles,  removed  from  our  own  doors ;  still,  as 
we  have  said,  they  may  do  something,  and  no  one  who  evokes  even 
one  heart-throb  of  genuine  earnest  humanity  has  written  wholly  in 
vain. 

We  have  often  thought  whether  it  were  possible  to  display  in  a 
work  of  fiction  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  without,  at  the  same  time, 
exhibiting  the  cruelty  and  indifference  of  the  rich — to  awaken 
sympathy  on  one  side  without  exciting  indignation  on  the  other. 
That  there  must  be  poverty  and  suffering  in  the  world  is  certain  ; 
the  only  question  is  how  much  is  the  inevitable  lot  of  humanity 
and  how  much  is  of  our  own  making — in  other  words  to  what  ex- 
tent the  grovellers  in  the  dust  are  down-cast  by  God  or  down- 
trodden by  man  ?  It  is  not  pleasant  to  believe  that  every  man  is 
lifting  his  hand  against  his  neighbour  to  strike  him  down  or 
setting  his  heel  upon  him  when  he  is  down.  It  is  a  chilling  faith, 
indeed,  which  is  exacted  from  us  when  we  are  taught  to  believe  in 
the  truth  of  those  time-honoured  words  ^^homo  homitii  lupus.** 
Is  every  man  a  wolf  to  his  neighbour  ?  Too  well  assured  that 
there  are  many  amongst  us  who  miss  our  opportunities  of  well- 
doing and  grievously  neglect  our  most  obvious  duties,  we  still  can- 
not readily  settle  down  in  the  conviction  that  there  is  nothing  to 
be  looked  for  in  this  Christian  England  but  cruelty  and  injustice 
from  one's  neighbour — the  strong  ever  tyrannising  over  the  weak 
— ^the  rich  making  the  poor  still  poorer  by  fraud  and  violence — 
lowly  merit  pining  ever  in  hunger  and  nakedness,  and  only  brazen 
presumption  making  its  way  in  the  world — ^we  have  not,  indeed, 
in  spite  of  its  many  dark  pages,  so  read  the  great  book  of  life. 


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THE  BICH   AND  THE   VOOR.  485 

After  ail  this  grave  writing  we  may  seem  to  descend,  when  we 
speak  of  '^  the  last  new  noveU'  But  it  is  t)^  last  new  novel  thai 
bas  called  from  us  these  remarks*  In  the  story  of  *'  Margaret ;  or, 
Prejudice  at  Home  and  its  Victims,"  we  have  as  solemn-  utter- 
ances— as  weighty  suggestions  as  these.  But  we  somewhat  differ 
from  the  writer  in  our  interpretations  of  human  life.  The  book  is 
ODe  of  the  deepest  and  the  most  painful  interest.  It  is  true — and 
yet  it  is  untrue.  It  is  the  work,  seemingly,  of  one  still  young,  who 
has  seen  much,  and  suffered  much,  and  thought  much,  whose 
journey  through  life  has  been  a  painful  pilgrimage  over  sharp 
stones,  and  through  deep  waters  and  amidst  briars  and  thorns.  It 
is  the  autobiography  of  one  whose  trials  have  been  very  great — 
but  it  has  this  peculiarity  about  it ;  namely,  that  all  Margaret's 
sufferings  are  the  results  of  man's  injustice,  and  not  her  sufferings 
alone,  but  those  of  all  with  whom  she  is  connected.  There  is 
something  very  chilling  in  the  view  of  life  which  is  here  taken. 
If  the  picture  be  a  true  one,  man  is  indeed  to  man  a  wolf;  and 
there  is  no  other  refuge  for  Poverty  but  Bedlam  and  the  Work- 
house. The  £ich,  it  would  seem,  are  ever  devouring  the  Poor ; 
and  a£9iction  meets  with  no  solace  save  from  the  afflicted,  helpless- 
ness no  aid  except  from  those  who  are  weak*  That  the  Poor  are 
rich  in  charities  to  the  Poor  we  admit.  That  the  Rich  are  oft- 
times  neglectful  of  their  duties  we  admit,  too— but  the  Author 
of  ^^  Margaret '^  has  stricken  Dives  with  too  unsparing  a  hand. 

Still,  as  we  have  said,  there  is  much  truth  in  the  book.  It  is 
true  in  its  parts ;  but  it  is  hardly  true  as  a  whole — the  incidents 
illustrative  of  what  the  author  calls  the  prejudices  of  the  Rich, 
press  so  thickly  upon  one  another.  The  world,  indeed,  is  hardly 
so  bad  as  it  is  here  described.  Even  in  England  there  are  noble 
hearts  and  generous  natures,  and  the  essence  of  true  Christianity 
is  to  be  found  sometimes  in  high  places.  That  they  are  to  be 
found  in  low  places,  too,  we  admit,  with  a  glow  of  pleasure. 
There  is  nothing  nobler  than  the  readiness  with  which  the  poor 
help  the  poor,  and  nothing  more  beautiful  than  some  of  the  pic- 
tures in  "  Margaret"  of  these  helpings.  Here,  for  instance,  is  one 
of  many ;  it  needs  no  introduction : — 

"  We  stood  before  Jem's  squalid  cellar.  It  was  under  a  marine-store  shop, 
and  we  descended  to  it  by  three  dirty  steps.  My  grandfather  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  opened  it,  just  as  a  very  forlorn-looking  woman,  fluttering  In  rags, 
came  forward  from  the  interior.  '  He 's  there,  poor  creeter,'  said  the  woman, 
pointing,  on  our  inquiry,  to  where  Jem  lay,  huddled  up  on  a  heap  of  straw. 
'  I  'ye  just  stepped  in  to  clean  up  a  bit ;  for  he 's  a'most  lost,  an'  nobody  to  look 
arter  him.'  A  thought  struck  me  at  the  moment,  Does  He,  who  is  no  respec- 
ter of  persons,  dive  into  these  dens  of  filth  and  squalor  in  search  of  gems  of 
great  price,  and  find  them  ? — hearts  like  this  woman's,  for  instance,  in  the  right 
placer  It  was  only  a  passing  idea,  that  heaven  would  be  more  desirable,  if  the 
company  were  thus  select.  '  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  look  afler  him  a  little,' 
said  my  grandfather.  '  I  don't  know  about  that,'  said  the  woman ;  *  it  comes 
nat'ral  to  us  poor  folks  to  help  one  another.  God  help  us,  if  it  warn't  so.  I  'U 
step  in  again,  Jem,  presently;  and  now  you  jist  get  up  and  be  talked  to;"  and 
with  a  delicacy  of  feeling  that  showed  in  her  as  well  as  it  would  have  done  in  a 
duchess,  the  u>rlom  creature  walked  out." 


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486  THB  BICH  AND  THE  POOR* 

NoWy  tliis  we  say  is  very  tine ;  and  it  is  tmth  pleasant  to  con- 
template. Bot  what  are  we  to  think  of  the  strong  contrast,  which 
follows  only  a  few  pages  later  in  the  book  t  It  may  be  necessary 
to  premise  that  Margaret  obtains  a  situation  as  *^  companion**  in 
the  house  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bontofk — wealthy  people  without  child- 
ren, liring  in  St.  Jobn^s  Wood.  The  gentleman  is  convalescing 
after  an  attack  of  gout,  and  the  lady  is  out  shopping.  Margaret  is 
reading  to  Mr.  Bontoft  in  ^  a  new  Comic  Annual,**  at  which  he 
laughs  heartily.  Suddenly  be  exclaims/^  I  say,  little  Fawn**  (he 
had  a  habit  of  giving  pet  nancs  to  every  one)  **  gire  me  a  glass  of 
wine.  Moonface  (bis  wife)  won*t  be  home  to  lunch,  and  we  most 
enjoy  ourselves  as  well  as  we  can.     What  shall  we  have  i  ^ 

**  I  suggested,"  continues  the  autobiographer,  "  several  dishes  that  I  knew 
he  was  partial  to.  '  Cooky  shall  warm  us  that  hare  soup/  he  said  ;  'just  the 
thing  for  this  raw  day.  Skip  into  the  kitchen,  like  a  Httle  fawn  as  you  are  and 
tell  her/  I  went  into  the  kkoheD  aad  delivered  the  aietsage.  On  my  return 
I  found  Mr.  Bontoft  standing  where  I  left  him*  on  the  htarih-mg,  with  liia  back 
to  the  fire ;  but  his  usually  smilinc  (ace  wore  a  wrathful  expression  ;  he  seeaied 
indeed  in  too  great  a  rage  to  speaiK,  and  pointed  with  his  hand  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows. There,  in  the  midst  of  the  hoar-frost  that  hardened  the  grounds,  and 
whitened  over  ttie  barebranehes  and  the  evergreens, exposed  to  the  biting  blast  and 
the  inclement  sky»  stood  amiaerably-clad  woman  and  two  half-naked  ehiMren,  aH 
shivering,  and  all  casting  a  mute  appealing  look  upon  Mr.  Bontofc,  as  he  luxu- 
riated over  the  fire.  *  Isn't  this  too  bad?'  he  exdaimed,  in  a  state  of  excite* 
ment ;  '  isn't  it  dreadful  ?  Anything  like  this  happening  at  Laurel  Grove ! 
Good  God ! '  I  thought  his  horror  was  occasioned  by  the  contemplation  of  so 
much  misery,  and  that,  if  only  for  his  own  comfort,  he  would  be  compelled  to 
give  something.  '  Shall  I,'  I  commenced — I  was  about  to  say,  'shall  I  go  out 
and  speak  to  them?'  but  he  interrupt^  me  hastily*  '  Of  course — to  be  sure 
directly.  Tell  John  to  take  a  horsewhip  to  them.  Bless  my  life  I '  he  con- 
tinued! ringing  the  bell  violently;  '  what  an  infliction  this  is  .'  what  can  be  the 
meaning  of  it  ? '  The  meaning  seemed  pretty  clear  to  me ;  but  what  he  had  said 
confused  me,  and  I  stood,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  when  John  entered — '  What 
are  you  all  about?'  said  Mr.  Bontoft,  agara  pointing  to  the  window.  *  WluU  do 
I  maintain  a  lodge  for?  Look  there,  sir.'  *  Lor'a  mercy,' said  John,  in  evideaC 
dismay, '  how  did  they  come  anear  ?'  He  disappeared  like  a  sliot,  and  I  sooa 
saw  him  outside,  driving  the  poor  creatures  before  him.  '  Give  me  another 
glass  of  wine/ said  Mr.  Bontoft,  Uhis  is  enough  to  spoil  a  man's  appetite  for 
a  month."* 

Now  we  hope,  and  we  believe  that  this  picture  is  not  quite  as 
true  as  the  preceding  one.  The  eontrast^  vigorously  executed  as 
it  is,  ift  exireroelj  painfuL 

There  is  excellent  stuff  in  the  author  of  "  Margaret.**  Among 
the  many  trodden-down,  but  deserving  people  in  this  story  of 
**  Margaret,**  there  is  a  poor  author — a  Mr.  Graliam — driven  by 
disappointment,^  the  nnkindness  of  the  world,  and  the  constant 
sight  of  his  suffering  wife  and  ehildren — to  Bedlam.  There  is  a 
poor  comic  actor,  who  visits  the  wife  and  children  in  a  poor 
lodging-house,  where  Margaret  and  her  gi'andfather  are  located. 
Margarets  sympathies  are  keenly  excited,  and  she  asks  Mr. 
Smithson  (the  actor)  if  nothing  can  be  done  for  poor  Graham. 

'*  *  Mr.  Smithson/  I  said,  <  considering  that  poor  Mr.  Graham  was  himself  an 
author,  don't  you  thmk  that  some  of  our  popular  writers  would  help  his  wife 
and  children  if  they  knew  how  destitute  they  were?*  Mr.  Smithson  turned  to 
me  with  a  twist  of  his  face  that  brought  the  ku^er  half  of  it  on  my  side.    <  Oh! 

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THE  RICH  AND  THB  POOR.  487 

that's  ycmr  pardcalar  kind  of  worship,  is  it,'  he  said,  'jou  make  deml.gods  of 
authors.     '  No,  I  don*t,'  I  said ;  *  1  worship  nothing  human ;  I  have  Uttk  &ith 

ill  humanity  altc^ether.   I  only  speak  of  this  as  a  possibih'ty.'    *  Ejcad,  Miss , 

what's  your  name?'  *  Miss  Ma  rples,*  said  Mary.  •  Miss  Marples,' continued 
Mr.  Smithson,  *youVe  the  right  sort  of  wisdom  to  begin  life  with.  Distrust  is 
said  to  be  an  ungracious  thing,  bnt  it  saves  a  great  waste  of  feeling.  Now,  as 
jou  concede  that  authors  are  only  men,  I  can  come  to  the  point  at  once  with  yoo. 
An  author  revelling  in  fame  and  wetdtk  it  not  the  tori  of  mam  to  feel  for  dettitu^ 
iion^  though  he  can  afford  to  tay  a  deal  about  it  in  his  books,  A  poor  devil  of  an 
author,  who  can  scarcely  live  himself  from  day  to  day,  will  be  much  more  likely 
to  synnpathise  and  share  his  crust  with  you.  James  Graham,  a  writer  of  con- 
siderahle  power  and  a  very  voluminous  writer,  was  little  known,  as  his  name 
seldom  transpired.  No  one  eould  gain  any  glory  by  helping  him — another  great 
drawback  in  thb  world,  where  people  like  to  have  their  good  deeds  known. 
Besides,  there  are  hundreds,  and  the  few  that  will  help  cannot  do  much.  Well, 
the  fact  is,  a  great  many  amongst  us  are  born  to  a  life  of  suffering,  and  we  must 
£^ht  through  it  as  well  as  we  can.' " 

Doubtless,  ID  the  last  sentence,  there  is  a  world  of  truth.     A 
great  many  amongst  us  are  bom  to  suffering.     But,  leaving  the 
general  for  the  pariicnlar  illustration  here  set  forth,  we  cannot 
help  questioning  whether  our  author  has  had  much  experience 
of  the  character  and  the  conduct  of  the  class  here  held  up  to  con- 
tempt— when  then,  indeed,  all  this  is  little  more  than  surmise. 
Now,  our  own  impression  is  that,  in  the  first  place,  such  cases  as 
that  of  James  Graham  are  not  to  be  counted  by  "  hundreds" — not 
by  tens — not  even  by  units — that  powerful  and  voluminous  writers 
are  seldom  or  ever  condemned  to  see  their  wives  and  little  ones 
starving  before  their  eyes.     The  starving  author,  driven  by  want 
and  suffering  to  Bedlam,  is  a  fiction  of  the  past.    We  do  not  be- 
lieve that  if  we  were  to  advertise  to-morrow  for  such  a  case  as  is 
here  said  to  be  one  of  hundreds,  we  should  be  able  to  find  one. 
In  the  next  place,  if  there  were  such  cases  to  be  found,  we  would 
undertake,  on  the  other  hand,  to  find  mcmy  authoi-s,  not,  perhaps, 
revelling  in  wealth  and  fame,  for  veryfew  are  so  blessed — but  en- 
joying, as  the  result  of  their  literary  efforts,  a  decent  competence, 
who  would  consider  it  the  highest  possible  privilege  to  be  suffered 
to  administer  to  the  wants  of  such  a  family  as  that  of  the  Grahams. 
A  powerful  and  voluminous  writer  of  good  character  is  seldom  or 
ever  in  these  straits.     Powerful  writers  are  not  so  plentiful  that 
they  cannot  find  employment,  and,  if  they  are  industrious  at  tiio 
same  time»  they  are  pretty  certain  to  be  able  to  earn  a  comfortable 
independence.     At  all  events  they  are  not  driven  by  want  and 
suffering  to  Bedlam  ;   and  their  wives  and  children  are  not  carried 
off  to  the  poor-law  bastille.     If  such  things  have  happened,  tlie 
case  has  been  an  exceptional  one.    We  know  more  of  authors  and 
authorship  we   suspect  than  the   gifted  writer  of '^Margaret ;'* 
and  we  assert  in  all  sincerity  that  Mr.  Smithson  does  not  here 
enunciate  the  truth. 

It  is  in  the  unvarying  picture  of  the  selfishness  and  heartless- 

ness  of  the  upper  and  middle  classes  that  the  untruthfulness  of 

**  Margaret'*  is  to  be  found.     If  a  few  lights  were  thrown  in  here 

and  there  the  picture  would  be  more  pleasant  and  more  true. 

It  may  be  said  that  there  are  lights,  and  truly;  but  they  are 

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488  THE  HIGH  AND  THE  POOR. 

thrown  in   the  wrong  places.    They  only  increase  the  darkness 
of  the  portraiture  of  the  rich.     We  had  almost  thought,  indeed,  al 
one  time  that  the  author  was  about  to  show  that  the  depravity 
of  the  rich  is  confined  to  our  own  country,  and  that  in  others,  as 
for  instance,  in  France,  a  better  state  of  things  prevails.      Bat 
Margaret's  experiences  in  France  do  not  differ  much  from  her  ex- 
periences in  England.     All  the  virtue  and  all  the  unselfishness  of 
the  nation  are  to  be  found  among  the  Poor.     The  illustrations  of 
French  Society  seem  to  be  intended  to  show  that  there  is  less  pre- 
judice, less  frigidity,  less  exclusiveness,  less  hauteur,  among  French 
aristocrats  than  among  our  own  ;  but  just  as  we  are  beginning  to 
be  charmed  with  the  geniality  of  Margaret's  new  friends,  we  find 
that  with  all  the  pleasantnesc  of  their  manners  and  their  general 
attractiveness  in  externals,  they  are  rotten  to  the  very  core.    With 
the  inherent  tendency  to  put  extreme  cases,  which  is  the  besetting 
error  of  the  present  writer,  a  case  of  conjugal  infidelity  of  the 
worst  kind  is  represented  resulting  in  the  savage  murder  of  the 
injured  wife, — a  case,  worse,  indeed,  than  that  which  a  few  years 
ago  obtained  such  melancholy  celebrity  throughout  Europe,  in- 
asmuch as  the  paramour  of  the  murderer  is  little  more  than  a 
child,  and  one,  too,   affianced  to  an   honourable,  noble-hearted 
man ;   so  that  there  is  a  too-sided  wickedness  about  it  which 
did   not  appear  in   the  real-life  tragedy,  which,  doubtless,  was 
iu  the  writer's  mind.    But  then,  as  a  set-off  to  this  again,  we  have 
some  charming  little  pictures  illustrative  of  the  homely  virtues  of 
the  poorer  classes  in  France — their  kindness,  their  honesty,  their 
fidelity — the  general  good  feeling  which  flourishes  amongst  them. 
We  should  not  have  written  thus  gravely  and  reproachfully,  if 
we  had  not  entertained  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  work  before  us, 
— not  only  as  a  promise,  but  as  a  performance.    The  promise, 
indeed,  is  of  the  highest  order;   the  performance  is  faulty,  but 
admirable,    lliere  is  more  good  in  the  world  than  the   author 
of  '^  Margaret '^  is  willing  to  admit.     It  was  well  said,  the  other 
day,    by   a    pleasant   and    thoughtful   writer,  in   that  pleasant, 
thoughtful,  periodical,  the  Household  Words^  that  if  a  man  does 
his  best  in  life,  whatever  may  be  his  misfortunes,  he  will  find 
more  people  disposed  to  hold  him  up,  than  to  knock  him  down. 
This  we  entirely  believe.    We  trust  that  the  author  of  "  Mar- 
garet" will,  ere  long,  believe  it  too. 


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489 
MY  FIRST  ADVENTURE  IN  AUSTRALIA. 

A  TALE  OF   TWENTY  TEABS   AGO. 
BY   G.  C.  MUNDY, 
AUTHOK  OF   "OU&  ANTIPODES." 

'*  This  is  the  most  omDipotent  yillaiD  that  ever  cried  *  Stand'  to  a  true  man." 

Shakspekb. 

**  Take  my  advice,  dear  Frant,  and  loiter  as  little  as  possible  at 
Sydney ;  for  you  will  spend  there  in  a  week  as  much  money  as 
would  keep  you  in  the  Bush  for  six  months,  and  would  suffice  to 
set  you  up  in  a  moderate  sheep-farm. 

"  Leave  your  heavy  baggage  with  Messrs.  Smith  and  Co.,  who 
will  forward  it  with  my  annual  stores  to  Norambla,  and  get  to  us  as 
quickly,  and  as  little  encumbered,  as  you  can. 

"  Lodge  in  the Bank  such  funds  as  you  may  possess  over 

and  above  the  sum  requisite  for  your  journey,  and  keep  a  bright 
look  out  on  the  road  and  at  the  taverns  where  you  stop,  for  Black 
Bob,  they  say,  is  on  the  Mountain  again,  and  a  greenhorn,  such  as 
you,  will  be  fair  game  not  only  for  bush-rangers,  but  for  others  in 
this  country  who  plunder  passengers  less  roughly  perhaps,  but  not 
less  surely .'^ 

Such  were  the  concluding  sentences  of  a  letter  which  I  found 
awaiting  me  on  my  arrival  at  the  capital  of  New  South  Wales. 

Let  me  now  succinctly  state  the  circumstances  which  carried  me 
to  that  Colony. 

Having  in  early  boyhood  lost  both  my  parents,  and,  in  my 
twenty-third  year,  an  uncle,  my  last  remaining  relative  resident  in 
England — who  had  adopted  and  educated  me — my  mind  recurred 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  to  a  proposal  I  had  received,  some  time  pre- 
viously, from  a  distant  cousin  and  contemporary  of  my  late  father 
to  join  him  in  Australia,  in  case  Fortune  should  frown  on  me  at 
home,  and,  in  that  country,  either  to  follow  in  one  of  the  towns  the 
profession  I  had  studied — namely.  Medicine — or  to  try  a  squatting 
adventure  in  the  pastoral  districts.  My  mind  was  soon  made  up. 
A  letter  was  dispatched  to  Mr.  Fellowes  (for  thus  I  shall  designate 
my  Australian  cousin),  announcing  at  once  the  demise  of  my  kind 
uncle,  and  my  determination  to  emigrate  without  delay  to  New 
South  Wales.  My  preparations  were  simple  enough ;  for  I  had  no 
property  to  dispose  of,  no  relatives  to  take  leave  of,  no  sweetheart 
to  break  my  heart  about  or  to  weaken  my  resolve :  neither  had 
duns  or  bailiffs  any  terrors  for  one,  who,  if  poor,  had  always  been 
provident.  Fifty  pounds  paid  my  debts,  another  fifty  furnished  a 
moderate  outfit,  a  third  a  passage  in  a  packet  ship,  and,  with  bills  for 
2000/.  in  my  strong  box,  and  a  good  stock  of  health  in  my  frame, 
I  felt  that  I  was  about  to  commute  my  home  with  worldly  prospects 
by  no  means  contemptible. 

It  was  precisely  six  months  after  the  date  of  my  letter  of  notice 
to  Mr.  Fellowes  that  I  made  good  my  landing  at  Sydney,  and  found 
there  his  epistle  above  mentioned.  Having  endured  sixteen  weeks 

TOL.  XXXIV«  Digitized  b|«  M  Z 


490  MY   FIRST  ADVENTURE 

of  marine  imprisonment  on  board  the  good  ship  "  John  Dobbs," 
I  will  not  deny  that  to  have  both  stretched  and  steadied  my  legs  for 
a  short  space  in  the  Australian  metropolis  would  have  suited  my 
tastes  exceedingly  well ;  nor,  indeed,  was  there  wanting  a  hospita- 
ble invitation  to  tnat  effect  from  the  mercantile  firm  to  which  I  had 
been  recommended  by  my  relative. 

At  this  period  the  colony  had  well  nigh  attained  the  heyday  of 
its  prosperity.  Its  progress  had  been  beyond  example  rapid,  and 
considerable  fortunes  had  been  accumulated  by  almost  every  one 
possessing  ordinary  energy  and  capacity,  with  moderate  capi^  for 
a  foundation.  Some  persons,  indeed,  predicted  that  wild  specula* 
tion  and  unrestricted  credit  might  and  ought  to  find  a  precipice, 
sooner  or  later,  in  their  path  ;  but  '^  go  ahead*'  was  the  watchword 
of  the  day, — and  there  would  be  time  enough  to  "  hold  hard"  when 
the  brink  was  in  sight ! 

The  Sydney  streets  were  filled  with  dashing  equipages.  Riding 
parties  and  pic-nics,  and  dinners  and  dances,  were  daily  occur- 
rences. The  shops  and  warehouses  groaned  with  costly  goods 
and  expensive  luxuries.  The  wharves  were  crowded  with  ship- 
ping. 

WhQe  meditating  on  these  evidences  of  the  wealth  of  Sydney, 
youthful  self-reliance  suggested  that  here  must  be  a  favourable 
opening  for  me — whether  as  a  medico  or  a  man  about  town,  and 
a  mode  of  life,  besides,  much  more  amusing  and  agreeable  than 
vegetating  with  the  gum-trees  in  the  Bush ! 

This  was  precisely  the  reflection  which  had  ruined  many  an  in- 
cipient immigrant  before.  With  a  strong  effort,  therefore^  I  threw 
it  to  the  winds  at  once,  and  after  three  or  four  days  of  active  pre- 
paration for  my  trip  into  the  interior,  I  made  a  decisive  start  for 
Norambla,  my  cousin's  remote  homestead. 

My  plan  of  travel  was  to  take  the  mail,  a  rough  sort  of  car,  as 
far  as  Bathurst,  a  town  about  120  miles  from  Sydney,  directly 
inland,  carrying  with  me  a  portmanteau  and  saddle  bags,  andL 
having  there  purchased  a  horse,  to  deposit  the  former  article,  and 
to  ride  the  rest  of  the  long  journey  with  the  lightest  possible 
luggage. 

I  have  no  desire  to  dwell  upon  the  journey  further  than  to  say 
that  two  armed  policemen  accompanied  the  mail  cart  on  this  oc- 
casion, to  guard  against  robbery  in  general,  and  more  particularly 
against  the  possible  attempts  of  the  notorious  Black  Bob,  who, 
some  days  preTiously,  had  made  his  appearance  on  the  Blue 
Mountain  Road,  and  had  committed  divers  acts  of  spoliation,  the 
last  of  which,  on  account  of  the  obstinate  resistance  of  his  victim, 
had  been  accompanied  with  atrocious  violence.  No  one  appeared 
to  know  whether  this  dreaded  delinquent  was  an  Aboriginal  Aus* 
tralian  or  a  negro  convict  at  large ;  but,  as  one  of  this  latter  class 
had  not  long  before  escaped  from  Van  Diemen^s  Land,  the  black 
bravo  of  the  Blue  Mountains  was  generally  belieyed  to  be  identi- 
cal with  the  African  runaway. 

We  reached  Bathurst,  however,  without  accident  of  any  kind 
more  serious  than  that  produced  upon  our  osseous  systems  bty  the 

.  '.   "  Digitized  by  VjOOQI^ 


IN  AUSTRAUA.  491 

jolting^  of  oar  inGommodioiis  vehicle ;  and  bere,  barmg  pubtished 
aoj  want  of  a  bourse,  tbe  pick  of  fiftj  was  given  me  bj  a  neighbour- 
isg  breeder  for  five  pounds.  This  was  cheep  enough  to  all  ap- 
pearance— bot  not  so  m  fiM^  ;  for  the  beast  selected,  though  it  had 
been  ^  handled"  ajad  **  backed,"  and  was  "  quiet  as  a  Iamb  "  belied 
its  character  so  flatly  before  I  got  clear  of  the  town,  that  I  sold 
my  new  acquisition  on  the  spot  for  thirty  shillings,  and  purchased 
ia  its  stead,  for  twenty  pounds,  a  regular-goitng  old  '^  stock-horse," 
which,  starting  from  the  inn-door  at  a  canter,  would  have  kept  it 
up  for  a  week,  if  required,  or  even  permitted,  so  to  do. 

The  (fistance  from  Bathurst  to  my  cousin's  head-station  may 
liave  been  about  one  hundred  miles,  to  perform  which  it  took  me 
four  days — whereof  one  was  wasted  by  losing  my  way  in  tbe  Bush, 
and  being  compelled,  therefore,  to  bivouac  under  the  green  gum- 
tree.  On  this  evening  my  old  horse  had  been  for  some  hours  in  a 
most  obstinate  humour ;  nor  did  it,  until  too  late,  occur  to  me  that 
whilst  my  reason  had  been  guiding  me  in  the  wrong  course,  the 
instinct  of  the  qoadruped  had  taught  him  the  ri^t  one,  and  thus 
many  previous  hours  had  been  spent,  as  precious  hours  often  are, 
in  a  combat  of  opinion  worse  than  useless.  The  conqparative 
share  of  comfort  by  me  enjoyed  on  this  particular  night  was  due, 
it  must  be  owned,  to  my  charger^s  better  intelligence.  The  shades 
of  evening  were  fast  closing  in;  the  forest  around  me  seemed 
no  less  interminable  than  featureless ;  nor  had  I  been  able  for  some 
time  to  trace  the  faintest  indication  of  a  road.  A  truly  cockney 
feeling  of  helplessness  weighed  upon  my  spirit,  when  I  reflected 
that  I  knew  no  more  than  a  child,  and  a  child  reared  within  tbe 
sound  of  Bow  beUs,  how  to  ^  camp"  lor  the  night ;  nor  had  I  ever 
made  a  fire,  in  or  out  of  a  grate,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life. 

Abandoning  my  reins  in  despair  to  the  will  of  my  steed,  he  soon 
quickened  his  pace,  and,  taking  a  direction  widely  deviating  from 
mine,  in  a  few  minutes  his  pointed  ears  drew  my  attention  to  a 
slender  volume  of  smoke  curiing  up  among  the  distant  trees.  Ap- 
proaching vrith  caution,  I  found  that  no  Iriendly  cabin,  as  I  had 
hoped,  was  there  to  receive  me.  The  smoke  ascended  firom  a 
burning-  log,  close  to  which  stood  a  sloping  ^^break-weather"  oi 
bark  and  branches,  such  as  the  blacks  erect  in  their  migrations,  and 
beneath  it  lay  a  rude  bed  of  rushes  and  leaves,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  tenanted  for  a  night  or  two,  and  but  just  deserted. 

^  Any  port  in  a  storm,"  and  "  Go  further  and  fare  worse,"  were 
of  course  the  familiar  and  appropriate  proverbs  that  first  su^ested 
themselves  to  my  mind ;  and  the  old  stock-horse,  whose  counte- 
nance I  consulted,  having  rubbed  his  head  against  a  tree  and  given 
himself  a  good  shake — diereby  considering  himself  groomed  and 
stabled,  and  having  begun,  with  an  air  of  perfect  content,  to  nibble 
At  grasa — thereby  announcing  the  source  firom  which  he  expected 
Iris  forage, — I  felt  that  our  home  ii»r  the  nij^t  was  before  me. 
Greenhorn  «s  I  had  been  deservedly  stykd  with  regard  to  Aus- 
tralian, and,  indeed,  to  any  rural  experiences^  I  bad,  nerertheless^ 
sought  and  profited  by  good  council  at  Sydney  as  to  the  perfoncn- 
( of  my  jommey,  and  was^  therdbre,  so  far  prepared  for  rough- 
Digitized  by  VjOOQ  IC 


492  MY  FIRST  ADVENTURE 

ing  it  as  to  ha^e  brougBt  with  me  some  tea  and  sugar,  biscuit  and 
bacon^  my  tin  pot,  blanket,  pipe,  tomahawk,  and  hobbles,     ^t  a 
loss  for  water  my  steed  again  befriended  me,  for  on  being  turned 
loose  he  proceeded  straight  to  a  neighbouring  water-hole,  and,  re- 
turning with  a  wet  muzzle,  solved  my  difficulty.     An  armfbl   €^f 
dry  wood  soon  made  the  smouldering  log  to  blaze  up  again  ;  and, 
helpless  as  I  might  be  —  and  undoubtedly  was,  in  less  than   an 
hour  I  had  refreshed  my  inner  man  with  a  pot  of  hot  tea  and  some 
grilled  bacon,  had  smoked  my  pipe  to  the  great  comfort  of  my 
ruffled  nerves,  and  had  put  myself  with  some  complacency  to  bed. 
The  night  was  fine,  sublimely  fine  ;  the  rushes  were  soft  enoug^li 
for  a  tired  traveller,  the  saddle  was  a  convenient  pillow — ^where 
none  better  was  attainable ;  the  Virginia  weed  a  powerful  seda- 
tive ; — and,  in  short,  I  never  slept  sounder. 

Rising  all  the  earlier  because  the  mosquitos  expedited  as  well 
as  sounded  my  reveille  with  their  tiny  trumpets,  I  prepared  my 
breakfast  as  I  had  done  my  supper,  and  was  in  the  act  of  collect- 
ing my  simple  baggage  for  a  fresh  start,  when  on  lifting  the  saddle 
my  eyes  were  attracted  by  a  shining  object  beneath  it,  which,  on 
inspection,  proved  to  be  a  massive  ring  of  embossed  silver  having 
the  appearance  of  a  purse  slide,  and  near  it  lay  a  small  canvas  bag, 
containing,  as  I  found,  two  or  three  large  leaden  bullets.  This 
discovery  led  me  to  examine  more  closely  my  lodging  and  its  vi- 
cinity ;  and,  pursuing  my  researches,  in  a  thicket  hard  by  I  stuna- 
bled  upon  a  leathern  mail  bag  ripped  open,  while  around  it  as  well 
as  under  the  burning  log  were  strewed  several  letters  and  news- 
papers. All  the  former  had  been  opened,  and  some  of  them,  front 
their  tenor,  had  evidently  enclosed  money  orders  or  bank  notes. 
In  a  black-bordered  epistle,  half  consumed  by  fire,  I  recognised 
my  own  letter  to  Mr.  Fellowes,  announcing  my  arrival  in  the 
colony  and  my  intention  to  join  him  in  a  few  days. 

It  was  clear  that  I  had  inherited  for  the  night  the  familiar  lair 
of  some  bush-ranger — the  formidable  Black  Bob  himself,  perhaps  ! 
This  thought  was  far  from  agreeable ;  nor  was  I  much  reassured  by 
the  conscious  possession  of  a  small  double-barrelled  pistol — one 
of  those  popgun  toys  which  most  travellers  are  persuaded  by  dis- 
interested gunsmiths  to  purchase;  which,  in  no  instance,  have 
been  known  to  kill  or  wound  any  one  but  their  bearer  or  his 
friends  ;  which  are  snares  in  the  way  of  inquisitive  brats,  and 
bugbears  in  the  minds  of  their  anxious  mothers. 

Having  fastened  to  my  saddle  the  rifled  letter  bag  and  its  con- 
tents, I  proceeded  to  resume  my  journey,  without  any  more  distinct 
idea  of  its  proper  direction  than  that  afforded  me  by  the  sun. 
Turning  my  back  on  the  rising  luminary,  I  gave  the  reins  to  my 
horse,  who  at  once  breaking  into  his  ^'  bush-canter,"  which  he 
maintained  for  about  an  hour,  at  length  hit  upon  a  beaten  track 
whereon  were  visible  the  marks  of  wheels,  horses,  and  oxen.  This 
was  cheering  enough, — and,  patting  the  ewe  neck  of  my  faithful 
steed,  I  pursued  confidently  my  journey  till  mid-day,  when  a  log 
hot  opportunely  appeared  in  view,  bearing  on  its  front  the  glaring 


Digitized  by 


Google 


IN   AUSTRALIA.  493 

untruth  that  ^^  good  accommodations  for  man  and  beast"  were  to  be 
found  on  the  premises. 

Here  I  learned  that  my  consin's  honse  might  easily  be  reached 
on  the  following  day,  and  that  I  could  be  put  up  for  tins  night  at  a 
convenient  farm  about  fifteen  miles  onwards.  The  landlord  of  the 
little  shebeen  house  was  absent,  but  the  mistress,  who  was  old  and 
had  legs  of  uneven  length,  promised  me  a  grilled  fowl  on  the  condi- 
tion of  my  joining  in  the  chase  of  the  bird  which  was  to  compose^ 
and  which  did  indeed  shortly  figure  in  the  shape  of,  a  'spatch-cock. 
The  old  woman  had  heard  of  the  robbery  of  the  mail  bags,  and 
had  moreover  seen  the  carrier,  who  described  the  robber  as  a 
tall  black  man,  who  took  him  so  greatly  at  disadvantage  that  he 
was  unable  either  to  defend  his  charge  or  to  escape  by  riding  ofi*. 
She  consoled  me  in  some  degree  by  the  assurance  that  Black  Bob 
had  been  since  heard  of  in  a  different  direction  firom  that  I  was 
pursuing ; — so  having  refireshed  myself  and  my  charger,  we  set  off 
once  more  on  our  way. 

It  was,  indeed,  lonely  travelling !  For  the  last  two  days  not  a 
living  soul  had  I  seen  on  the  road  with  the  exception  of  the  bel- 
dame who  had  just  given  me  my  luncheon.  However,  the  track 
was  pretty  well  marked,  the  weather  lovely,  the  natural  objects 
novel  to  my  European  experiences ;  in  another  day  I  should  be 
with  my  friends ;  and,  with  the  thoughtless  buoyancy  of  youth  and 
high  health,  I  was  whistling  a  merry  tune  to  the  measured  and 
well-sustained  pace  of  my  steed,  when,  at  a  spot  where  a  fallen 
tree  compelled  me  to  pull  into  a  walk,  a  slight  noise  startled  both 
man  and  horse,  and,  in  the  next  instant,  my  left  foot  was  firmly 
seized,  and  with  a  quick  jerk  I  was  canted  from  my  saddle  and 
cast  to  the  ground. 

But  little  hurt,  I  sprang  lightly  to  my  feet,  when  a  tall  and  tawny 
man,  having  the  appearance  of  an  Asiatic  rather  than  a  Negro, 
confronted  me,  and,  levelling  a  pistol  at  my  head,  commanded  me 
to  deliver  my  money.  The  chance  of  a  rencounter  with  banditti 
had  naturally  and  fi-equently  enough  occurred  to  me  during  my 
long  and  solitary  ride  ;  yet,  when  I  strove  to  form  some  plan  of 
action  in  case  of  an  attack,  my  tactics  failed  me,  and,  as  I  spurred 
onwards,  I  had  not  even  made  up  my  mind  on  the  grand  and  pri- 
mary points  whether  I  should  boldly  do  battle,  or  ingloriously  give 
in  and  pay  my  footing,  should  the  occasion  of  option  supervene. 
The  question  was  now  brought  to  a  summary  issue. 

My  nature  had  ever  been  placid  and  unpugnacious  ;  I  was  un- 
skilled in  the  use  of  any  weapon ;  I  had  nothing  of  the  knight- 
errant  in  my  composition.  My  pistol  rested  in  the  holster  in  ami- 
cable company  with  my  pipe  and  my  spirit  flask.  I  stood  face  to 
face  with  the  redoubtable  black  bandit,  far  from  all  chance  of  as- 
sistance :  I,  therefore,  am  unable  to  account  for  the  uncontrollable 
impulse  which  drove  me  to  resist  a  fully-armed  and  desperate 
man,  myself  unarmed  except  with  the  stock  of  an  ordinary  hunt- 
ing whip. 

Be  it  as  it  might,  with  this  apparently  ineflicient  weapon  I  struck 
with  all  my  force  at  the  outstretched  pistol,  which  exploded  as  it  flew 

•^  *^  Digitized  by  ^  .^ 


484  MY   FIRST  ADVENTURE 

from  the  foot{>ad's  grasp ;  and,  ere  lie  could  snatch  its  fellow  fropia 
his  belt,  I  had  thrown  myself  npon  him,  and  gnsptiig  Hm  roaiid 
the  body,  after  a  brief  struggle  had  borne  him  bftckwards  to  Ae 
earth.  Young,  strong,  and  acdre,  I  now  caught  him  by  the  throaty 
and,  my  courage  rising  with  the  cooscionsness  of  superior  persomd 
vigour,  and  my  clntch  tighteniag  accordingly,  aAer  a  fewinefifectoal 
efforts  to  release  himself,  my  adversary  ceased  all  resistance  and 
cried  for  mercy.  My  hand  on  his  windpipe,  my  knee  on  fais 
breast,  we  came  to  a  parley,  and,  recovering  his  breath,  with  sun- 
dry half-stifled  gasps  the  bravo  himself  proposed  the  oondiiions 
upon  which  the  combat  was  to  teiminate. 

Almost  inaiticulate  from  the  pressure  of  my  fingers,  be  never- 
theless with  equal  coolness  and  readiness  drew  oat  the  verbal  trealy 
as  follows.  He  was  to  surrender  his  loaded  pistol,  the  only  re- 
maining fire-arm  on  his  person,  and  I  was  to  release  him  on  his 
solemnly  swearing  that  he  would  make  no  fiirther  attempt  to  mo- 
lest me  on  my  journey.  To  this  compact  I  assented,  with  the 
sapplementary  proviso,  however,  that  his  hands  were  to  be  tied  be- 
hind his  back  before  we  parted.  He  protested  that  he  should 
starve  in  the  Bush  if  his  arms  were  bound ;  hut  a  certain  expres- 
sion that  crossed  his  swarthy  countenance  hardened  my  heart  to 
this  appeal,  and,  removing  the  pistol  from  his  belt  and  the  cravat 
from  his  neck,  I  quickly  secured  his  wrists  with  a  knot  which  I  had 
learnt  on  board  ship.  Then,  compelling  him  to  rise  and  to  walk  be- 
fore me  until  I  had  reached  my  horse,  which  had  strayed  away  a 
few  yards,  I  mounted  and  bade  him  begone. 

**  Good  night,  Mr.  KL,"  said  the  bush-ranger  with  a  grin,  ^*  we  are 
quits  now ;  I  spared  your  life  when  I  could  have  taken  it,  and  you 
mine.  But  keep  clear  of  me,  for,  by  G— ,  1  will  not  be  twice 
foiled." 

"  You  know  my  name  ?"  I  inquirod  with  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "your  kind  letter  informed  me  of  that  as 
well  as  of  the  opportunity  I  should  have  of  making  your  acquaint- 
ance on  this  road.  You  were  at  my  old  crib  last  night,  as  I  see 
by  your  letter  bag.  Had  yv>u  found  me  at  home  you  would  not 
have  got  off  so  easily,  for  we  were  two  there,  and  Long  Tom  does 
not  stick  at  trifles."* 

At  this  moment  the  cracking  of  a  twig  attracted  my  notice,  and, 
looking  through  the  increasing  gloom,  I  perceived  a  dark  figure 
creeping  towards  us  half  screened  by  an  acacia  thicket— just  at 
the  spot  where  the  robber  had  previously  pounced  upon  me.  Fully 
convinced  that  it  was  no  friend  or  ally  who  was  entering  upon  the 
scene,  I  stuck  spurs  into  my  horse^s  sides  and  darted  away  at  fiill 
speed-— a  speed  not  lessened  by  the  whiz  of  a  ball  which  the  new- 
comer sent  after  me  with  no  indifferent  aim. 

On  reaching  my  halting  place  for  the  night,  a  small  frirm  cot- 
tage some  miles  further,  and  examining  my  pocket  pistol,  I  found 
that  the  caps  had  been  removed,  and  recalling  to  mind  that  I  had 
left  it  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  table  of  the  cabin  where  I  had 
lunched,  I  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  old  landlady  and 
Black  Bob  were  confederates  in  mischief^  and  that^sfae  had  thas, 

Digitized  by  vjC 


IN  AUflTRALU.  495 

as  in  duty  and  honour  bound— tbat  honour  which  subsists  among 
thieves — considerately  drawn  my  teeth  before  action. 

The  horse  pistol  I  bad  taken  from  the  bush-ranger  was  a  heavy 
one,  yet  on  trying  one  of  the  bullets  from  the  canvas  bag  it  proved 
mfich  too  large  for  the  gauge  of  the  weapon. 

The  remainder  of  nay  ride  was  performed  without  incident  or 
accident  meriting  narration ;  and  by  sunset  on  the  following  day  I 
found  myself  comfortably  seated  at  the  table  of  my  father's  old 
friend  and  cousin — warmly  welcomed  though  unexpected,  and  the 
EDore  so  on  account  of  the  perils  of  the  journey,  from  which  I 
had  so  fortunately,  and  without  material  damage,  escaped.  Mr. 
Fellowes  did  not  fail  to  compliment  and  congratcdate  me  on  my 
prowess  with  the  footpad — assuring  me  that  Black  Bob  had  never 
before  been  worsted.  He  added  that  this  man  had  some  redeem- 
ing points  in  his  character — never  shedding  blood  unless  resisted, 
nor  even  using  violence  if  he  could  gain  his  ends  without  it ;  that 
he  had  been  known  to  perform  acts  of  humanity  and  generosity ; 
tumally  kept  his  word  for  good  or  evil ;  and  was  so  clever  at  expe- 
dients that  he  had  never  yet  been  captured^  although  his  escapes 
had  been  little  short  of  miraculous. 

Though  leagued  with  several  comrades,  the  black  robber  gene- 
rally "  did  business"*  alone,  and,  by  taking  his  victims  by  surprise, 
bad  invariably  succeeded  in  getting  all  he  wanted — their  money. 

My  friend's  residence  was  a  simple  though  roomy  cottage  of  one 
story,  having  a  shingled  roof,  weather-boarded  walls,  and  a  long, 
wide  veranda  supported  on  the  unbarked  stems  of  young  trees.  A 
large  garden,  abundant  in  European  fruits  and  vegetables,  was 
spread  out  in  front,  and  in  the  rear,  at  a  short  distance,  stood  a 
considerable  range  of  out-houses  adapted  to  sheep  and  cattle 
farming.  In  the  profusion  of  well-tended  flowers  on  the  garden 
beds,  and  in  the  trained  clustering  of  woodbines  and  wild  roses, 
clematis  and  passifloras  around  the  espaliers  of  the  veranda,  the 
band  of  woman  was  unmistakeably  betrayed  ; — and,  indeed,  the 
exquisite  taste  of  Mary  Fellowes,  the  daughter  of  my  host,  whether 
in  horticulture  or  other  elegant  and  innocent  accomplishments, 
was  not  to  be  disputed  or  excelled.  Mary  was  the  last  sur\'iving 
child  of  her  father  and  now  his  sole  companion  and  solace— for 
her  mother  had  been  taken  from  him  many  years  before.  She  was 
at  this  time  just  eighteen,  and  as  lovely  and  loveable  a  blossom  as 
was  ever  bom  to  blush  unseen,  and  waste  its  sweetness  in  the 
Bush  of  a  new  and  half-civilised  country. 

In  the  history  of  emigrants  to  a  distant  land,  especially  emigrants 
of  a  higher  order,  there  is  commonly  some  primary  motive,  beyond 
mere  truant  disposition  or  urgent  financial  circumstances,  which 
finally  clenched,  if  it  did  not  originally  suggest,  the  measure  of 
expatriation ;  and,  could  the  truth  be  traced,  the  real  and  active 
cause  would  oftener  be  found  to  rest  in  moral  or  sentimental  im- 
pulse than  on  more  tangible  and  material  considerations.  Some 
disappointment,  some  slight,  some  perhaps  fancied  wrong,  even 
an  idle  word,  may  be  the  feather  which  turns  the  scale  and  deter- 
mines the  fate  (rf  a  family.    It  teas  one  word  that  hqrried  my 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


496  MT  FIRST  ADVENTURE 

fiither's  Mend  round  the  globe,  and  fixed  his  destiny  at  the  Anti-* 
pedes. 

Bom  of  a  respectable  mercantile  family  and  bred  to  the  same 
profession,  accident  threw  him  into  the  society  of  a  young  ladjr 
of  higher  ancestral  pretensions ;  and,  her  noble  and  wealthy  rela- 
tives scornfully  rejecting  an  union  so  unequal,  but  on  which  the 
happiness  of  two  lives  depended,  the  despair  inspired  by  this 
cruel  parental  fiat  urged  the  loving  couple  to  a  clandestine  mar- 
riage. 

In  this  instance,  Time,  and  the  ordinary  dramatic  appeal  to 
the  sympathies  of  the  recusant  father,  failed  in  their  prescriptive 
influence.  The  old  peer  was  inexorable — inexorable  as  Death 
himself!  Registering  a  solemn  vow  never  to  forgive  the  shameful 
misalliance  of  his  daughter,  or  to  receive  the  rebellious  pair  as 
his  children,  he  drove  them  in  a  transport  of  rage  from  his  pre- 
sence and  his  aflections.  The  commoner  had  his  pride  as  well 
as  the  peer ;  the  term  ^^  misalliance "  proved  indigestible  to  his 
self-esteem ;  further  humiliations  followed  the  first  paternal  out- 
burst— embittering  the  social  position  of  the  rash  couple,  and 
depriving  that  palladium  of  British  hearts,  home,  of  its  very 
spirit  and  essence — domestic  comfort.  The  thoughts  of  Charles 
Fellowes,  which  in  the  inconstant  humours  of  his  bachelorhood 
had  sometimes  vaguely  pointed  towards  the  colonies,  now  stood 
fixed  in  the  direction  of  emigration ;  and  his  faithful  partner  for- 
saking and  forswearing  all  others  and  cleaving  to  her  husband, 
they  resolved  to  create  for  themselves  a  new  home  in  the  Great 
South  Land,  where  a  new  English  race  were  already  growing  up, 
multiplying,  and  flourishing. 

The  united  properties  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fellowes,  promptly  con- 
solidated into  money,  aflbrded  a  nucleus  whereon,  with  ordinary 
good  fortune,  they  might  hope  to  form  a  handsome  competence. 
In  less  than  a  year  sifter  the  question  of  quitting  England  had 
been  doubtfully  mooted  by  the  husband,  they  had  shaken  its  dust 
from  ofi*  their  feet  for  ever,  had  traversed  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
oceans,  and  had  built  their  remote  and  sequestered  nest  in  the 
heart  of  an  antipodal  wilderness. 

At  the  opening  of  our  narrative,  twenty  years  later,  we  find 
Mr.  Fellowes  a  widower,  and  father  of  an  only  child,  whose  sole 
aim  consisted  in  an  unremitting  endeavour  to  cheer  the  existence, 
and  to  fill  the  void  left  by  her  lost  mother  in  the  heart  of  her 
surviving  parent. 

Such  was  the  home,  temporary  or  permanent,  as  I  might  select, 
offered  to  my  acceptance  on  my  arrival  in  Australia ;  for  I  bad 
not  been  many  days  at  Norambla  before  my  benevolent  relative 
gave  me  the  option  to  become  a  partner  in  bis  farming  concerns, 
or  to  establish  myself  independently,  as  I  might  hereafter  determine. 
It  was  easy  to  see  to  which  of  these  alternatives  the  old  man^s 
wishes  pointed.  His  health  was  infirtn,  his  affairs  demanded 
active  supervision,  and  his  affections,  I  really  believe,  yearned 
towards  me  as  though  he  had  re-found  a  lost  son.  As  for  the 
sweet  little  Mary,  she  had  bewailed  the  death  of  an  only  brother, 


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IN  AUSTRALIA.  497 

myself  had  never  been  blessed  with  a  sister,  and  I  fieaicy  we 
anticipated  with  mutual  pleasure  the  establishment  of  a  fraternal 
connection  by  adoption,  with  all  the  duties,  privileges^  and  immu* 
nities  of  that  endearing  tie. 

About  a  month  after  my  arrival  at  Norambla,  Mr.  Fellowes 
announced  his  intention  to  visit  his  chief  out-station  on  the  Lach- 
lan  River,  whither,  as  a  matter  of  course,  I  was  to  accompany  him, 
my  object  being  to  instruct  myself  as  soon  as  possible  in  the 
mysteries  of  squatting  and  the  avocations  of  a  flockmaster.  The 
out-station  of  Ultimo,  for  this  was  its  name,  and,  indeed,  its  nature 
also,  had  been  created  some  five  or  six  years ;  and  although  the 
proprietor  had  annually  visited  it  at  the  shearing  season,  his 
daughter  had  never  yet  been  there.  In  tl\e  old  country,  it  would 
hardly  appear  credible  that  a  father  could  absent  himself  for  weeks 
from  an  only  and  tenderly  nurtured  girl,  leaving  her  meanwhile  in 
the  sole  charge  of  a  convict  couple ;  yet  such  was  the  case  in  the 
instance  of  Mr.  Fellowes ;  nor  was  such  a  course  uncommon  in 
the  earlier  days  of  the  colony,  when  the  servants,  domestic  and 
agricultural,  were  almost  wholly  drawn  from  the  list  of  prisoners 
holding  tickets  of  leave,  or  restored  to  conditional  freedom  by 
servitude  of  their  sentences. 

Here  the  trust  was  not  misplaced ;  for  more  faithful  and  attached 
dependants  than  Job  and  Hannah  could  nowhere  have  been 
foimd ;  and  stout  Stephen,  their  son,  a  youth  of  twenty  and  a 
first-rate  bushman,  who  had  command  of  the  "  farm-hands  "  when 
his  master  and  Job  were  absent,  proved  a  vigilant  and  efficient 
guard  over  his  young  mistress,  brave  and  incorruptible  as  his  own 
Scotch  collie. 

Another  hanger-on  of  Norambla  there  was,  deserving  of  notice, 
an  aboriginal  lad,  whom  Mr.  Fellowes,  some  years  before,  had 
discovered  on  one  of  his  sheep-runs,  called  "  The- Blackman's 
Brush,"  half  dead  from  the  bite  of  a  venomous  snake  and  deserted 
by  his  tribe.  The  boy  appeared  to  be  about  fifteen  years  old,  a 
lean,  lathy,  supple  creature,  with  a  face  like  a  baboon,  a  head  like 
a  black  mop,  a  set  of  snowy  teeth  well  adapted  to  cannibalism, 
and,  withal,  faculties  so  quick  that  one  would  have  thought  that  to 
the  reasoning  powers  of  the  human,  he  added  the  powerful  instinct 
of  the  brute  animal.  He,  too,  was  faithful  after  his  kind,  but  it 
was  a  desultory  kind  of  fidelity ;  for  sometimes  he  would  fall  into 
a  fit  of  moping  during  which  any  species  of  labour  might  as  well 
have  been  expected  from  a  sloth  or  a  dormouse  as  from  him; 
at  others,  more  rarely,  he  would  disappear  altogether  for  two  or 
three  days,  nor  was  it  possible  to  make  his  wild  mind  compre- 
hend that  he  had  no  right  so  to  do.  His  master  had  never  tried 
corporal  correction  upon  his  ebon  proUg^y  but,  on  Stephen  once 
attempting  that  experiment,  it  had  nearly  cost  him  his  life,  for 
Dingo*  (as  the  farm-people  had  named  the  foundling),  starting 
up  and  seizing  a  spear,  formed  of  the  stalk  of  the  zanthorea, 
tipped  with  bone,  hurled  it  at  him  with  such  force  and  precision, 
*  Diogo,  the  Australian  wild  dog,  ^  t 

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4S8  MY   FIRST  ADVENTURE 

tlwit,  had  it  not  struck  upon  his  belt,  he  mtwt  hare  been  trans- 
fixed by  the  rude  weapon. 

Dingoes  chief  duties,  when  he  chose  to  perform  them,  were 
catting,  sawing,  and  splitting  fire- wood;  his  chief  pleasure,  wbcn 
he  was  permitted  it,  was  to  assist  the  stockmen  on  horseback  in 
driving  cattle.  The  young  savage  had  soon  picked  up  horseman- 
ship— his  lank  bowed  legs  giving  him  a  seat  wholly  independent 
of  saddle  or  stirrup.  He  was,  moreover,  usefol  in  procuring  game 
for  his  protectors. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  present  periodical  trip  to  Ultimo,  as  upon 
former  ones,  Mary  was  to  have  been  left  at  home ;  but  on  my 
casually  inquiring  whether  she  would  not  prefer  accompanying 
her  father,  she  admitted  with  blushing  earnestness  that  nothing 
would  please  her  more.  The  ride  was  a  trifle,  she  said,  only 
twenty -four  miles,  her  pony  cantered  like  a  rockinghorse,  and  she 
would  quite  enjoy  roughing  it  in  the  log-hut  which  constituted  the 
dwelling-house  at  the  out-station.  A  man  and  his  wife  lived  there 
in  the  capacities  of  overseer  and  hut-keeper — the  woman  a  tidy 
body,  who  could  officiate  as  abigail ;  and,  in  short ;  **Do,  my  father, 
let  me  go  with  you  this  time,"  proved  irresistible  to  the  loving 
parent,  and  he  consented. 

Stephen  was  sent  forward  with  a  dray,  containing  some  few- 
articles  of  comfort,  and  to  make  preparation  for  the  first  visit  of  a 
lady  to  Ultimo;  and  on  a  fine  November  morning,  two  days  later, 
we  stalled  for  that  place— Mary,  her  father,  and  myself  on  horse- 
back, Dingo,  who  came  as  a  voltmteer,  on  foot,  a  cotton  shirt  and 
trowsers,  a  spear,  a  wommerah  or  throwing-stick,  and  a  boomerang, 
comprising  the  entire  stock  of  his  personalties.  A  couple  ^ 
baggage  horses,  well  freighted,  ran  loose  on  our  track. 

The  country  through  which  we  rode  was  gently  undulating, 
thinly  sprinkled  with  scorched-ap  grass,  and  lightly  timbered  with 
the  several  varieties  of  the  Eucalyptus  or  gum-tree,  save  where 
occasional  savannahs  or  open  plains  widened  and  improved  the 
landscape.  During  the  meridian  heat  of  the  day  we  halted  for 
rest  and  refreshment  at  a  spot  offering  the  requisites,  rare  enough 
in  Australia,  of  shade  and  water;  and,  resuming  our  ride  as  the  sun 
declined,  we  easily  reached  Ultimo  in  time  to  T^itness  his  gorgeous 
setting. 

The  out-station  was,  indeed,  of  the  very  plainest  and  humblest 
construction.  It  consisted  of  two  huts,  at  right  angles,  built  of  "  split 
stuff,"  or  slabs  of  timber  wrought  only  by  the  axe,  and  roofed 
with  hnge  flakes  of  bark,  such  as  any  good  bushman  can  in  a  few 
minutes  obtain  from  the  nearest  gum  of  sufficient  size.  Each  hut 
had  a  huge  chimney  of  hardened  mud;  each  was  divided  into  two 
rooms  with  clay  floors,  and  with  the  rough  rafters  uncovered  by 
any  ceiling.  The  sitting-room  fiimiture  comprised  a  table  at  once 
rude  and  ricketty,  with  three  or  four  wooden  chairs  and  stools, 
while  a  couple  of  mattresses  strapped  up  and  stowed  in  a  comer 
denoted  that  the  gentlemen  were  to  sleep  there.  The  lady's  bower 
was  more  luxuriously  arranged,  for  it  boasted  a  canvas  stretcher  for 
the  mattress,  and  a  toilette  table  formed  of  the  eternal  slab  of  bark 

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IN  AUSTKALU.  419 

supported  on  tresttes,  while  a  wod-bag  Imng  before  the  two-paned 
windovby  way  of  cuitain.  The  OTerseer  and  his  wife  occupied 
the  second  cabin;  and  in  rear  of  the  two  buildings  of  hi^ier 
pretensions  stood  a  mnge  of  still  roogher  tenements  constitating 
the  offices.  There  was  a  stock-yard  dirided  into  four  compart- 
ments, and  a  small  fenced  paddock,  but  no  attempt  at  garden  <ax 
coJtivation  of  any  kind. 

The  site  had  been  well  selected,  for  the  land  was  open  Mid  well 
grassed,  and  a  considerable  rirer,  fringed  with  the  pine-like  swamp- 
oak,  but  now  neaiiy  dry  and  broken  into  a  chain  of  ^  water-holes,** 
ran,  or,  more  properly,  sioed,  alt ik>  great  distance  from  the  premises. 
The  flocks  and  herds  browsed  over  wide  pastures  extending  for 
several  miles  on  either  bank  of  the  stream,  until  the  **  forest " — or 
sparely-limbered  tract — suddenly  termi^ted  in  an  impervions 
^' scrub,**  which,  from  having  formerly  been  the  resort  of  an 
aboriginal  tribe,  since  depart^  to  hunting  grounds  less  disturbed 
by  white  intruders,  had  obtained  the  name  of  the  Blackman's 
Brush. 

Here,  backed  against  the  thick  scrub,  which  gave  shelter  to  a 
perennial  spring  of  water,  was  to  be  found,  with  one  exception, 
the  most  remote  European  dwelling  within  or  beyond  the  confines 
of  the  colony, — a  rude  cabin  of  wattle  and  clay,  in  which  lived  a 
solitary  stock-keeper  in  the  service  of  Mr,  Fellowes — a  prisoner  of 
the  Croivn,  who  acted  as  a  soit  of  frontier  guard  to  the  ^  runs,** 
and  prevented  die  cattle  from  straying  into  tJbe  scrub,  which  they 
were  apt  to  do  in  sultry  weather ; — solitary  by  choice — a  character 
not  uncommon  at  that  time,  whose  previous  history  and  past 
crimes  were  unknown  except  to  the  officials  of  the  Convict  depart- 
ment,  and  who,  shunning  society  for  reasons  or  feelings  of  his  own, 
had  by  long  cdienation  from  his  kind  almost  lost  the  power  of 
language  and  the  wnsh  to  use  it. 

At  Norambla  even,  Mr.  and  Miss  Fellowes  had  no  neighbour  with 
whom  they  could  associate  on  equal  terms  nearer  than  a  long  day'^ 
ride;  but  from  the  ont-station  of  Ultimo  one  might  have  ridden 
fifty  miles  in  any  direction  without  finding  the  faintest  indication 
erf"  human  occupation,  with  the  exception  of  the  pastoral  establish- 
ments of  Mr.  Fellowes  himself,  and  oif  one  other  individual,  a  young 
squatter  on  a  small  scale,  whose  homestead  nught  possibly  stand 
within  the  jurisdiction  and  be  subject  to  the  domiciliary  visits 
of  the  Crown-land  Commissioner,  but  whose  live-stock  unquestion- 
ably fed  on  pastures  far  beyond  the  boundaries  of  Anglo-Saxon 
location,  and  where  the  intrusive  foot  of  the  Pale-£ace  had  never 
before  trodden, 

Mr.  Clare — for  that  was  his  name — had  at  first  repelled  the 
advances  towards  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Fellowes,  and  hsid  rejected 
his  kindly-meant  proposal  that  their  respective  wool-drays  should, 
for  security's  sake,  aamnally  travel  together  to  the  sea-port,  for 
embarkation.  Having,  however,  just  a  year  ago,  accepted  a  day^ 
hospitality  at  Norambla,  when  travel-stayed  by  ^  lame  horse,  his 
unsociable  humour  appeared  to  unbend,  and  from  that  time  the 
recluse  paid  occasional  visits  to  the  old  gentleman^  p^^^^^s 


^^^S^t 


500  MY  FIB8T  ADVENTURE 

4atighteri  when  his  avocations  brought  him  into  their  neighbour- 
hood. To  a  prepossessing  exterior  Mr.  Clare  added  pleasing^, 
though  somewhat  reserved,  manners ;  he  seemed  well  educated  and 
informed,  even  accomplished — for  he  was  a  proficient  on  more 
than  one  musical  instrument,  and  a  clever  draftsman  —  etching, 
more  especially,  with  great  skill.  In  speaking  of  himself  he  bad 
tales  of  troubles,  and  dangers,  and  sorrows,  which,  from  Desdemona 
downwards,  have  never  failed  to  interest  the  feelings  and  secure 
the  sympadiies  of  tender-hearted  and  imaginative  damsels ;  nor 
were  those  of  Mary  Fellowes  untouched  when  she  read  in  his  dark 
and  moody  eyes  and  gathered  from  casual  gloomy  phrases  the 
general  disquietude  of  her  young  neighbour's  mind. 

From  Ultimo,  the  squattage  of  Mr.  Clare,  was  in  a  direct  line  not 
more  than  twelve  miles,  but  they  were  separated  by  a  wide  tract 
of  swamp  and  ravine,  impassable  except  by  those  familiar  with  its 
mazes.  Owing  to  this  natural  frontier,  the  flocks  of  the  two  pro- 
prietors were  without  difficulty  or  precaution  kept  apart,  and  there 
was,  therefore, but  little  communication  between  therespective  shep- 
herds. The  farm-servants  at  Ultimo,  indeed,  rarely  saw  Mr.  Clare, 
and  heard  nothing  of  his  doings,  except  on  one  occasion,  when 
they  were  put  on  the  quivive  by  the  report  that  a  numerous  horde 
of  Blacks,  sweeping  across  the  country,  had  attacked  with  great 
fury  the  homestead  of  the  young  squatter,  after  wantonly  slaugh- 
tering or  mutilating  several  horses  and  cattle, — that  the  only  two 
sei-vants  occupying  the  offices  had  almost  given  up  for  lost  them- 
selves and  their  master,  when  the  latter,  with  a  couple  of  travellers 
who  had  arrived  at  the  station  the  night  before,  sallied  out  bristling 
with  fire-arms  and  fell  upon  the  savages  with  such  impetuosity  and 
so  well-sustained  a  fusillade  as  to  drive  them  in  dismay  from  the 
field,  on  which  they  left  a  dozen  of  their  tribe  dead  or  wounded ; 
nor  did  they  stay  their  flight  or  recover  their  panic  for  several 
days  afterwards.  Indeed  it  was  owing  to  this  spirited  defence  and 
sortie  that  the  Blackman's  Brush  and  its  vicinity  had,  for  the  last 
three  years,  been  freed  from  these  troublesome  and  treacherous 
visitants. 

In  talking  of  this  skirmish  with  my  cousin,  Mr.  Clare  made 
light  of  it,  protesting  that,  although  his  little  fortalice  was  well 
armed,  he  owed  his  preservation  on  this  occasion  entirely  to  the 
accidental  presence  of  the  gallant  strangers,  who,  as  he  said,  were 
surveying  the  country  for  the  purpose  of  commencing  operations 
as  stock-owners  on  hitherto  unoccupied  pastures,  and  who  had 
thus  opportunely  repaid  his  hospitality. 

At  Ultimo  our  days  were  employed  in  riding  roimd  the  different 
sheep  and  cattle  runs,  arranging  matters  for  the  approaching  season 
of  shearing,  and  in  the  general  superintendence  of  the  property. 
When  the  weather  was  not  too  oppressive,  Mary  accompanied  ns 
on  her  pony,  nor  did  she  confess  to  the  hours  being  long  or  dull 
when  unavoidably  left  behind  at  the  cottage.  She  had  her  em- 
broidery, her  guitar,  and  her  sketch-book,  and  was,  as  she  asserted, 
quite  contented  with  her  rough  boudoir  and  rude  attendants. 

After  we  had  passed  about  a  fortnight  at  the  out-station,  however, 

Digitized  by  VjOOQI, 


IN  AUSTRALIA.  501 

an  impression  took  hold  on  me  that  the  fair  girl  was  growing  paler 
and  thinner — a  listlessness  and  weariness  pervading,  as  I  thought, 
her  manner  and  movements,  although  she  strove,  apparently,  to 
master  the  feeling*  The  faUier  being  of  an  unobservant  nature, 
I  noticed  this  change  to  him ;  upon  which  he  instantly  and  with 
the  utmost  solicitude  proposed  to  return  to  Norambla,  where  her 
life,  though  no  gayer  perhaps,  would  at  least  be  embellished  with 
some  of  those  comforts  and  elegances  almost  indispensable  to  well- 
nurtured  and  refined  women.  This  offer  she  rejected  with  so  much 
warmth  and  animation,  declaring  her  perfect  happiness  at  Ultimo, 
that  the  old  man  was  convinced  of  her  sincerity ;  and  thenceforth 
she  either  felt  or  forced  a  greater  degree  of  cheerfulness. 

Perhaps,  gentle  reader,  you  may  be  curious  to  learn  whether  by 
my  close  intercourse  with  so  loveable  a  prl,  under  circumstances 
so  likely  to  draw  two  young  people  together,  my  heart  had  all 
this  time  remained  entirely  untouched.  I  reply,  without  hesitation 
or  reserve,  that  my  sentiments  towards  Maiy  Fellowes  were  of  the 
purest  and  most  fraternal  character,  wholly  free  of  all  warmer  or 
more  selfish  interest.  My  thoughts,  I  confess,  were  often  with 
her,  and  feelings  of  anxiety  occasionally  stole  over  me  when  her 
feither  and  I  left  her,  as  we  now  frequently  did,  to  the  care  of  her 
rough  and  (with  the  exception  of  Stephen  and  the  black  boy)  her 
once  felon  attendants ;  but  this  might  well  be  expected,  as  I  was 
not  yet  thoroughly  broken  in  to  the  habits  of  the  colony. 

It  was,  I  think,  the  twentieth  day  of  our  sojourn  at  Ultimo,  on 
returning  after  a  long  ride  to  our  supper  of  tea,  damper,  mutton, 
and  potatoes — ingredients  which,  in  fact,  formed  the  staple  of  all 
our  meals — that  we  were  received  by  Mary  with  the  blushing  intel- 
ligence that  she  had  had  a  visitor  in  our  absence. 

"  Mr.  Clare,"  said  I,  immediately;  for  somehow  I  was  becoming 
keen-sighted  in  all  things  concerning  my  pretty  cousin;  and  indeed 
I  had  guessed  aright.  Mr.  Clare  had  come  on  horseback  to  pay 
his  respects  to  Mr.  Fellowes ;  he  had  been  ill,  or  would  have  come 
sooner. 

"  And  1  hope,  Frank,  he  will  soon  come  again,  for  your  sake," 
said  my  host.  ^'He  is  a  fitter  companion  for  you  than  an  old 
fellow  like  me." 

^^  Thank  you,  sir,"  I  replied  with  as  much  truth  as  promptitude, 
^^  but  I  assure  you  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  present  society, 
and  I  detest  strangers,  especially  mysterious  strangers." 
Mary  coloured,  and  turned  pale. 

The  month  of  November — the  Australian  summer  month  of 
November — ^was  now  far  advanced.  The  weather  was  intensely 
sultry,  yet  so  salubrious  was  the  climate  that  the  health  of  Mr.  Fel- 
lowes and  myself  seemed  rather  improved  than  impaired  by  our 
constant  exposure  to  the  outward  air.  Mary,  however,  could  no 
longer  join  in  our  daily  rounds ;  and  I  was  more  displeased  than 
surprised  to  learn  that  Mr.  Clare  now  frequently  visited  the  farm- 
stead ;  and,  although  expressing  in  proper  words  his  disappoint* 
meut  at  missing  the  respectable  father,  appeared,  nevertheless,  to 
console  himself  very  philosophically  by  a  tiie^'iiie  with  the  ador-* 


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508  MY   FIBST  ADVEKTURE 

aUe  daughter,  iiideed^  wliexi,  al  a  kter  jienody  the  inpeniMmm  of 
shearing,  sortiag^  presnng,  and  paddag  the  wool  Feetricted  Mr. 
FeUowes  and  mjs^  to  tke  premises,  we  were  nerer  faoooaied  by  m, 
repetition  of  these  visits,  a  peewliaritj  winch  Mr.  FeUowes  asd  I 
construed  accordbg  to  oor  reapectiTe  natoe%  he  attrihatm^  it 
to  our  neighbour  being  occupied  in  &nB-4Misme8s  like  ounrselves^ 
I  to  sone  nolire  vetj  f(»eign  to,  peih^tis  ksa  uuBoceal  than, 
sheep-shearing  and  wool-aoitiBg: 

It  was  during  the  fbst  week  of  a  red-hot  December,  that  Dtngoy 
one  morning,  returned  home  after  an  illicit  abfience  of  twen^-foor 
hours,  and  reported,  that  he  had  speared  a  fine  kangaroo  near 
Blackofean^s  Brush.  Mr.  FeUowea  wishtng^  to  ride  in  Aat  direction 
to  look  up  his  cattle,  it  was  agreed  that  he  and  I  and  the  black 
should  proceed  thkher  oa  horseback  and  bring  back  Dingo's 
renison.  It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  acute  lad  condoctcd  us 
with  unerring  accuracj  to  the  scene  of  his  exploit  He  rode, 
indeed,  without  the  smallest  deviation  in  his  coarse  (Mrecdy  iqi>  to 
a  large  stain  of  blood  on  the  ground  where  his  quarry  had  fallen  ; 
jet  no  quarrj  was  there — the  kangaroo  was  gone  I 

"  Ho,  ho,  Dingo,'^  cried  my  host, "  the  warrigab  have  eatra  yoor 
game.  Why  did  not  yon  bring  home  the  haunch  and  the  tail 
with  you  this  ZBoming  ?  " 

"  No,  massa,"  replied  the  boy,  junq)ing  from  his  horse  to  examine 
the  earth,  '^warrigal  not  eat  bones  and  alV'and  no  sooner  had 
he  cast  a  cursory  glance  around  than,  his  black  cheek  turning 
deeply  Kvid,  he  hoarsely  whispered — ^*'  BlackfeUow,  wild  black- 
fellow,  plenty  bad  blackfellow  been  here  1  we  all  tumble  6omn 
murry,  murry,  soon  I"  * 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken,  when  a  distant  or  suppressed  ^^Coo^y,'' 
the  wild  and  pecuKar  cry  of  the  native  Aie^ian,  was  heard 
behind  ns,  and  was  instantly  and  startlingly  echoed  by  a  chorus 
of  fierce  yeBs  firom  the  dense  brush  on  our  front  and  flanks.     Nor 
was  our  natural  alarm   diminished  on   observing  that,  with  die 
exception  of  the  narrow  avenue  by  which  we  had  entered  it,  Ae 
clear  spot  where  we  stood  was  completely  encompassed  by  thickets, 
impracticable  to  mounted  men.     Totally  unarmed,  our  only  and 
slender  chance  of  escape  lay  in  the  speed  of  our  horses.    Dash- 
ing, therefore,  at  once  into  the  defile  lliat  led  into  the  more  open 
forest,  we  had  barely  threaded  half  its  l^agth  when  a  roUey  of 
missiles  saluted  us  from  both  sides  and  a  crowd  of  whooprng 
savages  sprung  forward  to  hair  oor  exit.    The  spears  fortunately 
flew  innocuously  over  our  heads,  but  Mr.  FeUowes'  horse,  struck 
on  the  legs  by  a  boomerang,  waa  brong^  to  Us  knees,  throwing 
his  rider  heavily.    A  score  of  exulting  blacks  now  sprang  bohUy 
from  the  covert,  and  were  haatity  preparing  their  woannerahs,  or 
throwing-sticks,  for  a  second  volley  of  lancet  which  most  have 
proved  iital  to  oor  filtle  and  now  donbly-enibarKassed  party — 
when,  OB  the  instant,  tiie  double  report  of  a  gun  was  heard,  and 
two  of  our  fwemoat  aatagoniirts  liitt  dead,  while  serend  others 
staggered  wounded  away.     The  howling  barbarians  turned  their 
♦  "  We  shan  aU  be  killed  very  soon."    r^^^^T^ 

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IN  AUSTRALIA.  503 

backs  and  fled  precipiiately  into  the  impervious  scrub  as  two 
korsemwi  appeared  at  a  gaUop  upon  the  scene ;  and  sach  good 
use  did  these  make  of  the  Tarions  fire-ann»  with  which  they  were 
provided^  as  enabled  us  to  assist  Mr»  Fellowes^  not  much  injored, 
to  his  saddle,  and  finallj  to  effect  our  escape  from  this  moat 
imminent  periL 

^*  Mr.  Clare,  we  owe  you  our  lives  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Fellowes, 
grasping  warmly  the  other's  hand.       ^^  This  is.  my  cousin,  Mr. 

K ,  who  will  thaak  you,  as  I  do,  for  your  most  opportune 

arrival  and  gallant  rescue*'* 

This  act  of  grace  I  performed  with  no  very  cordial  manner ; 
and^  as  we  hastened  together  from  the  scene  of  action,  it  was  with 
a  feeling  of  earnest  curiosity  that  I  scrutinized  the  person  of  my 
new  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Clare  was  tall  and  slim  in  figure,  with  regular  features, 
large  and  rather  wild-looking  hazel  eyes,  and  a  profusion  of  dark- 
brown  curls.  His  dress,  though  not  greatly  varying  from  the 
ordinary  attire  of  the  budi-gentleman  or  squatter,  was  worn  with 
a  certain  air  that  made  it  becoming.  A  slouched  sombvero  of 
drah  felt,  in  which  there  was  stuck  a  long  feather  from  the 
bastard,  partly  shadowing  his  fieu^e,  which,  ^^  bush  fashion,''  was 
encircled  by  a  glossy  curling  beard,  an  open  shirt-collar  some- 
what  ostentatiously  thrown  back,  a  short  fowling-piece  slung  over 
the  shoulder,  a  broad  belt  garnished  with  pistols,  and  long  boots 
of  untanned  leather  turned  down  from  the  knees,  with  heavy  silver 
spurs,  produced  a  picturesque  ensemlle^  which  was  enhanced  by 
the  perfection  of  his  horsemanship,  as  he  bestrode  a  wiry  and 
well-bred  dark  chestnut  steed  which  seemed  a  part  of  himself. 

It  was,  doubtless,  the  anatomical  acumen  incident  to  my  pro- 
fession which  led  me,  on  closer  examination  of  Mr.  Clare's  ex- 
terior, to  pronounce  it  rather  showy  than  sjrmmetrical,  his  figure 
rather  lanky  than  well-knit.  I  had  no  difficulty,  moreover,  in 
persuading  myself  that  his,  at  first  sight,  striking  carriage  savoured 
less  of  the  polished  gentleman  than  of  the  melodramatic  hero. 
The  critical  exacerbation  of  my  instincts  towards  the  handsome 
stranger  it  was  difficult  to  account  for,  nor  shall  I  attempt  the  task. 
The  young  squatter's  companion  looked  older  and  less  refined 
than  himself,  was  equally  well  armed,  and  managed  his  raw-boned 
steed  as  awkwardly  as  the  other  rode  gracefully* . 

Mr.  Clare  informed  us  that  one  of  his  stockmen  had  crossed 
the  trail  of  the  wild  blacks  early  in  the  monung,  and  finding  that 
it  took  the  directum  of  Blackman's  Brush,  had  hastened  to  re- 
port to  his  employer  the  ill-boding  tidings.  Mr.  Clare  and  one 
of  lus  guests,  immediately  arming  themselves,  had  mounted  and 
ridden  to  the  hut  of  the  watchman  at  the  Brush,  where  they  found 
the  body  of  the  poor  fellow  pierced  with  innmnerable  spear-wounds 
-^his  brains  beaten  out  with  clubs;  and,  on  consultation,  they  had 
just  decided  to  proceed  with  all  haste  to  Ultimo,  to  apprise  the 
proprietcur  of  the  disaster  and  his  conseqoent  danger,  when  the 
^^coo-eys"  and  yeBs  of  the  barbarians,  afieir  they  had  succeeded  in 
entrapping  our  party,  attracted  them  to  the  spot,  and  the  sequel 
has  been  related*  n         \ 

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504  MY   FIRST  ADVENTURE 

Meanwhile,  it  had  been  observed  that  the  black  boy  had  dis- 
appeared, and  it  was  conjectured  that  cowardice  had  induced  his 
flight.    Mr.  Clare  now  suggested  that  the  feirmstead  at  Ultimo 
might  be  in  danger  from  the  treacherous  savages,  and  my  coasin^ 
thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  idea,  darted  away  at  fiill  gallop,  while 
we,  following  his  example,  steered  through  the  open  brush  directly 
for  the  station.    Ere  we  had  accomplished  half  the  distance,  a 
horseman  was  seen  approaching,  and  in  a  few  seconds  Dingo  the 
black  joined  us,  and  in  his  broken  jargon,  his  voice  shaking  with 
emotion,  gave  us  to  understand  that  a  party  of  the  roaming  savages 
had  already  encompassed  the  buildings,  and,  after  sending  forward 
two  or  three  old  men  to  beg  flour  and  tobacco,  had  begun  to  spear 
the  horses  and  cattle,  and  were  only  deterred,  he  thought,  from 
attacking  the  premises  by  their  fear  of  the  fire-arms  of  Stephen 
and  the  overseer,  who,  each  at  the  window  of  one  of  the  huts, 
were  ready  to  cross  their  fire  at  right  angles.     The  invaders  had 
made  a  large  fire  in  a  gully  close  at  hand,  and  would  probably 
attempt,  either  by  a  general  rush,  or  by  stealth  after  nightfall,  to 
bum  the  buildings  and  thereby  place  the  inmates  at  their  mercy. 

Overwhelmed  with  terror,  the  anxious  father  spurred  onwards — 
parental  love  rendering  him  insensible  to  any  other  considera- 
tion than  that  of  flying  to  the  succour  of  his  child.  It. was  doubt- 
less excess  of  brotherly  attachment  which  inspired  me  with  feel- 
ings no  less  intense.  As  for  Clare,  his  presence  of  mind  seemed 
perfectly  undisturbed.  Without  checking  his  speed,  he  handed  a 
loaded  pistol  to  my  cousin,  directing  his  companion  to  arm  myself 
in  like  manner, — and,  thus,  ready  for  action  and  filled  with  a  thou- 
sand misgivings,  we  closed  upon  the  station. 

A  yell,  shrill  and  discordant  as  from  a  concourse  of  demons, 
arose  upon  and  filled  the  air  as,  charging  abreast  into  the  open 
clearing,  we  found  ourselves  upon  the  flank  of  some  hundred 
naked  savages,  who,  spreading  over  the  paddock,  came  pouring  to- 
wards the  dwelling-house, — hurling  at  the  doors  and  windows  an 
incessant  shower  of  spears,  under  cover  of  which  a  chosen  few 
with  flaming  branches  approached  each  angle  of  the  vulnerable 
tenements. 

Falling  upon  them  with  a  shout  scarcely  less  fierce  than  their 
own  wild  war-whoops,  and  delivering  a  volley  into  the  thickest  of 
the  crowd,  we  passed  at  full  speed  through  their  ranks, — the  as- 
tonished blacks  throwing  themselves  on  their  faces,  or  flying  with 
the  fleetness  of  deer  into  the  gullies  hard  by,  while  not  a  few, 
killed  or  disabled  by  our  shot  or  the  shock  of  our  horses,  remained 
stretched  on  the  field.  Wheeling  about  to  repeat  this  effective 
evolution — in  which,  by  the  way,  I  received  a  shght  spear  wound 
in  the  arm — the  only  casualty  on  our  side — a  shriek  from  the 
cabins  reached  us,  and  we  perceived  a  huge  savage  hideously 
painted  and  crowned  with  feathers,  thrusting  a  blazing  brand 
through  the  casement  of  the  hut  occupied  by  Mary  Fellowes.  In 
the  next  moment  he  fell  brained  by  a  blow  from  the  butt  of  Clare's 
fusil,  who,  bursting  open  the  door,  received  the  fainting  prl  in  his 
arms — pacifying  her  by  assurances  of  her  father^s  and  her  own 
safety,  and  enforcing  these  assurances  with  a  warmth  of  protesta- 


IN  AUSrntALIA.  505 

tiooy  as  it  appeared  to  me,  greatly  irrelevant  to  the  matter,  and 
very  foreign  to  his  usually  ccdm  and  reserved  manner. 

The  wild  horde  had  dispersed  ; — ^but  they  might  return  and  re- 
new the  attack  by  night.  The  offer  of  Mr.  Clare  and  his  compa- 
nion to  remain  at  Ultimo,  as  a  reinforcement  to  the  little  garrison, 
was,  therefore,  by  my  cousin  thankfully  accepted  ;  and  that  in  spite 
of  my  urgent  and  disinterested  suggestion  that  his  own  farmstead 
would  almost  certainly  become  the  next  object  of  the  barbarians' 
hostility.  His  other  guest,  he  said,  and  his  overseer  were  resolute 
men,  with  plenty  of  arms  and  ammunition  at  command,  and  could 
stand  a  week'^s  siege,  if  necessary. 

In  short,  the  two  gentlemen  remained  until  the  second  day  after 
the  attack,  when  the  lad,  Dingo,  having  rode  a  ring  of  several  miles 
round  the  station,  brought  the  welcome  intelligence  that  the  ma-* 
raudershad  crossed  the  river,  and  joined  their  women  and  children 
— sure  sign  of  peaceful  intentions,  and  had  entirely  evacuated  the 
country. 

Mr.  Clare  departed — carrying  with  him  a  thousand  expressions  of 
thankfulness  from  Mr.  Fellowes,  and  eloquent  though  silent  looks  of 
gprati tude  from  his  fair  daughter.  Between  that  gentleman  and  myself 
there  had  arisen — as  I  have  before  hinted — a  natural  and  irresistible, 
though  inexplicable,  repulsion ;  nay,  more — I  have  with  perfect  truth 
described  my  temperament  as  bland  and  placid  in  the  extreme,-^ 
my  heart  a  veritable  pacific  ocean  of  serene  emotions  (at  school, 
indeed,  I  was  nicknamed  Quaker  K — ,  on  account  of  my  consti- 
tutional quiescence) ;  yet,  somehow,  towards  the  person  of  Mr. 
Henry  Clare,  from  whom  we  had  just  received  such  substantial  be- 
nefits, my  intuitions  and  inclinations  took  the  shape — the  medi- 
tated shape — of  kicks  and  cuffs  ;  and  more  than  once  I  found  my- 
self mminating  deep  schemes  for  picking  a  quarrel  with  our  late 
preserver.  On  one  occasion,  indeed,  I  had  nearly  succeeded  in  this 
meritorious  design ;  for  a  gleam,  proclaiming  the  fire  within,  shot 
from  his  dark  eyes,  and  the  sudden  entrance  of  Miss  Fellowes  at 
the  moment  alone,  I  believe,  prevented  an  outbreak  between  us. 

As  for  Clarets  companion,  he  was  a  dull,  coarse,  common-place 
character  who  cared  little  for  anything  but  his  dram  and  his  pipe. 
When  his  hat  was  off  he  was  a  most  repulsive-looking  person — 
his  huge  round  head  being  covered  with  short  red  bristles,  and 
his  face  with  scars  and  freckles.  From  the  depth  of  my  soul  I 
wished  his  comrade  had  been  only  half  as  ugly — instead  of  the 
odiously  picturesque  and  showy  fellow  which  he  indisputably 
was! 

During  the  two  days  our  visitors  sojourned  at  Ultimo  I  was  unable 
to  exercise  as  strict  a  surveillance  over  them  as  I  could  have  desired, 
and  I  knew  not  how  they  passed  their  time ;  but  I  confess  I  was 
struck  dumb  with  astonishment  and  dismay  when,  subsequently  to 
their  departure,  I  was  informed  that  Mr.  Clare  had  declared  his 
passion  and  had  proposed  for  Miss  Fellowes,  and  that,  after  an 
explanation  between  father  and  daughter,  and  a  revelation  of  the 
family  history  and  prospects  of  the  gentleman,  this  proposal  had 
been  favourably  received  by  Mr,  Fellowes. 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Digitized  by  (google 


50« 


A  JOURNEY  FROM  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  TO 
ST.  PETER'S. 

^'  RoMJB  Tibur  amem  ventx^sus,  Tibure  Romam/^  says  the  Eton 
Latin  Gramntfir,  the  only  classical  authority  wfaicfa  it  is  safe  to 
quote ;  for  a  quotation  is  like  an  Addpbi  joke^  the  more  known  the 
better  received  by  the  audience,  each  of  whom  qrplaads  his  own 
previous  acquaintance  with  the  witticism,  while  a  jest,  however 
good,  if  it  be  a  little  too  new,  and  a  quotation,  however  apt,  if  it 
be  a  little  too  recondite,  make  enemies  at  once  of  all  the  worthy 
citizens  or  honourable  members  who  do  not  iaJce^  and  feel  uncoca- 
fortably  left  behind  in  the  laugh  or  the  cheer  of  the  wittier  and 
more  learned  minority.    Are  not  the  witty  and  the  learned  a 
minority  ? — an  envied  and  backbitten,  but  still  a  triumphant  mi- 
nority— and  do  not  you  and  I  belong  to  it,  my  dear  Wiggets  ?  do 
we  not  here  meet  on  the  mutual  ground  of  a  gentlemanUke  ac- 
quaintance in  our  youth  with  that  profound  dassical  authority  I 
have  quoted  ?  do  we  not  feel  towards  ourselves  and  each  other, 
with  a  sort  of  aristocratic  complacency,  that  we  are  men  of  liberml 
education^  who  understand  each  other,  and  converse  on  terms  of 
anhghtened  equality  ?    That  is  what  I  wish  to  convince  you  of, 
my  dear  Wi^ets,  that  you  may  be  in  good  humour  to  listen  to 
the  unadorned  narration  of  my  excursion  to  Tivoli.     But  if  I  had 
carefully  turned  up  the  index  of  my  Corpus  Poetarum,  and  found 
you  a  very  appropriate  passage  out  of  Catullus,  which  you  had 
never  seen  before,  and  had  not  esctemport  Latin  enough  to  con- 
strue, would  you  not  have  felt  that  your  tedious  years  of  Latin 
grammar  had  been  a  clumsy  sham,  and  that  you  were  a  mere 
smatterer  after  all.  You  would  not  exactly  have  said  this  to  your- 
self even  in  the  strictest  confidence,  but  you  would  have  felt  it, 
though  jrou  might  have  paraphrased  your  feelings  perhaps  some- 
what in  this  manner :  ^  Here  is  a  confounded  prig  of  a  private- 
school-usher  quoting  Latin,  that  nobody  can  make  head  or  tail  of, 
to  show  his  l^rning.**    And  so  you  might  have  shut  me  up  at 
once. 

When  you  are  at  Rome,  whether  you  love  Tivoli  or  not,  and 
whether  or  not  you  are  of  a  windy  disposition,  like  the  exemplary 
author  in  the  Latin  grammar,  Tivoli  has  to  be  seen.  Tivoli  is  to 
Rome  what  Versailles  is  to  Paris,  and  Richmond  to  London — not 
that  it  is  the  least  like  either  one  or  the  other,  further  than  being 
the  place  in  the  enrirons  which  you  have  to  see.  Every  familiar 
name  of  a  place  has  a  certain  idea  attached  to  it,  which  is  ninially 
the  more  ra(fically  incorrect  in  proportion  as  the  descriptions  you 
have  read  of  it  have  been  more  graphic.  A  graphic  description 
really  does  build  you  a  soit  of  effigy  of  a  place  in  your  mind 
which  you  cheerftilly  carry  d>ont  i/inth  you,  till,  on  coming  to 
compare  it  at  last  with  the  place  itself,  you  find  it  about  as  like  as 
Jerusalem  is  to  Greenwich. 

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wESTMiNarran  abbey  to  st.  peter's.  507 

I  had  not  read  triauy  graphic  accounts  of  Urofi,  bnt  somehow 
I  bad  managed  to  gather  a  general  idea  that  it  was  a  Cockn^ 
waHering-piaee,  full  of  Tilias  and  artificial  waterbUs,  about  which 
gmde-books  and  tonritsts  had  agreed,  among  themselTes,  to  be 
enthusiasUc ;  who,  thus  exciting  the  reading  public's  imagination 
at  home,  had  made  it  necessary  for  travellers  to  see  it  at  any  ex- 
pend and  trouble.  So  we  hired  a  carriage,  and  issued  forlb,  on  a 
blowy  showery  March  morning,  from  the  gate  of  San  Lorenzo. 

As  we  crossed  the  Campagna,  and  approached  the  eastward 
mountain  range,  in  fitful  gleams,  glittering  on  the  streaks  of  snow 
that  ky  in  the  farrows  of  its  ragged  brows,  the  sunshine  streamed 
through  broken  drifts  of  white  cloud,  piled  along  the  summits. 
Lower  down,  a  hill  shoulder  was  crowned  with  the  roofs  of  TivoH, 
and,  falling  away  from  the  shoulder,  a  great  gap  (let  us  call  it  a 
mountain  arm-pit)  threw  up  a  curling  volume  of  white  smoke, 
which  was  understood  to  be  the  spray  from  the  principal  water- 
fall. To  the  left,  the  massive  range  broke  itself  into  picturesque 
spors^  some  topped  with  villages  or  convents,  and,  far  away  be- 
yond Soracte,  the  last  ripple  of  the  mountain  sea  ran  out  into  the 
plain. 

The  attention  of  our  noses  was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  rather 
infernal  smell  of  sulphur:  we  shortly  came  to  a  bridge,  under 
which  rushed  a  narrow  torrent  of  what  seemed  seidlitz  powders 
lately  mixed,  along  a  channel  cnt  in  the  rock.  The  white  water 
bubbled  and  steamed,  and  emitted  the  powerfiil  smell  above  men- 
tioned. We  got  out  of  the  carriage  to  observe  the  phenomena: 
my  compwtnion  pronounced  this  rushing  stream  to  be  the  Solfa- 
tara  canal,  cut  to  drain  the  overflowings  of  a  mephitic  lake  of 
the  s^une  name.  The  waters  have  a  rapidly  depositing  quality, 
and  the  plain  in  which  the  canal  is  cut  is  composed  of  a  lamin- 
<ms  petrifaction,  formed  in  ages  past  by  the  overflowings 
and  precipitations  of  this  lake-fountain.  The  stone  is  called 
Travertine,  the  material  of  the  Colosseum,  Great  oblong  blocks 
of  it  were  lying  about  here  and  there ;  perfiaps  Vespasian  cut 
them  when  he  had  that  edifice  in  his  eye,  and  Titus  left  them 
when  he  had  carted  away  enough  to  finish  it.  They  have  missed 
iheir  destiny,  poor  stones ;  they  might  have  seen  a  good  deal  of 
life,  and  death  too,  if  thev  had  happened  on  a  lucky  inside  place 
-of  the  amphitheatre,  and,  in  their  old  age,  might  have  -been 
honoured  by  a  passing  chip  or  two  from  the  chisel  of  Michael 
Awgeio,  giving  his  woAmen  a  hint  on  the  firiezes  of  the  Famese. 

To  return  to  the  steaming,  bubbling  torrent.  I  knelt  down  on  a 
broken  declivity  of  the  mai-gin^  which  is  usually  sheer  cut,  and 
dipped  my  mouth  into  the  gushing  tide  for  a  drink.  It  was  new- 
milk  wanrra,  and  the  first  taste  was  brisk  and  pleasant.  It  is  highly 
impregnated  with  carbonic  acid  gas,  and  would  be  excellent  soda 
water,  if  it  was  not  for  a  most  unpleasant  after-taste  of  sulphuretted 
kydrogen,  which  would  strongly  dissuade  any  one  from  taking  a 
•eooM  drink.  The  lake  lies  about  a  mile  from  the  road,  and  we 
turned  up  tlie  bank  to  see  it.     Its  shores  are  choked  with  weeds 

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508  A  JOURNEY  FROM 

and  rustling  reeds,  among  which,  every  now  and  then,  little  blobs 
of  gas  came  up  with  a  pop,  like  fish  rising.  A  ruinous  old  build- 
ing stands  wet-shod  among  the  water-weeds — said  to  be  the  baths 
of  Agrippa.  Here  Zenobia  came  a-spawing,  after  hariDg  graced 
the  triumph  of  Aurelian.  It  appears  she  was  not  satisfied  with 
metaphorical  waters  of  bitterness,  poor  dear  lady. 

Now  for  Tivoli  again.    The  long  steep  approach   slants  up 
through  a  grove  of  olives — hoary  patriarchs  of  immemorial  date, 
and  larger  than  any  I  have  seen  elsewhere.    The  olive  is  one  of 
the  slowest-growing,  hardiest,  and  most  long-lived  of  trees.     The 
heart  of  the  bole  may  have  been  rotted  out  centuries  ago,  and  the 
hollow  shell  may  have  split  into  three  or  four  distorted  jambs,  yet 
still  it  goes  on  flourishing  in  a  very  pale  green  old  age.     Some  I 
had  seen  on  the  estate  of  a  Sevillian  Mend  of  mine,  which  seemed 
mere  baby  olives  in  comparison  with  these,  were  described  in 
the  title-deeds,  300  years  ago,  as  very  old  olives  then.     So  that 
these  gnarled  giants,  much  hacked  and  hewn,  to  whom  Time's 
scythe  seems  only  a  pruning-hook,  may,  almost  in  their  youth, 
have  yielded  that  midnight  oil  which  smoothed  the  measures  of 
the  classic  poets  of  old. 

At  the  top  we  entered  the  town,  and  rattled  down  a  narrow 
street,  which  seemed  to  run  along  the  ridge  of  a  veiy  narrow  hill, 
for,  on  either  side,  whenever  there  was  an  opening,  we  could  see 
to  the  left  far  over  the  Campagna  deep  below  us ;  and,  to  the  rigb^ 
down  into  a  vast  yawning  ravine,  full  of  the  sound  of  rushing 
waters.    These  flying  glimpses  were  so  picturesque,  and  on  so 
much  a  grander  scale  than  we  had  anticipated,  that  our  opinion 
of  Tivoli  rose  rapidly.    The  Albergo  de  la  SibiUa  did  not  look 
very  promising  as  we  turned  into  its  dingy  gateway  from  the  nar- 
row street,  but  we  were  hungry,  and  immediately  set  about  or- 
dering macaroni,  and  eggs  and  bacon,  our  confidence  in  the  cuisine 
not  extending  further.    In  the  meantime,  pending  our  discussion 
with  the  landlord,  and  the  insinuating  overtures  of  a  guide,  we 
had  moved  towards  the  edge  of  a  terrace,  where  the  wonders  of 
Tivoli  burst  upon  us  all  at  once. 

The  first  object  of  course  was  the  great  white  waterfall,  which 
crashed  and  thundered,  as,  leaping  out  of  the  flank  of  the  moun- 
tain at  the  other  side  of  the  deep  and  vast  ravine  below  us,  it 
smote  on  some  ledges  of  rock,  and  bounded  over  into  an  abyss, 
which,  dimmed  by  (Uzzy  whirling  clouds  of  spray,  seemed  really 
bottomless.  The  guide-book  says  this  cascade  £eills  clear  eighty 
feet ;  we  should  have  guessed  it  much  nearer  eighty  yards.  It  has 
neither  the  respectability  of  nature  or  antiquity  to  recommend  it, 
for  it  was  made  in  1834,  and  yet  I  can  conscientiously  affirm  that 
it  struck  me  with  a  much  greater  sense  of  the  sublime  and  beaii- 
tiful  than  the  first  sight  of  Niagara.  The  sublime  in  waterfalls 
does  not  depend  so  much  on  absolute  size  as  on  there  being  plentf 
of  water  to  make  a  clear  bold  copious  leap  into  indefinity,  which 
satisfies  a  certain  destructive  diabolical  craving  in  the  human 
mind  for  vehement  and  violent  action,  and  leaves  room  for  imagi* 


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WESTMINSTTEB  ABBEY  TO   ST.  PETEB'S.  509 

nation  to  hover  in  the  terrible  gap  of  indistinct  depth,  into  which 
the  headlong  force  goes  booming  down. 

Niagara  is  very  large,  and  that  is  its  main  merit.  There  is 
nothing  mysterious  or  indistinct  about  it.  It  is  a  broad  shallow 
river,  leisurely  lapping  over  a  cliff.  It  is  too  wide  for  its  height, 
and  for  its  volume  of  water.  The  rapids  above  the  great  fall  are 
poor  and  shabby  for  want  of  water,  and  the  falls  themselves  look 
like  a  milldam  on  a  large  scale.  But  the  great  fall  at  Tivoli  is  all 
your  heart  can  desire  in  the  way  of  waterfalls,  dashing  out  un- 
expectedly through  a  rock-hewn  tunnel  in  the  mountain,  and  lost 
beneath  in  sparkling  drifts  of  spray. 

The  next  thing  that  strikes  one  is  a  little  round  temple,  close  at 
our  elbow,  standing  on  the  verge  of  our  rocl;-terrace,  and  appa- 
rently included  in  the  premises  of  the  hotel.  It  is  a  neat  pocket- 
edition  of  the  temple  of  Vesta,  only  with  a  better-preserved  top, 
and  makes  a  charming  little  piece  of  genuine  antiquity  in  the 
comer  of  the  foreground. 

The  yawning  chasm  which  divides  us  from  the  fall  was  formerly 
the  receptacle  into  which  the  river  fell  over  a  stone-dam  under  the 
bridge  which  spans  its  narrow  gorge,  and  Tivoli  acquired  its  repu- 
tation from  this  cascade,  which  must  have  been  very  much  lower 
than  the  present  one.  But  the  bottom  of  the  chasm  is  full  of 
strange  rocks  and  grottos,  which,  with  the  whole  foamy  new- 
fallen  river  leaping  and  whirling  over  and  through  them,  must  have 
been  very  fine.  The  rock,  which  has  allowed  the  water  to  fashion 
it  into  these  grotesque  shapes,  is  porous,  and  indeed  perforated  in 
all  directions  by  undercurrents  gushing  out  of  pipe-like  apertures, 
or  dripping  from  stalactitic  cavern-roofs.  It  is  to  be  supposed 
that  these  undercurrents  were  stronger  when  all  the  water  came 
this  way,  for  they  so  undermined  the  rock-ledges  that  these  gave 
way,  and  thirty  or  forty  houses,  and  a  church,  went  over  into  the 
gulf. 

The  civic  authorities  of  "  Superbum  Tibur  ^  dammed  the  ob- 
noxious river  out  of  its  old  course,  and  the  Pope  blessed  the  works 
on  their  completion.  But  "pride  taill  have  a  /a//,"  and,  indeed, 
*'  Superbum  Tibur  "  would  be  next  to  nothing  without  one ;  be- 
sides which  the  Tiverone  must  have  a  vent  somewhere.  So  they 
cut  a  couple  of  parallel  tunnels  through  an  elbow  of  the  moun- 
tain, round  which  the  old  channel  curved,  and  so  brought  the  fall 
three  or  four  hundred  yards  forward  to  a  point  where  the  visible 
bottom  of  the  ravine  falls  away  in  a  precipice  of  awful  depth,  now 
clothed  in  spray,  as  described  above. 

We  went  round  to  the  twin  mouths  of  these  tunnels,  which  open 
about  thirty  feet  above  the  fall.  They  are  divided  by  a  startling 
pier,  on  whose  narrow  platform  you  may  stand  a  foot  or  two  above 
the  level  of  the  water,  and  watch  the  headlong  current  dashing 
along  to  the  dreadful  brink.  The  two  streams  meet  below  the 
pier  in  a  ridge  of  foam.  The  floors  of  the  tunnels  slope  consider- 
ably, and  are  smoothly  paved.  I  never  saw  water  go  at  such  a 
pace  before :  we  threw  in  a  good-sized  stone,  which  was  carried 
away  like  a  turnip,  without  ever  seeming  to  touch  the  bottom. 

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51(K  A   JOURNEY   FROM 

We  stooped  cautiously  over  the  edge  of  the  pier,  and  dip))ed  diie 
end  of  a   cane   into  the  water.     It  spiung,  and  flickered^  and 
spirted^  so  as  to  be  difficult  to  hold.    Though  the  platform   on 
which  we  stood  was  only  a  foot  or  two  above  the  water,  the  edgpe 
of  it  could  not  be  approached  without  quite  as  much  sense  of 
dread  and  giddiness  as  if  it  had  been  a  precipice  a  hundred  yards 
deep.     We  looked  up  the  dark  tunnels,  whicli  seemed  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile   long,  showing  an  eyelet  of  daylight  at  tb<e 
further  end,  and  echoing  with  the  long-drawn  roar  of  the  torrent- 
Following  a  road  (lined  with  the  remains  of  rillas,  which  o«ur 
guide  attributed  to  Horace  and  Catullus,  and  olher  celebrated 
men,  who,  according  to  Murray,  never  lived  there)  which  skirts 
the  abyss,  we  came  to  a  point  opposite  the  fall.    Here  the  cascade 
looked  like   the  long  white  beard  of  some  mountain  and  river 
Titan,  blown  a  little  aside,  and  scattered  by  the  wind.     The  two 
sharp-arched  tunnel-mouths  formed  the  eyes,  hollow  and  deep^ 
with   a   speck  of  white  daylight  in   the   centre  of  each.    The 
startling  pier  was  the  nose,  and  a  grey  round  rock-forehead  rose 
above. 

Hence,  also,  are  to  be  seen  the  cascatella — a  fringe  of  piclureaque 
little  water-falls,  which  come  from  what  was  Mecaenas's  villa,  wd 
now  is  a  manufactory,  where  screws  are  made.  We  saw  the  villa 
d'Este  from  whose  terrace  there  is  a  fine  broad  view  of  the  Cam* 
pagna  with  the  oval  dome  of  St.  Peter's  in  the  horizon. 

Hadrian's  villa  is  a  mile  and  a  half  out  of  Tivoli,  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill.  We  took  it  on  our  return.  It  is  a  small  city  of  brick 
ruins  remarkable  chiefly  for  its  extent  It  is  probably  the  largest 
villa  ever  built,  having  been  originally  (says  the  guide-book)  eight 
or  ten  miles  round.  No  part  of  the  ruins,  however,  is  very  strik- 
ing— at  least  in  this  part  of  the  world,  where  the  eye  is  accustomed 
to  gigantic  masses  of  crumbling  brickwork,  like  the  baths  of  Cara* 
calla  for  instance,  which,  by  the  way,  is  the  finest  sample.  It 
rained  moreover — we  were  in  a  hurry — and  the  guide  was  uncivil 
to  us ;  for  which  three  reasons,  chiefly,  we  decided  that  Hadrian 
would  have  saved  money  and  have  had  a  better  house  if  he  bad  nU 
been  his  own  architect. 

One  day  a  party  of  us  rode  to  Veii — that  is,  a  pretty  piece  of 
extremely  rural  country  where  antiquaries  have  made  up  their 
minds  that  Veii  was,  and,  if  they  are  right,  it  really  does  them 
credit,  for  they  could  not  possibly  have  hit  on  a  more  unsuspicious* 
looking  combination  of  green  hills  and  wild  ravines,  which  look  aa 
if  they  had  fed  sheep  and  goats  since  the  deluge.  We  got  an  ex- 
ceedingly Spanish  dinner  at  the  picturesque  village-crowned  rock 
of  Isola  Famese,  girded  by  abend  of  the  ravine.  This  stronghold 
of  the  marauding  Orsini  of  the  middle  ages,  and  possible  citadel, 
undermined  by  one  Camillus  mentioned  in  Goldsmith's  abridg- 
ment, is  now  inhabited  by  a  few  shepherds.  One  of  these^  a 
shaggy,  slouch-hatted,  picturesquely  buckled-up  and  gartered  in- 
dividual, with  a  long  goad,  mounted  on  an  equally  shaggy  aad 
primitively  caparisoned  pony,  showed  us  the  way  to  the  painted 
tomb.   It  was  about  two  miles  distant,  with  no  signs  of  habitation 


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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY   TO   ST.  PETER's.  511 

between,  except  a  partj  of  peasants  who  had  apparently  begOD  to 
dig  at  random  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  and  were  taming  up  bodies, 
and  legs  and  arms,  and  beads  of  rude  marble  statues,  which  they 
mnere  carting  away  for  the  use  of  the  Empress  of  Brazil,  the  pre- 
sent possessor  of  the  soil. 

At  length  we  came  to  a  hole  something  like  a  large  fox-earth  in 
the  side  of  a  bushy  hill ;  at  the  end  of  this  burrow  was  a  modem 
door,  of  which  the  shepherd  had  the  key ;  before  the  door  lay  two 
rough  UBshaped  blocks  of  stone,  which,  on  careful  inspection, 
after  being  told  what  they  were,  might  be  perceived  to  have  been 
intended  to  represent  lions  conchant.  Inside  was  a  small  chamber, 
Mrhich,  baring  lit  some  rery  shott  ends  of  wax-taper,  we  perceived 
to  be  rudely  adorned  with  frescoes  that  reminded  me  of  some  de- 
corations in  our  granary,  done  in  ruddle  by  the  f<»:eman  of  the 
farm.  There  was  the  favonrite  steed  of  thie  warrior,  led  by  his 
favourite  groom,  and  other  designs  of  similar  interest,  done  pro- 
bably twenty-five  hundred  years  ago,  in  colours  still  as  fresh  as  if 
they  had  been  done  last  week.  On  two  rnde  stone-couches  had 
been  found  a  pair  of  dceletons.  Now  there  were  only  a  brazen 
helmet  and  a  few  spearheads  on  one ;  the  other  was  occupied  by  a 
quantity  of  ampfaorss.  It  does  not  seem  clear  whether  the  original 
owners  of  the  two  skeletons  had  been  votaries — one  of  Mars,  and 
the  other  of  Bacchus— or  whether  the  former  possessor  of  this 
family  vault  was  in  the  habit  of  combining  the  uses  of  cellar  and 
sepulchre,  and  standing  bis  ums  of  ancestral  dust  side  by  side  with 
his  best  jars  of  wine. 

On  our  way  back  we  started  a  Ibx,  and  galloped  close  behind 
him  for  half  a  mile  or  so,  shouting  a  variety  of  venatorial  vocables 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  must  have  astonished  an  Italian  fox,  un- 
accustomed to  be  the  object  of  such  distinguished  attention.  All 
of  a  sudden  he  disappeared  in  a  hole,  whereupon  the  future  lord- 

lienteoant  of  the  connty  of ,  flung  himself  from  his  horse 

and  bad  his  head  in  the  earth,  as  if  he  had  been  a  terrier  at  home, 
instead  of  a  young  nobleman  abroad.  His  intense  excitement  was 
beautiful  to  witness,  and  wonderful  in  my  eyes,  for  I  had  never 
seen  him  take  any  sort  of  interest  in  anything  befOTe.  He  talked 
of  riding  back  to  Isola  Famese  for  a  spade,  but  it  was  suggested 
that  it  was  near  sunset  Then  he  was  for  collecting  the  best  pack 
of  curs  Aat  could  be  found,  and  coming  back  from  Rome  on  the 
morrow.     I  think  there  might  be  very  tolerable  fox-bunting  in  the 

Campagna,  but  then  I  fear  the  future  lord-lieutenant  of 

and  other  coonties'would  never  find  time  forEUruscan  city  hunting. 
Still,  in  digging  out  a  fox  they  might  now  and  then  find  an  Etms- 
can  city,  where  nobody  else  would  have  thought  of  looking  for  it 

Almost  everybody  who  goes  to  Rome,  seeing  so  much  of  art 
and  artists,  is  sooner  or  later  bitten  with  some  desire  to  drnw,  or 
paint,  or  model.  Have  we  not  aU  £dt,  now  and  then,  a  call  from 
within,  when  our  dormant  faculties  give  a  restless  turn  in  their  long 
slumbers,  as  if  thej  meant  to  wake  up  at  last  and  come  out  boldly 
beneath  the  light  of  day.  I  believe  most  people  who  have  not  tried, 
fancy  that  if  they  took  the  pains  they  could  do  all  the  things  they 

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512  A  JOURNEY   FROM 

have  taste  to  appreciate  or  condemD.  One  of  the  few  advantagres 
of  smatteriDg  in  too  many  arts  to  succeed  in  any  of  them,  is  that 
in  passing  the  threshold  of  each,  you  have  made  acquaintance 
with  its  difficulties,  and  are  prepared  to  make  allowances  accord* 
ingly.  A  critic  is,  or  ought  to  be,  this  sort  of  jack-of-all- trades  in 
literature  ;  and  the  well-known  leniency  of  these  worthies  to  a 
young  author  arises  from  their  personal  acquaintance  with  his 
difficulties,  having  themselves  tried  all  departments  and  prudeniljr 
retired  upon  reviews.  Thus  an  unsuccessful  pick-pocket  often  be- 
comes an  excellent  policeman. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  resolved  to  "  become  an  artist.  By  way  oF 
formally  convincing  myself  that  I  was  in  earnest,  I  caused  my 
name  to  be  inscribed  as  a  member  of  the  academy  of  British  artists 
in  Rome.  This  is  a  benevolently  endowed  Institution,  which 
affords  a  spacious  and  commodious  apartment,  lighted  and  warmed, 
benches,  boards,  and  a  ^living  model,  to  such  British  subjects  as 
have  a  friend  in  the  establishment  to  write  their  names  in  the 
book,  and  are  desirous  of  studying  from  the  nude.  But  like 
many  other  benevolently  endowed  institutions,  where  there  is  no- 
thing to  pay,  very  few  people  think  it  worth  their  while  to  go» 
Perhaps  it  may  be  that  the  unbenevolent  academy -keepers  take 
more  pains  to  procure  attractive  models  than  the  honorary  mana- 
gers." For  one  reason  or  another  I,  as  well  as  my  acquaintance 
among  the  students  of  art,  went  much  more  to  the  academy  of  one 
Luigi,  commonly  called  "  Gigi's,"  which  is  a  characteristic  enough 
haunt  of  Roman  art  to  deserve  a  description.  But  perhaps  I  had 
better  fit  it  into  the  rest  of  a  day's  work,  of  which  the  road  to  Veil 
fills  up  the  morning. 

About  half  past  five,  society  begins  to  gather  at  the  English 
table  in  that  apartment  of  the  "  trattoria  della  Lepre,"  which  is 
ruled  over  by  Calcedonio  the  magnificent.  Some  men  are  bom  to 
reign  over  their  fellow-men  by  an  inherent  birthright  of  larger  and 
more  vigorous  nature.  Calcedonio  is  one  of  these,  and  though 
accident  has  made  him  waiter  at  theLepre,  instead  of  tribune  of  the 
people,  he  not  the  less  rules  the  party,  who  habitually  dine  in  his 
room,  with  a  napkin  of  chain  mail.  He  is  a  tall  handsome  man  of 
five-and-twenty,  with  a  face  and  figure  that  might  become  a  young 
emperor.  His  manner  has  a  bold  patronizing  independence,  which 
assumes  that  he  is  doing  us  a  favour  to  wait  upon  us,  and  that  he 
is  inexorably  determined  to  do  it  as  he  pleases,  not  as  we  please. 
Indeed,  on  any  English  system  it  would  be  difficult  for  him,  with 
only  one  understrapper,  to  wait  on  forty  impatient  people  at  once. 
You  see  him  moving  leisurely  down  the  tables,  distributing  bread 
and  mne  to  the  new  comers,  change  to  the  departing,  and  hopes 
and  sarcasms  to  the  impatient  who  venture  to  complain  they  have 
been  waiting  longer  than  suits  them.  All  this  time  he  has  been 
collecting  twenty  or  thirty  different  orders,  with  which  he  finally 
disappears  to  the  kitchens.  After  a  while  he  re-appears  with  an 
incredible  armful  of  dishes,  which  he  deftly  distributes. 

^^  How  is  this,  Calcedonio  i  I  ordered  wild  boar,  and  you  hsFC 
brought  me  boiled  mutton  ?'' 


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WESTMINSTER   ABBEY   TO   ST.  PETER*S.  513 

"  Non  c'  era  piu  ciqnale^  (there  was  no  more  wild  boar),  says  he 
blandly,  and  there  is  no  appeal.  The  most  sublime  triumph  of 
his  functions,  however,  is  when  he  resolves  the  chaos  of  an  hour's 
outcry  and  scramble  for  food  into  thirty  or  forty  separate  accounts 
in  bajocchj,  unravelling  an  accurate  string  of  items  with  wonder- 
ful rapidity.  "  Pane  uno,  vino  due,  znppa  undici,  anitra,  vent  otto, 
fiuocchi  trenta  due,  crema  zingari,  quarrata  quattro.**  And  while  you 
are  getting  out  your  money,  be  rattles  off  three  or  four  other  little 
accounts  to  your  neighbours.  It  is  in  vain  you  attempt  to  get  the 
smallest  bit  of  silver  in  change  for  a  papal  note ;  he  honourably 
keeps  his  small  silver  for  customers  who  pay  him  in  hard  money. 
The  papal  notes  are  5  per  cent,  below  the  silver  currency.  Tra- 
vellers drawing  from  their  banker,  eager  to  realise  this  5  per  cent., 
invest  in  notes,  and  subsequently  lose  more  than  the  money^s  worth 
in  trouble  and  vexation  to  get  them  changed  first  into  small  notes, 
for  the  banker  gives  you  notes  of  50,  30, 20,  and  10  dollars.  You 
have  to  pay  a  per  centage  for  the  convenience  of  small  notes,  and 
when  you  have  them  you  get  huge  piles  of  Spartan  money  in 
change,  so  that  anybody  who  wishes  to  make  his  5  per  cent,  com- 
fortably should  take  about  a  mule  and  panniers  to  carry  his  five 
bajocchi  pieces. 

Besides  the  immediate  business  in  hand  and  mouth,  there  were 
always  a  great  many  jokes  flying  about  the  table,  good,  bad  and 
indifferent,  but  principally  bad,  which  answer  just  as  ^ell  for  all 
purposes  of  interprandial  merriment.  Our  dinner-hour  was  never 
tedious  in  spite  of  the  waiting,  and  usually  those  who  had  finished 
their  repast  waited  over  their  cigar  for  a  knot  of  later  arrivals,  who 
were  still  dining,  or  to  see  the  last  of  a  herd  of  buffalo  drawn  in 
charcoal  all  along  the  dirty  table-cloth,  with  wonderful  skill  and  rapi- 
dity, by  Poingdestre  the  Landseer  of  a  future  day ;  this  being  his 
manner  of  hintingto  Calcedonio  thatthe  table-cloth  wants  washing. 

We  now  adjourn  to  the  Caf6  Greco  over  the  way,  where  in  an 
atmosphere  of  dense  tobacco-smoke  from  two  or  three  hundred 
rank  cigars  of  Roman  manufacture,  in  the  mouths  of  all  nations, 
besides  the  long  voluminous  clouds  from  thenargileto  the  Turkish 
mercer,  who  has  spread  his  wares  on  one  of  the  slabs — slippers  and 
pouches  of  rich  oriental  silks,  embroidered  with  gold — and  sits 
over  his  pipe  and  coffee-cup  cdmly  waiting  for  customers. 

The  Caf6  Greco  is  a  filthy,  sloppy,  windy,  uncomfortable  den, 
but  it  is  firequented  by  all  the  artists  of  Rome,  for  want  of  a  better. 
The  English  club,  formed  a  few  years  ago  by  some  liberal-minded 
military  man,  does  not  admit  artists,  and  if  it  did  would  be  too 
expensive  for  them  generally.  I  was  not  tempted  by  the  specimens 
I  saw,  to  become  a  member  of  this  aristocratic  society,  before  com- 
promising myself  in  the  list  of  the  proscribed,  and,  I  suppose, 
afterwards  I  was  ineligible. 

Now,  having  drank  one  cup  of  weakish  and  very  sweet  coffee 
(they  sweeten  it  for  you  with  (^spotic  benevolence),  having  smoked 
as  much  of  our  rank  and  damp  cigar  as  can  be  coaxed  to  bum,  and 
having  generally  contributed  to  the  sloppiness  of  the  tables  and 
the  spiteous  condition  of  the  floor,  let  us  make  a  party  and  adjourn 

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51-^  A  JOURNBT   FROM 

Of  course  it  ratns — ^tbe  weaiber  is  rcheaning  for  the  Holj  week, 
now  at  band.  We  hare  an  animated  skunj  tkroogb  dark  narroiRr 
streets  with  copiouslj  drippisg  eaves,  and  at  last  take  shelter 
beneath  an  unligbted  slovenly  arched  gaiewaj  of  a  deserted  palaee. 
One  of  us  lifts  the  latch  of  a  door  in  the  side  of  the  gateway^  and 
we  enter  Gigi's  academy.  The  first  facts  which  strike  you  in 
reference  to  Gigi's  academy  are  that  it  is  intensely  hot,  crowded^ 
and  full  of  tobacco-smoke,  tbroitgh  whose  densely  tangled  wreaths 
a  strange  constellation  of  dim  lights  in  all  directions  confuse  ibe 
eye. 

The  room  is  square,  and  arranged  with  three  horse-shoe  tiers  of 
drawing  desks  rising  like  a  theatre.  The  stage  is  a  small  platlbrai, 
without  other  fm*nilore  or  decoration  than  a  rough  wooden  cross^ 
on  which  is  extended  a  living  human  figure — the  wrists  lashed  with 
cord  to  its  upper  member.  A  strong  light  from  two  reflecting 
lamps,  hung  above  his  head,  bring  out  all  the  unfortunate  vietim^s 
strained  and  starting  muscles  in  bold  retief.  The  expression  of  the 
face  indicates  a  good  deal  of  physical  sufiiering  and  weariness^ 
which  is  not  to  be  woftdeied  at,  considering  that  be  is  now  near  the 
end  of  his  second  hour. 

There  is  something  startling  to  the  feelings  of  a  Protestant  in 
seeing  this  sort  of  gross  real  life  representation  of  the  most  sublime 
and  terrible  scene  of  his  religion^s  history.  But  in  Catholic  coon- 
tries,  where  there  is  a  great  demand  for  pictures  of  the  crucifixion^ 
artists  must  learn  to  paint  it,  and  this  is  the  way. 

Pictures  and  statues  of  the  crucifixion,  howerer  beautiful, 
almost  always  shock  a  grownnip  Protestant  when  he  sees  them  ibr 
the  first  time*  They  present  a  visible  image,  which  falls  far  short 
of  the  vague  ideal  he  has  formed:— the  Inghest  type  of  beauty 
and  of  dignity — the  fullest  extent  of  human  anguish  subdued  into 
supernatural  calm,  by  the  consciousness  of  love  made  perfect  and 
his  mission  of  divine  mercy  fulfilled: — all  the  glory  of  the  supreme 
Godhead  that  could  be  made  manifest  in  a  human  nature  and  a 
human  frame,  and  at  that  last  solemn  hour  of  separation  from  the 
flesh,  wherein  the  Majesty  of  Heaven  was  veiled  for  a  hfe-tioie^ 
that  the  world  might  behold  a  miraculously  perfect  man,  whose 
life  and  death  here  on  earth  was  to  be  a  gracious  link  of  closest 
kindred  between  man  and  that  unseen  God  in  whose  image  he  was 
made. 

It  is  difficult  enough  to  give  a  vague  idea,  in  uncertain  words, 
which  each  person  may  interpret  by  his  own  idea ;  but  to  paiat 
something  which  leaves  nothisg  to  the  imagination  where  the 
imagination  looks  for  a  realisation  of  all  it  has  been  able  dimly  to 
shadow  ibrth,  has  proved  a  task  too  great  ibr  the  most  inspired 
artists.  We  always  feel  inclined,  when  we  see  one  of  their  <fivke 
personages,  to  say  with  the  poor  sailor  who  took  a  great  deal  of. 
Uottble  to  see  King  George,  *' Why,  he's  only  a  man  !" 

But  when,  instead  of  an  inspired  master  deified  ideal,  we  lee 
the  base  model  firom  whom  he  has  to  work — a  handsome  deiiy, 
sensual-featured  laaoaron,  very  tired  of  being  crucified  at  seven- 
pence  halfpenny  an  boor,  the  travestie  of  such  a  subject  becomes 


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WESTMINSTEft  ABBEY   TO  ST.  PETER's.  515 

painful,  if  not  horrible.  Yet  the  artists  do  the  face  last,  that  tbej 
may  gather  some  useful  hinta  for  the  expresaion  of  bodily  suf- 
fering^. 

The  second  hour  is  up ;  the  Tictim's  luukls  are  unbound.  The 
first  thing  he  does,  in  descending  from  the  cross,  is  to  make  a  sud- 
den darkness  around  him  by  blowing  out  the  two  lamps.  There 
is  a  noise  of  many  artists  rising  from  their  benches,  and  a  flapping 
of  the  wi^s  of  many  portfolios.  Meanwhile  the  released  culprit 
stretches  himself,  yawns,  writhes  about  his  wrists  as  if  to  convince 
himself  that  he  is  really  unbocu^  and  finally  puts  on  a  very 
dirty  shirt. 

The  stage  is  cleared  for  the  costume  modeL  The  crucifix  gives 
place  to  an  easel  for  a  very  smartly  dressed  Velasquez  painting, 
in  a  slashed  doublet  of  orange  satin,  with  crimson  silk  hose  of 
wonderful  length,  and  a  pair  of  buncbed-up  sky-blue  damask  in- 
expressibles, oif  equally  wonderful  sliortness.  The  students  of  the 
nude  are  gone,  and  the  costume  students  have  taken  posseasioii  of 
the  horse-shoe  tiers  of  drawing-desks.  And  now  there  is  a  ter- 
rible Babel  of  all  tongues  discussing  and  proclaiming  in  what  po- 
sition Velasquex  should  stand  at  his  easeL  The  German  language 
is  predominant^  and  its  harsh  guttiuals  overpower  the  nasal  ex- 
postulatioiis  of  the  French,  the  fluent  insinuations  of  the  Italian,, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  hiding  grumUe  of  a  few  discontented 
Britons.  The  Teutons  accordingly^  after  a  good  deal  of  contention 
amongst  themselves,  have  it  their  own  way,  and  five  or  six  of 
them  scrambling  up  on  the  platform,  mould  the  unresisting  limbs 
of  the  acquiescent  Velasquez  at  pleasure,  while  the  rest  cry,^Dass 
is  viel  besser." — "So  ist  hiibscher." — "Jetz  stefat  er  wahsaftig 
wohl." — ^^  Doch  !  gewiss ;  ganz.  anders ! " — ^  Oh  nein !  ach  Gott.'* 
— "  heilea  ge  wieter — tansend  teufe),*'  &c.,  &c.  At  length  Velas- 
quez is  left  standing  very  much  on  one  leg,  his  right  hsmd  to  the 
canvas,  his  left  full  of  a  little  forest  of  brushes,  with  a  broad 
bright  palette  on  its  thumb,  his  head  turned  gracefully  over  his 
should^  looking  at  a  large  black  spot  on.  the  wall,  which  is  sup» 
posed  to  represent  his  Catholic  mi^esty,  Philip  the  Fourth. 

And  now  let  us  stand  beside  the  model  for  a  moment,  and  take 
a  lodL  at  the  artists  who  are  beginning  to  draw.  Three  horse-shoe 
tiers  of  strange  heads,  adorned  or  otherwise,  with  every  modera 
or  antique  cut  of  hair  and  beard,  each  bobbing  up  and  down,  in 
and  out  of  the  strong  glare  from  beneath  its  several  lamp-shades, 
as  they  take  a  look  at  the  model,  and  pencil-in  the  result  on  their 
drawing-block.  AH  these  automaton  heads,  lifted  and  bowed  in 
serious  silence  among  the  curiotts  lights  and  duulows  of  the  triple 
horseshoe  constellation  of  dark  funnels  pierced  with  flickerhe^ 
tongues  of  flame  above,  and  shedding  a  flood  of  yellow  light  oa 
the  dedkS  beneath,  formed,  what  is  usually  termed  by  polite  tourists, 
a  study  for  Rembrandt  or  DomenichiiKK 

It  is  curio«M'  to  go  round  the  outer  circle  and  watch  the  progress 
of  the  drawings :  in  some,  bold  and  dashing  efiects  come  out  with 
every  touch  of  the  bmafa ;  others  linger  in  the  pencilled  outline^ 
gaining  a  nnttdgy  cotrectneas  under  much  indiarrvbber ;  some  re- 

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516  A  JOURNEY  FEOM 

main  hopelessly  meagre  and  spiritless  to  the  end.    Some  few  of 
the  students  do  their  sketch  in  oils,  but  the  great  majority  in 
water-colours.    There  were  not  above  three  or  four  out  of  all  the 
fifty  or  sixty,  whose  drawings  showed  any  great  talent  or  proaiise. 

Now  for  the  holy  week.  Palm  Sunday  morning  was  as  wet  as 
could  be  desired,  even  by  the  Roman  hackney-coachmen,  who 
have  no  fixed  tariff,  and  accordingly  raise  or  lower  their  price  in 
exact  proportion  as  the  supply  of  carriages  exceeds  or  falls  short 
of  the  demand.  As  everybody  wanted  to  go  to  St.  Peter's  this 
morning,  and  as  it  rained  too  much  for  them  to  walk,  the  vetturini 
took  occasion  to  multiply  their  ordinary  remuneration  by  from  five 
to  eight,  and  were  very  wet  and  happy,  like  ducks  in  a  shower, 
when  they  know  worms  will  have  to  come  out 

Everybody  intends  to  be  in  excellent  time,  but  practically  gets 
there  a  little  after  everybody  else,  and  finds  St.  Peter's  very  full  of 
moist  peasants,  who  have  come  in  firom  the  Campagna  regardless  of 
the  weather.  You  have  to  elbow  and  push  through  these  innocent 
and  pious  people,  who,  seeing  you  are  dressed  in  black  with  a 
white  neckcloth,  make  way  for  you  under  the  impression  that  you 
may  be  some  relation  of  the  Pope's.  Under  the  dome  you  come 
to  a  baiTier,  guarded  by  a  parti-coloured  Swiss  with  a  halberd, 
who,  seeing  you  are  in  evening  dress,  lets  you  through  into  a  railed 
enclosure  of  the  select,  who  stand  round  the  high  altar  beneath 
the  dome.  Behind  you  slopes  up  a  large  pit,  full  of  ladies  in  black 
veils,  with  opera  glasses,  through  which  they  are  eagerly  looking 
out  in  all  directions. 

In  the  midst  of  a  solemn  anthem  of  hosannas,  the  Pope  makes 
his  appearance,  bom  aloft  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd  between 
two  great  fans  of  nodding  ostrich  plumes.  The  slow,  sUghtly  un- 
dulating motion  of  this  venerable  mitred  figure  in  white  and  gold, 
whose  throne  is  supported  on  the  shoulders  of  unseen  bearers,  and 
glides  along  towards  us  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees,  has  some- 
thing very  grand,  and  mysterious,  and  impressive,  entirely  irre^ 
spective  of  any  allegiance  to  the  head  of  the  greatest  part  of 
Christendom.  Indeed  the  scene  awakens  in  the  Protestant's  mind 
much  more  Pagan  than  Christian  associations.  He  thinks  of 
Jupiter  appearing  between  a  couple  of  white  clouds,  or  a  proces- 
sion of  some  gilded  Indian  idol. 

He  comes  nearer  and  nearer,  only  moving  his  hand  now  and 
then  as  he  inwardly  blesses  his  people.  His  face  is  calm  and 
benevolent,  his  figure  portly  and  dignified.  He  seems  eminently 
qualified  to  enact  the  part  of  an  august  looking  live  puppet,  to  be 
carried  about  for  show  on  state  occasions,  and  is,  I  believe,  of  very 
little  use  for  any  other  purpose,  though  a  very  amiable  and  re- 
spectable individual  in  private  life.  They  carry  him  firom  one  end 
of  the  church  to  the  other,  and  set  him  up  on  his  golden  throne, 
among  his  scarlet  stockinged  cardinals. 

The  procession  of  people  to  receive  palms  now  begins  to  move 
up  towards  him.  An  endless  string  of  mitred  bishops,  some  in 
strange  starry  robes,  firom  out-of-the-way  Grecian  and  Syrian  de- 
pendencies of  the  Church  of  Rome ;  then  come  abbots,  and  priors. 

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WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. TO   ST.  PETEB^S.  617 

and  parish  priests,  and  lastly  a  crowd  of  glittering  military  cos- 
tnmes,  among  whose  infinite  variety,  the  scarlet  and  silver  of 
British  depnty  lieutenants  were  not  wanting. 

The  distribution  of  the  palms  was  an  immensely  long  ceremony; 
each  had  to  kneel  and  kiss  the  Pope's  scarlet  slipper,  while  a 
chamberlain,  with  an  armful  of  palms,  waved  one  over  the  kneeling 
figure,  as  if  he  was  going  to  apply  it  to  a  corporeal  rather  than 
spiritual  end.  He,  however,  only  hands  it  to  the  Pope,  who 
blesses  it  and  gives  it  to  the  supplicant,  who  rises  and  moves  on. 
This  ceremony,  over  and  over  again,  becomes  rather  tedious  in  the 
course  of  two  hours  or  so,  especially  when  you  can  only  see  what 
is  going  on  by  stretching  up  on  tiptoe  to  look  over  innumerable 
shoulders.  I  don't  know  how  my  patience  would  have  lasted,  if 
I  had  not  been  unexpectedly  singled  out  of  the  crowd  by  a  young 
man  in  ecclesiastical  robes,  who,  addressing  me  in  English,  said 
he  thought  he  could  find  a  better  place  for  me.  I  was  rather  sur- 
prised^ but  said  I  should  be  very  much  obliged,  and  followed  him 
to  where  we  could  both  stand  on  the  comer  of  a  marble  balustrade, 
which  commanded  a  good  view  of  the  whole  ceremony.  My  com- 
panion said  he  remembered  my  face  at  Cambridge.  It  appears 
that  since  then  he  had  taken  orders  in  the  English  Church,  and 
gone  over  to  Rome.  ^'  At  Cambridge  he  had  principally  devoted 
himself  to  billiard  playing,^  whereupon  I  remarked,  **  that  should 
have  taught  him  not  to  cut  the  cloth,  and  how  to  make  a  good 
canon;"  but  he  seemed  to  think  my  remark  wicked.  He  asked 
me  how  long  I  had  taken  orders.  I  was  rather  surprised,  for  I 
had  forgotten  my  black  dress  and  white  neckcloth,  and  had  no 
idea  I  looked  so  clerical.  But  he  had  now  only  one  idea  of 
coming  to  Rome,  and  as  I  had  come  to  Rome  it  could  be  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  be  converted ;  and  as  I  was  not  already 
converted,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  do  it  there  and  then,  though  I 
had  turned  out  to  be  a  wicked  layman,  instead  of  the  promising 
young  Puseyite  he  had  calculated  on. 

So  we  discussed  the  merits  of  our  respective  religions  on  the 
coping  of  the  marble  balustrade,  while  the  Pope  was  giving  away 
his  palms.  I  cross-questioned  him  narrowly  as  to  what  he  consi- 
dered a  saving  faith  in  doctrinal  mysteries,  whether  he  thought  a 
blind  consent  to  certain  words  or  formal  phrases,  which  conveyed 
no  distinct  idea  to  the  mind  could  do  the  soul  any  good ;  in  fact, 
was  it  the  word  that  did  the  good  or  was  it  the  idea  ?  What  par- 
ticular idea  did  he  attach  to  the  word  transubstantiation  ?  Every- 
body agreed  that  the  wafer  could  not  be  anatomically  proved  to  be 
flesh — therefore  it  was  only  flesh  in  a  spiritual  and  mystical  man- 
ner. Provided  the  divine  blessing  was  communicated  through  it, 
what  signified  what  the  matter  was  in  a  material  sense — was  not 
the  spiritual  efficacy  the  thing  required  ?  was  not  God  a  spirit,  and 
the  human  soul  a  spirit  also,  and  did  not  all  material  things 
whatever  become  of  importance  only  so  far  as  they  affected  the 
soul  ?  We  both  talked  a  great  deal  of  what  I  am  firmly  convinced 
was  very  unorthodox  theology,  whether  measured  by  the  standard 


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618  WESTMrNSTEB  ABBET  TO  BT.  PETER'S. 

lyf  the  Clrarck  of  England,  ot  the  Clrarcli  of  Rome,  fRid  parted 
eonvmoed  aHko  of  oach  otber*s  deplorable  errors. 

When  the  palms  were  distributed,  the  Pope  came  doim  from  Iits 
tbrone  with  an  iuhmopbo  train  of  wliite  satin,  and  an  tnmiense 
p^coat,  outspread  like  a  tent  Wfth  iiTtng  p^ket  pint,  to  kneel  at 
a  little  gilded  table  to  bear  mass  in  the  midst  of  an  open  space 
before  the  hi^  altar.     The  vast  petticoat  was  lifted  OTer  the  table 
in  front,  and  the  train  spread  oat  behind.     He  knelt  in  the  mi<lat 
with  his  elbows  on  the  smodi^od  table,  and  went  through  fats  de- 
votions which  must  haTO  been  rather  disturbed  by  the  oonscioos- 
oess  of  having  so  manj  thousand  eyes  fixed  upon  bim.    AH  went 
saaoothly  for  the  first  ten  minutes,  but  Popes  in  any  amount  of 
pomp  and  petticoat  are  but  mortal,  and  something  caused  tbe  end 
of  the  papal  nose  to  tickle.     A  shade  of  evident  distress  pasaed 
ovtiT  the  benign  couutenaace,  but  after  a  strt^gleof  some  moments 
he  made  up  his  mind  it  mu0t  be  done,  so  be  removed  one  of  bis 
palms  from  that  upwa^  pointing  posture,  with  which  we  are  fami- 
jiar  in  monumental  brasses,  rubbed  the  end  of  his  nose,  and  joining 
bis  hands  again,  continned  his  devotion.    I  don\  think  any  other 
£uropean  potentate  could  have  scratched  his  nose  on  thesolemoeflt 
occasion  with  more  propriety,  and  yet  there  was  something  ludi- 
crous in  it.    Our  conversation  had  got  npon  the  Papal  function, 
and  I  said, — **  There  now  !  does  not  that  show  you  that  you  try  to 
make  your  sovereign  pontificate  too  great  and  sublime  a  piece  of 
pageantry  for  a  respectable  oW  gentleman  to  support,  when  you 
place  him  in  a  position  where  be  camiot  scratch  his  nose  without 
a  painful  mental  conflict." 

The  finest  sight  in  the  holy  week  is  the  blessing  of  the  peopJe 
firom  the  balcony;  a  handled  and  fifty  thousarKl  people  all  blessed 
in  a  breath,  and  acres  of  military  going  down  on  their  knees  to' 
recrire  it.  The  next  greatest  sight  Has  St.  Peter's  illuminated, 
which  I  saw  from  the  Fintian  hill,  over  a  mile  and  a  half  of  roofs, 
and  minor  church  towers  and  domes,  with  that  gieat  mountain  of 
SoKd  fire,  not  diminished,  but  magnified  by  distance — that  wa5  the 
last  I  saw  of  St.  Peter's. 


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MOUNT  LEBANON.* 

A  TEN  years'  residence  in  a  coimtiy  is  sufficient  to  warrant  a 
knowledge  of  its  customs,  manners,  And  institutions;  and  the 
posidon  o£  Colonel  Churdull  most  bare  afforded  him  unimpeded 
leisure  to  <Aserve  and  to  leani.  After  the  war  in  Syria,  the 
«ithor  seems  to  have  fixed  his  habitation  there,  and  the  choice 
shows  a  predilection  for  the  country,  while  the  extended  term 
of  his  residence  indicates  those  predilections  unchanged  and 
confirmed.  We  may  therefore  1>e  prepared  for  an  account  as 
£&vourabie  as  the  fairness  of  tlie  auuior  will  allow.  In  his 
well-written  prefoce,  lie  avows  the  vnrioos  sondes  from  whence 
his  information  was  derived,  and  tbough  evidently  imbued  with 
the  poetry  surrounding  the  land  of  his  adoption,  loolcs  at  it  with  a 
soldier's  eye,  and  in  the  magnificent  heights  of  the  Lebanon  rather 
shows  us  the  military  than  the  artistic  view.  We  congratulate  him 
on  the  thorough  preservation  of  his  Eni'opean  energy  amidst  the 
listless  effeminacy  of  Aoatic  indolence ;  and  he  seems,  while  alive 
to  the  delights  of  Kief,  to  be  as  eager  as  ever  for  the  bustle  ol 
life. 

Although  disdaiaing  the  vivid  terms  and  glowing  descriptions 
of  the  poet-eyed  tourists,  who,  so  often  issuing  irom  the  press, 
entrance  our  minds,  while  they  feed  not  the  understanding,  the 
first  chapter  opens  with  a  pan^ric,  vigorously  written  and  gra- 
phically beautiful,  on  those  ancient  trees,  the  head  and  crown  of 
the  spot  whence  his  volumes  draw  their  names,  familiar  as  we  are 
with  that'  place,  that  sacred  fime-foi^st,  the  steeple  of  that  cathedral 
of  which  the  Holy  Land  is  the  building,  read,  albeit,  in  each 
description,  tale  and  story  of  them,  we  remember  none  where  they 
have  been  better  described — ^more  vividly  depicted. 

**  When  SeDBMchenb,  king  <if  Assytia,"  sagrt  our anthor, ''  deckn-ed  war  ngmtaat 
Hesekiah  his  boast  was,  *  with  the  mollitiicle  of  ajr  chariots  I  have  oone  v^  the 
height  of  the  mountains,  to  the  sides  of  Lebanon*  and  will  cut  down  the  tall 
cedar-trees  thereof  and  the  choice  fir-trees  thereof/  To  display  his  conquering 
Mandards  on  those  far-famed  heights  was  to  hhn  a  more  glorioas  object  of  am- 
Utson  than  even  the  taking  of  Jenisalem  itself  again. 

^  Ezekid,  in  poiCrayiog  the  Ajaayrism,  sonaioM  not  befone  him  his  battlef 
aiid  triumphs  junongst  the  surrouBcluig  nations,  his  inviocible  armies  with  their 
wide-ranging  and  umost  intenninable  marches ;  one  simple  but  magnificent 
metaphor  is  sufficient,  in  the  prophefs  mind,  to  make  his  heroes  apocaeon. — 
*  Behold  the  Assyrian  was  a  txdar  m  Letnmon  with  fair  t)ranches  and  with  a 


■*  "  Mount  Lebanon :  a  Ten  Tears*  Residence  from  1842  to  1852,  describing 
tite  Manners,  and  Customs  and  Religion  erf*  the  Inhsft)itants,  with  a  full  and  cor- 
rect Aoeonnt  ef  the  Dnne  ReSigioci,  and  comtaimog  Historical  ReraiHiB  of  the 
MMmtaxn  Tnbe  fren  perBonal  intercoiacBe  wkk  thai  Chiefis  and  other  anthen- 
tic  sources."  By  Colonel  CburchiH,  Staff-officer  of  the  Botish  £xpedidoa  to 
Syria-  ^  T 

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520  MOUNT  LEBANON. 

shadowing  shroud  and  of  a  high  stature ;  and  his  top  was  among  the  thick 
boughs.  The  waters  made  him  great,  the  deep  set  him  up  on  high  with  her 
rivers  running  round  about  his  pUmts^  and  sent  out  her  little  rivers  unto  all  the 
trees  of  the  field/" 

Again  he  says,  still  speaking  of  the  Lebanon : — 

''Down  those  rugged  declivities  the  myriads  of  Sennacherib,  those  heads 
already  devoted  to  the  sword  of  the  destroying  angel,  rushed  down  in  tumul- 
tuous array,  flushed  with  the  pride  of  conauest  and  fresh  emerging  from  the 
furnace  of  destruction  which  their  firebrands  had  kindled  around  them.  Through 
the  defile  the  Grecian  phalanx  slowly  wound  its  cumbrous  way,  laden  with  the 
spoils  of  IssuS)  and  exulting  in  the  promised  spoib  of  Tyre.  These  coasts  still 
bear  the  impress  of  the  legions'  toil.  The  very  worlu  attest  the  genius  of 
imperial  Rome. 

"Through  these  passes  Godfrey,  Bohemond^  and  Tancred  led  on  their 
deluded  hosts,  miserable  victims  of  folly  and  superstition.  There  is  Sidon 
and  Tyre,  the  one  the  birth-place  of  letters  and  navigation, — the  other,  the 
mother  of  commerce  and  ocean's  earliest  queen.  In  the  distant  verge  of  joa 
horizon  arose  that  mighty  wave  of  force  and  fanaticism,  which,  after  haying 
deluded  Asia,  Africa,  and  half  of  Europe,  and  expended  its  brute  force,  is  gra* 
dually  being  absorbed,  leaving  behind  it,  wherever  its  traces  yet  exist,  the  slime 
and  scum  of  malignant  corruption  and  foetid  decay — a  moral  pestilence — which 
if  not,  as  once,  the  scourge,  is  still  the  shame  and  opprobrium  of  humanity  and 
civilization. 

**  Yonder  azure  mountains  which  blend  so  sofUy  with  the  ethereal  skies 
around  them,  enclose  the  scenes  of  his  career,  whose  weapons  were  the  words 
of  peace,  whose  doctrines  fell  on  the  hearts  of  his  followers  like  the  gentle  dews 
of  Heaven,  with  ever  fresh  and  invigorating  influence,  summoning  them  to 
patience,  humility  and  endurance,  as  the  ensigns  of  their  warfare  and  the  basis 
of  their  triumphs ;  and  who  consigned  to  them  the  mission — sacred  and  lasting 
as  the  world  itself— of  uniting  together  the  great  family  of  mankind  in  one 
common  bond  of  Faith,  Charity,  and  Love.** 

The  following  chapters  give  us  ample  details  of  the  tenure  of 
land,  and  the  several  relations  of  landlord  and  tenant ;   of  the 
systems  of  agriculture ;  silk,  crops,  and  vineyards ;  and  it  is  the 
more  interesting  as  showing  how  the  evil  effects  of  bad  govern- 
ment, while  it  drives  its  subjects  for  refuge  to  the  mountains,  has 
taught  them  to  render  their  rugged  sides  as  fruitful  and  productive 
as  any  spots  on  earth.    Thus  we  see  those  races,  generally  the 
Mohammetan,  or  dominant  ones,  half  starving  on  die  most  fertile 
plains,  while  the  outcasts  of  oUier  creeds,  taught  by  necessity, 
draws  abundance  from  crags  and  precipices.    The  ignorance  and 
superstition  of  the  Maronites,  and  their  blind  subsenience  to 
priestly  rule,  is  freely  commented  upon.    The  more  than  feudal 
attachment  of  the  people  to  their  priest,  may  be  judged  of  from 
the  story  of  the  outrage  committed  on  some  American  missionaries, 
who  had  left  their  station  at  Tripoli  with  the  intention  of  passbg 
the  hot  summer  months  in  the  village  of  Edhen,  well-known  to 
travellers,  and  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  Maronite  districts. 
Whether  they  came  with  proselyting  motives  cannot  be  known,  as 
scarce  had  they  arrived  and  entered  their  houses,  when  the  tocsin 
sounded,  the  bells  of  the  villages  about  pealed,  and  a  vast  mob, 
with  torches,  stones,  and  yells,  clustered  round  them.    The  mis- 
sionaries scarce  obtained  the  grace  of  a  hurried  and  night  retreat 
llie  great  cause  of  enmity  against  them  was  the  usual  one  of  all 


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MOUNT  LEBANON.  521 

races  beneath  a  priest's  rule,  ^^  we  want  no  Bible  men :  no  Bible 
among  us.'' 

Such  an  outrage  could  not,  of  course,  be  allowed  to  pass  by 
lUipunished.  Kepresentations  were  made  to  the  Turkish  govern- 
ment, hy  the  American  ambassador,  upon  the  subject,  and  a 
fiiVnan  was  promptly  procured,  giving  the  required  satisfaction. 
It  was  difficult,  however,  to  persuade  the  mountaineers  that  they 
were  under  the  Sultan's  jurisdiction  in  such  matters  as  these. 
**  The  Patriarch  is  our  Sultan,"  was  the  haughty  reply  to  the 
summons  of  their  local  authorities,  demanding  compensation  for 
the  losses  incurred  by  the  missionaries  in  their  midnight  flight. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  Maronites,  every  authority,  civil  or  other- 
wise, is  merged  and  absorbed  in  the  authority  of  die  priests ;  and, 
with  lynx-eyed  vigilance,  do  their  priests  and  bishops,  in  the 
present  day,  ais  indeed  of  yore,  watch  every  movement,  every 
tendency,  which  may  menace  their  long-established  dominion. 

While,  however,  the  race  is  thus  described  and  condemned,  full 
credit  is  given  them  for  their  industry  and  energy — an  energy 
which  has  rendered  the  most  barren  portion  of  the  Lebanon 
range  the  most  fruitful  and  productive — we  find  that  there  have 
not  been  wanting  men,  even  among  this  mind-bound  race,  who 
saw  the  errors  of  their  church,  and  sought  to  open  the  eyes  of 
others.  The  priests,  however,  seem  to  have  crushed  such  a  bud 
more  successfully  than  was  done  in  the  west,  and  were  rewarded 
and  extolled  by  popes  and  cardinals  as  their  success  deserved. 
Their  habits  of  begging  'are  described,  and  their  reason  and 
example  for  it  is  certainly  ingenious. 

It  is  curious  that  as  our  own  newspapers  are  describing  the 
desecration  of  the  heart  of  our  own  lion-hearted  Richard,  we 
should  here  read  of  the  fate  of  the  descendants  of  his  chivalrous 
ioe,  the  great,  the  mighty  Sallahedeen.     At  page  68,  we  read : — 

**  At  a  village  called  Rasen  Haash  (just  inland  of  Bartoon)  may  be  seen  tho 
humble  descendants  of  the  great  Saladin,  to  this  day  styled  the  Emirs  of  the* 
house  of  Ayoob.  Unconscious  of  the  giory  of  their  great  ancestor,  they  merely 
know  that  they  are  of  noble  descent,  and  though  gaining  their  bread  by  the 
labour  of  their  hands,  and  performing  the  commonest  offices  of  the  serf  and  the 
peasant,  they  haughtily  refuse  to  return  any  salutation  which  does  not  give 
them  their  proper  rank  and  appellation.*' 

The  Maronite  priests  show  great  ingenuity  in  their  profession, 
foretelling  events  that  will  occur  in  the  natural  course  of  things 
with  wonderful  precision,  and  when  they  venture  on  bolder  pre- 
dictions, if  the  result  is  contrary  to  their  augury,  they  ascribe 
their  fadlure  to  the  faithlessness  of  the  people :  thus  preserving 
in  all  cases  their  character  for  infallibility.  The  agency  of  the 
French  is  much  dwelt  on,  though  they  do  not  seem  to  push  it 
with  such  substantial  gifts  as  the  Russians  use  among  the  Greeks; 
they  choose  a  cheaper  mode  and  circulate  prints,  cheap  and  rough 
enough,  but  stamped  with  papal  authority,  of  a  vision  of  a  pious 
nun,  M — ,  who  sees  the  Virgin  standing  on  the  globe,  on  which 
the  one  named  La  France  is  conspicuously  marked,  while  a  voice 
informs  her  that  the  lays  are  the  lays  of  Grace  obtained  by  Mary 

VOL.   XXXIV.  ^(^f^r^n]r> 

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522  MOUl^  LBBANOX. 

for  mankind,  and  tbat  tlie  spot  where  Ibej  noTe  especially  ftrlTy  is 
the  said  La  France.     Well,  they  are  very  much  requiFed  there, 
so  our  charity  w'M  lead  us  to  hope  ibey  may  fail  m&re  and  n»ore. 
We  eould  bave  wished!  an  explanation  of  how  the  .pint  ConventB 
of  £has  Sbevya  are  cottdacted ;  for  Greeks  smd  Ma»)nite8  living 
together  in  unity  and  love  woutd  indeed  be  a  pleasant  sigbt^  tb» 
sects  generally  baiting  eaeb  other  far  more  than  they  bate  Tarit  or 
Druse ;  in  fact,  the  few  Greeks  in  the  Kesronan,  an  entirely  Ma- 
ronite  district,  are  more  illtreated  iban   Christians  among    the 
Turks.     Our  author  also  seems  to  expect  for  Beyroot  a  bibber 
avenir  than  it  is  likely,  or  bas  a  right  to  enjoy ;  its  want  ef  a 
harbour,  or  eren  a  safe  anchorage,  must  erer  prevent  its  beconsing 
an  emporium  for  trade ;  and  it  owes  its  present  prosperity  more 
to  fortuitous  circumstances  than  any  just  claims  for  eonveDience 
or  positkm.    The  mountaine  in  its  rear  form  an  issurmountabfe 
barrier  to  trade  with  the  far  interior,  as  here  the  Lebanon  is  lollj^ 
steep,  and  precipitous,  whereas,  either  at  Sidon  on  the  soelb,  or 
Tripoli  on  the  north,  they  can  be  passed  with  scarce  an  hrteF* 
rening  difficulty;  and  at  Tortosa,  ftirtber  north,  the  istaad   of 
Ruad  forms  a  natural  l^reakwater,  while  a  plain  road  conducts  to 
the  plains  of  Ccslo-Syria,  and  the   rast  countries  beyond  tbe 
Euphrates.    The  pine-planting  also  to  the  south  of  Beyrout,  to 
protect  the  environs  from  the  rapidly  approaching  and  all  over- 
whelming sand,  we  suspect  is  entirely  eonfined  to  what  nature 
does ;  for,  during  our  last  visit,  after  a  lapse  of  ten  years,  we 
found  the  Desert  had  far  encrocu^hed  on  the  gardens,  and  the  tops 
of  palms  scarce  emerging  from  sand,  marked  where  once  a  home<» 
stead  smiled.    The  author's  account  of  the  Arab  invasion  under 
the  immediate  successors  of  the  Prophet  Mahomed  is  full  of  in- 
terest and  information,  and  sets  that  wondrous  fact  before  us  in 
all  its  details  and  causes.    We  welcome  also  the  first  true  account 
of  the  Beit  Shehaab,  those  myths   so   often  and   variously  ac- 
counted for  by  tourists,  who  have  derived  their  histories  from  tha 
pure  fount  of  a  Dragoman's  intellect.    Their  history  is  a  precious 
addition  to  the  peerage  of  the  world,  and  worthy  of  place  in  the 
most  i-omantic   of  tales.     Arab  nobles,  from   the   earliest  ages, 
noble   and  ancient  when   Mahomed    preached,,  we    find    them 
figuring  in  every  page  of  Eastern  history,  now  rulers,  now  fugi- 
tives, now  noblest,  now  basest,  they  seem  ever  to  have   borne 
themselves  prominent,  in  evil  or  in  good;  and  now  their  feudal 
sovereignty  is  over,  they  wrap  around  them  the  tattered  robe ;  &te 
may  conquer,  but  they  will  not  succumb,  andif  Fortune  has  deprived 
them  of  rule  and  power,  she  has  failed  to  teach  them  experience 
or  conformity,  and  we  see  now  the  poor  euur  or  prickce  of  tbat 
ancient  house  as  proud  and  haughty  as  when  they  mkd  provinces 
or  ravaged  principalities.    The  single  combat  at  Meijyoom  recalls 
all  the  poetry  of  romance;  the  pages  of  the  "  Talisiaan''  might 
have  been  copied  for  the  account ;  the  whole  scene  ia  strikingly 
Oriental  -,  the  skill  and  bravery,  yet  the  cunning  and  treachery, 
the  greatness  of  soul  to  do  a  glorious  action,  yet  not  remsiencia 
enough,  as  the  Spaniards  would  say,  to  avoid  a  mean  one,  it  cannot 


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MWNT  LEBANOir.  S2d 

k»  better  jbccribed  tban  in  tbe  antbor^  woreb.  We  must  snp- 
pote  tbat  the  Sbebaabs,  who  chreH  in  the  plains  of  Shobbaa^ 
bejQBB  to  tirs  ttf  tibe  perpetnal  ealls  made  on  them  fer  serviee  in 
the  warlike  expeditions .  of  the  Saltan  Nooradeen,  from  which, 
though  thejr  reaped  booty  and  plunder  enoii^,  amall  time  was 
granted  to  enjoy  their  gains,  they  therefore  resolred  to  migrate  ta 
the  LebaxKHi,  where,  tfaongb  they  intended  to  remain  fkitbfttl  to 
the  Suhan,  they  resohed  their  serriees  should  be  more  optional 
thaai  it  was^  on  the  open  unprotected  plains,  and  that  the  moon* 
tains  should  be  a  protection  against  ftiend  and  foe. 

They  accordingly  crossed  tl»  Jordan,  and  ascended  the  eastern 
tidiB  of  the  Lebanon,  as  they  approached  Hasbeya,  Count  Eva, 
the  Frank  govemot ,  sallied  forth  to  meet  them ;  the  fight  was  long, 
and  evening  set  in  without  muob  result :  on  the  following  day  the 
Franks  sent  forth  a  herald,  proposing  thai  the  fortunes  of  the 
iaj  should  be  decided  by  single  combail,  and  a  warrior  fully 
accoutred,  accompanied  by  his  retinue,  was  seen  descending  to 
the  Jordan,  which  then  separated  the  adTorse  armies.  The  Emir 
accepted  the  challenge  ;  the  spot,  the  only  one  afibrding  space  for 
the  combat,  was  on  the  AraVs  side  of  the  rirer ;  the  Christian 
knight  had  therefore  to  cross  and  fight,  surrounded  by  his  foes, 
who  took  possession  of  the  ground  around  :— 

**  On  the  signal  being  given  the  two  combatants  rushed  to  the  conflict  At 
one  blow  with  his  battle-axe  the  Frank  broke  his  adversary's  spear  in  two* 
The  Arab  Emir's  chief  weapon  was  gone.  To  attempt  to  prolong  the  fight  by 
a  sword  attack  against  one  wbo'  9tooi  encased  in  iron,  he  Mi  would  be  both 
uaaksft  and  dangerous;  wheeling  bis  sfieed  therefore  suddenly  rotnd,  he  spcang 
out  of  his  saddle,,  and  throwing  huoAelf  boldly  on  his  eneioy  rolled  with  hmi  to 
the  ground.  The  struggle  now  assumed  the  appearance  of  a  wrestling  match. 
It  was  Fong  and  desperate ;  and  the  Frunlt,  though  clad  in  armour,  might  from 
hi»  size  and  stTength  have  gained  the  day,  had  not  the  Emhr  perceived  and  by  a 
sudden  and  dextrous  movement  snatched  the  dagger  from  his  adversary's  girdle 
aod  stabbed  him  with  it  vbl  (be  groia." 

The  account  of  the  Ptotestant  American  missionaries  is  most 
promising ;  and  there  is  an  appearance  of  truth  about  the  results 
they  proclaim  which  makes  the  promise  more.  At  present  there 
is  no  great  outward  show,  but  tne  seed  has  been  broadly  sown» 
and  doubtless  with  His  mighty  help  the  crop  will  be  abundant* 
The  contrast  between  the  simple  purity  of  the  reformed  religion 
must  strike  even  the  most  superficial,  while  the  appeal  to  scrip- 
tures for  all  and  in  all,  and  the  oneness  of  spirit,  exhibit  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  disgraceful  feuds  among  other  sects.  The  Ameri- 
can missionaries  themselves  appreciate  these  advantages,  and  as 
the  author  well  observes, 

"  Conscious  of  the  goodness  of  their  cause,  the  purity  of  their  doctrines,  and 
the  apostolic  simplicity  of  their  ecclesiastical  regulations,  they  avoid  all  theolo- 
gical disputes  or  open  denunciations  of  error,  and,  in  the  literal  sense  of  our  Lord's 
injunctions,  *  preach  the  Gospel,*  leaving  the  consequences  and  effects  to  the 
operation  of  tlie  Holy  Spirit,  whereby  they  have  been  called  to  the  labours  of 
the  ministry." 

We  have  a  biography  of  the  late  Emir  Beckir,  evidently  a 
favourite  character  with  the  author ;  his  deeds  merit  a  page  in 

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524  MOUNT  LEBANON. 

history,  for  ^rhen  we  remember  his  rule  we  most  remember  his 
means,  and  the  state  of  the  country  he  was  ruler  over.  The  de- 
scription of  his  character  is  very  Oriental,  and  we  should  imag:iiie 
a  transcript  of  what  was  told  by  Orientals  themselves. 

The  effect  produced  by  his  personal  appearance  was  of  itself 
sufficient  to  reduce,  and  often  did  reduce,  the  most  rebellious  to 
abject  submission.  On  entering  the  divan  of  audience,  the  first 
sight  of  the  Emir  acted  on  the  beholder  with  the  power  of  fasci- 
nation. Apart  in  one  of  the  remotest  comers  of  the  room,  might 
be  seen  the  figure  of  a  venerable  looking  man,  in  a  kneeling  posi- 
tion— sitting,  in  fact,  on  his  heels,  and  reclining  his  back  against 
a  cushion,  his  temples  encircled  by  the  voluminous  folds  of  a 
Cashmere  shawl;  thick  shaggy  eyebrows  overhanging  and  partially 
concealing  eyes  replete  with  fire  and  vivacity ;  from  one  side  of 
his  girdle  arose  a  dagger^s  head  covered  with  the  choicest  dia- 
monds, glittering  amidst  the  silvery  hairs  of  a  broad  massive  beard 
which  reached  down  to  his  waist,  while  thick  fumes  of  tobacco, 
incessantly  ascending  firom  a  bowl  of  extraordinary  dimensions, 
and  enveloping  his  whole  person  in  a  cloud,  gave  a  mysteriousness 
to  his  presence  which  excited  sensations  of  awe  and  terror. 

The  tone  of  his  voice  was  deep,  hollow,  and  sonorous.  When 
angry,  the  hairs  of  his  beard  stood  on  end  like  a  lion's  mane.  Few 
if  any,  even  of  the  principal  magnates  of  the  mountain,  could 
stand  before  him  without  trembling,  which,  however,  as  soon  as  he 
perceived,  he  used  considerately  to  address  them  with  some  words 
of  encouragement  Nevertheless,  instances  have  been  known  of 
persons  of  rank,  when  seated  with  him  at  dinner,  losing  the  power 
of  swallowing ;  while  all  his  guests  used  invariably  to  take  merely 
a  few  hasty  morsels  and  withdraw,  anxious  to  escape  firom  a  state 
of  embarrassment,  which  almost  paralyzed  the  organs  of  nature. 
We  must  refer  the  reader  to  the  volumes  themselves  for  a  further 
account  of  this  wonderful  man,  by  profession  a  Mahomedan,  in 
heart  a  Christian ;  on  the  death  of  his  wife  he  sent  to  Stamboul 
for  three  Circassian  slaves ;  on  their  arrival  he  selected  one  and 
ordered  her  to  be  instructed  in  Christianity  ;  the  fair  odalisk  re- 
jected the  proffered  creed  with  horror,  "Take  her  to  the  kitchen,** 
was  the  quiet  answer  of  the  Emir  to  the  informer  of  her  refusal. 
This  acted  more  powerfully  than  the  confessor — she  became  a 
Christian  and  was  married  to  the  Emir.  We  must  leave  a  further 
account  of  these  interesting  volumes  to  a  future  occasion,  mean- 
while assuring  the  reader  they  will  well  repay  the  perusal. 


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525 


RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  CAMPAIGNS 
UNDER  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 

In  September  of  181 1,  after  Marmont  bad  relieved  Ciudad  Ro- 
drigo,  and  subsequently  replaced  the  cattle  and  Goyemor  stolen 
from  it  by  Julian  Sanchez,  the  French  Commander  fell  back  to 
Salamanca,  and  eventually  to  Valladolid,  with  the  greater  part 
of  his  forces.  "At  this  time  also,  17,000  of  the  Imperial 
Guards  were  withdrawn  by  Napoleon  for  his  Russian  Campaign, 
and  above  40,000  troops  of  the  enemy,  of  different  arms,  had 
quitted  Spain  on  the  same  errand.  The  rest  of  their  armies 
were  spread  over  an  immense  extent  of  country.  Marmont,  de- 
ceived by  the  seemingly  careless  winter  attitude  of  the  allies,  and 
for  the  accommodation  of  provisioning  his  troops,"*  and  watching 
the  Guerilla  Corps,  was  at  a  greater  distance  from  Ciudad  than 
would  enable  him  to  assemble  his  army  with  facility  to  succour 
and  support  it  on  a  sudden  emergency — ^besides,  his  attention  at 
this  time  was  turned  towards  the  operations  going  on  in  the  East 
of  Spain.  Lord  Wellington,  well  prepared,  seized  the  opportunity 
he  had  long  looked  for,  and,  in  spite  of  the  inclemency  of  the  sea- 
son,  suddenly  and  at  once  invested  the  Fortress  and  commenced 
the  siege. 

It  was  at  daybreak  on  a  bitter  cold  morning,  on  the  4th  of 
January,  that  our  Division  started  from  their  cantonments  to  take 
part  in  this  siege,  and  commence  the  campaign  of  1812.  The 
Light,  First,  Third,  and  Fourth  Divisions,  with  Pack's  Portuguese 
Brigade,  were  destined  for  this  service,  and  were  concentrated,  in 
the  first  days  of  January,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  our  old  battle- 
field, the  banks  of  the  Azava  and  Agueda.  Across  this  latter 
river  a  bridge  had  been  thrown  at  Marialva  by  Lord  Wellington. 

Our  first  day's  march  of  sixteen  miles  towards  the  scene  of  our 
new  operations  was  bad  enough  in  respect  to  weather  and  roads; 
but,  on  reaching  the  half-roofless  houses  of  As  Navas,  matters  were 
still  worse.  He  who  had  a  soul  for  music  might  possibly  view  the 
creeks  and  crannies  of  our  shelterless  habitations  with  harmonious 
intentions,  for  many  were  the  sites  admirably  adapted  for  the  intro- 
duction of  the  iEolian  harp  ;  the  less  tasteful,  however,  and  the 
unmusical,  who  felt  not  the  attributes  of  that  which  ^^  soothes  the 
savage  breast,"  did  not  appear  to  have  an  adequate  sense  of  the 

Eleasures  of  their  situation.  In  addition  to  other  difficulties,  we 
ad  to  depend,  for  the  transport  of  food,  and  all  the  requisite  ma- 
terial for  our  operation,  on  our  friends  and  allies,  the  Spaniards 
and  Portuguese.  The  way  in  which  this  was  accomplished  is 
best  shown  by  Lord  Wellington's  own  words.  In  writing  to  Lord 
Liverpool,  he  says : — 

'^  What  do  you  think  of  empty  carts  taking  two  days  to  go  ten 
miles  on  a  good  road  ?  After  all,  I  am  obliged  to  appear  satisfied, 

*  See  Napier.  ^  I 

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626  RANDOM   RECOLLECTIONS   OF   CAMPAIGNS 

or  ibey  would  desert!  At  this  season  of  the  year,  depending  upon 
Portuguese  and  Spaniards  for  means  of  having  what  is  required, 
I  can  scarce  venture  to  calculate  the  time  which  this  operation  ** 
(the  siege)  *^  will  lake ;  but  I  should  think  no  tefas  than  treaty- four 
or  twenty -fivie  days.  If  we  do  not  succeed,  wne  shall,  at  least,  bring 
back  upon  ourselves  all  the  force  that  has  marched  away — and  I 
hope  we  may  mlfc  Valencia,  or,  at  all  events,  afford  wore  ttme  to 
ihe  Asturians  and  Galicians,  &c.  If  we  do  succeed,  we  shaH 
make  a  fine  CMopaign  in  the  spring.'' 

On  the  6tli,  Head  Qoartors  were  moved  to  Gallegos.      I^at>i 
Wellington,  attended  by  ColoBel  Fletcher,  Chief  Engineer,  and 
sone  officers  of  tke  staff,  nuide  a  reconnoissance  of  the  places 
tkey  crossed  the  Agiieda  by  the  fords  about  two  miles  belom*  the 
town^  amd,  unattended  by  any  escort,  reached  seFeral  points  Irani 
which  they  obtained  a  sufficient  view  of  the  defences  (of  the  FV)r- 
tress)  to  decide  on  the  attack.*     Encased,  but  ecaroely  oovei^sd, 
f^*e  remained  in  a  state  of  ventikUion  within  the  faalf-wredsed 
houses  of  As  Naras  till  the  8th,  when  \^^  joyfully  moved  to  Espeja, 
as  a  village  neaiier  the  scene  of  our  ftxtuie  operations,  and  acffordUiig 
better  shelter  from  the  ftost  and  snow.     Towards  smiset  we  iBM^lKd 
the  quarters,  inteaded  for  us  daring  the  siege — once  enscoiMoed  ia 
•mr  different  cottages  we  refreshed  ourselves  with  whatever  provi. 
sions  the  Comvmsary,  our  own  industry,  and  a  few  doUars,  per- 
mitted us  to  obtain.    About  eight  oVlock  p.m.  we  were  conleat^ 
edly  sitting  round  a  fire,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  cigars  and  mulled 
•wine,  when  a  sonnd  jsjreeted  our  ears— not  of  JGotian  chords— but 
the  soldier's  «iiak>— the  caamen — booming  forth,  through  the  calm 
frosty  air  of  the  nigbt,  its  sonorous  eloquence.     We  went  fortk 
into  the  village  street — the  cannonade   continued  and  became 
heavy ;  distance  and  the  wind  in  an  adrerse  quarter  prevented  our 
bearing  any  soirod  of  nrnsketry,  but  we  saw,  by  the  flashes  from 
the  guns,  the  horizon  lighted  £Bir  above  the  woods  and  undulating 
ground,  which  intervened  between  our  village  of  Ef^peja  and  the 
town  of  Ciudad  Bodrigo.     A  large  assembly  of  officers  and  men 
were  collected  in  order  lo  try  to  make  out  results  from  sovnd,  bat 
to  little  purpose,  beyond  ascertaining  that,  as  the  canaonade  coa*- 
tinned  througbeat  the  night,  the  siege  had  begun.     We  tboiigbl 
libat  we  should  hwe  bad  the  honour  of  taking  the  initiatiTe  in  tUss 
afiair,  bat  it  was  commenced  by  the  Light  Division  in  a  clever, 
dashing  style,  and  in  the  following  manner.     Here,  before  insert-^ 
ing  a  itirtber  quotation,  let  me  plead  my  excuse  for  so  doing.  As 
often  as  I  was  not  on  the  spot,  when  some  occurrence  toe*  place, 
on  which  the  subsequent  narrative  turns,  I  have  left  the  relatiea 
of  it  to  the  authority  either  of  an  eye-w^rtness,  or  of  die  able  hii^ 
torian  of  these  oampaigns.  For,  were  I  to  describe  what  I  did  aet 
tee  with  my  own  e3?es,  I  might  be  accused  of  presaaipti^Mi,  ami 
vender  myself  liable  to  the  rebuke  which  Hannibal  conveyed  wbem 
he  happened  to  hear  a  distinguished  orator  discomwng  on  the  m^ 
ject  of  «*ar.     He  was  asked  wliat  he  thoaght  of  «t;  Hamvibal  re- 
plied,  **  diat  he  had  beard  mamy  absurd  th^gsin  his  ivfe,biift  newer 
*  See  Jfmaea's  Sieves. 

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UXDER   THE   DUKE   OF    WEIXIXGTON-  527 

anjihiof  half  %o  absurd  as  this."  Waidd  that  some  coald  recall 
to  tbeiuselves  the  Italian  proverb :  ^'  Chi  iKm  sa  niente  non^dabata 
di  niente  !*'  It  would  sav^  maoy  a  cootroversy  occasioiiiBg  loss 
^  vaiuable  tiooe  aud  invaluable  patience.  But  to  return  from  this 
digression. 

^^  During  the  day,  everjlhing  was  kept  as  quiet  as  possible^  and 
an  equal  "examination^  made  of  every  side  of  the  town,  so  as  to  pre- 
vent any  suspicion  of  an  immediate  effort,  or  of  the  point  about 
to  be  attacked ;  the  Light  Division  and  Pack^s  Portuguese  BiigMle 
forded  the  Agueda,  near  Caiidad,    three   miles  alK)ve  the   For* 
tress,  and,  making  a  circuit, took  post,  without  being  observed,  be- 
yond the  Tesso  Grande,  a  round  hill  rising  gradually  from  the  city, 
on  which  the  enemy  bad  constructed  a  redoubt,^'  called  after  the 
ahstraded  Goveroor,  Fort  Renaud.    This  was  distant  from  the 
fortified   Convent  of   St.  Francisco   400  yards,   and   {Hmie  600 
from  the  Artillery  on  the  Aampaits  of  the  place.     '^  The  Light 
Division  remained  quiet  during  the  day,  unperoeived  by  the  enemy, 
and,  as  there  was  no  regular  investment,  the  enemy  had  mo  idea 
that  the  siege  had  commenced,  but  as  soon  as  it  became  dark, 
a  brigade  formed  under  arms  on  the  Northern  side  of  the  Upper 
Teson,  and    a   working  party  of  700  men    paraded    in   their 
rear,  in  two  divisions  of  800  men  and  400  men  respectively, 
the  former  intended  to  make  a  lodgment  near  the  redoubt,  as 
soon  as  it  should  be  carried,  and  the  other  to  open  a  commu* 
nication  to  it  iiom  the  rear.    At  eight  p.m.  LieuAenant^Colonel 
Colbome,*  with   three  Companies  of  tlie  52nd  Regiment,  ad- 
vanced aloQg  tlie  Upper  Teson  to  the  assault  of  tbe  redoubt.   Tfao 
garrison  of  the  work  discovered  tbe  assailants,  when  about  150 
yards   distant,  and  had   time  to  fire  two  or  three  rounds  from 
their  artillery  (two  guns  and  a  howitzer)  before  tbe  escalade  com- 
menced.    Lieulenant  Thomson,  of  the  Engineers,  who  accom- 
panied the  detachment  with  a  party  of  Sappers,  carrying  scaling 
ladders,  fascines,  axes,  &c.,  on  arriving  at  the  Counterscarp,  find- 
ing the  palisades  to  be  wiUun  three  feet  of  ift,  and  nearly  of  the  same 
height,  immediately  placed  the  bscines  irom  tbe  one  to  the  otlier, 
and  formed  a  bridge  by  which  a  part  of  the  storming  party  walked 
over  the  palisades,  and  jumped  into  the  ditch  ;  when,  finding  the 
scarp  without  a  revetment,  they  readily  scrambled  to  the  top  of  the 
parapet  and  came  into  contact  with  the  bayonets  of  tbe  defenders. 
Whilst  this  was  going  forward  in  firont,  another  party  went  round 
to  the  gorge,  where  there  was  no  ditch,  and  forced  over  qr  through 
the  gate ;  thus  enveloped  on  every  side,  the  resistance  was  short, 
and  of  fifty  men,  the  garrison  of  the  redoubt,  four  only  escaped 
into  the  town,  two  officers  and  forty  men  being  naade  prisooei^s, 
and  three  left  dead  in  the  work.  The  British  loss  was  six  men  killed 
and  three  officers  aud  sixteen  men  wounded.     Instantly  the  re- 
doubt was  carried,  the  precaution  was  taken  of  making  its  mar 
perfectly  accessible,  by  breaking  down  the  gates,  and  forming 
openings  in  its  rear  inclosure  wall ;  but  in  a  very  short  time,  tbe 
garrison  directed  such  a  qnick  fire  into  the  work,  that  it  was 
Now  Lieiit.-<il«a.  Lord  Seaton. 

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628  RANDOM   RECOLLECTIONS   OF   CAMPAIGNS 

thought  right  to  withdraw  every  one  from  its  interior.    The   first 
division  of  workmen  opened  a  trench  on  the  flank  of  the  redoubt, 
as  a  lodgment)  and  the  second  division  opened  the  communica- 
tion   to    it  from   the    rear  across   the   Upper  Teson»   both    of 
which  operations  were  accomplished  with  little  loss,  as  the  ^rri- 
son  continued  to  direct  nearly  all  their  fire  into  the  work  through- 
out the  night."*    Thus  the  Light  Division  commenced  the  siege. 
My  friend  Gurwood  of  the  52ud  was  of  the  party,  and  says, — **  In 
my  attempt  to  force  the  gate  at  the  gorge  we  were  interrupted  by 
the  enemy  throwing  over  lighted  grenades,  but  as  I  saw  the  gate 
was  low,  I  went  round  the  angle  of  the  fort,  where  I  told  Lieut,- 
Colonel  Colborne,  that  I  thought  if  I  had  a  few  ladders  I  could 
get  in  at  the  gorge — the  ladders  were  furnished,  but  were,  however, 
of  no  use,  for  before  they  were  placed,  the  gate  was  suddenly- 
blown  open.     I  rushed  into  the  fort,  accompanied  by  Lieut  An- 
derson of  the  62nd,  and  our  men,  and  we  met  our  other  storming 
parly  coming  over  the  angle  of  the  redoubt.     On  our  return   to 
camp,  I  went  to  a  shed  in  the  rear,  where,  after  receiving  their 
wounds  in  the  assault,  Captain  Mein  and  Lieut.  Woodgate  of  my 
regiment  had  been  carried  for  the  night,  and  where  the  lately 
captured  prisoners  were  also  lodged  until  daylight.     Here,  in  con- 
versation with  the  French  officer  of  the  Artillery,  I  learned  the 
cause  of  the  gate  at  the  gorge  of  the  redoubt  being  blown  open, 
which  had  appeared  so  extraordinary  to  Lieut.  Anderson  and  my- 
self.   The  French  officer  told  me  that  a  Seijeant  of  Artillery,  in 
the  act  of  throwing  a  live  shell  upon  the  storming  party  in  the 
ditch,  was  shot  dead,  the  lighted  shell  falling  within  tiie  fort; 
fearing  the  explosion  of  the  shell  among  the  men  defending  the 
parapet,  he  had  kicked  it  towards  the  gorge,  where,  stopped  by  the 
bottom  of  the  gale,  it  exploded  and  blew  it  open.**    The  success- 
ful night  attack  of  the  redoubt  on  the  hill  of  San  Francisco,  other- 
wise called  the  Upper  Teson,   enabled  our  people  immediately 
to  break  ground  within  600  yards   of  the  place,  notwithstand- 
ing the  enemy  still  held  the  fortified  convents  flanking  the  works 
of  the  town.     This  was  at  once  a  great  step  gained  in  time  and 
progress.     The  rise  on  which  stood  the  captured  redoubt  was  a 
plateau  that  extended  towards  the  city,  but  suddenly  descended  to 
a  valley  and  small  stream.     On  the  opposite  side  of  this,  and 
within  very  commodious  musket  range  of  the  ramparts  of  the 
town,  rose  a  small  round  eminence  called  the  Lower  Teson.    The 
ground  was  rocky  and  in  some  parts  shingly,  and  the  fire  brought 
to  bear  on  this  attack  by  the  enemy  was  greater  than  on  some 
other  points  that  might  have  been  chosen ;  but  Lord  Wellington 
selected  this  in  preference  to  any  othei^ — for  he  was  fighting  against 
time  as  well  as  against  the  garrison,  and  wished  to  make  short 
work  of  it,  by  taking  the  town  before  Marmont  could  possibly  at- 
tempt to  relieve  it.  On  arriving  at  Espeja  on  the  evening  of  the  8th, 
our  Division  had  been  ordered  to  cook  a  day's  provisions  over- 
night, for  the  next  day's  service. 

On  the  rooming  of  the  9lh,  in  darkness,  our  Battalions  assem- 
*  See  Jones's  Sieges. 

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UNDER  THE   DUKE  X)F  WELLINGTON.  629 

bled  for  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  Light  Division.  The  noise  of 
the  city's  guns  still  continued  to  disturb  the  calm  of  the  night  and 
its  echoes  accompanied  us  as  we  moved  from  the  cover  of  our  vil- 
lage to  take  our  share  in  the  operations  of  the  siege.  From  the  as- 
sembled columns  at  our  alarm  post  we  broke  into  line  of  march^ 
and,  about  nine  o'clock,  reached  the  ford  of  the  Agueda.  The  river 
was  partially  frozen,  and  the  stream  both  rapid  and  deep,  with 
much  ice  on  the  sides,  and  two  or  three  feet  depth  of  water  in  the 
shallows.  Previous  to  our  descent  to  take  water,  which  our  fellows 
did  like  good  poodle-dogs  who  had  something  to  bring  out  of  it,  the 
column  was  halted  and  orders  received  for  our  men  to  strip  off  their 
shoes  and  stockings.  On  commencing  the  unusual  operation  of 
denuding  their  lower  extremities,  between  two  high  banks  in  a  close 
and  narrow  lane,  we  were  made  fully  aware  of  the  absence,  in  our 
neighbourhood,  of  Houbigant  Chardin  or  any  other  dealer  in  per- 
fumery. Our  Commander's  act  of  consideration  for  the  men,  how- 
ever, proved  of  no  small  comfort  as  well  as  benefit  to  them,  des- 
tined as  they  were  to  be  exposed  to  atmospheric  influences  for 
twenty-four  hours  in  a  hard  frost,  and  thus  saved  both  their  feet 
and  their  shoes.  Passing  a  second  small  stream,  we  arrived  about 
mid-day  in  rear  of  the  Tesso  Grande.  This  hill  concealed  our 
bivouac  from  the  sight  of  the  enemy's  guns,  and  here  were  assem- 
bled the  materials  for  the  siege  and  the  relief  of  the  Divisions  des- 
tined to  use  them. 

The  German  Legion  were  the  first  to  relieve  the  working  parties 
and  guard  of  the  trenches,  previously  occupied  by  the  Light  Divi- 
sion under  Major-General  Sir  Robert  Craufurd.  Our  predecessors 
had  obtained  for  themselves  a  pretty  good  cover  during  the  night ; 
in  the  day  our  relieving  parties  were  occupied  in  deepening, 
widening,  and  perfecting  the  approaches  to  the  first  parallel.  The 
garrison  threw  a  good  many  shells  from  heavy  13-inch  mortars,  and 
some  round  shot  from  the  Convent  of  San  Francisco  and  the  ram- 
parts, but  not  with  the  effect  or  damage  they  intended,  although  the 
ground  was  hard  from  frost  and  flinty  by  nature,  and  the  enemy's 
missiles  were  increased  by  driving  the  stones  their  shot  encountered, 
like  grape,  amongst  and  over  our  men  at  work.  Soon  after  four  p.m. 
our  Brigade  relieved  the  Germans ;  we  had  a  covering  party  of  500, 
and  a  working  party  of  1200  men.  The  enemy  appeared  already 
to  have  discovered  the  time  fixed  for  our  reliefs,  being  able  to  see, 
probably  from  the  top  of  the  Cathedral,  the  movements  on  the 
plateau  of  the  Tesso  Grande.  On  entering  the  trenches  they  wel- 
comed us  with  a  pretty  brisk  cannonade  and  fire  of  shells,  a  species 
of  cricket-ball  that  no  one  seemed  in  a  hurry  to  catch.  Indeed, 
as  an  old  cricketer,  I  may  presume  to  say,  that  fortunately  the 
"fielding"  was  most  indifferent.  No  great  mischief  ensued,  al- 
though some  few  casualties  occurred,  and  we  commenced  working 
on  the  first  parallel  and  intended  batteries  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  It  snowed,  and  the  night  was  intensely  dark  and  cold, — one 
of  our  comrades,  a  good-natured,  agreeable  little  fellow,  who  sang 
beautifully,  put  on  three  shirts  to  preserve  his  voice^  for  which  care 
of  himself,  though  his  appearance  verged  on  the  globular,  we  all 

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530  RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS   OF   CAICPAIGNS 

felt  sincerely  obliged  to  hiin.^    As  Air  m  Ike  fire  fton  tkeTampaite 
could  keef>  its  warm,  the  enemy  were  considerate, bodi  as  to  almiKi- 
ance  and  T^riety  oif  ftiel.     Tbcy  poared  a  reiy  beavy  sbotrer  on 
our  trenches  and  o«r  contiimaljon  of  tbe  first  paraUd,  Urar  calibre 
of  gun  being  24  and  32  pounders.    Hiey  knew  prkty  well  our 
intention  to  break  fresh  ground  in  the  dark,  and  were  uncomfoc^- 
aUy  curious  lo  discorer  the  exact  spot  of  our  operations.    During 
this  work  my  observation  was  occasioDally  drawn  to  the  ieaUures 
a«d  general  bearing  of  our  soldiers — tbey  seemed  ^  as  roeo  on 
earnest  business  bent" — stern  and  not  to  be  frustrated.     The  fro- 
queiit  cry  of  "  shot^  or  "  sheH**  from  men  posted  on  the  look-oart, 
to  warn  us,  when  «nch  left  the  enemy's  moitars,  was  very  harassiiig;. 
lliat  of  '*  shot,"  however,  was  neariy  unheeded,  as  tbe  ball  ettfaer 
passed,  struck  the  outside  of  the  trench,  or  knocked  some  one  ov^er, 
almost  as  soon  as  tbe  arj  was  uttered.     Our  parly  were  occupied 
in  breaking  ground,  by  placing  gabions  and  filling  them  as  b^  ns 
possible;  we  excavated  tbe  earth  on  the  inner  side,  and  tbns 
covered  ourselves  as  quickly  as  we  could. 

Captain  Ross,  the  directing  Engineer  of  the  nigiit,  a  most  intel- 
ligent and  excellent  officer,  was  killed  by  a  n»ind  of  grape  from 
a  ^n  on  the  Convent  of  San  Francisco,  as  he  was  in  the  act  of 
giving  us  orders.  Scarce  a  moment  had  elapsed,  before  a  sergeant 
of  oiur  detachment  was  knocked  over  by  one  of  the  stones  that  the 
round  shot  from  the  town  scattered  in  all  directions.  Light-balls 
flew  fpom  the  ramparts,  in  frequent  parabola,  shedding  a  red  glare 
on  all  around,  bright  enough  to  indicate,  not  only  onr  points  of 
operation,  but  the  very  ibrras  of  our  men  as  they  mtare  workings 
Thither  the  enemy  directed  their  guns,  and  sahros  of  shot  and  shell 
immediately  followed  the  discovery,  Whiie  the  glare  of  light 
lasted,  tbe  shower  of  missiles  fell  so  thick  in  its  vicinity,  that  we 
were  ordered  to  conceal  oursdves  till  it  was  over.  Then,  again 
emerging,  we  recommenced,  like  moles,  to  bury  ourseSves  in  tbe 
earth — a  curious  expedient  to  avoid  that  ceremony  at  the  hands  of 
others.  Tbe  French,  par  parenikeBe^  doubtless  imagined,  that  like 
Charles  die  Fifth,  m^e  were  rehearsing  our  own  funeral,  and  gra* 
dually  inuring  ourselves  to  being  dead:~many  of  us,  with  a 
success  even  OKHe  prompt  than  attended  the  apprenticeship  of 
tiiat  hypochondriacal  potentate.  Although  supperless,  we  worked 
throughout  the  night,  actively  and  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  En« 
gineer  officers.  We  were  anxiously  looking  out  for  dawn,  which 
would  test  the  worth  of  our  ni^^  exertions.  At  last  early  light 
appeared  in  the  east,  streaking  like  a  thread  the  sky  above  the 
mountains.  An  interesting  panoramic  view  presented  itsdf  from 
OUT  trenches  on  the  Tesso  Grande.  The  atmo8{4iere  mas  dear, 
frosty,  and  bracing,  tbe  summnding  scene  bold  and  beautifol.  In 
the  centre  of  a  lai^  undulating  plain,  bached  by  brok^i  ground, 
covered  with  ilex  and  cork-wood,  stood  tbe  tall  city,  rearing  its 
head  ov^  the  svrounding  leveL  The  absence  of  foliage  in  its 
immediate  vicinity  cansed  the  forms  of  its  buildii^  to  stand  oat 

^  *  Many  years  have  sped  stnce  then ;  I  hear,  however,  that  lie  stin  &vows 
biB  intniisie  fnends  with  ^le  cAiauus  of  Ins  song. 

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VSDUM  THK   DCKS  OF  WSLLINOTON.  531 

IB  hard  velief  beneath  the  inoraiag  light  The  sun's  joang  rays 
glaDcedon  the  cupokt  ^sts  churcfaes  and  i3oaveiils,«iKl  made  cfae 
cising  smolc  frmn  the  cky's  earlj  tms  look  still  more  blue,  la 
the  far  ttistaace  were  eeen  the  mow-corered  Sierra  de  Franeia  and 
de  Gata  warmly  tinged  by  the  sunlight,  cootrasting  well  with  the 
silver-coloured  stream  of  the  Agueda.  For  a  moment  there  was  a 
dead  calm,  farolieii  only  by  the  oocasioaal  booming  of  a  gem,  fiied 
as  if  in  deepy  lazioes6,  which,  perhaps,  the  unusual  activity  of  the 
pvevious  night  bad  engendeied.  The  sounds  from  the  guns  echoed 
through  the  pure  (hin  air  to  the  distant  hills,  bounding  back  again 
in  three-lbkl  repetitioo  of  defiance — while  in  our  frrmt  sternly  stood 
the  bold  Fortress  flooliag  its  hostile  flag  in  the  momtng  breeee* 
The  cannonade  was  for  the  preseut  confined  to  our  opponents  ;  sis 
yet  we  made  no  response,  but  were  merely  pfeparing  a  reply; 
when  the  time  did  oome  onr  iroa-4ioaigi»ed  omtory  was  the  moot 
oonvinciug  and  prevailed.  After  fouiteea  hours'  occupation  of  the 
works,  and  having  traced  out  the  three  batteries  (Nos*  I,  2,  and  S), 
we  were  relieved,  and  found  the  etkemj  as  mtich  atur  petiU  9mtm 
for  us  as  wben  we  entered  the  trenches,  cUsmissing  its  with  all  the 
honours  of  war.  They  Uaced  away  with  much  noise,  but  to  liUie 
purpose.  Of  our  Brigade  we  lost,  during  the  whole  night's  ope- 
rations, not  one  officer,  and  <mly  six  rank  and  file  kiUed  and  ten 
wounded.  Colonel  Fenrnor*  of  the  Guards,  the  field-officer  com- 
manding in  the  trenches,  had  his  hat  shot  off  by  the  splinter  of  a 
sheH,  which  was  the  nearest  approach  to  promotion  in  his  corps 
during  the  night.  We  reached  our  bivouac  in  rear  of  Ibe  Tesso 
Grande,  where  neither  hnft,  tent,  nor  eoaicely  a  fire  was  to  be  se^i, 
there  being  a  melancholy  deficiency  of  material  for  such  accom- 
modatioa.  Tents  there  were  none,  for  not  until  the  year  after,  in 
the  campaign  of  1813,  were  such  save-health  essentials  issued  out 
to  our  army.  We  formed  colunm  and  moved  off  in  march  frooi 
oxBt  barren  place  of  assembly  to  return  once  more  to  our  country 
village  quarters,  judiciously  using  the  same  salutary  precaution  in 
repassing  the  streams,  we  had  adopted  in  fording  them  on  oar 
advance  to  the  trenches.  Aboat  four  p.K.  we  again  arrived  al 
Espeja,  and  right  glad  we  were  to  find  omselves  under  oorer,  for*-** 

Condisoe  i  diletti 
Meinoria  di  peoe^ 
Ne  «a  che  sia  bene* 
Chi  Bial  BOD  soinL 

Much  to  our  satisfaction  we  bere  greeted  Sanguinetti  the  sutler, 
that  man  of  elastic  views  in  moml  and  monetary  obligations ;  he 
had  reached  our  village  from  Lisbon,  with  a  cargo  of  hams,  porter, 
brandy,  champagne,  tea,  cheese,  and  other  comestibles  with  which 
to  warm  the  inward  man  and  strengthen  the  body.  We  no  w  learned 
that  the  enemy  bad  some  15,000  men  upon  the  Upper  Tonnes, 
and  that  Marment  m^t  be  exped^d  to  make  erery  possible 
exertion  to  reKere  Citidad  Rodrigo  from  our  attack.  Still,  we 
well  knew  the  rapid  and  prompt  action  of  our  Chief  in  anything 
he  undertook,  and  wtth  perfect  confidence  we  acwaited  the  result 
•  AfWrwards  Lord  f  omfiet.      Digitized  by  dooglc 


532  RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CAMPAIGNS 

On  the  11th,  at  daybreak,  most  part  of  our  battering  train  from 
Almeida  passed  through  Gallegos  for  the  trenches  on  the  Tesso 
Grande,  and  on  the  Idth  we  again  moved  towards  the  citj,  to 
resume  our  share  of  industry  in  accomplishing  the  batteries  and 
advances  of  our  works   of  attack*    On  our  reoccupation  of  the 
trenches,  we  found  progress  had  been  made,  but  not  so  rapidly  as 
could  have  been  wished — the  weather  was  so  cold  and  the  enemy's 
fire  so  warm  that,  in  conjunction  with  the  want  of  transport  for 
the  necessary  materials,  the  labour  had  been  greatly  impeded; 
even  the  greater  portion  of  ammunition  for  the  battering  train  was 
still  waiting  conveyance  from  Villa  de  Ponte,  and  we  again  heard 
that  Marmont  was  collecting  his  forces  to  succour  the  place. 
Every  exertion  was  used  to  complete  the  batteries,  but  the  front 
they  occupied  was  so  very  limited,  and  the  garrison  directing  their 
fire  against  them  only,  had  now  attained  the  range  so  accurately, 
and  threw  shells  so  incessantly  and  with  such  long  fuses,  that  half 
the  time  and  attention  of  the  1000  workmen  of  our  Brigade  were 
directed  to  self-preservation.     To  oppose  this  heavy  fire  it  became 
necessary  to  persevere  in  making  the  parapets  of  the  batteries  of 
sufficient  thickness,  and  all  the  excavation  being  confined  to  the 
interior,  both  night  and  day,  the  progress  of  the  work  was  very 
unsatisfactory,  particularly  as,  the  batteries  being  on  the  slope  of 
the  hill,  it  required  considerable  height  of  parapet  to  secure  their 
rear.*    These  causes  induced  Lord  Wellington  to  change  his  plan, 
and  he  resolved  to  open  a  breach  from  his  counter-batteries,  which 
were  from  between  500  to  600  yards  distant  from  the  curtain  of 
the  enemy's  ramparts,  and  then  storm  the  place  without  blowing 
in  the  counterscarp.    We  found  that  during  the  night  of  the  12th, 
and  early  on  the  morning  of  the  13th,  in  a  fog,  which  occasionally 
arose  from  the  Agueda,  the  Light  Division  had  dug  pits  beneaUi 
the  walls  of  the  city,  in  which  the  95th  Rifles  were  placed  for  the 
purpose  of  picking  off  the  enemy's  gunners,  while  too  correctly 
and  to  us  inconveniently  serving  their  guns.    These  pits  were 
little  separate  excavations  in  the  earth  at  some  few  yards'  distance 
firom  each  other,  and  about  150  from  the  enemy's  embrasures. 
From  our  sloping  eminence  they  looked  like  so  many  little  graves^ 
and  had  all  the  convenience  of  such,  for  once  arrived  in  them,  the 
occupant  was  Bafe  enough ;  but  as  neither  sap  nor  cover  of  any 
kind  assured  the  communication  with  such  deadly  holes,  the  great 
danger  was  in  reaching  these  spots  of  interment,  except  under 
cover  of  fog  or  night.     From  these  counterfeit  graves  many  of  the 
enemy's  gunners  were  put  in  preparation  to  inhabit  real  ones,  that 
is,  if  any  of  their  friends  had  sufficient  delicate  attention  for  them 
to  take  the  time  or  trouble  to  dig  them.    During  this  night  we 
again  had  sharp  work  from  cold,  labour,  and  our  opponents'  de- 
structive intentions.     A  dropping  fire  of  musquetry  from  the  ram- 
parts continued  to  visit  us,  and  two  of  vcky  party  at  work  on  the 
parapet  of  No.  2  battery,  were  hit,  which,  considering  the  distance 
(about  600  yards)  and  the   darkness,  was  accidental,  although 
looked  upon  by  us  in  those  days  of  %h(yrt  ranges^  as  an  extra- 


*  See  Jonet  and  Napier. 


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UNDER  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINOTON.  533 

ordinary  circumstance.  The  enemy^s  light-balls  were  constant, 
and  their  round  shot  and  heavy  13-inch  shells  followed  in  abund- 
ance. 

On  one  of  these  machines  falling  perhaps  within  a  distance  from 
us  of  only  some  few  feet,  the  general  order  for  immediate  pros- 
tration was  given,  and  it  was  curious  from  this  posture  to  look  on 
our  men's  impatient  faces,  while  watching  the  hissing  fuse,  and 
awaiting  its  expected  explosion,  which  generally  covered  those  in 
the  neighbourhood  with  dust  and  dirt;  then  up  once  more  they 
were,  and  to  work  again  like  ^^  good  uns.''  On  passing  down  the 
trenches  with  Lieutenant  Marshall,  of  the  Engineers,*  from  whom 
I  was  receiving  instructions  for  my  portion  of  the  working  party, 
a  shell  lit  close  to  us  and  immediately  burst,  carrying  a  splinter 
near  to  Marshall's  head, — he  showed  his  disapprobation  of  such  a 
liberty  by  impatiently  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  you  brute  !"  as  if  the  cold 
projectile  had  had  any  choice  in  the  course  it  had  taken.  A  simul- 
taneous flight  of  these  monsters  was  puzzling,  as  it  rendered  them 
difficult  to  avoid,  and  had  not  traverses  been  thrown  up  in  the 
batteries,  the  casualties  must  have  been  much  greater  than  they 
were.  At  first,  these  unwelcome  visitors  were  regarded  by  us  as 
no  joke,  but  when  accustomed  to  them,  our  men  would  laugh  at 
the  inconvenient  accidents  they  occasioned,  such  as  some  fellow 
in  the  dark,  in  endeavouring  to  avoid  one  of  these  noisy  intruders 
on  our  privacy,  throwing  himself  into  a  spot  more  immediately 
handy  than  choice j  and  rising  from  his  recumbent  position  adorned 
with  ihe  fortunate  attributes  of  the  Goddess  Cloacina.  One  inci- 
dent of  Uiis  kind,  I  well  remember  happened  to  poor  Rodney  of 
the  Guards.  This  night  we  got  twenty-eight  guns  into  the  trenches, 
laid  the  platform,  began  the  second  parallel,  and  continued  the 
approaches  by  the  fljdng  sap.    The  Santa  Cruz  Convent  was  sur- 

Jrised  and  stormed  by  tbe  Light  Infantry  of  the  Germans  of  our 
)ivision.  This  last  success  relieved  us  from  a  very  ugly  flanking 
fire,  brought  on  our  working  parties  from  this  most  ecclesiastical 
habitation,  and  the  right  of  the  trenches  was  thus  secured.  Some 
of  the  German  officers  suffered  severely  during  the  night's  opera- 
tions ;  one  poor  fellow,  whose  name  time  has  obliterated  from  my 
memory,  had  both  his  legs  carried  off  by  a  round  shot.  At  three 
A.M.  we  were  relieved,  our  Brigade  having  made  good  progress  dur- 
ing our  eleven  hours'  work.  In  the  morning,  we  once  more  took 
our  road  to  Espeja  and  again  made  our  pedestrian  ablutions,  in  re- 
passing  the  Agueda. 

Restored  to  our  village  cabin  homes,  (for  a  soldier's  home  is 
wherever  he  may  happen  to  sleep,)  and  cordially  greeted  by 
the  Spanish  peasants,  we  indemnified  ourselves  for  past  fatigue,  by 
rest  and  provender. 

About  four  or  five  P.  M.  of  the  14th,  we  heard  the  increased 
fire  of  artillery  from  the  siege,  and  knew  from  it  that  the  medi- 
cine we  had  been  preparing  over-night,  was  now  in  course  of 
administration.     We  were  also  informed  the  following  day,  that  a 

*  Afterwards  Lieut.- Col.  Marshall,  an  energetic  man  and  good  soldier,  who 
was  wounded  later  in  this  siege. 


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534  RANDOaC  &ECOL£«ECTIONS  OF  CAIfFAIGNS 

aoriM  bad  been  vflde  by  Ihe  ganisttB,  but  wm  rbcclctd  bjr  tb# 
working  ptrtiM  in  the  trenches^  wko  took  tft  their  anns  tttd  ro^^^ 
pulsed  the  attempt.  In  the  evening  our  batteries  opened — twenty* 
five  pieces  weie  Arected  on  tbe  favsM  hraie  and  rampart^  and  two 
against  the  CooTent  of  St.  Fiancbco.  Iifiy  pieces  ef  camnon  r^-- 
pUed  in  hot  haate  to  tbe  opening  of  onr  guns,  and  the  distant  hills 
lererberated  the  hostile  sound  of  eighty  contendii^  pireea  of 
afftiUery.  In  the  night,  the  other  religions  sanctuary  of  St.  Fcaneisco 
was  stormed,  and  taken  by  tbe  40th  Resriment.  It  would  be  tedious 
to  recapitulate  the  same  scenes  which  hare  already  been  described; 
anffice  it  to  say,  that  on  tbe  17th  our  Division  again  took  its  turm 
of  duty,  and  once  more  occupied  the  trcmclies*.  Tbe  only  difler* 
en.ce  was  that  our  works  now  approached  nearer  to  completioo, 
and  to  the  Seited  city.  Lovd  Wellington,  who  never  procrastinated^ 
bad  ordered  a  battery  to  be  fornaed  and  amied,  to  create  a  sraaBer 
breach  in  a  turret  to  the  left  of  the  larger  one.  The  cannonndn 
became  sharper  and  more  animated.  We  were  no  longer,  as 
when  last  in  the  enemy*s  vicinity,  the  onfy  objects  acting  as  targets^ 
the  ^  reciprocity"  now  was  net  all  on  anm  side. 

We  laboured  in  repairing  tbe  batteries  and  platfonns  injured  hy 
the  enemy'^s  shot.  Tbe  sc^cond  parallel  was  pushed  to  the  Loiwer 
Tesson^  within  180  yards  of  the  ramparts :  oiu*  defences  were 
made  higher  as  we  descended  the  slope  —  firing  parties  were 
mixed  with  our  workmen,  to  keep  up  an  incessant  discbarge 
of  musketry  on  the  breach.  The  occupants  of  the  little  graves, 
as  we  called  them,  in  spite  of  the  infliction  of  showers  of  grape 
from  the  town,  rendered  good  service.  Still  the  garrison^s  shot 
knocked  about  our  new-laid  gabtons,  injured  some  of  onr  guns 
in  the  batteries,  wounded  the  Commandant  of  onr  Artillery, 
General  Borthwick,  and  entirely  ruined  the  sap,  without  the 
slightest  regard  to  our  taste  or  convenience.  The  casualties  of  our 
Division,  however,  were  fortunately  very  few,  is  proportion  to  the 
quantities  of  hard  material  flying  about,  and  the  weight  of  flis 
brought  on  our  works*  In  the  momiag,  in  a  fog,  we  lelil  tbe 
trenches.  During  these  duties  n  feat  of  gormandising  was  per- 
formed by  a  soldier  of  the  3rd  Guards;  vegetables  were  scarcely 
ever  to  be  heard  of,  gardens  hardly  to  be  seen,  and  the  constant 
visitation  of  this  portion  of  the  frontier  provinces  by  four  armies 
of  difierent  nations  did  not  assist  horticultural  pursuits^  but  ren- 
dered the  produce  of  such  industry  in  marvellous  request.  The 
Guardsman  was  on  piquet  in  a  garden  under  the  city  walls, 
wherein  he  devoured  so  large  a  portion  of  raw  cabbage,  that,  not 
having  the  stomach  of  a  cow,  he  died,  poor  fellow !  others  in  the 
same  panuUse  of  an  outpost,  more  prudent  or  less  voracioos, 
secured  these  rarities  to  carry  ofi*. 

And  with  sense  more  canny  and  lew  savage* 
•'  Took  the  liberty  to  boil"  their  eabk»ge. 

Considerable  progress  in  achieving  their  object  had  been  made 
by  our  breaching  batteries,  and  again,  as  we  dragged  onr  slow 
length  along  towards  our  village  shelter,  we  conversed  on  the 
chances  of  our  Division  storming. 


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IIK0EE  THfi  DUXE  OF  WELLINGTON*  S35 

On  ibe  20Qi»  ve  dhoold  again  fatTe  cliafge  of  tlie  trenches,  and 
u*e  trusletl  that  fay  that  ctay,  the  breadi  wMld  be  psacticaUe,  and 
as  we  had  bad  our  share  of  the  dirhf  wovfc,  we  bopefuUj  looked 
ibi*vard  to  obtain  so«ie  of  the  bomora.  Bat  m  Uiis  wc  were  ui>- 
InekUj  disappointed. 

On  the  isiik  our  ire  was  resmmed  with  increased  violence,  and 
our  gnns  were  light  wdl  served. 

On  the  19th,  Majer  Sturgeon,*^  of  the  Staff  Corps,  having 
closely  examined  the  place>  both  breaches  were  reported  prac- 
tieable ;  our  battering  guns  weve  dien  turned  against  the  lyrtillery 
of  the  rampartSy  a  plan  of  attack  was  formed,  and  Lord  Welling- 
ton ordered  the  assault  for  that  evening.  The  general  order  to  ac^ 
complish  his  intent  was  issued  in  that  direct,  succioet,  and  terse 
language  so  peculiar  to  himself. 

"  Head-Quarters,  Jan.  19th,  1811. 

"  The  attack  upon  Ciudad  must  be  made  this  evening,  at  seven 
o'clock/^  which  soimded  very  much  like,  "  the  town  of  Ciudad 
must  be  taken  this  evening,  at  seven  o'clock.^  The  assault 
occurred  under  the  eye  and  immediate  superintendence  of  Lord 
Wellington.  In  giving  a  sketch  of  the  storming  of  the  town,  I 
shall  confine  myself  to  some  few  details  drawn  from  memoranda  of 
my  own  made  at  the  tirne^  information  obtained  from  others,  actors 
in  the  scene,  and  a  pamphlet  printed  for  private  circulation,  but 
not  published,  given  to  me  by  my  friend  Gurwood,  who  led  the  for- 
lorn hope  at  the  little  breach.  The  operation  of  the  assault  was 
confided  to  the  3rd  Division  under  Picton,  who  was  charged  with 
the  right  and  centre  attack,  and  that  of  the  great  breach  ^  the 
Light  Division  under  Craufurd,  with  the  left  attack  on  the  small 
breach;  and  Pajck's  Portuguese  with  a  false  attack  on  the  Reverse 
side  of  the  town.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  the  drd  Division  was 
formed  in  the  first  parallel,  the  Light  Division  behind  the  Con- 
vent of  San  Francisco,and  the  Portuguese  Brigade  on  the  Agueda 
above  the  Bridge. 

They  all "  in  silent  muster  and  with  noiseless  march "  moved 
simultaneously  to  the  posts  allotted  them.  Hay-bags,  hatchets, 
and  scalmg  ladders  were  provided  and  distributed  to  each  advance 
party  according  to  the  requirements  of  their  respective  services. 
The  right  attack  was  led  by  Colonel  OToole,  of  the  Portuguese 
Cagadores,  the  centre  to  the  great  breach  by  Major  Manners,  of 
the  74th,  with  a  forlorn  hope  under  Lieut  Mackie,  of  the  88th, 
The  left  was  commanded  by  Major  Napier,  of  the  52nd,  with  a 
forlorn  hope  under  Lieut.  Gurwood,  of  the  same  regiment.  The 
advance  or  storming  parties  were  composed,  both  men  and  officers, 
of  volunteers — the  number  being  limited,  the  selection  of  the  can- 

*  Not  he  of  the  ^layor  of  Garret,  who,  with  <' Captain  Tripe  and  Ensign 
Pattypan,  returning  to  town  in  the  Turnham  Green  stage^  was  stopped,  robbed, 
and  cruelly  beaten  ly  a  single  footpad."  T^hu  Sturgeon  was  a  different  gueu 
kind  of  character.  He  was  unfortunately  killed  by  a  French  iiraUlettr  m  the 
south  of  France  in  1813,  while  reconnoitring  from  a  vineyard  some  of  the 
enemy's  columns. 


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536  RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CAMPAIGNS 

dictates  for  this  service  created  amongst  the  rejected  great  jealoasy 
and  discontent.  All  the  troops  reached  their  posts  without  seem- 
ing to  have  attracted  the  enemjr's  attention.*  Lord  Wellington, 
who  had  been  reconnoitring  the  breaches  in  the  ramparts,  was 
standing  on  the  top  of  the  ruins  of  the  Convent  of  San  Francisco, 
and  in  person  pointed  out  the  lesser  breach  to  Colonel  Colbome 
and  Major  Napier;  he  addressed  the  latter,  by  saying,  "Now  do 
you  understand  exactly  the  way  you  are  to  take,  so  as  to  arrive  at 
the  breach  without  noise  or  confusion  ? "  Napier's  answer  was, 
"  Yes,  perfectly."  Some  of  the  staff  observed  to  Napier,  "  Why 
don't  you  load?"  He  replied,  "  No,  if  we  cannot  do  the  business 
without  loading,  we  shall  not  do  it  at  all."  Lord  Wellington  in- 
stantly turned  round  and  exclaimed,  "  Leave  him  alone." 

Craufurd  on  all  occasions  of  this  nature,  like  some  Greek  hero  or 
Roman  leader,  was  much  given  to  eloquence,  and  always  addressed 
to  his  Division  a  speech.  It  was  his  usual  way  and  was  more  a 
habit  of  his  own  than  one  requisite  to  such  men  and  officers  as 
composed  the  Light  Division, — they  would  have  done  his  bidding 
and  their  duty  at  a  simple  word  of  command.  The  General 
not  speaking  Portuguese,  called  upon  Lieut.-Colonel  Elder,t 
commanding  the  drd,  or  Villa  Reale  Ca^adores  of  the  Light 
Division,  to  address  some  expressions  of  encouragement  to  his 
men.  Elder,  though  in  command  of  a  corps  of  that  nation's  troops, 
unfortunately  was  as  innocent  of  the  vernacular  of  their  language 
as  the  General  himself;  Elder^s  powers  of  speech  even  in  his  own 
tongue  did  not  run  to  seed  or  into  anything  at  all  approaching  to 
the  oratorical  or  classical, — more  prompt  in  deed  than  word,  he  con- 
veyed his  communications  to  his  corps  in  a  kind  of  Anglo-Portn- 
guese,  or  rather  Portuguese  English,  a  species  of  lingua  franca 
peculiar  to  himself,  but  which  they  understood.  His  men  admired 
his  courage,  liked  his  conduct,  and  would  have  followed  him  any- 
where and  everywhere.  It  is  but  justice  to  this  officer  to  say  that 
his  battalion  was  in  the  very  best  possible  state  of  discipline,  and 
set  an  example  advantageous  for  other  corps  to  follow.  At  this 
moment  the  firing  commenced  on  the  right  with  the  3rd  Division. 

Craufurd  again  impatiently  called  out,  "  D it,  sir,  why  do  you 

not  obey  my  orders  and  speak  energetically  to  your  men  ?'*  Elder 
was  puzzled  and  at  last  he  roared  out,  "Vamos,  Villa  Reales!" 
which  was  about  one  of  the  greatest  efforts  at  eloquence  he  had 
ever  attempted  in  his  life  in  any  language.  But  it  was  effective. 
Elder's  people  were  destined  to  carry  hay-bags  to  throw  into  the 
ditch  to  lessen  the  depth  for  the  men  to  jump  down,  but  as  some 
delay  and  mistake  occurred  in  their  delivery  to  the  Cagadores  the 
signal  to  advance  was  given  in  the  meantime.  Away  went  the 
storming  party  of  300  volunteers  under  Major  Napier  with  a  for- 
lorn hope  of  25  under  Gurwood, — they  had  about  300  yards  to 
clear  before  reaching  the  ditch  of  the  town ;  these  troops  at  once 
jumped  in,  the  fausse  braie  in  the  centre  was  scaled  and  the  foot 
of  the  breach  was  gained,  but  the  ditch  being  dark  and  intricate, 

•  Gurwood. 

t  Afterwards  Major-Ckn.  Sir  Greorge  Elder. 


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UNDER  THE   DUKE   OF   WELUNGTON,  537 

Gurwood  at  first  led  Lis  party  too  much  to  the  left  and  missed  the 
entrance  to  the  breach,  but  placed  his  ladders  against  the  wall  of 
the  fausse  braie,  and  thus  taking  in  flank  the  enemy  who  were  de- 
fending it,  they  hastily  retired  up  the  breach.  The  other  stormers 
went  straight  to  their  point.  At  this  moment  the  leader  of  the 
forlorn  hope  was  struck  down  by  a  wound  in  the  head,  but  sprung 
up  again  and  joined  Major  Napier  and  Captain  Jones  of  the  52ud, 
together  with  Captain  Mitchel  of  the  95th  Rifles,  Ferguson  of 
the  4drd,  and  some  other  officers,  who,  at  the  head  of  the  stormers, 
were  all  going  up  the  breach  together.  When  two-thirds  of  the 
ascent  had  been  gained,  the  way  was  found  so  contracted  with  a 
gun  placed  lengthways  across  the  top  which  closed  the  opening, 
that  our  leading  men,  crushed  together  by  its  narrowness  towards 
the  summit,  staggered  under  their  own  efforts  and  the  enemy's  fire. 
Such  is  the  instinct  of  self-defence,  that,  although  no  man  had 
been  allowed  to  load,  every  musket  in  the  crowd  on  the  breach  was 
snapped.  At  this  moment  Major  Napier  was  knocked  down  by  a 
grape  shot  which  shattered  his  arm,  but  he  called  to  his  men  to 
trust  to  their  bayonets.  All  the  officers  simultaneously  sprang  to 
the  front,  when  the  charge  was  renewed  with  a  furious  shout,  and 
the  entrance  was  gained. 

The  supporting  regiments  followed  close  and  came  up  in  sec- 
tions abreast  —  Lieut.-Colonel  Colbome,  although  very  badly 
wounded  in  the  shoulder,  formed  the  52nd  on  the  top  of  the  ram- 
part, wheeled  them  to  the  left,  and  led  them  against  the  enemy* 
The  48rd  went  to  the  right,  and  the  place  was  won.*  During 
this  contest,  which  lasted  only  a  few  minutes  after  the  fausse  braie 
was  passed,  the  fighting  bad  continued  at  the  great  breach  with 
unabated  violence,  but  when  the  48rd  and  the  stormers  came  pour- 
ing down  upon  the  enemy's  flank,  the  latter  bent  before  the  storm. 
Picton's  Division  carried  the  great  breach  after  innumerable  ob- 
stacles, and  a  continued  smashing  fire  from  the  enemy.  Pack,  with 
his  Portuguese  Brigade,  converted  his  false  attack  into  a  real  one, 
and  his  leading  parties  under  Major  Lynch  followed  the  enemy's 
troops  from  their  advance  works  into  the  fausse  braie,  and  made 
prisoners  of  all  who  opposed  them. 

All  the  attacks  having  succeeded,  ^^  in  less  than  half  an  hour  from 
the  time  the  assault  commenced  our  troops  were  in  possession,  and 
formed  on  the  ramparts  of  the  place,  each  body  contiguous  to  the 
other;  the  enemy  then  submitted,  having  sustained  considerable  loss 
in  the  contest."  t  Unlike  Baillie  Nichol  Jarvie's  description  of 
**  fellows  that  would  stick  at  nothing,"  our  fellows  stuck  at  every- 
thing they  met  High  stone  walls,  well-defended  ramparts  bristling 
with  musketry,  mines,  loop-holed  houses,  live  shells,  and  grape 
shot  are  irritating  obstacles  and  likely  to  create  delay  to  forward 
movements.  It  is  difficult  in  storming  a  town  of  a  dark  night  to 
know  exactly  the  moment  when  resistance  really  ceases  and  for- 
bearance should  begin.  The  very  nature  of  this  kind  of  service 
gives  great  licence  to  dispersed  combatants  to  form  their  own  pe- 
culiar opinions  on  this  very  delicate  subject.  In  such  moments  of 
*  See  Napier.  f  See  Duke  of  WettingtoD*!  Pitpatches. 


VOL.  XXXIV.  ^^^^^^^yOtfbgle 


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588  RANDOM   RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CAMPAIGNS 

excitement  individual  responsibiKty  becomes  great  and  the  decent 
duties  of  forbearance  are  too  frequently  apt  to  be  thrown  aside  in 
favor  of  settling  all  doubts  by  the  bayonet.  Our  Division  not 
having  assists  as  the  French  call  it,  in  the  storming,  I  shall  con* 
tinue  to  give  its  details  as  they  came  to  my  knowledge  from  those 
who  were  present.  I  will  now,  therefore,  more  at  large  allow  my 
friend  Gurwood  to  tell  his  own  story  of  the  assault  of  the  place  and 
the  surrender  of  its  Governor. 

**  On  leaving  the  Bastion,  to  go  along  the  rampart  to  the  left, 
my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  cry,  and  I  saw  some  soldiers  of 
my  party,  one  of  whom  was  Fat  Lowe,  in  the  act  of  bayoneting- 
a  French  officer  who  resisted  being  plundered.     Having  lost  my 
sword  in  the  breach  when  stunned,  I  picked  up  on  the  rampart  a 
broken  French  musket,  knocked  Lowe  down  and  saved  the  French 
officer,  who  complained  to  me  of  being  robbed  of  his  epaulette  or 
something  else.      I  told  him  that  he  might  think  himself  lucky, 
after  the  garrison  had  stood  an  assault,  to  have  his  life  saved.     I 
said  I  would  protect  him,  but  that  he  must  accompany  me  to  the 
Salamanca  gate,  which  I  knew  to  be  close  at  hand.     He  said  it 
was  useless  to  attempt  to  open  it  as  it  was  murSe — blocked  up 
with  stones.     I  went  down,  however,  by  one  of  the  slopes  from 
the  rampart  to  examine,  and  found  it  as  stated.    On  questioning 
the  French  officer  where  lie  thought  the  Governor  might  be,  he 
told  me,  that  previous  to  the  assault  he  had  been  seen  going  in 
the  direction  of  the  great  breach,  but  that  if  not  killed,  he  would 
no  doubt  be  found  either  in  his  house,  or  at  La  Tour  Quarr^e,  or 
Citadel.    The  ramparts  were  filled  with  men  of  the  Light  Division 
descending  into  the  town.   On  passing  over  the  gate  of  St.  Palavo 
I  saw  from  the  wall  a  large  party  of  French  in  the  ravelin  of  the 
fausse  brale  outside,  crying  out  that  they  had  surrendered,  but  we 
could  not  get  at  them.     We  then  heard  an  explosion,  and  from  the 
smoke,  saw  it  was  in  the  direction  of  the  great  breach.    This 
explosion  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence  for  some  moments,  when 
it  was  interrupted  by  the  bugles  of  the  Regiments  of  the  Light 
Division  sounding   *  cease  firing.'    I  was  thus  assured  that  all  was 
safe.      I   continued  along  the  ramparts  until  we  arrived  at  the 
Citadel  or  Tour  Quarr^e,  which  commanded  the  bridge  over  the 
river.    The  gate  was  closed.    Mclntyre,  one  of  the  men  with  me, 
proposed  blowing  the  gate  open  by  firing  into  the  lock — but 
on  seeing  some  of  the  enemy  on  the  top  of  the  turrets  of  the 
Tower,  and  at  the  recommendation  of  the  French  officer  who  was 
with  me,  I  went  round  from  the  gate  to  the  ramnart,  ftom  whence 
I  called  out  to  them  to  surrender  or  they  would  be  put  to  death, 
as  the  town  was  taken.    The  answer  being  to  return  to  the  g^te, 
which  would  be  opened,  I  did  so  and  found  admittance.     I  pro* 
ceeded  with  the  person  who  opened  it  to  the  square  Tower,  inside, 
the  door  of  which  was  closed.    The  officer  who  had  opened  the 
outside  gate,  told  me  that  the  Gt>venior  and  other  officers  were 
within  the  Tower.     I  repeated  the  threat  that  they  would  certainly 
be  put  to  death  if  they  did  not  surrender,  but  that  I  would  protect 
them  if  Ibey  did»    I  IMS  answered  fr6m  within,  ^  Jt  «e  ne  rendrai 

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UNDER  THE   DUKE   OF   WELLINGTON.  539 

qu'aa  GSo^ral  en  CheC  I  replied  that  tbe  G6u6ral  en  Chef 
would  not  lalie  the  trouble  to  come  there,  and  that  if  the  door  was 
not  immediately  opened  it  would  be  blown  open, '  quails  periraient 
lous.'  After  some  slight  hesitation,  the  door  was  imbarred  and  I 
found  my  way  in  with  Corporal  Mclntyre  and  Lowe  behind  me. 
It  was  a  square  chamber,  and,  as  I  saw  by  the  light  of  a  lantern 
held  up  by  one  of  them,  filled  with  officers.  The  lantern  was 
immediately  knocked  down  by  a  musket  from  behind  me  and 
Lowe,  who  did  it,  cried  out,  ^Dear  Mr.  Gurwood,  they  will 
murder  you.'  All  was  now  dark,  excepting  from  the  light  of  the 
BKxm  then  rising  and  shining  through  the  open  door  from  behind 
us.  I  was  seized  round  the  neck,  and  I  fully  expected  a  sword 
in  my  body;  but  mj  alarm  ceased  immediately  on  the  person 
kissing  roe,  saying,  ^  Je  suis  le  Gouvemeur  de  la  place,  le  G6n6ral 
Barrio ;  je  suis  votre  prisonnier.'  He  then  took  off  his  sword 
and  gave  it  me.  I  received  it,  telling  him  that  I  would  take 
him  to  the  General  en  Chef,  to  whom  he  should  surrender  his 
sword.  I  conducted  him  out  of  the  Tower,  saying  that  I  would 
protect  any  of  the  officers  who  chose  to  accompany  me.  I  told 
Mclntyre  and  Lowe  that  I  no  longer  required  them,  and  I 
descended  with  my  prisoners  from  the  Tower  into  the  town,  pro- 
ceeding by  the  main  street  which  led  from  the  bridge  to  the  Plaza 
Mayor.  There  was  still  some  firing  going  on,  but  chiefly  from 
plunderers  blowing  open  the  doors  of  houses,  by  applying  their 
muskets  to  the  locks.  At  the  request  of  the  Governor  I  proceeded 
to  his  house  in  the  Plaza.  The  troops  were  pouring  in  on  all 
sides,  most  of  them  of  the  Srd  Division.  I  called  out  as  I  went 
for  Lord  Wellington,  when  a  gruff  and  imperious  voice,  which  I 
knew  to  be  that  of  General  Picton,  said,  *  What  do  you  want  with 
Lord  Wellington,  sir  ?  you  had  better  join  your  regiment* 

"  Fearing  to  lose  my  prisoners,  I  made  no  reply,  but  having 
ascertained  while  in  the  Govemor^s  house,  from  Captain  Rice 
Jones,  of  the  Engineers,  that  Lord  Wellington  was  coming  into 
town  from  the  subuib  of  St.  Francisco,  by  the  little  breach,  I 
followed  that  direction.  On  leaving  the  Plaza  Mayor,  and  when 
out  of  hearing  of  General  Picton,  1  continued  crying  out,  *  Lord 
Wellington,  Lord  Wdlington  !  *  In  the  care  and  protection  of  my 
prisoners  I  necessarily  ovedooked  andabandooed  many  things, 
and  heeded  not  the  excesses  I  witnessed  in  my  passage  through 
the  town,  and  on  arriving  at  that  part  of  the  rampart  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  little  breach,  I  again  cried  out  *  Lord  Wellington  ! '  when 
a  voice  which  I  recognised,  exclaimed,  *Who  wants  me?'  I 
immediately  proceeded  up  the  slope  near  the  rampart — I  crossed 
the  trench  with  the  Governor,  the  oflScer  commanding  the  Artillery, 
and  three  or  four  other  officers,  and  I  presented  to  Lord  Wellington 
the  Governor,  to  whom  I  gave  back  his  sword,  which  I  bad  carried 
since  bis  surrender.  Lord  Wellington  immediately  said  to  me, 
*  Did  you  take  him  ?  *  I  replied,  *  Yes,  sir,  I  took  him  in  the 
Citadel  above  the  Almeida  gate.^  Upon  which,  giving  the  sword 
to  me,  he  said,  ^  Take  it,  you  are  the  proper  person  to  wear  it' 
The  rising  moon  and  some  few  houses  on  fire  near  the  little  breach 

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540 


RANDOM  BECOLLECnONS  OF  CAMPAIGNS,  ETC. 


rendered  everything  around  visible.  Lord  Wellington,  turnings 
to  Colonel  Barnard  *  (of  the  95th  Rifles),  said,  *  Barnard,  as 
Generals  Craufurd  and  Vandeleur  are  wounded,  you  command  the 
Light  Division;  you  command  in  the  town,  have  it  evacuated 
immediately.*  Lord  Wellington  then  spoke  to  the  Governor  and 
the  officer  of  the  French  Artillery,  respecting  the  gates  and 
magazines,  and  gave  other  directions,  at  which  moment  Marshal 
Beresford  asked  me  what  was  going  on  in  the  town,  and  on  my 
telling  him  of  the  plunder  and  excesses  I  had  witnessed  on  my 
passage  through  it,  he  repeated  this  to  Lord  Wellington.  General 
Barrio  interrupted  them,  on  which  Lord  Wellington  turned  roimd 
to  his  Aide-de-Camp,  Lord  Clinton,  and  said^  ^  Take  him  away.* 
Seeing  the  Governor  look  very  much  cast  down,  I  was  in  the  act 
of  giving  him  back  his  sword,  when  the  Prince  of  Orange  +  or 
Lord  March^il:  pulled  me  by  the  skirt  of  my  jacket,  and  one  of  them, 
I  believe  Lord  March,  said,  *  Don't  be  such  a fool,'*' 

Now  Lieut.-Gen.  Sir  Andrew  Barnard,  Deputy  Governor  of  Chelsea. 
Late  King  of  the  Netherlands.  |  Now  Duke  of  Richmond. 


PLEASANT   DAYS. 


When  the  opening  flowers, 

Heralds  of  the  spring. 
Freshened  by  soft  showers. 

Sweetest  odours  bring; 
When  with  merry  voice, 

Birds  begin  their  lays. 
And  in  spring  rejoice — 

These  are  pleasant  days  ! 

When  the  summer's  glow 

Shines  upon  the  ground. 
Light  and  warmth  ^tow 

Brighter  colours  round — 
In  cool  shades  we  lie. 

While  the  sunbeam  plays 
Through  the  clear  blue  sky — 

These  are  pleasant  days  ! 

Summer's  lingering  prints. 
When  cool  breezes  chase  ; 

When  rich  autumn's  tints 
Gayer  hues  efface- 


When  earth  plenty  yields. 
When  the  footstep  stravs 

Through  rich  harvest  fields — 
These  are  pleasant  days  ! 

When  with  dazzline  white 

Winter  clothes  the  earth ; 
When  the  bright  fire-light 

Wakens  song  and  mirth ; 
Friends  we  love  to  greet. 

Round  the  cheerful  blaze. 
Oft  iu  twilight  meet— 

These  are  pleasant  days ! 

'Tis  a  fool  who  lives 

For  one  time  alone ; 
Every  season  gives 

Pleasures  of  its  own. 
Happy  he  who  finds 

Each  to  merit  praise ; 
To  contented  minds 

All  are  pleasant  days ! 

M»  A.  B* 


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541 


LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITECT. 

"  In  the  reproof  of  chance 
Lies  the  true  proof  of  men.     Why  then,  faint  youth. 
Do  you  with  cheeks  abash'd  shrink  from  your  fate. 
And  think  them  shames,  which  are,  indeed,  nought  else 
But  the  protractive  trials  of  ereat  Jove, 
To  find  persistive  constancy  V* 

SuAKSPEABB  (with  a  varied  reading). 

Here  I  am,  then,  adrift  again  on  the  wide  waters  of  uncer- 
tainty ;  sitting,  with  my  arms  folded  in  the  "  sad  knot "  of 
perplexity's  stiipor;  while  the  boat  of  my  destiny,  sail-less,  rudder- 
less, and  unprovisioned,  passively  awaits  any  good  or  evil  that  the 
waves  or  the  winds  may  bring  to  bear  upon  it  The  sea-sickness, 
produced  by  the  heavings  of  a  calm  which  succeeds  to  the  tempest, 
is,  to  a  bad  sailor,  of  all  such  maladies  the  worst;  and  I  remained 
for  some  days,  after  the  lull  of  the  Soanean  storm,  prostrate,  as  it 
were,  in  the  bottom  of  my  rocking  barque ;  incapable  of  lifting 
my  head  over  its  gunwale; — a  very  wretch;  unworthy,  perhaps, 
even  of  pity.  To  conclude  this  sad  and  silly  paragraph,  with  the 
preservation  of  my  nautical  simile,  I  was  at  length  taken  in  tow 
oy  a  friendly  craft,  harboured  for  a  while  in  the  comfort  of  repose, 
and  rigged  out  anew  for  fresh  enterprise. 

My  kind  benefactor  H.  B.  having  invigorated  me  with  a  week's 
breathing  of  the  bracing  air  of  Hampstead  Heath,  and  the 
cheerful  tone  of  my  mind  being  restored  by  the  lively  but  sympa- 
thising socialities  of  his  family,  he  thus  addressed  my  no  less 

astonished  than  grateful  apprehension.    "  W ,"  said  he,  **  to 

show  you  the  confidence  I  have  in  your  future  success,  as  my 
only,  but  all-sufiicient,  security,  I  propose  to  become  your  banker, 
with  an  advance  to  the  amount  of  three  hundred  pounds ;  and,  to 
relieve  you  from  all  sense  of  obligation,  you  shall  hold  yourself 
liable  to  pay  me  interest  at  the  highly  remunerative  irate  of  five 
per  cent  for  the  whole,  or  for  so  much  of  it  as  you  may  require. 
Engage,  instantly,  apartments  of  a  respectable  oflScial  character  in 
a  good  professional  locality.    Put  a  brass  plate  on  your  door, 

announcing  <  Mr.  W ,  ARCHITECT.'     Get  your  views  of 

the  Roman  Ruins  handsomely  mounted;  obtain  an  estimate  for 
having  them  well  lithographed,  and  for  the  printing  of  a  suitable 
accompanying  letter-press.  Let  one  lithograph  be  immediately 
prepared,  and  have  something  more  than  the  full  number  of 
required  impressions  taken.  By  showing  the  drawings  and  the 
sample  print,  obtain  as  many  subscribers  as  you  can  from  the 
profession  and  other  influential  persons.  So  much  of  your  time 
as  remains  unoccupied  by  conducting  the  publication  of  your 
pictorial  work,  and  in  filling  your  subscription  list,  you  will  of 
course  give  to  (at  least  apparent)  professional  work  in  your  office. 
Seek  work — and,  if  you  cannot  obtain  it,  make  work.  Let  those 
who  come  to  see  your  Roman  Views  and  to  enter  their  names  as  sub- 
scribers, find  you  occupied  upon  plans  for  things, — you  know  what : 


642  LIFE  OF  AN"  ARCHITECT. 

town-halls,  and  churches^  and  literary  institutions,  and  national 
academies.  Look  out  for  advertisements  *  to  architects;'  try  for 
premiums,  and  never  mind  not  obtaining  tbera;  meanwhile.  111 
venture  to  predict  your  work's  subscription  list  will  support  you  ; 
and  if  it  do  not,  something  else  will,  depend  upon  it ! '' 

So  spake  my  friend  H.  B.     Another  friend  (previously  intro- 
duced to  the  reader,  Jack  R ),  was  of  opinion,  that  I  required 

"nothing  but  to  be  known  ;**  to  which  end  he  facetiously  suggested 
that  I  should  put  on  a  pair  of  tight  *'  inexpressibles,*'  with  one  red 
and  one  yellow  leg,  and  walk  daily  from  Charing  Cross  to  the 
Mansion  House,  till  people  should  become  universally  bent  on 
learning  who  the  d — 1  that  most  distinguished  and  party-coloured 
individual  might  be  ?     Then  would  follow  the  answer:  '*  O,  thaX^s 

W ,  the   author  of  'Twenty   Select  Views  of  the   Roman 

Antiquities,'  and  the  prospective  designer  of  the  countless  archi- 
tectural works  which  will  be  hereafter  similarly  illustrated  by  aoooe 
young  aspirant  of  posterity,  under  the  title  of  *  Select  Views  of  the 
London  Remains.'"  About  that  time  the  celebrated  Romeo  Coates 
had  been  manifesting  all  the  advantages  that  belong  to  personal 
eccentricity,  bv  driving  about  in  a  car  like  a  cockle-shell,  and  by 
dying  over  audi  over  again,  as  an  amateur  Romeo  at  the  Hay  market 
Theatre.  Perhaps  I  should  have  done  well,  could  1  have  emulated 
the  conduct  of  the  redoubted  Coates;  but  though  I  lacked  not 
ambition,  yet  was  I  passing  cowardly;  and,  if  a  pan  may  be 
excused,  in  connection  with  so  serious  a  subject,  I  fancy  that  the 
advice  of  my  friend  Jack  would  have  been  "  more  honoured  in  the 
breech  than  the  observance.*' 

I  therefore  adopted  the  counsel  of  my  friend  H.  B.,  who, 
although  as  alive  to  fun  as  the  well-known  caricaturist  signing  with 
the  same  initials,  had  yet  as  grave  a  purpose  in  his  significant 
performances.  1  took  the  front  ground-floor  room  of  No.  2,  Duke 
Street,  Adelphi,  with  a  sleeping  garret  in  the  roof.  A  brass  plate 
announced  me  as  aforesaid ;  and  I  was  thereafter  to  be  found  as 
bard  at  work  at  my  drawing-table,  with  as  much  solemnity  of 
aspect,  and  as  much  seemingly  important  occupation,  as  ever  gave 
professional  dignity  to  the  Pecksniff  of  world-wide  celebrity.  Ah  ! 
that  dear  old  drawing-table !  Vm  writing  on  it  now.  It  cost  me 
six  pounds.  It  was  the  first  real  piece  of  furniture  1  ever  bought, 
and  it  is  the  last  I  will  part  with.  It  has  had  three  or  four  new  black 
leather  coverings ;  and  has  been,  for  near  thirty  years,  the  stage  of 
pleasurable,  painful,  interesting,  harassing  effort ;  the  support  of 
my  sedentary  diligence;  and  the  silent  witness  of  that  minute 
industry  by  lamp-light  which  prematurely  mounted  on  my  nose  a 
pair  of  spectacles.  My  next  purchase  was  a  glazed  mahogany  book- 
case, with  a  most  official-like  escritoire^  fascinatingly  furnished 
with  drawers  gemmed  with  ivory  buttons ;  with  pigeon-holes  for 
folded  papers ;  a  falling  front,  sustained  in  its  horizontal  position 
by  brass  quadrants,  so  as  to  serve  as  a  writing-desk,  charmingly 
verdant  with  green  baize;  all  required  fitments  for  ink  and  pens, 
wax  and  wafers ;  and  large  drawers  underneath  admirably  adapted 
for  store  of  drawing  paper  and  miscellaneous  stationery.  What 
with  a  few  books  already  in  hand,  some  others  presented  me  by 

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U^B  OF  AN  ARCHITECT.  BiS 

D.  B.,  and  my  third  grand  purchase,  ^^  Nicholson^s  Architectural 
Dictionary y*^  I  80  contrived  their  ''  thinly  scattered  ^  disposition  as 
**  to  make  up  a  show.^  A  large  geometrical  and  practical-lookinff 
drawing  in  a  plain  flat  oak  frame,  bung  over  uie  mantel-&hel^ 
completed  my  official  insignia;  and,  thus,  the  sceneiy  and  the 
^  properties'*  being  prepared,  the  next  thing  was  to  act  the  drama 
in  -eal  earnest. 

My  father-in-law  bad  a  rich  acquaintance,  a  member  of  the 
stock-exchange — and,  more  than  that,  a  Member  of  Parliament ! 
"  Don't  talk  of  my  suggesting  the  publication  of  your  '  Views/ 
•aid  mj  'utnd  H.  B.  Get  the  M.P.  to  do  it."  I  obeyed.  The 
drawings  were  displayed;  my  intentions  modestly  put  into  the 
form  of  question ;  their  reasonableness  confirmed,  and  their  fulfiU 
ment  "suggested"  by  the  very  persuasive  argument  of  a  present 
of  thirty  pounds  in  earnest  of  my  patron's  sincerity,  and,  probably, 
in  kindly  recollection  of  the  fact,  that  he  was  the  godfather  of  my 
affianced  lady-love.  Here  was  a  brave  beginning!  Estimates 
were  obtained  from  the  lithographer,  Mr.  T.  M.  Baynes,  and 
from  the  lithographic  and  letter-press  printers.  I  prepared  out* 
lines  of  all  the  drawings  in  soft  pencil,  so  that  my  artist  might  at 
once,  and  without  trouble,  obtain  accurate  transfers  of  them,  in 
reverse,  upon  the  stones ;  and  a  beautiful  proof  was  soon  furnished, 
of  the  Roman  Forum,  as  the  specimen  plate.  The  buildings  were 
ma  truthfully  treated  as  in  my  own  drawings,  while  the  clouds,  the 
foreground,  the  figures,  and  other  characteristic  local  accessories, 
were  touched  ofi*  with  an  artistic  efiect,  greatlyi  enhancing  the 
pictorial  character  of  the  subject.  The  circulation  of  this  print 
«eemed  all-sufficient.  The  visitors  to  see  the  drawings  were  few 
indeed ;  so  that  my  opportunities  for  Pecksniffian  display  were  next 
to  nil.  But  I  have  no  doubt  my  many  friends  ^'  bored"  their  many 
friends  with  industrious  importunity;  and  the  result  was  a  speedily" 
obtained  Ust  of  names,  including  many  of  all  grades,  from  dukes 
and  bishops  to  commoners  and  small  salaried  clerks;  and,  to 
«ay  the  least  of  it,  the  security  of  my  speculation  was  made  good, 
80  far  as  related  to  the  return  of  my  outlay  on  three  hundred 
copies ;  for  which  return,  the  sale  of  two  hundred  copies  would 
suffice.  Then,  putting  down  twenty-five  copies  for  the  gratuitous 
presentation  required  by  the  Government  to  certain  national  insti- 
tutions, and  by  the  critics  for  the  privilege  of  their  published 
notices,  I  reckoned  on  a  clear  profit  from  the  sale  of  the  remaining 
seventy-five. 

One  morning  a  remarkably  handsome  looking  youth,  some  years 
my  junior,  called  by  request  of  one  of  my  well-wishers  to  enter 
bis  name  on  my  subscription  list.  He  came,  intending  only  to 
etay  a  few  minutes ;  but  he  remained  as  many  hours ;  and,  in  the 
-course  of  that  morning's  colloquy,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
«xcite  tlie  interest,  attach  the  heart,  and  confirm  the  established 

fiiendship  of  Edwin  L for  ever.    At  all  events,  it  is  rather 

late  in  the  day  to  doubt  the  fact,  since  we  have  maintained  our 
affectionate  alliance  for  near  thirty  years ;  and,  thank  God,  I  see 
ao  sign  of  its  decay.     I  have  alluded  to  him  before;  but  it  is 

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544  LIFE  OF  AN  ARCHITfiCT. 

only  now  that  be  first  appears  with  chronological  propriety. 
There  can  have  been,  at  the  time,  nothing  to  engage  him,  save  my 
past. struggles  and  my  present  dependence,  unless,  indeed,  he 
conceived  that  generous  regard  for  my  intended  wife,  whom  he  saw- 
soon  after,  and  for  whose  sake  possibly  he  continued  the  more  to 
exert  himself  for  the  future  husband. 

The  preparation  of  manuscript  for  the  letter-press  of  my  pictured 
folio,  the  continued  reception  of  lithogi'aphic  and  printer'^s  proofs, 
the  pride  of  appearing  at  once  as  artist  and  author  on  India  and 
fine  wove  paper,  the  employment  of  stitching  women  in  clothings 
the  successive  numbers  in  their  covers,  and  the  varied  remaining 
occupation  in  conducting  the  work  and  foi-warding  it  to  my  sub- 
scribers, was  healthful  excitement  of  the  most  pleasing  quality ; 
and,  as  the  notices  from  the  public  press  were  all  of  a  kindly  indul- 
gent and  eulogistic  character,  I  had  reason  to  be  happy  in  the  relief 
of  my  mind  in  relation  to  the  singularly  liberal  (though,  as  I  feared, 
the  rashly  imprudent)  assistance  offered  me  by  my  friend  H.  B. 
I  soon  ceased  to  draw  upon  him  ;  and,  long  before  my  work  was 
out,  repaid  him  what  I  had  taken, — though  not  with  interest,  since 
he  would  receive  none ;  *^  for  when,''  said  he,  with  the  Merchant 
of  Venice,  "  did  friendship  take  a  breed  of  ban-en  metal  of  his 
friend  ? "  He  took  a  few  copies  of  my  work  instead ;  regaining  the 
amount  of  his  loan,  minus  the  "  value  of  goods  received.'' 

Well,  the  "  Twenty  Select  Views  of  the  Roman  Antiquities,  by 

G.  W ,  Architect,  of  No.  2,  Duke  Street,  Adelphi,"  were  at 

length  completed.  The  friendly  debt  was  redeemed.  The  cost  of 
the  work  was  liquidated.  As  reckoned  on,  between  seventy  and 
eighty  copies  remained,  to  afford  the  sweets  of  well«eamed  remu- 
neration, in  the  substantial  form  of  between  one  hundred  and  fifly 
and  two  hundred  pounds.  This  would  reimburse  the  outlay  of  my 
year's  travel  in  Italy.  The  out-goings  of  my  professional  educa- 
tion were  about  to  be  balanced  by  the  in-comings  of  my  profes- 
sional industry.  The  dawn  of  a  bright  future  was  breaking,  and 
"  the  winter  of  my  discontent"  was  on  the  eve  of  being  "  made 
glorious  summer"  by  the  rising  sun  of  success  !  It  is  true,  I  had 
little  to  hope  from  *'  the  trade  ;"  «.  e.  from  the  booksellers.  Copies 
had  been  forwarded  to  them  from  time  to  time  '^  on  sale  or  return ;" 
but,  though  their  30  per  cent,  commission  on  21.  lOs.  was  not  a 
thing  to  be  despised,  there  were  but  very  few  copies  sold  from  the 
shops.  The  manner,  too,  of  those  who  did  sell,  was  so  supercili* 
ously  mild,  that  my  pride  would  not  allow  of  my  taking  their 
money ;  so  like  an  exemplary  simpleton,  I  took  out  the  amount  in 
books  or  prints.  This,  however,  gave  me  that  modest  impres- 
sion of  myself  and  book,  which  otherwise  might  have  been  want- 
ing, to  my  subsequent  detriment ;  and  I  was  left  to  the  very  whole- 
some reflection,  that,  whatever  the  merit  of  my  industry,  abstract- 
edly considered,  its  results  were  almost  wholly  attributable  to  the 
exertions  of  my  friends,  and  to  the  submissive,  rather  than  impul*- 
sive,  liberality  of  those  to  whom  they  had  applied  for  subscriptions. 
Instead  of  feeling  that  my  subscribers  had  received  their  quid  pro 
quo,  I  was  bound,  in  becoming  lowliness,  to  consider  that  I  had 

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UFB  OF  AN  ARCHITECT.  645 

received  their  dtmationsy  and  tbat  the  pictured  and  printed  paper^ 
supplied  by  me  in  return,  was  little  more  than  a  handsome  form  of 
receipt,  in  acknowledgment  of  money  given.  The  conditions  of 
benefactor  and  recipient  were  liberally  maintained  on  both  sides ; 
but  the  obligation  still  rested  wholly  with  the  latter.  '^  Be  it  so/' 
said  I,  '^  there  is  yet  a  considerable  reserved  opportunity  for 
benefaction  to  exercise  itself,  and  I  will  continue  to  be  humbly 
grateful." 

One  of  the  booksellers,  having  had  by  him  for  some  weeks  the 
two  copies  sent  for  sale,  met  me,  on  the  occasion  of  my  calling  to 
learn  progress,  with  an  originally  applied  quotation  from  a  book 
which  is  usually  deemed  of  an  unsecular  character.  '^  As  it  was 
in  the  beginning,  sir,"  said  he,  "  it  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be.'' 
Another,  more  practical  in  his  views,  recommended  me  to  find  out 
some  respectable  itinerant  vendor,  with  the  gift  of  persuasion,  who 
might  dispose  of  my  work  as  many  others  of  the  kind  had  been 
disposed  of.  He  named  such  a  person ;  but  he  forgot  lo  enjoin 
me  to  tbat  caution  which  he  had  himself  (as  I  afterwards  learned) 
so  prudently  observed.  He  had,  however,  no  reason  to  suspect 
his  man ;  and  as  little  reason,  perhaps,  to  mistrust  me  in  the  prac* 
tice  of  that  common  sagacity  which  was  intuitive  in  himself  and 
men  of  the  world  in  general. 

I  engaged  my  peripatetic  agent.  He  was  a  little  sharp-looking 
busy  man.  He  went  forth  talking  five  copies  of  my  book ;  and^ 
with  unexpected  promptness,  returned  to  deliver  me  the  money, 
and  start  with  five  more.  ^^  These,"  said  I,  giving  him  something 
less  or  more  than  that  number,  '^  are  all  tbat  I  have  prepared  for 
sale.  The  remaining  copies  are  all  in  sheets,  and  I  should  like  you 
to  name  roe  some  binder  with  whom  I  may  bargain  for  putting 
them  into  boards."  He  knew  "  the  very  man  ;"  and,  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  he  brought  him ; — Mr.  Thomson  :  not  only  a  man  of 
paste,  but  of  piety ;  a  most  grave-looking  and  conscientious  Me- 
thodist. So  the  bargain  was  made :  and  Mr.  Thomson  soon  after 
returned  with  a  hand-cart,  and  took  off  the  whole  of  my  residue 
copies  "  to  do  them  off  hand,  at  once.*"'  Two  or  three  copies  were 
to  be  handsomely  bound  for  especial  service,  and  these  were  to  be 
sent  home  alone,  and  as  soon  as  possible.  In  a  few  days  the  latter 
were  brought,  and  their  binding  paid  for.  Next  came  my  peripa- 
tetic, with  more  gold,  and  abundant  encouragement;  and  I  began  to 
dread  the  workings  of  '^  the  Enemy"  in  respect  to  that  augmenting 
love  of  money  which  is  said  to  be  the  natural  consequence  of  its 
increased  possession  !  My  active  friend,  however,  must  wait  for 
me;  and  I  must  wait  for  Mr.  Thomson. 

I  waited  long :  long  beyond  the  appointed  day.  Mr.  Thomson 
came  not ;  and,  what  was  extraordinary,  my  little  Jackal  came  not 
to  inquire  of  him.  I  understood,  the  former  lived  somewhere  in 
Chelsea,  and  the  latter  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Golden 
Square, — a  proper  locality  for  such  a  money-maker.  My  original 
infoi-mant,  the  bookseller,  could  not  assist  me ;  but,  when  I  told 
him  the  circumstances  of  my  case,  he  seemed  intensely  interested 
in  it^  and  profoundly  full  of  pity  for  myself.    The  joke  was  too 

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£46  UF£  OF  JLN  AftORITjKnr. 

good  a  one  for  him  to  laugh  at.  The  smile,  whicb  played  for  wl 
moment  on  his  lips,  gave  way  to  their  suddenly  fixed  compreasion  ; 
and,  after  a  few  momenta  pause,  he  gare  me  a  significant  look  and 
most  portentous  nod,  concluding  with  the  emphatic  observatioD, — 
"  Sir;  I'm  very  much  afraid— you  are  done!  "  "  Very  likely,"  said 
I,  ^^  for  Mr.  Thomson's  engagement,  when  he  took  away  my  surplus 
cargo  of  copies,  was,  in  his  own  words,  *  To  do  them  off-hand  at 
once  ! ' "  "  Doubtless,"  rejoined  the  bookseller,  "  they're  off  yomr 
hands  at  once  and  for  ever;  and  into  whose  hands  they  maj 
now  be  transferring,  is  a  secret  whicb  you  wUl  be  a  clever  man  to 
discover." 

Chelsea  was  pestered  by  me  for  some  time,  just  as  poor  Afofw. 
Morbleau  was  persecuted  by  inquiries  for  Mon$.  Tanton.  The 
neighbourhood  of  Golden  Square  refused  to'  give  up  its  little  maa 
of  metal.  I  have  never  since  heard  anything  of  either;  and  have 
only  to  hope  they  have  been  honest  towards  one  another  iu  equally 
dividing  the  spoils  of  their  united  cunning.  To  those  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  are  possessed  of  G.  W.'s  "Twenty  Select  Views 
of  the  Roman  Antiquities,"  through  the  exertions,  and  to  the  ex«> 
elusive  benefit,  of  Mr.  Thomson  and  Co.,  G.  W.  begs  to  return 
his  most  grateful  acknowledgments.  He  '^  thanks  them,"  as  the 
saying  is,  '^  all  the  same  ;^'  and  he  feels  flattered  in  the  assurance, 
that,  at  whatever  cost  to  himself,  the  remainder  of  his  work  should 
have  found  its  way  at  last,  through  whatever  means,  into  such  very 
good  company.  Out  of  some  eighty  of  its  possessors,  who  received 
it  from  my  Uttle  peripatetic  or  his  agents,  seventy  have  hand- 
somely rewarded  a  couple  or  more  of  very  deierving  missionaries ; 
and,  for  a  time  at  least,  may  have  preserved  them  from  the  per- 
secutions of  a  fanatical  police,  and  from  the  trying  routine  of  the 
tread-mill. 

So  much  for  my  first  grand  professional  move  as  an  author.* 

*  The  following  extract,  from  a  notice  in  the  *'  Atlas  **  newspaper,  is  pertinent 
to  the  subject  of  this  chapter;  and  bears  not  less  on  the  presumption  of  the 
incompetent  pretender,  than  on  the  trials  which  cultivated  capability  has  often 
to  encounter : — 

**  Antiquities  of  Rome,  by  Greorge  Wight vrick.  Architect.  No,  L  ^-The 
mere  draughtsman  in  the  office  of  an  architect,  is  as  much  an  object  of  com* 
miseration  as  the  mere  writer  in  the  office  of  an  attorney;  both  are  worked  and 
jaded  like  Hounslow  post-horses,  and  both  are  as  inadequately  rewarded  for 
th'*ir  labour.  In  the  former  situation,  unless  a  youth  exhibit  some  considerable 
portion  of  original  talent,  which  will  propel  him  into  notice,  or  possess  the 
golden  fortune  of  powerful  patronage,  his  almost  infallible  doom  is  to  be  a 
drudge  all  his  days,  and  it  would  have  been  better  for  that  youth  had  he  been 
apprenticed  to  a  bookbinder  or  a  shoemaker.  But  whether  the  boy  who  is 
intended  for  an  architect  possess  the  original  talent,  or  have  the  prospect  of 
patronage,  or  whether  he  be  deficient  in  one  or  other  of  these  requisites  towards 
nis  future  advancement,  it  is  as  necessary  for  him  as  it  is  for  the  shoemaker  or 
bookbinder  to  acquire  an  intimacy  with  the  maUriel  wherewith  he  is  to  work. 
This  must  be  so  obvious,  that  the  observation  may  appear  a  trite  one ;  tliere 
are,  notwithstanding,  geniuses  in  this  country  who  subscribe  *  architect'  to  their 
names,  that  are  as  ignorant  of  the  qualities  of  timber,  and  of  the  mechanical 
properties  and  powers  of  joinery,  as  if  they  were  newly-imported  Esquimaux. 
We  knew  one  lucky  numskull  who  made  a  series  of  drawings  for  a  roof,  which 
rneyman  carpenter  told  him  would  fall  in  before  the  slates  were  pot  oa 


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UFB  OF  AN  ARCHITXCT.  547 

Although  its  expected  sequent  benefits  had  been  suddenly  cut  off, 
my  work  bad  paid  itself,  and,  dnrisg  its  bringing  out,  had  sup- 
ported me.  The  prophecy  of  my  ftiend  H.  B.  bad,  so  far,  been 
ftilfilled ;  and  I  had  faith  in  its  yet  uncompleted  promise,  that 
when  my  subscription  money  should  fail,  some  other  means  would 
be  provided  me.  ^'Remember,''  said  H.  B.,  *^I  am  still  your 
banker  to  the  same  amount,  and  on  the  same  terms  as  before: 
therefore  draw  upon  me  when  yon  wilL  I  would  have  availed 
myself  of  this,  had  it  been  necessary,  so  far  as  to  enable  me  to 
complete  an  entire  twelvemonth^s  trial  as  an  architect  on  my  own 
account,  in  London ;  for  my  title  to  that  distinction  was  wholly 
confined  to  the  simple  manifestation  on  my  brass  door-plate.  I 
had  found  time  to  work  bard  as  a  candidate  in  one  or  two  compe- 
titions ;  but  I  did  not  then, — I  have  not  since, — and,  were  I  still 
in  the  profession,  I  never  should  succeed.  The  necesfdties  for  my 
own  personal  economy  always  subdued  me  to  a  belief  in  the 
economical  limits  of  the  adveitisers.  My  designs  were  ever  such 
as  I  should  have  made  for  myself,  under  a  determination  of  being 
rather  under  than  over  the  means  positively  in  hand;  but  all 
experience    has    proved,    that    such    spiritlessly    correct,   such 

farsimoniously  conscientious  efibrts,  will  be  trodden  down,  or 
icked  out  of  the  arena,  by  the  exhibitory  display  of  columnar 
and  other  decorative  accessories,  though  the  whole  of  them  may 
thereafter  be  omitted  for  want  of  funds,  or  executed  to  the  amount 
of  a  large  bill  of  extras.  To  this  subject  I  may,  hereafter,  have  to 
recur.  It  is  enough  for  the  present,  to  say,  that  I  neither  obtained 
a  premium  for  the  Town  Hall,  at  Brighton,  nor  for  the  Com 
Market,  at  Bishop  Stortford.  My  fishing-tackle  was  thrown  out 
also,  in  a  few  other  directions,  and  I  had  one  or  two  nibbles;  but, 
just  as  I  seized  my  rod,  the  float  lay  still  again  on  the  water,  and 
seemed,  with  smiling  maliciousness,  to  wink  at  me,  as  much  as  to 
say,  ^'  I  wish  you  may  get  it'*  It  is  tnie,  a  Blackheath  gentleman 
gave  me  the  opportunity  of  advertising  myself,  by  saying,  if  I 
would  give  him  a  design  for  a  porch,  he  would  be  at  the  expense 
of  building  it.  The  design  was  given, — the  porch  built:  but  its 
influence  upon  the  discriminating  public  of  the  locality,  though 
including  many  of  my  acquaintances,  was  catholic  only  in  respect 
to  the  approval  it  obtained, — the  inference  being,  of  course,  that 
such  approval  was  "  a  little  more  than  kind,  and  less  than  critical.'* 
I  was  also  commissioned  to  survey,  on  the  part  of  the  insured,  a 
house  that  had  been  damaged  by  fire ;  and  I  had  the  honour  of 
meeting  a  certain  renowned  architect,  who  acted  on  behalf  of  the 
Insurance  Ofiice.     I  knew  not  whether  he  was  paid ;  being  only 

it.  There  are  numbers  in  the  profession  who  are  not  only  good  draughtsmen 
and  clever  designers,  but  have  an  excellent  practical  knowledge  of  the  inferior 
though  important  branches  of  the  science,  but  who  nevertheless  are  doomed  to 
struggle  on  in  obscurity;  and  Mr.  Wightwick  has,  with  honest  candour,  acknow- 
ledged in  the  preface  of  his  work,  that  so  completely  are  the  advance-posts  in 
the  profession  occupied,  that  young  aspirants  have  no  resource  left,  but  to 
make  themselves  known  by  a  patrician  species  of  puffing ;  and  he  concludes  by 
stating,  that  he  has  undertaken  the  present  work  as  *  a  card,  a  notice,  an 
advertisement/** 


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548  LIF£  OF  AN  ARCHITECT. 

sure  that  /  was  not  I  had  also,  in  my  twelvemonth^s  work,  pro- 
duced designs  for  an  "Academy  of  the  Arts,"  a  "  Hall  of  Science," 
a  "Theatre,"^  and  a  "Temple  to  Sbakspeare,  and  the  Dramatists 
of  the  Antique  and  Middle  Ages.**  In  short,  I  had  done  all  I  could 
to  be-Pecksniff  those  who  might  call  upon  me ;  but  the  callers 
were  few  indeed,  and,  with  equal  certainty,  none  were  be*Peck- 
sniffed. 

My  landlord  was  a  man  of  much  gentle  sympathy  and  feeling. 
He  had  never  recovered  from  a  nervous  depression,  which  he 
attributed  to  the  loss  of  his  wife,  whom  he  ever  and  anon  alluded 
to,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  as  **  one  of  the  finest  women  that  ever 
God  made."  He  would  lie  in  bed  the  greater  part  of  many  days, 
enjoying  the  only  relief  he  could  find,  in  what  he  termed  "  a  gentle 
perspiration.*^  Judging  from  the  peculiar  character  of  the  atmo- 
sphere of  his  room,  it  would  appear  that  he  followed  the  intimation 
given  in  the  song,  which  speaks  of  keeping  the  spirits  up  by 
pouring  spirits  down, — the  flavour  of  his  bed-chamber  being 
unmistakeably  that  of  gin.  But  it  was  said,  that  any  kind  of 
beverage  partaking  of  the  alcoholic  came  not  amiss  to  him.  He 
kindly  let  me  have  the  use  of  his  cellar,  ue.  of  a  spacious  vault,  in 
one  comer  of  which  lay  its  only  contents, — my  half-dozen,  or  less, 
of  port,  and  my  half-dozen,  or  less,  of  sherry.  That  dozen,  in 
all,  was  my  only  deposit  during  the  twelvemonth.  The  maid- 
servant had  brought  me  up  a  bottle  from  time  to  time,  without 
particularly  marking  the  extent  of  my  stock,  and  supposing,  that 
on  certain  occasions  of  her  not  being  at  hand,  I  had  been  my  own 
butler.  My  "cellar  book**  showed,  that  eight  or  nine  bottles 
had  been  abstracted ;  but,  on  seeking  another  bottle,  to  celebrate 
the  completed  publication  of  the  "Twenty  Select  Views  of  the 
Roman  Antiquities"  the  cellar  itself,  with  an  expression  of  vacant 
significance,  intimated  the  departure  of  the  entire  dozen !  The 
maiden  had  observed,  she  did  not  think  her  poor  master  had  taken 
quite  so  much  gin  of  late,  and  I  allowed  the  good  honest  creature 
— I  mean  the  said  maiden — to  remain  ignorant  of  my  apprehen- 
sions ;  but  I  could  with  difficulty  resist  the  impression  that  some 
of  my  juice  of  the  grape  had  been  promotive  of  a  little  "gentle 
perspiration,"  or  that  it  had  been  religiously  quafied  to  the 
immortal  memory  of  "  one  of  the  finest  women  that  ever  God 
made." 


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549 


THE  BOX  TUNNEL. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  **  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE." 

The  10.15  train  glided  from  PaddiDgtoOy  May  7,  1847.  In  the 
left  compartment  of  a  certain  first-class  carriage  were  four  pas- 
sengers; of  these,  singularly  enough,  two  were  worth  description. 
The  lady  had  a  smooth,  white,  delicate  brow,  strongly-marked  eye- 
brows, long  lashes,  eyes  that  seemed  to  change  colour,  and  a  good- 
sized  delicious  mouth,  with  teeth  as  white  as  milk.  A  man  could 
not  see  her  nose  for  her  eyes  and  mouth,  her  own  sex  could  and 
would  have  told  us  some  nonsense  about  it.  She  wore  an  unpre- 
tending greyish  dress,  buttoned  to  the  throat,  with  lozenge-shaped 
buttons,  a  Scotch  shawl  that  agreeably  evaded  the  responsibility  of 
colour.  She  was  like  a  duck,  so  tight  her  plain  feathers  fitted  her ; 
and  there  she  sat,  smooth,  snug,  and  delicious,  with  a  book  in  her 
band  and  a  soup^on  of  her  snowy  wrist  just  visible  as  she  held  it. 
Her  opposite  neighbour  was  what  I  call  a  good  style  of  man — the 
more  to  his  credit,  since  he  belonged  to  a  corporation,  that  fre- 
quently turns  out  the  worst  imaginable  style  of  young  man.  He 
was  a  cavalry  officer  aged  twenty-five.  He  had  a  moustache,  but 
not  a  very  repulsive  one ;  it  was  far  from  being  one  of  those  sub- 
nasal  pig'^tails,  on  which  soup  is  suspended  like  dew  on  a  shrub ; 
it  was  shorty  thick,  and  black  as  a  coal.  His  teeth  had  not  yet  been 
turned  by  tobacco  smoke  to  the  colour  of  tobacco  juice,  his  clothes 
did  not  stick  to  nor  hang  on  him,  they  sat  on  him ;  he  had  an 
engaging  smile,  and,  what  I  liked  the  dog  for,  his  vanity ,  which  was 
inordinate,  was  in  its  proper  place,  his  heart,  not  in  his  face, 
jostling  mine  and  other  peoples',  who  have  none : — in  a  word,  he 
was  what  one  oftener  hears  of  than  meets — a  young  gentleman. 
He  was  conversing  in  an  animated  whisper  with  a  companion,  a 
fellow-officer — they  were  talking  about,  what  it  is  far  better  not  to 
do,  women.  Our  friend  clearly  did  not  wish  to  be  overheard,  for 
he  cast,  ever  and  anon,  a  furtive  glance  at  his  fair  vis-i-ms  and 
lowered  his  voice.  She  seemed  completely  absorbed  in  her  book, 
and  that  reassured  him.  At  last  the  two  soldiers  came  down  to  a 
whisper,  and  in  that  whisper  (the  truth  must  be  told)  the  one  who 
got  down  at  Slough,  and  was  lost  to  posterity,  bet  ten  pounds  to 
three,  that  he  who  was  going  down  with  us  to  Bath  and  immor- 
tality, would  not  kiss  either  of  the  ladies  opposite  upon  the  road. — 
" Done ! "  "  Done ! "  Now  1  am  sorry  a  man  I  have  hitherto  praised, 
should  have  lent  himself,  even  in  a  whisper,  to  such  a  speculation, 
but  '^nobody  is  wise  at  all  hours,"  not  even  when  the  clock  is 
striking  five-and- twenty ;  and  you  are  to  consider  his  profession,  his 
good  looks,  and,  the  temptation — ten  to  three. 

After  Slough  the  party  was  reduced  to  three ;  at  Twyford  one 
lady  dropped  her  handkerchief.  Captain  Dolignan  fell  on  it  like  a 
tiger  and  returned  it  like  a  lamb ;  two  or  three  words  were  inter- 
changed on  that  occasion.  At  Reading,  the  Marlborough  of  our 
tale  made  one  of  the  safe  investments  of  that  day,  he  bought  a 
^' Times"  and  a  ^  Punch  f  the  laUer  was  full  of  steel-pen  thrusU 

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550  THE  BOX  TUNNEL. 

and  wood-cuts.  Valour  and  beauty  deigned  to  laugh  at  some 
inflated  humbug  or  other  punctured  hy  Punch.  Now  laughing^ 
together  thaws  our  human  ice ;  long  before  Swindon  it  was  a  talk- 
ing match — at  Swindon,  who  so  devoted  as  Captain  Dolignan — 
he  handed  them  out — he  soaped  them — ^he  toogfa-cfaickened  them 
— he  brandied  and  cochinealed*  one,  and  he  brandied  and  burnt- 
sugared  the  other ;  on  their  retam  to  the  carriage^  one  ladj  passed 
into  the  inner  compartment  to  inapect  a  certain  gentleman^s  sest 
on  that  side  the  line. 

Reader,  had  it  been  you  or  I,  the  beauty  would  have  been  the 
deserter,  the  aven^  one  would  have  stayed  widi  us,  till  all  was 
blue,  ourselves  included  :  not  more  sorely  does  our  slice  of  bread 
and  butter,  when  it  escapes  firom  our  hand,revcdve  it  ever  so  ofteD, 
alight  face  downwards  on  the  carpet.  But  this  was  a  bit  of  a  fop, 
Adonis,  dragoon — so  Venus  remained  in  iile-a-i&e  with  him«  Yoa 
have  seen  a  dog  meet  an  unknown  female  of  his  species;  hoir 
handsome,  how  empres^iy  how  expressive  he  becomes : — such  was 
Dolignan  after  Swind<n],  and  to  do  the  dog  justice,  he  got  hand- 
somer and  handsomer;  and  you  have  seen  a  cat  conscious  of 
approaching  cream, —  such  was  Miss  Haythom,  she  became  de* 
murer  and  demurer :  presendy  our  Captain  looked  out  of  window 
and  laughed,  this  elicited  an  inquiring  look  from  Miss  Haytbom. 
"  We  are  only  a  mile  from  the  Box  Tunnel.'' — '*  Do  you  always 
laugh  a  mile  from  the  Box  Tunnel?"  said  the  lady. 

**  Invariably.'* 

"What  for?'' 

"Why!  hem!  it  is  a  gentleman's  joke." 

"Oh  I  I  don't  mind  it 's  being  silly  if  it  makes  me  laugh."  Cap- 
tain Dolignan  thus  encouraged,  recounted  to  Miss  Haythom  the 
following: — "  A  lady  and  her  husband  sat  together  going  through 
the  Box  Tunnel — there  was  one  gendeman  opposite,  it  was  pitch 
dark  ;  after  the  tunnel,  the  lady  said,  ^  George,  how  absurd  of  yoa 
to  salute  me  going  through  the  tunnel.' — ^'I  did  no  such  thing!' 
— *You  didn't?'  —  *No!  why?'  —  *Why,  because  somehow  I 
thought  you  did !'"  Here  Captain  Dolignan  laughed  and  endea- 
voured to  lead  his  companion  to  laugh,  but  it  was  not  to  be  done. 
The  train  entered  the  tunneL 

Miss  Haythom.  "iUi!" 

Doligium.  "  What  is  the  matter?'^ 

Miss  jET.  ""  I  am  frightened." 

Dolig.  (moving  to  her  side), "  Pray  do  not  be  alarmed,  I  am 
near  you." 

Miss  H.  "You  are  near  me,  very  near  me  indeed.  Captain 
Dolignan.^ 

Dolig.  "  You  know  my  name !" 

Miss  Haythom.  **  I  lieani  your  friend  mention  it  I  wish  we 
were  out  of  this  dark  place." 

Dolig.  **  I  could  be  content  to  spend  hours  here,  reassuring  yoi^ 
sweet  lady.** 

•  This  is  supposed  to  allade  to  two  decoctions  caHed  port  and  sherry,  and 
imagined  by  one  earthly  nation  to  partake  ofa  vinous  nature. 


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THE  BOX  TUNNEL.  651 

MissB.  "NoiiBen«e!'* 

Dolig.  Pweep !  (Orate  reader,  do  not  put  jour  lips  to  the  cheek 
of  the  next  pretty  creature  jou  meet,  or  jou  will  understand  what 
this  means.) 

MiMsH.  **Ee!*' 

Friend.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

Miss  H.  "  Open  the  door!  open  the  door!** 

There  was  a  sound  of  hurried  whispers,  the  door  was  shut  and 
the  blind  pulled  down  with  hostile  sharpness. 

If  any  critic  falls  on  me  for  putting  inarticulate  sounds  in  a 
dialogue  as  above,  I  answer,  with  ail  the  insolence  I  can  command 
at  present,  "  Hit  boys  as  big  as  yourself,**  bigger  perhaps,  such  as 
Sophocles,  Euripides,  and  Aristophanes ;  they  began  it,  and  I 
learned  it  of  them,  $or€  against  my  will. 

Miss  Haythom*s  scream  lost  a  part  of  its  effect  because  the 
engine  whistled  forty  thousand  murders  at  the  same  moment;  and 
fictttiQUs  grief  makes  itself  hoard  when  real  cannot. 

Between  the  tunnel  and  Bath  our  young  fnend  had  time  to  ask 
himself  whether  his  conduct  had  been  marked  by  that  delicate  re- 
serve which  is  supposed  to  distinguish  the  perfect  gentleman. 

With  a  long  face,  real  or  feigned,  he  held  open  the  door, — his 
late  friends  attempted  to  escape  on  the  other  side,* — imposrible ! 
they  must  pass  him.  She  whom  he  had  insulted  (Latin  for  kissed) 
deposited  somewhere  at  his  foot  a  look  of  gentle  blushing  reproach ; 
the  other,  whom  he  had  not  insulted  darted  red-hot  daggers  at  him 
fix>m  her  eyes,  and  so  they  parted. 

It  was,  pertiaps,  fortunate  for  Dolignan  that  he  had  the  grace 
to  be  friends  with  Major  Hoskyns  of  his  regiment,  a  veteran 
laughed  at  by  the  youngsters,  for  the  Major  was  too  apt  to  look 
coldly  upon  billiard  balls  and  cigars ;  he  had  seen  cannon  balls  and 
linstocks ;  he  had  also,  to  tell  the  truth,  swallowed  a  good  bit 
of  the  messHTOom  poker,  but  with  it  some  sort  of  moral  poker, 
which  made  it  as  impossible  for  Major  Hoskyns  to  descend  to  an 
ungentleman-like  word  or  action,  as  to  brush  his  own  trowsers 
below  the  knee. 

Captain  Dolignan  told  this  gentleman  his  story  in  gleeful  accents; 
but  Major  Hoskyns  heard  htm  coldly  and  as  coldly  answered  that 
he  had  known  a  man  lose  his  Hie  for  the  same  thing ;  ^^  I%at  is 
nothing,^  continued  the  Major,  ^^  but  unfortunately  he  deserv^ 
to  lose  it'' 

At  this  the  Mood  mounted  to  the  younger  man^s  temples,  and  his 
senior  added,  ^  I  mean  to  say  he  was  thirty-five,  yon,  I  presume, 
are  twenty-one  **! 

•^Twenty-five.** 

^Tbat  is  much  the  same  Aing;  will  you  be  advised  by  rae  ?'' 

**  If  you  will  adriae  me*'* 

^  Speak  to  no  one  of  this,  and  send  White  the  £S  that  hd  may 
think  you  have  loat  the  bet.** 

'' That  is  haid  when  I  won  it  l*" 

«DoiiforaHtlttil,«ir.''  .      .    v^ 

Let  the    disbelievers  in  human  perfectibility  know  that  thii 

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652  THE  BOX  TUNNEL. 

dragoon  capable  of  a  blush  did  this  rirtuous  action,  albeit  with 
violent  reluctance,  and  this  was  his  first  damper.  A  week  after 
these  events,  he  was  at  a  ball^  not  the  first,  since  his  return,  biem 
enf.endu.  He  was  in  that  state  of  factitious  discontent  which  be- 
longs to  us  amiable  English.  He  was  looking,  in  vain,  for  a  ladj, 
equal  in  personal  attractions,  to  the  idea  he  had  formed  of  George 
Dolignan  as  a  man,  when  suddenly  there  glided  past  him  a 
most  delightful  vision !  a  lady  whose  beautv  and  symmetry  took 
him  by  the  eyes — another  look : "  It  can't  be ! " — **  Yes,it  is ! "  Miss 
Haythom !  (not  that  he  knew  her  name ! )  but  what  an  apotheosis ! 

The  duck  had  become  a  pea-hen — ^radiant,  dazzling,  she  looked 
twice  as  beautiful  and  almost  twice  as  large  as  before.  He  lost 
sight  of  her.  He  found  her  again.  She  was  so  lovely  she  made 
him  ill-— and  be,  alone,  must  not  dance  with  her,  speak  to  her.  If 
he  had  been  content  to  begin  her  acquaintance  the  usual  way,  it 
might  have  ended  in  kissing,  but  having  begun  with  kissing,  it 
must  end  in  nothing.  As  she  danced,  sparks  of  beauty  fell  from 
her  on  all  around,  but  him — she  did  not  see  him ;  it  was  clear  she 
never  would  see  him — one  gentleman  was  particularly  assiduous ; 
she  smiled  on  his  assiduity;  he  was  ugly^  but  she  smiled  on  him. 
Dolignan  was  surprised  at  his  success,  his  ill  taste,  his  ugliness, 
his  impertinence.  Dolignan  at  last  found  himself  injured:  ^^  Who 
was  this  man?**  ^^and  what  right  had  he  to  go  on  so  ?"  '^  He  had 
never  kissed  her,  I  suppose,*'  said  Dolly.  DoUguan  could  not  prove 
it,  but  he  felt  that  somehow  the  rights  of  property  were  invaded. 
He  went  home  and  dreamed  of  Miss  Haythom,  hated  all  the  ugly 
successful.  He  spent  a  fortnight,  trying  to  find  out  who  this 
beauty  was, — he  never  could  encounter  her  again.  At  last  he  heard 
of  her,  in  this  way ;  a  lawyer's  clerk  paid  him  a  little  visit  and 
commenced  a  little  action  against  him,  in  the  name  of  Miss  Hay- 
thom for  insulting  her  in  a  Railway  Train. 

The  young  gentleman  was  shocked,  endeavoured  to  soften  the 
lawyer's  clerk ;  that  machine  did  not  thoroughly  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  the  term.  The  lady's  name,  however,  was  at  least  re* 
vealed  by  this  untoward  incident;  fi'om  her  name  to  her  address, 
was  but  a  short  step ;  and  the  same  day,  our  crest-fallen  hero  lay 
in  wait  at  her  door — and  many  a  succeeding  day  without  efi*ect. 
But  one  fine  afternoon,  she  issued  forth  quite  naturally,  as  if  she 
did  it  every  day,  and  walked  briskly  on  the  nearest  Parade. 
Dolignan  did  the  same,  h^  met  and  passed  her  many  times  on  the 
Parade,  and  searched  for  pity  in  her  eyes,  but  found  neither  look, 
nor  recognition,  nor  any  other  sentiment ;  for  all  this  she  walked 
and  walked,  till  all  the  other  promenaders  were  dred  and  gone, — 
then  her  culprit  summoned  resolution,  and  taking  ofi*  his  hat,  with 
a  voice  tremulous  for  the  first  time,  besought  permission  to  address 
her.  She  stopped,  blushed,  and  neither  acknowledged  nor  dis* 
owned  his  acquaintance.  He  blushed,  stammered  out  how 
ashamed  he  was,  how  he  deserved  to  be  punished,  how  he  wa$ 

*  When  our  successful  rival  it  ugly  the  blow  is  doubly  severe,  crushiog — we 
fall  by  bludgeon  :  we  who  thought  die  keenest  rapier  might  perchanoe  throst  at 
usinfsin. 


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THE  BOX  TUNNEL.  653 

punished^  how  little  she  knew  how  unhappy  he  was ;  and  concluded 
by  begging  her  not  to  let  all  the  world  know  the  disgrace  of  a 
man, who  was  already  mortified  enough  by  the  loss  of  her  acquaint- 
ance. She  asked  an  explanation ;  he  told  her  the  action  had  been 
commenced  in  her  name ;  she  gently  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
said,  ^^  How  stupid  they  are/^  Emboldened  by  this,  he  begged  to 
know  whether  or  not  a  life  of  distant  unpretending  demotion  would> 
after  a  lapse  of  years,  erase  the  memory  of  his  madness — his 
crime ! 

"  She  did  not  know— "! 

^^  She  must  now  bid  him  adieu,  as  she  had  some  preparations 
to  make  for  a  ball  in  the  crescent,  where  everybody  was  to  he. 
They  parted,  and  Dolignan  determined  to  be  at  the  ball,  where 
everybody  was  to  be.  He  was  there,  and  after  some  time  he  ob- 
tained an  introduction  to  Miss  Hay  thorn,  and  he  danced  with  her. 
Her  manner  was  gracious.  With  the  wonderful  tact  of  her  sex, 
she  seemed  to  have  commenced  the  acquaintance  that  evening. 
That  night,  for  the  first  time,  Dolignan  was  in  love.  I  will  spare 
the  reader  all  a  lover^s  arts,  by  which  he  succeeded  in  dining 
where  she  dined,  in  dancing  where  she  danced,  in  overtaking  her 
by  accident,  when  she  rode.  His  devotion  followed  her  even  to 
church,  where  our  dragoon  was  rewarded  by  learning  there  is 
a  world  where  they  neither  polk  nor  smoke, — the  two  capital 
abominations  of  this  one. 

He  made  acquaintance  with  her  uncle,  who  liked  him,  and  he 
saw  at  last  with  joy,  that  her  eye  loved  to  dwell  upon  him,  when 
she  thought  he  did  not  observe  her. 

It  was  three  months  after  the  Box  Tunnel,  that  Captain  Dolig- 
nan called  one  day  upon  Captain  Haythom,  R.N.,  whom  he  had 
met  twice  in  his  life,  and  slightly  propitiated  by  violently  listing 
to  a  cutting-out  expedition ;  he  called,  and  in  the  usual  way  asked 
permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to  his  daughter.  The  worthy 
Captam  straightway  began  doing  Quarter-Deck,  when  suddenly 
he  was  summoned  from  the  apartment  by  a  mysterious  message. 
On  his  return  he  announced,  with  a  total  change  of  voice,  that  '^  It 
was  all  right,  and  his  visitor  might  run  alongside  as  soon  as  he 
chose.''  My  reader  has  divined  the  truth ;  this  nautical  commander, 
terrible  to  the  foe,  was  in  complete  and  happy  subjugation  to  his 
daughter,  our  heroine. 

As  he  was  taking  leave,  Dolignan  saw  his  divinity  glide  into  the 
drawing-room.  He  followed  her,  observed  a  sweet  consciousness 
which  encouraged  him ;  that  consciousness  deepened  into  confu- 
sion— she  tried  to  laugh,  she  cried  instead,  and  then  she  smiled 
again ;  and  when  he  kissed  her  hand  at  the  door  it  was  '^  G^orge^ 
and  '^  Marian,**  instead  of  Captain  this  and  Miss  the  other.  A 
reasonable  time  after  this  (for  my  tale  is  merciful  and  skips  forma- 
lities and  torturing  delays) — ^these  two  were  very  happy — ^they 
were  once  more  upon  the  railroad,  going  to  enjoy  their  honey- 
moon all  by  themselves.  Marian  Dolignan  was  dressed  just  as 
before — ducklike,  and  delicious ;  all  bright,  except  her  clothes : 
but  George  sat  beside  her  this  time  instead  of  opposite ;  and  she 

VOL.  XXXIV.  ,.g,^^,  by<k)OgIe 


854  THE  BOX  TUNNEL. 

drank  him  in  gently,  from  under  her  long  eye-lashes.  **  MariiA^" 
said  George,  "  married  people  should  tell  each  other  all.  Will  ydu 
ever  forgive  me  if  I  own  to  rou — ^no — ''    "Yes  !  yes ! " 

"  Well  then  !  you  remember  the  Box  Tunnel,''  (this  Was  the  firtt 
allusion  he  had  ventured  to  it) — "  I  am  ashamed  to  say— I  had  bet 
^/.  to  10/.  with  White,  1  would  kiss  one  of  you  tWo  ladies,"  atid 
George,  pathetic  externally,  chuckled  within. 

"  I  know  that,  George;  I  overheard  you;**  was  the  demtire 
reply. 

"  Oh !  you  overheard  me  ?  impossible.*** 

*'  And  did  you  not  hear  me  whisper  to  my  companion  ?  I  made 
a  bet  with  her.*^ 

^*  Yon  made  a  bet,  how  singular !  What  was  it  ?" 

**  Only  a  pair  of  gloves,  George." 

^  Yes,  1  know,  but  what  about  it  ? " 

**  That  if  you  did  you  shoiild  be  my  husband,  dearest/' 

"  Oh ! — but  stay — then  you  could  not  have  been  so  very  togt]^ 
with  me,  love ; — why,  dearest,  then  who  brought  that  action  against 
me?" 

Mrs.  Doliguan  looked  down. 

*'  1  was  afraid  you  Were  forgetting  me  !  George,  you  Will  hever 
jforrivetne!" 

"Sweet  angel — why  here  is  the  6ox  Tunnel !  *' 

Now  reader — fie! — no!  no  such  thing!  You  can't  expedt  to 
be  indulged  in  this  way,  every  time  we  come  to  a  dark  place — ^be- 
sides, it  is  not  the  thing.  Consider,  two  sensible  married  people 
— ^no  such  phenomenon,  I  assure  you,  took  place.  Nd  scream 
issued  in  hopeless  rivalry  of  the  engine-^this  tune  ! 


TO  tSE  CYPRESS. 

Slow- WAVING  Cypress  of  the  land  of  song ! 
terennlal  tnoumer ! — ^though  thou  art 
Atnid  the  glories  of  the  sylvah  throng. 
Most  eloquent  of  sadness  to  the  heart; 
Yet  eVer  Welc<)nie  to  the  weary  eye, 
Thy  graceful  shaft  of  foliated  green. 
Against  the  azure  of  the  morning  sky, 
Upreared  in  beauty,  solemn  and  serene. 
And  where  afar  Day's  vesper-beacons  bla«e 
Upon  Fiesole  or  Mario's  height. 
Touching  with  flame  each  mountain  altar  round, 
Shed  on  thy  verdant  cones  a  rosy  gleam, 
And  winds  among  thy  boughs  a  requiem  sound, 
What  fitting  cenotaphs  for  man  ye  seem  I 


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556 


CAMPAIGNS  OF  TURKEY  ON  THE  DANUBE. 

TfiB  general  opinioti  is  that  the  Turks^  faaving  Established  their 
pOWdr  in  Europe  by  the  capture  of  Constantinople^  proceeded  to 
extend  it  graaually  for  two  or  three  centuries,  until  they  at 
length  menaced  Vienna^  and  put  Christendom  itself  in  jeopardy. 
The  truth,  however,  is  not  so.  Mahomed  the  Second,  who  made 
himself  master  of  Constantinople  in  the  middle  of  me  fifteenth 
century^  pushed  his  victories  and  conquest  very  neaiiy  as  far  as  any 
of  his  successors  on  this  side  of  the  Bosphorus.  And  the  marvel 
to  one  who  contemplates  Turkish  history  is,  not  so  much  the 
wonderful  progress  or  advance  of  their  arms  over  the  prostrate 
lands  of  the  Christian,  as  the  wonderful  hardihood  with  which  the 
feW>  Scattered,  and  ill-armed  people  and  princes  of  the  souths 
west  of  Europe  struggled  against  the  terrible  concentration  of 
military  power  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks,  and  kept  them  two 
centuries  at  bay,  till  European  and  Christian  kingdoms  learned 
to  unites  and  present  the  weight,  number,  and  seal  of  their  soldiers, 
equal  to  those  of  the  Turks* 

Mahomed  the  Second,  who  captured  Constantinople,  overrail 
tod  made  his  own,  in  a  very  little  time  after  that  conquest,  all 
the  countries  south  of  the  Danube.  Servia  became  his  more  com- 
pletely than  it  belonged  to  many  of  his  successors.  Bosnia 
he  subdued.  He  tnade  Wallachia  tributary.  He  overran  Ca- 
rinthia  and  Carniola*  He  pillaged  Styria  and  the  Tyrol,  took 
Otranto  by  storm,  and  massacred  its  inhabitants.  In  short,  the 
Turkish  armies  advanced  as  far  into  Europe  in  the  few  years 
immediately  subsequent  to  the  capture  of  Constantinople,  as  they 
did  in  the  Odurse  of  the  two  following  Centuries. 

The  first  important  battle  that  the  Turks  fought  with  the  people 
of  the  nationb  north  of  the  Danube,  was  that  of  Mohaets*  When 
Ms^omed  and  Selim  turned  their  arms  in  that  direction  there  were 
none  but  petty  princes  to  oppose  them!  the  country  Was  Uot 
roused  agaiUst  inroads  which  were  new,  and  which  did  not  yet 
mtoifest  themselves  as  the  forerunners  of  a  system  of  conquest. 
But  when  Solyman  ascended  the  throne,  in  1520,  it  was  evidently 
his  intentioii  and  design  to  humble  and  subdue  every  Christian 

£)wer  that  he  Could  reach.  His  first  act,  that  of  the  capture  of 
elgrade.  Was  stattliUg;  his  reduction  of  Rhodes  as  alarming. 
When,  therefore,  in  1526,  Solyman  passed  the  Danube  with  up- 
wards of  100^000  men  and  300  pieces  of  large  artillery,  directing 
his  course  to^rds  Ofen,  the  Hungarians  were  called  on  to  defend 
the  independence  of  their  soil.  Bang  Louis  of  Hungary  could  not 
number  25,000  nien  against  the  100,000,  or,  as  Montecueuli  ihsists, 
tiie  800,000  Turks  of  Solyman.  The  battle  of  Mohaofc  is  briefly 
toldj  The  troops  of  the  lung  of  Hungary  were,  ad  id  still  usual  in 
AM  ttiuhti^  bhiefl^  hone.    They  oharged  ih  a  tuasd  hi  the  cotU- 

Qq2         _  ^ 


666  CAMPAIGNa  OF  TURKEY 

mencement  of  the  battle,  burst  through  the  two  Turkish  lines, 
and  came  to  fight  the  band  around  Solyman  himself,  who  was  in 
the  third  line.  But  the  Turks  were  in  such  numbers,  that  they 
were  able  to  turn  the  Hungarians,  and  attack  them  in  flank  and 
rear.  So  that,  although  the  Hungarians  slew  and  destroyed,  they 
were  not  numerous  enough  to  rout  their  foes,  or  to  support  a 
lengthened  contest.  In  two  hours  the  battle  was  over,  the  Hun- 
garian king  sIbau,  the  horses  of  his  cavalry  hamstrung,  and  the 
bodies  of  their  brave  cavaliers  floating  down  the  Danube.  But 
four  thousand  Hungarians  were  taken  prisoners,  and  Solyman 
caused  them  all  to  be  massacred. 

The  results  of  the  battle  were  the  election  of  Ferdinand  of  Aus- 
tria to  be  King  of  Hungary,  whilst  his  rival  Zapolva  did  obeisance 
to  Solyman  for  the  same  crown.  The  Turks  took  Ofen.  It  was 
retaken  by  Ferdinand,  but  captured  again  by  Solyman,  who  then 
raised  Zapolya  to  the  throne.  On  the  27th  of  September  in  the 
same  year  Solyman  encamped  before  Vienna.  He  had  250,000 
men  under  his  command,  and  Vienna  had  but  a  garrison  of  16,000 
men:  with  such  unequal  forces  did  Christendom,  in  the  palmy 
days  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  resist  the  Turks.  The  artillery,  too,  of 
the  Turks  was  vastly  superior  to  that  of  their  adversaries,  and  a 
breach  was  soon  made,  both  right  and  left  of  the  Carinthian  Gate* 
The  breach  was  stormed  three  times  by  the  Ottomans,  and  three 
times  were  they  repulsed  by  its  gallant  defenders.  The  Sultan 
gave  twenty  ducats  to  each  of  his  soldiers  to  encourage  them,  and 
again  they  rushed  to  the  breach;  the  Grand  Vizier  Ibnihim 
drove  them  with  his  stick.  But  it  was  in  vain;  the  German  de- 
fenders of  the  breach  stood  firm,  and,  Turkish  confidence  having 
evaporated,  Solyman  the  Magnificent  was  obliged  to  beat  a  retreat 
with  his  200,000  men  from  before  the  few  thousands  that  manned 
the  walls  of  Vienna.  Solyman,  having  set  fire  to  his  camp  and 
burnt  his  stores,  set  free  all  his  prisoners,  except  the  young 
women,  whom  he  carried  oflF.  On  the  14th  of  October  the 
steeple  bells  of  Vienna  sounded  a  peal  in  token  of  the  city^s 
deliverance.  Von  Hammer  denies,  and  indeed  disproves,  the 
random  assertion  of  Robertson,  that  the  raising  the  siege  of 
Vienna  was  owing  to  treachery  on  the  part  of  the  Grand  Vizier. 

The  defeat  of  the  Hungarians  at  Mohacz,  coupled  with  the 
success  of  the  Germans  in  the  defence  of  Vienna  with  so  small  a 
force  against  so  powerful  an  army,  suggested  the  most  prudent 
and  efficacious  way  of  checking  the  progress  of  the  Turkish  arms. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  same  which  the  Germans  and  French  employed 
in  the  9th  and  10th  centuries  against  the  barbarian  tribes  which 
menaced  the  different  kingdoms  which  composed  the  Empire  of 
Charlemagne  with  a  fate  similar  to  that  which  had  befallen  the 
Roman  empire.  Instead  of  meeting  the  Turks  with  their  forces 
collected  in  an  army,  and  led  by  a  monarch,  the  Hungarian  nobles 
fortified  each  his  castle  or  his  tower,  and  horn  behind  their  ram- 
parts defied  the  hosts  of  janissaries  and  spahis.  The  reign  of 
Solyman  was  long,  but  after  the  battle  of  Mohacz,  the  Germans 
and  Hungarians,  under  the  direction  of  the  crafty  and  subtle  brother 

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ON  THE   DANUBE.  557 

of  Charles  the  Fifth,  never  gave  the  opportunity  of  a  defeat  in  a 
general  engagement.  War  became  pretty  much  then  a  series  of 
sieges.  In  these  the  Turks  showed  infinite  valour  and  skill,  their 
artillery  breaching  every  fortress,  and  the  janissaries  then  marching 
to  the  assault  with  exemplary  hardihood.  But  the  valour  of  the 
Christian  defenders  was  no  less  exemplary,  so  that,  after  a  quarter 
of  a  century's  hard  fighting,  Solyman  was  master  of  far  less  of 
fHungary  than  he  had  been  in  his  first  campaign. 

The  most  striking  and  most  worthy  of  being  recorded  of  these 
sieges,  was  that  of  Zegeth,  in  1566.  Dispatching  an  army  into 
Transylvania,  Solyman  the  Great,  at  the  head  of  the  greater  part 
of  his  force,  advanced  by  Belgrade  into  Hungary.  The  old  Sul- 
tan was  obliged  to  travel  in  a  carriage,  the  gout  rendering  the 
fatigue  of  horseback  too  great  for  him.  At  Semlin,  the  Sultan 
received  in  great  pomp  young  Sigismund,  to  whom  he  promised 
the  inheritance  of  the  crown  of  Transylvania,  and  of  the  country 
east  of  the  Theiss.  He  then  pushed  forward  for  the  purpose  of 
taking  Erlau,  which  a  little  before  had  made  a  most  vigorous  re- 
sistance ;  beat  off  an  army  of  Turks,  and  defeated  their  whole  plan 
of  campaign.  Whilst  on  the  march.  Count  Zriny,  of  Zigeth,  sur- 
prised a  pasha  with  a  division  and  slew  them.  Goaded  like  a 
lion  at  the  wound,  Solyman  turned  short  upon  Zigeth.  He 
brought  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  before  it,  and  a  nu- 
merous artillery.  But  Zigeth,  well  protected  by  the  river  Almas, 
defied  him.  After  fifteen  days  of  siege,  the  Turks  became  masters 
of  the  new  town.  But  the  citadel  held  out,  and  Solyman  suffering 
in  health,  offered  Zriny  all  Croatia,  if  he  would  surrender.  Zriny 
would  not  listen.  Solyman  made  breach  after  breach,  and  ordered 
assault  after  assault.  All  in  vain.  At  last,  the  Turks  directed 
their  efforts  to  a  huge  mine,  which  they  sprung  under  the  prin- 
cipal bastion.  Its  explosion  was  terrible.  The  bastion  itself 
flew  into  air,  and  illumined  countrv  and  town  with  its  lurid  glare. 
It  might  well  appal  the  besieged,  for  it  slew  Solyman  the  Magni- 
ficent. The  Sultan  expired  in  his  tent.  Such  an  event,  if  known, 
would  have  distracted  the  army,  and  caused  the  siege  to  be  raised. 
So  the  grand  Vizier  strangled  the  imperial  physician,  who  alone 
knew  of  the  Sultan's  death,  and  kept  it  a  profound  secret,  issuing 
the  usual  orders,  and  giving  things  their  due  form,  as  if  Solyman, 
though  indisposed,  was  still  alive.  The  explosion  of  the  grand 
bastion  rendered  an  assault  no  longer  dangerous  and  uncertain ; 
in  fact,  Zriny  saw  that  he  could  not  resist.  He  therefore  called 
his  chamberlain,  clothed  himself  in  his  silken  tunic,  put  his 
golden  chain  about  his  neck,  and  his  hat  with  heron  plumes  and 
diamond  aigrette  on  his  head.  He  then  took  the  keys  of  the 
citadel,  and  with  200  golden  ducats  threw  them  in  his  pocket, 
saying,  he  who  slays  me,  shall  not  complain  of  want  of  reward. 
Swinging  his  sabre,  Zriny  exclaimed,  ^'It  was  with  this  weapon  that 
I  won  my  first  honour  in  war,  and  with  it  will  now  appear  before  the 
throne  of  the  Eternal  to  hear  my  judgment.''  He  then  descended 
without  casque  or  armour,  leading  six  hundred  of  his  garrison 
who  consented  to  die  with  him.     The  Turks  were  already  enter- 


558  CAMPAIGNS  OF  TUBKEY 

ing  the  walls,  and  forcing  the  breach.  They  arrived  dose  to  the 
bndge  which  led  to  the  great  gate.  Zriny  ordered  the  gate  to  be 
flung  open,  and  a  great  mortar  loaded  with  grape  to  be  dis- 
chargee^ which  swept  the  bridge  clean.  Zriny  and  his  six  hun- 
dred brave  followers  then  rushed  upon  the  Turks,  and  perished 
to  a  man.  The  dead  body  of  Zriny  was  at  last  brought  to 
the  Turkish  commander,  who  caused  it  to  be  decapitated  on  a 
cannon.  Some  of  his  followers  were,  however,  taken  aUve>  and 
one,  a  young  cup-bearer,  was  asked  where  Zriny  held  his  trea-'^ 
sures  ?  "  Count  Zriny,^^  said  the  youth,  "  possessed  a  hundred 
thousand  ducats,  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  a  thousand  cups  of 

Srold  of  different  sizes,  and  plate  of  great  value.  Seek  them.  But 
ook  first  to  the  treasures  wnich  he  amassed  in  gunpowder,  for  the 
fire  is  to  it,  and  it  is  on  the  point  of  exploding  as  I  speak.''  The 
youth's  warning  was  true.  Few  had  time  to  escape,  when  the 
tower  blew  up,  and  buried  three  thousand  Turks  beneath  its 
ruins. 

We  have  given  this  little  episode  of  the  war,  to  show  in  what 
manner  ana  in  what  spirit  the  Hungarians  resisted  the  Turks^ 
even  when  led  in  person  by  the  great  Solyman,  accompanied  by 
his  innumerable  armies. 

Thirty  years  elapsed  after  these  events  without  there  being  any 
serious  war  between  Austria  and  Turkey.  One  of  the  most 
talented  and  resolute  Viziers  that  the  Porte  ever  possessed,  SokoUi, 
was  the  ruling  personage  during  this  period.  But  be  avoided  any 
great  expedition  against  Hungary.  When  Sinan  Pasha  was  made 
Grand  vizier,  however,  towards  the  close  of  the  centurvi  this 
prudence  vanished.  The  fact  was,  that  the  Turks  retainea  their 
superiority  in  Asia,  after  they  had  lost  it  in  Europe.  Sinan  had 
commanded  in  Asia ;  he  conquered  Arabia,  subdued  Tripoli,  and  he 
thought  Hungary  an  easy  conquest.  He  therefore  precipitated 
war.  In  the  first  battle  which  ensued,  fought  in  the  angle  formed 
by  the  rivers  Koulpa  and  Odra,  the  Turks  suffered  a  signal  defeat^ 
and  left  eighteen  thousand  dead  upon  the  field.  T^e  Turkish 
general  and  two  uiferior  princes  were  amongst  the  slain.  The 
loss  of  a  second  battle  made  Sinan  aware  of  his  mistake,  and  he 
regretted  having  provoked  the  war.  But  it  was  too  late.  The 
absence  of  the  Khan  of  the  Tartars  caused  the  Turks  far  greater 
losses.  And  as  the  military  superiority  of  the  Ottomans  was 
evidently  contested,  the  Princes  of  Transylvania,  Moldavia,  and 
Wallachia,  all  tried  to  shake  off  the  Turkish  yoke.  The  Turks 
with  no  less  spirit  rushed  to  the  field  to  prevent  them ;  and  this 
led  to  the  remarkable  campaign,  and  to  the  great  engagement 
between  Austria  and  Turkey,  in  the  closing  years  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  imperialists  began  by  capturing  Gran,  and  after  it 
a  number  of  towns  and  fortresses.  Mahomed  III.,  a  sensual  and 
indolent  prince,  was  roused  by  his  officers  to  take  the  field  in 
person,  and  hoist  the  sacred  standard  of  the  prophet.  The  Sultan 
ordered  the  army  to  invest  Erlau,  whilst  the  Archduke  Maximi- 
lian and  Prince  Michael  of  Wallachia  advanced  to  succour  it. 
The  Austrians  and  Hungarians,  who  in  Solyman^  time  foa^^t 

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ON  THE  DANUBE.  55^ 

behind  the  battlements  of  their  fortresses^  now  invariably  met  the 
Turks  in  the  field.  A  battle  or  a  series  of  battles  were  then 
fought  ^t  Kherestesj  in  October  1596.  The  Sultan  Mahomed 
with  the  sacred  standard  took  post  in  the  centre  of  his  army, 
with  his  visdersi  his  judges,  and  his  guards.  Before  them,  the 
artillery  was  drawn  up ;  the  cannon  tied  together  by  chains,  and 
forming  an  impenetrable  barrier.  To  the  right  were  the  hosts 
,pf  Asia,  and  to  the  left  were  those  of  European  Turkey.  The 
Auatrians  and  Hungarians,  though  considerably  less  in  number 
than  the  Turks,  commenced  the  action  by  a  general  charge  upon 
the  enemy's  centre,  where  the  Sultan  was.  Their  impetuosity 
was  so  great,  that  they  broke  in  through  the  line  of  cannon,  scat- 
tered the  troops  around  the  Sultan,  who  drew  back  to  take  refuge 
behind  the  baggage.  Mahomed  would  have  fled  altogether,  if  one 
of  the  followers  had  not  restrained  him,  and  flung  across  his 
shoulder  the  sacred  standard  of  the  prophet.  The  victorious 
Austrians,  instead  of  following  their  victory,  scattered  to  plunder 
the  baggage  of  the  Sultan ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  vizier 
Cicala,  rallying  the  cavalry,  charged  the  Christians  in  the  rear, 
and  totally  defeated  them.  Fifty  thousand  of  them  perished. 
Thus  victory  seemed  for  a  time  to  have  rallied  back  to  the  Ma- 
homedans.  But  the  Austrians  continued  to  gain  many  advan- 
tages, and  although  in  the  peace  which  followed,  the  Turks  kept 
Ofen,  as  the  Austrians  did  Raab,  the  pashas  and  commanders 
of  armies  in  Hungary,  as  well  as  the  two  courts,  treated  for  the 
first  time  on  a  footing  of  complete  equality.  The  treaty  signed 
the  lltb  pf  November,  1606,  annulled  the  annual  tribute  paid  by 
Austria,  substituting  for  it  one  payment  of  200,000  crowns. 
There  was  to  be  equality  between  me  ambassadors  of  the  two 
powers.  The  greater  part  of  Hungary  remained,  indeed,  to  Turkey, 
but  the  chiefs  of  the  Turkish  army  and  councils  seemed  to  admit 
that  the  future  progress  of  Turkish  power  in  Europe  was  arrested. 
This  peace  was  caUed  that  of  Sitvarok. 

From  1606  to  1662,  there  was  no  war  of  any  importance 
between  Turkey  and  the  Austrians  north  of  the  I)anube,  The 
affairs  of  Asia  and  the  growing  difficulties,  with  the  cares  of  inter- 
nal government,  chiefly  occupied  the  Sultan ;  with  the  exception 
of  a  naval  war  against  Venice,  which  was  not  always  attended 
with  glory  or  success  to  the  Turks.  The  want  of  a  warlike 
Sultan  to  lead  armies  into  the  field,  and  the  prevalence  of  wars 
remote  from  Europe,  allowed  the  military  institutions  of  Euro- 
pean Turkey  to  fall  into  decay.  Thus  under  the  Grand  Vizier 
Osman,  the  province  of  Roumelia,  instituted  to  provide  regularly 
40,000  cavaners,  could  not  send  forth  more  than  eight.  The 
number  and  good  order  of  these  feudal  hosts  had  the  effect  of 
awing  the  janissaries,  and  keeping  them  in  order.  But  the  feudal 
troops  declined  in  numbers  and  in  spirit ;  the  janissaries  became 
turbulent,  undisciplined;  they  rebelled,  and  murdered  sultans  and 
visiers.  At  lengdi,  the  two  KipriuUs,  father  and  son,  managing 
grand  viziers,  restored  some  order  and  ener^  to  the  empire,  and 
the  statesmen  of  the  Porte  saw^  that  the  omy  way  to  reduce  the 


660  CAMPAIGNS  OF  TURKEY 

jannissaries  to  order^  and  restore  the  military  energy  of  the  em- 
pire  in  its  European  provinces^  was  to  make  war  no  longer  a  naval 
war  against  Venice^  but  a  land  war  of  regular  campaigns  beyond 
the  Danube. 

Austria  and  the  German  empire,  as  well  as  Hungary  and 
Poland,  were  taken  considerably  aback  by  this  unexpected  and 
new-bom  vigour  of  the  Turks,  For  Germans  and  Hungarians 
had  allowed  their  army  and  military  organization  to  drop  also 
into  disuse.  It  was  remarked,  that  whilst  in  the  days  of  Solyman 
the  Hungarians  and  Austrians  chiefly  resisted  behind  battlements^ 
they  had  afterwards  become  emboldened,  and  mustered  in  num- 
bers sufficient  to  take  the  field.  But  when  the  Grand  Vizier^ 
Kipriuli,  in  1663,  once  more  burst  into  Hungary  (the  nomina- 
tion of  a  Prince  of  Transylvania  was  the  pretext  of  the  war),  the 
Christians  had  no  army  to  oppose  to  him,  and,  indeed,  not  more 
than  6000  men  altogether,  with  12  pieces  of  artillery,  against  250 
large  guns  brought  by  the  Turks.  There  being  literally  no  army 
to  combat,  the  Grand  Vizier  formed  the  siege  of  Neuhausel.  Its 
governor  mustered  some  6000  men  to  defend  it,  but  it  was 
scarcely  invested,  before,  in  a  sortie,  he  fell  into  an  ambuscade 
laid  by  the  Turks,  and  lost  the  greater  part  of  his  men.  In 
addition  to  the  great  army  of  the  Turks,  the  Khan  of  the  Tartars 
came  with  almost  an  equal  number  of  his  wild  horse,  and  15,000 
Cossacks,  so  that  if  cavalry  could  take  a  town,  there  were  sufiB- 
cient  to  eat  up  Neuhausel.  After  a  gallant  defence  it  was  taken. 
But  the  multitude  of  horse  did  not  tarry  with  the  besieging  army. 
They  penetrated  into  Moravia,  which  they  ravaged  as  far  as 
Brunn  and  Olmutz :  Silesia  on  the  one  side,  Styria  on  the  other, 
were  wasted  by  the  Turks  and  Tartars,  who,  when  nothing  else 
was  left  to  pillage,  carried  ofl:'  upwards  of  80,000  young  men  and 
women  as  slaves.  It  is  startling  to  find  such  devastation  com- 
mitted in  Europe,  not  200  years  ago,  by  the  Mahomedans. 

The  campaign  of  the  following  year,  1664,  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  in  the  war  of  Mahomedans  and  Christians^  and 
decided  anew,  and  in  a  great  battle,  the  military  superiority  of  the 
former,  when  they  did  bring  a  sufficient  number  of  forces  to 
resist  the  enemy.  Early  in  the  spring,  the  Grand  Vizier,  as 
usual,  crossed  the  bridge  of  Essek,  over  the  Danube,  with  his 
army.  Hungary,  east  of  the  Danube,  was  left  to  the  Turks 
without  dispute;  and  all  the  efibrts  of  the  Christians  were  at 
that  time  limited  to  the  protection  of  Austria  and  Styria,  by  a 
line  of  fortresses  and  defences,  extending  from  the  Danube,  at 
Raab,  to  the  junction  of  the  Drave  and  Mur.  Thus,  it  will  be 
seen,  that  the  Christians  had  well-nigh  lost  all  Hungary.  What 
troops  they  had  ready  were  flung  into  the  fort  of  Scrinvar,  at  the 
confluence  of  the  Drave  and  the  Mur.  The  Grand  Vizier  laid 
siege  to  this  fort,  which  defended  itself  gallantly  till,  Strozzi  and 
the  principal  officers  being  killed,  the  command  devolved  upon 
Montecuculi,  who  withdrew  from  it  to  rally  the  difierent  re- 
inforcements that  were  approaching.  When  they  had  joined  him, 
the  army  consisted  of  tturee  bodies,  the  Austrians,  or,  as  he  calls 


ON  THE  DANUBE.  561 

them^  Cesarians  under  Montecuculi,  the  German  troops  of  the 
£mperor,  and  foreign  auxiliaries^  chiefly  French,  under  Coligny, 

After  the  capture  of  Scrinvar,  the  Grand  Vizier  was  deter- 
mined to  reduce  Presburg  or  Raab>  previous  to  getting  pos- 
session of  Komom^  the  great  desire  of  the  Ottoman^  who  knew 
it  to  be  the  key  to  Austria  and  Moravia.  The  Turkish  com- 
mander therefore  marched  up  the  right  bank  of  the  Raab,  whilst 
the  Christians  under  Montecuculi  followed  the  left  bank*  The 
Vizier  tried  to  pass  the  river  at  Kermond,  but  the  Imperial 
eeneral  was  strong  enough  to  prevent  him.  Both  armies  then 
followed  the  river^  till  they  amved,  one  at  the  town  of  Raab 
itself,  the  other  at  the  convent  or  village  of  St.  Gothard,  There 
the  Turks  must  pass  or  abandon  the  object  of  their  march ;  and 
there  accordingly  Montecuculi  prepared  for  the  battle,  which 
took  place  on  the  1st  of  August,  1664. 

The  Raab  formed  an  angle  immediately  opposite  the  camp  of 
the  Turks,  the  point  of  the  angle  receding  from  them.  Monte- 
cuculi posted  the  troops  of  the  German  Emperor  immediately 
opposite  this  angle,  took  his  own  station  on  the  right  side  of  the 
Austrians,  and  confided  the  left  to  the  French.  He  drew  up 
the  army  six  deep — four  rows  of  pikemen,  with  two  rows  of 
musqueteers  behind  them.  There  were  besides,  bodies  of  thirty 
or  forty  musqueteers  by  the  side  of  each  squadron  of  horse. 
The  order  to  the  musqueteers  and  artillery  was  not  to  fire 
all  together,  but  in  succession. 

The  Turks  sent  over  large  bodies  of  cavalry  in  the  morning  to 
deceive  the  enemy.    Under  cover  of  the  distraction  thus  caused, 
the  Grand  Vizier  pushed  foward  his  best  troops,  his  spahis,  with 
each  a  janissary  mounted  behind  him.    They  thus  pushed  across 
the  river  and  occupied  the  village  of  Moggerdorf  on  the  left  bank, 
before  the  German  troops  were  aware,  or  could  resist.    They  did 
their  best  to  remedy  the  disaster,  but  the  Turks  were  amongst 
them.    The  regiments  of  Nassau  and  Schmidt  from  the  right 
came  to   aid   their  comrades,  but  were    cut  to  pieces.      The 
French  were  then  ordered  up  from  the  left  to  where  the  chief 
struggle  was.    The  Grand  Vizier,  Kipriuli,  on  seeing  them  advance 
with  their  powdered  perruques,  asked,  what  young  women  were 
these.     But  the  French  behaved  gallantly,  and  although   the 
Ottomans  were  not  driven  back  across  the  river,  they  were  checked 
in  their  advance  on  the  centre.    Kipriuli,  to  prevent  the   con- 
centration of  the  forces  of  the  Christians  against  him  i^    ^^ 
centre,  passed  over  his  cavalry,  and  advanced  it  to  attack  at  once 
the  two  wings,  French  and  Cesarian.    At  the  same  time    ne 
ordered  the  janissaries  to  entrench  themselves  in  their  positioTk 
at  Moggerdorf,  so  as  to  make  good  the  passage  of  the  stream. 

Here  it  was  that  Montecucidi's  generalship  showed  itself.      t*-^ 
perceived  that,  for  the  moment,  the  Grand  Vizier  had  withdrawn. 
his  chief  efforts  and  reinforcements  from  the  centre,  where     t^^ 
had  at  first  advanced,  to  the  wings,  as  if  first  determined  to  K^^^^ 
the  victory  at  both  extremities,  ere  he  again  pushed  forwaro-  <>^^ 
the  centre.    Montecuculi  therefore  ordered  all  the  forces  under 

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868  CAMPAIGNS  OF  TURKEY 

bis  command  to  advance  simultaneously^  and  concentrate  upon 
the  Turkish  centre  and  the  janissaries  at  Mo^gerdorf,  He  said 
and  saw  this  should  be  done  at  once,  and  speecUly,  if  at  all,  and  he 
harangued  officers  and  generals  to  conquer  or  die  in  doing  it. 
They  comprehended  and  obeyed  him,  charging  with  such  concert 
and  such  vigour,  that  the  janissaries  could  not  stand.  The 
Turkish  centre  was  broken,  driven  into  the  river,  and  destroyed : 
17>000  Turks,  and  of  the  very  best  of  their  troops,  nerished. 
They  lost  all  their  artillery  and  standards.  Nor  did  the  Ottomans 
ever  fully  recover  the  consequences  of  their  defeat  at  Raab. 

But  although  it  were  possible  to  muster  these  diflferent  German 
and  French  contingents  to  fight  a  successful  and  defensive 
battle,  the  same  disjointed  army  could  not  be  ordered  in  pursuit, 
for  want  of  provisions,  commissariat,  or  any  of  the  necessaries  of 
a  regular  army  in  the  pay  of  a  powerful  prince.  The  advantages 
of  the  victory  of  Raab  were  therefore  more  in  intimidating  toe 
enemy,  than  the  conquering  force ;  and  the  Emperor  was  glad  to 
make  peace  on  the  identical  terms  of  the  last  treaty,  leaving  thq 
Turks,  as  before,  virtual  masters  of  Hungary. 

The  Turks  have  the  advantage  and  the  disadvantage,  common 
to  barbarian  people,  of  not  knowing  when  they  are  conauered, 
idthough,  immediately  after  a  defeat,  a  routed  army  and  a  oeatea 
general  may  be  willing  to  consent  to  terms  of  peace.  A  very  few 
years  in  Turkey  brought  new  pashas,  new  courtiers,  new  viziers, 
who  attributed  such  reverses  to  the  want  of  fortune  and  skill  in 
their  predecessors,  and  who  were  anxious  to  set  once  more  about 
campaigning,  first  of  all,  because  war  was  the  only  road  to  emi- 
nence in  the  Turkish  system  of  empire,  and  because  the  state  was 
organized  for  no  other  end.  When  the  family  of  KipriuU  died 
out,  in  which  their  tradition  of  political  wisdom  was  preserved, 
and  when  Kara  Moustapha  became  Grand  Vizier,  in  1676,  the 
Turkish  armies  were  again  mustered  on  the  Danube. 

Austria,  however,  was  not  at  first  the  object  of  attack.  The 
Turkish  power,  checked  on  the  frontier  of  Austria,  had  spread 
itself  eastward  of  the  Carpathians,  into  the  kingdom  of  Poland, 
and  to  the  borders  of  Russia,  where  it  claimed  and  held  a  great 
part  of  the  Ukraine.  It  was  enabled  to  wield  this  power,  by  the 
suzerainty  which  the  Sultan  exercised  over  the  Khan  ot  the 
Tartars,  whose  immense  hordes  of  cavalry  he  could  command 
each  season.  The  Russians  now  began  to  resist  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  Mahomedans;  and  the  Turks,  who  held  the  new 
and  distant  Czar  in  scorn,  marched  to  capture  Ceyrin,  a  frontier 
fortress  of  the  Russians.  Repulsed  from  thence,  the  Grand 
Vizier  vowed  that  he  would  march  upon  Moscow.  He  returned 
in  much  choler  to  Ceyrin,  and  took  it  by  assault,  although  the 
triumph  was  dearly  bought  by  the  loss  of  two-thirds  of  his  army. 
A  peace  followed,  in  1681,  oetween  Russia  and  the  Porte,  by 
which  the  Czar  was  allowed  to  retain  Kiow,  and  it  was  equally 
prohibited  to  the  Turks  as  to  the  Russians  to  raise  any  fortified 
places  between  the  Bug  and  the  Dneister,  This  sufficiency 
marked  the  limit  between  the  empires. 

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ON  THE  DANUBE.  $69 

Hip  success  against  the  Russians,  and  the  capture  of  her  most 
important  frontier  fortress^  followed  by  peace,  encouraged  Eari^ 
Moustapha  to  declare  war  against  Austria.  He  accordingly 
marched  into  Hungary  in  1783,  and,  as  usual  in  the  first  year  of 
a  war,  the  Turks  found  no  army  to  oppose  them.  Montecuculi 
bad  no  longer  an  army  to  defend  the  passage  of  the  Raab,  which 
the  Grand  Vizier  traversed ;  and  finding  very  few  impediments 
in  his  way,  he  determined  to  lay  siege  to  Vienna,  On  the  frontier 
he  came  up  with  a  portion  of  the  Imperial  army  and  routed  it.  On 
the  14th  of  July  the  Turkish  army,  200,000  strong,  pitched  their 
tents  in  the  plain  before  Vienna,  having  burnt  every  village 
around,  and  committed  every  licence  on  the  unfortunate  inha- 
bitants. Nor  were  these  confined  to  Vienna.  In  the  midst  of 
sacked  villages  and  surrendered  towns,  three  abbeys  rendered 
themselves  famous  by  their  resistance,  those  of  Moelk,  Lilienfeld, 
and  Kloster-Neuberg.  The  latter  was  most  gallantly  defended  by 
its  sacristan,  who  beat  off  13,000  Turks  and  saved  his  convent, 
which  still  rises  within  sight  of  Vienna. 

The  immense  army  of  the  Turks,  well  served  with  artillery  and 
engineers,  soon  erected  batteries  to  destroy  the  bastions  of  the 
Lion  and  the  Castle;  and  at  the  same  time  the  Turks  made 
themselves  masters  of  the  Leopoldstadt,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
small  arm  of  the  Danube  that  waters  Vienna*  So  dose  became 
the  blockade,  that  not  more  than  five  persons  were  able  during 
the  siege  to  penetrate  into  Vienna,  and  communicate  news  from 
without.  One  of  these  was  a  Pole,  named  Kolschistzky.  He 
asked  and  obtained  as  recompense,  the  privile^  of  openinfi;  a  shop 
to  sell  coffee,  the  first  that  was  estabbshed  m  Vienna^  though  it 
was  common  with  the  Turks  long  before. 

The  Turks  did  not  make  a  practical  breach  till  the  siege  had 
lasted  forty-six  days.  They  had  worked  by  mines,  but  did  not 
succeed  till  that  time  had  elapsed  in  throwing  down  any  portion  of 
the  bastions.  No  sooner  was  this  effected,  than  the  Turks 
marched  to  the  assault.  Though  the  besieged  were  reduced  to 
5000  men,  they  repulsed  it,  as  well  as  an  assault  and  contest 
which  lasted  twenty-four  hours,  and  during  which  the  Turks  more 
than  once  planted  their  standard  in  the  breach. 

At  last,  on  the  9th  of  September,  the  allied  forces  of  the 
Christians  began  to  make  their  appearance  on  the  hills  west  of 
Vienna.  They  took  seven  weeks  after  the  arrival  of  the  Turks 
before  Vienna  to  come  up  to  its  succour.  The  Count  of  Stah- 
renberg,  who  commanded  in  Vienna,  was  able  to  warn  them  that 
they  had  no  time  to  lose.  And  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  who 
commanded  the  succouring  army,  was  determined  to  lose  no  time. 
On  the  morning  of  the  12di  of  September,  the  King  having  heard 
mass  on  the  Leopoldsberg,  gave  orders  for  a  general  advance 
against  the  Turks.  Sobieski  with  his  Poles  fought  on  the  right 
wing  near  Dombach ;  the  left  wing  advanced  along  the  Danube, 
and  was  led  by  the  Duke  of  Lorraine ;  the  Bavarians  and  Germans 
were  in  the  centre.  The  Turks  first  directed  their  resistance 
towards  the  division  which  marched  along   the  Danube,  and 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


564     CAMPAIGNS  OP  TURKEY  ON  THE  DANUBE, 

against  which,  as  well  as  against  the  centre,  the  Grand  Vizier 
directed  his  efforts.  But  whilst  he  did  so  Sobieski  advanc^ed 
from  Dombach,  and  drove  in  the  Ottomans  opposed  to  him,  took 
their  camp,  and  in  a  very  short  space  of  time  converted  the  battle 
into  a  rout.  It  was  not  with  the  cordial  assent  or  support  of 
either  his  generals  or  his  army,  that  Kara  Moustapha  had  under- 
taken so  difficult  a  task  as  the  siege  of  Vienna.  Then  the  siege 
had  lasted  too  long  for  Turkish  constancy;  the  maxim  of  the 
Turks  being,  that  a  siege  should  never  pass  forty  days.  The 
Mussulmans  accordingly  did  not  behave  at  Vienna  with  their 
usual  fortitude  and  valour,  and  the  battle  begun  by  Sobieski  a 
little  after  sun-rise,  was  over  in  an  hour  or  two.  300  cannon  were 
captured,  5000  tents,  600  standards,  all  the  wealth  and  rich  accou- 
trements of  the  Grand  Vizier  and  his  staff. 

Sobieski  gave  an  enumeration  of  the  spoils  in  a  letter  to  his 
wife.  His  share  of  the  booty  was,  '^  five  quivers  adorned  with 
rubies,  sapphires,  and  pearls,  and  a  belt  set  with  diamonds.''  There 
were  many  of  these  belts,  and  he  knew  not  what  use  the  Turks 
made  of  them.  The  harem  had  likewise  been  plundered.  The 
Grand  Vizier  had  taken  a  fine  ostrich  in  some  imperial  chateau^ 
and  he  cut  off  its  head,  rather  than  let  it  fall  again  into  the 
hands  of  its  original  master.  Such  refined  luxuries  in  the  tents 
of  the  Grand  Vizier — ^baths,  garden,  fountains,  rabbit-warrens^ 
and  even,  says  Sobieski,  a  parrot ! 

The  King  of  Poland  and  his  army  followed  up  their  victory  by 
the  conquest  of  Gran^  which  they  only  took  after  a  hard-fought 
battle  before  it.  The  Christian  army  kept  together  for  the  cam- 
paign of  the  following  year.  They  concentrated  their  efforts 
against  Ofen,  which  they  besieged  with  the  same  earnestness  that 
iLara  Mustapha  had  given  to  the  capture  of  Vienna.  The  result 
was  the  same.  The  Turks  made  too  stubborn  a  defence  for  the 
Christians  to  overcome  them,  and  Ofen  remained  in  their  power. 
It  was  in  this  campaign  that  Hamza  Beg,  a  Turkish  chief  in  Hun- 
gary, having  captured  his  rival.  Count  Szapary,  harnessed  him, 
along  with  a  horse,  to  a  plough.  Count  Bathiany  came  with  a 
troop  to  the  relief  of  his  friend,  liberated  him,  and  made  Hamza 
Beg  in  turn  his  prisoner.  Szapary  refused  to  take  any  ven- 
geance. 

The  King,  generals,  and  soldiers  of  Germany  and  Poland  were  all 
now  anxious  to  prosecute  the  war  against  the  Turks.  There  was 
booty  to  be  won  for  the  soldiers,  and  provisions  for  their  main- 
tenance. Thus  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  remained  at  the  head  of 
80,000  men.  With  these  he  took  first  Neuhoeusel,  the  bulwark 
of  Upper  Hungary,  and,  in  a  short  time  after,  Ofen,  which  city, 
considered  the  capital  of  the  Turkish  power  in  Hungary,  was 
taken  bv  assault,  on  the  2nd  of  September,  1686.  These  succes- 
sive defeats  of  the  Turks  cost  the  Grand  Vizier  his  life,  and  the 
Sultan  his  throne,  placing  the  Empire  for  a  long  time  imder  the 
control  of  the  janissaries  and  the  mutinous  soldiery. 

The  Christian  Powers,  one  might  have  thought,  would  have 
made  better  use  of  such  an  opportunity.    But  they^ere  incapa- 

Digitized  by  VjO- 


MY   MONKEY  JACKO.  565 

ble  of  any  sustained  efforts  or  lasting  alliance.  Sobieski^  notwith- 
standing his  triumphs  in  Hungary^  was  not  able  to  turn  them  to 
the  profit  of  Poland.  He  marched  into  Moldavia,  and  aimed  at 
striking  such  a  blow  to  the  Tartars,  as  would  leave  Poland  free 
from  their  hostility.  But  he  was  unable  to  gain  any  decisive 
advantage.  The  Imperialists,  on  their  part,  continued  the  war  by 
attempting  to  reduce  Belgrade,  which  they  invested.  But  in  this 
they  also  failed;  and  at  length  both  parties,  weary,  agreed  to 
treat,  under  the  joint  mediation  of  England  and  Holland. 

The  peace  of  Carlowitz  was  the  result,  concluded  in  the  last  year 
of  the  17th  century.  By  it  the  Porte  entirely  ceded  its  claims  to 
Hungary,  reserving  merely  the  Bannat,  with  the  line  of  the 
Save  and  Unna  as  a  frontier.  East  of  the  Carpathians,  the 
Dniester  became  the  Turkish  limit,  the  Sultan  giving  up  all  claim 
to  the  Ukraine.  Venice  kept  the  Morea.  As  a  military  power 
the  Turkish  negotiators  frankly  owned  their  decline.  Whether 
they  were  not  still  superior  in  civilisation  may  be  doubted.  In 
the  negotiation  for  the  treatv,  the  Imperialists  demanded  that  he 
country  on  the  Theiss  should  be  laid  waste.  The  Ottomans  re* 
plied  that  their  law  ordered  them  to  people  the  earth,  not  to  leave 
it  void.  The  monarch  who  made  most  resistance  and  objections  to 
the  Peace  of  Carlowitz  was  Peter  the  Great,  who  nevertheless 
retained  Azoff. 


MY  MONKEY  JACKO. 


Those  who  have  visited  the  French  sea-port  of  Havre  de  Grace, 
must  well  recollect  the  innumerable  curiosity  shops  which  therein 
abound;  curiosity  shops,  not  like  those  in  the  Wardour  or  the  Dean 
Streets  of  London,  where  are  exposed  for  ignominious  sale  the  cast- 
off  Penates  of  London  folk,  both  rich  and  poor ;  but  real  curiosity 
shops,  on  whose  shelves  are  arranged  in  a  strange  medley  the  pro- 
ducts, animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral,  of  far  distant  and  little 
known  climes;  brought  home  by  the  sailors  who  navigate  the 
numerous  and  busy  trading  ships  which  line  the  quays,  and  we 
may  almost  say  the  streets,  of  this  French  Liverpool.  Let  us  enter 
one  of  these  and  examine  its  contents.  On  the  one  shelf  we  see 
curiously  carved  baskets,  cut  with  ingenuity  from  a  cocoa  nut 
brought  from  the  South  Sea  Islands,  and  beside  it  armlets  of  the 
same  all-useful  nut,  from  the  Storr  and  Mortimers  of  the  Islands 
aforesaid. 

On  the  neighbouring  shelf  are  displayed  the  products  of  the 
Arctic  Regions,  snow  spectacles  used  by  the  Esquimaux  in  his 
journeys  over  the  frozen  snows  of  his  ice-bound  but  well-beloved 
home,  bartered  most  likely  to  the  mate  of  yon  tall-masted  whaling 
ship,  for  a  drink  of  brandy  from  his  flask,  or  a  sixpenny  Birming- 
ham knife.  Teeth  of  that  monster  of  the  deep,  the  Cachelot  whale^ 
lie  here,  mixed  with  the  whalebone  from  the  capacious  mouth,  or^ 

Digitized  by  w 


6M  at  MoN'fixr  jacko. 

aft  we  may  justly  call  it,  inftisorial  trap  oJ^  the  true^  of  right 
whale ;  the  oil  from  whose  sides  fills  those  greasy-looking  barrels 
just  hoisted  out  of  the  hold  of  the  floating  oil  shop  close  by. 

On  the  largest  portion  of  this  whalebone,  benold  a  rude  but 
correct  portrait,  carved  with  a  sailor's  jack-knife,  of  the  brave  *md 
sturdy  vessel  whose  comfortable  berths  formed  the  only  home  of 
the  artist  when  daring  the  perils  of  the  Northern  Ocean* 

f^rom  the  ceiling  are  suspended  cages  full  of  tropical  birds. 
Here,  in  a  dark  and  gloomy-looking  wired  box,  we  can  hardly  caD 
it  a  cage,  huddle  together  a  crowd  of  Java  sparrows,  and  wax-*bills 
thinking  of  their  native  jungles,  and  making,  in  their  own  language 
(could  we  only  understand  itj,  unpleasant  comparisons  between 
the  stale  and  mouldy  food  in  their  feeding  troughs,  and  the  sweet 
and  pleasant  fruits  so  agreeable  to  their  epicurean  palates,  when 
free  and  at  liberty  in  their  far  distant  homes. 

What  is  that  harsh  and  unearthly  noise  as  of  a  duel  be* 
tween  two  rabid  cats,  which  brings  the  proprietor  (probably  not  a 
fkt  one,  for  this  sort  of  business  is  not  the  most  profitable  in  the 
world)  breathless  to  the  door,  "  Bella,  horrida  bella,'*  the  tailless 
African  monkey,  green-coated,  who  hangs  suspended  from  an  old 
parrof  s  cage  outside  the  window,  has  seized  the  incautiously  pro- 
truded tail  of  his  prettiei*,  and  therefore  more  favoured  brother, 
the  monkey  from  South  America ;  he,  unfortunate  creature,  has 
crossed  the  herring  pond  in  a  hen-coop,  which  is  much  too  small 
to  contain  himself  tail  and  all.  His  appendage,  which  in  his  present 
condition  of  life  is  neither  useful  nor  ornamental,  is  perpetually 
getting  him  into  scrapes  which  the  honourable  representative  of 
Africa,  being  per  naturam  tailless,  escapes. 

Conscious  of  his  condition,  the  poor  Yankee  monkey  puUs  in  his 
tail,  coils  it  up  as  well  as  he  can,  and  gives  it  a  most  malicious 
bite,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  wish  you  were  off,  you  are  of  no  use 
to  me  now,  and  you  look  terribly  shabby.*^  He  then  covers  it  up 
with  straw  and  looks  miserable. 

"  How  much  for  that  monkey,*^  say  I,  **  the  one  in  the  hen- 
coop ?  *'  The  monkey  looks  up  as  though  he  understood  what 
was  said,  and  with  a  face  which  evidently  says,  ^  Please  buy  me.** 
The  merchant's  price  is  too  high ;  the  African  rascal  he  will  sell 
for  half  the  sum,  but  this  gentleman  grins  so  maliciously  at  the 
customer  that  the  bargain  is  off. 

The  wanderings  of  the  Yankee  are  not,  however,  yet  finished. 
He  is  bought  by  a  knowing  innkeeper  at  Bayeux,  near  Havre, 
and  for  half  the  price  previously  set  upon  his  head ;  and  over  he 
goes  to  his  new  home.  His  master,  finding  out  his  fond  and  quiet 
nature,  turns  him  out  with  a  light  chain  round  his  neck,  into  a 
comfortable  stable,  where  he  can  nestle  under  the  hay,  and  get 
his  sea-worn  coat  into  a  respectable  condition. 

The  recollection  of  this  poor  monkey  haunted  me  ^or  some  tlfbe, 
and  I  often  thought  t  should  like  to  oWn  him.  In  the  course  of 
time,  the  celebrated  tapestry  of  Bayeuk,  worked  by  the  hands  of 
the  wife  of  William  the  Conqueror,  attracted  me  to  that  ancient 
and  venerable  city.  After  seeing  and  wondering  at  the  lions  of 
the  place,  I  went  into  the  stable  to  find  out  the  coachee^  and  to 


MT  MONK)ET  JTACKO.  8«7 

ordet  the  horses  to  be  re-fastened  to  the  rickety  vehtde  Whidh  had 
brought  the  sight-seers  there — carriage  it  coidd  not  be  Justly 
called.  What  was  my  delight  to  see  my  old  friend  of  the  hen- 
coop perched  on  the  manger,  looking  as  happy  as  a  monkey  could 
look.  He  really  was  a  pretty  little  fellow;  his  bright  eyes 
Sparkled  like  two  diamonds,  from  beneath  his  deep-set  eyebrows ; 
ins  teeth  were  of  the  most  pearly  whiteness ;  of  these,  whether 
through  pride,  or  whether  through  a  wish  to  intimidate,  he  made 
a  formidable  display  on  the  entrance  of  the  visitors.  His  hands  were 
certainly  not  similar  to  those  of  Pair  Rosamond's,  of  Woodstock  re- 
ilown,  but  more  like  the  shrivelled  and  dried-up  palms  of  the  old 
monks  at  St.  Bernard,  whose  mortal  remains  are  made  an  exhibi- 
tion of  in  that  far-famed  convent.  A  more  wicked  pair  of  pickers 
and  stealers  we  may,  however,  with  confidence  say  were  never 
encii*cled  with  Queen's  bracelets  by  Sir  Richard  Mayni^.  His 
tail,  which  had  now  recovered  its  good  looks,  gave  additional 
charms  to  his  personal  appearance,  and,  moreover,  was  most 
useful,  inasmuch  as  it  performed  the  office  of  a  third  hand  to  its 
owner ;  with  this  he  could  clmg  on  to  the  bar  of  the  rack  above  the 
manger,  and  swing  himself  about,  a  perfect  living  pendulum.  Well, 
too,  he  knew  the  use  of  it,  for  if  a  nut  or  apple  thrown  to  him  lodged 
just  out  of  the  reach  of  his  hands  or  feet  (for  he  could  use  the 
latter  quite  as  cleverly  as  the  former),  he  Would  run  to  the  full 
length  of  his  chain,  and  turn  his  face  round  to  the  place  where  it 
was  attached,  so  as  to  get  as  much  lehgth  as  possible,  stretch  out 
this  member,  and  pull  towards  him  the  coveted  delicacy.  If  pur- 
sued, moreover,  and  the  chain,  dangling  after  him,  got  in  his  way^ 
he  would  invariably  coil  it  round  the  links,  and  carry  it  high 
over  his  head,  by  means  of  this  most  useful  extremity,  out  of  the 
way  of  his  spider-like  legs.  Should  human  beings^  blessed  with 
tails,  be  ever  discovered  in  some  hitherto  unexplored  regions,  as 
travellers  have  it,  we  doubt  much  whether  they  will  be  as  usefol 
to  their  proprietors  as  Jacko's  was  to  him. 

After  some  considerable  amount  of  bargaining  (in  which 
amusing,  and  sometimes  animated,  not  to  s^y  exciting,  exhibition 
of  talent  Englishmen  generally,  by  the  by,  get  worsted  by  the 
Frenchman,  as  was  the  case  in  the  present  instance),  Jacko  became 
transferred^  chain,  tail,  and  all,  to  his  new  English  master.  Having 
arrived  at  the  hotel,  it  became  a  question  as  to  what  was  to  become 
of  Jacko,  while  his  master  was  absent  from  home.  A  little  doset, 
Opening  into  the  wall  of  the  bed-rootn,  offered  itself  as  a  temporary 
prison.  Jacko  was  tied  up  securely — alas !  how  vain  are  the 
thoughts  of  man ! — to  one  of  the  row  of  pegs  that  were  fiastened 
Against  the  wall.  As  the  door  closed  on  him,  his  wicked  eyes 
seemed  to  say,  "  PU  do  some  mischief  now ;''  and  sure  enough  hfe 
did,  for  when  I  came  back  to  release  him,  like  iCheas, 
**  Obstupui,  steteruntque  comse  et  vox  faucibus  hssit." 

The  W&Uft,  that  but  half  an  hour  previously  were  covered  with  a 
llnely-omamented  paper^  at  "  I  don't  know  how  much  per  yard,'^ 
(\6A  tit^h  young  lady  said)  now  stood  out  in  the  bold  nakedness  of 
mk  imd  plaster;  the  relics  on  the  floor  showed  that  the  little 


568  MY  MONKEY  JACKO. 

wretch's  fingers  had  by  no  means  been  idle.  The  pegs  were  all 
loosened,  the  individual  peg,  to  which  his  chain  had  been  fastened^ 
torn  completely  from  its  socket,  that  the  destroyer's  movements 
might  not  be  impeded,  and  an  unfortunate  garment  that  happened 
to  be  hung  up  in  the  closet  was  torn  to  a  thousand  shreds.  If 
ever  Jack  Sheppard  had  a  successor,  it  was  this  monkey.  If  he 
had  tied  the  torn  bits  of  petticoat  together,  and  tried  to  make  his 
escape  from  the  window,  I  don't  think  I  should  have  been  much 
surprised. 

It  was  now  quite  evident  that  Jacko  must  no  longer  be  allowed 
full  liberty,  and  a  lawyer's  blue  bag,  such  as  may  be  frequently 
seen  in  the  dreaded  neighbourhood  of  the  Court  of  Chancery, 
filled,  however,  more  frequently  with  papers  and  parchment  than 
with  monkeys,  was  provided  for  him,  and  this  receptacle,  with  some 
hay  placed  at  the  bottom  for  a  bed,  became  his  new  home.  It  was 
a  movable  home,  and  therein  lay  the  advantage,  for  when  the 
strings  thereof  were  tied,  there  was  no  mode  of  escape,  he  could 
not  get  his  hands  through  the  aperture  at  the  end  to  untie  them, 
the  bag  was  too  strong  for  him  to  bite  his  way  through,  and  his 
ineffectual  efforts  to  get  out,  only  had  the  effect  of  making  the  bag 
roll  along  the  floor,  and  occasionally  make  a  jump  up  into  the  air, 
forming  altogether  an  exhibition  which,  if  advertised  in  the  present 
day  of  wonders,  as  "  Le  bag  vivant,"  would  attract  crowds  of  de- 
lighted and  admiring  citizens. 

In  the  bag  aforesaid,  he  travelled  as  far  as  Southampton  on  his 
road  to  town.     While  taking  the  ticket  at  the  railway  station, 
Jacko,  who  must  needs  see  everything  that  was  going  on,  suddenly 
poked  his  head  out  of  the  bag,  and  gave  a  malicious  grin  at  the 
ticket  giver.    This  much  frightened  the  poor  man,  but  with  great 
presence  of  mind,  quite  astonishing  under  the  circumstances,  he 
retaliated  the  insult,  ^*Sir,  that's  a  dog,  you  must  pay  for  it  ac- 
cordingly."    In  vain  was  the  monkey  made  to  come  out  of  the 
bag,  and  exhibit  his  whole  person,  in  vain  were  arguments  in  foil 
accordance  with  the  views  of  Cuvier  and  Owen  urged  eagerly,  ve- 
hemently, and  without  hesitation  (for  the  train  was  on  the  point  of 
starting),  to  prove  that  the  animal  in  question  was  not  a  dog,  but 
a  monkey.    A  dog  it  was  in  the  peculiar  views  of  the  official,  and 
the  three-and-sixpence  was  paid.    Thinking  to  carry  the  joke 
further  (there  were  just  a  few  minutes  to  spare),  I  took  out  from 
my  pockets  a  live  tortoise  I  happened  to  have  with  me,  and  show- 
ing it,  said,  "What  must  I  pay  for  this,  as  you  charge  for  all 
animals?"      The  employe  adjusted  his  specs,  withdrew  from  the 
desk  to  consult  with  his  superior;  then  returning,  gave  the  verdict 
with  a  grave  but  determined  manner,  "  No  charge  for  them  sir, 
them  be  Insects." 

On  arriving  at  his  ultimate  destination  in  England,  a  comfort- 
able home  was  provided  for  him  in  the  stall  of  a  stable,  where 
there  was  an  aperture  communicating  with  the  hay-loft,  so  that  he 
could  either  sleep  at  his  ease  in  the  re^ons  above,  or,  descending 
into  the  manger,  amuse  himself  by  tearmg  everything  he  could  eet 
at  to  pieces.  This  stall  was  usually  unoccupied,  except  by  his 
serene  monkeyship ;  but  he  was  not  destined  to  remain  lord  of 


MY   MONKEY  JACKO.  669 

the  manpr  in  perpetuo.  One  cold  winter's  evening,  when  the  snow 
lay  thick  on  the  ground,  the  family  donkey  was  brought  up  from 
the  field,  where  it  was  endeavouring  to  keep  itself  warm  by  the 
side  of  a  haystack,  and  placed  in  these  more  comfortable  quarters.  A 
plentiful  supper  of  hay  was  placed  before  the  hungry  animal,  which 
it  began  to  devour  with  great  eagerness.  About  an  hour  after,  the 
groom  happened  to  go  into  the  stable  to  see  that  all  was  right ; 
what  was  his  great  astonishment  to  see  Jenny,  without  any  ap- 
parent cause,  pulling  away  at  her  halter,  and  trying  to  keep  her 
head  as  far  away  as  possible  from  the  bundle  of  hay,  which  had 
suddenly  acquired  some  invisible  noxious  properties. 

Not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it,  the  man  gave  the  poor  donkey 
a  blow,  to  make  it  "  come  up,'^  in  the  stable  parlance ;  no  sooner 
had  the  long  ears  approached  the  hay,  than  the  mystery  was  ex- 
plained. A  tiny  pair  of  hands  were  suddenly  thrust  out  from 
under  the  cover,  and  the  ears  seized;  at  the  same  moment,  master 
Jacko's  face  appeared  chattering  his  teeth,  as  though  he  had  an 
attack  of  ague,  and  as  quick  as  thought  their  sharp  points  met 
in  the  unfortunate  Jenny's  aural  appendages.  Jenny  instantly  re- 
treated with  force  enough  almost  to  break  the  halter,  and  Jacko 
covered  himself  up  again  in  the  hay,  keeping,  however,  a  ^roall 
opening  patent,  through  which  he  could  observe  the  movements  of 
the  enemy.  The  little  rascal,  from  the  hole  in  the  loft,  had  seen 
the  hay  spread  out  by  the  man,  and  thinking  it  would  make  a 
capital  warm  bed  for  himself,  had  quietly  taken  possession,  quite 
regardless  of  the  inward  cravings  of  poor  Jenny,  who  would,  if  she 
dared,  have  most  rudely  devoured  the  Signer's  bedclothes.  I  re- 
member well  in  an  old  iEsop's  fable  book,  illustrated  with  quaint 
woodcuts^  the  fable  of  *^  The  dog  in  the  manger,^'  and  also  a  pictorial 
representation  (certainly  not  after  Landseer)  of  this  same  well- 
known  event,  but  I  never  had  hoped  to  see  the  actual  drama  per- 
formed by  two  quadrupeds.  I  must  not,  however,  omit  to  say, 
that  I,  and  doubtless  the  reader,  has  also  frequently  seen  a  very 
fair  representation  of  it  admirably  performed  by  two  bipeds.  If 
iEsop  had  lived  in  the  time  of  Jacko,  (no — I  mean,  if  Jacko  had  lived 
in  the  time  of  iGsop,)  doubtless  the  former  would  have  been  im- 
mortalized by  the  latter ;  and  "The  monkey  in  the  manger''  been 
now  as  familiar  in  our  mouths,  as  "  The  dog  in  the  manger."  It 
is,  however,  a  curious  fact,  that  this  monkey,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  conceived  too  great  an  animosity  against  the  donkey,  took  a 
great  liking  to  a  dun  pony  of  a  neighbour,  who,  on  paying  his  visits, 
usually  tied  him  up  on  Jacko's  territory.  On  these  occasions 
Jacko  seemed  delighted  to  see  his  four-footed  ally,  running  fran- 
tically about  as  far  as  his  chain  would  allow  him,  and  when 
the  pony  was  fastened  up,  and  the  corn  placed  before  him^  jump- 
ing on  his  back  and  nestling  down  there,  or  searching  eagerly  in 
the  mane  for  imaginary  parasites. 

When  sitting  on  the  rack  of  the  manger  he  had  one  peculiar 
amusement,  and  that  was  catching  mice.  These  unsuspecting 
little  animals  would  come  out  to  pick  up  the  com  left  by  the 
horses  in  the  next  stall.    To  get  at  their  feeding  ground,  they  had 

VOL.  XXXIV.  ^'S'^'^^^'y       RR^ 


570  MY   MONKEY   JACKO. 

to  run  the  gauntlet  of  Jacko^s  premises.  He  was  up  to  this,  and 
would  pretend  to  be  asleep,  keeping,  however,  one  eye  h*alf  open. 
The  trick  answered,  the  mouse  made  a  rush — in  vain ;  Jacko,  as 
quick  as  lightning,  had  his  paw  upon  him,  and  with  a  tight  squeeze 
crippled  the  poor  little  brute ;  he  would  then  play  with  him  for 
some  minutes,  every  now  and  then  giving  him  a  pat  to  make  him 
crawl  faster.  When  the  poor  victim  thought  he  had  got  away, 
Jacko  caught  him  again,  made  a  complete  search  through  his 
hair  for  parasites,  and  then,  oh,  carnivorous  representative  of  the 
class  Quadrumana,  eat  him  up  (as  a  child  described  it  to  me)  like 
a  sugar  plum.  The  fun  over,  he  would  again  assume  his  manoeuvres 
and  catch  another  member  of  the  murine  family,  to  be  treated  in  a 
similar  way  as  the  last  unfortunate.  In  this  way  I  have  known 
him  catch  as  many  as  seven  or  eight  mice  in  one  afternoon.  The 
servants  having  observed  Jacko^s  talent  in  this  line,  bethought 
themselves  that  they  would  turn  it  to  some  account,  and  as  the 
cat  of  the  house,  the  Felis  domestieus  of  the  place,  was  ill,  and 
unable  to  perform  her  duties,  they,  not  having  undergone  a  severe 
training  in  the  logical  school  of  Aristotle,  or  committed  to  memory 
the  rules  which  are  summed  up  in  those  most  delightful  and  at  the 
same  time  most  poetical  lines  of  dreaded  Little-Go  memory,  viz. 
'^  Barbara  celarent  Darii  feroque  prioris,"  reasoned  to  themselves  as 
follows :  cats  catch  mice  in  the  dark ;  therefore  monkeys  catch  mice 
in  the  dark. 

Upon  this  untenable  syllogism,  therefore,  pinning  their  faith, 
they  one  evening  took  poor  Jacko  out  of  his  comfortable  bed  in 
the  loft,  and  chained  him  up  in  the  larder,  having  previously 
removed  every  eatable  or  drinkable  things  except  some  jam-pots, 
which  were  put  seemingly  out  of  reach,  and  moreover  were  well 
secured  with  bladder  stretched  over  the  tops.  The  night  passed 
long  and  miserable  to  poor  Jacko,  who  was  evidently  much 
astonished  at  this  unwonted  treatment;  all  night  long  the  mice 
scampered  about  the  place,  regardless  of  their  enemy,  while  he, 
most  uncatlike,  was  coiled  up  in  a  soup  tureen  fast  asleep.  The 
morning  waned,  the  mice  retired  to  their  holes,  Jacko  awoke, 
scratched  his  shivering  hide,  and  having  first  pushed  the  tureen, 
his  bed,  from  the  shelf  to  its  utter  demolition,  looked  about  for 
something  to  eat.  The  jam-pots  attracted  his  notice.  "  There  is 
something  good  here,  thought  he,'^  as  he  smelt  the  coverings. 
^^  I  '11  see.''  His  sharp  teeth  soon  made  an  aperture ;  he  was  not 
disappointed.  The  treasured  jams,  raspberry,  strawberry,  plum, 
the  vaunted  Scotch  marmalade,  the  candied  apricots,  the  pride  and 
care  of  the  cook,  disappeared  in  an  unaccountably  short  time 
down  into  the  seemingly  small  gullet  of  the  sweet-toothed  Jacko. 
Not  if  I  had  a  hundred  mouths  and  a  hundred  tongues,  could 
I  describe  the  imprecations  hurled  at  the  devoted  head  of  the 
now  sick  and  overgorged  gourmand  by  the  disappointed  and 
illogical  cook,  the  owner  of  the  jams,  as  she  opened  the  door  of 
the  larder  at  breakfast  time  to  see  how  many  mice  the  monkey 
had  caught.  Great  was  the  anger  of  the  female  gaoler;  great 
the  malicious  grins  of  the  captive.    Tastes  differ  as  mixdx  in 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


MY    MONKEY   JACKO.  671 

animals  as  in  man,  and,  moreover,  there  is  no  accounting  for  them 
in  either  case.  Some  few  days  after  this  affair  dejam,  Jacko,  having 
been  reinstated  in  favour,  was  warming  himself  before  the  kitchen 
fire;  a  cricket  that  had  been  singing  merrily  in  the  ashes,  came  a 
little  too  far  out  on  to  the  hearthstone :  his  fate  was  sealed — the 
next  jump  he  made  was  down  the  throat  of  Jacko,  who  munched 
liim  up  an  an  epicure  does  the  leg  of  a  woodcock.  The  next  tit- 
bit was  a  black  beetle,  who  ran  out  to  secure  a  crumb,  spilt  from 
the  servants*  supper  table.  He,  too,  became  a  victim  to  his  rash- 
ness, and  not  he  alone,  but  many  of  his  black  friends  and  relatives, 
who  incautiously  exposed  themselves  before  the  candles  were  put 
out.  Having  ascertained  that  these  beetles  were  nuts  to  Jacko, 
I  one  day  gave  him  a  great  treat  by  upsetting  the  kitchen  beetle- 
trap  in  his  presence — both  paws  instantly  went  to  work — whole 
bunches  of  the  unfortunate  insects  he  crammed  into  his  pouches, 
which  he,  like  most  other  mionkeys,  had  on  each  side  of  his  mouth, 
and  which  serve  as  pockets,  munching  away  as  hard  as  he  could  at 
the  same  time.  His  paws  could  not  catch  the  prey  fast  enough, 
BO  he  set  his  feet  to  work,  and  grasped  with  them  as  many  as  he 
could  hold.  This  was  not  enough.  He  swept  a  lot  together  with 
his  tail,  and  coiling  it  up  closely,  kept  them  there  close  prisoners 
till  his  mouth  was  a  little  empty,  and  he  had  time  to  catch  and 
devour  them.  This  was  really  too  greedy.  I  took  him  away 
from  the  feast,  still,  however,  munching  with  all  his  might,  and 
looking  back  at  the  box  with  wishful  eyes.  If  we  wanted  at  any 
future  period  to  make  him  in  a  good  humour,  his  flagging  spirits 
were  instantly  roused  by  the  sight  of  the  beetle-trap. 

His  insectivorous  propensities  were  not  confined  to  this  class 
alone* 

Spiders  formed  a  pleasant  variety ;  not  a  spider  was  left  alive 
either  in  the  stable  or  outside  the  stable  where  he  was  confined, 
and  most  enormous  stones  would  he  pick  out  of  this  wall  with  his 
little  fingers,  in  search  of  a  run-away  web  spinner.  He  was  really 
of  great  use  in  clearing  the  house  of  this  housemaid^s  pest.  I 
often  used  to  put  a  bit  of  string  to  the  end  of  his  chain,  and  make 
him  run  up  the  curtains  of  the  rooms  of  the  house.  He  would 
then  completely  rummage  out  and  devour  every  spider,  who 
having  frequently  had  their  webs  so  frequently  knocked  down  by 
the  relentless  broom,  had  thought  to  spin  them  in  security  on  the 
top  of  the  cornices  and  among  the  curtain  rods. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  he  watched  his  opportunity,  and  sud- 
denly snatching  the  string  out  of  my  hand,  straightway  bolted  out 
of  the  window,  the  top  part  of  which  happened  to  be  open.  Away  he 
went,  the  chain  held  up  aloft  in  his  tail,  as  was  his  wont  when  he 
found  it  in  his  way,  over  the  garden  wall,  down  the  village  road, 
up  into  the  village.  The  parish  school  turned  out  from  their 
lessons  at  this  moment,  and  a  regular  pursuit  took  place,  the  boys 
shouted  and  threw  up  their  parochial  caps,  the  girls  did  not  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  be  frightened.  In  an  instant  Jacko  was  on 
the  top  of  the  nearest  cottage,  and  returned  the  derisive  shouts  of 
the  boys  by  angry  and  incessant  chattering ;  he  grinned  from  ear 
to  ear,  and  showed  an  array  of  sharp  teeth,  as  much  as  to  say 


572l  MY   MONKEY   JACKO. 

^  Touch  me  if  you  dare."  His  hair  was  all  erect,  as  was  always 
the  case  when  he  was  alarmed  or  excited^  so  that  he  looked  double 
his  natural  size,  and  he  shook  his  tail  in  angry  defiance.  The 
numerous  stones  and  sticks  thrown  at  him  in  fun  by  the  boys,  for 
they  knew  him  well  and  did  not  want  to  hurt  him,  soon  made  him 
decamp,  and  off  he  went  along  the  roofs  of  the  cottages,  his  chain 
making  a  fearful  clatter  on  the  tiles,  to  the  alarm  of  the  aged  in- 
mates sitting  at  their  ease  within.  The  crowd  collected,  the  ex- 
citement became  immense ;  the  police  were  not  called  out,  because 
there  is  only  one  constable ;  he,  being  a  baker,  turned  out  in  his 
white  cap,  and  sleeves  tucked  up ;  armed  with  the  official  wand  of 
office,  determined  to  take  up  somebody.  Next  came  the  church- 
warden :  "  Lay  hold  of  the  rascal,  boys,"  cries  he,  "  and  we  will  put 
him  in  the  pound."  "  Like  I  *11  stay  there,"  clatters  Jacko, "  and, 
moreover,  you  must  catch  me  first,"  and  off  he  goes  again,  followed 
by  the  whole  village.  The  fun  gets  warm,  Jacko  begins  to  repent, 
jumps  on  to  a  tree,  and  slips  down  one  side  while  the  boys  are 
watching  on  the  other;  he  bounds  across  the  road,  over  the  garden 
gate,  through  the  broken  stable  window/to  his  own  bed  in  the  hay* 
loft,  where  he  lies,  his  eyes  closed,  his  little  sides  ready  to  burst 
from  running,  and  his  mouth  half  open  ;  doubtless,  at  this  mo- 
ment he  came  to  the  determination  never  to  leave  home  again,  for 
he  certainly  never  did,  and  likewise  to  have  his  revenge  upon  the 
parish  boys  for  persecuting  him,  for  from  this  day  he  always  flew 
at,  and  tried  to  bite,  any  boy  wearing  the  parochial  livery. 

On  a  future  occasion,  when  he  got  loose,  remembering  his 
previous  determination,  he  ventured  not  beyond  the  premises,  but 
quietly  sneaked  into  the  knife-house,  and  tried  his  hand  at  cleaning 
the  knives ;  in  this  attempt  he  was  evidently  not  successful,  inaa^ 
much  as  the  handles  were  the  parts  he  attempted  to  polish  on  the 
brick-board,  and  a  cut  was  found  in  the  middle  of  his  hand  the 
next  day.  Resolved,  however,  not  to  be  done,  he  set  to  work  to 
clean  the  shoes  in  imitation  of  the  man  William,  his  kind  and  in- 
dulgent custoB  here ;  again,  he  had  not  distinctly  recollected  the 
various  steps  necessary  for  the  right  performance  of  the  operation, 
for  he  covered  an  unfortunate  shoe  all  over,  sole  and  all,  with  the 
blacking  which  he  got  out  of  the  blacking  bottle,  and  then  he 
emptied  what  was  left  of  the  precious  Day  and  Martin  into  the 
hollow  of  the  shoe,  nearly  filling  it — his  coat  was  in  a  nice  mess  for 
some  days  afterwards.  One  morning,  again,  when  the  servants 
returned  from  the  parlour  into  the  kitchen,  they  found  Jacko  bad 
taken  all  the  kitchen  candlesticks  out  of  the  cupboard  and  arranged 
them  on  the  fender,  before  the  fire,  as  he  bad  seen  done  before ; 
finding  the  black-lead  in  the  same  place,  he  took  it  to  a  bowl  of 
water  which  was  on  the  table,  wetted  it,  was  diligently  rubbing  the 
table  all  over  with  it  when  he  was  caught  in  the  act ;  on  the  en» 
trance  of  the  servants,  he  immediately  retreated  to  his  basket  in 
the  comer,  and  tried  to  look  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
A  great  treat  to  this  would-be  kitchen  maid  was  to  have  a  large 
bowl  of  warm  water  given  him ;  he  would  first  of  all  cunningly  test 
the  temperature  with  his  hand,  and  then  gradually  step  into  the 
bath,  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other,  finally,  completely  sitting 


MY   MONKEY  JACKOi  57S 

down  in  it»  Comfortably  placed,  he  would  then  take  the  soap  in 
his  hands  or  feet^  as  the  case  might  be,  and  rub  himself  all  over. 
Having  made  a  dreadful  mess  on  the  table>  and  finding  the  water 
becoming  cold^  the  next  part  of  the  play  was  to  get  out  and  run 
as  quick  as  he  could  to  the  fire>  where  his  coat  soon  became  dry. 
If  anybody  laughed  at  him  during  this  performance,  he  would 
chatter  and  grin  at  them,  and  frequently  even  splash  water  out 
of  the  bath  towards  them  and  sometimes  over  them» 

There  was  a  story  told  of  this  pattern  of  cleanliness  in  animals, 
for  the  truth  of  which  I  cannot  vouchsafe,  but  it  is  that  Jacko  one 
day  nearly  committed  suicide  in  a  most  extraordinary  way,  namely, 
by  boiling  himself  to  death.  The  large  kitchen  kettle  was  left  on 
the  fire  to  boil  for  tea :  after  a  time  Jakco  jumped  up  and  took  the 
lid  ofl^,  finding  it  becoming  warm  he  got  in  and  sat  down  with  his 
head  only  appearing  above  the  water ;  this  was  all  very  comfortable 
for  some  little  time,  but  the  water,  heated  by  the  flames  beneath, 
began  to  get  hot,  the  latter  raised  his  body  a  little,  but  finding  it 
very  cold  immediately  sat  down  again.  This  he  continued  for  some 
time,  never  having,  or  rather  being  able  to  summon  up,  the  courage 
to  face  the  cold  air;  the  consequence  was  that  the  poor  little 
wretch  was  nearly  boiled  to  death,  and,  if  had  not  been  for  the 
timely  interference  of  a  bystander,  who  took  his  parboiled  carcase 
out  by  main  force,  for  he  never  would  have  got  out  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, he  would  have  become  a  martyr  to  his  own  want  of  pluck 
and  firmness  in  action. 

If  phrenologists  had  made  out  that  there  was  a  part  of  the 
brain  especially  devoted  to  mischief,  I  am  certain  that  it  would 
have  been  found  largely  dveloped  in  Jacko.  He  was  for  ever  tear- 
ing things  to  bits.  Whenever  ladies  came  near  him,  his  first  object 
was  to  get  hold  of  their  dresses,  and  bite  or  pull  a  hole  in  them. 
Being  a  most  ungallant  monkey,  he  never  could  bear  the  approach 
of  the  softer  sex,  except  one  lady ;  why  or  wherefore  he  took  par- 
ticular fancy  to  her  I  don^t  know,  except  that  he  followed  the 
example  of  all  those,  whether  biped  or  quadruped,  who  came  near 
her.  In  this  lady's  lap  he  would  quietly  repose,  when  she  allowed 
him  to  take  this  liberty ;  but  the  little  rascal  very  frequently  took 
unfair  advantage  of  this  allowance,  by  quietly  munching  up  a 
portion  of  her  dress  when  not  closely  watched. 

This  tearing  propensity  was  nearly  bringing  vengeance  down  on 
his  master^s  head,  and  his  own  at  the  same  time.  On  going  to 
Oxford  of  course  I  took  Jacko  with  me;  his  presence  was  soon  as- 
certained by  the  sharp-sighted  regulator  of  fines  for  dogs,  and  many 
a  fine  I  paid  for  Jacko,  Who  has  been  before  demonstrated  to  be  a 
dog  in  the  sight  of  railway  as  well  as  college  authorities.  Still, 
however,  I  left  him  in  my  room,  teaching  him  to  retire  into  his  bag 
at  the  word  of  command,  when  any  suspicious  footsteps  approached. 
The  end  of  term  arrived,  and  with  it  the  day  of  examination,  com- 
monly called  collections,  to  be  dreaded  by  delinquents,  as  then  all 
the  evil  deeds  during  the  term  of  the  examinee  were  summoned 
up  by  the  tutor,  and  judgment  pronounced  by  greater  authorities. 
For  some  days  previous  to  this  ordeal  I  had  feared  that  I  should 
be  called  to  task  for  harbouring  such  an  unclassical  animal  as  a 


574  BfY  MONKEY  JACKO. 

monkey,  and  therefore  redoubled  my  exertions;  principally  by 
taking  great  pains  to  make  a  very  careful  written  analysis  of  one 
of  the  tutor's  lectures  in  a  well-ruled  note-book.  So  that  were  the 
monkey  mentioned,  the  note-book  might  by  chance  save  me  from 
presentation  to  the  good-natured,  but  stern  interpreter  of  the  lair. 

The  viv&  voce  examination  on  the  appointed  day  went  off  well ; 
"Where  is  your  note-book,  sir,*'  was  the  question — woe  be  to  the 
man  who  has  no  note-book  on  such  an  occasion.  Off  I  went  to 
fetch  it ;  on  opening  the  door  of  my  rooms,  oh,  horror,  it  was 
torn  to  a  thousand  pieces. 

^^'Jacko,  we  are  both  ruined,*'  I  exclaimed.  Jacko  did  not  seem 
to  mind  in  the  least,  but  continued  his  work  of  destruction ;  not  a 
page  was  left  in  the  book,  the  diagrams  were  torn  into  shreds,  and 
even  the  paper  from  the  covers  had  not  resisted  his  relentless 
fingers.  The  perpetrator  of  all  this  simply  grinned  a  grin  of  de- 
light, while  watching  me  pick  up  the  bits,  which  I  did  with  a 
trembling  hand  and  misgiving  heart.  I  had  not  even  courage  to 
scold  him  or  pitch  him  out  of  the  window,  so  terrific  might  be  the 
consequences  of  the  deed  of  the  rascal  to  his  master.  Gathering 
up  the  scattered  relics  of  many  an  hour  of  weary  writing,  I  made  as 
decent  a  bundle  of  them  as  possible,  and  pale,  half  with  anger 
against  Jacko,  half  with  fear  of  impending  consequences,  re-entered 
the  hall,  and  presented  them  to  the  expectant  tutors  who  won- 
dered what  had  kept  me  so  long  gone.  Still  more  did  the  good 
man  wonder  when  he  saw  such  a  note-book  presented  to  him.  In 
a  few  words,  I  explained  what  had  happened,  and  awaited  my 
doom  in  silence ;  most  good-naturedly,  however,  he  examined  the 
fragments,  more  particularly  the  diagrams,  (which,  by  the  by,  I  had 
not  drawn  myself,  but  had  entrusted  to  the  clever  hand  of  the 
good-natured  lady  mentioned  above  as  taking  such  notice  of  Jacko,) 
and  said,  '^  You  have  evidently  taken  much  pains  with  your  notes, 
sir,  you  may  go."  So  great  was  my  glee,  that  I  had  mercy  on 
Jacko,  and  did  not  shake  him  well,  the  greatest  punishment  I  could 
inflict  on  him,  but  merely  shut  him  up  in  his  bag,  and  for  three 
hours  hung  him  up  for  penance,  on  to  a  hat-peg. 

But  alas  I 

'*  Pahida  mors  flsquo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabemas, 
Monkiumque  tubbos.** 

Jacko  escaped  not ;  he  got  an  attack  of  bronchitis,  was  wrapped 
in  flannel,  and  placed  before  the  fire.  Invalid's  diet  was  ad- 
ministered, but  in  vain, — he  died,  and  his  remains  were  sent  up  to 
Lon  don.  Not  wishing  to  lose  sight  of  him  altogether,  and  know- 
ing what  hideous  objects  stuffed  monkeys  generally  are,  I  made 
his  skin  into  a  mat  for  the  table,  and  the  rest  of  him  into  a 
skeleton.  The  black  beetles  on  this  occasion  had  their  revenge, 
for  placing  them  in  a  box  where  they  could  get  no  other  food, 
they  very  soon  cleaned  the  bones  of  their  enemy  and  devourer. 
— And  now. 

In  a  cabinet,  high  on  a  shelf. 

He  lies  as  a  monument  rais*d  to  himself. 

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575 


CAMPAIGNS  OF  TURKEY  ON  THE  DANUBE. 

Up  to  tbe  peace  of  Carlowitz,  at  the  coininenceinent  of  the  18th 
century,  Austria  was  the  foe  which  Turkey  threatened,  or  which 
threatened  Turkey,  Hungary  being  the  battle-field  between  thenu 
In  the  first  centuries  of  the  war  the  Ottomans  had  decidedly  the 
superiority  from  the  numbers  which  they  brought  into  the  field, 
and  the  more  perfect  nature  of  their  artillery,  prorisionment,  and 
equipment.  Against  these  incontestable  advantages  the  Germans 
chiefly  resisted  by  opposing  fortresses  and  castles  to  the  fury  of 
the  Turks;  the  latter,  never  fighting  in  winter,  and  selaom 
mustering  till  late  in^  spring,  were  baulked  of  the  results  of  a 
whole  campaign  by  one  fortress,  which  ofiered  lengthened  re- 
sistance. Latterly,  however,  the  Germans,  arid  especially  the 
Poles,  came  to  muster  in  greater  numbers  and  in  larger  armies. 
The  Turks  having  once  or  twice  menaced  Vienna,  sdarmed  the 
powers  of  Europe  to  arm  to  its  rescue.  And  the  16th  century  pro- 
duced in  Europe  increased  hardihood  and  experience  in  war,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  a  more  than  usual  amount  of  religious  zeal.  In 
the  17th  century  these  were  both  turned  against  the  Ottomans,  and 
the  strength  derived  from  them  enabled  the  Germans  to  recover 
their  superiority,  and  to  drive  the  Turks  more  and  more  south 
of  the  Danube. 

This  was  rendered  more  easy  by  the  rise  of  Russia  to  be  a 
power,  far  more  formidable  to  the  Turks  than  Poland  had  proved. 
Peter  the  Great  had  a  peculiar  policy  or  mania  which,  though  not 
founded  on  reason,  still  had  great  results.  Peter  imagined  that 
the  sea  was  the  field  of  empire,  and  that  a  coast  was  a  far  more 
valuable  acquirement  than  any  amount  of  inland  kingdom.  It 
was  for  this  reason  that  he  turned  to  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea, 
conquered  of  them  all  that  he  could,  and  proceeded  to  build  for- 
tresses and  ships,  in  every  spot  that  was,  or  promised  to  be,  a 
sea-port.  This  ambition  alarmed  the  Porte  even  more  than  ex- 
peditions by  land,  as  well  it  might,  since  the  ambition  of  Russia 
to  grasp  all  the  northern  shore  of  the  Black  Sea,  shut  out  the 
Sultan  from  his  valuable  allies,  the  Tartars,  Mahommedans  of 
the  same  wild  and  warlike  race  as  that  from  which  the  Tiurks 
themselves  sprang. 

Peter,  discontented  with  the  Peace  of  Carlowitz,  did  not  abandon 
the  augmentation  of  his  fleet  in  the  Black  Sea.  He  fortified 
Azoph  and  Taganrog,  and  evidently  prepared  for  firesh  aggressions. 
The  Grand  Vizier  Ali  longed  to  avenge  and  repress  these  acts  by 
war,  which  the  more  pacific  Sultan  opposed.  The  Grand  Vizier, 
however,  opened  communications  with  Charles  the  Twelfth,  then 
intent  on  invading  Russia.  The  day  of  Pultowa  followed  (1709), 
and  Charles  was  soon  a  fugitive  on  Turkish  territory.  The  Sultan 
was  still  more  alarmed  at  this  new  triumph  of  Russia,  and  the 
Grand  Vizier  was  sacrificed  to  the  maintenance  of  peace.    War» 

VOL.  XXXIV,  Digitized  by    gj  2 


576  CAMPAIGNS   OF  TURKEY 

however,  was  not  avoided,  for  Russia  was  too  exultant  after  the- 
defeat  of  its  aich-enemy  Charles  the  Twelfth.    The  Porte,  there- 
fore,  under  a  new  Grand  Vizier,  Baltadschi,  was  obliged  to  declare 
war,  and  to  march  its  armies  northward,  whilst  Peter,  deteraiiDed 
to  be  himself  a  conqueror,  and  to  command  his  forces,  led  them  to 
the  rencounter  of  the  Turks.    The  army  of  the  Sultan  passed  the 
Danube,  at  Isaktchi,  whilst  those  of  the  Czar  passed  the  Pruth  at 
Cecora.    He  soon  found  the  Tuilish  army  in  front  of  him,  with 
the  Tartars  behind,  to  cut  off  communication  and  retreat.     The 
country  into  which  the  military  inexperience  of  Peter  had  brought 
him,  was  a  marsh,  from  which  there  was  no  issue  but  by  passages 
well  known  and  guarded.    In  attempting  to  fight,  the  Russians^ 
were  worsted*   The  details  are  too  well  known  by  the  popular  nar- 
rative of  Voltaire.    Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Peter,  at  no  very  distant 
time  after  his  defeat  of  Charles,  was  himself  caught,  still  more 
completely,  in  a  trap  by  the  Turks.    The  Czar  gave  himself  up 
to  despair,  but  he  was  roused  by  his  Empress  Catherine,  who 
accompanied  him,  and  who,  with  the  ladies  of  her  suite,  sacri- 
ficed their  ornaments,  and  thus  made  up  a  large  sum,  where- 
with to  bribe  the  influential  officers  of  the  Sultan's  camp.     The 
Grand  Vizier's  Kiaia  got  200,000  rubles.    The  Tartars  were  pro- 
mised a  yearly  tribute,  but  the  Czar  was  obliged  to  surrender 
Azoph  and  his  conquests  on  the  Black  Sea,  as  the  price  of  his- 
being  allowed  to  return  to  Russia  with  his  more  disgraced  than 
discomfited  army.     Such  was  the  treaty  or  convention  of  the 
Pruth,  signed  in  the  month  of  July,  1711. 

It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  Austria,  that  Russia  came 
forward  in  the  first  ten  or  twelve  years  of  the  century,  to  avert  the 
attention  and  the  arms  of  the  Turks ;  for  Austria,  during  that 
period,  was  menaced  with  one  of  those  periodical  epochs  of  dis- 
aster, which  have  always  come  to  try  her,  and  which  would  have 
destroyed  a  less  fortunate  or  vivacious  power.  In  this  year  Lonis- 
the  Fourteenth  attacked  Austria  with  his  armies,  and  she  was  only 
saved  from  destruction  by  the  genius  and  the  courage  of  Marl- 
borough ;  whilst  at  the  same  time  an  insurrection,  very  like  that 
under  Kossuth  in  our  own  time,  nearly  tore  Hungary  from  the  Aus- 
trian Emperor,  Ratgotsky  being  its  leader  in  that  dav. 

During  the  last  war  with  Russia,  that  power  had  begun  to  ex- 
ercise its  influence  over  the  Christian  rayahs  of  Turkey  to  make 
them  rise  against  the  Sultan.  The  Czar  then  took  the  Vladika  of 
Montenegro  into  his  pay ;  who,  for  some  twenty  thousand  ducaU 
annually,  was  alwavs  ready  for  a  foray  on  the  Turks.  The  Pacha 
of  Bosnia  marched  forward  into  Montenegro,  massacred  and  ex- 
pelled the  inhabitants,  who  took  refuge  in  Daimatia.  The  reader 
will  be  struck  by  the  similarity  of  these  events  to  those  of  recent 
time.  The  Venetian  authorities  of  Dalmatia  sought  to  protect  the 
Montenegrins,  and  the  consequence  was  that  the  grand  Vizier,  All, 
declared  war  against  Venice.  That  republic  had  no  longer  the 
large  armies,  nor  the  military  practice,  which  enabled  her  in  the 
last  century  to  conquer  the  Morea.  Ali  marched  southwards  into 
the  Morea,  and,  acting  in  conjunction  with  his  fleets,  succeeded  i^ 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC    . 


J 


ON  THE  DANUBE.  S7^ 

expelling  the  Venetians  from  all  their  conqnests  on  the  mainlaiid; 
and  thus,  as  he  though ty  extinguished  the  last  hopes  of  the  Chris- 
tian races  in  the  south  of  the  Hellenic  peninsula. 

Had  the  Turks  been  wise,  or  had  they  had  any  traditional 
policy,  the  experience  of  one  grand  Vizier  descending  to  another, 
they  would  have  remained  at  peace  with  Western  Europe,  and  ob- 
served the  treaty  of  CarlonitZc  contenting  themselves  with  the 
I>aiiube  as  a  frontier,  and  directing  all  their  military  efforts  to  re- 
sist the  growing  power  of  Russia.  Instead  of  this,  Ali  undertook 
the  reduction  of  the  Greek  Christians  and  the  destruction  of  the 
Venetian  sovereignty  in  the  Morea,  and  thereby  aroused  the  fears 
and  enmities  of  western  Europe,  just  as  the  late  Turkish  ministry, 
hy  it^  onslaught  on  Montenegro,  nearly  incurred  a  war  with  Aus- 
tria. In  1716,  the  councils  of  Austria  were  directed  by  Prince 
Cugene,  and  he  proposed  that  Austria  should  mediate  between 
Venice  and  Turkey,  in  order  to  preserve  the  peace.  The  proposal 
was  haughtily  rejected  by  the  Grand  Vizier,  and  Austria  then 
openly  allying  with  Venice,  war  between  the  old  rivals  broke  o«t 
upon  the  Danube.  The  reasons  given  by  Prince  Eugene  for 
taking  part  with  Venice,  and  risking  war  with  Turkey,  are  curious. 
The  Prince  says  that  the  Turks  would  get  the  better  of  the  Vene- 
tians, would  conquer  Corfu,  and  perhaps  more  of  their  territories 
on  the  Adriatic,  and  that  they  would  thus  have  facilities  for  pass- 
ing into  Italy,  in  the  troubled  affairs  of  which  they  would  mingle. 
To  prevent  this.  Prince  Eugene  recommended  it  as  advisable  to 
occupy  the  Turics  upon  the  Danube. 

It  was  late  in  the  summer  of  1716  that  the  Sultan  and  the 
Emperor  marched  each  an  army  of  150,000  to  the  Danube  at  its^ 
junction  with  the  Save.  All  the  German  powers  supported 
Austria  with  ample  contingents.  The  glorious  campaigns  in  which 
Eugene  had  fought  by  the  side  of  Marlborough,  and  in  which 
both  had  won  such  experience  in  war,  as  well  as  so  many  victories 
over  the  French,  inspired  the  Germans  and  their  commanders 
with  a  high  sense  of  their  superiority  over  the  Turks.  And  one 
cause  of  the  war  was  their  determination  to  prove  and  to  show 
this,  so  as  to  put  an  end  once  for  all  to  the  pretensions  and 
ambition  of  the  Ottoman. 

On  the  1st  of  August,  Eugene  left  Vienna.  He  fonnd  hia 
army  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Danube.  The  Turks  were  at  the 
same  time  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Save,  commanded  by  the  Grand 
Vizier,  Ali,  the  conqueror  of  the  Morea,  and,  by  his  ambition  to 
conquer  Venice  or  its  Adriatic  territories,  the  provocator  of  the 
war.  Both  sides  were  anxious  to  come  to  blows.  The  Turks^ 
lost  no  time  in  passing  the  Save,  and  Prince  Eugene  forthwith 
crossed  the  Danube  to  Peterwaradin.  There  were  old  lines  or 
trenches  in  front  of  this  town  facing  the  Turks.  Behind  these 
Eugene  encamped. 

There  are  no  battles  which  it  is  more  easy  to  study  than  those 
of  Prince  Eugene.  The  Imperial  historiographer,  Dumont,  has 
written  circumstantial  accounts  of  them  under  the  eye  of  Prince 
Eugene ;  and  not  only  this,  but  prepared  charts  and  drawings  of 

B  s  2  Z 


i;78  CAMPAIGNS  OF  TURKEY 

the  actions,  with  which  he  proceeded  to  the  Hague,  there  causing 
them  to  be  engraved  and  published.  The  battles  are  thus,  bj 
means  of  pencil  or  of  graver,  as  well  as  pen,  put  vividly  before  as. 

*^  As  the  Imperialists  fortified  their  positions,  the  Turks  ad- 
vanced towards  them.  They  encamped  on  the  evening  of  the 
drd  of  September  at  a  league^^s  distance  of  the  Imperial  camp,  and 
instantly  commenced  opening  trenches  in  two  places,  and  draw- 
ing parallels.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  Turks  to  make  approaches 
in  this  manner.*'  Another  military  writer  of  this  period  describes 
the  Turkish  works  as  not  regular  trenches,  but,  in  fact,  as  a  series 
of  large  holes,  connected  by  shallow  passages.  There  were  a 
hundred  of  these  holes  in  front  of  the  Turks,  which,  although 
they  were  of  great  advantage  in  protecting  their  advance,  and 
allowing  them  to  fire  from  under  cover,  became  very  embar- 
rassing as  soon  as  the  fight  began,  and  especially  when  a  retreat 
became  necessary.  It  enabled  the  Turks,  however,  to  open  a 
heavy  fire  of  musquetry  and  artillery  upon  Eugene's  camp,  and, 
in  fact,  the  Turks  thus  forced  him  to  come  out  of  it  and  fight. 

The  two  armies  took  three  or  four  hours  to  range  themselves  in 
order  of  battle.  The  Imperialists  at  firat  occupied  the  line  of 
entrenchments  called  Caprara,  to  which  Eugene  ordered  no  works 
or  entrenchments  to  be  added.  He  placed  six  battalions  under 
Prince  Alexander  of  Wurtemberg  on  the  height  to  the  right,  kept 
twenty  battalions  in  reserve  in  the  second  line  of  entrenchments, 
and  placed  his  cavalry  on  the  left  in  a  hollow  protected  by  a  marsh. 
The  chief  aim  of  the  Prince  was  so  to  protect  his  flanks,  that  the 
Turkish  cavalry  could  not  turn  them,  or  attack,  as  was  their  wont, 
from  behind,  or  fi'om  aside. 

Of  the  150,000  men  of  the  Turks,  there  were  but  40,000  janis- 
saries, and  80,000  spahis,  a  poor  collection  of  regular  troops  to 
what  the  Turkish  generals  were  wont  to  collect.  The  rest  were 
Tartars,  Amauts,  and  irregulars.  The  Grand  Vizier  had  not  all 
his  artillery  brought  up  in  time,  and  these  lost  the  use  of  his 
batteries  to  check  the  Imperialists.  He  also  committed  the  fault 
of  placing  a  large  body  in  reserve,  which  remaining  without  orders 
throughout  the  heat  of  the  action,  were  routed  without  having 
taken  any  part  in  it. 

Prince  Alexander  of  Wurtemberg  began  the  action  by  an  impe* 
tuous  advance  to  reach  and  take  the  battery  in  front  of  him. 
Whilst  he  did  so  with  much  bravery  and  success,  the  Imperialist 
line  was  ordered  to  issue  from  the  entrenchments.  To  these 
there  were  but  eight  apertures  or  issues.  In  crowding  out  of 
them  some  disorder  ensued.  Of  this  the  Turks  took  advantage, 
rushing  from  their  entrenchments,  or,  as  Dumont  calls  them,  their 
holes,  and  falling  upon  the  Imperialists.  These  were  totally 
driven  back,  not  only  into  the  first,  but  the  second  line  of  en- 
trenchments, and  many  bodies  of  the  Imperialists  were  cut  off. 
Amongst  others,  Count  Bonneval  was  isolated  with  about  200. 
They  were  all  killed  save  twenty-five,  and  Bonneval  himself 
transfixed  with  a  lance,  but  he  managed  to  crawl  away  to  the 
river.    This  success  of  the  Turks  was  achieved  principally  upon 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


ON  THE  DANUBE.  579- 

the  right  of  the  German  infantry,  which  sUll  dustained  the  attack 
in  the  second  line  of  entrenchments.  At  this  time  Prince  Eugene, 
recalled  his  cavalry  from  the  left,  to  charge  the  janissaries  in 
flank,  victorious  as  they  were,  between  the  two  lines  of  entrench- 
ments. This  was  executed  by  Count  Palfi.  And  the  janissaries 
were  so  broken  and  ridden  down  by  it,  that  they  were  not  only 
obliged  to  abandon  their  first  advantages,  but  retire  behind  the 
lines  which  they  had  forced.  The  spahis,  or  Turkish  cavalry, 
tried  to  support  their  janissaries,  but  they  were  no  match  for  the 
heavy  German  Reiters,  who  rode  them  down  and  demolished 
them  both  in  charge  and  in  single  combat  The  Turkish  infantry 
of  that  day,  when  checked  or  beaten,  could  never  rally,  save  at 
a  considerable  distance  in  the  rear.  They  were  as  yet  ignorant  of 
the  custom  of  the  European  soldiers  to  form  a  group,  if  few,  or  a 
square,  if  many,  in  order  to  withstand  cavalry,  take  breathing-time 
for  themselves,  or  cover  a  retreat.  When  worsted,  even  in  an 
advanced  attack,  the  Turks  could  but  run  in  disorder,  doing  every- 
thing, as  Dumont  says,  either  with  frenzied  audacity,  or  hopeless 
panic.  They  might  have  rallied  in  their  holes  or  trenches,  had 
the  Turks  flung  themselves  into  them  with  coolness  and  determi- 
nation. But  they,  for  the  most  part,  stumbled  into  them,  pell 
mell  with  the  Imperialists,  and  were  cut  to  pieces.  It  was 
a  complete  rout.  The  Turks  abandoned  everything.  But  Eugene 
did  not  pursue  them.  He  feared  the  spahis  rallying  at  a  distance. 
He  had  lost  3000  killed,  and  2000  wounded.  The  Turks  left 
6000  dead.  The  Grand  Vizier,  when  he  saw  the  janissaries 
repulsed,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  2000  guards  to  charge  the 
Reiters.  But  his  Turks  were  ridden  down,  and  the  Vizier 
received  two.  severe  wounds,  of  which  he  died  on  the  morrow  at 
Carlowitz.  Before  he  breathed  his  last,  he  ordered  one  of  his 
captives,  the  Count  de  Brenner,  to  be  put  to  death. 

The  Turkish  arms  had  never  received  a  more  decisive  blow. 
They  showed  greater  bravery,  and  their  janissaries,  such  as  were 
of  them,  showed  themselves  better  soldiers,  at  least  in  attack, 
than  the  German  infantry,  even  after  the  late  wars  on  the  Rhine. 
But  the  Turks  had  not  enough  of  regular  soldiers.  The  janis- 
saries themselves  knew  not  the  common  tactics  and  discipline  of 
retreat,  whilst  the  light  Turkish  cavalry  had  fallen  into  decided 
inefficiency.  Above  all,  the  Imperialists  had  the  advantage  in  an 
able  and  experienced  general,  which  was  totally  wanting  on  the 
part  of  the  Turks. 

The  rest  of  the  campaign  of  1716  was  occupied  by  the  siege  of 
Temesvar,  which  Prince  Eugene  instantly  formed,  and  which  town 
the  Turks  most  gallantly  defended,  and  as  gallantly  made  repeated 
efforts  to  maintain.  On  one  of  these  occasions  more  men  were 
killed  on  both  sides  than  at  the  battle  of  Peterwaradin.  Both 
armies  were,  indeed,  indomitable  in  defence.  Though  the  Im- 
perialists made  breaches,  they  were  never  able  to  carry  them  by 
assault,  or  drive  the  Turks  from  them.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
Turks  never  succeeded  in  cutting  their  way  through,  to  succour 
the  town  with  either  reinforcements  or  provisions.    It  was  thus 

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5S0  CAMPAHUiiS  OF  TUAKEY 

thai,  TeHiesvar  was  obliged  to  capitnUto,  and  the  leuiiader  of  the 
garrison  was  allowed  to  retire  on  the  most  honousable  terms. 

The  following  yesr,  1717,  the  contending  parties  made  sdll 
greater  efforts  tbu  before.  Prince  Eugene  was  aUe  to  briog  into 
the  field  150,000  men,  and  the  Turks  mustered  an  equal  number  ; 
but  of  these  80,000  were  janissaries.  So  ample  and  caneial  were 
the  preparations  on  both  sides,  that  it  was  late  ere  the  loape* 
rialists,  and  very  late  before  the  Turks  took  the  field.  The  object 
Aat  Prince  Eugene  proposed  to  himselft  was  no  less  than  the 
capture  of  Belgrade,  the  fortress  and  key  of  the  middle  Danube* 
The  town,  every  one  knows,  is  situated  on  the  confluence  of  the 
Danube  and  tl>e  Save.  It  was  well  fortified  and  garrisoned  by 
30,000  men,  under  an  able  general.  Nevertheless,  Prince  Eugene 
passed  the  river,  and  established  his  army  in  lines,  extending  from 
the  Save  to  the  Danube,  and  thus  completely  investing  the  to«vn 
on  the  land-side.  He,  at  the  same  time,  connected  his  army  with 
his  own  bank  of  the  river,  by  means  of  two  bridges,  anc^  thoa 
posted,  he  commenced  the  siege. 

Tlte  Turkish  army  did  not  arrive  to  the  succour  of  Belgrade  for 
many  weeks  after  the  sie^e  had  commenced,  and  wisely,  £or 
although  the  artillery  of  Eugene  had  destroyed  many  of  the  forti- 
fications of  the  town,  still,  disease  thinned  his  own  ranks,  uid  the 
fever  which  raged  at  last  attacked  himself,  and  filled  the  army 
with  apprehension  that  they  would  be  left  in  their  critical  position 
without  a  leader.  Vienna  was  in  consternadoOy  the  Court  at  the 
fi>ot  of  the  altar,  praying  the  recovery  of  their  general.  Eugene  did 
recover,  but  his  army  bad  diminished  to  60,000  men,  when  the 
Grand  Vizier  made  his  appearance  on  the  heights  with  a  fresh  and 
numerous  army ;  with  these  before  hisH  and  a  strongly  fortified 
town,  manned  by  30,000  brave  Turks  behind  him,  there  were  few 
who  might  not  have  despaired  of  the  situation  of  the  Austrian 
army.  All,  indeed,  did  despair  save  Prince  JBugene  himself. 
Even  he,  had  he  not  had  so  many  laurels  which  he  feared  to  tar- 
nish, might  have  been  tempted  to  cross  his  bridge,  and  retiieaty 
while  the  Turkish  batteries,  firing  down  upcm  hts  camp,  carried 
off  whole  files,  and  spread  destruction  and  confusion  everywhere. 
Moreover,  the  Turks  followed  their  usual  plan  of  opening  trenches, 
and,  by  these  means  approaching  the  Imperialists'  camp,  throwing 
up  works  at  the  same  time^  so  that,  in  fact,  the  besieging  army 
became  besieged  in  its  turn. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  Imperialists  to  support  this  long,  espe- 
cially as  the  Turkbh  batteries  threatened  to  destroy  the  bridge 
over  the  Save,  and  as  their  trenches  had  come  within  pistol-shot 
of  the  Imperialist  ones.  On  the  15th  of  August,  therefore, 
Eugene  made  preparations  for  marchinc^  forth,  and  attacking  the 
enemy  on  the  morrow.  Three-fourths  of  the  army  were  to  move  ia 
two  lines  against  the  Turkish  camp  and  batteries^  and  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning  was  fixed  upon  as  the  homr. 

At  that  hour  the  Imperialists  moved  forth,  but  there  reigned  at 
the  moment  so  thick  a  fog,  that  it  was  impossible,  even  with 
lighU^  to  distinguish  anything.     Count  Palfi,  who  led  the  right, 

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OK  THS  DANUBE.  581 

ivitb  his  car^B^,  sckin  fell  into  tke  fooreoMMl  treneheft  of  tbe  Turks* 
A  sally  from  bis  startled  men  roosed  tbe  whole  Turkish  line,  who 
ran  to  anns»  with  deafening  shoots.  The  spabis,  or  Turkish 
-cavalry  were  the  first  to  get  on  horseback^  and  prepare  to  receive 
and  repel  the  Imperialists*  The  janissaries  then  formed^  and  tkere 
was  a  universal  m6Ue. 

When  light  came  to  gleam  upon  the  combatants,  and  tbe  smoke 
Tolled  suddenly  away,  Prince  Eugene  perceived  that  his  right  iring 
had  swept  away  all  obstacles  before  it,  and  had  advanced  accord* 
ingly,  whilst  all  the  rest  of  the  line  had  diverged  to  the  left,  leaving 
an  open  gap,  into  which  the  janissaries  had  rushed.  The  Prinoe 
-called  op  immediately  the  second  line  to  repel  the  janissaries,  and 
restore  Uie  connection  of  his  own  broken  ranks.  In  this  effort  the 
Prince  was  himself  wounded,  and  roughly  treated,  but  his  reserve 
came  up  in  time  to  save  him,  and  to  drive  back  the  Turks.  Had 
ilie  Turkish  general  been  present,  as  Eugene  was,  and  equally 
vigorous,  to  follow  up  tbe  advantage  gained  by  the  janissaries  in 
the  centre,  the  Turks  would  have  won  the  batUe.  But  there  was 
no  mind  or  hand  to  lead  or  direct  the  Ottomans  with  any  skill  or 
prudence*  They  were  in  consequence  driven  from  the  field  and 
totally  routed.  They  lost  20/)00  men,  amongst  whom  are  to  be 
<;ounted  about  5,000  wounded,  pot  to  the  sword  by  the  fury  of  the 
victors.  The  consequence  of  this  signal  victory  was,  first  the  sur* 
render  of  Belgrade,  and  a  numerous  material  of  war.  Besides 
the  160  guns  left  by  the  Turks  on  the  field,  no  less  than  680  were  * 
captured  in  Belgrade,  or  on  the  land  and  river  fleet 

Such  disasters  compelled  the  Grand  Vizier  to  sue  for  peaoe^ 
and  negotiations  were  opened  at  Passarowitz  under  the  me- 
•diation  of  England.  Wortley  Montague  at  first  went  out,  but 
Prince  Eugene  disliked  him,  and  the  duty  was  confided  to  otbers. 
The  peace  was  signed  on  the  21st  of  July,  1718.  The  principal 
feature  of  the  treaty  of  Passarowitz  was  Austria's  preserving,  not 
only  Belgrade,  but  a  large  share  of  Servia  adjoining  it,  as  well  as 
«ome  of  Wallacbia,  and  even  Bosnia.  In  fact,  Austria  by  that 
treaty,  put  her  foot  solidly  on  the  other  side  of  the  Danube,  a 
position,  however,  which  it  required  a  general  like  Prince  Eugene 
to  keep. 

From  the  year  1718  to  1739,  there  elapsed  a  score  of  years  of 
peace  between  Turkey  and  its  great  European  rivals.  Austria 
was  occupied  with  the  affairs  of  Spain,  Russia  with  those  of 
Poland.  Disgusted  by  tbe  unfortunate,  and  almost  ludicrous 
result  of  Peter  the  Great's  ambitious  projects  on  the  Black  Sea, 
his  successors  had  transferred  tbeir  attention  and  efforts  to  make 
Russia  a  European  power,  and  St  Petersburg,  the  great  Ras- 
sian  city,  abandoning  the  territories,  and  development  of  the  empire 
southwards.  Turkey,  on  its  side,  took  advantage  of  the  time  of 
respite,  to  turn  its  anas  against  Persia,  and  the  struggle  continued 
with  varying  success,  and  with  no  great  profit  to  eilber,  between 
the  two  great  Mahommedan  powers  of  Asia. 

When  the  Empress  Anne  succeeded  to  tbe  throne,  she  and  ber 
ministers  became  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  the  Porte's^suming 

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582  CAMPAIOKS  OF  TUKKET 

a  marked  superibrity  over  Persia,  and  of  tbe  Mahommedans 
passing  beyond  the  Caucasus,  and  by  means  of  tbe  Tartars  threat- 
ening the  independence  of  Russia  itself.  She  therefore  seized 
the  opportunity  of  Turkey  being  engaged  in  the  Persian  war  to 
attack  the  Tartars,  and  she  thus  renewed  altogether  that  warlike 
policy  of  Peter  the  Great,  directed  towards  the  Black  Sea  rather 
Uian  the  Baltic. 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  1736,  the  Russian  army  under  the 
command  of  Marshal  Munch,  assembled  to  the  number  of  54,000 
men,  at  Zaritsinka,  near  the  course  of  the  Dnieper.    Munch 
followed  the  left  bank  of  that  river,  until  he  reached  the  lines  of 
Perecop,  which  were  considered  impregnable  by  the  Crim  Tartars. 
These  famous  lines  consisted  of  a  deep   ditch,  with  wall   and 
rampart,  extending  across  the  isthmus,  and  defending  the  Crimea, 
as  a  similar  one  across  the  isthmus  of  Corinth  defended  the 
Morea.    Although  100,000  Tartars  were  said  to  have  gathered  to 
the  defence  of  this  entrenchment.  Munch  with  his  much  smaller 
force  did  not  hesitate  to  attack  it ;  and  he  came  up  on  the  28th  of 
May,  whilst  the  Turks  were  merely  hoisting  the  standard  of  war 
at  Constantinople.    They  never  were  in  time  for  the  first  attacks 
in  a  spring  campaign.     Munch  poured  with  his  army  into  the 
Crimea,  and  signalized  his  presence  by  the  most  ruthless  ravages. 
He  destroyed  everywhere  life  and  habitation,  destroyed  the  palace 
and  garden  of  the  Moslem  king  at   Baydjeserai,  and  a  magni- 
ficent library  with  it.     His  lieutenants  took  at  the  same  time 
several  important  fortresses,  of  which  Azoff  was '  the  principal ; 
and  then  Munch  evacuated  the  Crimea,  which  he  was  not  yet  in 
force  to  conquer  or  to  keep.     Towards  the  close  of  the  year  the 
Turks  were  allowed  to  take  their  revenge,  the  Tartar  chief  or 
Sultan  of  the  Crimea  being  changed,  the  new  chief  led  his  army 
hito  the  Ukraine,  defeated  a  body  of  6,000  Russians,  which  in 
vain  attempted  to  defend  it,  and  ravaged  the  province,  bringing  off 
30,000  slaves.     On   this   occasion   the  Turks  and  their  viziers 
did  everything  in  their  power  to  conciliate  and  keep  peace  with 
the  Emperor  of  Austria,  Charles  the  Sixth.     But  that  prince,  won 
by  the  blandishments  of  Russia,  and  desirous  of  claiming  for  him- 
self a  share  of  Turkey  to  compensate  his  losses  elsewhere,  con- 
cluded the  first  serious  alliance  between  Austria  and  Russia  for 
the  conquest  of  a  portion  of  the  Ottoman  Empire.     In  vain  did  the 
Austrian  ministers    remonstrate   with    their  sovereign.      Prince 
Eugene,  who  could  alone  effectually  do  this,  was  no  more.    As, 
however,  there  was  a  place  and  persons  appointed  for  negotia- 
tions, they  continued.     It  was,  however,  a  mere  farce,  for  the 
Russians,  supported  by  the  Austrian  envoys  made  such  demands 
as  caused  the  Turkish  envoys  to  stare  wiUi  stupor.    They  asked 
nothing  less  than  the  whole  Crimea,  and  the  Kouban,  the  entire 
land  of  the  Tartars ;  moreover,  the  suzereignty  of  Moldavia  and 
Wallachia,  and  free  passage  for  fleets  throughout  the  Bosphorus 
and  Dardanelles.     "  What  you  ask,"  replied  the  simple  Ottoman, 
**  is  so  contrary  to  treaties  and  to  oaths,  that  you  offend  the  injunc- 


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ON  THE  DANUBE.  583 

tion8  of  jonr  gospel>  and  the  principle  of  Orotios,  as  well  as  of 
common  justice.'* 

To  so  home  a  tannt  the  Austro-Russian  had  nothing  to  reply^ 
save  that  the  Tarks  went  against  their  own  Koran  in  not  persist- 
ing to  convert  Christians  by  the  sabre.  **  The  text  of  the  Koran,** 
the  Turks  rejoined,  ^*  was  applicable  solely  to  the  idolator,  not  to 
the  followers  of  Christ  and  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  whose  de- 
mands for  peace,  on  the  contrary,  the  Koran  enjoins  the  Turks  to 
receive  and  to  accept."  Such  was  the  remarkable  answer  ot  the 
Ottomans,  who  had  just  as  much  right  and  reason  on  their  side 
in  1637  against  Russia  and  Austria,  as  they  have  in  1853. 

The  Austrians  had  afterwards  deep  reason  to  repent  their  having 
joined  Russia  in  these  ambitious  attempts  upon  Turkey.  For 
Europe  had  no  longer  Prince  Eugene  to  command  its  armies,  nor 
the  courage  nor  experience  of  the  officers  formed  by  Eugene  and 
Marlborough.  The  Court  of  Vienna,  itself  full  of  divisions  and 
weaknesses,  could  not  decide  between  different  generals,  but 
employed  two  or  three,  all  jealous  of  each  other,  and  all  equally 
incapable.  They  commenced  their  campaigns  with  confidence 
and  arrogance,  one  marching  into  Bosnia,  another  into  Servia,  a 
third  overrunning  Wallachia,  without  plan,  or  concert,  or  pru- 
dence. The  army  that  entered  Servia  proceeded  so  far  as  to 
capture  Nissa,  but  in  so  doing  it  left  the  fortress  of  Widdin 
behind  it,  on  which  it  was  obliged  to  turn  ;  and  it  failed  to  take 
Widdin,  whilst  it  re-lost  Nissa.  Whilst  twenty  years  of  peace 
had  thus  deteriorated  the  Austrian  armies,  the  Turkish  ti'oops  had 
gained  considerably  in  skill  and  discipline  under  the  instruction  of 
the  Count  De  Bonneval,  who  had  been  obliged  to  seek  refuge  in 
Turkey,  and  who  instructed  the  Turkish  generals  in  their  first 
military  tactics,  which  in  Eugene's  time  they  had  wanted. 

In  Bosnia  Uie  Prince  of  Hildburghausen,  commanding  the 
Imperialists,  laid  siege  to  Banyalouka,  but  the  Turkish  general 
raised  a  levSe  en  masse  of  the  soldiers  of  the  country,  and  with 
these  completely  defeated  Hildburghausen.  Ahmed  Kapriuli 
recaptured  Nissa  about  the  same  time.  Gilani  was  beaten  in 
Wallachia.  And,  in  fact,  the  Turks  recovered  so  much  of  their 
old  superiority,  that  they  refused  all  proposals  of  peace  that  did 
not  include  the  restoration  of  Belgrade  by  the  Austrians,  and  of 
Azoff  by  the  Russians. 

Whilst  the  war  was  carried  on  in  this  uncertainty,  Field-Marshal 
Wallis,  with  about  60,000  men,  thought  that  it  was  time  to 
emulate  some  of  the  great  feats  of  Eugene.  He  knew  that  the 
Grand  Vizier  was  marching  upon  Semendra,  and  he  resolved  to 
attack  him.  This  he  managed  to  do  with  his  cavalry  alone, 
the  infantry  not  having  come  up.  And  he  committed  the  fault 
the  very  week  after  that  he  had  declared  in  one  of  his  despatches 
to  Vienna,  that  it  was  quite  useless  to  attack  the  Turks  vrith 
cavalry  alone,  an  arm  in  which  they  had  become  so  superior. 
The  battle  took  place  at  Kroska  on  the  23rd  of  July,  1789.  The 
cuirassiers  of  Palfi  had  alone  issued  from  a  gorge,  when  they 
were  attacked  by  the  Ottomans,  slaughtered,  or  driven  back  upon 

Digitized  by  -^ 


584  ST.  PETER'S  TO   ST.  JANUi3ttUS'. 

Ilieir  comrades,  who,  in  a  narrofr  defile,  could  not  preserve  order  ^ 
the  infantry  came  up  aflerwards,  for  the  battle  lasted  from  Boni- 
ing  till  sunset  The  Austrians  were  driven  back  to  the  Danube, 
leaving  6000  dead  and  almost  as  manj  wounded.  Five  of  the 
Imperial  generals  were  slain.  Thus  on  the  field  of  Kroska,  uid 
in  the  preceding  campaign,  were  thrown  awaj  all  the  advantages 
and  superiority  won  for  the  Austrian  arms  by  Prince  Eugene 
iMeniy  years  previous.  Peace  was  the  consequence  of  this  deci- 
sive victory.  The  Treaty  of  Belgrade  was  signed  soon  after 
between  Austiia  and  the  Porte,  the  chief  condition  being  the 
restoration  to  Turkey  of  that  city,  as  well  as  all  the  territories 
south  of  the  Danube,  given  up  at  the  Treaty  of  Passarowit2. 

Peace  was  at  the  same  time  concluded  with  Russia,  the  latter 
power  not  indeed  restoring  Azofi*,  but  stipulating  to  destroy  its 
fortifications,  and  leave  its  territory  uncultured  and  depopulated. 
Such  was  the  kind  of  resuscitation  achieved  by  the  arms  of  the 
Ottomans  for  their  empire  towards  the  year  1740. 


ST.  PETER'S  TO  ST.  JANUARIUS^ 

When  you  want  to  get  away  from  Rome,  of  course  every  body- 
else  wants  to  get  away  too  ;  and  as  everybody  else  is  more  provident 
and  decided  in  his  plans  than  you  are,  he  has  taken  the  comer 
place  of  the  coupee  of  the  Naples  diligence  at  least  a  fortnight, 
if  not  three  weeks,  before  you  think  of  enquiring. 

When  you  find  that  everybody  else  has  taken  all  the  places  in 
the  diligence,  you  have  to  look  about  for  somebody  else  in  tlie 
same  predicament  with  yourself  with  whom  yon  make  a  party,  and 
hire  a  special  carriage.  My  lot  was  cast  with  Reginald,  Uie  coffee^ 
planter,  and  his  cousin,  the  future  Lord-lieutenwiit  of  the  county 
of  But  the  carriages  hold  four,  and  the  difficulty  was  to 
find  a  fourth  man  to  lighten  the  expense  of  post-horses^  A  day 
or  two  before  we  had  to  start,  two  other  college  fiiends  arrived 
firom  Florence,  on  their  way  to  Ceylon ;  the  excellent  and  stout- 
hearted Joe  C -,  celebrated  for  shooting  Mexican  highway- 
men, right  and  left,  and  the  lively  and  agroeable  author  of  RamUes 
and  Scrambles  in  North  and  South  America*  We  were  now  five, 
and  had  ta  fill  up  two  carriages.  We  entered  into  negotiations 
with  a  couple  of  Americans,  but  did  not  trade ;  partly,  that  we  did 
not  much  like  their  looks,  and  partly  that  they  had  an  impression 
we  someway  meant  to  take  them  in.  Then  we  settled  with  an 
artbt  and  his  consumptive  brother,  who  broke  a  blood'^essel 
the  night  before  we  had  to  start;  so  that  finallv  we  went 
five  in  our  two  carriages.  There  was  less  economy  in  this  mai* 
agement  than  could  have  been  wbhed,  but  then  there  was  att  the 
nore  room  for  our  legs. 

The  evening  before,  I  dined  wkh  a  great  lady,  who  had  the  art 

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i$T«  Peter's  to  st.  jxnuajous*.  58S 

of  drawing  agreeable  society  up  a  great  many  pair  of  stairs^ 
which;  not  the  stairs,  but  the  agreeable  society,  is  a  rare  article 
among  the  heteroeeneous  hole-and-corner  lodging  house  scrambles 
of  British  hospitality  in  Rome.  Unfortunately  she  had  not  one 
of  her  agreeable  evening  parties  that  evening,  and  she  kindly  took 
roe  to  a  disagreeable  one,  given  by  a  would-be  great  lady,  who 
had  taken  a  palace,  and  was  making  an  elaborate  effort  with  two 
hopeless  daughters.  One  of  these  was  sleek  and  stupid ;  the 
other,  skinny  and  wriggling,  with  anxious  red  eyes.  Among  the 
British  youth  of  Rome,  they  went  by  the  names  of  the  ferret 
and  guinea-pig.  Mrs.  Gynne  Goggleford  was  the  would-be 
great  lady  in  name;  and  when  we  entered  her  spacious  and 
splendid  palace  drawing-room,  she  was  standing  at  her  tea-table — 
I  should  rather  say,  she  was  ducking,  and  diving,  'and  writhing 
at  it  in  the  agony  of  graceful  tea-making.  As  we  came  in,  she 
thought  it  necessary  to  inform  us  that  she  had  followed  her  lady« 
ship's  example  in  making  her  own  tea,  instead  of  having  it  done  by 
her  servants,  but  she  did  not  tell  us  why  she  had  not  sat  down  to 
do  it,  and  drawn  a  comfortable  circle  round  the  table.  I  was  intro- 
duced with  an  apology ;  "  she  was  only  too  happy  to  receive  any  of 
her  ladyship's  guests.  She  had  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  me 
too  at  Mr.  Wattlechop's,  had  she  not  ?** 

The  company  stood  and  sat  about  uncomfortably,  and  seemed 
too  few  for  the  greet  drawing-room ;  very  few  of  them  knew  each 
other ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  Mrs.  Gynne  Go^Ieford  had  picked, 
and  culled,  and  scraped  up  the  wai£s  and  stravs  of  Rome,  without 
any  reference  to  how  they  might  be  amused  by  sitting  and  stand* 
ing  about  in  her  drawing-room  for  two  or  three  hours. 

But  the  principal  feature  of  the  evening,  was  the  culmination 
and  wind-up  of  the  elaborate  effort  this  worthy  lady  had  been 
making  with  her  hopeless  daughters,  during  the  Roman  season. 
The  subject  of  this  supernatural  struggle  was  the  ferret,  whose 
anxious  pink  eyes  looked  still  more  pink  and  anxious  on  the  now 
impending  separation  from  the  much  cherished  object,  who  was  to 
depart  from  Rome  on  the  morrow,  and  say  fsrewell,  in  a  more  or 
less  promising  manner  this  very  evening.  The  Honourable  Mr. 
Softon  is  the  object. .  He  is  the  heir-apparent,  of  an  Irish  peer — a 
slender,  shangling,  slack-backed,  unhappy  stripling  of  seventeen. 
He  has  a  pink,  blue-eyed,  innocent  countenance,  a  head  of  wavy 
flaxen  hair,  and  his  upper  lip  is  adorned  by  a  delicate  fringe  of 
milk-white  down.  He  is  in  the  period  of  male  existence  which 
corresponds  with  boarding-school  misshood,  and  is  travelline  with 
hb  tutor,  between  school  and  college ;  or,  what  is  more  prraable, 
perhaps,  between  apron-strings  and  college.  Poor  bov  1  the  gap^ 
toothed  ogress,  and  her  pink-eyed  daughter  have  both  f>een  flatter*^ 
ing  him,  and  making  love  to  him  desperately  for  two  months. 
The  tutor  is  a  dry  man  in  spectacles,  who  has  been  wearing  out 
his  soul  and  body  on  churches  and  monuments ;  and  in  the  inno- 
cence of  his  heart,  he  has  permitted  these  two  disinterested  women 
to  comfort  the  intervals  of  his  penance.  His  male  acquaintances 
have  joked  him  about  it,  and  now  that  he  has  to  stand  up  before 

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586  ST.  PETER'S  TO  ST.  JANUABIUS". 

the  toothless  affectionate  smiles  of  the  mother,  and  the  langoishin^ 
tenderness  of  her  mournful  ferret,  as  they  bid  him  farewell  and 
hope  he  may  soon  be  back  from  Naples,  be  looks  as  if  his  back 
was  going  to  break  in  several  places,  and  his  loosely  hung  legs 
and  wings  to  drop  about  the  drawing-room  floor.  However^  we 
all  got  away  safely  at  last,  and  good  naturedly  congratulated 
poor  Softon  on  his  conquest,  as  we  walked  along  the  lamp-lit 
Corso. 

I  now  went  home,  dressed  in  my  travelling  costume,  and  trans- 
ported my  effects  to  the  hotel  from  which  our  party  were  to  start 
on  the  following  dawn ;  for  as  I  have  an  objection  to  getting  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  as  it  only  wanted  four  or  five  hours 
to  the  time  of  departure,  I  preferred  not  to  go  to  bed  at  all.  I 
disposed  myself  to  sleep  on  a  sofa  of  their  drawing-room,  but  did 
not  sleep ;  on  the  contrary,  I  wore  away  the  hours  with  cigars  and 
brandy  and  water,  in  the  attempt  to  convert  an  intelligent  but 
sceptical  Irish  major  of  Indian  dragoons  to  Christianity.  He  was 
not  to  start  on  the  morrow,  but  being  a  gentlemen  of  cosmopoli* 
tan  hours,  and  as  I  did  not  go  to  sleep,  and  the  brandy  bottle  held 
out  to  the  end,  he  was  good  enough  to  cheer  me  with  his  society 
during  the  silent  hours,  and  went  to  bed  when  we  set  off. 

Of  course  we  did  not,  nor  could  be  expected  to  get  away  with* 
out  a  good  deal  of  waiting,  for  unpunctual  post-horses,  and  impa- 
tience, and  British  oaths,  and  Italian  importunity.  At  lengthy 
however,  we  rumbled  out  of  the  moist  gray  labyrinth  of  rainy 
Rome,  passed  the  Colosseum  dim  in  showery  dawn,  and  crossed 
the  blank  and  desolate  Campagna,  scarred  with  ruin.  The 
weather  cleared  a  little  as  the  sun  looked  over  the  mountain- 
shoulder,  up  which  we  crept  to  Alba  Longa,  which  seems  very 
long  to  this  day»  and  has  pretty  peeps  of  the  lower  country,  and 
the  sea,  through  gaps  in  the  straggling  street.  I  saw  the  less  of 
it  as  the  companion  who  had  fallen  to  my  share,  was  the  future 

Lord* lieutenant  of y  who  had  pulled  out  a  very  small  pack  of 

cards  and  persuaded  me  to  give  him  a  lesson  in  whist,  and  we  were 
dealing  out  the  opposite  seat,  and  losing  our  cards  down  among  the 
straw,  as  we  played  double  dummy  with  a  commentary  under 
great  disadvantages. 

We  breakfasted  in  our  carriages  to  lose  no  time;  paid  like 
Englishmen,  and  went  at  a  furious  pace  up  and  down  the  undu- 
lating road  among  the  hills — then  down  among  the  Pontine  pools 
and  canals  skirting  below  the  mountain-brows.  At  Terracina,  we 
stopped  on  the  borders  of  both  the  Papal  and  Mediterranean  sea. 
There  were  some  impudent  and  mendicant  custom-house  ofiBcers 
and  police,  and  a  picturesque  leaning  tower  of  rock  standing  for- 
ward out  of  the  face  of  the  cliff.  But,  above  all,  at  Terracina  there 
is  an  authoritatively  self-recommending  wheel-greaser,  who  assures 
travellers  that  there  is  some  inherent  quality  in  the  atmosphere  of 
Terracina  which  makes  it  necessary  that  all  carriages  passing 
through  should  have  their  wheels  anointed,  whether  they  other- 
wise seem  to  want  it  or  not.  On  our  declining  his  services,  he 
almost  threatened  our  lives ;  but  we  assured  him  that  if  he  came 

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ST.  Peter's  to  st,  januarius'.  687 

near  any  of  our  axles^  we  would  break  bis  bead.  That  our 
wheels  had  four  naves  already,  and  five  was  more  than  enough. 
In  fine,  that  we  considered  him  much  more  likely  to  purloin  the 
linch-pin,  than  do  our  vehicles  any  good.  By  pursuing  this 
course,  we  saved  half  a  dollar,  and  some  time,  and  obtained  some 
very  choice  specimens  of  Italian  execration. 

Our  road  now  lay  along  the  deep  blue  sea— light  blue  promon- 
taries  of  the  scalloped  coast,  looking  like  islands,  rose  before  us 
from  the  filmy  distance.  As  the  scenery  was  growing  more  and 
more  beautiful,  came  on  sunset  and  darkness.  A  little  after  night- 
fall we  supped  at  Mola  di  Graeta.  On,  through  the  dark  night 
which  was  passed  at  the  rate  of  about  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  jolts  to  each  single  wink  of  sleep.  Next  morning,  we  drove 
through  the  long  streets  of  Capua,  and  soon  after  saw  the  twin 
peaks  of  Vesuvius. 

Naples  is  the  only  Italian  city  I  have  yet  seen  which  looks  like 
a  metropolis.  All  the  rest  seem  like  over-grown  county  towns. 
Even  the  Corso's  stir  and  vivacity  during  the  carnival  and  holy 
week,  parvis  componere  magna,  reminded  me  of  the  galvanic  ac- 
tivity in  Coney-street,  at  the  season  of  the  York  Hunt  ball.  All 
the  stir  is  made,  and  all  the  money  is  circulated  by  the  influx  of 
families  from  the  country.    But  Naples  is  really  alive. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  it  too.  Long  wide  streets,  and  large  irregu- 
lar shaped  piazzas,  and  brand  new  palaces  and  mediaeval  dungeons, 
and  above  all,  St.  Elmo's  massive  citadel  frowning  from  its  rock. 
Then  vou  get  at  last  to  the  palace-crowded  rim  of  the  sea,  which 
is  as  blue  and  shiny  as  could  possibly  be  expected,  even  of  the 
bay  of  Naples.  You  see  the  curving  shores,  which  lengthened 
suburbs  line  with  white  for  twenty  miles.  You  see  the  mountain 
ranges  rounding  to  the  horns  of  the  bay,  whose  points  are  broken 
off,  and  form  two  sky-peaked  islands  called  Capri  and  Ischia. 

All  these  items,  having  hastily  swept  them  up  from  the  horizon, 
you  acknowledge  with  a  respectful  glance  or  two,  as  things  you 
have  heard  about  all  your  life,  and  sometimes  wished  to  see,  but 
at  present  your  principal  interest  and  anxiety  is,  to  see  where 
your  hotel  will  emerge  from  the  interminable  line  of  quays  along 
which  you  have  been  rapidly  rattling  for  some  time.  After  twenty- 
eight^  hours  incessant  jolting  and  dusting,  not  even  Naples,  with  all 
its  charms,  can  compete  with  a  warm  bath,  and  a  little  cafi  au  lau 
I  spent  the  month  of  April  in  Naples.  It  was  the  end  of  the 
season,  but  there  were  still  a  few  dinners  and  evening  parties,  and 
balls,  chiefly  in  the  houses  of  ambassadors,  who  live  sumptuously 
and  entertain  hospitably.  Society  is  on  a  larger  scale  than  in  Rome. 
Handsome  palaces  full  of  gay  company,  talking  a  great  deal  of 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent  French,  There  were  private  theatricals 
too,  in  which  the  actors  were  English  and  Neapolitan,  but  the 
plays  they  acted  were  French.  We  rode  and  drove  about,  skirting 
tlie  winding  bays  beyond  the  promontory  of  Pausilippo.  We  saw 
Pozzuoli,  and  the  cavernous  prisons  and  cisterns  in  the  cliffs  of 
Baii,  where  Tiberias  kept  a  supply  of  state-prisoners  for  his 
amusement,  and  fresh  water  for  his  navy.    We  went  up/to  J;he  lofty 

"  Digitized  t^VjU  ' 


588  ST.  PETEB'8  to  ST.  JANUASIU8'. 

convent  of  Camaldoli  on  perverse  donkeys,  and  saw  almost  all  the 
kingdom  of  N84)les  from  the  mountain-top,  which  these  hermit- 
monks  have  chosen  to  live  and  die  on.  Grey-bearded,  ancienl; 
men,  robed  in  white,  who  have  vowed  away  their  lives  to  solitary 
<x>nfinement  and  perpetual  silence. 

The  friend  with  whom  I  was  staying,  an  invalid,  who  had  been 
in  Naples  a  year  or  two,  began  to  think  the  weather  was  getting 
too  hot.  So  we  agreed  to  go  across  the  bay,  and  see  if  we  could 
take  a  house  on  the  airy  heights  of  Capri. 

Punctuality  is  not  a  virtue  which  flourishes  in  hot  dimatesL 
The  Capri  steamer  sets  off  at  the  inconveniently  early  hour  of 
half-past  nine,  and  runs  alternate  days.  After  being  half  an  hour 
too  late,  two  or  three  times,  we  at  last  made  a  great  and  memo- 
rable effort  on  the  morning  of  the  18th  of  April,  and  were  just  in 
time  to  see  the  boat  go  off  without  us. 

Feeling  that  we  had  done  our  uttermost,  and  that  Fortune  had 
put  our  destinies  in  her  dice-box,  with  the  intention  of  throwing 
us,  somehow  or  another,  this  very  day,  we  enquired  whither  the 
other  little  steamboat  was  bound.  Our  boatmen,  who  had  only  just 
recovered  their  breath  from  vociferating,  as  they  pulled  furiously 
in  vain  pursuit  of  the  now  distant  Capri  steamer,  replied  thiU;  the 
other  one  which  lay  smoking  tranquilly  by  the  moloy  would  soon 
set  off  for  Ischia,  if  that  would  suit  our  excdlencies  as  welL 

We  tossed  up  a  dollar ;  heads — Ischia;  tails — Naples.  It  fell 
heads,  so  we  went  aboard.  But  now  we  found  we  should  have  to 
wait  two  hours.  So  we  made  a  bargain  with  our  little  boat  to 
row  us  over  to  Capri,  which  is  about  twenty  miles  distant.  When 
the  bargain  was  conduded,  and  a  bargain  with  Neapolitan  sidlors 
is  not  made  in  a  moment,  clouds  began  to  gather  on  the  purple 
brow  of  Vesuvius.  My  friend's  valet,  the  vaUant  Roberto,  who 
had  been  a  tailor  previous  to  entering  service,  grew  very  pale, 
and  entreated  us  for  the  love  of  the  Virgin  and  aJl  the  saints,  not 
to  go  out  to  sea  in  a  cock-boat,  with  a  storm  coming  on.  I  had 
no  idea  that  Roberto's  expostulations  would  have  any  weight ; 
but  my  friend  thought  it  did  not  look  unlike  rain.  It  would  take 
us  at  least  five  or  six  hours  to  cross  the  bay,  and  as  we  had  no 
great  coats  nor  umbrellas,  that  length  of  time  in  the  wet  would  not 
be  good  for  his  cough. 

^  This  argument,  together  with  the  possibility  of  a  squall,  and 
Roberto's  terrors  being  taken  into  consideration,  we  gave  the 
boatmen  an  extra  carline  or  two.  Went  ashore  and  drove  to  the 
railway  which  skirts  the  bay  round  to  Castellamare.  We  ran 
beneath  the  steep  slopes  of  Vesuvius,  girt  with  vineyards  and 
sparkled  with  white  massarias — passed  the  stations  of  Portid, 
Resina,  Torre  del  Greco,  Torre  del  Annunziata,  and  came  to  Cas- 
tellamare, which  is  to  modern  Naples  what  Pompeii  was  to  Par- 
thei>ope,  the  fashionable  summer  wateriag  place. 

Here  we  were  attacked  by  a  hubbub  of  competition  for  our 
patronage  between  vetturini,  corricoleri,  and  donkeymen.  The 
donkeys  carried  us  off,  and  away  we  went  at  a  canter  with  a  couple 
of  screaming  urchins  armed  with  sticks  in  our  widce.^  Of  coufse 

Digitized  by  VjOOQI. 


ST.  PETEft's  TO   ST.  JANUABIUS'*  589 

ibis  could  not  last^  the  staple  pace  is  a  quick  walk^  during  which 
the  boys  are  able  to  recover  their  breath  after  intercalary  bursts  of 
galloping. 

The  road  is  beautiful.  A  ledge  high  up  above  the  sea^ 
winding  in  and  out  of  the  inequalities  of  the  rocky  mountain-face 
in  which  it  is  cat.  Here  and  there  bridges  cross  deep  gulleys^ 
where  torrents  leap  down  to  the  sea.  Above,  among  the  toppling 
crags,  were  men  quarrying  stone  for  the  road.  It  did  not  seem  a 
very  safe  arrangement  either  for  the  workmen  or  wayfarer.  A 
little  farther  we  overtook  an  old  woman  vociferating  loudly  as  she 
tottered  along  between  two  people  who  were  supporting  her.  We 
thought  at  first  she  was  drunk,  and  then  that  she  was  mad.  She 
kept  crying,  ^'O  f^io  mio,  O  figlio  mio,  Panno  portato  via.** 
We  asked  what  was  the  matter  and  were  told  that  her  son  had 
been  working  at  the  quarries,  and  a  stone  had  rolled  down  upon 
him  and  killed  him,  and  that  thepovera  vecchiarella  was  "ghiut  in 
pazzia*'  (gone  into  folly)  for  gnef.  We  were  debating  whether 
money,  the  usual  anodyne  which  the  rich  apply  indiscriminately 
to  all  distresses  of  the  poor,  was  the  proper  specific  for  the  poor 
old  woman ;  but  the  donkey  boys,  having  taken  breath  and  pos- 
sessed themselves  of  all  the  particulars,  left  no  time  for  our  bene- 
volent intentions  to  reach  maturity.  The  whirlwind  of  shrieks 
and  blows  arose  behind  us,  and  we  were  driven  along  before  it  at 
fall  gallop. 

The  gallop  of  a  donkey  is  not  pleasant  to  anybody,  but  the 

Principal  sufferer  was  the  unfortunate  tailor  who  had  never  ridden 
efore,  and  who,  to  add  to  his  grievances,  had  his  master's  little 
valise,  which,  under  all  circumstances,  even  of  greatest  torture,  he 
persisted  in  hugging  closely  to  his  bosom,  as  if  it  had  been  his  only 
child.  In  spite  of  all  his  troubles  Roberto  kept  up  his  spirits 
wonderfully.  He  had  never  been  out  of  Naples  before,  and  he 
was  only  going  through  the  prefatory  trials  and  hardships  towards 
arriving  at  the  dignities  of  a  travelled  man. 

Turning  the  corner  of  a  headland  Capri  lay  before  us  about 
eight  or  ten  miles  off.  We  were  getting  nearer  our  destination, 
though  in  a  very  roundabout  way,  as  anybody  may  perceive  by 
looking  at  the  map.  Sorrento  now  lay  at  our  feet,  scattered  among 
gardens,  vineyards,  and  figs  and  olives,  and  orange-groves,  on  a 
sloping  platform,  broken  off  abruptly  by  a  perpendicular  cliff-edge 
towards  the  sea,  and  surmounted  by  craggy  peaks  behind.  The 
cliff-edge  is  Uned  with  houses,  which  seem  to  overhang  the  pre- 
cipice. One  of  them  is  said  to  be  the  house  of  Tasso.  Cavern 
staircases  are  cut  down  through  the  cliff  to  the  sea. 

Here  we  took  a  little  boat  with  a  pair  of  oars,  and  crept  leisurely 
aslant  the  calm  blue  strait  which  divides  Capri  from  the  main- 
land. The  island  rises  towards  this  end  in  a  precipitous  wall  of 
rock  about  a  thousand  feet.  The  headland  is  topped  by  the  ruins 
of  the  Villa  Jovis,  the  favourite  palace  of  Tiberius ;  and  down  this 
precipice  he  used  to  throw  his  criminals  when  he  was  tired  of 
torturing  them.  Hard  by  is  the  broken  horn  of  an  ancient  light- 
house, which  was  struck  with  lightning  a  few  days   before  the 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


590  8T.  PETER'S  TO  ST.  JANUABIUS". 

tyrant's  death.  We  passed  close  by  the  foot  of  thb  lofty  i 
whose  jagged  peaks  wreathed  in  purple  lights  soared  dizzily  in  the 
golden  atmosphere  of  sunset.  Ripples^  deep  blue  and  bronze 
coloured,  lapped  in  the  time-worn  water-mark  of  the  bases,  which 
being  filled  with  scarlet  sea-anemones,  that  rise  and  fall  with  the 
washing  of  the  waves,  look  as  if  the  long  cicatrised  line  still  bled 
like  a  fresh  wound — so  says  Hans  Christian  Andersen,  or  some- 
thing to  this  effect ;  and  if  the  Mediterranean  was  a  very  stormy 
and  truculent  sea,  which  habitually  showed  a  plausible  intention 
of  battering  down,  or  washing  away  the  island  of  Capri  from  its 
somewhat  hopelessly  solid  foundations,  the  Improvisatore's  meta- 
phor would  have  been  more  poetically  complete.  Let  us  say  the 
rude  rock  bases  have  formed  a  line  of  crimson  lips  to  kiss  the 
bright  and  gentle  waters  which  embrace  them  for  ever,  tideless  and 
unchanged.  This  is  rather  Darwinical,  and  does  not  give  so  vivid 
an  idea. 

We  skirted  along  beneath  the  crags,  and  landed,  soon  after 
sunset,  in  a  little  bay,  whose  pebbly  strand  is  lined  with  round- 
topped  fishermen's  houses.  A  staircase-road  led  us  up  to  a  Moor- 
ish looking  little  town  perched  on  the  ridge  of  the  island,  where 
it  sags  in  a  catenary  curve,  between  its  loftier  ends,  and  is  not 
more  than  five  or  six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  We  found  a 
rude  and  primitive  but  not  uncomfortable  inn,  where  we  supped  on 
excellent  fried  shrimps  and  salad.  After  supper  a  band  of  rustic 
beauties  appeared,  and  danced  the  tarantella,  a  barbarous  insular 
dance,  to  an  equally  wild  and  barbarous  measure  on  the  tambourine, 
which  serves  also  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  musician,  who  sings, 
a  ballad  of  interminable  length,  detailing  the  possessions  and  ac- 
complishments of  one  Ciceronella,  a  lady  whose  biography  has  not 
reached  the  present  age  in  authentic  prose. 

Next  morning  from  the  top  of  the  house  we  made  more  accu- 
rate acquaintance  with  the  general  features  of  Capri.  The  town 
of  Capri  stands  on  a  sort  of  saddle  in  the  sunken  ridge  between 
the  higher  ends.  Towards  the  mainland  it  rises  with  castellated 
mounts  and  scarped  ridges  to  the  Villa  Jovis.  On  the  other  hand 
a  steep  wall  of  precipice,  accessible  only  by  a  zigzag  ladder  cut  in 
the  face  of  the  rock,  falls  away  from  the  lofty  table-land  of  Ana 
Capri.  All  about  the  curious  round-topped  houses,  with  deep- 
arched  balconies,  are  picturesquely  grouped  among  the  heights 
and  hollows  of  the  uneven  rock*ridge.  The  warden  of  the  inn  is 
full  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  and  boasts  onenne  palm-tree,  which 
does  great  service  in  the  foregrounds  of  the  numerous  artists  who 
frequent  the  establishment. 

We  had  passed  over  the  Saddle-back  in  coming  to  the  inn,  and 
this  morning  we  looked  out  upon  the  southern  sea,  unbroken  by 
any  outlines  of  land,  stretching  away  towards  Africa.  Three 
quarters  of  a  mile  along  the  narrow  lanes,  which  wind  among 
bowery  vineyards,  brought  us  to  a  point  of  rock  with  the  remains 
of  a  ruined  tower  called  La  Tragara.  On  our  way  we  saw  the 
long  row  of  blocked-up  arches  called  the  Cento  Camarella,  which 
some  antiquaries  consider  to  be  the  foundations  of  a  gre^t  road 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


ST.  PETER'S  TO  ST.  JANUASIUS\  59} 

(apparently  leading  from  nowhere  to  nowhere  else),  and  others  a 
college  for  the  education  of  Tiberius's  harem.  Why  they  should 
have  been  instructed  in  these  unpleasant  little  cells  does  not  ap- 
pear, except  that  formx  is  Latin  for  a  vault,  which  is  only  tLphilo^ 
logical  reason. 

From  the  Traeara  can  be  seen  the  features  of  the  southern 
coast  of  the  island,  which  is  more  abrupt  and  precipitous  than  the 
northern,  which  we  passed  beneath  last  night.  There  is,  however, 
one  small  breach,  down  to  which  there  is  access  by  a  very  steep 
road.  This  jAccola  marina  was  once  the  principal  port  of  the 
island ;  and  by  that  shapeless  black  mass  of  grouted  masonry, 
so  wave-worn  as  to  look  like  natural  rock,  rode  the  galleys  of 
Augustus. 

The  principal  attraction  and  main  wonder  of  Capri  is  the  cele«> 
brated  Grotto  Azurra,  or  Blue  Grotto.  It  is  on  the  north  side, 
and  towards  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  island.  We  took  a  little 
boat  at  the  Grande  Marina  (where  we  first  landed),  and  skirted 
along  beneath  the  rocky  wall  of  cliff  for  about  a  mile  and  a  half. 
In  many  places  along  the  water-hue  there  are  low  cavern  mouths, 
where  the  heaving  swell,  compressing  the  air  within  the  cavern, 
blows  out  great  spouts  of  spray  with  a  bellowing  noise.  These 
little  semi-submarine  bottle-necked  caves  can  of  course  only  be 
entered  by  diving,  and  nobody  enters  them,  I  suppose,  for  divers 
reasons. 

But  the  largest  of  them,  which,  in  a  heavy  sea,  blows  and  bel- 
lows Uke  fifty  whales  and  waterspouts,  when  the  sea  is  calm  leaves 
room  for  a  little  boat  to  pass  into  its  narrow  jaws.  To  give  you  an 
accurate  idea  of  its  shape  and  situation,  figure  to  yourself  a  soda- 
water  bottle,  built  into  the  wall  of  a  tank  horizontally,  so  that  the 
water-level  half  filled  both  the  neck  and  belly  of  the  bottle.  Half 
a  small  hazel  nut-shell,  manned  with  ants,  floating  into  the  semi- 
circular aperture,  will  about  represent  the  conditions  and  propor- 
tions of  a  small  boatioad  of  travellers  entering  the  blue  grotto. 
The  neck  of  the  cavern  is  about  eight  feet  in  diameter.  The  belly 
of  the  bottle  is  about  eighty  yards  in  length,  and  forty  yards  in 
diameter. 

Now  you  have  a  general  skeleton  idea  on  which  to  feed  and 
patch  the  particulars  of  my  visit  to  the  grotto  Azurra.  We  are 
approaching  the  end  of  the  island,  and  the  ctiffs  above  us  are 
growing  lower.  Close  beneath  a  small  battery,  where  the  French 
effected  a  landings  when  they  took  the  islana  from  Sir  Hudson 
Lowe,  of  unfortunate  insular  memory,  is  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
just  biff  enough  for  our  Httle  boat  to  shoot  in  under  the  most 
favourable  circumstances.  But  there  is  a  slight  swell,  and  the 
water  heaves  up  and  down  a  foot  or  so  in  the  dark  jaws.  Our 
party  crouch  down,  and  make  themselves  as  small  as  possible  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat.  The  boatmen  stand  holding  on  by  the 
jagged  teeth  which  project  from  the  cavern-mouth,  waiting  for  a 
favourable  sink  of  water  to  pull  the  boat  in  through  the  black 
throat.  It  is  a  ticklish  job ;  for  if  the  boat  hitches  against  the 
ragged  sides,  and  the  succeeding  swell  crushes  it  up  with  terrible 

VOL.  XXXI V.  Digitized  by  L^PPglC 


hydiaiilic  ptesmue  •gmsl  the  tamnd  rooty  it  triQ  be  redaeed  to 
little  better  tban  a  skapeless,  imoden,  crustad,  imMEed  trardier- 
pie*    The  water  uaka — mom  for  it  1  in  we  go* 

The  boatmen  were  vaikher  nenpotts  in  their  harry,  and  the  boat 

did  hitch:  before  she  could  be  got  in  motion  again  the  swell  came. 
Luckily  for  ns  not  a  very  gveat  aweli^  which  only  sqneesed  us 
eaoogh  to  break  a  tfaole^pin  on  one  side,  and  bruise  the  edge  of  the 
boat  on  the  other.  The  next  iDoment  we  were  through,  mxxcji 
more  frightened  timn  hurt :  the  (fim,  hollow  roof  rose  above  us  : 
an  infernal  lake  which  seemed  lighted  from  below  by  blue  sol- 
pburous  fires  ^Mread  around  us  :  flakes  and  sparks  of  blue  fire 
leapt  from  each  stroke  of  the  oar  as  we  moved  along  towards  the 
unseen  extremity  of  this  Stygian  pK>oL  The  air  is  dark,  and  the 
shadowy  vaults  above  seem  only  lit  by  flickering  reflections  from 
the  ripples  of  the  self-luminoos  water,  which  meets  the  black  walls 
of  the  grotto  with  a  dear  sheet  of  OMist  brilliant  asure ;  diat  is  to 
say  thcure  is  no  reflection  in  the  water  of  the  dark  rock  above  it. 

On  what  principle  of  refractioo,  I  am  not  physiologist  enoug;h 
to  say,  the  water  holds  more  light  than  the  air,  though  diere  is 
as  moeh  of  the  aperture  above  as  under  water.      You  may  con- 
vince yourself  of  this  at  once  by  turning  op  your  shirt-sleeves, 
and  pluuging  your  arm.     Above  the  surface  of  the  water  the  flesh 
seems  n^irly  black;  beneath  it  is  of  a  shining,  silvery  whiteness. 
Some  of  us  undressed  and  bathed.    The  effect  of  the  naked  figures 
in  the  water  was  very  curious  ;  shining  bodies  of  silver,  joined  to 
black  faces  above  water,  swimming  about  in  liqnid  blue  fire,  or 
standing  on  a  ledge  of  rock,  where  the  water  was  shallow,  nothing 
was  conspicuous  but  a  pair  of  very  bright  legs,  continued  only  by 
a  dim  ghost  of  a  body  in  shadowy  outline.     If  anybody  spoke,  the 
whole  vast  vault  resounded  with  hollow  echoes.     When  we  had 
swum  all  about  the  cavern,  and  taken  headers  from  a  platform  of 
rock,  where  the  roof  is  supported  by  a  rude,  natural  column,  we 
departed.     I,  for  my  part,  did  not  venture  to  go  out  again  in  tiie 
boat  after  my  experience  on  entering,   so  I   swam  through  the 
perilous  throat  into  the  bright  sunlit  sea  outside ;  the  passage 
being  quite  large  enough  for  me,  though  it  was  rather  too  small  to 
be  comfortable  for  the  boat.     I  am  enabled  to  contradict  autho- 
ritatively a  statement  of  Andersen's  with  respect  to  this  opening. 
He  affirms,  that,  though  the  space  above  water  is  so  small,  the 
mouth  of  the  cave  extends  down  to  an  immense  depth  under 
i^ater.    And  from  those  unsound  and  unsounded  premises  he  de- 
'duces,  that,  as  the  main  proportion  of  light  enters  through  the  bbe 
water,  the  light  in  the  cave  is  all  tinged  with  blue.     I  might  have 
been  inclined  to  agree  with  this  plausible  statement,  if  I  had  not 
x:ut  my  toe  on  the  sharp  bottom  of  the  throat  in  swimming  out 
I  have  frequently  swum  in  and  out  of  the  cave  since,  and  can  state 
advisedly  that  there  is  just  about  as  much  of  the  hole  above  as 
under  the  level  of  the  sea.     The  blue  light  is  to  be  accounted  ft^r 
by  the  water's  refractive  tenacity  of  light.     The  white  light  which 
-comes  in  through  the  little  space  above  water,  is  soon  lost  in  the 
immensity  of  the  dark  vault,  but  that  which  comes  in.  through  the 

Digitized  by  vjO- 


ST.  pkeee's  to  ar*  jjjiVABiv%\  098 

watoo  Mm*  t9  difi^ne  aad  dsaoWe  itsdf  eqtiaHy  thnrnghoat  ibm 
wboU  wttbtr  o£  the  cave^  so  thai;  whftve  the  air  would  be  qaite 
dacky  it  takaa  a  feeble  light  from  the  water  whose  colour  it  vetaine. 
After  dinner,  we  walked  up  to  the  English  gun,  which  stands  or 
rather  lies-  oa  one  elbow  on  a  little  isolated  battery  in  the  southern 
cliJBv  wbese  U  rises  perpendiciilarfy  to  the  ruin-tepped  eminence  of 
CastigUonev  The  path  slants  up  the  flank  of  the  hill,  and  a  Uttte 
below  the  castellated  crag  turns  to  the  right,  round  upon  a  ledge 
on  the  face  of  the  precipice.  Tlus  ledge  shortly  leada  to  a  litde 
round  platform,  where  lies  a  single  dismounted  thirty-two  pounder. 
The  back  of  this  rusty  veteran  is  embossed  with  a  O.  R.  cypher 
twined  round  an  anchor,  and  surmounted  by  the  British  crown. 
On  the  truAcated  arm  end  (which  this  fallen  hero  lifts  as  if  to 
protest  against  such  unwacraatable  del^entioii  of  a  British  subject), 
is  the  date  I7l^l*  It.  was  lost  when  the  French  took  Capri  from 
Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  who  seems  to  have  had  a  destiny  somewhat 
island-bewitched,  like  that  of  Saneho  Pttnaa. 

Now  here  is  a  brilliant  opportunity  for  writing  a  truly  British 
sonnet  upon  this  lost  gun,  over  which  we  ought  to  mourn  mete 
than  we  rejoice  ofver  all  the  other  nineteen  thousand  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  thirty-two-pounders  which  Britain  possesses  else- 
where. A  proudly  regretful  sonnet,  or  a  patrioti^y  indignant 
aonnet,  or  a  philoeophieaUy  moralising  sonnet. 

^  Dwhoflowed  iroo  !  when  tboa  left'st  the  loam 

Wherein  thy  molteo  ore  took  martial  shape. 

To  bolt  large  shot  or  belch  the  rattling  grape, 

Didst  thou  e'er  deem  that  such  disgraceful  doom 

Shotrid  fill  with  bitterness  thy  honeycomb  ? 

Bring  me  a  British  banner  bound  with  crape. 

Thy  naked  shame  in  deee&t  death  to  drape — 

Or  let  me  launch  tbee  down  into  the  foam  I 

Within  a  single  pace  of  this  dread  verge. 

Which  beetles  o'er  its  billow-beaten  base ! 

Poor  gun !  I  fear  we  cannot  go  the  pace ; 

In  vain  my  feeble  arm  thy  course  would  urge. 

Tilting  thee  o'er  the  brink,  that  thy  disgrace 

Might  sleep  beneath  Britannia's  subject  surgieJ' 

The  precipice  faJls  away  from  our  little  round  platform  about 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  feet  into  the  sea,  which  is  foamy-fringed, 
and  mottled  as  to  ka  transllucent  borders  with  broad  patches  of 
bright  azure  and  dark  blue,  and  bronzy  green^  varying  with  the 
depths  and  absence  or  presence  of  sea-weed  at  the  bottom. 

The  town  itself  is  out  of  sight,  behind  the  turn  of  the  ledge; 
but  we  can  see  the  great  round  hollow  lap  of  the  island's  southern 
aspect,  which  is  scooped  out  below  this  side  of  the  town — not 
like  the  other  side  which  slopes  down  to  the  beach,  but  growing 
level  towards  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  It  looks  aa  if  some  giant  of 
the  prime,  wading  from  Naplea  to  Sicily  had  sat  down  here  and 
left  an  honorary  mark  of  his  sedulous  condescension  moulded  in 
the  plastic  materials  of  yet  unhordened  nature. 

Forming  a  sort  of  centre  to  what  this  hollow  would  be  (if  about 
a  third  of  the  circle  were  not  cut  off  with  a  predpitous  cliff), 
stands  the  picturesquely  ruinous  huddle  of  an  old  Carthusian  con- 
Digitized  by  T  T  2 


S9i  8T.  PETER'S  TO  ST.  JANUARIU8\ 

vent — a  small  town  in  itself,  clastered  round  the  loftier  church  and 
the  broad,  arched  and  cloistered  quadrangle,  now  green  with  waving 
wheat — the  whole  encompassed  by  a  high-walled  precinct  of  g^- 
den  ground. 

From  this  sort  of  three-quarters  punch-bowl,  slopes  up  towards 
the  eastern  head  of  the  island,  a  long  oliyed  and  vineyarded  and 
dwelling-sprinkled  slack,  crowned  by  the  frowning  archbrowa  of 
the  Vil&  Jovis. 

Towards  this  point  the  line  of  precipitous  coast  recedes  upwards 
in  zigzag  perspective,  seen  betwixt  the  nearer  headlands  of  the 
fortino  di  San  Michele  on  the  north,  and  the  telegraph-topped 
Tnoro  Grande  on  the  south  side*  Continuing  the  spine  of  the 
zigzag  cliff  edges  (which  break  off  abruptly  at  the  brow  of  Tuoro 
Grande)  at  a  much  lower  level,  the  huge,  isolated  fangs  of  rock^ 
called  the  Fariglioni,  pierce  up  out  of  the  deep  blue  sea. 

All  this,  you  understand,  is  looking  towards  the  eastern  end  of 
the  island  which  points  towards  the  mainland ;  indeed  you  may 
see  the  top  of  a  lofty  mountain  somewhere  behind  Almalfi,  lifting 
itself  just  above  the  outline  of  the  Villa  Jovis.      Now  you  must 

S lease  to  turn  yourself  round,  if  you  have  patience  (and  room  to 
o  so  in  that  metaphorical  point  of  space — your  mind's  eye),  and 
look  westward. 

Look  down  first.  There  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice  is  the  little 
bay  of  the  piccola  marina,  with  the  mole  of  Augustus  ;  and  above 
the  piccola  marina  is  a  terraced  steep,  and  above  the  terraced 
steep,  a  comer  of  the  unscalable  rock-wall  which  divides  Capri 
from  the  highlands  of  Anacapri.  In  that  angle  of  the  rock-wall  is 
a  vast  cave,  from  whose  roof  (about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
above  the  floor),  you  may  see  great  pointed  stalactites,  which 
they  say — though  on  what  authority  I  know  not — were  formed  oq 
the  roof  by  the  smoke  of  sacrifices,  and  that  they  are  of  a  bitu- 
minous qtudity.  At  any  rate  it  is  popularly  called  the  cave  of 
sacrifices. 

Again,  above  this  comer  of  the  rock-wall,  you  see  a  low  angle 
of  the  plateau  land  of  Anacapri ;  set  on  which,  and  looking  as  if 
it  would  certainly  slip  away  to  perdition,  is  perched  a  hermitage. 
Still  higher  towers  the  Monte  Solar — a  rugged  mass,  whose 
shoulders  are  crossed  with  slanting  belts  of  cloud  ;  and  that  is  the 
highest  point  of  the  island.  We  turned  our  comer  and  descended 
through  the  olive  terraces  that  overhung  the  quaint  Oriental 
clusters  of  Capri,  beyond  whose  roof-set  rim  extended  the  broad, 
blue  bay  of  Naples,  with  dim  Vesuvius  and  his  wreaths  of  steam 
sunset-tineed,  crowning  the  hazy  distance. 

A  little  hefore  sunset,  we  sat  on  the  stone-benches  outside  the 
gates  of  the  little  city,  enjoying  the  cool  evening  breeze  and  the 
beautiful  view.  A  long  file  of  dark-haired  maidens,  with  Greek 
features  and  graceftd  forms  erect,  and  heavy  baskets  of  lime,  came 
winding  up  a  steep  and  narrow  path  from  the  kilns  below.  Many 
'  of  them  might  have  stood  in  marble  for  very  respectable  Cariatides 
without  further  embellishment.  One  of  them,  a  slender  delicate- 
looking  girl  of  eighteen,  with  very  beautiful  wavy  black  hair,  set 

Digitized  by 


ST.  PETEE'S  to   ST.  JANUARIUV.  595 

down  her  basket  on  the  portcullis^  and  leant  against  the  wall  of 
the  gateway  to  take  breath.  The  heavy  basket,  indeed,  which 
contained  abont  a  hundredweight  of  lime,  seemed  quite  enough 
to  account  for  the  exhaustion  of  so  slight  a  frame.  The  picturesque 
grace  of  her  attitude  caught  our  attention,  and,  drawing  near,  we 
were  struck  also  with  the  strongly-characterised  Grecian  type  of 
her  features,  and  the  painful  expression  of  weariness  in  her 
beautiful  deep-fringed  eyes.  We  at  once  singled  her  out  as  a  very 
interesting  barbarian,  and  told  her  that  if  she  liked  to  make  a  day 
of  rest  to-morrow  she  might  earn  more  by  sitting  for  her  portrait 
than  by  carrying  hundredweights  of  lime  on  her  head  up-hill  all 
day.  She  seemed  very  shy  and  wild,  and  would  not  give  any 
decided  answer,  considering  us  to  be  dangerous  foreigners. 

Next  morning  we  bathed  at  the  marine  palace  of  Tiberius.  It 
lies  on  the  way  to  the  blue  grotto,  in  a  nook  beneath  the  precipice, 
where  there  is  a  narrow  margin  of  pebbly  beach.  On  the  shore 
there  are  remains  of  arches  and  vaults,  and  round  chambers  of 
diamond  brick-work,  wreathed  with  samphire,  and  masses  of 
cemented  masonry  stand  out  into  the  water  conveniently  to  take 
headers  from.  We  had  a  very  clear  fresh  blue  bath,  and  dived 
and  swam  about  among  the  ruins,  on  which  the  shimmering  fret 
of  sunlight  from  the  rippled  mirror,  played  as  the  wimbling  billows 
rose  and  fell. 

After  breakfast,  we  took  the  important  step  of  leasing  a  house 
for  three  months — a  picturesque  mediseval  monastic  dwelling, 
called  in  the  Caprese  dialect  Loo  Spitz,  from  having  been  formerly 
the  hospice  (I'ospizto)  of  the  Theresan  convent,  next  door.  I 
shall  perhaps  have  occasion  to  describe  it  when  we  come  to  live 
in  it.  We  also  hired  a  ragged  vagabond  in  the  market-place,  to 
be  our  servant  of  all  work,  highly  recommended  as  a  strictly  honest 
object  of  charity,  with  a  wife  and  babe  on  the  point  of  starvation. 
His  name  is  Dominico.  He  will  be  the  "  my  man  Sunday  ^^  of  our 
Robinson  Crusoe's  seclusion  from  the  world. 

Soon  after  dinner  we  strolled  down  to  the  Carthusian  Convent, 
which  you  know  we  saw  from  the  English  Gun  yesterday. 
Through  the  arched  portal,  under  which  dwells  the  old  cuatode^ 
were  streaming  the  same  chain  of  dark-eyed  Cariatides  we  saw 
over  night,  each  of  whom,  as  she  passed  with  her  burden,  the  old 
sergeant  registered  in  his  labour-book.  They  were  carrying  lime 
to  make  mortar  for  the  repairs  of  the  building. 

La  Certosa,  as  the  Convent  is  called,  has,  since  the  monks  were 
dispersed  by  the  French,  been  used  by  several  nations  as  a  bar- 
rack; and  the  king  is  now  putting  it  in  order  again  for  that 
purpose.  The  walls  of  all  the  principal  chambers  are  covered 
with  profuse  fresco  paintings,  dilapidated  and  disfigured  by  musket 
shots  and  profane  additions  to  the  drawing  by  the  French 
soldiers. 

The  marble  statue  of  the  founder,  Arcuta,  in  the  chapel,  had 
been  wonderfully  respected— only  losing  his  nose.  They  probably 
did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  do  him  further  injury,  as  he  was 
neither  very  holy  nor  very  beautiful.    In  a  great  piftcjij^^^e 


596  ST.  Peter's  to  st.  januarius\ 

^last  supper''  they  had  planted  out  the  hct  at  otnr  Saviour^  mnd 
pot  a  dog's  bead  instead. 

The  dwdthig  of  the  abbot,  a  deHghtfol  soite  of  apartmefAtSy  on 
a  terrace  of  the  cliff-brow,  had  been  occupied  by  iStie  Frmck 
ccdonel.  One  of  the  dosets  of  his  dining-room  we  found  papered 
with  an  old  newspaper,  in  which  there  was  the  announcement  of 
a  ball  under  the  first  Empire,  to  take  place  at  tiie  TuiUeries,  on  the 
(I  forget  what)  — th  of  May,  181^. 

On  the  cliff  below  the  terrace,  which  did  not  laH  «way  pkntH 
alt  once,  but  sloped  with  much  herbage  and  shrabbi^e  to  the 
precipice,  there  was  a  man  holding  out  a  fan-shaped  net  betweeit 
two  long  canes,  like  fishing-rods,  and  a  little  boy  beating  the 
bushes  before  him — a  quail  sprung  up  and  was  cangbt  in  the 
meshes. 

We  now  went  up  to  the  Villa  Jovis,  a  long  ascent,  not  very 
steep,  up  the  hollow  of  the  island  to  the  headland,  from  which  two 
arclml  vaults,  like  hollow  e3'e-sockets,  stared  down  upon  us  from 
the  ruin.  His  favourite  villa  of  Tiberius  still  preserves  his  naone^ 
a  little  altered  by  the  rude  pronunciation  of  the  CSiqpriotes,  -who 
eall  it  die  Palazzo  Timberio.  We  passed  the  awful  rock  of  p«n^ 
ishment,  called  the  Salto  di  Timberio,  where  we  threw  some  groat 
atones  down  the  dizzy  drop  into  the  sea.  The  ruins  are  not  very- 
remarkable,  but  the  view  of  the  straits  of  the  bay,  and  the  bold 
]nK>montory  of  the  mainland,  all  in  the  red  light  of  sunset,  was 
superb.  We  made  acquaintance  with  the  hermit,  wboHves  among 
the  ruins,  and  has  a  chapel  and  cell.  He  is  a  rubicund  old  gentle- 
man with  a  long  grey  beard,  which  gives  him  a  venerable  appear- 
ance— ^but  they  say  he  is  a  shocking  old  sinner,  and  that  the  ample 
folds  of  his  black  robe,  like  charity  (on  which  he  seems  tx> 
hwe  very  oomfortably),  covers  a  multitude  of  sins.  He  is  very 
lame,  aud  keeps  the  briskest  donkey  in  the  island,  on  which  be 
descends  at  full  gallop,  a  sweeping  avalanche  of  black  cloth,  to  hear 
mass  in  the  cathedral ;  after  which,  he  may  usually  be  seen  for 
some  hours  in  various  door-ways  of  the  city,  gossiping  and  laugh- 
ing with  the  comelv  matrons  of  Capri,  who  aeem  to  have  a  great 
affection  for  this  holy  man. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a  candle-light  Funzione  in  the  cathe> 
dral—^i  sort  of  theatrical  performance  by  some  itinerant  mimion- 
aries.  Two  of  them  were  set  up  on  a  platform,  and  went  through 
a  vivd  voce  confession,  which  was  very  ludicrous.  The  man  con- 
fessing was  the  buffoon  of  the  party,  and  confessed  his  sins,  and 
exposed  his  erroneous  views  of  religion  with  an  offhand  natveii 
that  was  duly  contrasted  by  the  stern  reproval  and  oorreotion  of 
the  austere  confessor.  The  crowd  of  peasants  and  mariners  often 
laughed  at  the  humorous  sallies  of  the  penitent,  but  always 
listened  with  reverence  to  the  grim  confessor,  who,  to  our  mind, 
was  often,  unintentionally,  the  more  comic  of  the  two. 

Afterwards  another  missionary  preached  wMi  great  violence, 
and  often  breaking  into  «  sort  of  chaunted  recitative,  which 
seemed  very  strange  to  our  ears  in  a  sermon.  We  had  got  dose 
behind  the  platfonn  fnom  which  be  was  preadbing,  to  hear  better 

Digitized  by 


ST.  PETEE'S  to   ST.  JAKUARIUS'.  597 

there  being  no  room  anywhere  near  in  front.  As  the  preadier'a 
enthusiasm  was  coming  to  a  climax,  and  his  voice  was  getting  to 
its  last  pitch  of  aggravation,  the  sacristan  pudied  by  us  with  p 
sweating  candle,  a  hand  crucifix,  and  an  iron  scourge.  The  mis- 
siouary  had  wound  up  the  dimidering  catalogue  of  Capri's  sins, 
and  now,  in  this  awful  catastrophe  of  impending  damnation,  what 
was  to  be  done  ?  He  turns  round  from  the  trembling  audience, 
and  plunges  down,  towards  the  back  of  the  platform,  for  some 
desperate  resource — ^kickily,  he  finds  the  sacristan  amply  pvovided 
with  means  of  rescue — ^up  go  die  sweating  candle  and  cr9Ct£x. 
Here  is  our  remedy  !  But  bow  shall  we  merit  his  mercy  ?  An  awful 
pause !  Another  plunge — down  go  the  crucifix  and  candle^  and 
up  comes  the  clanking  iron  scourge.  Penetensia !  (dash)  Pene- 
tensia !  (dink)  Penetenzia !  (dink  dank  dash)  cries  the  preacher^, 
applying  the  purge  to  his  own  shoulden,  which  are  well  protected 
by  the  puffy  plaitings-  of  his  thick  black  woollen  robe.  But  now 
the  effect  is  produced — 'all  the  kneeling  peasant  maidens  are  in 
groans  and  tears,  beating  thehr  breasts,  and  the  old  women  are 
wailing  and  howling  in  grand  ehorus«  One  of  the  preacher's 
Cfmfrerts  now  appears  to  think  diat  the  reverend  fttther,  im  his 
divine  frenzy  of  enthusiasm  may  do  himsdf  a  grievous  bodily 
damage,  accordingly  be  rashes  up  into  the  pulpit,  and  fordbiy 
disarms  him  of  his  weapon ;  they  both  come  down  together  after 
a  short  struggle,  and  so  the  scene  drops. 

This  style  of  preaching  seems  rather  shocking  to  o«r  cold  nor- 
thern apprehensioAS,  but  it  seems  to  answer  tolerably.  The 
simple  audience  was  much  moved,  and  the  confessionals  were 
crowded  that  evening  with  fair  penitents,  many  of  whom  I  oom- 
scientiously  believe  ha4  very  few  sins  of  any  importance  to 
confess. 

Next  morning,  unexj»eotedly,  the  fair  lime-carrier  came  to  be 
drawn.  We  asked  her  why  she  bad  not  come  before.  She  replied 
^^  Aft  mekH  ^hccm*^  (I  put  shame).  We  did  not  inquire  where  she 
had  put  shame  now  that  she  was  come,  for  she  seemed  frigbteaed 
out  of  her  wits ;  and,  as  we  had  to  shift  her  about  a  good  deal  to 
get  her  into  a  good  hgbt,  she  kept  qacuhting,  (soUe  voce)  ^^Jlanm- 
namia!  mmmmamia!'^ 

On  the  morrow  we  returned  to  Naples  in  the  steamer,  and 
dined,  and  danced,  and  talked  indifferent  French  at  eveaong  par- 
ties as  before.  The  Ist  of  May  wms  to  be  our  day  of  departore, 
to  set  up  in  omr  Capri  establishment  (the  day  of  St.  Janoarias). 
However,  there  is  a  prefatory  liquefEiction  on  the  eve,  that  is  to 
say,  the  30th  of  Apnl ;  and,  feeling  it  was  my  duty,  I  went  to 
•eeit. 

At  about  half-past  five  tiie  carriage  took  us  to  the  Piazsi  dd 
Oesu. 

The  little  street  beyond  was  ehobed  by  tiie  procesnon  of  jpciests 
and  soldiers  with  bayopets  and  crosses,  so  we  left  our  .carnage  in 
the  piaaza,  and  hustled  as  well  as  we  could  through  tike  crowd  till 
we  caose  to  a  choke  of  spectators  crushed  up  into  one  of  the  ti^^ 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


598  ST.  PETER'S  TO  8T,  JANUARIUS'. 

banks^  between  which  the  flowing  procession  turned  into  the  court 
before  St.  Chiara's  church. 

Seeing  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  oppression,  and  knowing  that 
in  Naples,  which  is  a  despotic  country,  well  dressed  persons  have  a 
right  to  do  as  they  like,  I  cried,  ^*  lasciate  passare"  and  charged 
through  the  barrier  into  the  middle  of  the  procession. 

I  now  thought  the  soldiers  who  were  keeping  order  along  the 
indurated  edges  of  the  crowd  might  be  down  upon  me,  so  without 
more  ado,  I  took  off  my  hat,  and  adopting  an  important  and 
solemn  strut,  marched  along  in  the  procession,  not  as  if  it  was  a 
question  whether  I  belonged  to  it,  but  whether  it  did  not  belong 
to  me« 

Thus  I  continued  across  the  court  into  the  church  (which  was 
all  densely  crowded,  and  up  to  the  railing  of  the  high  altar.  Here 
the  procession  turned  back  again,  and  I  stopped  to  see  what  was 
to  be  done.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  serpentine  procession 
work  in  the  church  with  painted,  and  robed,  and  silver-mitred 
saints  being  carried  about  like  a  minuet. 

In  one  of  the  progresses,  I  emboldened  myself  to  stop  a  fat, 
good-humoured  looking  priest  in  scarlet  and  gold,  and  asked  him 
to  get  me  a  place  to  see  the  miracle,  insinuating  that  I  was  an 
Englishman,  whom  it  were  well,  if  possible,  to  convince.  He  at 
once  took  a  great  interest  in  finding  me  a  good  place,  and  sta- 
tioned me  at  the  wing  of  the  altar,  where  there  was  an  opening 
between  the  drapery  and  the  railing. 

In  this  opening,  which  was  very  much  wedged  up  with  young 
priests  or  novices,  I  was  a  good  deal  squeezed  and  incommoded, 
especially  when  the  censer  was  brought  in  through  us,  which 
had  an  effect  like  sticking  a  red  hot  poker  in  among  a  basket  of 
eels.  We  were  waiting  there  to  be  in  a  good  way  to  rush  inside 
the  altar  rails,  when  the  miracle  was  taking  place. 

However,  I  got  tired  of  it,  and  wandered  about  discontentedly 
in  the  dark  region  towards  the  back  of  the  church,  when  I  per- 
ceived some  people  in  a  sort  of  cage  behind  the  centre  of  the 
altar.  I  found  my  former  protector,  and  we  together  besought 
the  Carmelite  who  guarded  the  grated  door  to  let  me  in,  but  he 
would  not.  By  and  by,  a  party  of  great  people  came,  headed  by 
a  marquis,  who  seemed  to  officiate  some  ennobled  churchwardency, 
and  went  in.  So  many  people  going  through  relaxed  the  costive 
Carmelite^s  resistance,  and  I  got  in  too,  and  without  modesty,  or 
reserve,  or  consideration  of  how  respectable  the  great  people 
might  be,  pressed  as  forward  as  I  could,  and  leaning  over  the  back 
of  a  great  lady^s  chair,  got  a  full  and  fair  view  of  the  middle  of  the 
surface  of  the  high  altar  through  an  open  window  in  the  retabhy  my 
eye  being  at  about  eleven  feet  distance  from  the  place  where  the 
miracle  was  to  be  performed. 

After  awhile,  the  cardinal  archbishop  came  up  to  the  steps  of  the 
high  altar,  attended  hy  a  gorgeous  retinue.  He  made  a  low  obei- 
sance, and  reverently  kissed  ihe  altar,  before  setting  the  reliquary 
upon  it.     A  young  priest  at  his  left  also  brought  a  special  candle 


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ST.  Peter's  to  st,  januarius\  699 

which  he  set  between  us  and  the  cardinal,  who  began  to  pray,  and 
bold  up  the  reliquary^  and  turn  it  round  head  over  heels^  slowly 
and  solemnly. 

Of  course  the  reader  would  like  to  know  exactly  what  the  reli- 
quary looked  like.  It  resembles,  more  than  anything  else  I  can 
think  of,  a  small  carriage  lamp,  with  two  plates  of  glass  set  in 
silver;  a  silver  crown,  like  the  crown  at  the  top  of  a  mayor's  mace, 
on  the  top,  and  a  handle  below  not  unlike  the  carriage  lamp  slide^ 
which  fits  into  the  socket. 

Between  the  two  round  faces  of  glass,  instead  of  a  wick,  there 
seemed  to  be  a  mass  of  ropy  looking  dirt,  which  by  the  occasional 
glimpses  I  got  when  the  cardinal  held  it  now  and  then  on  one 
side  of  the  candle,  seemed  to  me  like  a  specimen  of  dried  vipers. 

This  was  an  ocular  illusion ;  but  I  mention  it  as  it  had,  no  doubt, 
some  influence  in  suggesting  a  subsequent  idea,  as  to  the  solution 
of  the  miracle. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  cardinal,  who  was,  to  my  mind,  a  disa- 
greeable, round-eyed,  square-mouthed,  uncomfortable,  hard  featured 
man  of  about  forty-five,  kept  muttering  fervent  pro  nobises  to  all 
the  saints,  and  exaggerating  the  pious  earnestness  of  his  expres- 
sion by  making  his  eyes  as  much  rounder,  and  his  mouth  as  much 
squarer  as  in  him  lay;  at  the  same  time,  turning  the  crowned  car- 
riage lamp,  head  over  heels,  and  holding  it  side  ways  to  his  friend, 
and  forward  for  us  to  look  at.  The  pious  ladies  in  our  cage,  the 
first  moment  it  had  come  between  them  and  the  candle,  thinking 
they  were  appealed  to,  and  willing  to  show  their  faith,  had  at  once 
cried  out,  *Ml  miracolo  e  fatto  gia,'^  (the  miracle  is  already  ac- 
complished) but  it  was  not  to  be  finished  off  in  such  a  hurry,  the 
cardinal  kept  looking  at  it,  and  shaking  his  head,  and  his  friends 
shook  their  heads,  and  he  prayed  the  more  earnestly,  and  they 
prayed,  and  the  ladies  in  the  cage,  and  the  congregation  also,  and 
above  all,  a  full  chorus  of  old  ladies,  who  being  blood-relations  of 
the  saint  himself,  feel  it  a  privilege  not  only  to  pray  but  to  scream 
lustily  out  to  their  holy  kinsman  in  familiar  tones  of  emphatic 
exhortation. 

Altogether  it  was  an  immensely  edifying  scene  of  pious  tnutter- 
ings  and  groanings,  and  bowlings,  to  which  I  paid,  I  fear  too 
little  attention,  but  leant  perseveringly  forward  over  the  head  of  my 
great  lady,  keeping  my  eye  on  the  wonderful  lamp,  that  I  might 
never  lose  a  chance  when  it  came  between  my  eye  and  the  candle^ 
till  my  back  was  nearly  broken. 

I  saw  that  the  contents  were  not,  as  I  had  supposed,  a  great 
mass  which,  on  lique^ng,  was  to  fill  the  whole  affair,  but  that 
there  were  two  little  flasks  fixed  inside  the  carriage-lamp,  one  as 
big  &s  two  thumbs,  and  the  other  as  a  finger !  a  dsurk  lump  in  the 
biggest,  fell  about  as  the  thing  went  round. 

1  now  conceived  the  idea  that  the  dark  lump  might  be  leeches 

which  had  been  gorged  and  delicately  sealed  as  to  their  mouths, 

and  tied  together  in  a  lump  ;   and  that,   in  being  turned  thus 

round  and  round,  they  were  being  mixed  and  shaken  up  with  salt, 

which  was  by  degrees^  exciting  them  to  a  pitoh  of  intestinal  con- 
Digitized  by  -^ 


«00  ST.  FSXBR's  to  ST.  JANUARIUSV 

Tulsioa  safficient  to  burst  the  &8tenk)gof  their  mcmths  and 
themselves  with  blood.  The  difficulty  would  be  to  have  them  so 
nicely  done  up  that  they  could  not  betray  themselves  by  wrigg^Un^ 
and  yet  not  to  burst  open  their  mouths  by  pressure  in  tytng  them 
tight  I  watched,  but  could  not  see  any  signs  of  life  in  the  mass, 
whidi,  however,  was  certainly  not  often  enough  nor  Icmg  enoi^h 
held  before  us  for  a  very  satisfactory  inspectioQ. 

At  last  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  crossed  the  mortified  fieatores  of 
the  principal  performer,  and  he  held  the  reliquary  up  to  die  young 
candle-b^er,  who,  seeing  it  was  bes^inning  to  take  effect,  no  douh^ 
intended  to  smile  n^turously,  but  the  result  was  very  liLe  aa  awk- 
vard  sta^s-laugh. 

When  it  came  betwieen  the  candle  and  my  eye  again,  the  lump 
seemed  to  have  softened  and  grown  greasy  at  the  comers  a  little, 
)ike  warmed  shoemakers'  wax,  so  as  to  slide  more  softly  round  the 
poddy  little  flask,  which  was  not  very  clean  or  clear  gli^. 

The  parties  offidating  now  seemed  to  have  made  ap  their 
minds  l^at  the  miracle  was  in  a  fair  state  of  progress,  but  there 
was  no  exclamation  of  surprise  or  delight  in  the  audience  behind 
the  altar.  None  of  us  seemed  to  have  seen  anything  particularly 
satisfactory,  nor  was  there  any  sudden  outcry  inc&aitive  of  cofo- 
pletion  in  the  body  of  the  churolu  when  the  priest  turned  nmnd 
to  show  the  thing  to  Uie  people. 

From  this  I  argue,  tha^  (though  in  taming  Formd,  he  dropped 
the  reliquary  below  the  level  of  the  altar,  and  jmg^M  perfectly  weSL 
have  smuggled  away  the  oobbler's  wax  bottled  one,  and  pulled  out 
of  his  sleeve  a  similar  crowned  carriage-lamp  arrai^ed  witii  liquid 
blood  for  the  second  part  of  the  entertainment),  it  was  our  appa- 
ratus which  Biet  the  eye  of  the  general  puUic,  for  if  M;  had  heea 
Uquefied  blood  he  exposed  to  them  when  ae  turned  round,  I  t^nk 
there  must  have  been  mere  sensation  among  the  faithfuL 

And  yet,  though  1  waited  to  see  when  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
people  would  show  the  eperatioa  to  be  at  its  height,  I  was  long  in 
doubt  whether  it  bad  fairly  been  completed  or  not. 

By-and-by,  however,  the  iron  doors  of  our  cage  were  opened, 
and  in  came  the  cardinal  witli  the  candle  and  reliquary.  The 
blood  was  liquid  enough  now,  but  there  was  no  traniyarent,  red 
colour  to  shmr  it  was  blood.  It  was  not  shaken  up  rapidly,  but 
turned  over  and  over  slowly,  and  for  anything  I  could  tell  there 
may  have  been  leeches  at  the  bottom  :  there  certainly  seemed  to 
be  a  lump  of  something. 

Through  glass-doors  b^nd  our  cage,  there  was  a  little  oell  with 
a  grated  window,  through  which  the  sacred  object  was  held  ts  be 
Idssed  by  the  Carmelite  nuns,  who,  some  of  Ishe  bjrstaaders  said, 
were  daughters  of  noble  houses ;  and  who,  as  ipeU  as  I  could  see 
by  the  flickering  candle  and  through  ^e  hm  of  the  §riUe^  seemed 
mostly  young  aad  pretty;  but  the  eardsnal'a  head  and  dioullers 
were  greatly  in  the  winr  of  my  investigatiDiis  on  tins  bead,  or 
latber  on  these  faces  which  wero  neatly  ifrrapped  ap  in  starched 
Kaaen,  whose  prim  whatoiess  ««s  set  off  by  a  Uaek  robe. 

After  tiie  nuns  had  all  kissed  i^  it  came  back  into  our  cage,  and 

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ST.  Peter's  to  st.  januarius\  601 

Tee  all  went  down  on  our  knees,  and  it  was  administered  to  the 
lips,  foreheads,  and  breasts  of  the  faithful  as  thus  : — kiss — fore- 
head-kiss—breast-kiss.  The  little  boys  were  served  with  a  more 
limited  allowance  ;  kiss — forehead — kiss.  I  had  knelt  carefully  a» 
far  off  in  the  backgronnd  as  I  oovld,  b«t  the  cardinal  seemed 
about  to  advance  and  hem  me  into  my  corner,  so  I  hastily 
got  up,  and,  stujnbling  over  a  chair,  e9ca|>ed  throygh  the  press. 
For  though  I  had  gone  to  look  fairly  at  it  without  prejudice, 
and  should  have  beeu  prepared  to  kbs  it,  if  I  bad  seen  every  rea- 
son to  believe  in  the  respectability  of  the  relic,  and  had  observed  a 
perspicuous  determination  of  fair  play  on  the  part  of  the  ope- 
rators, it  gave  me,  against  my  inclination^  a  sort  of  impression 
of  solemn  hocus-pocus,  which  made  n^  unwilling  to  touch  it. 
The  more  so,  as  I  had  no  curiosity,  being  convinced  the  melting 
was  not  done  by  the  application  of  heat  4  for  the  evident  absence 
of  any  means  of  heating,  and  the  assertion  of  a  witness  I  could 
trust,  that  the  glass  was  perfectly  cool  when  he  kissed  it. 

Sir  Humphrey  Davy  is  said  to  have  reported  that  the  miracle 
was  unexplainable  by  any  chymical  means  he  was  acquainted  with; 
therefore  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time  and  ingenuity  to  talk  about 
preparations  of  easily  fusible  wax,  and  balls  of  smouldering  phos- 
phorus not  luminous  enough  to  show  by  the  side  of  the  candle. 

My  objection  to  the  miracle  was  that  nobody  seemed  to  see 
enough  of  it  to  be  convinced  except  the  cardiiuil  himself,  and  the 
man  on  his  right  and  his  left ;  and  if  there  be  any  advantage  in 
miracles  they  should  be  eminently  adapted  to  convmce  the  incre- 
dulous. 

The  bottles  should  be  of  the  clearest  crystal  set  up  on  a  glass 
pillar  in  the  centre  of  the  church,  lighted  by  a  galaxy  of  candles 
and  never  moved  or  tonched.  Instead  of  wliioh  it  is  shifted  and 
shuffled  about  by  the  light  of  one  candle  in  a  aianner  which  ad- 
mits so  many  loopholes  of  scepticism  that  it  could  not  be  consi- 
dered even  a  good  conjuring  trick.  I  oertaialy  expected  to  see 
something  cleverly  done  and  mysterious,  but  the  only  surprise 
I  felt  was  that  a  much-boasted  and  disputed  miracle  should  nave 
been  performed  with  so  barefaced  and  muffle-elbowed  a  care- 
lessness of  avoiding  suspicion.  It  appeared  to  me  a  very  unsa- 
tisfactory performance,  and  if  it  were  not  a  thing  which  there  is 
some  curiosity  about,  I  should  not  have  troubled  you  with  so  long 
and  deliberare  a  relation  of  such  unfruitful  circumstances. 

I  found  some  difficulty  in  effecting  my  retreat,  for  the  church 
was  desperately  crowded.  However,  by  charging  over  a  benchful 
of  indignant,  pious  j>eo(>le,  I  got  into  clearer  ground,  and  out  of 
the  church. 


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602 


A  TYROLESE  LEGEND. 

From  the  deep  vale  where  Salza^s  tide 

Chafes  in  its  rocky  bed, 
Youog  Heinrich  Berchter-Garden's  pride 

On  his  hunting-path  hath  sped. 

He  Imew  the  roebucVs  tender  track 

On  its  upland  wood  and  fell, 
He  hath  crossed  the  Dornstein's  ridges  blacky 

And  hath  scaled  Great  Hohe  GoU. 

From  the  holy  church  where  rests  the  blood,* 

Which  for  our  sins  was  shed, 
The  tossing  spray  of  Moll's  wild  flood 

Hath  known  his  lonely  tread. 

And  from  Gros  Glockner^s  dome  of  snow, 

And  Warzman's  savage  fall. 
The  grizzled  bear  hath  rolled  below 

Beneath  his  rifle  ball. 

And  now  right  up  the  ridgy  rock 

Of  the  Untersberg's  wild  height. 
He  tracks  the  chamois'  scattered  flock, 

Where  wheels  in  circling  flight. 

Scared  from  its  cmel  blood-stained  throne. 

With  angry  bark  and  eye  of  fire. 
Sole  monarch  of  that  realm  of  stone, 

The  giant  Lammer  Geyer. 

Through  the  long  day  the  chase  was  high. 
O'er  rock,  down  steep,  through  flood. 

Nor  once  hath  quailed  that  steadfast  eye, 
Nor  flagged  his  mounting  blood. 

Now  creep  dark  shades  o'er  all  below, 

Whilst  peak  and  snow-clad  height. 
With  gold  and  purple  gleam  and  glow. 

In  sunset's  liquid  light. 

*  The  village  of  Heiligenblut  deriTes  its  name  from  a  phial  of  the  '*  holj 
blood  "  of  our  Lord,  brought  from  ConstantiDople  by  St.  Bricdus,  and  preserfed 
in  this  church,  halfway  up  the  steepest  and  highest  of  the  Tyrolese  mountains. 

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A  TYR0LB8E  LEGEND.  60S 

Then  with  the  trophies  of  the  chase 

The  huntsman's  footsteps  turn, 
Right  down  the  rock-hewn  rampart's  face> 

Of  the  Unterberger  stern. 

And  then  upon  that  mountain  high 

NighCs  deepest  stillness  fell, 
Reached  not  to  it  earth's  suffering  cry, 

Or  the  lowland  village  bell* 

His  quickened  ear  could  only  mark 

The  ringing  of  his  tread, 
Or  the  stairtled  eagle's  angry  bark 

As  he  wheeled  far  overhead. 

But,  hark  !  what  sounds  are  these  that  wake 

Wild  echoes  round  his  way  ? 
Like  swords'  sharp  clash,  and  the  splintering  break 

Of  the  lance  in  wild  affray. 

His  feet  are  rooted  to  the  rock, 

His  ears  drink  in  the  sound- 
It  is — it  is,  the  warrior's  shock, 

And  the  war-cry  echoing  round. 

Then  blanched  with  awe  that  glowing  cheek, 

Then  paled  that  knitted  brow ; 
And  shudderings,  as  a  woman's  weak. 

Those  iron  sinews  bow. 

Still,  still,  the  shocks  of  clashing  mail 

Louder  and  louder  sound ; 
Yet  not  as  borne  upon  the  gale. 

But  as  from  caves  rock-bound ; 

Above,  beneath,  around  him,  seem 

Those  hollow  sounds  to  grow. 
And  struck  as  by  the  lightning's  beam. 

His  trembling  limbs  sink  low. 

Then  all  was  still,  and  past  his  eyes 

There  swept  an  awful  form, 
As  in  some  mightv  monarch's  g^ise 

Wrapped  round  with  mist  and  storm. 

**  And  who  art  thou  ?"  that  vision  spake, 
**  Who  on  our  prison  bars, 
With  living  foot  hast  dared  to  break, 
And  mingle  in  our  wars  ? 

**  live  hundred  years  and  more  ago^ 
I  wore  an  empire's  crown, 
And  mighty  monarchs  crouched  low 

At  Barbarossa's  frown.  ^         I 

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€Mr  A   TYROLBn  LBGINP. 

^^  And  tlMKi  ray  lieart  with  evil  prUe 
Was  lifted  up  oa  high^ 
As  I  saw  my  km^^bts  arotiBd  me  ride 
In  the  pomp  of  their  chiyalry. 

''  Till  against  holy  Cliureb's  r^^ht 
I  lifted  a  stubborn  head, 
And  with  her  MihM  sons  to  fight 
I  led  my  w«mor  bntd. 

"  For  darlraess  o*ier  my  soul  was  flung. 
And  little  did  I  see. 
That  1  bared  ray  arm  Against  Him  who  hung 
On  the  bitter  Cross  for  me. 

*^  And  here,  as  a  penance  for  our  sin. 
Until  He  comes  again. 
With  prison  bars  He  has  shut  us  in. 
In  caves  of  gloom  and  pain. 

"  But  once  each  year  our  pangs  have  rest, 
And  again,  as  erst  of  old. 
On  our  limbs  we  buckle  the  mailed  Test, 
High  tournament  to  hold. 

^  Oh  huntsman  brave,  who  sole  hast  heard 
Our  voice  with  living  ear, 
Learn  thou  from  him  who  never  feared, 
Thine  only  Lord  to  fcarJ' 

Then  passed  that  princdy  fbim  away. 
And  wbeu  Heinricb  woke  from  swoooi, 

The  night  was  gone,  and  the  coming  day 
Had  waned  unto  its  noon. 

Then  from  that  cave  right  fearfully 

His  thoughtful  way  he  trod. 
Nor  rested,  till  he  learned  to  see, 

And  do,  the  will  of  God. 


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LETTERS  FROM  SPAIN  TO  HIS  NEPHEWS  AT 

HOME. 

By  Abthuk  EiNTOV. 

In  spite  eftbe  UBpietentious  aunouncexDent  of  tkis  little  volume, 
^  A  Gift  Book  for  ChildreD,'*  we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  thai 
those  ^^  of  a  larger  groirth"  may  spend  a  &w  hours  rery  agreeabfy 
in  the  perusal  of  its  pages. 

Mr.  Kenyon  tell  us  in  his  introduction  that  his  risit  to  Spain  was 
the  fulfilment  of  a  long  cherished  wish,  and  he  has  not  kept  the 
enjoyment  of  it  to  himself.  In  a  series  of  letters  addressed  to  his 
young  nephews,  we  may  follow  him  not  only  through  some  of  the 
most  beautiful  parts  of  this  fine  country,  but  to  the  opposite  shorea 
of  Africa.  The  following  description  of  Tangieis  will  ^ve  an  idea 
of  his  style :  — 

^  The  following  morning,  as  soon  as  I  had  breakfasted,  I  went  to 
see  the  palace,  and  never  having  seen  a  building  in  the  s^le  before, 
was  quite  surprised ;  for  in  a  town  so  barbaroua  as  Tangiers  I  had 
expected  nothing  so  beautiful;  and  to  convey  an  impression  of  the 
most  perfect  luxury,  I  do  not  think  any  architecture  caa  surpass 
the  Moorish.  The  brilliant  floors  of  glazed  tiles — the  stucco  work . 
in  the  walls  equal  to  the  most  elaborate  lace— the  marble  columns 
supporting  painted  etchings  of  every  &ncifQl  device  yon  can  ima* 
gine,  and  of  which  not  two  were  alike — the  open  galleries,  over* 
hanging  gardens,  filled  with  orange  trees,  and  the  deliciously  huut* 
riant  baths  all  reminded  me  of  the  descriptions  I  had  read  in  the 
'  Arabian  Nights ;'  but  which,  till  now,  I  believed  to  be  too  glowing 
to  be  real.  I  was  enchanted,  and  thought  that  even  the  Alhambxa 
would  delight  me  less,  for  this  is  now  what  that  had  once  been,  the 
residence  of  an  Eastern  prince.  Happily  he  was  absent  at  Mo* 
rocco,  or  we  should  not  have  been  admitted. 

^'  In  front  of  the  palace  we  saw  the  soldiers^  about  whom  he 
greatly  prides  himself,  as  being  quite  on  the  European  model,  and 
ihey  presented  arms  to  us,  and  were  put  through  some  of  their  evo- 
lutions, for  our  edification  ;  but  their  queer-looking  uniforms,,  and 
the  blundering  way  in  which  they  went  through  their  drill  rendered 
it  no  easy  matter  to  avoid  lauglung — a  breach  of  good  manners  I 
fear  I  was  guilty  of,  when  the  band  struck  up.  They  have  beau* 
tiful  brass  instruments  firom  England,  which  the  leader  distributed 
indiscriminately  among  the  men,  and  then  in  a  loud  voice  bids 
them,  ^  in  the  name  of  AHah,  play ! '  On  which  each  of  the  fel*> 
lows,  who  has  never  received  any  nmsical  inslraction,  begins,  as 
seems  good  to  his  own  ears,  without  an  idea  of  time  or  harmony — a 
perfect  Dutch  chorus  in  short,  and  you  may  conceive  what  a  Babel 
it  was. 

**  I  passed  nearly  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  wandering  about  the 
town,  and  much  as  I  walked  I  scarcely  felt  tired,  for  my  feelings, 

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606    LETTERS  FROM  SPAIN  TO  HIS  NEPHEWS  AT  HOME. 

were  those  of  intense  pleasure.     Every  street  and  house   and 
mosque — eveiy  person  who  went  by,  whether  man,  woman,  or  child, 
was  a  source  of  amusement ;  and  I  should  fill  a  volume  with   the 
sights  of  this  day  alone,  if  I  attempted  to  describe  half  that  inter- 
ested me ;  from  the  trains  of  camels  that  stalked  noiselessly  past 
with  their  heavy  burdens,  to  the  figures  of  veiled  women — ^and  the 
shops  filled  with  so  curious  a  collection  of  articles  for  sale — all 
were  charming.  I  could  hardly  tell  which  afforded  me  the  greatest 
gratification,  the  main  street  of  the  town,  full  of  bustle  and  activity, 
or  the  beauty  of  the  view  from  the  garden  of  the  Swedish  Consul, 
commanding  the  town  and  harbour,  the  blue  Mediterranean,  and 
the  opposite  shore  of  Spain,  even  the  scene  in  the  evening,  from 
the  roof  of  the  house  where  I  sat  for  a  long  time,  was  full  of  enjoy- 
ment, and  here  I  witnessed  a  custom  that  made  more  impression 
on  me  perhaps  than  all  the  rest.    Just  as  the  sun  set,  a  moumfiil 
cry  arose  from  every  part  of  the  town ;  and  on  looking,  I  saw  on 
the  top  of  each  dwelling  a  man  kneeling,  with  his  arms  stretched 
out  and  calling  loudly :  and  I  knew  they  were  summoning  the  faithful 
to  prayer  at  the  great  mosque.^* 

After  visiting  Marteen  and  Tetuan,  where  he  was  present  at  a 
Jewish  betrothal,  Mr.  Kenyon  re-crosses  to  Malaga,  the  scenery  of 
which  he  describes  as  so  picturesque,  that  we  regret  his  book  is  not 
accompanied  by  the  sketches  to  which  he  more  than  once  alludes, 
he  then  proceeds  to  Grenada,  where  we  would  willingly  linger  with 
him  in  ^^  the  gorgeous  halls  and  lovely,  though  deserted,  courts'*  of 
the  far-famed  Alhambra;  but  it  would  be  doing  an  injustice  to 
spoil,  by  quoting  detached  passages,  what  may  be  read  in  toto  for 
the  modest  price  of  half-a-crown  T  Traversing  the  Vega,  and  pass* 
ing  through  Santa  F6,  and  the  ancient  town  of  Jaen,  he  reaches 
Cordova,  "  a  city  of  glory  departed.**  At  Seville  he  comes  in  for 
a  good  specimen  of  the  society  at  a  court-ball,  given  by  the  Infanta 
Donna  Louisa,  and  also  for  a  public  ceremony  of  a  different  cha- 
racter, a  junction  at  the  Cathedral,  on  the  festival  of  the  Purifica- 
tion, at  which  the  young  Princess  and  her  consort  attended. 

Our  author  then  goes  down  the  Guadalquiver  to  Cadiz,  where  he 
remiuns  a  little  time  before  embarking  for  England.  Though  his 
tour  was  confined  to  the  south  of  Spain,  it  has  the  advantage  of 
being  over  ground  less  ^^ harried*'  than  France,  Germany,  and  Italy, 
and  nothing  of  local  interest  is  left  unseen — the  Gipsies  of  the  Al- 
bttzzen — the  tobacco-manufactories  of  Se\ille — ^the  celebrated  vine- 
yards and  wine  vaults  of  Xeres  de  la  Frontera  —  the  Carmelite 
nunnery  at  Granada — nictures  and  palaces,  churches  and  con- 
vents, all  are  visited  and  described  in  an  easy  unaffected  manner. 
Historical  recollections,  and  pleasant  anecdotes,  with  a  sprinkling 
of  bandit  storiesandMoorish  legends  (which  will  make  itvery  attrac- 
tive to  those  to  whom  it  is  addressed),  are  interspersed  with  the 
narrative,  and  quite  firee  firom  either  cant  or  profession  is  the  tone 
of  religious  feeling  which  prevades  the  whole.  We  close  the  little 
volume,  sincerely  echoing  the  wish  in  the  last  page,  and  with  a 
hope  that  if  this  be  the  first  time,  it  may  not  be  the  last,  we  shall 
hear  from  "  Uncle  Arthur.** 


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607 


AN   INCIDENT  OF  AUSTRALIAN  LIFE. 

A  TALE  OF   TWENTY  YEARS  AGO. 
BY  G.  C.  MUNDY, 
AUTHOR  OF   *'OUB  ANTIPODKS." 

*'  This  is  the  most  omnipoteDt  villain  tliat  ever  cried  *  Stand'  to  a  true  man." 

Shakspers. 

Let  me  here  relate  an  occurrence  which,  though  trifling  in  itself, 
augmented  rather  than  mitigated  the  evil  opinion  I  had  almost  un- 
consciously, and  some  persons  thought  unconscionably,  adopted  in 
relation  to  my  new  acquaintance.  Not,  indeed,  that  this  incident 
affected  in  auy  degree  that  gentleman's  character,  except  in  so  far 
as  it  might  be  touched  by  the  old  adage  —  noscitur  ex  sociis  — 
**  kuow  a  man  by  his  company.**    It  was  as  follows. 

When  taking  his  departure  from  Ultimo,  Mr.  Clare  had  sprung 
upon  his  chestnut  charger,  in  a  confoundedly  hero-of-romance-like 
manner  as  I  conceived,  and  had  dashed  away  from  the  door  bow- 
ing to  his  horse*s  mane  and  sweeping  his  stirrup  with  his  sombrero, 
in  parting  salutation  to  Miss  Fellowes ;  whilst  his  clumsy  friend 
was  still  striving,  not  without  many  an  oath,  to  take  advantage  of 
a  fallen  log  whereby  to  mount  his  tall  steed. 

As  my  dislike  for  this  fellow  was  merely  negative,  and,  more- 
over, as  I  was  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  pair,  I  drew  near  to  hold 
his  horse's  head,  when,  after  thanking  me  for  my  assistance,  he 

bluntly  said, — ^^  By  the  way,  Mr.  K ,  you  have  not  returned 

the  pistol  I  lent  you  for  our  scrimmage  with  those  black  varmint.'* 
I  then,  for  the  first  time,  recollected  that,  on  receiving  the  spear 
thrust  in  my  arm,  I  had  dropped  the  discharged  weapon ;  and, 
having  told  him  so,  we  walked  to  the  spot  where  the  collision  took 
place,  and  where  Dingo  immediately  discovered  what  we  sought 
among  the  grass. 

The  instant  he  handed  it  to  me,  I  perceived,  now  that  I  was  in 
cool  blood,  that  it  was  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  pistol  I  had  taken 
from  the  footpad  on  the  mountain  road — ^its  fellow  without  any 
doubt.  I  turned  quickly  upon  Mr.  Randall  (for  that  was  his  name), 
but  his  short  thick  figure  differed  so  entirely  from  those  of  the 
bush-ranger  who  stopped  me,  and  his  associate  who  appeared  later 
on  the  scene,  that  my  vague  suspicion  was  instantly  diverted  from 
him.  I  determined,  therefore,  to  be  silent  on  the  subject — merely 
apologising  for  my  neglect,  and  the  consequent  injury  from  rust 
sustained  by  his  handsome  weapon. 

*'0h  !  that  gingerbread  plaything  ain't  mine,"  replied  Mr.  Ran- 
dall, "  nor  the  horse  neither,  Uie  d— d  lanky  brute.  No,  it 's  my 
friend  Jones's,  and  Jones  is  as  long  in  the  fork  as  his  beast."  A 
fresh  light  flashed  on  my  mind,  as  I  recalled  the  nickname  of 
Long  Tom  by  which  the  black  bush-ranger  had  distinguished  hi.*^ 


VOL.  XXXIV. 


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608  AN   INCIDENT 

companion  in  arms — the  crawling  villain  who  fired  on  me  after  I 
had  liberated  the' other. 

It  is  needless  to  pursue  the  train  of  thought  suggested  by  this 
coincidence,  and  to  recapitulate  the  contradictory  conclusions  to 
which  I  was  drawn,  during  a  long  and  sleeplese  night,  by  a  close 
retrospect  of  the  events  which  had  happened  under  my  eye,  with 
others  that  had  been  related  to  me  during  my  short  residence  in  the 
colony.  The  fact  alone  of  Mr.  Clare  receiving  as  guests  such 
persons  as  Randall  and  ^^  his  friend''"  Mr.  Jones  was  sufficient  to 
determine  me  to  spare  no  pains  to  sift  the  mystery,  to  unveil  the 
villany — if  villany  or  mystery  there  weie. 

It  was  no  business  of  mine,  to  be  sure,  to  analyse  the  sentiments 
of  Miss  Fellowes,  nor  to  question  her  right  to  bestow  her  affec- 
tions and  her  hand  as  she  pleased ;  but  her  secluded  life,  an  im- 
pressible and  unsuspicious  nature,  aided  by  a  somewhat  romantic 
course  of  reading,  were  likely  enough  to  nmture  idle  fancies  and 
sentimental  dreams  in  the  mind  of  one  so  young  and  inexperienced, 
and  to  render  her  an  easy  victim  to  deceit  and  imposture.  A  per- 
son possessing  the  specious  qualities  of  Henty  Clare,  with  un- 
restricted opportunities  of  ingratiating  himself,  and  having  a  right 
to  rank  himself  as  her  preserver,  could  hardly,  in  so  isolated  a 
spot,  fail  to  become  the  Ferdinand  of  this  most  guileless  Miranda. 
The  character  of  this  innocent  girl  was,  indeed,  wholly  unformed  9 
for  a  year  of  her  existence  comprised  not  as  many  incidents  and 
emotions  as  a  week  in  the  life  of  a  denizen  of  the  world ;  and 
surely  it  is  by  the  crowding  of  events,  the  exercise  of  the  various 
affcctious,  by  a  practical  acquaintance  with  the  impulses  of  our 
nature,  and  by  frequent  collision  with  the  atoms  composing  what 
is  called  society,  that  a  character  is  in  a  great  degree  moulded  and 
perfected.  Her  father,  too,  was  so  unobservant,  so  absent-minded 
indeed,  that,  as  her  brother  by  adoption,  I  assured  myself  it  was 
my  bounden  duty  to  watch  unceasingly  over  the  unprotected  destiny 
of  so  fair  and  so  dear  a  sister. 

My  first  step  was,  in  the  most  natural  and  easy  manner  I  could 
assume,  to  elicit  from  Mr.  Fellowes  by  what  means  he  bad  become 
so  well  acquainted  with  the  history  and  circumstances  of  Mr.  Clare 
as  to  induce  his  acceptance  of  him  as  a  suitor  for  the  band  of  bis 
only  child.     Nor  did  my  cousin  refuse  me  this  information. 

Henry  Clare,  as  it  appeared,  was  bom  of  a  good  Scotch 
family,  entered  the  Navy  very  young,  and,  disgusted  at  want  of 
promotion,  soon  threw  up  that  profession.  A  life  of  idleness, 
however,  not  suiting  his  active  humour,  it  was  decided  that  he  and 
a  younger  brother,  in  delicate  health,  should  emigrate  to  Western 
Australia — having  two  objecU  in  view,  the  one  being  to  establish 
themselves  as  settlers  at  Swan  River,  the  other  to  recruit,  if  possible, 
the  constitution  of  the  youth  whose  lungs  had  proved  too  feeble 
for  m  northern  climate.  The  first  scheme  partly  failed— the  second 
wholly ;  for  a  large  portion  of  the  brothers'  united  capital  was  lost 
in  a  bad  investment,  and,  after  a  year  or  two  of  improved  health, 
the  younger  sank  into  his  grave  under  an  access  of  pulmonary 
consumption* 


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OF   AU8TRALIAN  LIFE.  609 

Colkcting  the  reamaais  of  bis  property,  and  quitting  as  soon 
as  possible  the  scene  of  bis  losses,  Henrj  Clare  directed  his  steps 
to  the  neighbouring  colony  of  New  South  Wales,  and,  having 
resolved  on  sheep-fiarming  as  the  simplest  mode  of  liveliliood  for 
a  man  without  a  profession,  he  had  located  himself  at  a  distance 
from  the  townships  on  land  beyond  the  frontier,  where  the  infor- 
mality of  tenure  and  simplicity  of  life  suited  his  narrowed  means 
and  indeed  his  naturally  solitary  temper.  With  a  few  years  of 
strict  economy  and  personal  attention  to  business,  be  hoped  not 
only  to  reinstate  himself  in  his  former  financial  position,  but  so  feac 
to  better  it  as  would  enable  him  to  establish  his  homestead  nearer 
the  haunts  of  civilised  man,  when  he  might  occupy  as  an  out* 
station  only  his  present  wild  and  sequestered  abode. 

My  cousin  further  informed  me  that  Mr.  Clare  bad  shown  him 
several  letters  from  influential  merchants  and  others  at  Edinburgh 
and  Glasgow,  condoling  with  him  on  his  young  brother's  death, 
and  advising  him  ou  the  subject  of  bis  pastoral  intentions.  He 
had  also  named  to  Mr.  Fellovves  his  agents  at  Sydney — a  respect- 
able firm.  My  worthy  friend  concluded  by  declaring  his  conviction 
that  his  own  life  was  a  precarious  one  ;  and  that  he  was  therefore 
doubly  solicitous  to  provide  a  timely  protector  for  his  child.  He 
added,  that  be  had  encouraged  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Clare  when  he 
found  they  were  acceptable  to  Mary. 

**  You  believe  him  then,  Sir,'* — said  I,  warming  somehow  on  the 
subject  — ^^  you  believe  him  to  be  a  man  honest  in  his  principles, 
just  in  his  dealings,  unblemished  in  chai*acter,  faithful  and  true — 
a  man  to  be  honoured,  loved  and  trusted;  one  to  whom  you  can, 
in  full  reliance  on  his  worth,  confide  your  only  and  beloved  child 
— to  guard,  to  guide  and  to  cherish  until  death  ?" 

*^  I  do  so,"  replied  the  father,  looking  somewhat  surprised  at 
my  unwonted  eloquence;  ''but  why  so  earnest,  so  solemn,  my 
good  friend  ?     Do  you  doubt  Mr.  Clare  ?  and,  if  so,  why  ? " 

''That  I  do  doubt  him  is  certain — wherefore  I  cannot  yet 
specify.  From  the  first  honr  I  set  eyes  on  him  I  felt  towards  him 
deep  distrust,  and  I  am  certain  that  he  not  only  knows  this,  but 
that  he  avoids  conversation  with  me  and  shrinks  from  my  obser* 
vation." 

"  He  is  naturally  distant  in  manner,'*  observed  my  cousin. 
^'  On  my  first  acquaintance  with  him,  he  repulsed  my  advances 
both  coldly  and  decidedly — as  I  told  you  before.  A  sweet  temper 
be  must  possess  at  any  rate;  for  you  will  pardon  me,  Frank,  when 
I  say  that  your  demeanour  towards  him,  especially  when  in  the 
company  of  dear  Mary,  is  such  as  might  afiront  any  man.** 

"  Well,  my  dear  Sir,"  said  I,  rising  to  leave  the  room,  "  all 
I  would  beg  of  you,  for  your  own  sake  and  that  of  your  daughter, 
is  that  you  will  not  precipitate  this  marriage.  My  object  of  course 
is  to  test  the  respectability  of  your  son-in-law  elect  My  business 
shall  be  to  prove  that  this  Mr.  Clare  is  all  you  believe  and  desire 
bim  to  be— or  the  reverse.  You  will  remember,  Sir,  having  your- 
self told  me  that  it  was  common  in  this  country  for  persons  of 
damaged  reputation  and  lawless  habits  to  hang  about  the  frontiers, 

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eiO  AN  INCIDENT 

living  by  I  know  not  what  dishonest  and  desperate  means,  and 
avoiding  the  society  of  their  fellow  colonists.  Kely  on  it.  Sir,  yoa 
will  have  no  cause  to  regret  my  interference  in  this  case.*" 

^^  Be  it  so,  then,  my  dear  Frank,^'  replied  Mr.  Fellowes,  look- 
ing reKeved  at  the  probable  termination  of  our  interview.  *^  Mj 
present  plan  is,  that  we  should  return  to  Norambla  in  a  few  days. 
Henry  Clare  goes  to  Sydney  on  business  for  a  month,  and  on  his 
return,  if  nothing  hinders,  he  is  to  claim  his  bride  at  my  hands.^ 

^'  One  more  question,  if  you  will  permit  me,  and  I  have  done. 
Has  Mr.  Clare  ever  invited  you  to  visit  his  station  ? " 

"  Certainly  not,''  responded  my  cousin,  with  a  slightly  troubled 
look:  "on  the  contrary,  when  I  proposed  one  day  to  accompany 
him  there  to  inspect  a  Durham  bull  he  had  spoken  of,  he  begged 
I  would  defer  my  kind  intention  until  he  could  receive  me  more 
suitably.'' 

■  My  resolution  was  soon  formed.  I  would  decline  accompanying 
the  party  on  their  return  to  Norambla,  but  would  remain  at  Ultimo, 
where  my  presence  would  be  useful,  for  some  days,  during  which 
I  hoped  an  opportunity  might  arise  for  solving  doubts  which  hung 
about  my  mind  with  a  tenacity  and  an  intensity  so  intolerable,  as 
deeply  to  affect  my  peace  of  mind,  and  even  to  undermine  my 
bodily  health. 

I  could  not  account  for  this  all-absorbing  pre-occupation  on  one 
subject.  My  temper  was  not  naturally  suspicious.  Mr.  Clare's 
person,  manners  and  acquirements  were  above  the  common  order. 
Mr.  Fellowes  was  satisfied  to  receive  him  as  his  son-in-law.  Mary 
herself  willingly  accepted  his  proposals ; — and  my  regard  for  this 
sweet  girl  was — as  has  been  seen— purely  and  perfectly  fraternal. 
Be  it  as  it  might,  I  had  from  this  moment  but  one  object  in  life ; 
and  I  devoted  myself  to  it  with  an  energy  and  directness  of  purpose 
whereof  I  had  hitherto  not  believed  myself  capable. 

Selecting  a  cloudv  day,  my  friends  now  departed  for  Norambla — 
Stephen  acting  as  their  escort.  The  black  boy  remained  with  me 
at  the  out-station.  Mr.  Clare  was,  as  I  understood,  to  start  for 
Sydney  in  three  days :  I  resolved,  therefore,  uninvited  and  unex- 
pected, to  pay  that  gentleman  a  visit,  trusting  to  chance  to  inspire 
me  with  some  excuse  for  this  somewhat  unceremonious  intrusion 
on  his  solitude.  Neither  I  nor  my  familiar.  Dingo,  knew  the  way 
to  Mr.  Clare's  remote  squattage,  and  the  passage  of  the  ravines  was 
notoriously  difficult  and  intricate.  Mr.  Clare  however,  with  his 
guest  Mr.  Randall,  as  has  been  related,  had  left  Ultimo  for  his 
station  only  a  week  before,  and  I  relied  on  the  sagacity  of  the 
'Black  to  follow  on  the  trail  of  their  horses — albeit,  at  this  season 
the  earth  was  as  hard  and  unimpressionable  as  a  brick  floor. 

Accordingly,  on  the  second  day  after  the  departure  of  Mr. 
Fellowes,  well  armed  and  provisioned  for  a  doubtful  expedition, 
we  started  as  soon  as  there  was  light  enough  to  see  the  track.  It 
was  one  of  those  delightful  mornings,  common,  almost  peculiar  to 
Australia.  The  air  was  charmingly  cool  and  balmy — every  breath 
perfumed  by  the  aromatic  odour  of  the  gum-trees  and  acacias.    A 


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OF   AUSTRALIAN  LIFE.  611 

light  haze  slumbered  in  the  damp  hollows^  but  the  whole  arch  of 
heaven  was  enamelled  with  one  pure  and  untainted  azure. 
Gorgeous  flocks  of  parrots  darted  like  flashes  of  rainbow  lightning 
from  grove  to  grove— startling  the  Diyads  with  their  shrill  voices  ; 
— ^while,  in  pleasing  contrast,  the  tuneful  barita>  or  organ  magpie, 
cooed  to  its  mate  its  flute-like  song.  The  tall  bustard  stalked 
among  the  rank  grass  of  the  distant  prairie,  or  flapped  with  heavy 
wing  over  the  highest  tree-tops.  The  deer-like  kangaroo  raised 
its  innocent  face,  gazing  at  us  from  its  cool  morning  pasture,  or 
sprung  away  from  our  too  near  approach  with  prodigious  bounds 
— ^flushing  here  and  there  multitudes  of  snipe  and  quail  in  its  swift 
passage.  The  wild  dog  stared  for  a  while  at  the  passing  lords 
of  the  creation — ^unconscious  of  the  fealty  and  mutual  companion- 
ship which  his  race  and  ours  have  ratified  time  out  of  mind.  The 
platypus — that  animated  paradox,  half  mole  half  duck — dipped  be- 
low the  surface  of  the  dark  water  holes  as  the  shadow  of  the  heron 
or  the  curlew  flitted  athwart  their  limpid  retreats.  Enlivened  by  its 
nocturnal  exemption  from  Sol's  rays,  even  the  lead-coloured  foUage 
of  the  eucalyptus  assumed  a  freshness  and  a  verdure  foreign  to  its 
nature ;  and  so  profusely  sprinkled  with  dew  was  the  parched 
herbage,  that  our  horses  dashed  the  moisture  away  in  showers  of 
liquid  diamonds  as  we  hastened  on  our  way. 

With  an  accuracy  seldom  at  fault,  never  wholly  baulked,  the 
black  lad  unravelled  the  labyrinth  we  were  pursuing,  though  in 
some  places  the  earth,  as  far  as  my  senses  served  me,  bore  not  the 
faintest  trace  either  of  horse-shoe's  print,  broken  shrub,  or  even 
bent  grass.  In  less  than  two  hours  we  reached  the  region  of 
ravines,  and  here  difficulties  apparently  insuperable  grew  upon 
us.  For  a  breadth  of  half  a  mile  the  country  was  broken  up  into 
a  confused  series  of  gullies  intersecting  each  other  in  every  direc- 
tion— some  thickly  clad  with  impervious  brushwood,  others  having 
bare  and  precipitous  banks  of  clay ;  and  many  of  these  fissures, 
evidently  formed  by  periodical  floods,  were  just  so  narrow  that  to 
ride  down  into  them  was  difficult,  and  so  wide  that  to  ride  over 
them  was  impossible.  Here,  a  stiff"  mat-like  shrub  rose  unbruised 
from  the  horses'  tread ;  there,  the  dusty  earth  was  covered  with 
conflicting  tracks  of  horses  and  cattle, — while  such  were  the 
sinuosities  of  our  path,  that  had  not  the  sun  afforded  us  a  general 
direction,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  determine  whether  we  were 
advancing  on  our  journey  or  returning  to  whence  we  came.  Puzzled 
now  and  then  by  the  printless  carpet  above  mentioned,  Dingo 
never  hesitated  among  the  divers  footmarks  in  dust  or  clay,  and  he 
pointed  with  a  grin  to  the  impression  of  a  broken  horse-shoe  which 
ne  had  followed  from  the  beginning  with  the  sagacity  of  a  sleuth 
hound. 

At  length  we  reached  a  considerable  stream.  Mr.  Clare's  track 
led  directly  into  it,  but  the  Black  instantly  perceiving  that  the 
footmarks  failed  on  the  opposite  bank,  he  motioned  me  to  ride  up 
the  current— for  it  was  shallow — while  he  rode  down  it;  and  a 
low  "  coo-ey''  soon  told  me  he  had  recovered  the  lost  trail. 

"  See,  Massa  Frank,"  said  he  quietly,  "plenty  turkey  fly  over 

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612  AN  iNciDEan? 

there — down  west :  tnrkej  always  go  to  big  plains.    Massa  Claro 
keep  bis  sbeep  on  big  plains  too — eh  i  ** 

And  so  it  was ; — ^for  the  horse  tracks  led  ns  gradually  ont  of  the 
ravines,  sometimes  threading  dangerous  swamps  which  threw  us 
out  of  our  course,  bojt  always  tending  in  the  direction  these  birds 
were  taking. 

To  bring  our  ride  to  a  close — we  emerged  at  length  from  a  dense 
scrub  upon  a  tract  of  fine  open  land  in  some  parts  entirely  free  of 
timber,  and,  turning  westward,  were  guided  by  the  trail  once  more 
into  an  arm  of  the  ravine  thickly  wooded,  and  through  which 
wound  many  paths,  one  of  which  led  to  the  water.  Immediately 
beyond  this  gully  we  came  upon  the  rear  of  a  cluster  of  rude 
buildings  in  whose  front  stood  a  nearly  equally  primitive  hut  of 
planks. 

Hailing  within  the  shadow  of  the  tall  casnarinas — a  tree  as  con- 
stant to  running  water  as  the  alder  of  Europe — I  sent  forward 
Dingo  on  foot  to  reconnoitre,  who  auickly  returned  with  tlie 
report  that  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  dwelHng-house  were  all 
open,  but  that  there  was  no  one  at  home,  he  thought,  except  Mr. 
Ilandall,  who  was  lying  asleep  in  the  veranda. 

Leaving  the  horses  with  the  lad,  I  now  advanced,  directly  and 
without  any  precaution,  towards  the  front  of  the  hut,  where  I 
found  a  figure  reclining  in  a  South  American  hammock  slung  from 
the  beams  of  the  portico.  It  was  the  respectable  Mr.  Randall, 
sure  enough — buried  in  slumber  and  snoring  like  a  grampus,  a 
checked  shirt  and  a  pair  of  canvass  trousers  his  sole  and  simple 
costume.  My  somewhat  noisy  approach  failing  to  rouse  the 
sleeper,  I  passed  on  and  knocked  at  the  door  with  my  whip.  No 
one  answering,  I  entered — turning  at  once  into  a  room  which  had 
the  appearance,  though  without  much  of  the  ordinary  furniture,  of 
a  parlour. 

Its  centre  seemed  to  be  dedicated  to  purposes  of  refection.  In 
one  comer  was  a  mattress,  rolled  in  the  furry  skin  of  some  animal, 
on  the  tanned  side  of  which  appeared  the  name  H.  Clare,  painted 
in  large  letters.  Four  small  and  much-worn  trunks,  looking  as 
if  designed  to  be  carried  on  sumpter  beasts,  were  ranged  iJong 
the  wall,  and  each  was  marked  with  the  same  initials.  Above 
them,  on  a  shelf,  lay  a  flute  and  a  bugle.  Passing  over  these  and 
many  other  objects,  I  approached  a  small  rough  table  and  chair, 
near  which  stood  a  book-case  with  a  few  volumes.  I  took  down 
one  of  them,  and  found  on  the  title-page  the  inscription  "  Henry 
and  Edward  Clare.  Edinburgh,  a.  d.  18 — .**  On  the  table  were 
writing  materials  and  a  heavy  riding  whip ;  and  hanging  in  loops 
of  hide  on  the  wooded  walls  were  several  sorts  of  fire-arms,  witk 
cutlasses,  belts,  pouches,  knives,  stockwhips,  and  other  weapons 
of  offence  and  implements  of  husbandry. 

Taking  down  a  short  carbine,  the  nearest  to  my  hand,  I  was 
struck  with  the  unusual  size  of  the  bore.  I  had  never  seen  a  baH 
large  enough  to  fit  it,  was  my  first  thought ;  when  suddenly  I 
recalled  to  mind  the  bullets  I  had  found  in  my  bush  bivouac  on 
the  mountain  road.    The  canvass  bag  now  hung  at  my  beh  filled 

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OF   AUSTRALIAN  LIFE.  613 

witli  my  own  cartriclges,  bat  its  original  contents  were  stHl  there 
afeo.  On  applying  one  of  the  balls  I  found  it  an  exact  fit  for  the 
carbine.  .  Returning  it  to  the  pouch,  my  fingers  chanced  upon 
the  silrer  ring  hereinbefbre  mentioned.  While  taking  it  out,  my 
eyes  alighted  upon  the  horsewhip  lying  before  me.  It  had  a 
heavy  embossed  knob  of  similar  workmanship  at  the  butt,  and, 
on  more  closely  examining  it,  I  observed  a  few  inches  further  up 
a  mark  of  ghie,  as  though  an  ornament  had  once  been  there,  and 
had  been  broken  off*.  Slipping  the  ring  over  the  point  of  the 
whip,  and  running  it  upwards,  it  stopped  precisely  at  the  mark 
aforesaid,  and  bad  evidently  refound  its  legitimate  home. 

In  the  opposite  room,  on  the  floor,  were  rough  sleeping  accom- 
modations for  two  persons,  and  a  few  weapons  of  different  sorts, 
among  which  I  recognized  the  pistol  which  RandaU  had  lent  me, 
whose  fellow  I  had  now  in  my  belt. 

An  open  note  lay  on  the  floor.  I  picked  it  up.  It  contained 
ihese  words : 

"  Will,  I'm  off"  in  a  hurry  with  Tom  to  spring  the  plant — you 
know  where,  and  shall  be  back  sooner  perhaps  than  you  expect 
Look  after  the  stock,  and  keep  an  eye  on  young  Saw-bones 
(pleasant,  thought  I !);  keep  your  hands  off'him  though,  for  I  dont 
want  him  hurt,  but,  by  the  Lord,  he  shall  not  thwart  me.  Douse 
the  brands  on  the  new  batch  as  soon  as  they  come  in.  The 
Blackfellows  saved  us  a  bloody  job  with  Dummy  at  the  Brush, 
for  Tom  has  heard  something  that  makes  us  cock-sure  he  was 
going  to  turn  on  us.     Yours,"  (no  signature). 

I  now  returned  to  the  reranda,  and  walking  up  to  the  hammock 
in  which  Mr.  Randall  was  still  snoring,  I  looked  in  upon  him. 
He  held  a  long  pipe  in  his  hand,  and  by  his  side  lay  a  spirit-flask, 
whereof  he  was  doubtless  sleeping  off  the  exhausted  contents. 
As  my  eyes  passed  over  his  ungainly  form,  I  observed  that  his  feet 
and  ankles  were  bare.  On  the  right  ankle  appeared  a  large  and 
only  half-healed  cicatrice  entirely  encircling  the  limb.  Turning 
ny  gaze  quickly  and  by  a  kind  of  mental  induction  to  his  closely- 
cropped  iiair,  the  fact,  the  unquestionable  fact,  that  William 
Randall  was  a  runaway  prisoner  from  an  ironed  gang,  flashed  on 
mj  conrrction — the  Tcry  man,  perhaps,  who,  as  was  reported,  had 
lately  escaped  from  a  road-party  on  the  mountain,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  have  joined  Black  Bob. 

And  who  and  where  was  this  firaious  Black  Bob  ?  Was  Mr. 
Randall's  tall  Iriend,  Mr.  Jones,  this  noted  personage  ?  No,  Mr. 
Jones's  personal  description  corresponded  better  with  the  nick- 
ncDBe  of  Long  Tom.  Besides,  the  overseer  at  Ultimo  had  once 
seen  Mr.  Jones,  and  described  him  as  a  fair,  sandy-haired  man. 
Conkt  Henry  Clare  and  the  black  bush-ranger  be  identical  ?  was 
the  next  and  startling  question  I  put  to  myself.  I  tried  to  recall 
the  phjTsical  peculiarities  of  each.  It  was  dusk  when  the  robber 
attacked  me,  and  I  noted  little  of  his  countenance  beyond  its 
dark  skin  and  flashing  eyes.  In  stature,  he  surpassed  myself,  as 
I  had  occasion  to  judge  in  our  breast  to  breast  struggle.  He  was 
less  robust,  for,  though  perfectly  cool,  and  skilfully  employing 


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614  AN  INCIDENT 

his  strength,  the  braFo  had  no  chance  with  me  when  once  within 
my  grasp.  His  Toice,  I  remembered,  had  some  peculiar  accent, 
but  that  might  have  been  assumed.  Clare's  stature,  figure,  and 
appearance  of  muscular  power  corresponded  well  enough  with 
my  reminiscences  of  my  old  antagonist  of  the  bush ;  but  ^en,  the 
dusky  complexion  !   how  could  that  be  got  over  ? 

And  here  another  striking  link  of  the  chain  of  evidence  which  mj 
memory  was,  as  it  were,  thus  ^*  bawling  upon,^*  was  suddenly  taken 
up.  In  the  fall  from  my  horse  given  me  by  the  bandit  one  of  my 
wrists  was  hurt,  and,  on  examining  it  by  candle-light  at  the  cabin 
where  I  slept  that  night,  I  found  that  my  hands,  as  well  as  the 
linen  at  my  cuffs,  were  stained  with  some  dark-brown  pigment. 
I  washed  my  hands,  and  thought  no  more  of  it. 

That  Black  Bob  was  not  a  black,  was  now  the  conviction  I  had 
jumped  to,  or  rather  reached  by  the  above  gradual  and  patient 
ratiocination.  Yes !  grappling  the  throat  of  a  white  man  hastily 
or  unskilfully  disguised,  explained  this  until  now  forgotten  soiling 
of  my  fingers  and  wristbands. 

A  wide  field  for  conjecture  had  been  thus  spread  before  me ; 
but  I  felt  positive  that  the  truth  had  been  hit  upon.  The  diffi- 
culty was  to  prove  it :  and  instinctively  I  was  stepping  forward 
to  lay  hands  on  the  still-slumbering  Randall,  when  a  different 
line  of  procedure  occurred  to  my  mind. 

Placing  the  note  in  my  pocket,  and  leaving  everything  else  in 
the  hut  precisely  as  I  had  found  it,  I  hurried  away  to  Dingo's 
post. 

"Have  you  seen  any  one  about  the  place  ?"  I  asked. 
The  lad  had  seen  no  one,  but  he  had  just  heard  the  crack  of  a 
stock-whip,  betokening  that  some  of  the  people  were  driving  in  cattle. 
Mounting  quickly,  therefore,  I  plunged  into  the  wooded  gully^but 
ere  retracing  our  steps  homewards,  at  Dingo's  suggestion  we  turned 
down  to  the  river  to  water  our  horses.  Here  we  found  several 
head  of  cattle  standing  under  the  shade  of  the  swamp-oaks  up  to 
their  dewlaps  in  the  stream,  cooling  their  sides,  and  lashing  off 
the  sand-flies  with  their  wet  tails.  A  fine  bullock  stood  near  me, 
and  turning  my  eyes  accidentally  on  the  brand,  by  which  every 
horse  and  homed  beast  in  Australia  is  distinguished — a  precaution 
necessary  to  prevent  the  commixture  of  herds  and  cattle-stealing, 
a  crime  then  rife  iu  the  colony,  and  more  especially  in  the  border- 
districts — I  perceived  that  though  the  letters  were  large,  they  were 
nearly  illegible.  The  other  animals  were  similarly  marked ;  in 
some,  the  original  brand  appearing  to  have  been  altered,  while  in 
others  it  had  been  summarily  burnt  or  cut  out.  The  initials,  when 
legible,  formed  a  clumsy  H.  C,  but,  on  close  scrutiny,  the  former 
letter  seemed  to  have  been  perverted  firom  an  I,  and  the  latter  from 
an  O,  or  some  such  letter. 

The  passage  in  the  anonymous  note  to  Mr.  Randall  relating  to 
the  *^  new  batch,^'  was  now  intelligible  enough  to  me.  The  cattle 
had  been  stolen,  or,  more  properly,  HJied,and  their  brands  altered 
or  erased. 

That  the  homestead  of  the  fascinating  Mr.  Henry  Clare  was  the 


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OF  AUSTRALIAN  LIFE.  615 

occasional,  if  not  the  pennanent,  lair  and  rendezYous  of  a  band  of 
marauders  of  some  kind,  was  now  as  clear  as  the  sun  at  an  Austra- 
lian noon-day;  that  an  absconded  convict  formed  one  of  this  wor- 
shipful company,  seemed  no  less  certain ;  while  that  two  others  had 
just  departed  on  an  expedition  boding  no  good  to  His  Majesty's 
lieges,  appeared  in  black  and  white  upon  the  document  deposited 
in  my  pocket. 

Well !  thought  I,  if  vigorous  and  untiring  efforts  on  my  part  to 
elucidate  the  real  character  of  this  flashy  cavalier  will  separate  fact 
from  fiction — will  drag  up  the  truth  from  the  bottom  of  the  well — 
such  shall  not  be  wanted.  Public  virtue,  patriotism,  self-devotion, 
and  a  host  of  other  disinterested  qualities  seemed  to  swell  within 
mj  bosom,  as  I  contemplated  the  righteousness  of  the  work, 
arduous  and  riskful  as  it  might  be,  which  should  at  once  expose 
and  punish  treachery  and  crime,  and  save  the  daughter  of  my  bene- 
factor— my  adopted  sister,  from  the  designs  of  a  scoundrel  and  the 
arms,  perhaps,  of  a  malefactor ! 

Thus  glorifying  myself,  our  return  ride  to  Ultimo  seemed  short 
indeed ;  and  an  evening  spent  in  solitary  rumination  sufficed  to 
mature  my  plan  of  action. 

It  was  carried  into  effect  as  follows. 


Making  my  appearance  at  Norambla  the  next  afternoon,  I  in- 
formed Mr.  Fellowes  that  important  business  would  take  me  im- 
mediately to  Sydney.  I  judged  best  to  tell  him  nothing  further 
than  that  my  former  vague  doubts  regarding  the  character  and 
pursuits  of  Mr.  Clare  had  gained  strength.  From  Miss  Fellowes 
I  readily  obtained  a  specimen  of  that  gentieman's  handwriting, 
and  having  compared  it  with  the  note  in  my  pocket,  I  arrived  at 
the  conclusion  that  they  were  by  the  same  hand  —  although  the 
characters  were  in  the  one  case  round  and  stiff,  and  in  the  other 
free  and  running. 

Five  days  later  I  reached  Sydney.  My  first  visit  in  this  city 
was  to  Mr.  Clarets  agent,  who  assured  me  that  his  principal  had 
not  arrived  there,  nor  was  he  likely  to  repair  to  the  capital  during 
the  shearing  season.     Indeed,  he  seldom  left;  the  provinces. 

My  second  interview  was  with  the  Chief  Superintendent  of 
Convicts^  and  part  of  the  information  I  sought  was  by  his  records 
instantly  supplied.  The  identity  of  Messrs.  William  Randall  and 
Thomas  Jones  with  two  "absconders"  and  bush-rangers,  known 
in  thieves'  lingo  as  "  Long  Tom"  and  "  Billy  the  Kid,''  was  clearly 
proven.  Rewards  had  sdready  been  advertised  for  their  appre- 
hension, and  the  police  were  on  their  track. 

As  for  Henry  Clare,  no  prisoner  was  missing  who  answered  to 
his  description — whether  black  or  white.  "But,  by  the  way,** 
added  the  Government  functionary,  "as  it  happens,  the  Con- 
troller of  Convicts  in  Van  Diemen's  Land  is  now  at  Sydney  on 
duty,  and  perhaps  he  may  be  able  to  assist  you." 

A  meeting  was  soon  arranged  between  that  officer  and  myself. 
He  lamented  that  he  had  not  his  office  books  with  him  ;  but 
scarcely  had  I  half  finished  my  personal  description  of  Mr.  Clare — 

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616  AN  INdDSMT 

and  mj  porfrah  was,  be  sore,  strikiDg^  if  not  flatleriiig — wban  lie 
interrupted  me  with  an  eager  smile. 

^^I  kuow  the  gentleman — I  know  him  well^  no  man  better.  Has 
be  not  a  deep  sear  on  one  temple  ?** 

^  I  cannot  be  sure,^  said  I,  *^  bot  I  think  I  have  observed  a  habit 
of  eoaxing  a  heavy  bnnch  of  enrls  down  upon  his  brow.'^ 

"  Tis  he,  no  doubt ;  and  pray,  Sir,  by  which  of  his  mnneroiu 
aliases  does  Mr.  Robert  Redpatli  now  pass  ?^ 

**  Clare — Henry  Clare,**  I  replied. 

**  Indeed  \^  rejoined  the  c^cer ;  **  roy  friend  Clare  wiB  mot  be 
Mattered  l^  this  rascal's  assumption  of  his  name.  Bat  I  bave  it 
BOW — I  see  it  all — let  me  remember.  Yes,  it  is  about  eight  years  ago 
that  this  Redpath  was  transported  for  forgery —  having  previously 
be«s  convicted  of  frandulent  embezzlement,  of  wilful  and  corrupt 
peijury,  and  of  desertion  from  a  dragoon  regiment  in  which  be  bad 
enlisted  as  a  bandsman."  (Hence  his  equestrian  and  modcal 
powers,  thought  I.) .''  His  last  conviction  in  Europe  was  for  forging 
certain  10/.  notes.**  (A  talent  for  etchmff  has  hanged  a  roan  before 
BOW,  again  thought  I).  **  He  arrived  in  Van  DieD»en*s  Land  as  a 
'  lifer,'  but  being  well  educated,  well  mannered,  and  conducting 
himself  at  first  with  propriety,  he  soon  obtained  a  ticket  of  leave 
and  salaried  employment  in  a  Government  office.  One  fine  day 
a  round  sum  of  hard  cash  disappeared  from  the  public  strong  box, 
and  the  young  scribe  simultaneously  from  his  tall  stool.  A  year 
or  two  later  our  Iriend  was  recognised  among  a  gang  of  despera- 
does, who,  in  the  dense  bush  of  Van  Diemen'^s  Land,  set  the  pcjice 
at  defiance,  and  levied  a  harassing  warfare  on  travellers  and  de* 
fenceless  settlers.  At  length  one  of  his  comrades  peached,  and 
contrived  to  lure  Redpath  and  three  of  his  confederates  into  a 
snare  prepared  for  them  by  the  constabulary.  A  Atriows  combat 
ensued,  in  which  Redpath  was  stretched  senseless  by  a  sabre  cut  oq 
the  head,  and  was,  with  his  companions,  carried  off  a  prisoner. 
None  of  ibe  party,  however,  long  consumed  His  Majesty's  rations, 
for  the  three  were  in  a  few  days  hanged;  and  so  soon  as  the 
prison  surgeon  conveyed  to  our  hero  the  soothing  intelligfBce 
that  his  health  was  considered  to  be  so  far  reinstated  fts  to  ad- 
mit of  his  undergoing  pubKc  execution,  he  contrived  a  miracu- 
lous escape,  and  was  supposed  to  have  altogether  got  clear  of  the 
island. 

^  It  subsequently  transpired  .that  this  promising  youth  had, 
with  seven  or  eight  other  desperate  characters,  managed  to  steiA 
and  carry  off  a  large  and  well-found  sailing-boat;  and,  hairing 
previously  armed  themselves  by  robbing  a  gunsmith's  store,  they 
had  established  a  piratical  lair  on  one  of  the  small  i^ets  in  Basses 
Straits,  whence  occasionally  issuing  forth  they  ravaged  the  coasts 
and  even  captuved  small  eoasting-vesseis. 

^  However,  this  tn^Sc,  so  suitable  to  their  tastes,  could  not  last 
long ;  and  the  prudent  gang  resolved,  after  one  more  good  hawl  in 
the  salt-water  line,  to  break  up  their  coalition  and  disperse. 

^  And  now  Mr.  Henry  Clare— not  y«tir»  but  mine— appears  upon 
the  stage,*  continued  the  ControHor  of  Convicts^    '^  This  gentle* 


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OF  AUSTRALIAN   LIFE.  6l7 

niai],  with  a  sick  brother,  had  emigrated  to  Swan  RiTer,  and, 
after  burying  there  his  relative,  had  determined  upon  removing  to 
New  Sonth  Wales.  No  opportunity  offering,  however,  for  a  pas- 
sage to  Sydney  direct,  he  sailed  for  Launceston,  a  town  on  the 
north  coast  of  Van  Diemen^s  Land,  in  a  small  trading  schooner, — 
with  all  his  property.  Becalmed  in  the  straits,  the  little  craft  was 
in  the  grey  of  the  morning  attacked,  boarded,  and  carried  by  the 
piratical  band  above  noted,  who,  after  landing  the  passengers  on 
an  uninhabited  part  of  the  coast,  and  pillaging  and  scuttling  the 
schooner,  made  off  in  the  boats — no  one  knew  whither. 

*•  Redpath,  I  conclude,  must  have  gathered  as  much  of  Mr. 
Clare's  history  as  served  his  purpose,  from  the  latter'is  papers, — 
must  have  helped  himself,  as  chief  of  the  banditti,  to  a  good  share 
of  his  personal  property,  and  have  hit  upon  the  ingenious  expo* 
liment  of  appropriating  also  that  gentleman's  name.  I  have  only 
to  add  that  there  is  a  reward  of  100/.  offered  by  Government  to 
any  free  person,  and  pardon  to  any  prisoner  of  the  Crown,  who 
will  give  such  information  as  may  lead  to  the  capture  of  Robert 
Redpath — alias  *  Gentleman  Jack' —  alias  *  Captain  Chaff* —  aKas 
*  The  Chelsea  Swell,'  and  alias  (I  am  pretty  sure)  *  Black  Bob' 
the  bush-ranger. 

^^  I  had  heard  of  the  latter  fellow  and  his  exploits  on  the  high- 
road, and  had  alwajrs  imagined  him  an  Aboriginal  black — an 
bumble  imitator  of  the  well-known  Australian  robber,  '  Mos- 
quito,^ who  distinguished  himself  some  time  back  both  in  this 
colony  and  in  Van  Diemen's  Land,  and  who  received  the  collar  of 
the  order  of  merit  at  last.  And  now,  Sir,"  concluded  the  oiBcer, 
**  I  have  given  you  the  clue.  It  remains  with  you  to  get  out  of  the 
aaaze.'^ 

My  next  measure  was  to  wait  on  the  Governor,  who  warmly 
took  up  the  matter  in  hand  —  giving  me  great  credit  for  pub- 
lic spirit  and  energy  of  character,  and  expressing,  moreover, 
his  opinion  that  if  other  provincial  gentlemen  would  devote  them- 
selves less  exclusively  to  money-making,  and  would  spare  some  of 
their  time  and  trouble  for  the  general  good — as  I  had  so  merito^ 
riously  done, — bush-ranging,  the  curse  of  the  colony,  would  be  at 
once  and  for  ever  suppressed ! 

Bowing  low  to  this  handsome  compliment  from  the  head  of  the 
executive,  the  glow  of  self-approval  diffused  itself  through  ray 
frame,  as  I  recognised  those  genial  feelings  which — hem  !  hem ! — in- 
spire the  besoms  of  the  statesman,  the  warrior,  the  patriot,  and  the 
philanthropist,  when  they  receive  the — hem !  hem ! — the  richest 
reward  of  duty  well  performed,  of  public  service  untarnished  by 
—  hem  !  —  by  private  considerations  and  selfish  interests  —  the 
encomiums  of  their  grateful  fellow  countrymen  ! 

His  Excellency  having  delivered  himself  of  his  eulogy,  referred 
me  to  the  Chief  of  the  Police  department  for  further  proceedings, 
and,  forgetting  to  ask  me  to  dinner,  bowed  me  out  of  the  pre- 
sence chamber. 

The  chief  of  Police  organised  in  a  few  minutes  a  plan  for  the 
capture  of  the  supposed  banditti,  and  informed  me  that  an  active 

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618  AN  IKCIDEKT 

sabaltem  of  the  mounted  police,  with  half  a  dozen  men  of  that 
force,  would  find  themselves  at  Mr.  Fellowes^s  head-station  nearij 
as  soon  as  I  could  return  there  ;  or,  if  I  pleased,  I  might  accom- 
pany them. 

For  reasons  of  my  own  I  chose  to  precede  the  party ; — and — 
not  to  loiter  over  diis  part  of  my  narrative— just  as  the  brief 
southern  twilight  of  a  wild  and  tempestuous  evening,  darkened  by 
thunder  clouds,  had  set  in,  I  reached  by  a  cross  road  a  spot, 
whence,  had  there  been  more  light,  the  house  of  Norambia  might 
have  been  seen,  at  the  distance  of  some  two  hundred  paces.  I 
had  halted,  indeed,  to  indulge  for  a  moment  in  this  my  favourite 
view,  when,  casting  my  eyes  round,  I  perceived  a  light  vehicle, 
with  a  pair  of  horses  harnessed  in  the  out-rigger  fashion,  standing 
unattended  and  half  hidden  in  a  shady  hollow  hard  by.  A  second 
glance  showed  me  that  one  of  the  horses  was  Mr.  Clarets  famous 
chestnut  thoroughbred. 

Having  fastened  my  own  steed  to  a  tree,  I  advanced  towards  the 
dwelling,  coming  upon  it  at  an  extremity  of  the  veranda  where 
the  little  boudoir  of  Mary  Fellowes  opened  upon  the  garden  by  a 
French  window.  Cautiously  approaching  I  heard  voices  speaking 
in  a  suppressed  tone, — and,  with  a  spasmodic  contraction  of  the 
heart  which  well-nigh  deprived  me  of  my  senses,  I  recognised 
those  of  Mary  and  of  Clare.  He  was  appealing  to  her  in  persua- 
sive and  passionate  terms,  and  covering  her  fair  hand  with  kisses 
as,  kneeling  by  the  window  step,  he  clasped  it  in  his  own. 

*^  No,  Mr.  Clare,**  exclaimed  the  agitated  girl.  ^'  Cease  to  urge 
me — it  cannot  be. — Why  this  haste  ? — why  this  secrecy  ? — ^Has 
not  my  good  father ^" 

Abruptly  cutting  short  the  lady's  discourse,  the  audacious 
intruder  now  sprung  to  his  feet,  and  with  a  hurried  and  resolute 
gesture  had  wound  his  arm  round  her  slender  waist ; — when,  in  an 
instant,  my  firm  gripe  was  on  his  shoulder,  and  I  held  him  as  in 
a  vice. 

"  Frank,  Frank !  what  are  you  doing  ?  Oh  Heavens,  what  is 
all  this  ?*'  shrieked  the  terrified  girl  as  she  scanned  our  fierce 
countenances. 

''  I  am  saving  you,  Mary,  from  the  designs  of  a  villain — of  a 
branded  felon  ! — and  you.  Sir,**  pursued  I,  "  cease  your  firuit- 
less  struggles — this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  felt  the  vigour  of 
my  grasp !  if  you  would  preserve  your  life,  step  aside  and  hear 
me.*^*  And  I  whispered  in  his  ear — ^^  Robert  Redpath,  the  police 
are  close  on  your  track — fly  while  you  may.  We  have  all  here 
been  indebted  to  you  for  our  lives — I  will  not  take  yours, — although 
in  preserving  that  of  so  doubly-dyed  a  malefactor  I  commit  a 
heinous  sin  against  society.*' 

Trembling  in  every  joint  with  conflicting  emotions,  in  which 
rage  and  fear  struggled  for  mastery,  the  robber  hesitated,  and  his 
eye  shot  fire  while  his  hand  moved  irresolutely  towards  his  pistols. 

^1  On  the  honour  of  a  gentleman  and  the  faith  of  a  Christian, 
it  is  as  I  have  said.  A  strong  party  of  mounted  police  are  at 
this  moment  approaching  the  house.    Fly  or  you  are  lost-^y, 

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OF  AUflTRAUAN  UFE.  619 

irretched  man,  ere  it  is  too  late — and  escape  the  death  of  th^ 
gallows.^ 

I  released  him  as  I  saw  his  eye  quail — and  the  robber  fled, — 
fled  without  turning  one  look  on  the  innocent  maiden  whom  he 
had  beguiled  into  a  belief  in  his  honour  and  virtue.  Nor  had  he 
a  moment  to  spare ;  for  scarcely  had  he  disappeared  in  the  shade 
of  the  trees  when  the  tramp  of  horses  was  heard,  and  the  Lieu- 
tenant and  his  myrmidons,  arriving  by  the  main  road,  trotted  up 
to  the  door. 

Whilst  accommodation  was  being  prepared  for  the  officer  and 
his  party,  I  stole  to  the  spot  where  I  had  seen  the  carriage  waiting. 
It  was  still  there — ^but  the  horses  were  gone,  and  their  master, 
doubtless,  with  them.  In  order  to  avoid  suspicion,  I  drew  the  little 
vehicle  into  the  backyard  so  that  it  might  pass  for  one  of  our  own. 
Mary  had  hidden  herself  in  her  chamber;  but  I  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  relating  the  whole  of  my  late  proceedings  to  the  father, 
and  of  requesting  him  to  break  to  his  child  the  strange  intelligence 
of  which  1  was  the  bearer. 

While  overwhelming  me  with  expressions  of  gratitude  for  the 
inappreciable  services  I  had  rendered  to  them  both,  Mr.  Fellowes 
joined  me  unreservedly  in  the  feeling  that  a  moral  debt  lay  on  us 
to  promote  the  safety,  in  this  one  contingency  at  least,  of  the  man 
whose  gallantry  had  saved  us  from  a  frightful  death  at  the  hands  of 
the  savages; — and,  having  eased  our  conscience  on  this  point,  we 
hoped  that  time  would  blunt  its  prickings  on  the  score  of  having 
shielded  from  offended  justice  so  notorious  and  dangerous  a  de- 
linquent. 

My  mind,  indeed,  did  misgive  me,  that  this  compounding 
between  private  feelings  and  the  general  interests  of  society  was  a 
slight  backsliding  from  the  pinnacle  of  pubUc  virtue,  to  which  I 
had  lately  climbed.  Nevertheless,  by  some  reasoning  or  other, 
I  persuaded  myself  that,  in  preserving  my  benefactor  and  his 
daughter  from  misery  and  disgrace,  I  had  done  enough ;  and  as 
they  both  coincided  with  me  in  this  opinion,  I  did  not  sink  very 
deeply  in  my  own  estimation. 

As  for  Mary — her  half  beguiled  fancy  had,  I  rejoice  to  say, 
stopped  short  of  absolute  infatuation  for  the  unmasked  reprobate ; 
and  in  a  short  time  her  ruffled  peace  of  mind  was  again  entirely 
tranquillized. 

I  have  now  only  to  add  that  the  police,  commanded  as  they 
were  by  an  officer  who  had  made  many  a  previous  gallant  capture, 
succeeded  the  next  evening  in  surprising  Messrs.  Jones  and 
Randall  at  a  weak  moment  which  usually  followed  their  supper, 
and  in  identifying  these  gentlemen  with  the  well-known  rangers  of 
His  Majesty's  Australian  Forests — Long  Tom  and  Billy  the  Kid. 
If  I  throw  a  veil  over  the  eventual  destinies  of  this  pair  of 
worthies,  it  is  because  I  am  unwilling  to  cloud  the  conclusion  ox 
this  veracious  history,  with  a  last  dying  confession  and  a  hempen 
catastrophe. 

As  for  that  romantic  and  insinuating  cut-purse,  Mr.  Robert 
Redpatb,  we  never  heard  of  him  again; — and,  for  my  part,  I  con- 

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620  AN  INCIDBNT  OF  AU8TEALIAN  LIFE. 

StMBf  that  having  puDcUUoufily  repaid  the  debt  I  owed  him,  I  < 

to  feel  any  particular  solicitude  as  to  his  subsequent  historj  and 

ultimate  fate. 

It  would,  however,  be  a  glaring  injustice  to  hia  numerous  and 
peculiar  merits,  to  doubt  that,  sooner  or  later,  they  met  their 
reward — that  be  attained,  in  short,  that  elevated  positicm  aboTe 
the  common  crowd,  which  the  nature  and  amount  of  his  acbieve- 
ments  in  both  hemispheres  had  given  him  an  unquestionable  right 
both  to  aspire  to  and  to  expect,  and  which  society  at  large  were 
unanimous  in  their  desire  to  confer.* 


Looking  back  through  the  vista  of  years  upon  the  events  above 
narrated — with  the  fair  and  faithfulpartnerof  my  joys  and  sorrows 
at  the  opposite  extremity  of  my  hearth-rug — a  smile  and  a  shudder 
would  at  once  brighten  and  blanch  her  cheek,  as  we  recalled  to 
our  memories  some  of  the  more  stirring  particulars  of  this  passage 
of  our  lives.  And  she  would  rather  repress  than  encourage  the 
never-satiated  curiosity  of  our  two  fine  boys  when  they  urged 
upon  me  the  oft-repeated  petition — ^^'Do,  dear  father,  do,  once 
more,  tell  us  the  story  of  Black  Bob,  the  Buah-Ranger  of  the 
Blue  Mountains." 

Who  this  fair  partner  was,  I  must  leave  to  the  penetration  of 
my  indulgent  reader — to  whom,  likewise,  I  bequeath  the  task  to 
reconcile,  if  he  may,  the  past  platonics  and  the  present  paternity 
of  the  now  truly  happy  hist<man. 

*  Amongst  the  annals  of  Australian  bushranging,  the  writer  of  this  little  tale 
has  met  with  very  many  curious  and  terrible  facts, — none  more  so  than  those 
oootained  in  a  paper  entitled  **  Memoranda  of  the  career  and  fate  of  two  ganp 
of  Bushrangers,"  which  has  been  placed  at  his  disposal  by  a  friend  who  was 
resident  in  New  South  Wales  at  the  time  of  the  occurrences,  and  to  which  the 
Editor  of  the  Miscellany  may,  if  he  pleases,  afford  a  place  in  a  future  number. 


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€21 


MARGUERITE    DEVEREUX. 
A  TRUE  STORY. 

BY  YAUGHAN   OAYRELL. 

In  the  year  1779^  in  a  beautiful  yillage  in  Gascony,  lived  as  good 
and  as  happy  a  family  as  Heaven  in  its  kindness  ever  blessed  with 
health,  competence  and  contentment.  A  cottage,  with  all  the 
rustic  innocence  and  virtue  with  which  poets  are  wont  to  adorn  it, 
has  seldom  been  tenanted  by  two  more  simple  and  affectionate  hearts 
than  those  of  Richard  Devereux  and  his  daughter,  Marguerite. 

Marguerite  was  a  universal  favourite.  Wiio  could  look  on  that 
bright  and  sunny  smile  without  feeling  something  of  the  innocent 
gaiety  that  it  bespoke?  And  who  could  gaze  but  with  fervent 
admiration  on  that  natural  grace  and  ease  which  flow  from  true 
modesty  and  simplicity,  and  which,  often  denied  to  the  beauty  of 
the  gilded  saloon,  is  Nature's  free  dower  to  the  pride  of  the  vil- 
lage r  But  her  deep  tender  blue  eyes  and  soft  light  hair  were 
only  the  lesser  and  more  perishable  charms  of  Marguerite.  If 
we  dared  believe  in  human  innocence  we  should  indulge  that 
heresy  here.  What  guile  or  sin  could  lurk  in  the  heart  of  that 
loved  and  loving  girl  ?  Did  not  smiles  and  kind  words  greet  her 
wheresoever  she  went  ?  Can  any  distrust,  or  fear,  ay,  or  envy  that 
bright  ingenuous  face  ?  And  must  not  her  coming  days  be  as  happy 
as  they  deserve  to  be  ?  Can  there  be  any  gloomy  cloud  on  the 
horizon  of  her  life?  Away  with  the  fanciful  foreboding.  Look 
again  — it  has  vanished  —  there  is  not  a  stain  on  the  vaulted 
heaven. 

Marguerite  was  in  the  blushing  dawn  of  womanhood.  According 
to  the  custom  of  the  neighbourhood,  she  had  been  betrothed  while 
quite  a  child  to  Guillaume  Beranger,  a  young  and  brave  soldier, 
with  the  troops  in  Germany.  She  remembered  his  kind  face  and 
manly  carriage.  She  had  often  seen  him  at  her  father's  cottage;  but 
then  she  was  too  young  to  have  loved  him.  She  was  told  that  she 
was  destined  to  be  his  wife,  and  she  heard  and  obeyed  the  injunction 
with  all  that  pleasure  which  she  always  experienced  in  the  readiest 
and  most  cheerful  compliance  with  the  wishes  of  her  father.  Beyond 
that  she  entertained  no  feeling  or  opinion  on  the  subject,  save  some« 
thing  like  dread  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her  father's  cottage  and 
her  brother  and  sisters.  Now  and  then  there  came  to  her  tidings 
of  her  future  husband,  and  a  blush  of  pride  mantled  on  her  cheek 
as  the  village  gossips  stopped  her  as  she  bounded  by  their  cottage 
doors,  to  talk  of  the  victory  that  the  troops  of  the  Republic  had 
lately  won,  and  in  which  Guillaume  had  distinguished  himself. 
And  once  there  came  a  small  medal,  which  her  father  hung  round 
her  neck  with  a  riband,  and  bade  her,  with  his  blessing,  wear  it 
until  her  brave  lover  came  to  take  her  from  him. 


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Google 


6S2  HABOUERITE  DEVERBUX. 

Their  days  glided  happily  by.  If  Bome  Btory  came  of  what 
was  doing  in  Paris,  many  disbelieved  and  few  heeded  it  And 
what  a  heaven  of  tranquillity  was  that  little  village  compared 
with  the  hell  of  human  passion  and  suffering  that  was  raging  in  the 
drunken  capital !  The  cry  for  bread  from  a  hungry  people  had 
not  reached  this  happy  valley  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees,  through 
which  the  birds  flew  as  gladly  and  the  streams  flowed  as  brighSy 
and  musically  as  ever.  Centralization  had,  in  an  earlier  reign, 
made  Paris  France,  and  therefore  what  now  recked  this  remote 
comer  of  a  distant  province  of  the  fall  of  throne  or  temple  ?  The 
blood  of  royalty  hao  stained  the  scaffold,  and  an  old  and  haughty 
aristocracy  were  daily  perishing  before  the  outbreak  of  popular 
fury,  but  not  an  echo  of  the  thunder  or  a  vibration  of  the  earth- 
quake had  reached  this  quiet  haven. 

Not  far  from  the  cottage  of  Devereux  was  a  ch&teau,  which  had 
for  centuries  belonged  to  an  old  family  of  the  higher  middle  orders. 
No  titles  could  be  found  by  the  most  flattering  annalist  to  grace 
the  records  of  the  family  of  Levemey.  They  were  one  of  the  few 
houses  in  France  who,  without  the  meretricious  lustre  of  royal  or 
titular  connection,  could  boast  a  long  line  of  gentle  ancestry.  No 
splendid  virtues  or  great  crimes  had  conferred  on  them  either 
fame  or  notoriety.  They  had  deserved  for  many  generations  the 
eloquent  and  simple  epitaph,  that  **  All  the  sons  were  brave  and 
the  daughters  virtuous."^  When  called  on,  they  had  often  in  hard- 
fought  fields  shed  their  blood  for  their  country  with  silent  and 
patient  courage,  but  they  had  never  been  gifted  with  great  intellect 
or  animated  by  that  restless  and  reckless  ambition  which  wins  its 
way  to  the  high  places  of  the  world. 

Denis  Levemey  was  the  youngest  scion  and  sole  heir  of  this 
ancient  family.  His  father  had  served  for  years  in  the  Frendi 
army,  and  then  retired  to  his  patrimonial  estate  in  the  valley  at  the 
foot  of  the  Pyrenees.  His  domains  were  not  large,  and  to  super- 
intend their  cultivation  was  now  the  amusement  of  his  declining 
years.  His  only  son,  Denis,  had,  when  quite  a  boy,  shown  consi- 
derable ability,  and,  with  no  wish  to  risk  the  life  of  the  only  male 
survivor  of  an  old  house,  he  had  consented  to  the  wish  of  his  son 
to  shun  the  profession  of  arms,  and  pursue  the  more  intellectual 
labours  of  an  advocate. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  that  memorable  year  1792,  that,  after  his 
career  of  legal  study  was  over,  Denis  was  to  spend  a  short  space  of 
time  with  his  father,  before  he  returned  to  commence  the  duties  of 
his  profession.  During  his  long  stay  at  Paris,  his  father  had  heard 
from  him  at  regular  intervals;  regular  supplies  of  money  had 
been  sent  to  him,  and  there  had  been  at  no  time  a  request  for  more 
than  patemal  affection  and  liberality  had  supplied  to  him.  Of  his 
life  there,  the  society  he  kept,  the  opinions  he  entertained,  the  old 
man  knew  literally  nothing.  He  was  very  ignorant  of  the  state  of 
political  parties  at  Paris,  had  the  most  entire  confidence  in  his  son's 
good  sense  and  honour,  and  contented  himself  with  looking  forward 
to  the  time  when  they  should  meet.  Meanwhile  that  joyful  day 
drew  near.    About  a  month  before  the  day  of  his  expected  arrival. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


HAROU£BIT£  DEVEBEUX.  623 

bis  father  received  a  letter  from  Denis,  which  affected  him  with 
mingled  feelings  of  pain  and  pleasure.  It  stated,  that  he  had  per- 
fected his  course  of  leffal  study ;  that  he  had  lingered  some  months 
in  Paris,  for  reasons  which  he  did  not  in  his  letter  explain, — that  he 
bad  lately  suffered  from  a  severe  illness  which  had  much  shaken  his 
health, — that  instead  of  waiting  until  the  time  he  had  originally 
planned  and  promised,  his  physician  advised  his  immediate  removal 
into  the  country,  and  that  he  contemplated  with  great  pleasure  a 
longer  stay  in  the  chateau  than,  had  his  health  not  necessitated  it, 
he  should  have  allowed  himseli 

I  must  here  give  a  hasty  sketch  of  much  which  I  know,  and 
which  his  father  did  not,  of  the  life  and  character  of  Denis  Lever- 
ney.  On  his  first  arrival  in  Paris  he  fell  among  many  young  men 
preparing  for  his  and  other  professions,  against  whose  pursuits  and 
pleasures  he  had  heard  no  warning  voice  raised.  With  health  and 
spirits  and  wealth  enough  to  keep  pace  with  many  of  his  equals  in 
rank,  how  strange,  without  guidance  and  admonition,  if  he  had  not 
joined  in  the  wild  pursuit  of  pleasure  in  the  gayest  capital  in 
Europe !  He  drank  and  danced  and  laughed,  as  gaily  and  as 
heartily  as  the  rest  of  them,  while  the  excitement  of  the  hour  of 
pleasure  lasted;  but  after  the  storm  there  came  to  him  no  calm. 
The  banquet  and  the  dance,  the  midnight  revel  and  the  wildest 
frolic  were  scarce  over,  before  some  compunctious  visitings  of  regret 
and  remorse  disturbed  him.  He  had  never  totally  neglected  his 
studies,  and  when  he  returned  at  midnight  from  some  scene  of  Bac- 
chanalian revelry,  he  would  strive  with  his  book  or  pen  to  scare 
away  the  demon  of  care  by  a  short  but  strenuous  application.  Such 
a  life  could  not  be  called  happy ;  but  yet,  while  the  wine  flowed  or 
the  music  played,  who  that  saw  the  glow  of  excitement  upon  his 
face  would  have  dreamed  that  there  would  certainly  follow  on  it  regret 
and  care,  or  the  bitter  accusations  of  conscience,  or  the  promptings  of 
a  lofty  ambition,  which  had  higher  aims  and  ends  than  a  life  of 
elegant  Sybaritism  ?  He  owed  to  what  some  men  may  term  acci- 
dent his  abrupt  abandonment  of  this  gay  career. 

He  was  walking  dreamilv  down  one  of  the  streets  near  his  cham- 
bers in  search  of  one  of  bis  companions,  when  his  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  little  dog,  which  had  evidently  strayed  from  his  pos- 
sessor, and  was  in  imminent  peril  of  being  crushed  by  the  next 
vehicle  that  passed  *^  This  may  l^ad  to  a  little  gallantry,"^  he  ex- 
claimed ;  **  so  pretty  a  dog  must  be  the  property  of  some  fair  pos- 
sessor ;  and  whether  it  is  or  not,  I  must  save  it  from  the  fate  that 
threatens  it." 

He  rushed  from  the  pavement,  but  could  not  lay  his  hand  on  the 
truant  poodle,  before  the  wheel  of  a  small  vehicle  had  passed  over 
its  hind  leg,  and  sent  it  yelping  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
He  succeeded  in  capturing  it,  and,  holding  it  in  his  arms,  was  ex- 
amining to  see  what  nurt  had  been  done,  when  he  was  addressed  by 
a  venerable-looking  old  man  in  the  dress  of  an  abb^. 

<<  I  thank  you  verv  warmly,  young  man,  for  your  kindness  and 
humanity.  Ibis  little  dog  is  mine;  I  procured  him  lately  in  the 
country,  where  I  have  been  stayingjaiid  where  he  followed  me  ea^y 

VOL.  XXXIY.  Digitized  by  (SiDOglC 


624  HARGUEBITE  DEVEREUX. 

and  without  fear  of  losing  hbn.  This  is  bis  first  day  in  the  streets, 
and  but  for  you  had  been  his  last  My  dwelling  is  near  this,  and  I 
know  that  yours  is  not  far  off.  If  I  am  not  depriving  you  of  the 
society  of  others,  and  interfering  with  an  engagement,  will  you  walk 
with  me,  that  I  may  have  the  pleasore  of  again  thanking  you  t^ 

Denis  replied,  that  he  (elt  great  pleasure  in  acquiescing  in  the 
proposal,  and  they  walked  together  conversing  on  indifferent  sub- 
jects, until  they  reached  the  door  of  the  abb^^s  residence,  which  he 
was  surprised  to  find  faced  his  own  chambers.  They  entered,  the 
dog's  injured  leg  was  bound  up,  and  the  venerable  ecclesiastic^  who 
did  not  altogether  despise  the  good  things  of  life,  insisted  on  Denis's 
tasting  some  choice  wine  which  had  lately  been  presented  to 
him. 

<<  You  are  a  student,  and  would  like  to  see  my  books  f"  said  the 
abbe. 

Denis  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  do  so.  It  was  a  goodly  collecttott 
of  volumes,  and  not  confined  to  his  own  language  ;  a  choicer  library 
of  classical  books  could  not,  perhaps,  have  been  found  in  a  private 
bouse  at  Paris,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  English,  German,  and 
Italian  authors  of  celebrity. 

**  Any  of  these  are  at  your  disposal  for  reading  or  reference, — for 
I  know  you  read,*^  said  the  abbe ;  **  and  you  may  sometimes  lack 
books,  or,  at  any  rate,  wish  to  shun  the  public  libraries.^ 

♦*  You  are  only  too  good,"  exclaimed  Denis  ;  *«but  how  do  you 
know  that  I  am  a  student,  or  that  (for  it  by  no  means  necessarily 
follows)  I  read." 

"  You  live  opposite,**  said  the  old  man :  "  you  do  not,  perhaps, 
know  me.  I  have  been  now  some  little  time  in  the  country,  and 
when  here  I  lead  a  very  secluded  and  quiet  life.  You  ha?e  been 
more  than  a  year  in  Paris.  I  have  long  watched  you,  and  I  am 
very  grateful  that  what  seems  an  accident,  gives  me  the  opportunity 
of  making  your  acquaintance,  and  of  saying  to  you  what  I  am  sure 
you  will,  at  any  rate,  listen  to  with  patience  from  a  man  who  is  so 
much  your  elder.  I  have  observed  you  closely  now  for  months;  your 
appearance  interested  me.  I  have  seen  no  person  older  than  your- 
self at  any  time  in  ybur  rooms.  Have  you  any  one  on  whose 
judgment,  advice,  or  guidance  you  can  rely  ?  I  think  not  I  can 
see  too  plainly,  by  the  appearance  of  your  companions,  and  the 
hours  you  keep,  that  yon  are,  when  not  employed  in  your  studies, 
in  a  whirl  of  gaiety  and  dissipation.  And  I  can  see  more;  I  can 
read  in  your  face,  that  this  life  does  not  make  you  happy;  and  that» 
however  you  may  relish  excitement,  the  pause  after  excitement  is 
misery.  When  you  return  to  your  chambers  at  midnight,  why  does 
vour  lamp  so  often  bum  until  daylight ;  and  what  means  your  rest- 
less walkmg  to  and  fro  for  hours  in  your  room  ?  All  is  not  right; 
you  are  meant  for  something,  if  not  more  happy,  at  any  rate  greater 
than  this.** 

Denis  was  astonished,  but  not  offended.  He  told  the  old  man  un- 
reservedly his  past  liie--4iis  present  feelings — his  real  wishes ;  how 
he  had  been  hindered  by  circumstances^  and  led  astray  by  temptation. 
I|e  asked  his  advice,  and  earnestly  promised  that  he  Wild  follow  it. 

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MARGUEBITE  BEViaiBUX.  625 

•*  Do  iM^  make  promises  too  rashly,  my  young  friend,'*  said  the 
abbe;  ^jtm  may  not  find  them  so  easy  to  perform.  And  I  am  not 
desiroos  of  fettering  yoa  to  any  particular  course  of  conduct,  but 
merely  hope  to  succeed  in  persuading  you  to  abandon  the  present 
one.'**    It  is  needless  to  gire  the  rest  of  their  conversation. 

At  the  abbe's  adyice  Denis  quitted  Paris  for  some  months,  and 
steadily  pursued  a  course  of  study  which  the  old  man  had  marked 
out  for  him.  He  regularly  corresponded  with  his  new  friend  and 
•dTiser.  One  week  he  receired  bo  letter  on  the  accustomed  day  on 
which  he  had  been  wont  to  expect  it  Another  week  elapsed  and 
not  a  line.  He  began  to  auspect  that  the  abbe  had  grown  weary 
of  writing  to  him,  or  that  he  was  indisposed,  or  had  left  the  capita). 
He  hurried  to  Parrs,  and  fonnd  that  his  friend  was  dead.  From 
some  strange  feeling  the  abbe  had  not  allowed  any  one  to  write  and 
inform  Lererney  of  the  danger  of  his  illness,  and  yet  his  thoughts 
were  almost  entirely  occupied  with  his  new  friend.  He  wrote 
letters,  and  directed  that  they  were  not  to  be  delivered  except  in 
case  of  his  death.  He  also  left  to  him  many  of  his' books,  and  all 
his  papers.  When  Denis  arrived  in  Paris  only  just  in  time  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  his  friend,  we  may  imagine  bow  strongly 
affected  he  was  by  so  sadden  and  abrupt  a  termination  of  a  friendship 
which  promised  so  much.  He  followed  his  friend'^s  remains  to  the 
tomb,  and  devoted  the  remainder  of  that  and  the  two  following  days 
to  a  careful  perusal  and  consideration  of  all  the  manuscripts  be  had 
received.  He  pondered  long  and  deeply  over  their  contents,  and 
was  strong  in  his  determination  to  follow  the  advice  contained  in 
them.     From  that  day  Denis  Leverney  was  an  altered  man. 

The  Girondists  were  then  first  gathering  and   strengthening. 
Their  secret  clubs  were  then  held,  and  eloquent  debates  on  social 
questions,  to  which  the  world  appeared  for  the  first  time  awaken- 
ing, proved  the  ability  and  enthusiasm  of  this  young  party.     ITiey 
were  men  who  spent  nights  over  the  beautiful  theories  of  Plato 
and  the  dreams  of  Rousseau.    To  teach  mankind  a  new  and  noble 
creed,  to  regenerate  society  and  make  their  country  the  wonder  and 
the  teacher  of  the  world  was  their  lofty  aspiration.     History  has 
recorded  their  fate.     Leverney  was  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and 
gifted  teachers  of  these  new  doctrines.     But  the  readers  of  the 
Greek  and  the  French  philosopher  could  not  long  guide  a  maddened 
people,  whose  only  hope  of  safety  seemed  to  lie  in  the  extermina- 
tion of  their  enemies,  and  who  were  goaded  by  that  bloody  trium- 
virate,   Danton,   Robespierre,  Marat      Leverney  struggled  with 
the  moderate  party  to  save  the  life  of  the  monarch,  but  his  super- 
human exertions,  uncheered  by  success,  and  too  great  for  even  his 
mental  and  physical  strength,  soon  prostrated  him  on  the  bed  of 
illness,  on  which  he  was  yet  lying  when  he  wrote  to  his  father  at 
the  eh&teau,  to  inform  him  of  his  intended  visit     He  fled,  sick  at 
heart,  from  the  tragedies  that  were  being  enacted  in  Paris  during 
the  fiendish  revelry  of  the  Reign  of  Terror.     He  was  welcomed 
with  tears  of  joy  by  his  affectionate  parent,  who  had   so  long 
fondly  cherished  the  expectation  of  receiving  his  long  absent  son. 
Those  were  happy  and  tranquil,  days,  as  the  father  and^  son 

Digitized  by  tflC!C)QlC 


626  MARGUERITE  DBVERBUX. 

strolled  forth  together  amidst  the  beautiful  scenery  that  surrounded 
them,  and  felt  a  boundless  gratitude  to  the  wise  Dispenser  of 
events  that  the  whirlwind  of  human  passion  had  not  yetruflOed  the 
serenity  of  their  happy  home.  But  if  Heaven  will  it  so,  there  ia 
danger  for  us  when  everything  seems  most  calm  and  safe,  and 
safety  when  death  hovers  close  to  us  in  the  battle  or  the  shipwreck. 
And  so  was  it  with  Denis  Levemey. 

He  was  walking  alone  on  a  lovely  evening  by  the  bank  of  a 
stream  which  flowed  through  the  village  near  the  chateau.    He  was 
fatigued,  as  he  had  wandered  farther  than  he  had  yet  ventured 
since  his  recovery.    He  sat  down  on  a  sloping  bank  to  rest  him- 
self, and  watched  the  sun  as  it  scattered  its  last  faint  rays  over  the 
beautiful  landscape  that  lay  before  him.    The  outline  of  the  giant 
mountains  that  towered  near,  showed  clear  against  the  purpled  sky. 
He  sat  musing  as  the  chiming  splash  of  the  stream,  which  broke 
against  the  rocks  that  embedded  it,  fell  on  his  ear.    Then  the  sun 
went  down  to  his  ocean  rest,  and  twilight  seemed  to  steal  silently 
down   the  valley,  and  a  silvery  mist  steamed  up  from  the  river. 
Denis  fell  into  a  deep  and  wild  reverie.  What  a  contrast  here  to  all 
the  scenes  he  had  left  behind  him !  Are  not  the  poets  right,  thought 
he,  who  bid  us,  in  seeking  real  happiness,  fly  from  the  nauseous 
pleasures  of  the  buzzing  town  ?  and  if  we  do  not  find  the  rural 
innocence  they  colour  so  highly,  at  any  rate  we  see  less  of  the 
strength  of  human  power  and  of  the  ravage  of  human  passion. 
These  reflections  were  soon  interrupted  by  a  voice  near  him  calling, 
**How  late  you  are,  father  I    Why  do  you  not  come  to  the  cottage  ? 
The  air  is  getting  chill  and  damp."    He  thought  he  recognised 
the  voice,  and,  turning  round,  he  saw  a  light  and  graceful  fotm^ 
unbonneted,  drawing  nearer  to  him.    It  was  too  dark  -to  see  her 
features,  but  he  felt  sure  he  remembered  the  voice. 

"  Is  not  that  Marguerite  Devereux  ?'"  he  said :  "  I  ought  to 
remember  my  old  playfellow,  though  it  is  five  years  since  I  have 
seen  you." 

<<  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Marguerite,  timidly  approaching. 
**  My  father  often  sits  here  in  the  evening,  and  I  must  ask  you  to 
forgive  me  for  my  mistake.  I  came  to  call  him  home  to  his  supper.** 

^*  Make  no  excuses.  Marguerite,  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  your 
voice  again,  though  it  is  almost  too  dark  for  me  to  recognise  in 
you  my  pretty  village  playfellow.  I  should  certainly  have  come 
before  this  to  pay  my  old  friend  Richard  a  visit,  but  I  am  a 
wretched  invalids  and  this  is  the  first  walk  I  have  ventured  on 
alone." 

*^  1  saw  you,  sir,  the  other  day  with  the  colonel,  crossing  the 
field  near  the  ch&teau,  but  I  did  not  like  to  come  and  speak  to 
you.** 

*^  You  need  not  have  been  afraid  of  me.  Marguerite,  I  have  not 
forgotten  my  old  friend  and  playfellow ;  but  you  can  do  me  a  great 
favour  now.  I  have  walked  too  far  and  sat  here  too  long,  I  must 
be  getting  home ;  and  I  scarcely  think  that,  without  help,  I  have 
strength  to  do  so.  Will  you  ask  your  father  or  one  of  your  brothers 
to  come  and  give  me  their  support  to  the  chateau  7*^ 

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MARGUERITE  DEVEREUX.  627 

*^  Oh !  yes,''  said  Marguerite,  as  she  hurried  off  to  her  cottage 
home  near  at  hand. 

Denis  soon  heard  her  sweet  voice  calling  to  one  of  her  younger 
hrothersi  and  shortly  after  their  approaching  footsteps. 

*^  Give  me  a  hand,  my  good  boy,'*  said  Denis,  ^*  for  I  cannot  rise 
from  this  sloping  bank  without  assistance.  Hold  fast,  and  keep 
your  balance,  or  we  shall  tumble  into  the  stream  together.'* 

The  boy  nervously  advanced,  held  out  his  hand,  and,  leaning 
forward  too  much,  lost  his  balance  as  Denis  took  his  hand,  and 
down  they  fell  together.  The  boy  rolled  down  the  side  of  the 
bank,  and  was  stopped  in  his  descent  by  the  stump  of  a  fallen  tree, 
to  which  he  clung;  Denis  was  precipitated  into  the  water.  It  was 
scarcely  out  of  his  depth,  and  had  it  been  so  he  was  an  expert 
swimmer ;  but  the  stream  was  too  rapid  to  allow  the  swimmer*s  art 
to  do  much  for  him,  and  he  was  almost  stunned  by  his  fall  down 
the  bank.  According  to  all  ordinary  calculations  his  life  was  in 
imminent  peril,  but  his  hour  was  not  come. 

The  poor  boy  recovered  himself  merely  to  scramble  up  the  bank, 
and  raise  a  frantic  cry  for  help.  Not  so  Mareuerite.  With 
marvellous  presence  of  mind,  she  hurried  silently  along  the  bank, 
and  knowing  that  a  few  yards  below  where  he  had  fallen  there 
was  a  jutting  point  close  to  which  the  stream  would  whirl  him, 
she  placed  herself  on  it,  and  as  the  current  swept  him  near,  she 
seized  his  dress  with  firm  hand  and  drew  him  to  the  bank. 

Not  fifty  yards  below  the  spot  where  she  had  rescued  him,  there 
was  a  fall  in  the  river,  which  had  he  reached,  nothing  but  a 
miracle  could  have  saved  him.  Let  us  not  seek  to  dive  into  the 
future  to  think  how  this  good  deed  may  influence  her  destiny. 
Away  with  fears  and  forebodings.  She  is  blushing  and  smiling,  as 
again  and  again  he  thanks  her  for  her  heroic  conduct;  and  when 
he  left  her  near  the  cottage-door,  and  shook  her  hand  so  warmly, 
how  happy  was  she  then ! 

Next  morning,  the  narrow  escape  of  Monsieur  Denis  Leverney 
was  the  talk  of  the  little  village.  The  gossips  could  not  under- 
stand how  Marguerite  happened  to  be  so  near  at  hand.  They 
shook  their  heads,  "  It  was  very  brave  and  good  of  her,"  they 
admitted.  They  were  very  glad  she  bad  done  it.  She  blushed 
crimson  when  they  congratulated  her,  and  asked  all  the  particulars. 
But  they  did  not  ask  her  how  she  happened  to  be  there.  They 
only  shook  their  heads  and  looked  at  each  other  very  mysteriously. 
Denis  dreamed  that  night  of  his  fair  deliverer — how  ungrateful 
had  he  not  done  so  I  He  had  scarcely  seen  her  woman  beauty. 
So  he  dreamed  of  his  golden-tressed  little  village  playfellow  of 

J  ears  long  gone  by.  In  dreams,  he  wandered  back  to  those 
appy,  careless,  thoughtless  days,  ere  knowledge  or  experience 
had  cast  a  gloom  over  the  fresh  morning  of  life.  And  he  dreamed 
of  delivery  by  the  same  fair  hand ;  but  the  vision  had  much  in  it 
that  was  darker  than  the  reality.  They  were  sporting  in  child- 
hood by  the  river  side  on  the  spot  where  she  had  saved  him  some 
hours  before.  They  were  sailing  little  paper  boats  on  the  stream, 
and  watching  them  as  the  current  carried  them  down.  Ip  stretch- 
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628  HARGUERITE  DEVEREUX. 

ing  his  hand  to  take  one  of  tbemi,  be  thought  he  had  fallen  forward 
— that  she  had  seized  him — they  had  fallen  togett^  into  the  watery 
he  had  regained  the  bank,  but  ouly  to  see  her  borne  down  the  rapid. 
And  he  awoke  with  a  start,  and  tears  were  in  his  ej^es,  and  his 
brain  felt  hot  and  fevered,  and  the  sun  was  streaming  ia  at  his 
lattice.  He  rose,  and  deeming  this  vaston  the  fiilse  represeatatioa 
of  what  had  passed,  rather  than  the  shadow  of  what  might  yet  be  to 
come,  he  shook  its  remembrance  from  him. 

At  his  father'^s  proposal  they  wandered  that  laoming  to  the 
cottage  of  Richard  Devereux,  again  to  thank  his  dau^iter  for  what 
she  had  done.  They  found  the  old  man  sitting  in  the  aunshine  ia 
his  garden,  and  his  pretty  daughter,  with  two  of  her  youngest 
sisters,  busy  with  her  needle  at  the  cottage-door. 

Denis  now  saw,  as  she  listened  with  blushes  to  what  was  said  to 
her,  how  beautiful  a  woman  his  pretty  playmate  had  become.  Every 
grace  and  charm  that  had  promised  so  well  in  the  child  were  now 
developed  into  a  beauty  seldom  to  be  seen  in  courts  or  cottages. 

That  evening  Denis  visited  the  scene  of  his  danger  and  delivery 
on  the  previous  one.  Was  it  strange  that  he  met  Mu*guerite  at  the 
very  spot  ?  It  was  her  usual  walk,  and  could  she  think  that  the 
invalid  would  have  wandered  again  so  far  from  the  chateau.  Her 
little  brother  was  with  her. 

•*  Are  you  going  to  drop  me  into  the  river  again  to-night,  my 
young  friend?"  said  Denis.  "I  think  that  even  the  pleasure  erf 
being  rescued  by  your  pretty  sister  would  not  induce  me  to  have 
another  dip." 

The  poor  boy  looked  very  much  confused  at  the  remembrance  of 
his  clumsiness,  and  the  praise  of  his  sister's  beauty  had  brought  the 
rose  to  her  cheek.  Denis  turned  and  walked  with  them  towiutis  the 
cottage ;  the  distance  was  short,  but  it  seemed  as  nothing  when  the 
way  was  beguiled  by  the  friendly  and  easy  conversation  in  which 
they  joined.  Then  came  the  tremulous  voice  and  the  pressure  of 
the  lingering  hand  at  parting,  and  they  separated  with  that  feeling 
which  those  who  love  only  know,  to  live  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
again,  were  that  meeting  only  a  few  hours  hence. 

Next  day  Denis  walked  to  the  cottage,  but  without  his  father, 
and,  after  some  few  words  of  greeting  to  old  Richard,  presented 
Marguerite  a  large  and  handsome  book  which  he  bad  purchased 
some  years  before  in  Paris  to  gratify  an  expensive  whim,  and  which 
was  then  never  meant  for  the  service  to  which  it  was  now  conse- 
crated. He  ventured  amidst  the  thanks  which  she  gave  him  for 
his  costly  present  to  say,  unheard  by  Richard, 

"  Do  walk  this  evening  on  the  river  side." 

She  smiled  a  blushing  assent 

By  the  river  at  the  spot  where  they  had  met  last  night  they  met 
again.  Her  brother  bad  been  with  her,  but  had  run  away  to  joia 
a  troop  of  playfellows  bent  on  the  destruction  of  a  bird's  nest 
near  at  hand.  Denis  induced  her  to  stroll  away  from  the  cottage 
and  they  spent  a  full  hour  wandering  by  the  river.  Another  part- 
ing and  a  whispered  hope  that  she  would  take  her  usual  ramble 
on  the  following  evening,  and  another  assenting  smile,  and  they 

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MAROUEBITE  DEVEREUX.  629 

8»d  adieu  until  the  aorrow^  and  w^t  bome  to  enjojr  memory  and 
feed  upon  hope. 

And  thus  they  met  eveniog  after  evening,  and  Marguerite  felt 
such  rapture  in  the  society  of  Denis,  that  we  think  she  loved» 
though  sbe  might  not  acknowledge  the  existence  of  the  passion  even 
to  herself.  She  never  dreamed  that  she  did  wrong ;  she  had  been 
betrothed  to  Guillaume  Beranger ;  she  had  never  loved  him ;  Denis 
was  her  old  friend  and  playmate.  As  to  him,  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  betrothment ;  he  loved  wildly,  and  many,  many  hours  of  purest 
happiness  did  they  spend  together  in  those  lovely  and  inspiring 
scenes.  He  had  made  no  declaration  of  his  passion  to  her,  but  one 
not  so  guileless  and  unsophisticated  as  Marguerite  would  have 
learned  from  his  words  and  bis  manner  how  much  he  felt 

Denis  felt  now  as  if  he  had  never  really  lived  before;  and  he 
had  not,  for  he  had  never  lovecL  His  stay  at  Paris  had  been  divided 
between  gaieties  which  gave  no  happiness,  study  which  had 
strengthened  the  intellect  without  moving  the  heart,  and  action 
which  had  led  him  into  struggles  with  men  whose  cruel  spirits  and 
demoniac  passions  had  taught  him  a  low  estimate  of  human  nature* 
And  now  he  loved  a  young,  pure,  beautiful  girl,  who  loved  him  in 
return.  Oh  highest  happiness  attainable  in  this  world !  The  trium«> 
phant  warrior  listening  to  the  acclamations  of  his  grateful  country- 
men, who  throng  the  path  of  his  ovation,  must  know  that  that  fickle 
crowd  may  hoot  him  the  first  day  he  dares  from  honest  motives  to 
contravene  popular  opinion.  The  statesman  who  has  fought  his 
way  from  obscurity  with  talent  and  courage  amid  suspicions  and 
slanders,  with  bitter  enemies  and  cold  friends,  when  he  listens  to 
the  loud  cheering  with  which  his  party  greets  his  first  successful 
division  is  in  a  proud  position,  but  the  thrill  of  exultation  which 
beats  in  the  heart  of  gratified  ambition  is  as  nothing  to  that  clear^ 
full  calm  of  rich  felicity  known  when  we  first  love  and  are  loved* 

Why  did  not  God  in  his  mercy  take  those  two  young  beings  to 
his  starry  heaven-home  ere  the  bright  sun  set  and  the  clouds 
loomed  up  and  the  night  of  affliction  brought  all  its  pitiless  and 
pelting  storms  to  drown  their  hearts  in  anguish  and  despair  ? 

One  evening  as  they  took  their  accustomed  walk  Denis  told 
Marguerite  his  tale  of  love.  Down  flowed  the  heart-torrent  and 
never  did  more  eloquent  lips  reveal  a  deeper  or  more  real  pas- 
sion. How  Marguerite's  colour  left  her  face !  her  bosom  heaved, 
and  at  length  the  tear  stole  down  her  cheek  as  sbe  listened  to  his 
burning  words.  When  Denis  ended,  she  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of 
conflicting  feelings,  which  he  could  not  interpret, 

"Oh  leave  me,  do  leave  me!  I  never  dreamed  of  this — how 
foolish,  how  wicked  I  have  been  I  Do  leave  me  now — meet  me  on 
this  spot  to-morrow  evening  at  this  hour  and  let  me  answer  you ; 
my  feelings  have  overcome  me,  I  cannot  speak  now." 

Denis  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips  and,  with  a  whispered  adieu, 
hurried  from  the  spot.  That  night  his  sleep  was  restless,  his 
dreams  troubled ;  his  next  day  was  spent  in  doubt  and  suspense, 
and  many  a  gloomy  foreboding  cast  a  shadow  over  his  sou!.  The 
appointed  hour  came,  and  trembling  to  the  spot  he  went.     Poor 


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630  MABOUERITE  DEVEREUX. 

Marguerite,  with  a  pale  face  and  thin  voice^  her  speech  broken  witb 
sobs,  addressed  him, 

**0h,  Denis *Levemey9  will  you  ever  forgtye  me?  can  I  ever 
forgive  myself,  that  I  have  been  so  thoughtless,  so  selfish,  so  wicked 
as  to  have  been  snared  through  friendship  into  love  which  must 
only  end  in  sorrow.  I  am  betrothed  to  another — I  have  been  so  for 
years — I  should  have  told  you  this.    Oh !  do  forgive  and  forget  me.** 

Denis  had  staggered  to  that  interview  expectant  of  the  worst. 
Some  strange  vow,  some  promise  to  her  father,  some  long  postpone- 
ment of  their  marriage: — these  had  occurred  to  him  ;  for  these  be 
was  prepared; — but  that  Marguerite  was  the  destined  bride  of 
another  —  that  all  his  delicious  dreamings  should  be  frustrated 
—these  happy  hours  spent  in  each  other'^s  society  now  bitter  memo- 
ries,— this  was  too  much.  He  sobbed  like  a  child.  Oh  !  with  what 
warmth  he  pleaded  with  her — how  he  besought  her,  not  from 
a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,  to  insult  the  best  feelings  of  her  heart, 
and  sacrifice  one  whom  she  loved  as  well  as  her  own  happiness.  The 
simple  girl  listened  in  tears  but  with  constancy  to  his  fervid  appeaL 
She  had  been  taught  that  promises  must  be  kept  though  the  heart 
should  break  in  keeping  tbem,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  her  lover 
sought  to  move  her  by  the  eloquence  of  his  entreaties. 

"  Oh  !  Denis,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot  love  me  more  than  I  love 

Jou ;  I  shall  be  given  to  another,  but  my  heart  will  always  be  yours, 
have  sought  counsel  from  the  holy  church  and  I  dare  not  disobey. 
Oh  !  pray  that  I  mav  be  resigned  to  the  will  of  Heaven.  God  pro- 
tect and  the  blessed  Virgin  watch  over  you  for  ever !  Oh  !  leave 
me  now." 

One  last  wild  embrace,  one  muttered  prayer,  his  voice  choked 
with  sobs,  that  seemed  to  rend  his  heart,  and  Denis  fled  from  her 
as  though  he  were  frantic  He  sought  his  bedroom  without  seeing 
his  father  that  night.  He  spent  some  hours  in  thought  and  prayer, 
and  then  he  made,  in  a  still  whisper,  a  vow  to  Heaven ;  and  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  these  few  lines : — 

**  My  beloved  Parent, — Oh  !  blame  me  not  for  what  I  do !  It  is 
the  call  of  Heaven,  and  we  must  obey.  I  had  hoped  to  have 
soothed  your  old  age  with  my  support  and  society,  but  it  is  denied 
me.  I  fly  to  bury  all  worldly  thoughts  and  worldly  cares  in  the 
holy  exercises  and  discipline  of  the  monastery,  and  to  dedicate  my 
life  to  God.  I  can  never  explain  the  cause  of  this  sudden  resolve. 
Let  us  bend  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  and  pray  for  each  other; 
and,  oh !  may  we  meet  in  a  better  world ! — Your  unhappy  son, 

*' Denis  Levebney." 

Denis  packed  up  some  few  things,  and  having  supplied  himself 
with  barely  sufficient  money  for  his  journey,  fled  ere  daybreak 
from  the  chateau.  One  last  sad  look  be  gave  to  the  quiet  cottage 
of  Richard  Devereux,  around  which  the  morning  mist  was  wreath- 
ing itself  in  fantastic  shapes,  and  the  birds  caroling  gaily.  But  in 
that  cottage,  after  a  long  night  of  weeping  vigil,  lay  the  unhappy 
Marguerite,  the  tumult  of  her  grief  not  yet  subsided.  And  her 
disconsolate  lover  is  flying  to  the  gloom  of  ascetic  discipline  to  try 
and  drown  memory,  and  smother  passion. 

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HABGUERITE  DEVEBEUX.  631 

The  sequel  of  this  story  is  so  sad,  that  it  cannot  be  told  too 
briefly  and  simply.  I  have  before  me  fragments  of  a  diary  kept  by 
Denis  after  he  arrived  at  Rome;  but  it  were  sacrilege  to  lay  bare  to 
the  cold  world  the  bleedings  of  that  heart  Rigorous  asceticism, 
prayers  and  fasting,  intense  mental  exertion  could  not  expel,  though 
they  helped  to  quiet,  the  demon  of  memory. 

Poor  Mons.  Leverney,  bowed  down  with  years  and  sorrow  at  his 
bereayement,  lived  but  a  short  time  after  bis  misguided  son  fled 
from  his  roof.  And  Marguerite's  pale  and  care-worn  cheek  spoke 
too  plainly  of  the  woe  that  lurked  in  her  heart  The  gossips  were 
busy  again.  What  meant  the  walks  by  the  river  and  the  sudden 
departure  of  Denis  and  the  pensive  looks  of  the  once  joyous  girl? 
But  they  got  no  answer,  and  time  lulled  their  suspicions,  and  in  less 
than  a  year  Guillaume  Beranger  returned,  and  Marguerite,  though 
she  concealed  the  painful  struggle  which  she  suffered,  was  led  to  the 
altar  and  made  a  wife.  She  moved  in  her  sphere  of  duty  with  an 
assumed  cheerfulness,  but  with  a  kind  of  mechanical  obedience, 
which  perhaps  escaped  a  casual  observer.  She  had  one  child,  a 
little  girl,  on  whom  she  doted;  and  evening  after  evening  might 
she  be  seen  for  years  walking  along  the  river  side,  where  she  had 
saved  from  destruction  him  who  had  been  destined  to  be  at  once  her 
victim  and  the  destroyer  of  her  happiness. 

Her  husband  had,  after  a  stay  of  a  few  months,  gone  forth  with 
the  troops  on  another  campaign,  and  left  his  wife  and  little  daughter 
in  Richard'^s  cottage.  One  morning  brought  the  tidings  of  Ouil- 
laume's  death.  He  had  died  fighting  bravely  ;  and  poor  old  Deve- 
reux  shed  tears  over  the  letter  of  a  comrade  which  brought  the  sad 
tidings.  He  was  pained  that  his  daughter  was  not  more  affected 
by  the  loss  of  her  husband.  She  felt  much  real  sorrow,  for  Guil- 
laume had  been  kind  to  her,  and  he  was  brave  and  good,  but  she 
was  a  moving  statue,  and  no  burst  of  grief  could  flow  from  that  now 
pensive,  care-haunted  woman.  She  was  so  continuously  sad  that 
she  might  seem  too  little  affected  at  her  husband's  fall. 

Old  Richard  was  next  gathered,  a  full  shock  of  ripe  com,  in 
the  harvest  of  the  grave.  His  last  days  had  been  happier,  but  for 
his  daughter's  mysterious  silence  and  gloom.  Marguerite  Beranger 
and  her  little  daughter  still  lived  in  the  old  man's  cottage,  and 
tended  the  flowers,  of  which  he  had  been  so  fond,  and  walked  toge- 
ther each  evening  by  the  river. 

Some  years  elapsed.  Marguerite's  life  had  continued  one  long 
subdued  melancholy ;  her  time  occupied  by  teaching  her  little 
daughter,  now  growing  from  girlhood  almost  into  womanhood,  and 
reminding  her  of  what  she  had  been  when  Denis  Leverney  had 
returned  from  Paris  to  the  chateau.  In  devotional  exercises,  too,  a 
great  portion  of  her  time  was  spent  No  day  passed  but  in  the 
church  of  her  village  might  Marguerite  be  seen  with  her  beads, 
rapt  in  fervent  prayer. 

There  came  from  the  College  at  Rome  three  priests,  who  had 
been  sent  through  this  and  the  adjoining  provinces  to  hold  general 
confessionals.  Other  ceremonies  and  services  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  occupied  two  days,  and  on  the  third  wentthe  inha- 

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(32  MABGUBBTTE  DEVEfiEDX. 

bitants  of  tbe  village  to  the  confession,  and  Marguerite  aiDODg 
tbem.  What  she  told  in  the  confessional  we  know  from  the  tragic 
consequences  of  that  revelation.  She  poored  forth  tx>  the  priest 
not  only  a  confession  of  those  errors  of  thought  and  word  and  deed 
which  were  but  small  stains  on  a  life  of  comparmtive  iusooenee ; 
but  she  told  the  sad  history  of  hear  life :  how  she  had  loved  anodi^' ; 
bow  she  had  been  compelled  to  reject  his  love,  in  obedience  to  the 
counsels  of  the  Church  ;  how  he  had  fled,  and  immured  himself  in 
a  monastery ;  how  she  had  wedded  one,  to  whom  betrothed  what 
voung,  she  bad  never  loved ;  that  he  had  died  soon,  and  that  her 
life  bad  been  one  long  sorrow;  that  her  only  wish  was  now  to 
bear  of  him  she  first  loved,  and  then  to  die. 

She  ended,  and,  instead  of  hearing  tbe  words  of  holy  conaolatioa 
from  tbe  priest  to  whom  she  bad  thus  bared  the  secret  of  her  aching 
heart,  nothing  fell  on  her  ear  but  a  deep  groan ;  and  rising  up  iroa 
the  confessional,  be  hurried  from  the  church.  Marguerite  waited, 
expecting  his  return,  or  thinking  that  one  of  tbe  other  priests 
would  take  his  place.  She,  however,  at  last  left  the  confessional 
and  learned  tliat  the  priest  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and 
had  fainted  outside  the  church,  and  when  recovered  had  gone  alone 
to  his  lodging.  That  priest  was  Denis  Leverney  !  He  staggered 
to  the  house  where  his  apartment  was,  sate  down  and  wrote  some 
few  hurried  words,  scarcely  legible,  and  these  among  them : — 

^'Good  God !  that  I  should  have  lived  to  hear  those  words  from 
Marguerite  !  Her  constancy  owned !  Had  not  I  rashly  immured 
myself  in  this  profession,  which  has  been  but  an  ineffectual  balm 
to  my  wounded  heart,  I  could  now  have  spent  happy  days  with  her 
I  once  loved  !  —  but,  alas !  it  is  denied  me !  Oh,  God !  in  thy 
mercy  forgive — " 

Here  the  pen  had  stopped.  Before  he  sat  down  to  write  this,  be 
had  sent  a  message  to  the  cottage  of  Marguerite,  to  beg  that  the 
priest  to  whom  she  had  confessed  might  see  her.  She  came  in  sur- 

Erise  and  suspense  to  the  house;  and  when  she  entered — there  lay 
efore  her  eyes,  in  his  priestly  dress,  the  pistol  by  his  side,  the 
bleeding  corpse  of  her  self-murdered  lover !  He  bad  not  dared  to 
aee  her  again,  and  in  a  moment  of  frenzy  had  put  the  pistol  to  his 
mouth,  and  hurried  himself,  his  soul  stained  with  his  own  bloody 
into  tbe  presence  of  his  Maker. 

Marguerite  was  lifted  from  that  dreadful  sight  in  fits,  and  raving 
like  a  maniac.  For  weeks  she  lay,  hanging  between  life  and  death; 
and  when  she  partially  recovered!,  reason  came  not  back  with  what 
of  health  was  restored.  She  was  blessed  by  tbe  assiduous  atten- 
tion of  her  loving,  and  dutiful  daughter;  but  she  only  once  suffi- 
ciently recovered  her  reason  to  tell  to  her  and  the  priest  of  tbe 
village  the  sad  history  I  bave  narrated.  She  would  wander  down 
to  tbe  river,  and  point  to  a  spot  on  the  bank,  and  murmur  to 
herself,  and  smile  and  weep  in  pitiable  alternation.  She  did  not 
survive  her  lover  a  year. 

Oh,  there  is  ^uiguish  which  no  eye  but  that  of  God's  should  see ! 
**The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  a  stranger  inter- 
meddleth  not  therewith.'' 


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633 


ART :  A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 
Bt  Charles  Reade,  Esq., 

AUTHOft  or  ^CHRISTIE   JOHVSTONX/'   '*  PF.Q   WOrFINGTON/   ETC. 

£arlt  in  the  last  century  two  young  wooi^n  were  talking  to- 
gether in  a  large  apartment,  richly  furnished.  One  of  these  was 
Susan,  cousin  and  dependant  of  Mrs.  Anne  Oldfield ;  the  other 
was  a  flower  girl,  whom  that  lady  had  fascinated  hy  her  scenic 
talent.  The  poor  girl  was  but  one  of  many  persons  over  whom 
Mrs.  Oldfield  had  cast  a  spell ;  and  yet  this  actress  had  not 
reached  the  zenith  of  h^  reputation. 

The  town,  which  does  not  always  know  its  own  mind  about 
actors,  applauded  one  or  two  of  her  rivals  more  than  her,  and 
fancied  it  admired  them  more. 

Oldfield  was  the  woman  (there  is  always  one)  who  used  the 
tones  of  nature  upon  the  stage,  in  that  day ;  she  ranted  at  times 
like  ber  neighbours,  hot  she  never  ranted  out  of  tune  like  Uiem^ 
her  declamation  was  nature,  alias  art — thundering;  theirs  was 
artifice — raving:  her  treatment  of  words  was  as  follows; — she 
mastered  them  in  the  tone  of  household  speech ;  she  then  gradu* 
ally  built  up  these  simple  tones  into  a  gorgeous  edifice  of  music 
and  meaning ;  but  though  dilated,  heightened,  and  embellished^ 
they  never  lost  their  original  truth.  Her  rivals  started  from  a  lie, 
so  the  higher  they  soared,  the  further  they  left  truth  behind  them ; 
— they  do  the  same  thing  now,  pretty  universally. 

The  public  is  a  very  good  judge;  and  no  judge  at  all  of  such 
matters :  I  will  explain. 

Let  the  stage  voice  and  the  dramatic  voice, — the  artificial  and 
the  artistic, — the  bastard  and  the  legitimate, — the  false  and  the 
true,  be  kept  apart  upon  separate  stages,  and  there  is  no  security 
that  the  public  will  not,  as  far  as  hands  go,  applaud  the  monotone 
or  lie,  more  than  the  melodious  truth.  But  set  the  lie  and  the 
truth  side  by  side — upon  fair  terms,  and  the  public  becomes  what 
the  critics  of  this  particular  art  have  never  been — a  critic ;  and 
stage  bubbles,  that  have  bubbled  for  years,  are  liable  to  burst  in  a 
single  night. 

Mrs.  Oldfield  was  wise  enough,  even  in  her  generation,  to 
know  that  the  public's  powers  of  comparison  require  that  the 
things  to  be  compared  shall  be  placed  cheek  by  jowl  before  it; 
and  this  is  why  she  had  for  some  time  manoeuvred  to  play, 
foot  to  foot^  against  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  the  champion  of  the 
stage. 

Sracegirdle,  strong  in  position,  tradiUon,  face,  figure,  and 
many  qualities  of  au  actor,  was  by  no  means  sorry  of  an  oppor- 
tunity to  quench  a  rising  rival;  and  thus  the  two  ladi^  were 

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634  ART  :   A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 

to  act  together  in  the  "  Rival  Queens,**  within  a  few  days  of  our 
story. 

Roxana Mrs.  Bracegirdlb* 

Staiira Mrs.  Oldfield. 

The  town,  whose  heart  at  that  epoch  was  in  the  theatre, 
awaited  this  singular  struggle,  in  a  state  of  burning  excitement 
we  can  no  longer  realise. 

Susan  Oldfield,  first  cousin  of  the  tragedian,  was  a  dramatic 
aspirant  Anne's  success  having  travelled  into  the  provinces,  her 
aunt,  Susan's  mother,  said  to  Susan,  who  was  making  a  cream 
cheese,  "  You  go  an'  act  too,  lass !" 

**  I  will,"  said  Susan,  a-making  of  cream  cheese. 

Anne's  mother  remonstrated,  **  She  canH  do  it." 

"  Why  not,  sister  ?"  said  Susan's  mother,  sharply. 

Then  ensued  some  reasoning. 

"  Anne,"  said  the  tragedian's  mother, "  was  bom  clever.  I  can't 
account  for  it.  She  was  always  mimicking.  She  took  off  the 
exciseman,  and  the  farmers,  and  her  grandmother,  and  the  very 
parson — how  she  used  to  make  us  laugh !  Mimicking !  why  it 
was  like  a  looking-glass,  and  the  folk  standing  in  front  of  it,  and 
speaking  behind  it,  all  at  one  time ;  once  I  made  her  take  me  off; 
she  was  very  loth,  poor  lass.  I  think  she  knew  she  could  not  do 
it  so  well  as  the  rest ;  it  wasn't  like,  though  it  made  them  all 
laugh  more  than  the  others ;  but  the  others  were  as  like  as  faggot 
to  faggot.  Now,  Susan,  she  can't  take  off  nothing  without  'tis  the 
scald  cream  fi-om  the  milk,  and  I've  seen  me  beat  her  at  that ;  I'm 
not  bragging." 

To  this  piece  of  ratiocination,  Susan's  mother  opposed  the  fol- 
lowing — 

^^  Talent  is  in  the  blood,"  said  she  (this  implies  that  great  are  all 
the  first  cousins  of  the  great). 

Anne's  mother  might  have  weakened  this  by  examples  at  her 
own  door,  to  wit,  the  exciseman,  who  was  a  clever  fellow,  and  his 
son  an  ass.  But  she  preferred  keeping  within  her  own  line  of 
argument,  and  as  the  ladies  floated,  by  a  law  of  their  nature,  away 
fi*om  that  to  which  lawyers  tend,  an  issue,  they  drafted  divaguely 
over  the  great  pacific  ocean  of  feminine  logic.  At  last  a  light  shot 
into  Susan's  mamma :  she  found  terra  firma,  i.e.,  an  argument 
too  strong  for  refutation. 

*^  Besides,  Jane,"  said  she,  ^^  I  want  your  Susan  to  chum !  So 
there's  an  end !" 

Alas  !  she  had  underrated  the  rival  disputant  Susan's  mother 
took  refuge  in  an  argument  equally  irrefragable :  she  packed  up 
the  girl's  things  that  night,  and  sent  her  off  by  coach  to  Anne  next 
morning. 

Susan  arrived,  told  her  story  and  her  hopes,  on  Anne^s  neck. 
Anne  laughed,  and  made  room  for  her  on  the  third  floor.  The 
cousins  went  to  the  theatre  that  evening,  the  aspirant  in  front 

Susan  passed  through  various  emotions,  and  when  Belvidera, 
"  gazed,  turned  giddy,  raved,  and  died,"  she  ran  to4he  stage  door, 

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ART  :   A  DRAMATIC  TALE.  635 

with  some  misgivings,  whether  she  might  not  be  wanted  to  lay  her 
cousin  out.  In  Anne's  dressing  room  she  found  a  laughing  dame, 
who,  whilst  wiping  off  her  rouge,  told  her  she  was  a  fool,  and 
asked  her  rather  sharply,  "  how  it  went  ? " 

^*  The  people  clapped  their  hands  !  I  could  have  kissed  them,^' 
said  Susan. 

"  As  if  I  could  not  hear  that,  child,"  said  Anne.  "  I  want  to 
know  how  many  cried  where  you  were — '* 

^^  Now,  how  can  I  tell  you,  cousin,  when  I  could  not  see  for  cry- 
ing myself?*' 

"  You  cried,  did  you  ?    I  am  very  glad  of  that !  ^ 

**La,  cousin!" 

^^It  does  not  prove  much,  but  it  proves  more  than  their  clapping 
of  hands.  You  shall  be  my  barber's  block — ^you  don't  understand 
me — all  the  better — come  home  to  supper." 

At  supper,  the  tragedian  made  the  dairy-maid  tell  her  every  little 
village  event;  and,  in  her  turn,  recalled  all  the  rural  personages; 
and,  reviving  the  trick  of  her  early  youth,  imitated  their  looks, 
manners,  and  sentiments,  to  the  life. 

She  began  with  the  exciseman,  and  ended  with  the  curate — a 
white-headed  old  gentleman,  all  learning,  piety,  and  simplicity. 
He  had  seen  in  this  beautiful  and  gifted  woman,  only  a  lamb  that 
he  was  to  lead  up  to  heaven — please  God. 

The  naughtiest  things  we  ao  are  sure  to  be  the  cleverest,  and 
this  imitation  made  Susan  laugh  more  than  the  others. 

But  in  the  midst  of  it,  the  mimic  suddenly  paused,  and  her  eye 
seemed  to  turn  inwards :  she  was  quite  silent  for  a  moment. 

Ah !  Oldfield,  in  that  one  moment,  I  am  sure  your  heart  has 
drunk  many  a  past  year.  It  is  away  to  the  banks  of  Trent,  to 
grass  and  flowers,  and  days  of  innocence,  to  church-bells  and  a 
cottage  porch,  and  your  mother's  bosom,  my  poor  woman — 
princess  of  the  stage. 

She  faltered  out,  ^^  But  he  was  a  good  man.  Oh  !  yes !  yes  ! 
yes  !  he  was  a  good  man ;  he  admired  me  more  then  than  he  would 
now!  None  like  him  shine  on  my  path  now."  And  she  burst  into 
a  fit  of  crying.' 

Susan  cried  with  her,  without  in  the  least  knowing  what  was  the 
matter.  And  these  most  dissimilar  beings  soon  learned  to  love  one 
another.  The  next  day  Anne  took  the  gauge  of  Susan's  entire  in- 
tellects; and,  by  way  of  comment  on  the  text  of  Susan,  connected 
her  with  dramatic  poetry,  as  Mrs.  Oldfield's  dresser. 

Susan  then  had  been  installed  about  three  months,  when  she 
was  holding  that  conversation  with  the  flower  girl,  which  I  have 
too  long  interrupted. 

**  It  is  an  odd  thing  to  say,  but  I  think  you  are  in  love  with  my 
cousin  Anne.'' 

'^I  don't  know,**  was  the  answer.  ^'I  am  drawn  to  her  by 
something  I  cannot  resist :  I  followed  her  home  for  three  months 
before  I  spoke  to  yon.  Will  she  not  be  angry  at  my  presump* 
tionr 

**  La !  Of  course  not :  it  is  not  as  if  you  were  one  of  those  im- 

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636  art:  a  dramatic  tale. 

pddent  men  tbat  follow  her  about,  and  slip  notes  into  everj  mortal 
thing — h€r  carriage,  her  prayer-book/* 

Now  Susan  happened  to  be  laying  out  the  new  dress  Ibr  Sta- 
tira,  which  had  just  come  in ;  and,  in  a  manner  singularly  apropos, 
no  less  than  two  nice  little  notes  fell  oat  of  it  as  she  spoke. 

The  girls  looked  at  them,  as  they  lay  on  the  floor,  like  deer 
looking  ascaunt  at  a  lap-dog. 

**  Oh  !"  said  the  votary  of  Flora;  "  they  ought  to  be  ashamed.** 

^  So  they  ought,"  cried  Susan.  "  I'd  say  nothing,'^  added  she, 
^^  if  some  of  them  were  for  me.  But  I  shall  have  them  when  I  am 
an  actress." 

"  Are  you  to  be  that  ?     Ah  !  you  will  never  be  like  herT 

"  Why  not  ?  She  is  only  my  mother's  sister's  daughter,  bless 
you.  Anne  was  only  a  country  lass  like  me,  at  first  starting:,  and 
that  is  why  my  mother  sent  me  here,  because  when  talent  is  iu  a 
fiunily,  don't  let  one  chum  all  the  butter,  says  she." 

**  But  can  you  act  ?"  interposed  the  other. 

**  Can't  I  ?''  was  the  answer. 

"  *  His  feme  survives  the  world  in  deathless  story, 

Nor  heaven  and  earth  combined  can  match  iiis  glory.*  ** 

These  lines,  which  in  our  day,  would  be  thought  a  lee  tie  hyper- 
bolical, Susan  recited  with  gestures  equally  supernatural. 

"  Bless  you,"  added  she  complacently ;  **  I  could  act  fast  enough, 
if  I  could  but  get  the  words  off.    Can  you  read  ?** 

''Yes!" 

"  Handwriting  ?    Tell  the  truth  now !" 

"  Yes  !    I  can  indeed." 

"  Handwriting  is  hard,  is  it  not?"  said  Susan ;  "but  a  part  beats 
all :  did  ever  you  see  a  part  .^" 

"No!" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  ye,  girl !  there  comes  a  great  scratch,  and  then 
some  words :  but  don't  you  go  for  to  say  those  words,  because  they 
belong  to  another  gentleman,  and  he  mightn't  like  it.  Then  you 
come  in,  and  then  another  scratch.  And  I  declare  it  would  puzzle 
Old  Scratch  to  clear  the  curds  from  the  whey — " 

Susan  suddenly  interrupted  herself,  for  she  had  caught  sight  of  a 
lady  slowly  approaching  from  an  adjoining  room,  the  door  of  which 
was  open.  *'  Hush  I*"  cried  Susan ;  "  here  she  is,  alack  she  is  not 
well !  Oh,  dear !  she  is  far  from  well  T'  And,  in  point  of  feet,  the 
lady  slowly  entered  the  apartment,  labouring  visibly  under  a 
weight  of  disease.  The  poor  flower  girl  naturally  thinking  this 
no  time  for  her  introduction,  dropped  a  bouquet  on  the  table,  and 
retreated  precipitately  from  the  den  of  the  sick  lioness. 

Then  the  lady  opened  her  lips,  and  faltered  forth  the  following 
sentence : — 

"  I  go  no  further,  let  me  rest  here,  (Enone  !" 

"  Do,  cousin  !^'  said  Susan,  consolingly. 

^  I  droop,  I  sink,  my  strength  abandons  me  !*•  said  the  poor  in- 
valid. 

"  Here 's  a  chair  for  y',  Anne,"  cried  Susan.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?" 


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ART  :   A  DRAMATIC  TALE.  637 

On  this,  the  ether  fixing  her  filmy  eyes  upon  her,  explained 
slowly  and  faintly,  that,  **  *  Her  eyes  were  dazzled  with  returning 
day ;  her  trembling  limbs  refased  their  wonted  stay.' 

^*  Ah  !"  sighed  she,  and  tottered  towards  the  chair. 

"  She 's  going  to  faint — she 's  going  to  feint  !**  cried  poor  Susan. 
**  Oh,  dear !    Here,  quick  !  smell  to  this,  Anne.** 

**  That  will  do,  then,"  said  the  other,  in  a  hard,  unfeeling  tone. 
**  I  am  fortunate  to  have  satisfied  your  judgment,  madam,**  added 
she. 

Susan  stood  petrified,  in  the  act  ot  hurrying  with  the  smelling- 
bottle. 

**  That  is  the  way  I  come  on  in  that  scene,**  explained  Mrs. 
Oldfield,  yawning  in  Susan's  sympathetic  face. 

"  Acting,  by  jingo  !**  screamed  Susan.  "  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed,  I  thought  you  were  a  dead  woman.  I  wish  yon 
wouldn't,**  cried  she,  flying  at  her  like  a  hen ;  ''tormenting  us  at 
home,  when  there  *8  nobody  to  see.*' 

''  It  is  my  system — I  aim  at  truth.  You  are  unsophisticated, 
and  I  experiment  on  you,**  was  the  cool  excuse. 

**  Cousin,  when  am  /  to  be  an  actress  ?  **  inquired  Susan. 

**  After  fifteen  years*  labour,  perhaps,**  was  the  encouraging 
response. 

"  Labour !  I  thought  it  was  all  in — spi — ration  !  ** 

*'  Many  think  so,  and  find  their  error.  Labour  and  Art  are  the 
foundation — Inspiration  is  the  result." 

'*  O  Anne,**  cried  Susan,  "  now  do  tell  me  your  feelings  in  the 
theatre.** 

"  Well,  Susan,  first,  I  cast  my  eyes  around,  and  try  to  count 
the  house.^* 

''  No,  no,  Anne,  I  don*t  mean  that.'* 

"  Well,  then,  child,  at  times  upon  the  scene — mind,  I  say  at 
times — the  present  does  fade  from  my  soul,  and  the  great  past 
lives  and  bums  again ;  the  boards  seem  buoyant  air  beneath 
me,  child ;  that  sea  of  English  heads  floats  like  a  dream  before  me, 
and  I  breathe  old  Greece  and  Rome.  I  ride  on  the  whirlwind  of 
the  poet's  words,  and  waive  my  sceptre  like  a  queen — ay,  and  a 
queen  I  am  ! — for  kings  govern  millions  of  bodies,  but  I  sway  a 
thousand  hearts  !  But,  to  tell  the  truth,  Susan,  when  all  is  over, 
I  sink  back  to  woman — and  often  my  mind  goes  home,  dear,  to 
our  native  town,  where  Trent  glides  so  calmly  through  the 
meadows.  I  pine  to  be  by  his  side,  far  from  the  dust  of  the  scene, 
and  the  din  of  life — to  take  the  riches  of  my  heart  from  flatterers, 
strangers,  and  the  world,  and  give  them  all,  all,  to  one  faithful 
heart,  large,  full,  and  loving  as  my  own !  Where 's  my  dress  lor 
Statira,  hussy  ?  '*  She  snapped  this  last  with  a  marvellous  quick 
change  of  key,  and  a  sudden  sharpness  of  tone  peculiar  to  actresses 
when  stage  dresses  are  in  question. 

''Here  it  is.      Oh!  isn't  it  superb  ?  ^* 

"  Yes,  it  is  superb,**  said  Oldfield  drily, "  velvet,  satin,  and 
ostrich-feathers,  for  an  Eastern  queen.  The  same  costume  for 
Belvidera,  Statira,  Clytemnestra,  and  Mrs.  Dobbs.    O  mejndice  ! 

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638  ART:   A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 

prejudice !  The  stage  has  always  been  fortified  against  common 
sense !  Velvet  Greeks,  periwigged  Romans — the  audience  ming- 
ling with  the  scene— past  and  present  blundered  together ! — 
English  fops  in  the  Roman  forum,  taking  snuff  under  a  Roman 
matron's  nose  (that's  me),  and  cackling  out  that  she  does  it  nothing 
like  (no  more  she  does) — ^nothing  like  Peggy  Porteous — whose 
merit  was,  that  she  died  thirty  years  ago,  whose  merit  would  have 
been  greater  had  she  died  SSiy  years  ago,  and  much  greater  still 
had  she  never  lived  at  all.'' 

.  Here  Susan  offered  her  *  half-a-dozen  letters,  including  the 
smuggled  notes;  but  the  sweet-tempered  soul  (being  for  the 
moment  in  her  tantrums)  would  not  look  at  them.  *^  I  know 
what  they  are,"  said  she,  "Vanity,  in  marvellous  thin  disguises; 
my  flatterers  are  so  eloquent,  that  they  will  persuade  me  into 
marrying  poor  old  Mannering — every  morning  he  writes  me  four 
pages,  and  tells  me  my  duty ;  every  evening  he  neglects  his  own^ 
and  goes  to  the  theatre,  which  is  unbecoming  his  age,  I  think.''* 

"  He  looks  a  very  wise  gentleman,"  observed  Susan. 

^'  He  does,''  was  the  rejoinder,  '*  but  his  folly  reconciles  me  in 
some  degree  to  his  wisdom  ;  so,  mark  my  words,  I  shall  marry  my 
silly  sage.  There,  bum  all  the  rest  but  his— no  !  don't  bum  the 
letter  in  verse." 

"  In  verse  ? " 

"  Yes !  I  won't  have  him  burnt  either — ^for  he  loves  me,  poor 
boy — find  it,  Susan;  he  never  misses  a  day.  I  think  I  should  like 
to  know  that  one." 

^^  I  think  this  is  it,"  said  Susan. 

^^  Then  read  it  out  expressively,  whilst  I  mend  this  collar.  So 
then  I  shall  estimate  your  progress  to  the  temple  of  Fame, 
ma'am." 

It  is  not  easy  to  do  justice  on  paper  to  Susan's  recitative ;  but, 
in  fact,  she  read  it  much  as  school-boys  scan,  and  what  she  read 
to  her  cousin  for  a  poet's  love,  hopped  thus : — 


<« « 


Excuse  —  mS  d&kt — &t  friend — ^if  I — shoilld  appSftr 
Tdd  prgss^ng  bQt — &t  my— ye&rs  5ne — h&s  not 
Mfich  time^td  lose— &nd  your— gddd  iftnse— I  f)Ul— ' " 

^^  My  good  sense ! "  cried  Mrs.  Oldfield,  '^  how  can  that  be 
poetry  ? " 

^  It  is  poetry,  I  know,"  remonstrated  Susan.  ^^  See,  cousin,  it 's 
all  of  a  length." 

^  All  of  a  length  with  your  wit — ^that  is  the  Mannering  prose." 

**  Drat  them,  if  they  write  in  lines,  how  is  one  to  know  thehr 
prose  from  their  verse  ? "  said  Susan  spitefully. 

*'  ni  tell  you,  Susan,''  said  the  other  soothingly,  '^  their  prose  is 
something  as  like  Mannering  as  can  be,  their  verse  is  something 
in  this  style : 

« '  You  were  not  made  to  live  from  age  to  age ; 
The  dairy  yawnt  for  you — and  not  the  stage  I' 

"He!  he!" 

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ART:  A  DSAHATIO  TALE.  6S9 

She  found  what  she  sought,  and  reading  out  herself  the  un^' 
known  writer's  verses,  she  said,  with  some  feminine  complacency, 
'^  Yes !  this  i^  a  heart  I  have  really  penetrated/' 

*^  IVe  penetrated  one  too,''  said  Susan. 

"Indeed!"  was  the  reply ;" how  did  you  contrive  that— not 
with  the  spit,  I  hope  ?  ** 

Thus  encouraged,  Susan  delivered  herself  most  volubly  of  a 
secret  that  had  long  burned  in  her.  She  proceeded  to  relate  how 
she  had  observed  a  young  gentleman  always  standing  by  the  stage* 
door  as  they  got  into  their  chariot,  and  when  they  reached  home^ 
somehow  he  was  always  standing  there  too.  ^^  It  was  not  for 
you,  this  one,"  said  Susan,  hastily,  "  because  you  are  so  wrapped 
up,  he  could  not  see  you."  Then  she  told  her  cousin  how,  once 
when  they  were  walking  separately,  this  same  young  gentleman 
had  said  to  her  most  tenderly,  ^^  Madam,  you  are  in  the  service  of 
Mrs.  Oldfield  ?  "  and,  on  another  occasion,  he  had  got  as  far  as 
*^  Madam,"  when,  unfortunately,  her  cousin  looked  round,  and  he 
vanished.  Susan,  then  throwing  off  the  remains  of  her  reserve, 
and  clasping  her  hands  together,  confessed  she  admired  him  as 
much  as  he  did  her.  Susan  gave  this  reason  for  her  affection, 
•'  He  is,  for  all  the  world,  like  one  of  the  young  tragedy  princes, 
and  you  know  what  ducks  they  are." 

"  I  do,  to  my  cost,"  was  the  caustic  reply.  **  I  wish,  instead  of 
talking  about  this  silly  lover  of  yours,  who  must  be  a  fool,  or  he 
would  have  made  a  fool  of  you  long  ago,  you  would  find  out  who 
is  the  brave  young  gentleman  who  risked  his  life  for  me  last 
month.     Now  I  think  of  it,  I  am  quite  interested  in  him." 

"  Risked  his  life !— and  you  never  told  me,  Anne  !" 

**  Robert  told  you,  of  course." 

"No,  indeed!^ 

"  Did  he  not  ? — then  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story.  You  have 
heard  me  speak  of  the  Duchess  of  Tadcaster  ? " 

"  No,  cousin,  never ! " 

"  I  wonder  at  that !  Well,  she  and  Lady  Betsy  Bertie  and  I 
used  to  stroll  in  Richmond  Park  with  our  arms  round  one 
another's  waists,  like  the  Graces,  more  or  less,  and  kiss  one 
another,  ugh !  and  swear  a  deathless  friendship,  like  liars  and 
fools  as  we  are.  But  her  Grace  of  Tadcaster  had  never  anything 
to  do,  and  I  had  my  business,  so  I  could  not  always  be  plagued 
with  her ;  so  for  this,  the  little  idiot  now  aspires  to  my  enmity, 
and  knowing  none  but  the  most  vulgar  ways  of  showing  a  senti* 
ment,  she  bids  her  coachman  drive  her  empty  carriage  against 
mine,  containing  me.  Child,  I  thought  the  world  was  at  an  end  : 
the  glasses  were  broken,  the  wheels  locked,  and  all  my  little  sins 
began  to  appear  such  big  ones  to  me ;  and  the  brute  kept  whipping 
the  horseSf  and  they  plunged  so  horribly,  when  a  brave  young 
gentleman  sprang  to  their  heads,  tore  them  away,  and  gave  her 
nasty  coachman  such  a  caning.**'  Here,  Oldfield  clenched  a 
charming  white  fist ;  then  lifting  up  her  eyes,  she  said  tenderly, 
"  Heaven  grant  no  harm  befell  him  afterwards,  for  I  drove  off, 
and  left  him  to  his  fate!" 

VOL.    XXXIV.  Digitized  by  Google 


$iO  JkMT:   A  ]>EiLlUnC  TALE; 

.  Gbttrmtag  sensibility !  an  actmss's ! 

In  retum  for  this  aoeoibte,  Susan  was  about  ia  commanicale 
some  further  particulars  qb  the  subject  which  oceapied  jail  ber 
secret  thoughts,  when  she  was  antermpted  by  a  noke  and  scnfBe 
in  the  ante-room,  high  abm^e  which  were  heard  the  loud,  harsh 
tones  of  a  stranger  s  voice,  exclaiming,  '^  But  I  teD  je  I  will  see 
ber,  ye  saucy  Jack" 

Before  this  parsonage  boreets  upon  Mrs.  Oldfield,  and  the  rest 
of  tts,  I  must  go  back  and  take  up  the  other  end  of  mj  knot  in 
the  ancient  town  of  Coventry. 

Nathan  Oldwoithy  dwelt  there;  a  ftourishing  attorney;  he  had 
been  a  clerk  ;  he  came  to  be  the  master  of  clerks ;  his  own  ambi- 
tion was  satisfied ;  but  his  son  Alexander,  a  youth  of  parts,  be- 
came the  centre  of  a  second  ambition.  Alexander  was  to  embrace 
the  biglx^  branch  of  the  legal  profession  ;  was  to  be  first,  pleader, 
then  barrister,  then  King's  counsel — lastly^  a  judge ;  and  contem- 
poratoeously  with  this  final  distinction,  the  old  attorney  was  to 
sing  "  Nunc  Dimittis,"  and  *'  Capias*^  no  more. 

Bystanders  are  obliging  enough  to  laiigfa  at  such  schemes^ 
but  why  ?  The  heart  is  given  to  them,  and  they  site  no  laughing 
matter  to  those  who  form  .them:  such  schemes  destroyed,  the 
flavour  is  taken  out  of  human  lives. 

When  Nathan  sent  his  son  to  London,  it  was  a  |»roud,  thoogh  a 
sad  day  ftxc  him ;  hitherto  he  had  looked  upon  their  partii^  mei^y 
as  the  first  step  of  a  glorious  ladder,  but  when  the  coach  took 
young  Alexander  out  of  sight,  the  father  found  how  much  he 
loved  him,  and  paced  very,  v^  slowly  home,  while  Alexander 
glided  contentedly  on  towards  London. 

Now,  "Loudon*^  means  a  diflerent  thing  to  every  one  of  us:  to 
one,  it  is  the  Temple  of  Commerce ;  to  another,  of  Themis ;  to  a 
4bird,  of  Th^pis ;  and  to  a  fourth,  of  the  Paphian  Venus,  and  so 
on,  because  we  are  all  much  narrower  than  men  ought  to  be.  To' 
Nathan  Oldworthy,  it  was  the  sacred  spot  where  grin  the  courts 
of  law.  To  Alexander,  it  was  the  sacred  spot  wb^e  9>^ing  fiom 
the  country)  he  thought  to  find  tl)e  nine  Muses  in  bodily  pres^ice 
— his  favourite  Melpomene  at  their  head.  Nathan  knew  next 
to  nothing  about  his  own  son,  a  not  uncommon  arrangement. 
Alexander,  upon  the  whole,  rather  loathed  law»  and  adored 
poetry.  In  those  days  youth  had  not  learned  to  ^*  frown  in  a  glass, 
and  write  odes  to  despair;^  and  be  dubbed  a  duck  by  tender 
beauty  confounding  sulks  with  sorrow.  Alexander  had  to  woo 
the  Muse  clandestinely,  and  so  wooed  her  sincerely^  He  went 
with  a  manuscript  tragedy  in  his  pocket,  called  *•  Berenice," 
"which  he  had  re-written  and  re-shaped  three  several  times;  with 
a  head  full  of  ideas,  and  a  heart  tuned  to  truth,  beauty,  and  good- 
ness. Arrived  there,  he  was  ujstalled  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
under  the  secret  surveillance  of  his  father's  friend,  Timothy  Bate- 
man,  Solicitor,  of  Gray's  Inn. 

If  you  had  asked  Alexander  Oldworthy,  upon  the  coach,  who 
is  the  greatest  of  mankind,  his  answer  would  have  been  instanta* 
neons,  a  true  poet !     But  the  first  evening  he  spent  in  LoudoA 

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ABT:   A  DRAMATIC  TIOE.  641' 

nised  a  donbt  of  this  in  bis  mind,  for  he  discovered  a  being 
brighter,  nobler,  truer,  greater  than  even  a  poet. 
.    At  fonr,  Alexander  reached  London.    At  five,  he  was  in  hia 
first  theatre. 

That  sense  of  the  beautiful,  which  belongs  to  genius,  made  him 
see  beauty  in  the  semi-circular  sweep  of  the  glowing  boxes ; — ^in 
gilt  ornaments  glorious  with  light,  and,  above  all,  in  human 
beings  gaily  dressed,  and  radiant  with  expectation.  And  all  these 
things  are  beautiful ;  only  gross,  rusdc  senses  cannot  see  it,  and 
bhinted  town  senses  can  see  it  no  longer. 

Before  the  piay  began,  music  attacked  him  on  another  side ; 
and  aH  combined  with  youth  and  novelty,  to  raise  him  to  a  high 
key  of  intellectual  enjoyment;  and  when  the  ample  curtain  rose, 
slowly  and  majestically  upon  Mr.  Otway^s  tragedy  of  "  Venice 
Preserved,*'  it  was  an  era  in  this  yonng  life. 
-  Poetry  rose  from  the  dead  before  his  eyes  this  night.  She  lay 
no  longer  entombed  in  print  She  floated  around  the  scene,  ethe-* 
real,  but  palpable.  She  breathed  and  burned  in  heroic  shapes, 
and  godlike  tones,  and  looks  of  fire. 

Pt^ently,  there  glided  among  the  other  figures  one  that  by 
enchantment  seized  the  poet's  eye,  and  made  all  that  his  prede- 
cessors had  ever  writ  in  praise  of  grace  and  beauty  seem  tame 
by  comparison. 

She  spoke,  and  his  frame  vibrated  to  this  voice.  All  his  senses 
drank  in  her  great  perfections,  and  he  Umlled  with  wonder,  and 
enthusiastic  joy,  that  this  our  earth  contained  such  a  being.  He 
seemed  to  see  the  Eve  of  Milton,  with  Madonna's  glory  crowning 
her  head,  and  immortal  music  gushing  from  her  lips. 
.  The  lady  was,  in  point  of  fact,  Mrs.  Oldficld— the  Belvidera  of 
the  play. 

Alexander  thought  he  knew  "Venice  Preserved''  before  this; 
but  he  found,  as  the  greatest  wits  must  submit  to  discover,  that  in 
the  closet  a  good  play  is  but  the  corpse  of  a  play ;  the  stage  gives 
it  life.  (The  printed  words  of  a  play  are  about  one-third  of  a  play; 
the  tones  and  varying  melodies  of  beautiful  and  artful  speech  are 
another  third ;  and  the  business,  gesture,  and  that  great  visible  story, 
the  expression  of  the  speaking,  and  the  dumb  play  of  the  silent 
actors,  are  another  third.) 

BeJvidera's  voice,  full,  sweet,  rich,  piercing,  and  melodious,  and 
still  in  its  vast  compass  true  to  the  varying  sentiment  of  all  she 
uttered,  seemed  to  impregnate  every  line  with  double  meaning, 
and  treble  beauty.  Her  author  dilated  into  giant  size  and  god- 
like beauty  at  the  touch  of  that  voice.  And  when  she  was  silent 
she  still  spoke  to  Alexander's  eye,  for  her  face  was  more  eloquent 
than  vulgar  tongues  are.  Her  dumb-play  from  the  first  to  the 
last  moment  of  the  scene  was  in  as  high  a  key  as  her  elocution. 
Had  she  not  spoken  one  single  word  ^till  she  would  have  written 
in  the  air  by  the  side  of  Otway's  syllables  a  great  pictorial  narra- 
tive, that  filled  all  the  chinks  of  his  sketch  with  most  rare  and 
excellent  colours  of  true  flesh  tint,  and  made  that  sketch  a 
picture. 

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648  ABT:  A  DRAMATIC  TALE» 

Here  was  a  new  art  for  our  poet ;  and,  as  by  tbat  just  arrange^ 
ment  which  pervades  the  nniverse,  '^  acting^  it  Uie  most  triumphant 
of  all  the  arts  to  compensate  it  for  being  the  most  evanescent, 
what  wonder  that  he  thrilled  beneath  its  magic,  and  worshipped 
its  priestess. 

He  went  home  filled  with  a  new  sense  of  being — all  seemed 
cold,  dark,  and  tame^  until  he  could  return  and  see  this  poetess** 
orator-witch  and  her  enchantments  once  more. 

In  those  days  they  varied  the  entertainmeqts  in  London  almost 
as  they  do  in  the  provinces  now ;  and  Alexander,  who  went  to  the 
theatre  six  nights  a  week,  saw  Mrs.  Oldfield's  beauty  and  talent 
in  many  shapes*  Her  power  of  distinct  personation  was  very 
great.  Her  Andromache^  her  Ismena,  and  Belvidera  were  all  diC* 
ferent  beings.  Also  each  of  her  tragic  personations  left  upon 
the  mind  a  type.  One  night  young  Olaworthy  saw  majesty, 
another  tenderness,  another  fiery  passion,  personified  and  embo- 
died in  a  poetic  creation. 

But  a  fresh  surprise  was  in  store  for  him :  the  next  week  comedy 
happened  to  be  in  the  ascendant ;  and  Mrs.  Oldfield,  whose  enirSe 
in  character  was  always  the  key-note  of  her  personation,  sprang 
upon  the  stage  as  Lady  Townley,  and  in  a  moment  the  air  seemed 
to  fill  with  singing  birds  that  chirped  the  pleasures  of  yooth^ 
beauty,  and  fashion  in  notes  that  sparkled  like  diamonds,  stars, 
and  prisms.  Her  genuine  gushing  gaiety  warmed  the  coldest  and 
cheered  the  forlomest  heart*  Nor  was  she  less  charming  in  the 
last  act,  where  Lady  Townley*s  good  sense  being  at  last  alarmed, 
and  her  good  heart  touched,  she  bowed  her  saucy  head,  and  begged 
her  lord's  pardon,  with  tender  unafiected  penitence.  The  tears 
stood  thick  in  Alexander's  eyes  during  that  charming  scene, 
where  in  a  prose  comedy  the  author  has  had  the  courage  and  the 
beauty  to  spread  his  wings  and  rise  in  a  moment  into  verse  with 
the  rising  sentiment. 

To  this  succeeded  "  Maria**  in  "  the  Nonjuror**  and  ''Indiana,** 
in  what  the  good  souls  of  that  day  were  pleased  to  call  the  comedy 
of ''  the  Conscious  Lovers,**  in  the  course  of  which  comedy  Indiana 
made  Alexander  weep  more  constantly,  continuously,  and  co- 
piously than  in  all  the  tragedies  of  the  epoch  he  had  as  yet 
witnessed. 

So  now  Alexander  Old  worthy  lived  for  the  stage ;  and,  as  the 
pearl  is  a  disease  of  the  oyster,  so  this  syren  became  Alexander's 
disease.  The  enthusiast  lost  his  hold  of  real  life.  Real  life  he- 
came  to  him  an  interlude,  and  soon  that  followed  which  was  to  be 
expected,  the  poor  novice  who  had  begun  by  adoring  the  artist, 
ended  by  loving  the  woman,  and  he  loved  her  like  a  novice  and 
a  poet ;  he  looked  into  his  own  heart,  confounded  it  with  hers, 
and  clothed  her  with  every  heroic  quality.  He  believed  her  as 
great  in  mind,  and  as  good  in  heart,  as  she  was  lovely  in  person, 
and  he  would  have  given  poems  to  be  permitted  to  kiss  her  dress, 
or  to  lay  his  neck  for  a  moment  under  her  foot  Burning  to  attract 
her  attention,  yet  too  humble  and  timid  to  make  an  open  attempt, 
he  had  at  last  recourse  to  his  own  art.    Everyday  he  wrote  verses 

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AST:   A  DRAMATIC  TALE.  ^43 

upon  lier,  and  sent  them  to  her  house.  Every  night  after  the  play 
he  watched  at  the  stage  door  for  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  came  out 
of  the  theatre  to  her  carriage,  and  being  lighter  of  foot  than  the 
carriage  horses  of  his  century,  he  generally  managed  to  catch 
another  glimpse  of  her  as  she  stepped  from  her  carriage  into  her 
own  house. 

But  all  this  led  to  no  results,  and  Alexander's  heart  was  often 
very  cold  and  sick.  Whilst  he  sat  at  the  play  he  was  in  Elysium  ; 
but  when  after  seeing  this  divinity  vanish  he  returned  to  his 
lodgings  and  looked  at  his  attachment  by  the  light  of  one  candle, 
despondency  fell  like  a  weight  of  ice  upon  him,  and  he  was 
miserable  till  he  had  written  her  some  verses.  The  verses  writ, 
he  was  miserable  till  play-time. 

One  night  he  stood  as  usual  at  the  stage  door  after  the  per- 
formance watching  for  Mrs.  Oldfield,  who,  in  a  general  way,  was 
accompanied  by  her  cousin  Susan.  This  night,  however,  she  was 
alone;  and,  having  seen  her  enter  her  chariot,  Alexander  was 
about  to  start  for  her  house  to  see  her  get  down  from  it,  when 
suddenly  another  carriage  came  into  contact  with  Mrs.  Oldfield's. 
The  collision  was  violent,  and  Mrs.  Oldfield  screamed  with  un- 
affected terror,  at  which  scream  Alexander  sprang  to  the  horses  of 
the  other  carriage,  and,  seizing  one  of  them  just  above  the  curb, 
drew  him  violently  back.  To  his  surprise,  instead  of  co-operating 
with  him,  the  adverse  coachman  whipped  both  his  horses,  and, 
whether  by  accident  or  design,  the  lash  fell  twice  on  Alexander. 
Jehu  never  made  a  worse  investment  of  whipcord.  The  young 
man  drew  himself  back  upon  the  pavement,  and  sprang  with  a 
^gle  bound  upon  the  near  horse's  quarters;  from  thence  to  the 
coach-box.  Contemporaneously  with  his  arrival  there  he  knocked 
the  coachman  out  of  his  seat  on  to  the  roof  of  his  carriage,  and 
then  seized  his  whip,  broke  it  in  one  moment  into  a  stick,  and 
belaboured  the  prostrate  charioteer  till  the  blood  poured  ftom  him 
in  torrents.  Then  springing  to  the  ground  with  one  bound  he 
turned  the  horses'  heads,  belaboured  them  with  the  mutilated  whip, 
and  off  they  trotted  gently  home. 

Alexander  ran  to  Mrs.  Oldfield's  carriage  window,  his  cheeks 
burning,  his  eyes  blazing.  **  They  are  gone,  madam,''  said  he, 
with  rough  timidity.  The  actress  looked  at  him,  and  smiled  on 
him,  and  said,  ^^  So  I  see,  sir,  and  I  am  much  obleeged  to  you." 
She  was  then  about  to  draw  back  to  her  comer,  but  suddenly  she 
reflected,  and  half  beckoning  Alexander,  who  had  drawn  back,  she 
said,  ^*  My  dear,  learn  for  me  whose  carriage  that  was.'*  Alexander 
turned  to  gain  the  information,  but  it  was  volunteered  by  one  of 
the  bystanders. 

"  It  is  the  Duchess  of  Tadcaster's,  Mrs.  Oldfield." 
"Ah!''  cried  Mrs.  Oldfield,  "the  little  beast!"  (this  polite 
phrase  she  uttered  with  a  most  majestic  force  of  sovereign  con- 
tempt) ;  *'  thank  you,  sir ;  bid  Robert  drive  me  home,  my  child," 
this  to  Alexander),  on  which  a  bystander  sang  out, — *^  You  are 
to  drive  home,  Robert, — Buckingham  Gate,  the  comer  house." 
At  this  sally  Mrs.  Oldfield  smiled  with  perfect  composure,  but 

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€44  ART  :   A  DRAMATIC  TALE« 

did  not  look  at  the  speaker.  As  the  carriage  mored  she  leaned 
gently  forward,  and  kissed  her  hand  like  a  queen  to  Alexander^ 
then  nestled  into  her  comer  and  went  to  sleep* 

Alexander  did  nothing  of  the  sort  that  night.  He  went  booie 
on  wings.  He  could  not  go  in.  He  walked  np  and  down  heSate 
his  door  three  hours,  before  he  could  go  to  so  vulgar  a  thing  as 
bed.  As  a  lover  will  read  over  fifty  times  six  lines  of  love  fiom 
the  beloved  hand,  so  Alexander  acted  over  and  over  the  litUeseese 
of  this  nighty  and  dwelt  on  every  tone,  word,  look,  and  gesture  of 
the  great  creature  who  had  at  last  spoken  to  him,  smiled  oo  h«, 
thanked  him.  Oh  !  bow  happy  he  was,  he  conid  hardly  realise  Itts 
bliss.  ^*  My  dear,**  but  had  not  his  ears  deceived  him — had  abe 
really  called  him  '^  my  dear,**  and  what  was  he  to  nnderstaad  by  sa 
imexpected  an  address ;  was  it  on  account  of  the  service  be  had 
Just  Qone  her,  or  might  he  venture  to  hope  she  hadnoUced  hi&fiace 
m  the  theatre,  sitting,  as  he  always  did,  in  one  i^iace,  at  the  aide 
of  the  second  row  of  the  pit  ?  but  no !  he  rejected  that  as  impossible. 
Whatever  she  meant  by  it,  his  blood  was  at  her  service  as  well  as 
his  heart.  He  blessed4ier  with  tears  in  his  eyes  for  using  such 
heavenly  words  to  hitn  in  any  sense — ^  my  dear,"  and  "  my  child.* 
He  framed  these  words  in  his  heart. 

Alas  !  he  little  thoiiglit  that  ^'  my  dear''  meant  literally  nothing-r- 
he  was  not  aware  that  calling  every  living  creature  '^  my  dear  ^  is  one 
of  the  nasty  little  tricks  of  the  stage — like  their  swearing  withovl 
.anger,  and  their  shovelling  snuff  into  the  nose  without  iBten»is8io% 
in  the  innocent  hope  of  making  every  sentence  intellectual,  bj  a 
dirty  thing  done  mechanically,  and  not  intellectually.  As  ibr  ^kj 
diild,''  that  was  better — that  was,  at  least,  a  trick  of  the  lady's  omm^ 
partly  caught  from  her  French  acquaintances. 

For  some  days  Alexander  was  in  heaven.  He  fell  npon  his 
tragedy,  he  altered  it  by  the  light  the  stage  had  given  him;  abere 
all,  he  heightened  and  improved  the  heroine,  he  toached  her,  aad 
'retouched  her  with  the  colours  of  Oldfield— and  this  d<»e,  wiik 
trembling  hands,  he  wrapped  it  in  brown  paper,  addressed  it,  aad 
left  it  at  her  own  house,  and  no  sooner  had  Susan's  hand  toiK^icd 
it,  than  he  fled  like  a  guilty  thing. 

You  see  it  was  his  first  love — imd  she  he  loved  seemed  mere  thas 
aaortal  to  him. 

And  now  came  a  reaction.  Days  and  days  rolled  by,  and  m> 
more  adventures  came,  no  means  of  making  acqaaintance  with  oae 
ao  high  above  his  reach. 

He  was  still  at  the  stage  door,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  recognise 
him,  and  he  dared  not  recall  himself  to  her  recollection.  Hss 
organisation  was  delicate — he  began  to  fret  and  lose  his  sdbep^  awel 
at  last  his  pallor  and  listlessness  attraeted  the  not  very  keen  eye  of 
Timothy  Bateman.  Mr.  Bateman  asked  him  twenty  times  if  any- 
thing was  the  matter*-twenty  times  he  answered,  No  !  At  last» 
good,  worthy,  common-place  BatMoaa,  after  dimder  and  deep 
thought,  said  one  6a^,  "^Alexander,  I ^ve  found  oat  what  it  isJ* 
Alexander  started. 

^'Mcmey  melts  in  Londcm,  yours  is  gene  qnieker  than  you 

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ART  :  A  MtAIIATIC  TALE.  645 

thought  it  \rotild; — my  poor  lad,  don't  yon  fret  I  Ve  got£^  to 
sfMire,  here  ^tis;  Your  father  will  never  know.  1  Ve  been  youag 
•s  well  asyou.^  Alexander  grasped  the  good  old  fellow^s  hand  and 
pressed  it  to*  bis  heart.  He  nerer  looked  at  the  note,  but  he  looked^ 
half  tenderiy,.  half  wildly,  into  the  old  man*^  eyes* 

Bateman  read  this  look  aright — "  Ay,  out  with  it,  young  man,**  he 
eried,  "  never  keep  a  grief  locked  up  in  your  heart,  whilst  you  have 
a  firien^d  that  will  listen  to  it,  that  is  an  old  man'^s  advice.** 

On  this  poor  Alexander's  story  gushed  forth.  He  told  Bate- 
man  the  facts  I  have  told  you,  only  his  soul,  and  all  the  feelings 
he  had  gone  tbroogli  gualied  from  his  heart  of  hearts.  They 
sat  tBl  one  in  the  monmg,  and  often  as  the  young  heart  kidl  bare 
its  enthusiasm,  its  youth,  its  anguish,  the  dry  old  lawyer  found 
out  there  was  a  soft  bit  left  in  his  own,  that  sent  the  woman  to 
the  d€or  of  his  eyes,  for  Alexander  told  his  story  difierently,  and 
I  think  on  the  whole  better,  than  I  do.  I  will  just  indkate  one 
differenee  between  us  two  as  narrators — he  told  it  like  blood  and 
fire,  I  tell  it  tike  ciiticism  and  ice,  and  be  hanged  to  me. 

Perhaps,  had  Alexander  told  the  tale  as  I  do,  Bateman,  man  ol 
die  world,  would  have  sneered  at  him,  or  sternly  advised  him  to 
qait  this  folly  and  whim;  but  as  it  was,  Batemam  was  touched,  and 
mingled  pity  with  good,  gentle,  but  firm  advice,  and  poor  Alex- 
ander was  grateful.  The  poet  revered  the  common- place  good 
man,  as  a  poet  ought,  and  humbly  prayed  him  to  save  him  by 
his  wisdom.  He  owned  that  he  was  mad, — that  he  was  indulging^ 
a  hopeless  passion,^hat  be  knew  the  great  tragedian,  courted  by 
the  noble  and  rich  of  the  land,  would  never  condescend,  even  to 
an  acquaintance  with  him.  And,  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears, 
^  Oh !  good  Mr.  Bateman,"  cried  he,  *^  the  most  unfortunate  hour 
af  my  life  was  that  in  which  I  first  saw  her,  for  she  will  be  my 
death,  for  she  wiU  never  permit  me  to  live  for  her,  and  without  hev 
life  is  intoleraUe  to  me.^ 

This  hist  feature  decided  Timothy  Bateman  ;  the  next  morning 
he  wrote  to  Nathan  Oidworthy  a  full  account  of  alL  ^  Come  up, 
9mA  take  him  heme  agaiD^  for  heaven*s  sake." 

It  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on  the  poor  father,  but  he  moved' 
promptly,  in  two  houm  he  was  on  the  voad  to  London. 

Arrived  theve,  he  straight  invaded  Alexander.  The  poet,  Icrekily 
for  himself,  was  not  at  home.  He  then  went  to  Bateman,  he  was 
in  a  towering  passion. 

The  old  puritanical  leaven  was  scotched,  but  not  killed,  in  Co- 
▼entry* 

In  a  general  way,  Nathan  looked  on  kyve  as  no  worse  than  one 
of  the  Evil  Ooe'fr  many  snares,  to  divert  youth  from  law — ^but,  love 
of  an  actress !  If  you  had  asked  Coventry  whether  the  Play  House 
or  the  Public  House  ruins  the  manners,  morality,  and  intellect  of 
England,  Coventry  was  capable  of  answering — ^•*  The  Play  House." 
He  raged  against  tlie  foel  and  the  jade,  as  he  succmctly,  and  not 
inaptly,  described  a  dramatic  poet  and  an  actress. 

His  friend  endeavonied  to  stop  the  cuffvenl  of  his  wrath,  in  vain; 
the  aAlempt  onl  j  diverted  its  larger  cunmit  firem  Alexander  to  the 

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646  ART:   A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 

Syren  who  had  fascinated  him — in  vain  Bateman  assured  him  that 
affairs  had  proceeded  to  no  length  between  the  parties:  the 
other  snubbed  him,  called  him  a  fool,  that  knew  nothing  of  the 
worlds  and  assured  him  that  if  anything  came  of  it^  she  shevikl 
have  nothing  from  the  Oldworthys,  but  thirty  pence  per  week,  the 
parish  allowance  (Nathan's  ideas  of  love  were  as  primitive  as 
Alexander's  were  poetic),  and  lastly,  bouncing  up,  he  announced 
that  he  w*as  going  to  see  the  hussy^  and  force  her  to  give  up  her 
Delilah  designs. 

At  this,  poor  Bateman  was  in  dismay ;  he  represented  to  this 
mad  bull,  that  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  "  on  the  windy  side  of  the  law/* 
that  there  were  no  proofs  she  had  done  anything  more  than  every 
woman  would  do,  if  she  was  clever  enough,  viz.  turn  every 
man's  head ;  he  next  reminded  him  of  her  importance,  and  im- 
plored him  at  least  to  be  prudent.  ^'  My  dear  friend,'*  said  be^ 
*' there  are  at  least  a  score  of  gentlemen  in  this  town,  who 
would  pass  their  swords  through  an  old  attorney,  as  they  would 
through  a  mad  dog,  only  to  have  a  smile  or  a  compliment  from 
this  lady." 

This  last  argument  was  ill  chosen.  The  old  Puritan  was  game 
to  the  back-bone;  he  flung  Mrs.  Oldfield^s  champions  a  grim  grin 
of  defiance,  and  marched  out  to  invade  that  lady,  and  save  his 
offspring. 

Now,  the  said  Mrs.  Oldfield,  wishing  to  be  very  quiet,  because 
she  was  preparing  to  play  for  the  championship  of  the  stage,  and 
was  studying  Statira,  had  given  her  footman  Orders  to  admit  no 
living  soul,  upon  any  pretence. 

Oldworthy,  who  bad  heard  in  Coventry  that  people  in  Lon- 
don are  always  at  home  if  their  servants  say  they  are  out, 
pushed  past  the  man ;  the  man  followed  him  remonstrating.  Wheu 
they  reached  the  ante-chamber,  he  thought  it  was  time  to  do  more, 
so  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  intruder's  collar — then  ensued  a  short  but 
very  brisk  scufBe;  the  ladies  heard,  to  their  dismay,  a  sound  as  of  a 
footman  falling  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  a  staircase ;  and  the 
next  moment,  in  Jack  boots,  splashed  with  travel,  an  immense  hat, 
of  a  fashion  long  gone  by,  his  dark  cheek  flushed  with  anger,  and 
his  eyes  shooting  sombre  lightning  from  under  their  thick  brows, 
Nathan  Oldworthy  strode  like  wild-fire  into  the  room* 


Susan  screamed,  and  Anne  turned  pale,  but,  recovering  herself, 
she  said,  with  a  wonderful  show  of  spirit,  '^  How  dare  you  intrude 
on  me  ? — Keep  close  to  me,  stupid !"  was  her  trembling  aside  to 
Susan. 

"  I'm  used  to  enter  people's  houses,  whether  they  will  or  not,** 
was  the  gruff  reply. 

^'Your  business,  sir?"  said  Mrs.  Oldfield,  with  affected 
calmness. 

"  It  is  not  fit  for  that  child  to  hear,"  was  the  answer. 

Anne  Oldfield  was  wonderfully  intelligent,  and  even  in  this  re- 

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ART:  A  DRAMATIC  TALE.  647 

mark,  she  saw  the  man,  if  a  barbarian,  was  not  a  ruffian  at  bottom. 
She  looked  towards  Susan. 

Susan  interpreting  her  look,  declined  to  leave  her  alone  ^^  With, 
with—" 

**  A  brute,  I  suppose,*'  said  Nathan  coarsely. 

The  artist  measured  the  man  with  her  eye. 

^'  He  who  feels  himself  a  brute  is  on  the  way  to  be  a  man,^ 
said  she,  with  genuine  dignity;  so  saying,  she  dismissed  Susan 
\irith  a  gesture. 

**  You  are  the  play-acting  woman,  aren't  you?"  said  he. 

*^  I  am  the  ti'agedian,  sir,*'  replied  she,  *^  whose  time  is  pre- 
cious." 

**  I'll  lose  no  time  —  I*m  an  attorney, — the  first  in  Coventry. 
Pm  Nathan  Oldworthy  —  My  son's  education  has  been  given  him 
under  my  own  eye — I  taught  him  the  customs  of  the  country,  and 
the  civil  law  —  He  is  to  be  a  seijeant-at-law,  and  a  seijeant-at- 
law  he  shall  be — " 

^^  I  consent  for  one,"  said  Oldfield;  demurely. 

^^  And  then  we  can  play  into  one  another's  hands,  as  should 
be." 

"  I  have  no  opposition  to  offer  to  this  pretty  little  scheme  of 
the  Old  Somethings — father  and  son." 

^^  Oldworthys !  no  opposition !  when  he  hasn't  been  once  to 
Westminster,  and  every  night  to  the  play-house." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  the  lady,  **  I  see !  the  old  story." 

"The  very  day  the  poor  boy  came  here,"  resumed  Nathan, 
^^ there  was  a  tragedy  play;  so,  because  a  woman  sighed  and 
burned  for  sport,  the  fool  goes  home  and  sighs  and  bums  in 
earnest,  can't  eat  his  victuals,  flings  away  his  prospects,  and  thinks 
of  nothing  but  this  Nance  Oldfield." 

He  uttered  this  appellation  with  rough  contempt ;  and  had  the 
actress  been  a  little  one,  this  descent  to  Nance  Oldfield  would 
have  mortified  or  enraged  her.  But  its  effect  on  the  great  Old- 
field  was  different,  and  somewhat  singular;  she  opened  her 
lovely  eyes  on  him.  "  Nance  Oldfield,"  cried  she,  **  Oh !  sir, 
nobody  has  called  me  that  name,  since  I  left  my  little  native 
town." 

"  Haven't  they,  though  ? "  said  the  rough  customer  more  gently, 
responding  to  her  heavenly  tones,  rather  than  to  the  sentiment 
which  he  in  no  degree  comprehended. 

"  No  !"  said  Oldfield,  witli  an  ill-used  i£olian-harp  note. 

Here,  the  attorney  began  to  suspect  she  was  diverting  him  from 
the  point,  and  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  and  a  fine  masculine  con- 
tempt for  all  subterfuges,  not  on  sheepskin, — "  You  had  better  say 
you  do  not  know  all  this,"  cried  he. 

"  Not  I,"  was  the  reply.  "  My  good  sir,  your  son  has  left  you 
to  confide  to  me  the  secret  of  his  attachment :  you  have  dis- 
chaiged  the  commission.  Sir  Pandarus  of  Troy,"  added  she,  with 
a  world  of  malicious  fun  in  her  jewel-like  eye. 

'*  Nathan  Oldworthy  of  Coventry,  I  tell  ye  1"  put  in  the  angry 
sire. 


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^  ABT :   A  DRAMATIC  TALR. 

.  ^  And  it  ifl  now  my  datjr  to  put  some  qnestwiHr  t»  jo^'^  rs. 
sumed  the  actress.  *'  Is  your  son  haudsose  ? "  and  sb^  »  a  siy 
balf  wbisper, 

•^  Is  not  he  ?"  answered  gaunt  simplicity,  "  and  well  bu3tto<»-^ 
he  is  like  me  they  aay.*^ 

^^  There  is  a  point  on  which  I  am  very  particBlaB — ^Has  he  nice 
teeth  ? — upon  your  honour,  irow." 

^  White  aa  milk,  ma^am  ;  and  a  saHe  tfiat  warms  your  heart  17; 
fresh  colour ; — there 's  not  such  a  lad  in  CoTcntry.^  Heie  the  old 
boy  caught  sight  of  a  certata  poetical  epiatle  which,  if  yeu  lemem- 
her,  was  im  Mrs;  Qldfield's  hand». 

*^  And  pray,  madam,^  said  he,  with  smooth  craft,  ^  does  Alex- 
luider  Oldwerthy  never  write  to  y<H»?^ 

"  Never  P'  wa»  her  answer. 

*^  She  says  never  !"  theodeved  Nathan,  '^and  there  le  his  ktler 
in  her  very  hand, — a  superi)'  hondviiitiiig  ;^  what  a  wasite  of  tdest 
to  write  to  you  with  it,  instead  of  engrossing ;  what  does  the  fool 
say  ?**'  and  he  snatched  the  letter  rudely  from  har,  assi  read  out 
poor  Alexander,  with  the  lungs  of  a  Stentor.. 

Gracious  me  !  if  I  was  puzzled  to  show  the  reader  how  Susen 
naad  the  Mannering  prose,  how  on  earth  shall  I  make  Mm  hear 
and  see  Oldworthy  P^re  read.  Oldworthy  ilk,  hift  rl^rmes ;  but  1 
will  attempt  a  faint  adumbration,,  wherein  Glorious  ApoUo !  from 
on  high  befriend  us ! 

''My  soul  hangs  tremblisg,'' — (full  stop.)  ^^On  that  magic 
:vQice,  grieves  with  your  woe,"— (fuU  stop.)  ^^Exuhs  when  you  re- 
joice..  A  gcdden  ehaknJ' — (Here  he  cast  a  leek  of  perplexity.} 
^'  I  feel  but  cannot  see," — (here  he  begaa  te  suspect  Alexander  ef 
kisanity.)  ''  Binds  earth  to  hes^en,"^ — (of  impiety,  ditto.)  ^^It  ties 
my  heart  to  thee  like  a  sunflower."  And  now  the  reader  woia 
the  ill-used  look  of  one  who  had  been  betrayed  ioto  a  labyrinth  of 
unmeaning  syllables;  but  at  this  juncture,  thanks  to  his  sire, 
Alexander  Oldworthy  began  to  excite  Mrs.  Oid&eU^s  interest. 

^  Aad  that  poetry  is  his !"  said  the  actress^ 

^Poetry?  ne!  How  eonld  my  sen  write  poetry?  Ill  he 
kecged  if  'tisn?t  though,,  for  ail  the  lines,  begin  with  a  capital 
letter." 

CHdfield  took  the  paper  from  him.  '^Li^u,'^  said  Ae,  and 
with  a  heavenly  cadence  «id  expressiooy  she  spoke  tiie  Hues 
thus: — 

** '  Hiy-  soul  hangy  tivdibBng  on  that  magtc  voice, 
Gneves  wkh  vo«r  woe,  enidts  when  yoa  rejoice ; 
A  gokiea  ohaia^  I  feel,  buft  cannot  see^ 
Binds  earth  to  heaven — it  tie&mjr  heart  to  ftheft» 
Like  a  sunflower,'  &c.  &c. — 

^  What  de  yo9  calL  that,  eh  .^' 

^  Why,  honey  dropping  from  the  couril),^  said  the  astounded 
lawyer,  to  whom  the  ait  ef  speech  was  entiiriy  mkaowB,  until 
that  moment,  as  it  is  to  mttfiens  ef  the  humaD*  race^ 

^It  ie  honey  dropping  firom.  tiie  eemb,^  xepeafltd  NatiiaD.  ^I 
see,  he  has  been  and  bought  it  ready-made,  and  it  has  cost  hint  m 


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4KT:  A  MJMATia  IVOIL  649 

pretty  peBB^}  ^^  dottibt.    So,  norr  Us  BM)«e7's  gmig  to  tbe  dogs, 
too." 

*'  And  these  seDtimentS)  these  aceeots  of  poetrj  and  troth,  that 
have  reached  my  heart,  this  daily  homage,  that  wouU  flatter  a 
%iieen,  do  I  owe  it  to  your  son.?     Ob !  sir/' 

^  Good  graciottft  Heavens  !"  roared  the  terrified  father ;  ^'  don^t 
you  go  and  fall  iq  lore  with  him  ;  and,  now  I  think  on't,  that  is 
what  I  have  been  working  for  eirer  stnce  I  came  here.  Cut  it 
abort*  I  came  for  my  son  and  I  will  hare  him  back,  if  you  please. 
Wheieisber 

"  How  can  i  know  ?**  said  the  lady,  pettishly. 

"  Wby^  be  follows  you  everywhere.'* 

^^  Except  here,  where  he  nerer  will  foHow  me,  unless  bis  fiitber 
teaches  bins  housebreaking  under  tbe  bead  of  cin]  law.*^ 

At  this  sodden  tbnist,  Oldworthy  Unshed.  '^  Well,  ma'am  V* 
stammered  be,  ^^  I  was  a  little  precipitate ;  but,  n^  good  ladiy,  pragr 
tell  me,,  when  did  you  last  see  him  ?" 

"  1  neves  saw  him  at  alU  which  I  regret,**  added  she,  satirically; 
^  because  you  say  he  resembles  bis  father.'*  Nathan  was  a  pai* 
tieularly  ugly  dog. 

''  She  is  very  polite,"  thought  Nathan.  ''  But,*^  olgected  be, 
civilly,  **  you  m»at  have  learned  from  bis  letters*" 

^  That  they  are  not  signed !"  said  she,  banding  die  poetical 
epistle  to  him,  with  great  significanee. 

Mr.  Nathan  Oldwovtby  begsm  now  to  doubt  whether  he  was 
stir  le  bon  terrain  in  his  present  proceedings ;  and  the  error  in 
which  be  bad  detected  himself  made  him  suddenly  suspect  his 
judgment  and  general  lepovt  on  anotber  bead.  ^  What  an  extira- 
ordinary  tliiog !"  said  be,  bluntly.  ^  Perhaps  you  are  an  honest 
woman  after  aU,  VM^am !" 

"^  Sir !"  said  Oldfield^witb  a  most  tragic  air. 

^^  I  ask  your  pardon,  ma^am  !  I  ask  your  pardon !"  cried  tbe 
other,  terrified  by  the  royal  pronunciation  of  this  monosyllable. 
^^  Country  maiuiers,  ma'am  !  that  is  all !  We  do  speds  so  straight- 
forward down  in  Coventry." 

*^  Yes !  but  if  you  speak  so  straightforward  here,  you  wiD  be  sent 
to  Coventry." 

^'  111  take  care  not,  madam  I  TH  take  great  care  not !"  said  tbe 
other,  hastily.  Then  be  paused — a  Hght  rose  gradually  to  bis  eye. 
**  Sent  to  Coventry  !  ha !  haw  !  ho  !  But,  madam,  this  love  wili  be 
bis  ruin :  it  wiU  rob  him  of  his  professioii  which  he  detests,  and  of 
a  rich  behress  whom  be  can't  abide !  Since  I  caaie  here,.  I  thinl: 
better  of  play-actors ;  but,  consider,  madam,  we  domt  Kke  oar 
blood  to  come  down  in  tbe  world !" 

^It  would  be  cruel  to  lower  an  attorney,"  repKed  tbe  jAay^ 
actress,  lookijiig  him  demmrely  in  the  iace. 

*'  Yoo  ase  considerate,  rnndum  !"  replied  be  gn^efnliy.  He 
added  with  manly  compunction  ^  more  so  I  fear  tbau  I  bave  de* 
served." 

.    ^^  Mais  t  il  me  disarme  cet  bomiM  1"  cried  tibe  spiigbdy  MdfieU^ 
xeady  ti>  scream  with  bui^^ter. 


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650  ABT:  A  DRAMATIC  TAL& 

^^  Are  you  speaking  to  ne,  ma'am  ?"  said  Nathan,  severely. 

"  No,  that  was  an  ^  aside/   Go  on,  my  good  soul  !** 

*^  Then  forgive  the  trouble,  the  agitation,  of  a  father :  his  career, 
his  happiness,  is  in  danger.** 

"  Now,  why  did  you  not  begin  with  that,  it  would  have  saved 
your  time  and  mine.  Favour  me  with  your  attention,  sir,  for  a 
moment,'*  said  the  fine  lady,  with  grave  courtesy. 

"  I  will,  madam,*'  said  the  other,  respectfully. 

**  Mr.  Oldworthy,  first  you  are  to  observe,  that  I  have  by  the 
constitution  of  these  realms,  as  much  right  to  fall  in  love  with 
your  son,  or  even  with  yourself,  as  he  or  you  have  to  do  with  me.** 

"  So  you  have,  I  never  thought  of  that ;  but  don't  ye  do  it,  for 
Heaven*s  sake,  if  'tisn't  done  aready.** 

"  But  I  should  have  been  inclined,  even  before  your  arrival,  to 
waive  that  right,  out  of  regard  for  my  own  interest  and  reputation, 
especially  the  former :  and  now  you  have  won  my  heart,  and  I 
enter  into  your  feelings,  and  place  myself  at  your  service — *^ 

"  You  are  very  good,  madam  !  Now  why  do  they  go  and  run 
play-actors  down  so  ?** 

"  You  are  aware,  sir,  that  we  play-actors  have  not  an  idea  of  our 
own  in  our  sculls :  our  art  is  to  execute  beautifully  the  ideas  of 
those  who  think :  now,  you  are  a  man  of  business  ;  you  will 
therefore  be  pleased  to  give  me  your  instructions,  and  you  shall 
see  those  instructions  executed  better  than  they  are  down  in  Co- 
ventry. You  want  me  to  prevent  your  son  from  loving  me  !  I 
consent.    Tell  me  how  to  do  it.** 

^^  Madam  !**  said  Nathan  ;  *^  you  have  put  your  finger  on  the 
very  point !  What  a  lawyer  you  would  have  made  !  Madam,  I 
thank  you !  Very  well,  then  you  must — but,  no,  that  will  make 
him  worse  perhaps.  And  again,  you  can*t  leave  off  playing,  can 
you  ?  because  that  is  your  business  you  know — dear  me.  Ah  !  PU 
tell  you  how  to  bring  it  about.  Let  me  see — ^no ! — ^yes  1 — no  I 
drat  it!" 

^'  Your  instructions  are  not  sufficiently  clear,  sir  P  suggested 
Mrs.  Oldfield. 

**  Well,  madam  !  it  is  not  so  easy  as  I  thought,  and  I  don*t  see 
what  instructions  I  am  to  give  you,  until — until — ^ 

"  Until  I  tell  you  what  to  tell  me — ^that*s  fair.  Well,  give  me 
a  day  to  think.  I  am  so  busy  now.  I  must  play  my  best  to- 
night!" 

"  But  he*ll  be  there,"  said  Nathan,  in  dismay:  "youll  play  your 
best :  you  11  bum  him  to  a  cinder.  1*11  go  to  him.  He  ran  to  the 
window,  informing  his  companion  that,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  he  was  going  to  take  a  coach.  But  he  had  no  sooner  arrived 
at  the  window,  than  he  made  a  sudden  point,  and  beckoned  tbe 
lady  to  him,  without  removing  his  eyes  firom  some  object  on  which 
he  glared  down,  with  a  most  singular  expression  of  countenance. 
She  came  to  his  side.  He  directed  her  eyes  to  the  object.  ^  Look 
there,  ma'am  !  look  there  !**  She  peeped,  and  standing  by  a  hosier's 
shop,  at  the  comer  of  the  street,  she  descried  a  young  man,  en- 
gaged as  follows: — ^His  hat  was  in  his  hand,  and  on  the  hat  was  a 


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art:  a  dramatic  tale*  651 

little  piece  of  paper*  He  was  alteniatelj  wriiiog  on  this,  and  look- 
ing upward  for  inspiration. 

*^Is  that  he?  *"  whispered  Mrs.  Oldfield. 

^^Yes!  that^s  yoar  man — bare-headed,  looking  up  into  the  skjr^ 
and  doesuH  see  how  it  rains." 

^  But  he  is  yery  handsome,  Mr.  Oldworthjr,  and  you  said  he 
was  like — hem  I  yes,  he  is  yery  handsome.*' 

'*  Isn't  he,  madam  i  ** 

He  was  handsome — ^his  rich  chestnut  curls  flowed  down  his 
neck  in  masses ;  his  face  was  oyal ;  his  eyes  full  of  colour  and 
sentiment — and  in  him  the  purple  light  of  youth  was  brightened 
by  the  electric  light  of  expression  and  charming  sensibility* 

'  The  strangely  assorted  pair  in  our  scene  held  on  by  one  another 
the  better  to  inspect  the  young  poet,  who  little  thought  what  a 
pair  of  critics  were  in  store  for  him. 

^  What  a  bright  intelligent  look  the  silly  goose  has !  ^  said  the 
actress. 

*^  Hasn't  he  ?  the  dear — idiot  I  "  said  the  parent 

'^  Is  he  waiting  for  you,  sir  ?  ^  said  she,  with  affected  simplicity* 

"  No,"  replied  he  with  real,  "  it 's  you  he  is  waiting  for." 

Alexander  began  to  walk  slowly  past  the  house,  looking  up  to 
heayen  eyery  now  and  then  for  inspiration,  and  then  looking 
down  and  scribbling  a  bit,  like  a  hen  drinking,  you  know — and 
thus  occupied,  he  stalked  to  and  fro,  passing  and  repassing  be- 
neath the  criticising  eyes — at  sight  of  which  pageant  a  fadier's 
fingers  began  to  work,  and,  ^^  Madam,"  said  he,  with  a  calmness 
too  marked  to  be  genuine,  ^'  do  let  me  fling  one  little — chair  at 
his  silly  head." 

<*  No,  indeed.'* 

"A  pillow, then  ?*^ 

**  O  Lud,  no !— you  don't  know  these  boys,  sir !  he  would  take 
that  as  an  oyerture  of  affection  from  the  house.  Stay,  will  you 
obey  me,  or  will  you  not  ? " 

*' Of  course  I  will! — how  can  I  help?"  and  he  grinned  with 
horrible  amiability. 

"  Then  I  will  cure  your  son." 

"  You  will,  you  promise  me  ?'* 

**0n  the  honour  of a  play-actor!"   and  she  offered  him, 

with  a  world  of  grace,  the  loyeliest  hand  going  at  that  era. 

'*0f  an  angel,  I  think,"  said  the  subjugated  barbarian. 

Mrs.  Oldfield  then  gave  him  a  short  sketch  of  the  idea  that  had 
occiurred  to  her.  "  Your  son,  sir,"  said  she, "  is  in  love  by  the 
road  of  imagination  and  taste — he  has  seen  upon  the  stage  a  being 
more  like  a  poet's  dream  than  any  young  woman  down  in  Coventry 
— and  he  over-rates  her;  I  will  contrive  that  in  ten  minutes  he 
shall  under-rate  her.  I  will  also  find  means  to  wound  his  vanity, 
which  is  inordinate  in  all  his  sex,  and  gigantic  in  the  versifying 
part  of  it — and  then,  sir,  I  promise  you  that  your  son's  love,  so 
fresh,  so  fiery,  so  lofty,  so  humble,  will  either  turn  to  hatred  or 
contempt,  or  else  quietly  evaporate  like  a  mist,  and  vanish  like 
a  morning  dream.    Ah !  ^' — (and  she  could  not  help  sighing  a 

little.)  Digitized  by  GoOglC 


65£  JLBT:   A  mtAKATIC  TAL& 

'    Sasan  \rfts  then  called,  and  cUiected  to  «ho«r  Mr.  Nalliisi  OUk* 

worthy  out  the  back  way,  that  he  might  ftvx>id  the  encounter  of  his 
son.  The  said  Nathan,  aocordinglj,  marched  slap  away,  in  four 
.great  strides ;  but  the  next  moment  the  door  bonrt  open,  and  he 
returned  in  four  more — he  took  up  a  position  opposite  his  ftar 
^entertainer,  and,  with  much  gravity,  executed  a  solemn,  but 
marvellously  grotesque  bow,  intended  to  express  gratitiide  and 
civility ;  this  done,  he  recovered  body,  and  strode  away  again  slap 
dash. 


Spirits  like  Alexander's  are  greatly  depressed  and  greatly  ele- 
rated  without  proportionate  chwge  in  the  external  causes  of  joy 
%xA  grief.  It  is  theirs  to  view  the  same  set  of  facts  rose-colonr 
one  day,  lurid  another.  Two  days  ago  Alexander  had  been  in 
despondence,  to-day  hope  was  in  the  ascendant,  and  his  destiny 
appeared  to  him  all  bathed  in  sunshine.  He  was  rich  in  indistinct 
but  gay  hopes ;  these  hopes  had  whispered  to  him,  that,  after  all, 
an  alliance  between  a  dramatic  poet  and  a  tragedian  was  a  natnral 
one — that,  perhaps,  on  reflection,  she  he  loved  might  not  think  it 
so  very  imprudent.  He  felt  convinced  she  had  read  ^  Berenice'' 
—she  m'ould  see  the  alterations  in  the  heroine's  psut,  and  that  love 
bad  dictated  them.  She  would  find  there  was  one  being  that 
comprehended  her.  That,  and  his  verses,  would  surely  plead  his 
cause.  Then  he  loved  her  so — who  could  love  her  as  he  did  ? 
Some  day  she  would  feel  that  no  heart  could  love  her  so — and 
then  he  would  say  to  her  ^  I  am  truth  and  nature ;  you  are  beauty 
and  music — united,  we  should  conquer  the  world,  and  be  the  world 
to  one  another ! "     Poor  boy  ! 

He  was  walking  and  dreaming  thus  beneath  her  window,  when 
his  ear  caught  the  sound  of  that  window  opening ;  he  instantly 
cowered  against  the  wall,  hoping  this  happy  day  to  see  the  form 
he  loved,  himself  unseen,  when,  to  his  immeasurable  surprise,  a 
beautiful  girl  put  her  head  out  of  the  window,  and  called  softly  to 
him.  He  took  no  notice,  because  it  was  inaudible.  He  had  to 
repeat  the  call  before  he  could  realise  his  good  fortune ;  the  signal, 
however,  was  unmistakeable,  and  soon  after  the  door  opened,  and 
there  was  pretty  Susan,  blushing.  Alexander  ran  to  her,  she 
opened  the  door  wider,  he  entered,  believing  in  magic  for  the  first 
time.  Susan  took  him  up  stairs — he  said  nothing — he  could  not 
*-she  did  not  speak,  because  she  thought  he  ought  to.  At  last 
they  reached  a  richly-furnished  room,  where  Stadra'^s  dress  lay 
upon  a  chair,  and  a  theatrical  diadem  upon  a  table.  Alexander's 
heart  leaped  at  sight  of  these  ;  he  knew  then  where  he  was  ;  be 
turned  hot  and  cold,  and  trembled  violently.  The  first  word 
Siisan  said  did  not  calm  his  agitation.  ''  There  is  a  lady  here,^ 
said  she,  "  who  has  something  to  say  to  you." 

Now,  it  must  be  remembered,  that  Susan  considered  Alexander 
her  undoubted  property,  and  wlien  she  was  told  to  introduce  him 
she  could  not  help  thinking  how  kind  it  was  of  her  cousin  to  take 
her  part,  and  bring  to  the  point  a  young  gentleman,  whp,  charming 

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A  .QUI  LA  FAUTE  ?  653 

in  other  respects,  appeared  to  her  sadly  deficient  in  audacity. 
*'  Sit  down,"  said  Susan,  smiling. 

Oh  !  no !  he  could  not  sit  down  here !  Susan  pitied  his  timi- 
dity and  his  discomposure,  and  to  put  both  him  and  herself  out  of 
pain  the  sooner,  she  left  him  «nd  wecct  to  announce  his  presence 
to  her  cousin  and  guardian  as  she  now  considered  her. 
.  Alexander  wag  left  idone  to  all  ajapeacaace,  in  reaHty  be  was  in 
a  crowd — a  carowd  of  ^^  tbidE-conuBg  fascies.*'  He  was  to  breathe 
the  saone  »r  as  her,  to  be  by  her  side,  whom  the  world  adored  at  a 
<fi8tance;  he  was  to  see  her  burst  on  him  Kke  the  smi,  and  to  feel 
more  strongly  than  ever  how  far  his  verse  fell  short  of  the  goddess 
who  ini^ired  it  ^  he  half  wished  to  retreat  from  kis  too  great  hi^ 
piaesa.  Suddenly  a  rustle  in  the  aparUneai  awakened  him  from 
his  rich  reverie ;  he  looked  up,  and  there  was  a  lady  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him. 


A    QUI   LA    FAUTE? 

•In  flatteriog  speeches,  nmny 

Praise  up  my  face  and  form ; 
Yet  if  admired  by  any, 

With  jealous  ra^  you  storm. 
But  if  I  *ra  worth  befaG^ding, 

Aad  if  n^  eyes  wiU  Moe^ 
Is  that  a  canse  for  scolding? 

Sure  'tis  no  fault  of  mine. 

My  most  devoted  lover 

I  know  name  wish  to  be ; 
If  they  their  flame  discayer. 

You  vent  your  wrath  on  <ne  ! 
But  if  they  wiH  adore  me, 

And  fancy  me  divine. 
Why  with  reproaches  bore  me  ? 

'TIS  MaV  fault,  suFC — not  nriae* 

Our  sex  are  all  believing. 

Perhaps  a  little  vain  ; 
Soft  words,  e'en  when  deceiving, 

WiU  soon  our  favour  gain. 
Then  if  it  seem  to  please  me. 

When  all  in  praise  combine. 
With  jealousy  why  teaze  me? 

•Tis  natures  fault— not  mine. 

Yon  never  now  approach  me 

With  smiles  I  held  so  dear ; 
Now  sternly  you  reproach  me. 

And  change  my  love  to  fear. 
To  other's  words  more  tender 

Should  I  my  ear  incline, 
'Tis  you  are  ^e  offender, 

'Twill  be  your  fault— not  mine ! 

M.  A.  B.  ^  1 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


654 


THE  DARIEN  SHIP  CANAL. 

[We  are  indebted  for  the  greater  part  of  the  iDfonnation  contained  in  the  pre- 
sent paper,  to  the  Second  ^tion,  recently  published,  of  Dr.  CuUen's  work  oo 
the  **  Isthmus  of  Darien  Ship  Canal^"  as  well  as  to  the  report  of  Mr.  Gisbome, 
the  engineer  appointed  to  examine  the  projected  route  by  Messrs*  Fox,  Hen- 
derson, and  Brassey,  the  contractors  for  the  undertaking.  In  a  succeeding 
number  we  shall  be  enabled  to  give  from  the  pen  of  the  discoverer  of  the  canu 
route,  a  sketch  of  the  early  history  of  Darien,  the  scene  of  the  exploits  of  the 
Buccaneers*  and  of  the  Scotch  settlement  founded  in  the  reign  of  William  the 
Third.— Ed.] 


In  a  former  number  of  the  Miscellany  (January,  1852)  it ' 

observed  by  the  author  of  Note9  on  New  Granada  *^that  the 
limited  knowledge  possessed  in  this  country  of  many  parts  of 
Spanish  America,  which  the  Spaniards  so  jealously  closed  against 
Europeans,  during  their  long  and  torpid  dominion  of  three  centu- 
ries, has  often  been  a  subject  of  surprise  and  regret.  Of  the  state 
of  New  Granada,  especially,  which  recently  formed  the  principal 
section  of  the  Republic  of  Colombia,  but  little  information  exists 
in  England,  and  public  attention  has  naturally  been  turned  to  it  of 
late,  owing  to  the  growing  interest  of  one  of  its  provinces,  Panama, 
on  whose  site  is  preparing  one  part  of  the  realissation  of  that  mag- 
nificent scheme,  which  has  so  long  been  a  cherished  object  of 
navigation  and  commerce,  and  which  Philip  the  Second,  in  all  his 
pride  and  power,  and  extent  of  dominion,  feared  to  imdertake — the 
junction  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans/' 

The  e£fectual  removal  of  the  barrier,  which  (though,  at  one 

Eoint,  of  the  insignificant  width  of  only  twenty-four  miles*)  has 
itherto  obstructed  the  intercourse  of  the  western  with  the  eastern 
hemisphere,  is  an  object  of  such  vast  importance  not  only  to  the 
existing  generation,  but  to  the  future  destinies  of  the  whole  world, 
that  some  notice  of  the  project  now  about  to  be  carried  out  for 
its  accomplishment  cannot  at  this  moment  fail  to  be  acceptable. 

The  Isthmus  of  Darien  and  Panama,  connecting  North  and 
South  America,  divides  the  two  oceans  by  a  comparatively  narrow 
and  necklike  strip  of  land,  extending,  in  a  curved  direction,  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Atrato  in  the  Gulf  of  Darien,  and  from  the  south- 
east point  of  the  Bay  of  Panama  to  the  borders  of  Costa  Rica. 
Although  for  years  the  project  of  uniting  the  two  oceans  by  a  cut 
of  intersection  across  the  Isthmus  has  been  familiar  to  men's 
minds,  it  was  just  that  sort  of  thing  which  was  "  every  body's,** 
and,  consequently,  ** nobody's  business;"  and  there  has  always 
been  more  talk  about  it  than  that  practical  kind  of  suggestion 
which  is  founded  upon  personal  investigation,  superior  acumen, 
and  devotion  to  the  subject.  The  only  route  ever  proposed 
across  this  Isthmus,  until  very  recently,  was  that  from  Chagres,  or 

*  Between  Mandinga  Bay  and  the  mouth  of  Chepo  River* 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


THE  DAHIEN  CANAL.  655 

from  Navy  Bay,  to  Panama,  which  was  surveyed  in  1829  by 
Colonel  Lloyd  and  M.  Palmare,  and,  subsequently,  by  M.  Garella 
and  other  engineers*  Owing  to  the  very  bad  harbours  at  either 
terminus,  the  high  elevation  of  the  land,  and  many  other  causes, 
the  idea  of  a  canal  by  that  route  has,  long  ago,  been  totally  aban* 
doned;  but  a  railroad,  the  Panama  Railroad,  was  projected, 
and  more  than  half  of  it  is  now  completed,  viz.,  from  its  terminus  at 
Aspinwall,  on  the  Island  of  Manzanillo,  in  Navy  Bay,  to  Gorgona, 
on  the  Chagres  River,  a  distance  of  thirty  miles;  the  remaining 
twenty  miles  from  Gorgona  to  Panama  are  expected  to  be  com- 
pleted in  a  year  hence.  It  is  obvious,  however,  that  this  can  only 
partially  meet  the  requirements  of  commerce,  the  deBideraium 
being  an  Open  Canal  through  which  the  traffic  can  pass  without 
the  delays  and  cost  of  trans-shipment. 

So  grand  and  magnificent  is  the  idea  of  the  junction  of  the 
oceans  —  the  approximation  of  the  two  hemispheres  —  that  the 
successful  solution  of  such  a  problem  would  undoubtedly  confer 
more  important  and  lasting  benefits  on  mankind  than  any  other 
maritime  enterprise  that  has  been  undertaken  since  the  great 
discovery  of  Columbus.  From  the  time  when  Cortes  started 
from  Mexico  on  his  famous  expedition  in  search  of  the  natural 
communication  which  he  fondly  believed  to  exist,  this  problem 
has  fixed  the  earnest  attention  of  the  most  learned  and  scientific 
men  in  Europe.  Alcedo,  Dampier,  Maltebrun,  and  other  geo- 
graphers have  investigated  the  subject.  Nor  have  statesmen  of 
emmence  been  less  anxious  for  its  solution.  William  Pitt  often 
«poke  of  it  with  rapture,  and  it  constituted  one  of  hb  great  con- 
siderations when  forming  plans  for  the  emancipation  of  Spanish 
America.  Lord  Sidmouth,  Lord  Melville,  and  Sir  Home  Popham^ 
in  concert  with  Mr.  Pitt  and  General  Miranda,  in  1804,  strenu- 
ously urged  it,  and  planned  an  expedition  for  its  furtherance, 
which  was  unfortunately  frustrated.  Half  a  century  ago  the  great 
Humboldt  pointed  out  its  advantages  to  commerce  and  civilisa- 
tion, and  has  never  since  ceased  to  urge  the  subject  on  public 
attention.  In  a  letter  written  by  the  venerable  Baron,  so  late  as 
Jime  last,  to  Dr.  CuUen,  he  says, — 

"  After  having  laboured  in  vain  during  half  a  century  to  prove  the  possibility 
of  an  Oceanic  Canal,  after  having  regretted  almost  with  bitterness,  in  the  last 
edition  of  my  '  Aspects  of  Nature,'  that  the  employment  of  the  means  which 
the  present  state  of  our  knowledge  affords  for  obtaining  precise  measurement 
has  been  so  lone  delayed,  I  ought,  more  than  any  one  else,  to  be  satisfied  to 
see,  at  least,  my  hopes  for  so  noble  an  enterprise  revived." 

The  utter  want  of  topographical  and  geological  knowledge  of 
the  country ;  the  jealousy  of  rival  nations ;  an  erroneous  idea  that 
there  was  something  too  stupendous  in  the  undertaking ;  a  pre- 
judice that  the  diflference  of  level  of  the  two  oceans,  and  of  their 
rise  of  tide  would  be  a  fatal  objection ;  and  a  very  exaggerated 
notion  of  the  unhealthiness  of  the  isthmus;  are  the  principal 
causes  which  have  hitherto  prevented  any  attempt  to  cut  through 
this  narrow  neck  of  land.  Happily,  these  imaginary  difficulties 
are  now  about  to  be  dispelled  by  the  resources  of  moaem  science 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Z  Z  ^ 


666f  THE.  PARIEN  CAKAIi* 

and  enei^9  aided  by  the*  application  of  large  capital ;  and^  more: 
particulariy^  by  the  concurrence  of  tlie  great  maritime  powexs,  ia* 
fiavouring  so  vast  and  beneficial  an  enterprise.  It  was  reserved  for 
qur  time,  signalised  by  the  stupendous  trhttnpfas  of  engineering 
over  obsftaeles  that  seemed  to  defy  the  ingenuity  of  man,  to  lend 
itis  material  and  physical  aid,  when  die  esdstenea  of  a  general  states 
o£  peace  had  lulled  national  jealousies,  and  had  induced  powerful; 
governments,  hidierto  distrustful  of  one  another,  to  enter  into  a. 
compact  to  protect  and  encourage  a  design,  the  success  of  which* 
affords  a  more  hopeful  guarantee  for  the  estsJ)lishment  of  universal 
peace  than  any  previous  deed  in  the  history  of  human  progress. 

Previouidy  to  entering  upon  the  examination  of  tins  project— 
the  only  one  capable  of  effecting  the  object  required — viz^  tfae^ 
transit,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  and  vice  vetmdy  of  laige^ 
^ips,  we  will  give  the  comparative  lengths  of  the  othor  routes 
which  have  been  proposed,  together  with  some  observations  gbh 
their  characteristic  features : — 

The  Tehuantepec  route  (Mexico)  •  .     1D8  miles^ 

The  Nicaragua^  do.  from  San  Juan  del  Norte 

to  Brito  (boundaries  disputed)         •  «     194      „ 

The  Atrato  route,  by  a  cut  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Napipi  River  to  Cupica  Bay  (New 
Granada)        •  •  •  .        •     172      „ 

None  of  the  above  routes  have  good  harbours,  without  which  it- 
would  be  a  fruitless  waste  of  money  to  cut  a  qanal ;  and  amongst- 
many  other  objections  to  the  first  two,  political  difficulties  exist 
with  reference  to  the  countries  through  which  they  would  pass. 

The  Tehuantepec  route  has  no  harbour  on  either  coast :  a  road 
is  projected  from  the  Coatzacoalcos  River  to  die  Pacific,  by  this  line. 

The  Nicaragua  route  has  very  bad  harbours,  and  would  require 
138  miles  of  canalisation,  with  28  locks,  and  artificial  piers,  em- 
bankments, and  harbours  at  each  end  of  the  lake,  the  approach  to 
its  shores  being  impracticable.  The  high  elevation  of  Lake  Nica- 
ragua (128  feet),  and  the  length  of  time  (six  dajrs  and  ten  hours  at 
the  quickest  rate)  which  would  be  necessary  for  the  transit  of  a 
ship,  are  very  unfavourable  circumstances ;  whilst  volcanos  in  a 
state  of  activity,  earthquakes,  tornados,  and  papagayos,*  add  to  tiie 
disadvantages  of  the  route.  The  proposed  cauai  could  not  be 
made  navigable  for  large  ships,  and  would,  therefore,  not  meet  the 
requirements  of  commerce  :  its  projectors  have  consequently  been 
officially  declared  to  have  forfeited  all  claim  to  the  support  of  Great 
Britain  and  the  United  States,  under  the  provisions  of  the  Bulwer 
and  Clayton  Treaty  of  1850. 

The  Atrato  route  has  a  bad  harbour  on  the  Pacific  side,  Cupica. 
being  of  small  extent,  and  open  to  the  south-west,  whilst  the 
Atrato  mouth  has  a  bar  with  only  five  feet  of  water  on  it,  and  the 
rise  of  tide  in  the  Gulf  of  Darien  is  scarcely  two  feet. 

Although  the  whole  tract  of  country,  extending  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Atrato  to  Costa  Rica,  and  comprehending  Veraguas,  Chi-p 
riqui,  Panama  and  Darien — provinces  of   the  republic  of  New 

*  Violent  squalls  on  the  coasts  of  Nicaragua^wjOOQlC 


THE  DARIEN   CANAL,  657 

Granada — is  usually  called  Isthmus  of  Panama .  o?  Isthmnis .  of' 
Darien  indifferently,  yet  Spanish  geographera  limit  the  term  Isth- 
mus of  Darien  to  its  eastern  half,  extending  from  the  Atrato  to  a. 
line  drawn  from  Cape  San  Bias,  on  the  Atlantic  coast,  to   the. 
mouth  of  Chq)a  River,  in  the  Bay  of  Panama^  and  apply  the. 
name  of  I^hm^s  of  Panama  to  the  neck  of  land  westward  of  that 
line.    This  Isthmus  of  Darien,  though  familiar  to  every  schoolboy 
by  its  name,  has,  at  the  same  time,  been  as  little  known  to  geo-^ 
graphers  as  the  interior  of  Patagonia  or  of  New  Guinea.    The  fol- 
lowing decree,   copied  from   the  archives  of  the  viceroyalty  of. 
Peru,  by  Dr.  Cullen,  will  explain  the   reason  why  the  Spanish, 
government  wished  to  keep  the  Isthmus  of  Darien.  a  terra  incog'* 
nita. 

"  Roj*al  Decree,  12ih  March,  1685 — That  the  President  of  Panama  break 
up  and  destroy  the  mines  of  gold  that  exist  in  the  vicinity  of  the  rivers  of  the 
Province  of  Darien,  because  the  coveting  of  them  has  induced  the  buccaneers  to^ 
undertake  the  transit  from  the  sea  of  the  north  to  the  sea  of  the  south  by  those  rivers 
—and  that  the  Viceroy  of  Peru  co-operate  in  it." 

Since  the  liberation  of  New  Granada  from  the  yoke  of  Spaio, 
by  Simon  Bolivar,  Darien,   owing  to  its  very  scanty  Granadiaa 
population,  and   the  hostility  of  the   independent   Indians  inha- 
biting it,  has  been  completely  neglected,  and  remained  an  un-- 
known  country  until  its  recent  exploration  by  Dr.  Edward  Cul- 
len, to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  discovery  of*  the  ship-canal 
route.     It  was  not  until  1849  that,  after  an  extensive  exploration 
of  the  coasts  of  the  isthmus,  in  search  of  a  practicable  line  for  an 
inter- oceanic  canal  without  locks,  the  doctor  entered  the  Gulf  of 
San  Miguel  and  the  River  Tuyra,  and  finding  the  Savana  mouth, 
ascended  it.     He  found  it  navigable  for  the  largest  vessels  up  to 
the  site  of  Fuerte  del  Principe — a  fort  which  the  Spaniards  had 
occupied  during  the  brief  interval  between  1785  and  1790.     Land 
explorations  afterwards  revealed  to  him  a  direct  line  through  the 
dense  forest  from  Principe  to  the  Bay  of  Caledonia,  crossing  first  a 
plain  of  eighteen  miles,  then  for  two  miles  through  the  defiles  of 
the  mountain-range  which  runs  parallel  to  the  coast  of  the  bay  at: 
the  distance  of  another  two  miles.     The  doctor  mentions  it  as» 
strange  that  the  facilities  of  this  route  should  have  escaped  the^ 
penetration  of  the  great  Humboldt ;  this  he  attributes  to  the  fact- 
that  the  river  Savana  was  not  delineated  on  the  maps  examined  by 
that  great  traveller,  and  says  : — 

.  **  Such,  indeed,  was  the  case  with  the  map  which  I  had  on  my  first  journey 
into  Darien  in  1849,  so  that  I  was  totally  ignorant  of  its  existence,  until  I 
actually  saw  it,  after  entering  Boca  Chica;  when,  finding  the  great  depth  of  water^ 
at  its  mouth,  and  that  it  flowed  almost  directly  from  the  north,  I  became  con- 
vinced that  I  had  at  last  found  the  object  of  my  search,  viz.,  a  feasible  route  to 
the  Atlantic,  and  thereupon  immediately  ascended  it,  and  crossed  from  Cafiasas 
to  the  sea-shore  at  Port  Escosc6s  and  back,  and  subsequently,  in  1850  and  also 
ID  1851,  crossed  and  recrossed,  at  several  times  and  by  several  tracks,  the  route- 
from  the  Savana  to  Port  Escosc^  and  Caledonia  Bay,  notching  the  barks  of  the 
tress  as  I  went  along,  with  a  macheta  or  cutlass,  always  alone  and  unaided,  and 
always  in  the  season  of  the  heaviest  rains.  I  had  previously  examined,  on  my 
way  from  Panama,  the  mouths  of  Chepo,  Chiman,  Congo,  and  several  other 

Digitized  byG^Ogle 


riren,  but  found  them  all 
obstructed  by  bars  and  sand* 
banks,  and  impracticable 
for  a  ship  passage,  so  that 
upon  seeing  the  Savana,  I 
had  not  the  least  hesitation 
in  deciding  that  tliat  must  be 
the  future  route  for  inter- 
oceanic  communication  for 
ahips." 

Port  Escosc^s  and 
Caledonia  Bay  are  on 
the  Atlantic  coast,  and 
take  their  names  from 
the  settlement  of  a 
Scotch  colony  there  in 
1698.  In  fact,  the  line 
of  Canal  proposed  is 
between  those  ports  and 
the  Gulf  of  San  Miguel ; 
and  the  geography  of 
the  ports  and  the  line  of 
canal  is  thus  described 
by  Dr.  CuUen  :— 

"  Port  Escosc^  or  Scotch 
Harbour,  and  the  Bay  of  Ca- 
ledonia, on  the  Atlantic  coast 
of  the  Isthmus  of  Darien, 
present  an  extent  of  six  nau- 
tical miles,  from  S.  E.  to 
N.  W.,  of  safe  anchorage  in 
all  winds.  These  harbours 
are  situated  between  Carreto 
Bay  and  the  cliannel  of  Sas- 
sardi,  and  are  140  miles 
E.S.E.  of  Limon  Bay,  and 
twenty»one  miles  W.N.W. 
of  Cape  Tiburon,  the  N.W. 
boundary  of  the  Gulf  of 
Darien.  Port  Escosces  ex- 
tends to  the  S.E.  to  lat. 
8*  50' and  long. 77-41'; and 
Golden  Island,  or  Isla  de 
Oro,  or  Santa  Catalina,  which 
forms  the  N.W,  boundary 
of  Caledonia  Bay,  is  in  lat. 
8' 54'  40  ,  and  long.  77  45'. 

•"The  channel  of  Sas- 
sardi,  also,  extending  from 
Caledonia  Bay  N.W.  ^ve 
miles,  to  the  Fronton,  or 
point  of  Sassardi,  is  sheU 
tered  from  the  winds  and  seas 
of  both  seasons,  and  has 
good  depth  of  water. 

"  Twenty-two  miles  S.  W. 
of  Port  Escosces  is  the  site  of 
the  old  Spanish  settlement 
of  Fuerte  del  Principe,  on 
the  river  Savana.  esublished 
in  1785,  and  abandoned  in 
1700.  From  thence  the  river 

▼ana  has  nearly  a  S.  by  £. 


.i^ij^oogle 


THK  PABIEN  CANAL.  659 

course  for  fourteen  miles  to  its  mouth,  which  opens  into  the  river  Tuyra,  Santa 
Maria,  or  Rio  Grande  del  Darien,  three  miles  above  Boca  Chica  and  Boca 
Grande,  the  two  mouths  by  which  the  latter  discharges  itself  into  the  Gulf  of  San 
Miguel  on  the  Pacific. 

"  Thus  the  distance  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  by  the  route 
from  Port  Escosc^  or  Caledonia  Bay,  to  the  Gulf  of  San  Miguel,  by  way  of 
the  river  Savana,  would  be  thirty-nine  miles.  In  a  direct  line,  from  Port  Escosc^ 
to  the  Gulf,  the  distance  is  thirty-three  miles. 

**  At  the  mouth  of  the  Savana  there  are  nine  fathoms,  at  low  water,  and  the 
tide  rises  firom  twenty-one  to  twenty-seven  feet. 

«*  Boca  Chica  and  Boca  Grande,  the  mouths  of  the  Tuyra,  are  perfectly  safe 
entrances,  and  have  a  depth  of  thirteen  and  twenty  fathoms  of  water  respec* 
tively. 

'*  The  Gulf  of  San  Miguel  has  good  depth  of  water,  and  would  hold  the 
shipping  of  the  world.  Its  mouth  between  Cape  San  Lorenzo  on  the  north,  and 
Punta  Garachine  on  the  south,  is  ten  miles  across,  and  opens  into  the  Pacific 
quite  outside  the  Bay  of  Panama.  Its  direction  inwards  is  N.E  fifteen  miles  to 
Boca  Chica." 

After  a  minute  description  of  the  hydrography  of  the  coasts,  the 
geographical  features  of  the  country,  and  the  engineering  facilities^ 
and  as  accurate  a  delineation  of  every  point,  reach,  and  object  in 
view  along  the  course  of  the  Savana  nver,  as  might  be  expected 
from  a  Thames  pilot.  Dr.  CuUen  presents  us  with  the  following 
conclusions : — 

**  The  whole  work  to  be  done,  therefore,  in  order  to  make  a  ship-canal  com- 
munication between  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans,  by  this  route,  would  be  to 
cut  from  Principe,  or  from  Lara  mouth  to  Port  Escosc^s,  or  Caledonia  Bay,  a 
distance  from  twenty-two  to  twenty-five  miles,  of  which  there  would  be  but 
three  or  four  miles  of  deep  cutting. 

'*  The  canal,  to  be  on  a  scale  of  grandeur  commensurate  with  its  important 
uses,  should  be  cut  sufficiently  deep  to  allow  the  tide  of  the  Pacific  to  flow  right 
through  it,  across  to  the  Atlantic ;  so  that  ships  bound  from  the  Pacific  to  the 
Atlantic  would  pass  with  the  flood,  and  those  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific 
with  the  ebb  tide  of  the  latter ;  such  was  the  plan  recommended  in  my  report  to 
Lord  Palmerston  in  January,  1851.  By  such  a  canal,  that  is,  one  entirely  with- 
out locks,  the  transit  from  sea  to  sea  could  be  effected  in  six  hours,  or  one  tide." 

**  I  trust  that  an  attentive  consideration  of  the  advantages  of  this  route — viz. 
Its  shortness,  the  excellence  of  its  harbours,  the  low  elevation  of  the  land,  the 
absence  of  bars  at  the  Savana  and  Tuyra  mouths,  the  depth  of  water  and  great 
rise  of  tide  in  the  former,  its  directness  of  course  and  fireedom  from  obstruc- 
tions, the  healthiness  of  the  adjacent  country,  the  exemption  of  the  coasts  from 
northers  and  hurricanes,  the  feasibility  of  cutting  a  canal  without  locks,  and  the 
absence  of  engineering  difficulties — will  fully  justify  me  in  asserting  it  to  be  the 
shortest,  the  most  direct,  safe,  and  expeditious,  and  in  every  way  the  most  eligi.. 
ble  route  for  intermarine  communication  for  large  ships. 

"  An  examination  of  the  physical  aspect  of  the  country  from  Port  Escosc^s 
to  the  Savana — presenting,  as  it  does,  but  a  single  ridge  of  low  elevation,  and 
this  broken  by  gorges,  ravines,  and  valleys,  and  grooved  by  rivers  and  streams, 
with  a  champaign  country  extending  from  its  base  on  each  side — will  prove  the 
feasibility  of  making  the  Canal  entirely  without  locks,  a  superiority  which  this 
route  possesses  over  others,  which  all  present  insurmountable  physical  obstacles 
to  the  construction  of  such  a  Canal. 

**  In  fact,  a  glance  at  the  map  ought  to  convince  the  most  sceptical  that  na- 
ture has  unmistakably  marked  out  this  space  for  the  junction  of  the  two  oceans, 
and  the  breaking  of  the  continuity  of  North  and  South  America;  indeed,  so 
narrow  is  the  line  of  division,  that  it  would  almost  appear  as  if  the  two  seas  did 
once  meet  here." 

Such  being  the  physical  features  of  the  land-barrier,  a  tidal 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


660  THE  DABIEN  CAKAL. 

Gtrcuniitance  of  great  hnpottance  is -to  tie  taken  into  account. 
The  tide  in  the  Patsific  rises  21  to  27  feet ;  whilst  on  the  Atlantic 
shore  the  rise  is  scarcely  2  feet.  Humboldt  says  that,  ^^  at  diffiev^ 
ent  hours  in  the  day,  sometimes  one  sea,  sometimes  .die  other, 
is  the  more  elevated/'  So  that  mid-tide,  being  on  a '  level  in 
both  oceans,  if  there  were  ti  clear  passage  from  ocean  to  oeoin, 
there  would  be  a  continuous  current  one  way  or  otiier  at  ebb  and 
How  of  tide.  That  such  an  ebb  and  flow  in  a  ship^^anal  wouldfae 
of  the  greatest  importance,; is  obvious.  Dr.  Cull^i  recognised  it 
at  once,  and  says : — 

*V'Tlus  difierence  (of  level)  would  be  no  huidnuiee;  but,  on  the  coottaiT*  a 
most  important  advantage  in  a  ship-cana],  since  it  would  create  a  carreat  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  during  the  ebb,  and  one  from  the  Pacific  to  the 
Atlantic,  during  the  flood-tide  of  the  Pacific,  and  these  alternate  currents  would 
enable  each  of  the  fleets  to  pass  through  at  diflerent  times,  those  bound  frotfi 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  during  the  ebb-tide  of  the  latter,  and  those  from  the 
Pacific  to  the  Atlantic  during  the  flood«tide  of  the  fbmier.  This  arrangement  in 
the  periods  of  transit  would  afford  many  advantages,  such  as  obviating  the 
meeting  of  the  vessels  and  the  necessity  of  their  passing  one  another,  and  .pre- 
venting their  accumulation  or  crowding  together  in  the  canal,  as  each  fleet  could 
be  carried  right  through  in  one  tide,  if  not  by  the  current  alone,  at  least  with 
the  aid  of  tug-steamers.  The  alternation  of  the  currents  would  have  the 
further  beneficial  effect  of  washing  out  the  bed  of  the  canal,  and  keeping  itfiree 
from  the  deposition  of  sand  or  mud,  so  that  dredging  would  never  become  ne- 
cessary;  and  would  also  render  the  degree  of  width  necessary  for  the  canal  less  ; 
though  I  do  not  reckon  this  to  be  a  point  of  moment,  as  the  wider  and  deeper 
it  is  cut  the  better,  and  the  work  once  finished  will  last  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
since  the  natural  effect  of  the  alternate  currents  will  be  a  gradual  process  of 
deepening  and  widening,  which  will  convert  the  canal  into  a  Siraii.*' 

With  regard  to  the  proprietary  rights  of  the  land  through  which 
'the  canal  is  to  be  cut,  it  appears  that  the  government  of  the  re- 
public of  New  Granada  has  conceded,  by  decree  of  Congress^ 
dated  Bogota,  June  1,  1852,  the  exdusive  privilege  of  cutting  a. 
canal  between  the  Gulf  of  6an  Miguel  and  Caledonia  Bay,  or 
elsewhere  in  Darien,  to  Sir  Charles  Fox,  Mr.  Henderson,  Mr. 
Brassey,  and  Dr.  CuUen ;  and  has  granted,  besides  the  lands 
necessary  for  the  canal  and  its  works,. 200,000 ^cres  of  land,  to 
be  selected  in  any  part  of  the  republic. 

The  country  on  the  line  of  the  proposed  canal  is  totally  unin- 
habited. In  the  South  of  Darien  there  are  a  few  Granadian 
negroes,  but  no  Indians;  whilst  the  Atlantic  coast  is  dotted  here 
and  there  with^mall  settlements  of  Indians.  We  are  glad  to  find 
that  they  have  found  in  Dr.  Cullen.a  friend  and  protector,  and 
that  they  have  entered  into  a  treaty  of  friendship  with  him.  The 
following  account  of  this  hitherto  very  little  known  .tribe  df  Indians 
will  be  read  with  interest ; — 

'*  The  Indiam  of  Darien^  and  theirfielitigt  twoard^  ike  Britith, — The  AtUtntk 
coast  of  Darien  is  inhabited  by  the  Tule  or  San  Bias  Indians,  afine,  handsome, 
athletic  race,  though  of  low  stature,  with  the  copper^coloured  complexion, 
straight  coafse  black  hair,  and  other  characteristics  of  the  whole  Indian  race, 
differing,  in  no  respect,  from  the  'Indians  of  Guiana,  'Venezuela,  or  any  other 
part  of  South  America.  They  live  very  peaceably  together,  are  'honest, 
cleanly,  and  industrious,  occupying  themselves  in  fishing,  hunting,  and  culti- 
vating a  variety  of  vegetables.     They  carry  on  a  considerable  trade  with 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


XraS  DAB1B9T  QAKAl.  3361 

^eigiien  in  coc<a  iimtn  <and  coccKMiut  oil,  cocoa,  turUe^hell,  cotton  liam- 
«Bocks,  caBoes .of  calKodli,  a  veiy durable  timb«r, &c^^o.,  which  theybanerfor 
iBoloitred  caltcoB,  shirts,  calieo  trowsers,  lo<duiig*glasses,  beads,  knms,  cut- 
lasses, guns,  powder,  betchats,  rum,  braiidy,  to£ieco»  itc  A  very  profit^e 
:trade.ra)ght  also :be'carried4ni  with  them,  in  dye*woods,  timber,  gums,  resins, 
Ac.  Their  principal  occupation  is  fishing  for  the  turtle  which  abound  near  the 
|yi^,:and  hunting.  They  are  very  expert  sailors,  some  of  them  liavii^  made 
^voyages  to  the  United  States.  They  are  Teiy  independent,  and  were  newr 
subdued  by  the  Spaniards,  to  whom  they  bear  great  animosity ;  to  English '-aad 
J^mericans  they  are  very  friendly,  but  do  not  allow  them  to  land  on  the  coast. 
The  traders  are  boarded,  as  soon  as  they  anchor,  by  the  Indians,  who  bring 
their  produce  on  board  themselves,  and  do  not  permit  the  captain  or  crew  to  go 
on  shore.  Their  government  is  purely  patriarchal, — the  oldest  and  most  expe- 
rienced man  in  each  ^settlement  being,  accounted  chief  by  general -consent,  and 
universally  looked  up  to  and  obeyed  as  such.  They  are  accustomed  to  the  use 
of  fire-arms,  and  are  good  marksmen,  having  also  spears  and  arrows ;  but  no 
•knowledge  of  extracting  the  woorali  or  curare  poison,  though  they  have  man- 
chbeel,  the  milky  juice  of  which  is  a  powerful  irritant,  but  not  strong  enough  to 
kill.  Some  woorali  (corovn)  and  poisoned  arro>ws  tliat  I  obtained  from  the 
Indians  of  the  interior  were  procured  by  them  from  Choco,  for  the  purpose  of 
killing  game ;  these  little  darts  are  blown  through  a  long  tube,  called  borokera, 
the  aim  being  rendered  steady  by  a  little  cotton  of  the  Bombax  Ceiba  wrapped 
•round  one  end ;  their  deadly  effect  is  almost  instantaneous. 

"  It  is  a  very  singular  &ct  that  these  Indians  have  no  names.  When  one  is 
«8ked  '  iki  pe  nukka'  (what's  your  name),  he  invariably  replies,  *  nukka 
chuli/  (I  have  no  name).  They  are  very  desirous  of  receiving  English  names, 
and  have  often  asked  me  to  give  them  some,  which  I  have  done,  giving  the 
4iames  of  Fox,  Henderson,  Brassey,  Haslewood,  Wilson,  Anthony,  Vincent* 
and  Cullen.  There  are  many  albinos,  with  pure  white  skin  and  hair,  and 
weak  eyes.  The  women  wear  diamond-shaped  gold  nose-rings,  cut  at  one  of 
the  angles  to  allow  their  being  token  out  and  put  in  ;  these  rings  are  about  an 
ounce  in  weight.  Their  legs  and  arms  are  also  adorned  with  ^loss  beads,  strings 
•of  coral,  gold  trinkets,  pieces  of  money,  and  tigers'  teeth.  They  are  very  fond 
wf  gaudy  ornaments;  and  presents  of  some  trinkets,  pieces  of  scarlet  silk  and 
cotton,  pictures,  and  some  gilt  buttons  which  I  cut  off' an  Armenian  jacket  that 
I  purchased  in  Constantinople  in  1848,  quite  established  me  in  their  good 
graces. 

•*  They  have  a  great  dread  of  the  small-pox,  which  is  one  cause  of  their  not 
sallowing  foreigners  to  mix  with  them.  They  also  fear  that  they  would  take 
away  their  women ;  and  another  reason  of  then:  dislike  to  foreigners,  is  their 
idea  that  God  made  the  country  for  them  alone. 

**  They  are  timid,  and  would  not  venture  to  oppose  even  a  small  body  of  men. 
The  Coast  Indians  live  entirely  on  the  coast  and  the  islands  and  kays  off  it, 
■and  do  not  ^o  into  the  interior,  while  those  of  the  interior  seldom  visit  the 
jcoast.  The  Coast  Indians  wear  shirts  and  trowsers,  but  those  of  the  interior 
(usually  go  naked;  the  latter  are  very  shy  and  retiring  in  their -disposition,  and 
Iceep  aloof  from  the  Granadian  inhabitants  in  the  south,  very  rarely  visiting 
'Chepo,  Chiman,  or  Yavisa ;  their  occupations  are  hunting,  fishing,  and  culti- 
vating vegetables  for  their  own  consumption :  their  principal  settlements  are  on  the 
upper  branches  of  the  Chepo,  Chiman,  and  Congo,  on  the  Tuquesa,  Ucurganti, 
Jubuganti,  and  Chueti,  branches  of  the  Chuquanaqua,  and  on  the  Pucro  and 
Paya.  They  have  a  very  great  dislike  to  the  negroes,  and  generally  kill  any  of 
them  who  have  the  temerity  to  ascend  any  of  those  rivers ;  in  1851  I  was  in- 
ibimed  that  they  killed  four  negroes  who  went  up  the  Chiman. 

**  They  place  great  faith  in  the  divining  powers  of  their  Priests  or  Leles,  who 
advise  them  in  all  important  matters. 

**  During  my  intercourse  with  this  noble  race  of  Indians,  in  my  various  jour- 
neys in  Darien,  in  1849,  1850,  1851,  and  1852,  I  have  been  invariably  treated 
by  them  with  the  greatest  kindness  and  affection,  and  the  most  unlimited  hos- 
|>itaUty,  everything  in  tlieir  possession  having  been  freely  and  cheerfully  placed 
at  my  disposal ;  and,  although  I  boldly  and  openly  at  the  very  first  explained 
in  detail  the  object  of  my  repeated  and  daring  trespasses  into  their  territory* 

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662  THE  DAKIEN  CANAIh 

vhioh,  I  irerily  bdieve*  none  before  ne,  except  the  Buccaneen  and  the  Scotdi 
colony,  who  came  in  strong  force,  and  as  allies,  had  ever  invaded  without  the 
•aacrifice  of  his  life;  and  showed  my  maps,  with  my  projected  canal  route  across 
their  country,  and  was,  therefore,  known  to  them  as  the  roan  most  to  be  feared 
by  them,  and  whose  death  would  be  to  their  decided  interest ;  yet  not  one  oT 
them  ever  raised  a  weapon  against  me,  and  when,  on  one  occasion,  two  or  three 
of  the  most  hot-headed  urged  my  instant  death,  th^  were  immediately  silenced 
by  the  others,  and  even  those  two  or  three,  who,  I  expected,  would  follow  me 
into  the  bush  and  despatch  roe  with  their  arrows  or  cutlasses,  in  the  depths  of 
the  forest,  not  only  did  not  condescend  to  take  this  advantage  of  an  unfriended^ 
isolated  white  man,  but  afterwards  even  embraced  me  and  made  peace  with  me.'* 

In  regard  to  a  very  important  point,  the  healthiness  of  the  cli« 
mate  of  Darien  in  this  district,  Dr.  CuUen  says, — 

**  The  banks  of  the  Savana  being  elevated  several  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  water,  and  never  inundated,  are  quite  free  from  swamp  and  malarious  mias- 
mata ;  consequently  the  endemic  fever  caused  by  these  in  Chagres,  Portobello, 
and  Panama  would  not  prevail  in  any  settlement  that  may  be  formed  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Savana.  The  great  quantity  of  rain  which  falls  in  Da- 
rien, the  prevalence  of  invigorating  currents  of  air  across  it,  from  sea  to  sea,  and 
the  equable  temperature  of  the  climate,  which  is  not  subject  to  great  vicissitudes, 
tend  most  materially  to  lessen  the  effect  which  the  decomposition  of  the  vege- 
table matter  would,  under  other  circumstances,  have  in  the  development  of  inter- 
mittent and  remittent  fevers,  and  to  mitigate  the  violence  and  diminish  the  fre* 
quency  of  the  attacks  of  those  diseases,  should  they  occur," 

Having  thus  put  the  reader  in  possession  of  the  facilities  pre* 
sented  by  this  route,  we  have  now  the  satisfaction  of  recording  the 
practical  steps  which  have  been  taken  for  the  accomplishment  of 
the  object  in  view.  It  appears,  then,  that  Messrs.  Fox  and  Hen- 
derson, of  Crystal  Palace  celebrity,  and  Mr.  T.  Brassey,  the  great 
railway  contractor,  famous  for  the  great  bands  of  navigators,  the 
industrial  armies  of  peace,  which  he  directs,  in  pursuance  of  aa 
arrangement  with  Dr.  Cullen,  dispatched,  in  April,  1852,  two 
engineers,  Messrs.  Gisborne  and  Forde,  to  undertake  the  exami- 
nation of  the  Isthmus.  The  report  of  those  gentlemen  com- 
pletely substantiates  the  feasibility  of  the  Darien  route,  and  leaves 
no  doubt  on  that  point.     Mr.  Gisborne  says, — 

*^  The  harbours  of  San  Miguel  and  Caledonia  are  both  excellent  as  the  ter- 
mini for  a  ship  navigation  on  the  largest  scale,  with  Port  Escosc^  as  a  harbour 
of  refuge,  should  circumstances  occur  to  render  its  use  necessary ;  the  Savannah 
river  has  six  fathoms  or  upwards  in  depth  at  low  water,  for  a  distance  of  seven 
miles  from  its  mouth,  the  effect  of  tide  reaching  on  the  Lara  tributary,  eleven 
miles  above  this,  or  eighteen  miles  from  Darien  harbour,  leaving  a  distance 
of  thirty  miles  to  Caledonia  Bay,  which  is  the  actual  breadth  of  the  Isthnms  be^ 
itoeen  the  tidal  effect  of  the  two  oceans;  that  the  summit  level  is  ascertained  to  be 
150  feet,  and  is  formed  by  a  narrow  range  of  hills,  having  a  gradually  rising  plain 
at  their  foot  at  each  side," 

Mr.  Gisborne  describes  the  Gulf  of  San  Miguel  as  *^  without 
doubt  one  of  the  finest  harbours  in  the  world  as  regards  its  ex- 
tent, depth  of  water,  freedom  from  shoals,  land-locked  character, 
and  ease  of  access,*'  and  the  country  through  which  the  canal  is  to 
be  made  as  dry  and  healthy. 

He  then  proposes  to  make  a  cut,  30  feet  deep  at  low  tide, 
140  feet  broad  at  bottom,  and  160  feet  at  low  water  surface. 


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THE  DABIEN  CAKAL.  668 

Such  a  cut,  carried  from  sea  to  sea,  (says  he)  is  not  larger  than  the 
trade  of  the  world  requires,  and  will  form  a  permanent,  safe,  and 
rapid  mode  of  transit*  ^^  The  question  of  engineering,^'  he  says, 
^^  resolves  itself  into  the  removal  of  a  large  quantity  of  matenal^ 
and  the  time  necessary  to  do  it  in/' 

Mr,  Gisbome  estimates  the  cost  of  that  design,  which  laill, 
without  lockSy  at  all  times  permit  the  passage  of  the  largest  vessels^ 
at  12,000,000/.,  and  says, — 

^  In  calculating  the  cost,  nearly  the  whole  of  the  material  has  been  estimated 
09  rock,  and  at  prices  seventy-fiTe  per  cent,  above  the  cost  of  the  same  class  of 
work  in  England ;  allowance  has  been  made  for  imported  labour,  and  a  sufficient 
sum  set  down  for  preliminary  arrangements ;  a  liberal  allowance  has  been  made 
for  the  diminution  of  work  to  be  expected  in  a  tropical  climate,  and  the  extra 
wages  necessary  to  induce  parties  to  emigrate." 

He  estimates  the  cost  of  a  canal  with  two  locks  at  4,500,000/.^ 
but  gives  his  decided  opinion  in  favour  of  the  former  design. 

As  a  mercantile  investment  there  is  no  doubt  that  this  inter- 
oceanic  navigation  will  prove  a  most  profitable  undertaking.  From 
the  trade  statistics  it  appears  that,  in  1851,  upwards  of  3,000,000 
tons  of  shipping,  and  150,000  passengers  would,  in  that  year,  have 
taken  advantage  of  this  navigation.  No  project  has  ever  been 
before  the  public  which  embraces  anything  like  the  objects  that 
will  be  attained  by  such  an  uninterrupted  passage.    All  other  pro- 

{)ositions  have  but  local  importance,  and  look  to  their  profits  from 
ocal  trade ;  this  one  is  adapted  to  every  ship  afloat,  and  seeks  a 
return  from  the  trade  of  every  country.  Its  completion  will  make 
a  change  in  the  carrying  commerce  of  every  Pacific  port ;  and,  as 
a  railway  makes  its  own  traffic,  so  will  this  work  most  certainly 
greatly  increase  the  commerce  between  the  distantly  separated 
countries  which  steam  power  is  only  now  beginning  to  reach. 

The  vast  saving  of  time  by  the  adoption  of  this  passage,  which 
will  enable  ships  to  make  two  or  three  voyages  in  the  same  period 
that  they  now  take  to  make  one ;  of  expense  in  their  navigation ; 
of  wear  and  tear,  of  interest  on  the  value  of  ship  and  cargo,  of  in- 
surance on  ship,  cargo,  and  freight,  and  the  great  diminution  of 
shipwrecks  and  loss  of  life  by  sea;  will  effect  a  complete  but 
peaceful  and  beneficial  revolution  in  commerce.  Not  only  will  a 
great  saving  of  time  be  effected  by  the  direct  diminution  of  the 
distance  to  be  traversed  between  Europe  and  America,  and  the 
east  and  west  shores  of  the  Pacific,  and  vice  versd,  but  also 
by  the  avoidance  of  the  delay  occasioned  by  calms  in  the  low 
latitudes;  hard  gales  off  the  Capes;  and  the  very  long  tacks  to  the 
east  and  west,  beating  against  the  south-east  trade  wind  in  the 
South  Atlantic,  or  the  north-east  or  south-west  monsoon  in  the 
India  or  China  seas,  which  vessels  are  now  obliged  to  make; 
whilst,  by  the  proposed  route,  fair  steady  breezes,  smooth  seas  and 
pleasant  weather  throughout  the  voyage,  both  out  and  home,  may 
be  safely  calculated  upon.  Another  great  benefit  to  shipping 
would  consist  in  the  facility  with  which  they  could  revictual,  or 
take  in  water  and  coal,  by  which  they  would  have  a  much  larger 
portion  of  their  capacity  available  for  the  stowage  of  merchandise. 

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S64i  THE  DASOESl  CANAL. 

Nor  are  the  ^benefits  TeetiltiDg  from  increased  intercoiirte  anfl 
proximity  the  only  advantages  which  may  be  hoped-for — the  safe^ 
.of  life  and  property  ^dll  be  greatly  increased;  and  the  hardships 
of  thousands  of  om*  mariners  will  be  lessened  to  an  inoalcalable 
extent.  Ere  long,  Darien,  we  may  affirm,  will  become  the  grest 
,inter*oceanic  portal,  the  entrepSt  of  the  world,  the  storehoaae  of 
, nations,  the  grand  highway  of  commeree* 

It  is  now  some  months  since  a  company  was  formed  mnder  the 
rtitle  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Junction  Company,  to  OBarvf  -out 
this  iprqject.  Amongst  the  directors  we  ftui  the  names  of  laord 
Whamoliffe,  Mr.  Pemberton  Heywood,  Mr.  Brownrigg  (the 
'Governor  of  the  largest  Australian  Company),  Mr.  Hornby  (the 
Chairman  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  of  Xiveipool),  Mr. 
Haslewood,  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  the  Ministers  of  New  Gra- 
.nada  and  Peru,  Mr.  Milner  Gibson,  M.P.,  Mr.  H.  T.  Hop^ 
and  several  bankers  and  merchants  of  the  liighest  reputation. 
Few  companies  have  started  under  better  auspices  than  the 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  Junction  Company ;  and  the  very  flattering 
reception  granted  to  their  deputation  last  March  by  the  Emperor 
of  France,  and  the  cordial  offers  of  assistance  and  co-operation 
imade  by  him,  together  with  the  friendly  assurances  from  the 
United  States,  prove  that  they  have  succeeded  in  impressing 
•upon  the  great  powers  of  the  world  tiie  cosmopolitan  character 
x>f  the  work.  We  are  glad  to  find  that  the  constitution  of  the 
•Company  admits  of  modifications  to  suit  the  expected  co-operation 
of  the  principal  European  States,  whose  aid  and  friendly  interest 
■wee  required.  The  navigation  of  a  stream  of  water -so  narrow,  and 
so  easily  blockaded,  must,  it  is  clear,  be  secure  from  the  contin- 
gencies of  war«  The  canal  must  be  neutral  for  the  amicable  and 
simultaneous  passage  of  the  commercial  ships,  even  of  hostile 
nations.  Already,  by  the  Bulwer  and  Clayton  treaty,  the  neutral* 
ity  of  any  communication  between  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans, 
whether  by  canal  or  railway,  has  been  guaranteed  by^  Great  Britain 
and  the  United  States,  and  an  invitation  given  to  other  States  to 
join  in  it ;  and  it  was  announced,  some  time  since,  that  an  arrange- 
-ment  had  been  made  as  to  the  distance  from  the  two  ends  of  the 
■canal,  within  which  vessels  of  the  United  States  and  Great  Britain, 
traversing  the  said  canal,  shall,  in  case  of  war  between  the  two 
contracting  parties,  be  exempt  from  blockade,  detention,  or  cap* 
"ture,  by  either  of  the  belligerents. 

Perhaps  no  expedition  has  ever  left  the  shores  of  England 
fraught  with  such  noble  aims,  and  sustained  by  isuch  fair  hopes 
joi  achieving  success,  as  that  which  is  now  about  ta  sail  for  Darien 
-to  initiate  this  undertaking.  Dr.  Cullen,  and  his  scientific  asae- 
ciates  will  be  supported  and  assisted  by  the  British,  French,  and 
United  States^  Governments,  and  we  may  now,  at  last,  look 
forward  with  some  degree  of  certainty  to  the  accomplislmieiit  -df 
the  great  work  of  inter-oceanic  communication,  «md  to  that  open- 
ing of  the  great  highway  of  nations  which  the  necessities  (ff 
commerce  now  demand. 


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665 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS    OF    CAMPAIGNS 
.UNDER  THE  DUKE  OP  WELLINGTON. 

Shortly  after  the  surrender  of  the  Governor,  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Colbome  of  the  52nd,  came  from  the  interior  of  the  town 
to  the  lesser  breach,  and  being  badly  wounded,  was  helped  over  it 
by  Lord  Wellington's  Aide-de-Camp,  Captain  de  Burgh.*  The 
confusion  caused  by  a  triumphant  soldiery  in  a  town  taken  by 
assault,  and  the  excesses  resulting  from  it,  are  more  lamentable 
than  surprising.  In  such  events  the  definition  between  right  and 
wrong  is  sadly  m.ixed  up,  and  I  fear  no  distinction  was  made 
between  our  Spanish  friends  and  our  French  enemies;  at  all 
events  it  was  not  too  nicely  kept.  The  officers  lost  all  control 
over  their  men.    Alas  !  as  Byron  has  it — 

**  Sweet  is 
Pillage  to  soldiers,  prize-money  to  seamen.** 

The  43rd,  under  Lieutenant-Colonel  Maoleod,t  were  amongst 
the  best  conducted,  and  in  the  surrounding  hurly-burley,  Captain 
Duflfy^s  J  company,  of  that  eorps,  was  remarked  fey  Lord  Welling- 
ton himself  for  its  good  discipline  and  soldier-like  conduct.  The 
iFrencfa  garrison  originally  consisted  of  about  2000;  of  which  300 
bad  fallen. daring  the  siege,  and  1,700  men,  with  7^  officers,  were 
made  prisoners.  150  pieces  of  artillery,  including  the  whole  of 
the  battering  train  of  Marmont's  army,  were  taken.  Tbelosson 
our  side,  exclusive  of  him  who  killed  himself  by  eating  cold  oab- 
bege  in  a  garden,  was  1,200  men,  and  90  officers :  650  of  the  for- 
mer, and  60  of  the  latter  were  slain  or  wounded  in  the  assault. 
General  Craufurd,  a  man  of  hot  and  eccentric  temperament,  but  of 
great  ability,  was  killed.  He  was  shot  through  the  lungs,  and  was 
buried  on  the  2dth,  on  the  spot  where  he  'received  biU  death- 
wound,  at  the  foot  of  the  l^er  breach.  His  remains  wens 
^tttended  to  their  last  home  by  Lord  Wellington  and  his  BUsS. 
General  Mackinnon  was  killed  by  the  explosion  of  the  mine  to 
•which  Gurwood's  Narrative  alludes,  while  leading  his  Brigade  in 
.the  3rd  Divimon  ;  he  was,  with  many  others  blown  from  the  top 
of  the  great  brecu^h  into  the  ditch.  ^^  This  entrance  into  the  city 
niras  cut  off  from  it  by  a  perpendicular  descent  of  sixteon  feet,.anrd 
.tiie  bottom  was  planted  with  sharp  spikes,  and  strewn  with  live 
sheik ;  the  houses  b^nd  were  all  loopholed,  and  garnished  with 
musketeers,  and  on  the  flanks  there  were  cuts,  not  indeed  vary 
deep  or  wide,  and  the  French  had  left  the  temporary  bridges 
.over  them;  but  behind  were  parapets,  so  powerfully  defended, 
that  it  was   said,  the  3rd  Division   could  never  have  carried 


•  Now  Lieut.-Genera]  Lord  Downes. 

f  Killed  subsequently  at  the  stornaiiig  of  Bad^jos. 

X  Now  Blajor-General  Dufiy. 

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666  BANDOM  REOOLLECnONS  OP  CAMPAIGNS 

them,  had  not  the  Light  Division  taken  the  enemy  in  flank — an 
assertion  easier  made  than  proved/^ 

Mackinnon  was  a  good  and  gallant  soldier,  and  an  intelligent  man. 
He  commanded  a  Brigade  in  Picton^s  Division,  although  he 
regiroentally  belonged  to  the  Coldstream  Guards.  With  these 
perished  many  other  fine  fellows,  amongst  them  a  Captain  of  the 
45th,  of  whom  it  has  been  felicitously  said,  that  "  Three  Generals 
and  60  other  officers  had  fallen,  but  the  soldiers,  fresh  from  the 
strife,  only  talked  of  Hardyman.**  General  Vandeleur,  Colonel 
Colbome,  and  a  crowd  of  inferior  rank  were  wounded.  Unhap- 
pily, the  slaughter  did  not  end  with  the  assault :  for  the  next  day, 
as  the  prisoners  and  their  escort  were  marching  out  of  the  breach, 
an  accidental  explosion  took  place,  and  numbers  of  both  were 
blown  into  the  air.f  A  curious  statistic  of  the  mass  of  fire  brought 
by  the  enemy  on  our  troops,  during  the  siege  of  eleven  days,  from  48 
pieces  of  ordnance,  is  given  in  Jones's  Sieges  in  Spain.  He  states 
that  21,000  rounds  of  shell  and  shot  were  launched  against  our 
approaches.  Confined  as  these  were  in  space,  and  narrow  in  dimen- 
sions, it  was  astonishing,  from  the  concentrated  direction  of  the 
missiles,  that  our  casualties  were  not  greater.  Now,  supposing  all 
these  to  have  occurred  from  the  cannonade  only^  which  was  very 
far  from  being  the  case,  and  transferring  the  cause  of  loss  of  those 
who  fell  on  this  occasion  from  musketry,  the  bayonet,  and  mines, 
to  the  enemy's  artillery  alone,  we  should  then  have  some  five  men 
killed  or  wounded  for  about  every  100  rounds  of  cannon-shot  and 
shell  fired.  From  the  above  circumstance,  I  may  be  allowed  to 
state  to  the  uninitiated,  how  much  more  numerically  destructive  is 
the  fire  of  musketry,  than  that  of  round  shot  and  shell.  In  con- 
firmation of  this,  I  will  here  recite  the  following  remarks  made  on 
the  subject  by  other  authorities.  At  Cambrai,  in  1 8 1 7>  at  dinner  at 
the  Duke  of  Wellington's,  I  heard  Sir  George  Wood  J  state,  that 
in  Lord  Howe's  great  action  on  the  1st  of  June,  two  barrels  and  a 
half  of  gunpowder  were  fired  for  every  man  killed  or  wounded. 
*^  Ay,"  said  the  Duke,  taking  up  the  conversation,  "  and  at  Tra- 
falgar, where  about  25,000  British  sailors  were  engaged,  under 
1300  were  killed  and  wounded,  while  at  Talavera  de  la  Reyna, 
out  of  an  army  of  19,000  men  I  lost  5000,  principally  by  mus- 
ketry." 

The  Duke,  whose  economy  in  action  of  the  life  of  his  troops 
was  well  known  to  us,  merely  meant  to  state  a  simple  fact  in  illus< 
tration  of  the  effects  of  the  different  species  of  fire.  He  hated  a 
^^  butcher's  bill,"  and  never  made  one  if  he  could  possibly  avoid 
it.  To  quote  his  own  words,  in  writing  to  the  relative  of  one  of  his 
personal  staff,  who  fell  at  Waterloo,  speaking  of  the  victory  gained, 
he  says,  **  the  glory  resulting  from  such  actions,  so  dearly  bought, 
is  no  consolation  to  me." 

Amongst  other  random  recollections,  I  noted  the  above  conver-* 

*  See  Napier* 
t  Ibid. 

X  Colonel  Sir  George  Wood,  then  Chief  of  Artillery  to  the  Army  of  Occupa^ 
tion  in  France.  ^  , 

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UNDER  tHE  DUKE  OF  WELUNOTOK*  667 

nation  at  the  tiine>  it  is  more  forcibly  brought  to  my  mind,  as 
2  well  remember  a  feat  of  endurance  of  fatigue,  which  I  per- 
formed at  the  same  period.  I  had  reached  Cambrai,  at  a  quarter 
past  two  P.M.9  that  day,  with  dispatches  for  the  Duke  from  our 
Ambassador,  Lord  Stuart  de  Rothsay,  at  Paris.  After  a  ball,  I 
quitted  the  Embassy  at  half-past  three  the  same  morning ;  was 
in  my  saddle  by  four,  and  rode  the  distance  of  twenty-two  French 
posts  (or  110  English  miles)  franc  Strier,  in  ten  hours  and  a  quar- 
ter ;  delivered  my  dispatches ;  dined  at  Head  Quarters,  by  the 
Duke's  invitation,  attended  that  night  another  ball  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville ;  had  an  early  field  day  the  following  morning ;  played  a 
cricket  match  against  the  garrison  of  Valenciennes,  succeeded  in 
getting  fifty  runs ;  attended  a  lively  dinner  under  a  tent,  which 
somehow  or  other  lasted  till  sunrise  the  following  day,  and 
\ras,  after  all,  fresh  and  fit  for  duty,  as  if  I  had  done  nothing. 
From  the  example  of  energy  of  mind,  and  activity  of  body  set  us 
by  our  great  chief,  we  were  all,  from  spirit,  training,  and  emu- 
lation, ready  for,  and  up  to,  anything  by  night  or  day,  in  ^'  camp, 
or  court,  or  grove/' 

In  a  service,  short  and  sharp  as  that  of  the  siege  and  capture  of 
Ciudad  Rodrigo,  more  than  an  ordinary  amount  of  casualties  must 
be  expected,  especially  when  we  reflect  that  it  was  taken  in  eleven, 
instead  of  twenty-four  days,  the  time  originally  contemplated  as 
necessary  by  Lord  Wellington  himself.  Massena,  previous  to  his 
attack  on  Portugal  in  1810,  took  six  weeks  to  plant  the  French 
flag  on  the  city's  ramparts.  Our  chief,  not  having  had  leisure 
to  attend  to  the  elementary  procrastination  of  scientific  engineer- 
ing by  which  lives  are  saved,  at  once  cut  the  gordian  knot,  which 
want  of  time  did  not  allow  him  to  untie.  Within  four  days' 
march  of  45,000  Frenchmen,  under  one  of  their  most  celebrated 
marshals,  and  against  the  strict  rules  of  military  science,  he  fairly 
n;rencked  the  fortress  from  the  enemy's  grasp,  and  seized  the 
prize.  The  bridge  over  the  Agueda  had  been  established  only  on 
the  1st  of  January,  the  trenches  were  opened  on  the  8th,  and  the 
city  fell  on  the  19th.  Marmont  only  heard  of  the  attack  on  the 
15th,  arfd  not  till  the  26th  did  he  know  of  the  capture  of  the 
fortress.  On  the  first  intelligence  reaching  him,  he  concentrated 
his  army  at  Salamanca ;  but,  on  being  made  aware  of  his  loss,  he 
again  retired  to  Valladolid.  The  theft  was  complete — Julian 
Sanchez,  with  the  Austrian  Strennuwitz,  in  our  Hanoverian 
Hussars,  had,  the  previous  autumn,  filched  from  the  fortress  its 
former  governor,  Renaud;  and  now  our  great  chief  had  committed 
something  mare  than  petty  larceny,  by  taking  the  town  itself.  To 
recompense  an  exploit  so  boldly  undertaken  and  so  gloriously 
finished.  Lord  Wellington  was  created  Duke  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo 
by  the  Spaniards,  Earl  of  Wellington  by  the  English,  and  Mar« 
quis  of  Torres  Vedras  by  the  Portuguese.  This  last  title  was 
most  certainly  conquered  by  him  long  before  it  was  rendered  by 
the  Portuguese  government*  ''Taking  all  the  difficulties  and 
peculiarities  of  the  enterprise  into  consideration,  the  reduction  of 
this  fortress,  whether  viewed  in  conception,  or  arrangement,  or 

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668  RANDOM  BECQLLECnONS  OF  CAMPAICQ^S 

execntion^  muftt  be  ranked  as  one  of  the  happiest,  biddest^  and 
most  creditable  achievementa  recorded  in  our  military  annals/'  * 
None,  certainly,  could  have  accomplished  the  service  better  than 
those  who  took  the  town;  still, the  regret  in  our  division  was  great 
that  we  had  not  participated  in  the  assault.  One  day  later  and  it 
would  have  fallen  to  our  turn.  We  were  almost  tempted  to  blame. 
the  prompt  decision  of  our  chief.  We  had  undergone  all  the 
unpleasant  part — the  dirty  work  and  its  attendant  hardships — 
without  obtaining  any  credit  beyond  preparing,  in  stealthy  mole- 
like manner,  the  way  for  others  to  distinguish  themselves*  When 
the  distance  we  had  to  march,  tibe  icy  streams  we  had  to  ford,  the 
bivouacking  in  frost  and  snow,  without  fire— the  fatigue  of  lid>our. 
and  absenoe  of  rest  every  fourth  day  for  thirty-five  consecutive, 
hours  were  considered,  we  fairly  mighi  be  allowed  to  envy  those 
who,  although  participators  in  similar  fatigue  and  privation,  had 
at  least  gained  the  honours  and  rewards  to  which  their  dashing 
gallantry  had  so  fidly  entitled  them.  But,  as  there  is  no  pleasing: 
everybody,  we  were  obliged  tq  take  things  as  they  came — ^we 
grinned  and  bore  it.  The  day  after  the  storming  I  was  sent  in 
command  of  a  party  from  Espeja  to  Ciudad,  to  recover,  if  possible, 
the  body  of  General  Mackinnon.  We  were  some  time  in  the 
search  before  we  could  discover  his  remains.  After  exhuming 
from  fragments  of  masonry  and  dust  many  poor  fellows'  corpses, 
we  at  last  extracted  the  General's  from  beneath  others  in  the  (Utch, 
and  it  was  conveyed  by  a  Sergeant's  party  to  Espeja.  Thinking 
that  some  memorial  of  him  would  be  acceptable  to  his  family,  I 
remember  cutting  off  from  the  back  of  his  head  a  lock  of  hair,  to 
send  to  his  widow.  I  gave  it  to  his  friend  and  brother  officer,t 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Jackson,  Deputy  Quarter-Master  of  our  di» 
vision.  At  Ciudad  I  found  the  Fifth  Division  had  been  brought 
up,  and  were  in  possession  of  the  town.  In  the  fourth  regiment, 
belonging  to  this  division,  was  my  friend  Captain  Burke,  who 
gave  me  provender  and  a  shake  down  in  his  quarters  for  the  night. 
They  were  all  hard  at  work  levelling  our  trenches,  and  destroying 
our  batteries ;  and  the  artillery  of  the  battering  train  were  with* 
drawing  our  guns  and  conveying  them  across  the  Aguedai  Lord 
Wellington  had  been  early  into  the  town  that  morning,  and,  stiter 
examining  the  state  of  the  defences,  gave  all  the  necessary  orders 
for  clearing  away  the  rubbish  from  the  breaches,  and  repairing  the 
ramparts ;  after  which  he  retnrned  to  Gallegos,  and  sent  off  his 
Aid-de-Camp  (Captain  Gordon,  of  the  Guards)  the  same  day  to 
England,  with  dispatches  reporting  the  capture  of  the  place.  Every 
arrangement  was  now  made  to  restore  the  fortifications  and  pro- 
vision the  place  quickly,  as  Marmont's  army  was  expected.  In 
anticipation  of  such  an  arrival.  Hill's  corps  had  been  previously 
ordered  up  from  the  Alemtejo  as  far  as  Castello  Branco. 

On  the   23rd  we  buried   General  Mackinnon  with  military 

*  See  Jones's  Sieges. 

t  Of  the  Coldstream  Guards,  afterwards  Lieut- General  Sir  Richard  Jackson, 
Commander-iD-  Chief  in  Canada. 


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VmmSk  THE  DUKE  OF  WfiLUKaiOlTk 

honours..  He.  was  an  amiable  man,  a  good  officer^  and  was  much 
regretted^  His  last  place  of  rest  was  dug  in 'the  market-plaoe  of 
tbe  small  village  of  Espeja^  and  his  remains  were  followed  to  the 
g^re  by  his  brother  officers  of  the  Guards.  It  was  strange,  but 
true,  that  even  after  the  reoent  servioes  rendered  by  us  to  the 
Spanish  nation,  and  with  some  claims  to  consideration,  acknow^ 
ledged  at  least  by  the  peasantry,  still  priestly  bigotry  prevailed, 
and  denied  interment  in  consecrated  ground  to  die  remains  of 
those  ^  heretics^'  who  had  fought  and  fallen  in  their  cause.  We 
were  regarded  by  them  as  quite  fit  to  supply  tiiem  with  money, 
furnish  them  vnih  munitions  of  war,  and  i^ield  them  from  defeat 
in  this  worlds  but  as  by  no  means  worthy  of  Christian  burial  or 
our  souls  being  saved  in  the  next.  The  Turk  is  more  tolerant^ 
As  soldiers,  this  want  of  charity  affected  us  but  little ;  we  viewed 
it  more  in  pity  than  in  anger.  It  was  annoying  to  us  only  as  ^ 
wounding  the  feelings  of  the  absent  relations  of  those  of  our 
oountrymen  who  fell.  The  Spanish  nation  might  have  been  a 
little  more  courteous,  and  as  we  had  come  to  be  killed  for  their 
advantage,  it  would  have  been  a  little  more  civil  had  they  allowed 
us  to  bury  ourselves  with  due  decency.  We  were,  however,  by  no 
means  particular  on  this  point,  having  a  decided  preference  for 
living  in  a  good  place,  rather  than  coveting  the  pleasure  of  being 
buried  in  the  choicest  spot  with  the  greatest  distinction. 

The  rains,  with  strong  gales  of  wind,  now  set  in  with  sucfa 
violence,  as  only  those  can  conceive  who  know  what  southern 
rains  are.  The  trestle  bridge  at  Marialva  was  carried  away,  and 
the  river  rose  two  feet  over  the  stone  bridge  under  the  walls  of 
Ciudad,  thus  communications  by  roads  were  impeded,  and  the 
passage  of  the  Agueda  stopped.  Had  this  occurred  earlier  we* 
should  never  have  accomplished,  as  we  did,  the  work  of  the 
approaches.  Our  trenches  would  have  become  aqueducts  instead 
of  viaducts,  such  as  later  we  had  some  experience  of  at  Bui^s. 
Frost  had  acted  on  this  occasion  more  efficiently  as  our  ally  than 
our  iriends  the  Spaniards.  It  was  well  known  to  us  how  often 
military  operations  are  dependent  on  that  which  influences  the 
barometer.  The  bad  weather  had  its  inconveniences  even  under 
cover  of  our  village  cabins.  One  of  them,  in  which  lay  part  of  my 
company,  was  eitiber  rained  or  blown  down  in  the  night,  and  seve- 
ral of  the  men  were  severely  hurt.  Amongst  them  my  Irish  friend 
M*Culloch,  famed,  as  I  before  mentioned,  for  more  courage  than 
arithmetic,  not  having  been  bom  to  interfere  with  Babbage  in  his 
discovery  of  the  calculating  machine.  The  beam  of  the  house  fell 
on  him  and  broke  his  arm,  and  he  was  otherwise  so  much  injured 
as  to  oblige  us  to  send  him  to  the  dep6t  hospital  at  Coimbra, 
where  the  poor  fellow  died.  At  this  time  I  was  again  urged  to 
return  liome.  This  word  sounded  warmly  and  cheerily  in  my  ears. 
My  news  informed  me  of  the  death  of  a  very  near  relative,  the 
possessor  of  considerable  landed  property,  to  which  my  friends 
were  good  enough  to  suppose  I  ought  to  succeed,  and  they  wrote 
under  this  impression,  pressing  my  return  to  England  to  attend 
the  opening  of  the  will.    There  were  few  with  us  who  would  not 

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670  KANDOM  BBCOLLECTIONS  OF  CAMPAIGNS 

have  done  their  best  to  gain  the  estimation  of  him  who  com<» 
manded  our  army.  We  well  knew  the  high  feelings  by  which  he 
was  actuated,  and  how  he  appreciated,  from  the  lowest  to  the 
highest,  those  whom  he  found  always  ready  and  at  all  times  in  the 
rigU  place.  We  were  equally  aware  how  our  chief  detested 
applications  for  leave,  or  excuses  that  took  officers  from  their 
duty,  and  he  frequently  expressed  his  astonishment  at  the  appli- 
cations made  to  him  for  this  purpose.  I  therefore  replied  to  my 
friends  (and  I  name  this  as  a  working  of  the  spirit  that  had  been 

instilled  into  and  prevailed  amongst  us)  that  '^  If  even has 

left  me  the  family  estate,''  which  he  did  prospectively,  ^*  nothing 
will  persuade  me  to  quit  the  service  or  leave  this  army  to  go  home 
until,  in  course  of  duty,  I  am  ordered  so  to  do/' 

Our  army  was  drawn  from  the  sinews  of  the  people,  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  middle  classes,  and  the  scions  of  the  titled  and 
untitled  landed  aristocracy  of  our  country,  embodied  together  in 
arms  to  serve  their  fatherland.  All,  from  the  private  soldier 
upwards,  emulated  obtaining  the  notice,  and  meriting  the  good 
opinion,  of  him  who  kept  up  the  energies  and  inspired  ardour  into 
the  hearts  of  those  he  commanded.  Great  personal  sacrifices 
were  frequently  made ;  ease,  luxury,  and  independence  were  cast 
aside.  In  speaking,  not  only  of  that  army,  but  of  the  profession 
in  general,  I  cannot  resist  quoting  here  a  well-merited  and  truth- 
ful paragraph  from  a  letter  recently  published  by  the  very  clever 
but  eccentric  member  for  Surrey,  Henry  Drummond,  Esq.,  who^ 
in  relation  to  classes,  and  in  assigning  his  reasons  for  declining  to 
attend  the  Peace  Conference  lately  held  at  Edinburgh,  says : — 

'^  Take  the  army  and  navy  as  a  class,  and  take  any  other  class 
of  men  in  the  country — compare  them  together  for  talents,  pa^ 
iriotismf  honour,  virtue,  disinterestedness,  kindness,  self-devotion, 
in  short,  every  quality  that  ennobles  men,  and  I  assert  that  the 
military  class  is  beyond  measure  superior  to  every  other.'' 

Here  is  a  picture  drawn  by  a  disinterested  observer;  a  man  of 
acuteness,  and  great  knowledge  and  experience  of  the  world. 
From  a  life's  service  in  the  class  alluded  to,  I  may  venture  to  bear 
testimony  to  the  above  view  being  just  and  true.*  One  of  the 
causes  which  maintain  high  feeling  and  character  in  the  pro* 
fession  of  arms  is,  that  when  we  do  meet  with  an  unworthy 
member  of  it,  we  get  rid  of  him,  whilst  some  other  classes  keep 
theirs,  and  not  only  occasionally  try  to  defend  them,  but  show 
great  sensitiveness  even  when  they  are  attacked;  surely  this  is 
doing  a  wrong  towards  themselves.  Why  not  use  a  little  ''  fuller's 
earth  "  to  take  the  stains  out  of  their  own  cloth  as  promptly  and 
effectively  as  we  do  out  of  ours?  It  is  their  bounden  duty  to 
cleanse  themselves  from  suspicion,  or  they  must  submit  with 
good  grace  to  the  chance  and  inconvenience  of  being  condemned, 
perhaps  unjustly,  as  a  body,  in  public  opinion* 

•  In  exemplification  of  a  sense  of  duty,  patriotism,  and  self-devotion,  I  cannot 
do  better  than  refer  to  Captain  M*Clure*8  late  dispatch  to  the  Admiralty,  on  his 
discovery  of  the  N.  W.  passage ;  it  is  full  of  high*toned  and  right  feeliiig. 


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UNDER  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON.  671 

But  to  return  to  our  movements.  In  consequence  of  Mar- 
mont's  threatened  advance^  we  were  kept  on  the  qid-vive.  The  report 
of  .his  intentions  was  rendered  still  more  suspicious  by  the  floods 
having  cut  us  off  from  communications  with  Ciudad  Rodrigo. 
We  feared  the  enemy  might  pounce  upon  the  fortress  before  the 
fortifications  had  been  sufficiently  repaired,  or  that  we  could  get 
at  him.  We  consequently  were  ordered  always  to  have  a  day's 
provisions  cooked  in  advance,  with  which  to  line  our  havresacks, 
that  we  might  be  ready  to  move  at  a  moment's  notice ;  but  this 
alert  turned  out  to  be  unnecessary.  Our  chief  had  no  sooner 
succeeded  in  the  capture  and  repair  of  Ciudad,  and  garrisoned  it 
from  the  Spanish  army  under  Castanos,  its  new  governor  being 
Vives,  to  whom  he  personally  gave  instructions  concerning  the 
plan  and  intention  of  the  new  works  and  their  defence,  than  he 
immediately  turned  his  attention  to  attack  Badajos,  and  wrote 
under  date  of  the  29th  from  Gallegos  to  Lord  Liverpool  as 
follows : — 

<^  I  now  propose  to  attack  Badajos  as  soon  as  I  can ;  I  have 
ordered  all  the  preparatory .  arrangements .  to  be  made,  and  I 
hope  that  everything  will  be  in  readiness  to  enable  me  to  invest 
the  place  by  the  second  week  in  March.  We  shall  have  great 
advantages  by  making  the  attack  so  early,  if  the  weather  will 
allow  of  it.  First,  all  the  torrents  in  this  part  of  the  country  are 
then  full,  so  that  we  may  assemble  nearly  our  whole  army  on  the 
Guadiana  without  risk  to  anything  valuable  here.  Secondly,  it 
will  be  convenient  to  assemble  our  army  at  an  early  period  in 
Estramadura,  for  the  sake  of  the  green  forage  which  comes  in 
earlier  to  the  south  than  here.  Thirdly,  we  shall  have  advantages 
in  point  of  subsistence  over  the  enemy  at  that  season,  which  we 
should  not  have  at  a  later  period.  Fourthly,  their  operations  will 
necessarily  be  confined  by  the  swelling  of  the  rivers  in  that  part 
as  well  as  here.  The  bad  weather  which  we  must  expect  or  other 
circumstances,  may,  however,  prevent  us  from  carrying  our  plan 
into  execution,  but  I  can  only  assure  you  that  I  shall  not  abandon 
it  lightly,  and  I  have  taken  measures  to  have  the  best  equipments 
for  this  enterprise.'' 

In  consequenc  of  this  we  were  all,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Fifth  Division,  who  remained  on  the  frontier  and  in  observation  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Ciudad,  put  in  movement  for  the  Alemtejo. 
Our  division's  march  was  directed  on  Abrantes,  for  the  purpose  of 
reclothing  our  fellows ;  with  which  object  the  clothing  had  been 
sent  up  to  that  town  from  Lisbon.  It  must  be  confessed  not 
before  it  was  wanted,  for  in  the  haberdashery  line  we  were  all  a 
little  like  those  troops  with  which  Falstaff,  from  a  delicate  sense 
of  propriety,  would  not  march  through  Coventry.  The  captain  of 
my  company  having  gone  home  on  leave,  I  once  more  tumbled 
into  the  command  of  it.  On  the  occasion  of  our  march  to  the 
south,  my  horse  being  *^  a  galled  jade  whose  withers  were  "  (by  no 
means)  ^^  unwrung,"  I  marched  on  foot ;  and  although,  such  ex- 
ercise suited  both  my  tastes  and  habits  well,  still  as  a  warning  to 
my  soldier-servant  to  avoid  a  too  great  frequency  of  the  incon* 

VOL.  XXXIV.  Digitized  by030gle 


<7S  RANDOM  B£COLLXCnON8  OF  CAMPAIGNS 

TMienoe  multiiig  from  my  baggage-animals  haring  sore  baeks^ 
I  always  made  him  cany  his  knapsack  when  they  were  thns 
afflicted,  bat  reliered  him  from  his  burthen  when  they  were  sound 
and  wen.  I  give  this  hint  to  uninitiated  young  officers,  as  I 
found  my  plan  answered  completely.  Sore  backs  were  always  en- 
gendered from  n^lect  in  the  man  who  loaded  the  mules ;  by  omit- 
ting to  double  the  horsecloths  and  blankets  under  the  saddles  and 
padc-saddles,  so  as  to  prevent  local  pressure  on  their  withers  or 
loins.  When  the  soldier-servant  finds  that  he  relieves  his  own 
back  by  takine  care  of  those  of  his  master's  animals,  fewer  raws 
are  established  in  every  way.  We  now  for  the  tenth  time  passed 
the  Coa.  Our  line  of  march  led  us  along  the  frontiers  of  Por- 
tugal and  Spain,  by  the  back  of  the  Sierra  d'Estrella  through  the 
towns  and  villages  of  Aldea  de  Ponte,  Sabugal,  Castelhero,  Carea, 
Elpendrinha  Lardosa,  Castello  Branco,  Atalaya,  passing  the 
Tagus  at  Villa  Velha,  and  so  on  to  Niza,  Gaviao,  and  Abrantes,  a 
distance  of  150  miles.  I  had  some  capital  partridge  shooting  on 
our  line  of  march ;  and,  much  to  the  disgust  of  our  chief  of  bri- 
gade on  one  occasion  I  shot  a  fox.  I  was  threatened  for  so  un- 
sportsmanlike an  act,  by  our  sport-loving  briffadier.  Sir  H.  C, 
never  to  be  allowed  leave  of  absence,  which  he  jokingly  said  he 
oould  not  find  it  in  his  conscience  to  grant  to  the  author  of  so 
atrocious  a  proceeding.  As  I  never,  however,  asked  for  a  day's 
leave  from  my  duties,  during  the  three  years  and  a  half  I  served 
in  the  Peninsula,  his  observation  mattered  httle,  had  it  been  even 
made  in  earnest.  As  we  arrived  at  each  place  of  halt,  I  used  to 
take  my  gun  and  an  excellent  English  setter,  my  companion,  and 
generally  furnished  my  table,  and  that  of  a  comrade  or  two,  with 
pleasanter  provision  than  was  issued  out  by  the  commissary  of  his 
most  gracious  majesty.  King  George  the  Third.  God  bless  him ! 
We  halted  eleven  days  at  Abrantes,  which  is  a  good  town.  Here 
we  fitted  our  men's  clothing,  and  prepared  ourselves  for  our  pro- 
spective operations  in  procuring  such  necessaries  as  we  conceived 
we  might  want.  For  the  first  time  since  my  arrival  with  the 
mrmy  I  found  myself  in  possession  of  a  small  bell-tent  sent  out 
to  me  from  England  by  my  friends.  Our  poor  men  had  no  such 
essentials  till  the  following  year. 

Two  days  after  reaching  Abrantes,  my  friend  Gurwood,  of  the 
52nd,  dined  with  me  on  his  way  through  to  embark  at  Lisbon,  for 
England*  I  remember  our  having  a  very  merry  party ;  he  was 
full  of  the  well-deserved  honours  he  had  gained,  and  we,  in  high 
spirits  and  health,  were  animated  with  the  hope  to  obtain  the 
like  should  the  opportunity  be  offered  us.  The  night  dwindled 
into  the  little  hours  of  morning  ere  we  parted^-some  of  us  never 
to  meet  our  gallant  friend  again.  Amongst  them,  Harvey,*  and 
Burgess  of  ue  Coldstream,  who  fell  later  in  this  campaign,  the 
last,  while  heading  a  storming  party ;  thus  emulating  his  former 
brother  officer  of  the  52nd  in  all  but  his  success ; — poor  fellow ! 
In  addition  to  commanding  my  company,  I  now  had  imposed  upon 

*  Son  of  the  kte  Admiral  Sir  Eliab  Harve/. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


UNDER  THE  DUKE  OF   WELLINGTON,  678 

m$,  the  duties  of  Adjutant,  as  the  officer  holding  that  office  in  my 
corps,  had  proceeded  on  leave  to  Lisbon.  My  time  was  pretty 
well  occupied  therefore,  and  sometimes  not  agreeably.  Our  Chief 
of  battalion  was  by  no  means  blessed  with  too  strong  a  head,  or 
too  soft  a  temper ;  he  certainly  had  the  merit  sometimes  to  acknow- 
ledge himself  in  die  wrong,  though  that  wrong  became  tiresome,  as 
more  frequent  in  its  recurrence  than  his  acknowledgment  of  it. 
He  was  a  gallant,  thick-headed  man,  and  if  the  former  quality 
palliates  the  latter^  and  charity  covers  a  multitude  of  sins,  still, 
vulgar  violence  certainly  modifies  a  multitude  of  virtues.  He  was 
a  remarkable  contrast  to  those  who  had  preceded  and  succeeded 
him  in  command ;  the  latter  of  whom,  almost  without  exception, 
rose  to  well-earned  honours  and  distinctions.  We  obeyed  orders, 
however,  and  indemnified  ourselves  by  laughing  at  what  could  not 
be  avoided.  A  friend  of  mine,  in  another  corps,  used  to  say,  that 
he  flattered  himself  in  the  course  of  his  military  life,  he  had  been 
commanded  by  the  greatest  number  of  fools  in  the  service,  but 
that,  on  this  occasion,  we  certainly  seemed  to  have  appropriated  to 
ourselves  one  whom  he  quite  longed  to  add  to  the  list  of  his  eaperi- 
ences*  If  men  in  command  will  but  reflect  that  "  more  flies  are 
caught  with  a  spoonful  of  honey,  than  a  barrel  of  vinegar,''  and 
that  with  power  accorded  them,  tact  and  management  may  lead  to 
willing  instead  of  unwilling  obedience ;  any  person  of  moderate 
intellect  will  prefer  that  line  which  is  surest,  best,  and  easiest  of 
accomplishment,  to  that  which  is  the  opposite.  When  officers  from 
home  came  out  to  us,  we  found  them  too  frequently  impregnated 
with  all  the  punctilios  enforced  by  the  Horse  Guards  clock, 
with  ideas  redolent  of  hair-powder,  and  blank-cartridge;  stiff*  in 
stocks,  starched  in  frills,  with  Dundas's  eighteen  manoeuvres  or 
commandments.  All  this  had  to  be  changed.  A  normal  school 
for  real  soldiers  was  undergoing  the  process  of  formation  ;  the  new 
comers  at  first  thought  they  had  tumbled  amongst  a  strange,  loose 
set  of  half-wild  men,  little  in  accordance  with  their  preconceived 
opinions.  At  length  they  began  to  discover  how  the  art  was  car* 
ried  on,  and  found  that  they  had  much  to  unlearn,  as  well  as  much 
to  acquire,  before  they  could  make  themselves  usefuL 

Materials  for  the  contemplated  siege  of  Badajos  were  now  col- 
lecting, and  passing  through  Abrantes  towards  the  neighbourhood 
of  their  destmed  use.  Scarcity  of  these,  and  inefficient  transport 
was  as  usual  the  prevailing  difficulty  to  be  fought  against.  In 
spite  of  all  that  had  been  done,  and  pointed  out,  and  recommended 
by  our  Chief,  still,  our  ministers  at  home,  although  they  continued 
the  war,  starved  it.  Neither  money  nor  necessaries  were  forth- 
coming when  wanted ;  the  means  were  always  inadequate  to  the 
end.  Sufficiency  of  artillery  could  not  be  transported  from  Ciudad 
to  Badajos;  a  supply  of  guns,  of  the  necessary  calibre  of  24 
pounders,  could  not  be  obtained  at  Lisbon.  Admiral  Berkeley, 
when  applied  to,  said  he  had  not  the  means  to  afford  them.  Local 
preparations  had  been  silently  proceeding  at  Elvas,  but  still 
dearth  of  stores,  and  tools,  and  guns,  and  shot,  existed,  attribu- 
table to  the  want  of  conduct  of  our  Government  at  home,  in  civ^ 

Sa2     ^  ^ 


674       CAMPAIGNS  UNDER  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 

as  well  as  military  matters  towards  this  army  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  Peninsular  war. 

I  beg  to  refer  on  these  points  not  only  to  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton's own  dispatches  on  the  subject,  but  also  to  his  brother  the 
Marquis  Wellesley^s  statements  concerning  the  administration  of 
that  day.  He  says,  "  they  were  timid  without  prudence, — narrow 
without  energy, — profuse  without  the  fruits  of  expenditure,  and 
slow  without  the  benefits  of  caution,*'  in  spite  of  all  which,  our 
Chief  fairly  dragged  these  ^^  timid,  doubting,  vacillating  ministers 
through  the  sloughs  of  their  mediocrity,  by  the  wheels  of  his  tri- 
umphal car.'* 

If  these  men,  with  whom  he  was  in  constant  council,  heeded  not 
his  warning  voice;  others,  both  in  and  out  of  Parliament,  not 
having  similar  advantages,  might  be  excused  for  doubting  of  a 
success  they  had  no  means  of  testing  or  comprehending.  The 
precedents  before  their  eyes,  and  their  reminiscences  of  military 
expeditions,  both  in  conception  and  execution,  were  taken  from 
Holland,  Walcheren,  and  Buenos  Ayres,  and  those  there  com- 
manding. The  puissant  at  home  thought  with  Shakspeare  that 
^^  reputation  is  an  idle  and  most  false  imposition,  oft  got  without 
merit."  From  beginning  to  end  our  Chiefs  merits  were  disputed^ 
his  opinions  contradicted,  and  his  demands  neglected.  These 
people  could  not  comprehend  that  one  man  should  do  a  deed  that 
none  other  but  himself  could  have  accomplished.  A  French  author^ 
Monsieur  Mourel,  says,  ^^Mais  personne,  ni  amis,  ni  ennemis, 

[)ersonne  ne  soupconnait  alors  ce  que  c'etait  que  Wellington, 
'Angletere  elle  meme  ne  Pa  connu  que  tres  tard,  et  il-y-a  une 
portion  considerable  du  peuple  Anglais  qui  ne  sait  pas  bien  au 
juste  tout  ce  qu'il  lui  doit.''  And  again,  another  Frenchman,  not 
very  easily  suspected  of  partialities  to  England  or  the  English, 
Monsieur  Thiers,  writes,  "  There  is  no  use  in  denying  it — every 
circumstance  considered,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  &e  greatest 
General  whom  the  late  wars  have  offered  for  human  contempla- 
tion ;  his  mind  was  so  equally  poised,  notwithstanding  the  vivacity 
of  his  genius,  that  he  was  always  ready,  and  equally  prompt,  on 
every  occasion.  He  united  the  powerful  combination  of  Napoleon 
to  the  steady  judgment  of  Moreau.  Each  of  these  mighty 
captains  was,  perhaps,  in  some  degree  superior  to  Wellington 
in  his  peculiar  walk.  Napoleon  may  have  had  more  rapidity 
of  view  and  I  plan  upon  the  battle-field,  and  could  suddenly 
change  his  whole  line  of  battle  as  at  Marengo.  Moreau  every- 
where understood  better  the  management  of  a  retreating  army 
before  an  exulting  enemy.  But  the  exquisite  apprehension 
and  intelligence  of  Arthur  Wellesley  served  him  instead  of  both, 
and  took  at  once  the  conduct  and  the  measures  that  the  occa- 
sion required.  Many  of  our  military  (French !)  men  have  con- 
tested his  genius,  but  no  man  can  deny  him  the  most  equable 
judgment  that  was  ever  met  with  in  a  great  soldier.  It  is 
this  admirable  judgment,  this  discerning  wisdom  of  the  mind, 
which  has  misled  Europe  as  to  his  genius.  Men  do  not  expect 
to  see  in  the  same  person   the   active  and  the  passive   spirit 


CHURCHYARD   AT   CAMBRIDGE.  675 

equally  great ;  nor  does  nature  usually  bestow  such  opposite  gifts 
in  the  same  person.  In  Napoleon  a  steady  judgment  and  an 
endurance  of  calamity  were  not  the  concomitants  of  his  impul- 
sive genius  and  tremendous  activity;  while  Moreau  had  all  his 
passive  greatness.  But  the  Duke  of  WeUington  has  united  the 
two  qualities.  Nay,  more :  the  noble  army  he  had  so  long  com- 
manded had  gradually  learnt  to  partake  of  the  character  of  their 
leader.  No  soldiers  in  the  world  but  the  English  could  have 
stood  those  successive  charges,  and  that  murderous  artillery, 
which  they  so  bravely  bore  at  Waterloo.^^ 


THE  CHURCHYARD  AT  CAMBRIDGE. 

Br   H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

In  the  village  churchyard  she  lies. 
Dust  is  in  her  beauUiul  eyes. 

Nor  more  she  breathes,  nor  feels,  nor  stirs ; 
At  her  feet  and  at  her  head 
Lies  a  slave  to  attend  the  dead. 

But  their  dust  is  as  white  as  hers. 

Was  she  a  lady  of  high  degree. 
So  much  in  love  with  the  vanity 

And  foolish  pomp  of  this  world  of  ours  ? 
Or  was  it  Christian  Charity, 
And  lowliness  and  humility, 

The  richest  and  rarest  of  all  dowers  ? 

Who  shall  tell  us  ?    No  one  speaks ; 
No  colour  shoots  into  those  cheeks. 

Either  of  anger  or  of  pride. 
At  the  rude  question  we  have  asked  : 
Nor  will  the  mystery  be  unmasked 

By  those  who  are  sleeping  at  her  side. 

Hereafter  ? — And  do  you  think  to  look 
On  the  terrible  pages  of  that  book. 

To  find  her  failings,  faults  and  errors  ? 
Ah,  you  will  then  have  other  cares 
In  your  own  short-comings  and  despairs, 

In  your  own  secret  sins  and  terrors  ! 


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676 


LORD  BYRON   AT  VENICE. 

BY   H.  T.  TUCKBRMAN. 

A  SAFFRON  tint  overspread  the  broad  lagoon 
Caught  from  the  golden  west,  and  as  its  flush 
Deepened  to  crimson,  and  the  crystal  air 
Beamed  like  a  rainbow,  sweetly  was  revealed 
The  secret  of  their  art,  whose  magic  hues 
Still  make  the  palace  walls  of  Venice  glow 
With  colours  bom  in  heaven. 

Men  of  all  climes 
Cluster  within  her  square — the  passive  Turk 
With  jewelled  turban,  the  mercurial  Greek, 
And  sombre  Jew,  and  gliding  with  a  step 
Whose  echo  stirs  the  heart,  fair  shapes  flit  by, 
Shrouded  in  black ;  yet  evening  wsdces  not  there 
The  sounds  that  fill  the  cities  of  the  land ; 
No  rumbling  wheel  or  tramp  of  passing  steed 
Drowns  the  low  hum  of  voices  as  they  rise ; 
But  from  her  window,  on  a  low  canal, 
The  fair  Venetian  hears  the  plash  of  oars. 
The  tide  that  ripples  by  the  mossy  wall. 
Some  distant  melody  or  convent  bell. 
And  cry  of  gondoliers,  when  their  bright  prows 
Clash  at  an  angle  of  the  lonely  street. 

From  the  deep  shadow  of  the  Ducal  pile 
Shot  a  dark  barge,  that  floated  gently  on 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  quiet  bay ; 
And  springing  lightly  thence,  a  noble  form 
Revelled  alone  amid  the  sleeping  waves  ; 
Now,  like  an  athlete,  cleaving  swift  his  way. 
And  now,  the  image  of  a  scuIptor^s  dream. 
Pillowed  upon  the  sea,  gasing  entranced 
From  that  wild  couch  up  to  the  rosy  clouds ; 
And  cradled  thus,  like  her  whom  he  adored, 
Beauty^s  immortaJ  goddess,  at  her  birth, 
His  throbbing  brow  grew  still,  and  his  whole  frame, 
Nerved  with  refreshing  coolness,  and  the  thirst 
O'  passion's  fever  vanished  from  his  heart ; 
He  turned  from  Venice  with  a  bitter  smile. 
To  the  vast  firmament  and  waters  pure. 
And,  eager  for  their  clear  tranquillity, 
Sighed  for  a  home  in  some  far  nook  of  earth. 
Where  to  one  true  and  genial  soul  allied. 
His  restless  spirit  might  be  fed  with  hope. 
Till  peace  should  steal  upon  him,  like  the  calm 
Of  that  delicious  eve. 


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INDEX 


TO  THE  THIRTY-FOURTH  VOLUME. 


Adventaret  of  a  Firat  Season, — Coming  to 

Town — Loren,  50. 
Anecdotes,  Original,  Social  and  Political, 

collected  during  the  last  half  century. 

By  a  diitingmshed  French  Authoress, 
,  432. 

A  qui  k  Faute  ?    By  M.  A.  B^  653. 
Architect,  Life  of  an^ — London  again — I 

become  professionally  engaged,  107.    My 

Sojourn  at  Bath — The  late  Sir  John  Soane, 

402, 541. 
Art :  a  Dramatic  Tale.    By  Charles  Readu, 

633. 
Aspen  Court,  and  who  lost  and  won  it.    A 

Tale  of  our  own  time.    By  Shirley  Brooks, 

1,119,229,343,457. 
Austin*s  Lives  of  the  Laureates,  830. 
Australian  Life,  An  Incident  of.    A  Tale 

of  twenty  years  ago.    By  G.  C.  Mundy, 

489, 607. 


Bachelor*s,  An  Old,  Crisis  of  Existence,  58. 
Balance  of  Power,  The,  and  the  Peace  of 

Europe,  208. 
Bamstarke,  Sihu,  Life  and  Death  of,  372. 
Bathurst,  Life  of  Bishop.    By  Mrs.  Thistle- 

thwa^te,  117. 
Bavarian  and  Tyrolean  Lakes,  in  the  years 

1851  and  1852,  Loitering  among,  17. 
Ben  Backstay — Practical  Jokes.    By  Mrs. 

Moodie,  410. 
Books,  Gossip  about  New,  367. 
Box  Tunnel,  The.    By  Charles  Reade,  549. 
Brooks',  Shirley,  Aspen  Court,  and  who 

lost  and  who  won  it    A  Tale  of  our  own 

Time,  1,119,229,343,457. 
Browne^  Rev.  R.  W.,  History  of  Roman 

Ckssical  Literature,  367. 
ByroD,  Lord,  at  Venice.    By  H.  T.  Tucker- 
man,  676. 

VOL.  XXXIV. 


Campaigns  of  Turkey  on  the  Danube,  555, 

575. 
Campaigns  under  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 

Random  Recollections  of,  525,  665. 
Camps  and  Bivouacs  at  Home  and  Abroad. 

By  Mrs.  Ward,  151. 
Camps  and  Manoeuvres,  359. 
Canal,  The  Darien  Ship,  654. 
Chaka,  King  of  the  Zulus.    By  Angus  B. 

Reach,  292.  . 
Charade.    By  M.  A.  B.,  207. 
Chesterfield,  Lord,  222. 
China,  Luther  in,  245. 
Churchill*8,  Colonel,  Mount  Lebanon,  519. 
Charies  Dekner,  370. 
Chloroform,  33. 
Churchyard  at  Cambridge.     By  W.  Long- 

feUow,  675. 
Cole's,  A.  W.,  •*  Juicy  Day  in  Kensington 

Gardens,*'  839;  Barbara  Bliss  and  her 

Miseries,  425. 
Contemnorary  Literature,  115. 
CosteIlo*s,  Miss,  Memoirs  of  Mary  Duchess 

of  Buignndy,  367. 
Crisis  in  the  affiurs  of  the  Lord  of  Misrule, 

324. 
Crisis,  The,  of  my  Existence.    By  an  Old 

Bachelor,  58. 
Court  and  Cabinet  of  Russia,  1 90. 
Cuthbert  Bede's  Sonnet  to  a  Toung  Lady 

on  her  Birthday,  156. 
Cypress,  To  the,  554. 

D. 

Danube,  Campaigns  of  Turkey  on  the,  555, 

575. 
Danen  Ship  Canal,  The,  654. 
D*Axeg^o*s,  the  Marquis,  Maid  of  Florence, 

368. 
Dead  Sea,  The,  and  the  Bible  Lands,  273. 
Decline  of  Life  in  Health.     By  Barnard 

Van  Oven,  M.D.,  341.       ^  t 

Digitized  tgV^OOglC 


678 


INDEX. 


De  Sanley'i  Dead  Sea  and  the  Bible  Lands, 

278. 
Dererenx,  Marguerite;  a  true  story,  621. 
Dickens',  Charies,  Bleak  House,  372. 
Dining  out  for  the  Papers.     Bj  W.  H. 

RosselUUS. 
Dncheu  of  Orleans,  The,  48. 
Dmnas,  Memmrs  d' Alexandre,  320. 

E. 

Europe,  The  Peace  o^  and  Balance  of  Power, 
208. 

Existence,  Crisis  of  my.  By  an  Old  Bache- 
lor, 58. 

F. 

Fable  of  the  Rooks,  the  RaTen,  and  the 

Scarecrow,  328. 
FacU  and  Faces.     By  Thomas  Woohioth, 

341. 
First  Season:    Adrentores  of,— Coming  to 

Town, — LoTers,  60. 
Foreign  Literature,  Notes  on,  812. 


Galton*s,  Francis,  Narrative  of  an  Explorer 

in  Tropical  Soath  Africa,  117. 
Oeschichte  des  Deutschen  Dichtong,  819. 
Gossip  about  New  Books,  867. 
Gossip  about  Laurels  and  LauiMtes,  830. 

H. 

Henler  Regatta,  Reminiteenoes  o£    By  an 

Oxford  Man,  65. 
Henrich  Eberhard  Paulus  und  seine  Zeit, 

819. 
History,  A,  of  Tennis.     By  Edward  Jeiic, 

448. 
Hopes  and  Perils  of  Turkey,  70. 

L 

Incident,  An,  of  Australian  Life-*a  Tale  of 
Twenty  Years  ago.  By  G.  C.  Mundy, 
489,607. 

India;  and  its  Administration.  By  J.  W. 
Kaye,  157. 

Intermittent  Rhapsodies  on  the  Ouashee 
Question.  By  Jerman  Jumbell,  the  Un- 
intelligible Philosopher,  225. 

Isaac  Laquedem,  par  Dumas,  828« 


Jacko,  My  Monkey,  565. 
Januarins,  St,  St.  Petard  to,  584. 
Jesse*fe.  Edwvd,  History  of  Tennis,  448. 
Journals  and  Journal-keepers,  897. 
Journey  from  Westminster  Abbey  to  St. 

Pttw's,  96, 174, 804,  888, 506. 
**  Juicy  **  Day  in  Kentbrnton  Gafdeni .    By 

A.  W.  Colo;  389. 


Kayo's,  J.  W.,  India  and  its  Adnunistrsr 

tion,  157. 
Kenyon's,  Arthur,  Letters  from  Spain  to 
^  his  Nephews  at  Home,  605. 

L. 

La  Cieca  di  Sorrento,  312. 

Lakes,  Bavarian  and  Tyrolean,  in  the  years 

1851  and  1852,  Loitering  among,  17. 
Lambeth  Church  —  Practical  Jokes.     By 

Mrs.Moodie,299. 
Last  Years  of  the  Emperor  Charles  v.    By 

F.  A.  Mignet,  89, 182,  254. 
Laurels  and  Laureates,  Gossip  about,  330. 
Legend,  A  Tyrolese,  602. 
Letters  from  Spain.     By  Arthur  Kenyon, 

605. 
Life  of  an  Architect.  —  London  again  — *  I 

become    professionally    engaged,^    107; 

••  My  Sojourn  at  Bath."     The  hrte  Sir 

John  Soane,  402,  541. 
literatnrt.  Contemporary,  115. 
Loitering  among  the  Bavarian  and  TrrAmn 

Lakes,  in  the  years  1851  and  1852^  17. 
London  Homes.    By  Miss  Sindair,  452. 
Lmigfellow's  Chnichyard  at  Cambridge,  675. 
Lord  Chesterfield,  222. 
Luther  in  China,  245. 

M. 

M.  A.  B.'s  Charade,  207;  Pleasant  Dqn, 
540;  Wine  and  Water,  842;  Aqni  b 
Faute  ?  653. 

Mackenz{e\  Mrs.CoHn,  Life  in  the  Mis- 
sion, the  Camp,  and  the  Zenana,  898. 

Manoeuvres  and  Camps,  859. 

Man,  the  Weird,  261, 375. 

Maiguerite  Devereux;  a  true  story,  621. 

Mignet's,  F.  A.,  Last  Years  of  the  Emperor 
Charies  V.,  89,  182,  254. 

Misrule,  Lord  of.  Crisis  in  the  Affidrs  of  the, 
324. 

Miss  Barbara  Bliss  and  her  Miseries.  By 
Alfred  W.Cole, 425. 

Moodie'a,  Mrs.,  Practieal  Jokear*Laabtth 
Church,  299.    Ben  Backstay,  410. 

MoiganV  Bav.R.  W.  Raymoiiid  da  Mont^ 
hault,455. 

Mount  Lebanon,  519. 

Mondy's,  G.  C,  Inddantof  AuftraliattLife: 
a  Tale  of  Twenty  Yean  ago,  489, 607. 

My  Monkey  Jacko,  565. 

N. 

New finghmd, Sktery In.    BylGstSa^ge* 

wide,  417. 
Notes  on  FcmigB  Litetatnie,  812. 

0. 

Old  School,  a  Railway  Incident  hf  Oat  of 

the,   165.     Digitized  by  Google 


INDEX. 


679 


Oiiginal  Aneodotei,  Social   and  Political; 

collected  dnring  the  last  Half  Century. 

By  a   difltinguiBhed  French  Anthoress, 

432. 
Orleana,  the  Dachess  of^  43. 
Oxford  Man'i,  an.  Reminiscences  of  Henley 

Regatta,  65. 


P. 

Pallieer's,  John,  Solitary  Rambles  and  Ad- 

Tentores  of  a  Hunter  in  the  Prairies, 

118. 
Peace,  The,  of  Europe  and  the  Balance  of 

Power,  208. 
Personen  und  Zustande  aus  der  Restanra- 

tion  und  dem  Juli  Konigthnm, —  Ton  der 

Verfirasserin  der  Erinnerungen  aus  Paris, 

314. 
Pleasant  Days.    By  M.  A.  B.,  540. 
Plonvier,  Contes  pour  les  Jours  de  Pluie, 

par  Edonard,  323. 
Poor,  The,  and  the  Rich,  483. 
Practical  Jokes,  —  Lambeth  Church.     By 

Mrs.  Moodie,  299.    Ben  Backstay,  4 1 0. 


Quashee  Question,  Intermittent  Rhapsodies 
on  the.  By  Jerman  Jumbell,  the  Unin- 
telligible Philosopher,  225. 


R. 


Railway  Incident,  A.    By  One  of  the  Old 

School,  165. 
Random  Recollections  of  Campaigns  under 

the  Duke  of  Wellington,  525,  665. 
Reach's,  Anffus  B.,  Chako,  King  of    the 

Zulus,  292. 
Readers,  Charles,  Box  Tunnel,  549;  Art:  a 

Dramatic  Tale,  633. 
Readers,  C.  Christie  Johnstone,  87.* 
Reminiscences  of  Henley  Regatta.    By  an 

Oxford  Man,  65. 
Reviews,  341. 

Rich,  The,  and  the  Poor,  483. 
Rooks,  The,  the  Raven,  and  the  Scarecrow. 

A  Fable,  328. 
Russell's,  W.  H.,  Dining  out  for  the  Papers, 

143. 
Russia,  its  Court  and  Cabinet,  1 90. 


S. 

Season,  Adventures  of  a  First, — Coming  to 
Town,— Lovers,  50. 

Sedgewick%  Miss,  Slavery  in  New  Eng- 
hmd,  417. 

Sindair's,  Miss,  London  Homes,  452. 

Slavery  in  New  EngUmd.  By  Miss  Sedge- 
wick,  417. 

Sonnet  to  a  Toung  Lady  on  her  Birthday. 
By  Cnthbert  Bede,  156. 

Spain,  Letters  from.  By  Arthur  Eenyon, 
605. 

St.  John's,  James  Augustus,  There  and 
Back  again  in  Search  of  Beauty,  455. 

St.  Peter's,  Journey  from  Westminster  Ab- 
bey to,  96,  174,  304,  388,  506. 

St.  Peter's  to  St.  Januarius',  584. 

T. 

Thi8tlethwayte*s,  Mrs.,  Life  of  Bishop  Bath- 

urst,  117. 
To  the  Cypress,  554. 
Tockerman*s,  H.  T.,  Lord  Byron  at  Venice, 

676. 
Tucker's,  Henry  St.  George,  Memorials  of 

Indian  Government,  115. 
Turkey,  its  Hopes  and  Perils,  70. 
Turkey  on  the  Danube,  CauipaikMii:  of,  .'>'..5, 

575. 
Tyroleie  Legend,  A,  602. 

W. 

Wanderungen  durch  die  Nord-ostllchen  und 
Central  Provinzen  Spaniens,  314. 

Ward's,  Mrs.,  Camps  and  Bivouacs  at  Home 
and  Abroad,  151. 

Weird  Man,  The,  261,  375. 

Wellington,  The  Duke  of.  Random  Recol- 
lections of  Campaigns  under,  525, 665. 

West  Indian,  A,  and  an  Abolitionist,  on  the 
Quashee  Question,  225. 

Westminster  Abbey  to  St.  Peter's,  Journey 
from,  96, 174,  304, 388, 506. 

Wine  and  Water.    By  M.  A.  B.,  342. 

Y. 

Yvan,  Voyages  et  R^cits.  Par  le  Docteur, 
316 


Zulus,  Chaka,  King  of  the.     By  Angus  B. 
Reach,  292. 


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