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Carrent Events ....•.•.! 
'Die Joint-Stock Banker. A Tale of the Day. By Dudley Goetello 

5, 115, 239, 345 
Tlie American Difficulty . . . » . , .22 

The Spendthrift. A Tale of the Laat Gentmy. By W. Hanison Ains- 

irorth,Esq 36,141,282,410,503,602 

Lord Cockbum's Memorials . • .45 

The Pleasures and Pains of Sleep. ByP61e-M61e .68 

Pire Days on Horseback in the Crimea . .64 

ffir Bobert Peel 71 

dara Elliot ........ 82 

Old Actor»— A Eeverie at the Gairick Chib. By T. P. Grinsted . . 95 

Proangs by Monkshood about the Essayists and Reviewers : 

VnL--William Gifford 104 

rX.— Samuel Taylor Coleridge 208 

X. — ^A Quartet of Quarterly Reviewers . . .316 

XL— Thomas Carlyle 538 

XIL— Cardinal Wiseman . .640 

The Session and the Season ...... Ill 

Expedition to the Niger ....... 129 

V Ben Jonson ......... 157 

A Page of the Times. By Alfred A. Watts . . .166 

Chaite lonng. By T. P. Grinsted . . .167 

Imagination and Fancy. By P^-M6le . 180, 297, 499 

Hie Attach^ in Madrid 185 

Mary Goring ......... 195 

A Month in the Crimea, after the Fall of Sevastopol By a Cavahy Officer 221 
Madame Yestris. By T. P. Grinsted 255 

> The Euphrates Yall^ Railway and Indo-European Telegn^h . 262 

Aytoun's "Bothwer' • 276 

Charles Reade's ''It is Never too Late to Mend" . .292 

Right at Last . ' 302 

FromStamboultoPesth 331 

Hie Oxonian in Norway ....•». 365 
The Ypunff Clm;yman and his Anti-Macassars . .372 

TluB Amedcan l^pedition to Ja^ • . . . .317 

British Anny Reform •*••••• 396 
Minde-Man^ by Monkshood. Letter-Writing and Letter-Writers . 422 
Thelfinal Ascent of Mont Blanc. By Mr. Jol^ Green . • .441 

The Newspaper in France ..••••• 457 

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EemaiiiB of John Byrom ....... 470 

Yomiff Ladjism of the Piesent Day. By MaterfamOias . . . 475 

Paris m 1856— The French Almanacks . . . .477 

What We are all Abont 487 

Six Weeks in Switzerland ...... 494 

Thanatos Athanatos ...... 517> 579 

The Steward's Bargain . . . . .524 

Professor Dununkopf s Adventure at the Bal Mabille. By Dudley Costello 551 
GapcdBffue on Great Financial Operations ..... 567 

Naples 574 

Comelins Agrippa the Magician . . . . 586 

The Kansas Qaestion . . . • . .593 

. •:! 

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The wsn are afl onrer. 

Our swords are all idle, 

The steed Utet the farldle. 
The casque's on the wall, 
There's rest for the roTer ;-« 

S o shigs Caesar, Bjron's seoond-haod Mephistopheles^ aod (at we 
open oar Fortieth Volome) to nng we, though — ^let ui hope-»noi in the 
same impatient tpirit 

Tlie month of Jane has witnessed the laurelled eracnation of the 
enemj's territory by the Allied armies, and eren as we are writing, the 
mighty population of London stand " like gpreyhounds in the slips, straining 
up on the start" to welcome back the Brigade of Guards^ their own 
especial soldiers. A little more than two years since, the streets were 
filled before daylight to cheer them on their departure ; the events that 
have since occmred, in which they took so prominent a part, have filled 
an imperishable page in history, and once more we have them again 
amongst us. Not the same men, alas! for death in every shape has 
decimated their original ranks, but a remnant of the gallant band, with 
comrades as brave as themselves, who shared in all their late perils, if 
they had not the good fortune to breast the heights of the Alma, or stem 
the torrent of the bloody fight of Inkerman. Greet them well, citizens 
of London, for the Guards are the noble representatives of England's 
warriors ; and ever foremost to sympathise with her victorious troops, the 
Queen goes forth to meet them ! 

It is but a few days since her hand conferred knighthood on ** Williams 
of Kars,** the best soldier the war has produced: Lake, too — and Tees- 
dale — ^and Churchill — were sharers in his well* won honours, as they shared 
in the deeds which have immortalised his name. That ceremony of in- 
vestiture must have been a proud moment for them all, thou^ saddened 
by the reflection that not the least conspicuous among the heroic de- 
fenders of the beleaguered city — poor Langhome Thompson — was not 
also there. He lived long enough, however, to know in what esteem his 
country held him^ and if aught can assuage a mother's grief for his loss, 
it will be tiie consciousness that his high desert was recognised by all, 
from his sovereign to her poorest subject. 

But rejoiced as we are at the termination of one war, and solicitous 
as we may be not to begin another ; with every desire, moreover, not to 
draw the sword against those who speak the same tongue as ourselves, 
who claim the closest kindred with us, and whose external interests are 
identical with our own ; with all these motives for preferring peace to a 
contest, in whieh the only certain result must be the heaviest losses on 


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both sides, there are limits to the concessions which we are willing to 
make to the people of the United States. " The people,'' did we say ? 
Their rulers, rather : the men who, to acquire a temporary popularity, 
are willing to set everything on the hazard of the die and commence a 
struggle of which no man living can predict the issae. The Ekilistment 
dispute is at an end, and the Central American question, if not settled by 
mutual agreement, is to be referred to arbitration : but the expedients re- 
sorted to in both these cases are only stop- gaps against the spirit of en- 
croachment which animates the statesmen of the Union, unless they are 
told by the British Government, in language the most decided and unmis- 
takable, '^ Thus far shall you go — and no &rther I" Let us never forget 
the memorable words uttered by Greneral Williams when he landed at 
Dover, the other day : ** Woe to that nation who heaps up riches, but 
who does not take the precaution to defend them !" Prepared for war, 
no matter who may be our foe. The Americans, if they force a quarrel 
upon us, will find to their cost that the British navy is well able to sustala 
the fame of the heroes — some, happily, still 8arviving-*-who fought on 
board the Shantion and the Endymion, Meanwhile, they lunre troubles 
of their own to think about of no easy adjustment, fbr the settboMot of 
Kansas is no mere casual feud between ^^ Free Settlers " and ** Border 
BufiSians'* (a happy nomenclature!), but a struggle in which principles 
are at stake affecting the vitality of the whole Union. 

Intimately associated as we are with France in an alliainoe which, we 
trust, will never be broken, that which concerns her daimt nearly as 
much place in our consideration as our own afBura. That these are not 
words of course has just been shown by the spontaneoM movement of the 
English people, in aid of the sufferei-s by the fearful inundationfl which 
have desolated the valleys of the Rhftne, the Garonne, the Sarthe, and 
the Loire. Much as we have always admired the genius and si^^fy of 
the great man who guides the destinies of the Frendi nation, be has now 
a still grater claim to our admiration in the devotedness with whieh-^ 
setting personal risk entirely aside — ^he obeyed only the prooaptings of 
humanity, and hastened to encourage by his presence aed cheer bj his 
g^ts the houseless thousands whom the late rearfbl calamity had over* 
tak^i. Change may again come over tiie form of government in France, 
and, perhaps, afiect the succession to the throne of Louis Napoleen ; but 
change as the poet says, must be only ^ too changeable ^ to find ^avout 
in France, if it seeks to displace the only man whom the present gMiera- 
tion has seen of capacity fit to occupy the highest place in her affiurs. 

But to turn from foreign matters to our own domestic concerns. 

Are we keeping pace with the march of event8-*or not ? We have 
expectorated over ill-humour at Crimeui mismanagement, and rejoiced, 
amid flights of rockets, at the consequences of Crimean success ; every- 
body has resolved to behave better for the future, and a political millen- 
nium is anticipated. Mr. Roebuck, at the head of his renvovated band 
of Reformers, thinks it will be, a long while first, — and, without endorsing 
the opinions of *' the man with the crotchet," we are very much inclined 
to think so too. Is the House of Commons to acoelerate that event, with 
its accidental legislation, its postponements, and its chaotic indecisioii ? 
Or the House of Lords, with its hereditary, dignified obstinacy ? Has 
Sir George Grey been ^ informed'' on any suby^ that has been made a 

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J or Mr, Fxedeiick Peel been " prepared to state '* anything that 
anvbodj wishes to know? What has beeome of Lord Wensleydale, and 
M OB ^rer or never to take his seat ? Our friends the Jews* too, where 
9m they? Still longing for the New Jerasalem, into which thej will 
ffiaialy anttfr before they take their seats in Parliament " Prescribe/' 
tbey aay, ^' any form of oath you please ; we are ready to take it ; but^ 
ml least be ooosisteat The chief magistrate of the first city in the world 
is of oar persoaswn, bat the commonest huckster — if he be a Christian and 
kate BMoey enough te corrupt Christian voters — may help to make the laws^ 
—a privil^^ which you deny to him who superintends their execution.'' 
Asd « propot o£ the election of the present Lord Mayor, a royal mot is 
CHireat which is worth preserving. << Thank goodness, your Royal 
Highneifl,* exclaimed the most clerical and casniBtical of churchmen — 
^ thank goodness, we have got a gentlenum in the civic diair at last!" 
<**< Yea, my kMd," returned the Prince^ *' but you had to go beyond the 
pale of Chrisdanity to find him r 

Enough of politics ; it is not there we must look for progress. The 
roMmg-stooe of Sisyphus was but a type of a session of Parliament, where 
nothifig 19 advanoedt and lumbering bills are urged upwards, simply to 
r«0oil OB the heads of those who first set them in motion. For sometuing 
ploaaant wo mist look beyond the walls of St St^ben's. 

A page of the Aralwan Nights has been opened at Sydenham, 
where tiie magic of d^ Eastern enchanter is outdone in the construc- 
tion of the marvellous fountains which now scatter their waters over the 
Crystal Palaee Gardens. Never before did science achieve a result of 
such surpassing beauty ! The attractions within the silvered dome con- 
tinue, noreorer, to increase, a eallery of pictures being in the course of 
formation. We believe that the English are a great picture-loving 
pec^le^ though as yet but imperfectly able to distinguish between the 
eKtrumes of art Nor are those who should be their teachers in a much 
happier oondition : witness the warfare now waging with connoisseurs 
arBsyed against " directors," — and critics opposed to ''keepers," — in which 
pietnres deaoonoed as execrable by the nrat, are declared gems of the 
purest water by the second. '^ A magnificent Paul Veronese I" cries 
one. ^A hatefiil daub, by the worst pupils of his school!" shouts 
•■other. ^Look at the glowing colours!" exclaims Batseyes. ''I 
ean ooont the threads of the canvas," retorts the sarcastic Lynx. One 
set of "judges" pledge their reputation to the genuineness of a 
Bsflnplla, while another set of <^ judges" swear it an Andrea Man- 
tegaa. If they quarrel so fiercely about the pictures themselves, they are 
nat yery likely to agree about the place where they may be seen to the 
gveatest advantage, and aeoordingly some preCsr a site in a swamp, others 
a locality where the medium for examination is smoke. It is a contest 
b etw ee n mildew and soot, and the Deus ex maehind may peradventure 

A more intelligible ground for want of harmony amongst artists exists in 
die complaint prefomed by the sculptors of this country against the em- 
sloyflaent of foreign talent to their utter exclusion. A paper has recently 
eetn in circulation — (not circulated widely enough) — which shows to 
hew great an extent thisvicbus system of patronage prevails, while with 
the greatest modesty it advances the just pretensions of British sculptors. 


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It 18 a national, and even more ihan a national question, and ought to be 
supported by aJl who advocate the real interests of art. 

But if Fainting and Sculpture are under a doud, the same cannot be 
said for their sister Music. The happy auspices under which ** the old 
house in the Haymarket" was reopened in May, have been maintained 
by unequivocal — we had almost said — unprecedented success. Although 
Mr. Lumley played a winning game at the ve'ry outset, he did not at 
once produce au his best cards. We knew that he had novelty and 
talent in store, but we were not prepared to find in that novelty talent of 
so rare a kind. The dibiU of Maaemoiselle Piccolomini was, however, 
an event such as is not often recorded in operatic annals. We make no ex- 
ception when we say that her Violetta^ in " La Traviata,** is the most touch- 
ing piece of acting that we have seen on any stage ; such gprace it is endowed 
with, such delicacy, such finish, such wondrous truth ! Her gaiety, her 
tenderness, her sorrow, her shame, the agony of her despair, and the final 
effort to live for her lover when all hope is over, are phases of mind that 
must be closely watched to be understood in the way in which Mademoi- 
selle Ficcolonuni gives them expression. If we speak more of the dra* 
matic than of the vocal powers of this gifted creature, it is not to depre- 
ciate her merits as a singer, — for the beauty of her voice is great, and 
the skill with which it is managed exquisite ; — but it so seldom happens 
that dramatic genius of the first order b married to song that we yield 
to the influence of the rarer quality. In Mademoiselle Johanna Wagner 
also, a trained and accomplished actress has appeared, but here we never 
lose sight of the fact that her voice, — by nature a superb contralto com- 
passing by art the purest soprano, — is her cheval de hataiUe. The 
beauty of ner face, the symmetry of her figure, her commanding stature, 
her picturesqueness of attitude and costume, the fervour and intelligence 
of her actions, make her the best Romeo on the stage, but these advan- 
tages are only adjuncts where an ormn so perfect exists as the voice of 
Mademoiselle Wagner. Nor has the ballet at Her Majesty's Theatre beea 
without increased attractions : Marie Taglioni has returned with her un-> 
rivalled execution, and Monsieur Charles with a graceful agility that^ 
amongst male dancers, defies competition. 

The advent of Italian tragedy in the person of Madame Bistori ia 
another event by which to mark the season of 1856. Her Medea, — her 
Maria Stuarda, — and her Pia del Tolomei exhibit powers that estabUsb 
her in the front rank of tragic actresses, though it may be not as the 
foremost amongst them. Her merits claim a high meed of applause 
even if it fall short of the tribute we pay to a Rachel. It is singular that 
all the ^* highest reaches" of dramatic art for many years past have been 
attained by women only ! What new actor, save Kobson, has appeared on 
the legitimate boards ? En revanche we have had dozens of non-profes- 
sionals who, if they had systematically cultivated the talent that in them 
lies, might have really done something to illustrate the stage ; but as these 
shooting-stars have only gleamed for a moment, the fate of all meteors 
has been theirs : they have been wondered at and then forgotten. 

Here ends our proem, and whether we treat of love or war, poetry or 
politics, amongst the current events of the day the publication of the 
Fortieth Volume of BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY will not be the 
least notable. 

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▲ TALB OF no BAT, 


DuBiHG the period of Herbert Vaughan's absenoe in France, hii 
fathei^s denie to make the most of the opportunities for speculation which 
were o&red him by the Chairman of the ** Central Afrioany** had not in 
the least abated, and amongst the letters which Herbert found at hit 
dub was one from the elder Mr. Vaughan, urging him to lose no time, 
afbr his arriyal, in calling at Wessex House. 

^ I hare ererjr reason, my dear boy/' so ran the letter, ^^ for hoping— 
Bideed, for feehng certain — that an enormous fortune is almost wiSun 
my grasp, Powell Jones, in whom, happily, I am able to place unbounded 
confidence— (you know, Herbert, that he is your own uncle, by the 
mother's side) — assures me that from the Bryn-Mawr mine alone 1 may 
calculate on a dear return of seven thousand a year ; and the prospects of 
the ' Central African' — anew Company of which Jones is the Chairman 
^-are finer than any in the market. It was a lucky thing for me haying 
a brother-in-law at the head of a concern that promises to pay so mag- 
nificently. I got all my shares — and I hold a good many— at par, and 
I see by the latest transactions that they are already at eighteen premium* 
I had an idea of realising at once, but Jones says he feelB confiaent they 
will touch twenty-five within a month, and by his advice I have waitea. 
Porty thousand pounds, my dear Herbert, is worth waiting for, and Jones 
pledges his reputation on the absolute certainly of my making that 
amount, if I am only patient. It will be a famous windfall, for what with 
my late heavy outlays and other matters, I am in want of a good round 
sum to set me straight. Now, you see, my dear boy, that, quite inde* 
pendenily of ties of consaoc^nity — which we ought to be the last persona 
to lose sight of-^I have the strongest motives for keeping on tne best 
terms with Powell Jones, and therefore I beg you will see as much of 
him as yon can. I know your Glamorganshire spirit does not like 
< patronage' — in the common acceptation of the term — ^but when a rela- 
tion wants -to be of service and possesses the power, it would be sheer folly 
to neglect the opportunity." 

^ My father is right in one respect," said Herbert, when he had ended ; 
'< I am not fond of patronage; neitiier does the rdationship, which he 
very plainly swallows with difficulty, greatiy delight me. There is some- 
thing about my newly-discovered uncle that fails to impress me with the 
very highest idea of his moral character. I may be wrong, — most likely 
I am, — ^but still when a man suddenly leaps into the lap of Fortune, my 
old-frMhioned prejudices whisper that he must have cleared a great many 
scruples in the jump. I am not so illiberal as to suppose him necessarily 
dishonest because he was once an attorney, but I cannot help thinking I 
should have liked Mr. Powell Jones — or my unde, if 1 must call him so 
—a great deal better if he had not been bred to the law. The truth is^ 

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I detest what the world calls 'rich men/ and that, perhaps, is one of the 
reasons why I fall into the opposite extr^ne^ and take the strongest 
£Bincies for those who are the poorest. I certainly hit upon one who is 
passe-mailre in the art of not toekkkg saoofBy^ when I made the acquaint- 
ance of the ingenious Monsieur Lepa£^ — though he, too, would seem as 
if he were ahout to falsify a proverb, if the luck he told me of holds good. 
A poor man ! Do I call him poor, with such a treasure of a daughter ? 
No, there could be no poverty — nothing that a man might not be glad 
to endure — were she the coitpanion of his life! This is dangerous 
ground, I know, for me to tread : and yet — and yet — how can my feet 
nbmn? What wookl my hihet say if I were to marry below my 
<«t«tion?' What could he sa^ — eocoept <^at onee he did the same thing I 
But then, my bigh-bom mother reclamied him, as I have too often heard 
her say, finom dM slougrh into which he had fidlen ; and her will, her 
pndeyMr pasmons, woiidd all be arrayed against such a step, supposing 
I were to mecUtate it But I am a fool, after mJHj to let my thought* 
wandler in this direction, for how do I know that L6oDie has ever given 
a nngle s^ to die memory of that happy eveniag ? Indeed, I may 
jomet arrive at that knowledge, unless aoeideiit ooee more befriend me, 
or her faAer recollect that he promised to pay me a visit. I daro 
B§j he is too much absorbed in the soocess of his invention to have re- 
membered anything about the card I gave him." 

The meditative, philosophical Herbert was wtong, and the proof of his 
beiugso was broaght home to him before the last sentence had w^-nigh 
passed ins lips; for at that moment die club page made his appeaianoe to 
at^ thai a foreign gentleman wished to speak to Mr. Vaughan. It was 
liiJtoMieur Lepage, to whom-*-i£ he had ever lost it — all Us gaiety now 

He had more good news to telL 

** I come," he said, <'of see once more. Monsieur Poljone. Already it 
is began to make a companie of my project. Monsieur Rigbv Nick, a 
gesdeman of great talent, has wrote de prospectus. When he is printed, 
and well eirevuato, dere is no more to db : all de world will run to take 
shaies. I shall be de Manage Director, and make myself a fortoae 
ea o I si oug— y ea b ut cokssaiL'' 

«<I am aura,'' returned Herbert, '^ no one will make a better use of it 
than yourself. I am quite rejoioed at hearing of your success." 

** Ye s d a t I know — I was sure of. But Monsieur Yoo, you muat per^ 
Bsit me to offer you som share b^bre d^ go into de eouiisse — what you 

^ Behind the scenes," suggested Herbert, who knew more about theatres 
dm 'Change-alley. 

<' No, it is Bot dat" whor e de brokerres go to arrange affitin ; some* 
til SB ^t also is behind de scenes — ha, ha, bi I'' 

'^ I see what you mean : the share-market. I am very mnch obliged 
to you for the ooer, but I never do anything in that way." 

^ Ah, you have fortune already, so I suppose. But in England I un^ 
dsrstand everprbody try to make his money two, three times greater. 
Monsieur Poljone, for example, he ge on getting more and more rich for 

<' Apnp^^^ said Herbert, smiling, << who is this Mr. Fbljone ? I 
never heard of him till you mentionea his name." 

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*«MoaDie«! yat, nevartt! Stay! You mvit kaowlui hooie. H« 
live ai de gieat bank in da sqoarr af Saint Jaoob.^ 

*<YoadoB't maan WessexHoiua?'' aakad Harbart, upon whon a fikiait 
g^luDBnanBg of ligbt began to dawn. 

<< Yu — yaa— dai ia do name — ^I was sot able to pioiioiinoa Htm. Dera 
is Monsieur Poljoae." 

^' I see now whom you mean ; Mr. Powell Jonas. Why, ha la a lela- 
tioa of Dune. I was going to call upon him to-day." 

^ Dottbileaa lie will tell you of my inventioo. He say to bm be tink of 
Boting beside. Ah, he is a brave inanl Aad de lady, too, she ao kind, 
aa aniftble.'' 

^ Lady! I did not know my node was married. It mMt ban* hap- 
pened while I was abroad.'' 

'' No — no : he is no marry ; she is not his rifift, but bia parant" 

" A very old lady, I fancy." 

**DvL toot : not at all She is not more older than forty years, if she 
has so many. And charming." 

'* Bat Mr. Powell Jones is himself a good deal oa the wrong side of 
forty^" said Herbert, aomewhat bewildered; ''his mother mmt be aerenty 
if she is an hour." 

"Ab| I did not say she was his modem: I say hie paMn/;-— dtao his 

<* Oh, that explains it," returned Herbert, laughing ; ** it was my mistake. 
And what is the lady's name ? for I must tell you I kaow rery fittla of 
my relafcions on Mr. Powell Jones's side." 

«< She call herself Madame Rodeck," repKed Mooaienr Lepage. *^ She 
find also much pleasure in my syUime^ which I teU her. She propose ta 
do me de hoBoar of call upon my sistarre and daughter, to make aoquaint- 
ance vith dam. I need not to aay how happy it aaake us all if Monsieur 
Yon eome see us too." 

<'I should be ddighted," returned Herbert, ''if I knew where to pay 
my renpects." 

''Did I not tell datP Ah, aomeCime my head is distract It ii 
Grikatreet, Naaaero Dirtysiek, on de aeeom^. In de eosniBg we are absoys 
to us." 

Meitnear Lepage now osade his acUeux^ being, be said, en route for 
"dfy" to mast Idr^ " Rigby Niek;" and Herbert Yaugfaan took bis wmr 
to St. Jaeob's-aqimns, his euriosity a little nuaad about bis vadea 

It was somewhat increased when he saw her. A slight sketdi of her 
gmeni appearance has aheady been given ! here ia her portrait, at foil- 

M^^r*^ Rodeek would have been tall for a man, and ber height waa 
increased by the ample developanent of her figure. Her hair and eye* 
baawa ware ravan-blaek, the latter rery strongly marked and nearly 
meeting, and mun than a eo^^en of mooatadie shaded her upper Hp. 
Her eym were daik, bright, and bold, and aeeased ready to aeoond any- 
thing that foil firom her lips. The high colour on her ebeeks was not 
akegadier of natuns's tintiag^ but her toi^ white teeth— those, at least, 
wludi were in sight, and she took no pams to cooeeai them^wese bar 
awiL For hw dbass, — yoa have seen aomefching like it in the show- 
window of Messrs. Oriole and Peacock's establishment : a brocaded violai 

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Bilk of the richest description, with flounces sweeping firom the waist like 
waves ; pendant sleeves, and collar of that '< woric" which ladies dream 
of ; a scarlet burnous lined with purest white^ the square hood heavily 
tasselled and embroidered ; and, surmounting all, a bonnet which I can 
only describe by saying it was of the kind invariably called ^^ a love.'' 

From thb array, and the long^fnnged, white-silk parasol in her hand, 
it was evident that Madame Rodeck had completed her morning toilette, 
and was just going out ; indeed, a very handsome brougham at the street- 
door inmcat^ the same thmg; but she paused on the landing-place, 
where Herbert met her, as he ascended the staircase at Wessex House, as 
if she were not quite certain about fulfilling her intention. Herbert bowed, 
and waited till her indecision was over : she turned her large eyes full 
upon him, scrutinised him with no indecisive glance, a very winning 
smile — or one that was intended to be so— followed, and Madame 
Rodeck held out her hand. 

^^, Strange," she said, ^^ that I should know you at first sight. You are 
my cousin Powell's nephew — Herbert Vaughan !" 

Herbert bowed again. 

'* I have the honour, I presume, of speaking to Madame Rodeck ?" 

She laughed. 

'* What ! you know me too ! That is stranger still. But you are 
right. I am what we used to call in my country — ^and in yours too— 
your Welsh aunt" 

Herbert winced at the freedom of this speech : the bold, handsome^ 
over-dressed woman was not the person he would willingly have acknow- 
ledged relationship with, and he coldly replied that family connexions 
were sometimes rather widely diffused. 

" Very true," said Madame Rodeck, not in the least abashed ; *^ we 
never met before. But this is not exactly the place to improve our ac- 
quaintance. You have called to see my cousin; he shall present me 
formally" — and she laughed again — " to a young gentleman who seems 
to stand on ceremony. He is there. — Powell," she continued, opening 
a door and sailing in, with Herbert in her wake^ — *' Powell, here is your 
nephew Vaughan, whom you were telling me you expected for this week 
past I am dying to be regularly introduced to him. 

^^ I am very glad indeed to see you, Herbert," said Mr. Powell Jones, 
rising as he spoke. ^' I had a letter from your father this morning. You 
are lookmg remarkably well — an additional reason for making you known 
to my cousin, Madame Rodeck, who, being a beauty herself, knows how 
to appreciate good looks in others." 

<< I am afraid my fiice — such as it is," said the lady, again fixing her 
eyes on Herbert, after the manner called « stagging" — *' I am afraid 
my face has frightened your nephew. But he need not be afraid, for if 
Its owner isn't handsome, she is very good-natured." 

And once more she held out her hand, which Herbert, of course, 
could not refuse to take, though he was the first to relinquish the clasp. 

''Now that this ceremony has been accomplished," said Madame 
Rodeck, << I shall leave you two together and go about my business, £cv 
I dare say vou have a good deal to say to each other. Ask him to dine 
to-day," she whispered to Powell Jones as he hekl the door for her; and 
then, after agam bestowing *< large eyes" on Herbert, she swept out of the 

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THB Jonrr-STOCK bankbs. 9 

^ An exedlent ereatare, Herbert," Mud Mr. Powdl Jonee» m fhe die» 
appeared ; ** as honest as the sldo between her brows^— (this was an mw 
InAj limik)— "all franknets. Ton will like her amasiDgij when yott 
eome to know her better. She has a lister^ named Ronna, her Terj 

** Heaven defend me V* said Herbert to himsd^ "from erer meeting 
her ! 'Diis one is qoite enough.'' He, howerer, mattered aomething 
civil about Madame Rodeck — " Fine womany'' and so forth— and then 
tamed the eonv e reation to his father's afEurs. 

Mr. Powefl Jones gave a reir flourishing aoooont of them : it was the 
dupUcate in substance, if not m words, of what he was in the habit of 
writing to Mr. Vaugfaan, of GlAs-Llvn ; and if he did not convinoe Her- 
bert as completely as he had satisfled his father, it was certainly not from 
any deficiency ot rhetoric There was a largeness in his schemes which 
had a great attraction for the generality of Mr. Powell Jones's listeners, 
and he very seldom finished his statements without having made a good 
many converts. 

The mines in Wales, the Central African Company, and half a doien 
other projects having been rapidly discussed, the honourable member for 
Ab^^randy asked Herbert what his particular views were at that 

" To say the truth," replied Vaughan, " I have hardly given myself 
time to think about my own concerns. I am not speculative, like my 
father, nor politically-mclined, like my mother — though in one instance 
I am interested both in speculation and in politics, but it is on another's 
account, not mine. You are acquainted, I think, with a Frenchman, 
named Lepage!" 

** What, a crazy-headed balloon-projector, exiled for his red opinions ! 
Yes, I know him. Do you ?" 

'' I do, and believe hun to be a man of great ingenuity, but neither 
' crazy-headed,' nor what you call * red.' " 

*' Well, what I mean is, adventurous in his ideas — not the less likely/ 
though, to make them answer — if well handled. As to his politics, they 
may be red or white — but I fancied him a republican." 

** He is perfecUy harmless, take my word for it, whatever complexion 
they assume. And that is one of the reasons why I mentioned his name. 
What I know about Lepage is this : In the course of last autumn I fell 
in vnth him by chance; his character interested me, and so did his 
proiects. He was almost the first person I met on my return to town, 
and in the course of a brief conversation I learnt that his great scheme 
had been taken up by some influential personage, and was in a fair way 
of succeeding. I did not at the moment know who it was that had b^ 
«ome his patron, but this morning I saw him again, and finding that it 
was yourself, I resolved at once to ask you what you really think of his 
invention, and whether, in the event of its turning out as good a thing 
as he says, you will use your influence to zet him permission to return to 
France, for I feel perfectly certain that his politics have in them nothing 

There are *^ three courses" generally open to those to whom requests 
such as that preferred by Herbert Vaughan are made. The reply may 
be "frank"— and mean nothing; it may be "dubious"— and convey 
iKithing ; or it may be a mixture of frankness and doubt — neutralising 

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eftch 4>ther« aod endinfi^ in worse than nothing:. Eaoh of those oounoi was 
faiailisr to Mr. Powell Jones. He pausedy as if he were weighing the 
merits of the ease, but m realityi for the purpose of deciding which of the 
thsee he should taJce, He finally adopted the last: it held out eoooiuage- 
ment and avoided compromise. 

'I As to Lepage's invention, my dear Herbert, I hare no hesitation in 
saying that, as &r ae I am able to judge, no reasonable ground exists for 
anticipating £ulure; that, you know, is the first thing one ought to look 
at whenever a novel idea is struck ouL Well^ then, failure not bmng 
likely, the chances of success are twofold : first, on account of the novelty 
itseli ; next, because of the actual merits of the scheme. You captivate 
the public mind by boldness and originality of thought, you convince it 
by scientific demonstration. Lepage^ ^piLaa- — as I suppose you are aware 
•—is to direct the flight of balloons by the action of me screw-propeller. 
His model is perfect, and has only to be executed on a large scale and 
exhibited in puUic, to satisfy the most incredulous. This only concerns 
the practical working of the invention, for the principle is not affected by 
matters of detaiL Now, I have given my assent to the principle— and I 
never do these things lightly — therefore, in a commercial point of view— • 
by which I mean Lepage's pecuniary advantage— I think his expectations 
are justified. I have put the matter into the hands of a sound, thosough* 
gosng man of business — Rigb^ Nicks, in hct — our Vice- Chairman. As 
to the second branch of your inquiry, I must be quite candid with you* 
Jt is always a very delicate matter to interfore between government and 
government; and though I might unquestionably bring my parlia- 
mentary, and, I may add, my social influence to bear upon the sul^ect— * 
and did it concern our own/amifyy of course I should not hesitate a single 
instant — still one must proceed cautiously — indirectly, as it were — in a 
case like this. I can't promise you that the French government will 
publish a decree of restoration in £iivour of Lepage -indeed, I could not 
ask such a thing, for there are hundreds here under a similar ban ; but 
•you may tell him this, if you like, and I will confirm it to him, that / 
wU do my be$t. There ts such a thine as a tacit permission to reside^ 
on the private understanding of ffood behaviour — quamdiu u bene 
geseerU^and that, periiaps, m need not despair of [obtaining. There, 
my dear Herbert; I hope I have answ^wd to your aatis&ction." 

Herbert would have been more content with fewer words, but there 
was, at all events, nothing to be dissatisfied with in Mr. Powell Jones's 
limply, and he expressed his thanks, aceepted his invitation to dine^ and 
then took leave, with the intention of calling in Greek-street in the coarse 
of the morning,— only for the purpose of leaving a message for Monsieur 
Lepage, in case he did not hs^pen to find him, nothing more — unlesi^ 
perefaanoe^ Madame Brochart, or her niece, should happen to be at homa. 



Thxbe is some little difference in the appearance of the apartment m 
Gveek-street since first we saw it. It is winter still— midwinter, indeed 
—but the season, in^borsi has lost its dreary aspect A br^ fiie is 
H tsi n g ; Madame Brodart, with nothing to do, sits comfortably befare 
it| ut aa arm-chair ; Aaor lies asleep in a basket warmly lined ; and 

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THE JOlKT-flTOCK BAinon. 11 

L^QfBit, Aoogk oeeuDied wMi her needle, as of yove, it no longer talked 
by Messrs. Oriole and Peacock, but fashions something feminine of wbaA 
her aant is to be tiie wearer, 

Jladame Brochart is in a better hnmeor than she has been for a long 
time past, and talks agreeably, if not sensibly. It was, perfam, impa- 
tience of her position tnat made her doubt the sonndneM of her brother's 
last ioyentioii ; now that there is an earnest of foecesa in Ae shape of 
vHidy money, she is as sanguine as he, and builds as many eastlea. 
L^onie, too, has forgotten, or thinks no more of the eircumstasoe that 
affected her for & time, and all her ebeerftihiesi has retvaed. 

**1 have alwi^s heard, L^nie,'' says Madame Broehart, ^diat te 
make » fortone, it was neeessary, after aU, to be in England. I now sea 
that what people told me long ago is true. My brother Gustaye had only 
to name Us project, and immediately it was seized upon by these men, 
who, themadTOs, know not how to inrent. That is a maposition of 
affidrs for wlndi we ougbt to thank le ban Dieu : to one country it is 
allowed to have genius, to another money ; each supplies the other wilii 
what is wanting : so it is ordered. I dearly foresee that Tery Portly-" 
in a month^ees — peihaps in a week — we shall be richer toan oTer we 
were before. One must then put oneself on a propw footing. For me^ 
I shall wear these things not a moment longer tnan I can help ; it would 
be wrong, with our fortone, to do so. And then we riiall leraoTO to a 
larger a^ finer apartment, widi plenty of attendants ; and if there are 
amusements to be found in this city, those we shall enjoy. So we AuJk 
pass the winter. After that, when it is no longer disagreeable to traTol, 
we shall go back to Bordeaux, for by the time the spring comes my 
brother will be reconciled to his gOTomment, or, if not, he will continue 
here, making a stiO larger fortune." 

^ Ah, but my dear aunt, yon do not tbiinkh possible for us to separate 
fitMU my £rther f 

^ I do not say that must be die cue. I only suppose the worst : if 
his goYemmeat snould be inexorable." 

" In that case we also must remain. I, at least. '^ 

^ One would ahnost imagine, L6onie, you had a liking for this stupid 

*^ I cannot say it is not sow See, dear aunt We came here poor and 
friendless. At present, we are at our ease, and my father has gained 
friendB ; more— he will, perhaps, as you say, make a fortune. In France, 
nothing was possible to us. We have ererywhmre met with kindness 
here : so gay a country, or so agreeable as our own, this is not, but still I 
should be sorry to forget that it has helped us at our need. Yon have 
ac^owledged, dear aunt, that it is the only f^ace where money can he 
madet, and under our ciremnstanees that is almost everything." 

«* You do not wish, then, again, to return home — to Bordeaux !" 

*' Oh, that is a diflTerent thing altogether. I kve no pkoe like Bor- 
deaux ; but my father to me is Bordeaux while we are absent from it." 

The day-dream of Madame Brochart was beginning to melt away 
before the leality of L6onie's words, and her temper, which very un- 
easily bore with oppeei^on, might have brdcen out in set phrase, but 
a tap at the door prevented her r^ly. 

** If you please, miss," s»d the maid of the hoase— « ** party*' with a 
anodged hct, very led^nnsy and aa eKoeedingly dirty qnran— ^if yov 

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please, miss, there's a carriage-lady below as wants to know if she <$a& 
oome up." 

** A lady, to see me !" sMd L^nie. *' And I knowing no«body. That 
is singular. But pray admit her." 

"What, miss?" 

" Say I shall be very happy to see her." 

" Oh, I foivot ; she said I was to give you this." And the damsd 
pushed into Leonie's hand a risiting-card, which now bore the Tirid 
impression in black lead of a good-siaed thumb. 

L^onie had scarcely time to prepare her aunt for the arrival of a risitor, 
when the rustling of silk was heard, and the doorway was filled with the 
ample presence of Madame Rodeck, who, as soon as she entered, b^aa to 


*< If you were English people," she said, " I should apologise for 
coming in this way; but living in France so long as I have done, I know 
if s not necessary. You have my card, but aftpr all that does not tell you 
who I am, for 1 don't think Monsieur Lepage knows my name yet, as I 
only had the pleasure of seeing him once — ^this very morning — and that 
for so short a time. I can't tell you how much I like him, and my 
cousin, Mr. Powell Jones, is equally delighted." 

"Ah, madame!*' replied L^nie, "you are then the relation of my 
lather's kind fnend who takes so much interest in his invention. Fray 
do me the honour to take a seat. This, madame, is my aunt, my htherB 

" What a good, excellent person she seems," said Madame Rodeck—* 
" and how like Monsieur Lepage — and so are you, too, my dear, only fifty 
times handsomer. I may shake hands with her, I hope I What a charm« 
log little dog, too ! A Loulou, is it not ? Your manage is really quite 
complete— that is to say, it would be if Monsieur Lepage were here. I never 
in my life met with a person of so much talent. To be sure, I was in 
some degree prepared, for my cousin had written to me about him in such 
very high terms ; nothing at all^ however, to come up to what he 
actually is." 

L6onie was too well pleased to hear her £Bither praised to object to the 
manner of it, and timidly expressed her assent. 

" If, indeed, madame^ you knew also how good he is a man, your 
pleasure would not be the less." 

" I am sure of it. Most amiable — ^most charming. Now, my dear, I 
will tell you the cause of this impromptu vbit. You must know, if there 
is one set of people on earth I am fonder of than another, it is the French. 
They were so excessively kind to me when I lived in Paris — af^ I lost 
my poor husband" — a richly embroidered handkerchief was raised here, 
but did not reach Madame Rodeck's eyes — " that really, I make it a point, 
whenever I have the opportunity, of endeavouring to repay their hospita* 
lity. I have a sweet place in the country, and the most delightful ac- 
quaintance— ^ou would so like them ; and when we know each other a 
httle better, I hope I shall be able to persuade you to come and stay with 
me ever so long. In the mean time, my cousin, Mr. Powell Jones, has been 
good enough to place his large house in town — close by here, in St Jacob's* 
square — quite at my disporal. You must come and see me there— and 
your aunt too, of course — and.we won't leave the pretty little dog behind 
'—quite a fiiinily party, t* Loulou I Loidou I What a fong coat— what a 

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tmiy taO ! What's hif name? Asor I How romantio ! I had a Hide 
dog ODoe named Rosa, the same name almost^ quite a coincidenoe." 

And she took Aaor in her arms and kissed him seTeral timee, while 
Ifadame Brochart looked on and smiled. 

** Now, my dear," she continued, setting the dog down again, and 
tnniing to Leonie, ^* what do you say — ^when will yon come and see me? 
I have some dreadful law-business concerning my poor husband's affiurs'* 
—here the handkerchief made another twirl — ''which will keep me 
a week or two in town. It isn't the season, and nobody just now is in 
London, so it wiD be quite a charity of you ; besides, I must tell you « 
secret, diough you would very soon have found it out I hare taken suck 
a £uicy to you ! "My passion is beauty. English girls are all yery well, 
but tliey have so little soul in them ! For one pretty French girl 1 oouU 
^w you, perhaps, ten pretty English ones — but when you do meet 
beauty in France it is beauty. You see I speak my mind — I'm all above- 
board — I never flatter. Now yon are just my style of beauty. Ah, that 
blush only makes you more becoming. 

L6onie was too much confused by this sudden attack to reply imme- 
diatdy. The daub was coarse, and she felt uncomfortable at hearing a 
stranger address her in such terms; but still, these might be English 
manners, of which she knew nothing, and the intention at all events 
seemed finendly. So she answered that Madame was too good, and that 
she would name her kindness to her fiither. 

'*Then I am sure I have gained my point," said the visitor, '*fer 
Monsieur Lepage is much too polite to refuse to give a lady pleasure, 
especially when, as I hope, it will not diminish that of hb family. What 
charming work that is ! Really, for taste and ingenuity, I always say 
there's nothing comes near the French. I must ask you to teach me how 
to do it ; you will, won't you ? That's a dear girl. Let me call you by 
your Christian name— L^onie ! How pretty ! Now tell me, when can 
you come, always supposing papa gives his consent ? What do you say 
to your all dining with us to-morrow ? I have carte blanche for the 
invitation. Well try and amuse you. Music, and a little ecarti. Madame 
jone k Vecartif Tr^-bien. My cousin is an excellent player: he 
delights, too, in the society of French ladies— and knows how to make 
lumself very agreeable, so you must take care of your heart. Ah, if I 
were to tell you how good he is, you would think I was praising your own 
fiither. Dimng my deepest dlliction" — ^twirl went the handkerchief — 
** but I won't speak of anything sad. I shall consider it a settled thing 
that you come to-morrow. Adieu, Madame. Bonjour, Azor! Fare- 
* well, my sweet young friend. We cannot part like strangers. I must 
embrace you." 

And saluting L^nie's fair cheeks without offering her own, Madame 
Bodeck disappeared as she came, like a hurricane. 

'' Handsome, indeed I" she said, when she got into her brougham again. 
'* I don't wonder at Powell. Everybody has some sudden fancy. Mine, 
for instance, just now is young— As I live, there he is I Herbert- 
Herbert Vaughan ! Confound the noise — (fie, Madame Rodeck !) — ^he 
doesn't hear me. Stop I" She pulled the check-string and the coach- 
man drew up for orders, but she was leaning out of the carriage and 
looking the other way. Herbert Vaughan moved on, unconscious that 
he was observed. Madame Rodeck kept him in view for half the length 

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of ihe street He stopped, looked! up, as if to make sore that he was at 
the right house. The lower part was a goldbeater's shop, and a gilded 
arm and hammer projected above the door. It was No. 36 ; the very 
house Madame Rodeck had just quitted. She watched till she saw 
hhn enter. ** Driye on !" she cried to the coachman, and threw her- 
self back in the brougham. '^ VHiat on earth can have taken him there V* 
she muttered. " But I dare say it's only chance. Very likely there are 
other lodgers in die house besides those French people. Still, if he shotdd 
happen to know the girl ! Well; so much the more reason for my hetp- 
mg Powefl." 

That which Herbert Yaughan supposed might just be posdble, came to 
pass : Monsieur Lepaspe, as we know, was not at home; but the ladies 
were, and he was admitted. Madame Brochart received him with great 
cordiality, L6onie with some embarrassment, and, singulariy enough, he 
preferred the young lady's reception of him to a warmer welcome. By 
oegrees, however, L^ome's embarrassment wore off. Madame Brochart 
talked away with all her might. Herbert was able to tell them a good deal 
about their native city — how he had often walked in the Cours d'Aquitaine, 
and had seen the vineyards which once belonged to Monsieur Lepage, of 
whom, all, he said, that he had met at Bordeaux spoke in the strongest 
terms of regard ; so that the old friendship of a day was more than 

In the exuberance of her recovered spirits, Madame Brochart dwelt 
with great animation on the change which a few days had made in the 
prospects of Monsieur Lepage. Amongst other things that had happened, 
^ une tres grande dame, une dame bien di$tinguSe/' she said, had just 
been to see them — to invite . them to dinner, *^ chez un milord," whose 
name, of course, she could not remember — but L6onie did, no doubt. And 
then came L^onie's explanation, which Herbert heard with more surprise 
dian pleasure. Although five minutes comprised the whole period of his 
acquaintance with Madame Rodeck, he haa seen enough of her during 
that time to inspire him with a strong feeling of dislike to that lady. She 
was the very last woman of all he had ever met with, whom he would 
have selected to form a friendship with L^onie. Her coarseness, her 
boldness, the indefinable something from which delicacy shrank, combined 
to produce a sense of distrust and aversion, and, though he said nothing 
of his own sentiments, he was extremely anxious to know what effect 
Madame Rodeck had created in the mind of Mademoiselle Lepage. 

And this " grande dame,** he asked, whom Madame Brochart appeared 
so greatly to admire, was she indeed a very attractive person ? 

" What shall I tell you p" replied L^nie, speaking EngFish. '* My 
aunt is pleased, no doubt, because the lady fondled Azor : any kindness 
to him she accepts at once for herself. To both of us, also, she was very 
obliging. Still, I cannot sapr that altogether her manners pleased me. 
Her dress is fine, but not qmte in the best taste ; her voice is more loud 
than agreeable, her eyes have in them an expression I do not like. Only 
it is wrong to say this, for everything she said was meant, without doubt, 
for kindness, and I am very ungrateful." 

Herbert did not agree with L^onie's last observation. He was of 
opinion that a person's first impressions were always the most correct : in 
his own case it had invariably been so. L^onie admitted that this might 

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THE Jonrr-STOOK banker. 1 S 

be true in tome instancM, and from the discusnoQ of this questtba they 
mbduailj dropped into the recollections of the evening of their first meet- 
ing. I need scarcely say that when young people revive reminiscences of 
tiiis kind, there can be but one result : the scene returns, with all its illu- 
sions heightened ; the awakened feeling '^ grows by what it feeds on." 

Our experience is filled with the strangest contrasts. The partition- 
wall between the extremes of daily life is so slight that a moment suffices 
to pass from one to the other. A few hoars later, and Herbert, with no 
thoogfat in his mind for any but Leonie, was himself the object of a flame 
as ardent, certainly, if not so pure as his own, and so completely its object 
that he might isdAy be called in a state of siege. 

** I will do aU I can for you,'' repeated Ma£une Rodeok to her cousin* 
after her visit, *'and you must give me every chance with Herbert 

It was easy for a man of so much importance in the world as Powell 
Jones to have excuses at any mpment for the disposal of his time, and 
when he said after dinner that day, '< I am called away on urgent business, 
but I leave you, Herbert, to entertun Madame Rodeck till my retam,** 
it was not for his nephew to suspect a guet-apens^ though such might 
really be the case. The tete-ck'tete to wl^ch he was thus suddenly com- 
mitted, was a very difierent one from that of the morning, with its low, 
whiapered conversation (while Madame Brochart, before the fire, was 
nearly asleep); but there was no help for it, and Herbert accordingly sub- 
mitted with the best grace in his power. Madame Rodeck opened fire 
the moment they were alone. 

^^ You are a pretty sort of person, Mr. Herbert, to cut your friends on 
the very day you make their acquaintance. A lady has no great reason 
to be vain when she is forgotten in half an hour !" 

Herbert professed his entire ignorance of Madame Rodeck's meaning : 
to what circumstance could she possibly allude ? 

** You mean to say, then, I suppose, that you did not see me to-day in 

" Certunly. I never had that honour, from the time I left this house 
until I returned to it." 


" Upon my word.'* 

^* And yet you passed very close." 

"Where was it?" 

" Not ve^ far from Soho-square." 

Herbert Vaughan was an unlucky young man in one respect : he was 
not gifted with his uncle's commana of countenance ; and the blood crim- 
soned his forehead, the more so because he was fully conscious that Ma- 
dame Rodeck's elance was steadily fixed on him. He tried, however, to 
reply indifferent^. 

^* Yes," he said, << I was in that neighbourhood ; but it was new to me; 
and the— the shop I wanted was — I did not quite know where." 

<< A gold-beater's skopy^ observed Madame Rodeck, with an emphasis 
on the last word, '^ is easily found by the sign." 

Herbert's face became even redder than before. 

*' Curse this woman !" he said to himself; then speaking aloud : *^ Ob, 
ah, — a gold-beate/s— yes, I recollect now, it was a gold-beater's I was 

VOL. XL. c 

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looking' for. I aocidentelfy cat mjHA£ thi< mornings and ncanied 
gold-beater's skin/' 

*' Which is always sold by the chemists," returned Madame Eodeck, 
quickly ; *< come, Mr. Herb^ that won't do. You must make a better 
excuse the next time you go on a voyage of discovery and happen to be 
caught in the fact. However," she added, after a shmt paoae^ daring 
whidi she seemed greatly to enjoy lus c(»fusion, *' I have no right to 
inqoire where you go or for wiutt purpose. Only I thought it rather 
hard to be cut so very decidedly." 

^ I assure you, upon my honour, Madame Rodeck," said Herbert) ear- 
nestly, ^* that I had not the slightest intention to do so." 

" Well, well,** she replied, •* you need not look so serious. If yom do, 
I shall begin to think I have really put my £Dot in it." 
This remark was not calculated to make Herbert easier. 
*' I was right," thought Madame Rodeck ; *^ he does know that girl, 
and wants to keep it secret" 

*' Now, tell me," she contbaed^ addressing her victim : '^ you, who 
have travelled so much — which country, after all, do you prefer ?" 
** My own, of course," was the reply. 

^ Yes. But I don't mean exactly that. Which people do you like 
best ? Greek women, Italians, Spanish, German, or — French /" 

^* It is not easy to say : they all have some special quality to admire." 
"As to their beauty?" 
'« That is decidedly a matter of taste." 
"And yours?" 

'^ Oh, mine ? I have met witk beanty everywhere." 
« Abroad ?" 
" And at home, too." 
" Never in Wales, I suppose." 
*« Why not ?" 

" Oh, I thought, from your habits> and — and — " here the lady simu- 
lated a deep-drawn sigh, — " I really don't know why, but I fancied, some- 
how, you could not admire one of your own countrywomoo. People 
never do." 

It was absolutely necessary that Herbert should say something gallant 
in reply to this direct challenge. 

" I believe my own countrywomen," he said, ^' to be as handsome aa any 
in the world. If I never thought so before, the time has arrived to make 
me change my opinion." 

" You are a flatterer," replied Madame Rodeck, smiling. " I am sore 
yon don't mean what yoo say." 

She did, however, look very well by candlelight, and knew it Her- 
bert protested that he was sincere : he could do no less. The adnoission 
once made, Madame Rodeck would not let him escape, but accepted the 
compliment for a tendre$se ; and, once fairly embarked in the fame of 
flirtation, a hi more skilful player than Herbert Yaughan would have 
found the odds too great against him. Amongst her boarding-house 
accomplishments, Madame Rodeck had a good voice : she soon found 
out that Herbert was fond of singing ; the piano was fortunately in good 
order — having been tuned that morning for such an occasion ; and, lead- 
ing ham on from patriotk; airs to stntimeatal ones, — from " The Men of 

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Hail e cli * to " Something more €(iaw w ti sttU," A9 kepi bsm 
WB^ marir mi^gfat; and when Mr. Powell Jonet asked ker, after 
Herbert's departure, whether she had '* fixed him," she apiwejtdt with 
ft look of triumph that was far more eloquent than words. 

A snv nr tbb waoao Bnacnos. 

ALmoucFH aeeustomed to meet diflScultiefl, and endowed with extr»* 
ov£naiy nerre, it was not without a feelmg of misgiving that Mr, Powell 
Jonee prepared for the small dinner-party to whieh the Frendi family 
were mTited. 

A hint from his eoosin had prevented him from asking Herhert to 
join ^m, but as he wanted some one to occupy the attention of Madame 
Brodiart, his faithful ally, Mr. Rigby Nicks, was summoned. 

He was engaged in a low but earnest conversation with that worthy, — 
80 low that Madame Rodeck, who sat but at a short distance from them, 
could only now and then catch a stray word, though her ears were shaarp, 
and she Hstened attentively, — when a full-liveried servant threw open 
the drawing-room door and announced *' Munseer and Miss Lepadge 
and Madam Brusher,'' that being the nearest approach to their names 
which he was able to accomplish. To prevent an immediate ree<^^nition 
by L^onie, which might have been awkward, Mr. PoweH Jones had 
taken eare that there should not be too much fieht in the apartment, 
and, die more effectually to conceal his identity, he assumed a strong 
Welsh accent in welcommg his guests. By this means his formal pre- 
sentation to MademmseUe Lepage took place without her being aware 
that she had ever seen him before. ^ If her memory should serve her 
by-and-by,* he sud to himself •* it is but boldly denying the fact of 
my unhicW escapade : I have face enough for that, I think." 

In the mning-room there was the same device of shaded Hght, the 
lamps being all placed on guSridom and sideboard ; and, seated be- 
tween L^onie ana her aunt, a few minutes' conversation quite sufficed to 
restore his aplomb and dissipate all fear of discovery. Mr. Powell 
Jones was a man who could be very agreeable when he ehose, and on 
this occasion he exerted himself to the utmost. The little French he 
had he made the most of with Madame Bsrochart ; but there was not 
nmch necessity for taking pains in that quarter, as Rigby Nicks — who 
knew Paris almost as well as London — kept her in fuU play with a 
thousand sprightly anecdotes of his experiences abroad, and so charmed 
ihe old lady, that she was quite in the seventh heaven of delight at 
having met with such an agreeable person. On the other hand, Madame 
Rodeck attached herself especially to Monsieur Lepage, and thus the 
field was kept quite clear for the operations of Mr. Powell Jones. His 
maimer towards L^onie was extremely deferential, and ike interest which 
he expressed in her father's affairs had all the aj^iearance of sincerity, 
and completely won upon her guileless nature. Once only, when, for 
an instant, he dropped his assumed accent and spoke in his natural tone, 
a vague idea that nis voice was not altogether strange to her ear, and 
that it recalled some unpleasing a^ociation, threw a shadow over her 
fiur, ingenoo tts eovnteinmce, but the thought eould ^ot fix itself, and 

c 2 

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the doad passed away ; not tmnotioed^ however, by Mr. Powell Jones, 
who speedily returned to his Cambrian style of speech, and soon ob* 
literated the casual impression. 

Although he full well remembered the scorn and indignation with 
which L^onie had repelled his insolent advances, he still, in his secret 
heart, believed that she, like all other women — such was his creed — ^was 
accessible : the only question with him was, on which side ? Young, 
beautiful, and a Frenchwoman, she must, he thought, be fond of plea^ 
sure, and her recent privations would naturally excite in her a keener 
desire for its enjoyment. But the pleasures which Leonie admitted she 
delighted in, were not the ordinary ones of her age and country. She 
liked society, liked feteSy and theatres, and public amusements, all well 
enoush, but her passion was '^ the country :" she never tired, she said, of 
the charms of nature, and her chief personal regret since she came to 
England had been occasioned by being pent up within the narrow streets 
of a city. 

Mr. rowell Jones would more willingly have heard a different story, 
for his own tastes were anything but rural, and he had, moreover, great 
fidth in the seductions of a town life ; but his bow was fumuhed with 
another string. Was he not a mountaineer by birth, a native of the most 
picturesque part of the island, the owner, in net, of property in the most 
beautiful part of Wales P On this theme he expatiated with as much 
eamestnesa as if to return to the country, never to quit it again, were the 
sole object of his exbtence. But, he added, how could a man like him- 
self, bound to the world by occupations which it was impossible to shake 
off, ever hope to realise that dream ! There was but one thing — and now 
it was that the alteration in his manner already jidverted to took place — 
there was but one thing which could make him jend asunder the fetters 
imposed by his duty tomrds the public : if another person could be found, 
lovely, accomplished, such as he might perhaps hope some day to meet 
with, who for his sake would relinquish the world and share his fortunes, 

then, indeed But here^ the sudden thought that dbturbed Leonie 

caught his attention, — ^he found he was beginning to make love too 
soon ; and turning the subject, he said, with a laugh, that she must not 
set him down for an enthusiast. It was true, he did enjoy the country, 
but he liked also to have people about him : they were no hinderance to the 
indulgence of a man's inclinations : it was his custom to fill his house 
with visitors, — ^ladies often honoured him by being amongst them ; and he 
trusted, when the summer came, that he might have the satisfaction of in- 
cludmg Monsieur Lepaee, his amiable sister, and Mademoiselle amongst 
them. But he feared ^t he had a dangerous rival in thb respect, for 
Madame Rodeck had told him that she was bent on carrying L^nie out 
of town with her, and *'when once she takes possession," added Mr. 
Powell Jones, " such is her affectionate deposition, she never can bear to 
part with her friends." He then launched out into an extravagant eulogy 
on his interesting cousin, which lasted till it was time for the ladies to 
withdraw, and L^nie rose from the table^ a little in doubt as to the 
justice of her first opinion of Madame Rodeck, and very fsivourably im- 
pressed with her host. 

The interval since he last saw Monsieur Lepage had not been thrown 
away by Mr. Powell Jones. Herbert's suggestion, that he should use his 
influence in high quarters to obtain from the French government permis- 

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non finr die loTentor to return to hit natiTe coontiy, harmonieed only too 
w^ with a plan of hie own to allow him to neglect it. He nerer 
aenouBlj intended to take any steps in the matter, but he resoWed to act 
as if such had been the ease, not only for the sake of appearing kind* 
hesrted in the eyes of Herbert Vaughan and the Inrentors family, bat 
for a ^Mcial private reason. Amongst the words uttered by L^nie» when 
he aoeosted her so rudely in the street, she had intimated that her father 
was a man of honour, and would know how to arenfe an insult offered 
to his dukL Powell Jones, with more effronteir than most men, and 
daring enough in the ordinary circumstances of li/e, had not the courage 
to meet the issue of the wrong he meditated, and if he could get Monsieur 
Lepage entirely out of the way, he imagined his success certain. He ac- 
corainp^y took into his counsels Mr. Rigby Nicks, the confederate in all 
his schemes, and between them they devised the means of deceiving 
Monsieur Lepage into the belief that his pardon had been procured. The 
subject was broadbed as soon as they found themselves alone with the un« 
sospecting Inventor. 

^ Well, Monsieur Lepage, I am glad to tell you," said Mr. Powell 
Jones^ ^^that the ^Air Transport Company' is getting on funously. 
Lord Leatherhead, to whom I named it to*aay, has consented to be the 
President, and his weight and importance are inmiense. OtA* friend, 
Kigby Nicks, as you know, has been exerting himself greatly, and the 
latest news from the City represents the moneyed men to be full of 
eagerness to take shares." 

^* Yes," said Mr. Rigby Nicks, asseverating his principal's statement, 
according to his custom, with an oath, — " yes — so help me I it's a fietct. 
I was talking to a broker about them this very afternoon, after business- 
hours, and he said he was ready to go in for five hundred himself, and 
hoped we would let him have 'em. I told him we couldn't do anything 
of the kind : fifiy was the outside, and even that number I coulon't m 
certain ci, for my private list was quite full. What amount, sir, did you 
finally resolve upon issuing?" 

" Why," rephed Mr. Powell Jones, who was the person appealed to, 
" I tbouriit of twenty thousand at ten pounds for the English market, 
and half that quantity for the French, with a reserve to meet any 
ezceasiye demand." 

**FoT de French!" exclaimed Monsieur Lepage. '^ Ab, you tink of 
go to France wiz dem." 

*< Certainly : I anticipate that they will stand as well on the Bourn as 
in 'Change-alley, if not better. In the first place, you know your 
countrymen have always been dabblers in balloons ; and in the next, your 
name as the Inventor would go a long way." 

^ Ah, mon Dieu!" said Monsieur Lepage, "if I could but be in Paris 
to explain my projet^ den I should be y^-vj sure I" 

*• Who can tell," observed Mr. Powell Jones, smiling, "what may not 
come to pass?" 

^ Vat you mean, sare?" asked the Frenchman. 

*^ I mean that I have got a little surprise in store for you." 

^ Comment ! you vill surprise me ?" 

'^Now, tell me candidly, Monsieur Lepage, should you really like to 
go to Paris?" 

'<aje desire yaUer! 

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*^ fhq>paie you were no loDger prosdribed !" 

^ Vbat you #8y ? I no loader «c» pnmcrUl Ah, . no fortune 40 ^eod 
■ tmae. 

" But it M, though Tbe faet ib, you jure &ee to returji whenevar you 
pkase. Is BOt that tfie case, Rigby ?" 

^ So h^p me !" affirmed the Vioe-ChainDan. 

^8urely, eare, you have too moih good^ness to laugh at my nose ! 
I «a»-not beHevie in dat !" 

^ Just listen £»r a moaient, and when your eacs ave sattified I will give 
you oeular deflaion«tration." 

'^ Liflten," repeated Kigby Nioke ; " it's worth your while, so help nie !'' 

'< The truth iv, my dear Moaeieur Lepage," pursued Mr. FowellJoaes^ 
pvepariaig hiaiaelf for a virtnous confession,— '^ the truth is, your character 
has inspired me with the highest esteem, and I said to myself^ the very 
first tiflEie I saw you, if I can do that man good I will. I knew it was 
easy to put money in your way ; hut that, I felt, was not enough to make 
you a happy home. There were others, as I became aware^ whom you 
thought of more than yourself " 

'^ Ah, dat is true T interrupted Monsieur ILtepage, his eyes listening 
with tears. 

^' Why should they also be condemned to exile ? was the question yom, 
asked yourself, and I did the same. With Monneur Lepage's talents, I 
reflected, he will soon establish himself well — I can help him there, too ; 
but all the talent in the world, unless he has political intesest, cannot 
referee the decree which sent him out of France a bani^ed man. So I 
Qame to the resolution to leave no stone unturned till I had done for you 
what you could not accomplish for yourself. Hear me xmt — you shall 
then say what you please. Yesterday morning, after you left me, I 
went to our Foreign Secretary and told him all — a great deal more 
than I seed now repeat. He was to have an interview with the Freneh 
Ambassador within a couple of hours, and promised to lay your case 
before him. I observed to him, ^ My lord, if you kindly undertake mj 
fiaead's case, allow me to remind you that he gives twice who gives 
<jpuekly.' His lordship understood me, and before I laid my head on my 
pillow kst night I had the satisfaction of reflecting that, unlikfi thia 
Roman Emperor, I had not lost a day. A private note fipom \h» noble 
Secretary — here it is, but I may as well read it — informed me that the 
Ambassador had telegraphed to the Tuileries, and the electric wire seat 
hack a fiwourable answer." 

Mottsievir Lepage buried his £iice in his hajids, overcome with emotioa, 
while Powell Jones and Rigby Kicks exchanged glances. The fonner 
continued : 

^' There was no use in doing things by halves. That you might not 
be kept in suspense until the ^rmal pardon was made out^ I myself pro- 
eoffed a provisional order from the Ambassador for you to proceed to 
Paris ; and our friend here, who is as warm in the matter as I am, got it 
stamped at the Frepch Consulate, and paid the necessary fees.^ 

'< Ah, Monneur Pdjone ! ah. Monsieur Rigby NickT This was all the 
Inventor was able to articulate. 

« One thing, however, is necessary," said Mr. Powell Jones. 

'^ Vat is dat ? If an honourable man can do it, it is done." 

<< It is simply, that you should lose no time in takiiy upjoar j 

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« I Till go at Tonce!" 

** I thought 80, — and at the same time, while your own affairs are. 
being arranged, you eaa iateodaee the ' Air Transport Company' on the 
Paris Bourse, Any funds you may want I will advance, and we can 
settle bjW^." 

"MotBiear Poljoae," said the Inventor, '^you are for me ^ bon 
IMem ! I neiaie loMwr how good is de Englishman. Vous me combiez 
de bUafaitt. Ah, sare, I ehoke myself wbea I try to speak ray recom- 

''Come, come; youoyerrate the little service I have rendered you. 
Why, we ^lall profit hy your going to France as nuoh as yourself. 

** So lielp me !" c^aeukted Mr. Nicks ; and indeed, this time, he spoke 

^ Bat," pnrsiied Mr. Powell Jones, ** in talking ahout this matter we 
htm fsrgotton the most inatenal thing. Give Monsieur Lepage the 
panpori, that he may be sure it's all right." 

From a side-poeket Mr. Righy Nicks drew forth a papei^ which he 
canfoUj miiblded, and then handed to the Inventor. The Imperial 
Arms, — the Freneh Ambassador's style and titles, — his signature,— the 
iimhres of the Embassy and the Consulate, — the designation of Monsieur 
Gaatave Lepage, — all wero there, everything was en riffle^ or seemed to 
bo ao. 

The Lnmitor hastily read the document through. 

** It say notingy'^ he reoMirked, '' about my sisterre and L^onie.* 

^ Of comrse sot," returned Mr. Powell Jones, — ^' they have committed 
ao politaeal ofienoe. Their names could hardly appear with yours. You 
must conader this more in the light of an order Ux you to i^pear than a 
traveUiBg paesport for yourself and family. The form must be gone 
4bvoagh just as it is written here. In a week or two hence, — it is no 
^mj hmg time — you can retom and make arrangements for removix^ 
altogether. Meanwhile my cousin, Madame Rodeck, will take care of 
yo«r ladies : they will be perfectly safe with her." 

** l&bdame est trop bonne pour moi. Quelle bont6 ! I nevare shall 

Pereatving that Monsienr Lepage was all impataenoe to communicate 
dw good news to Madame Brochart and Leonie, Mr. Powell Joaes broke 
lip & sederwut^ and they went up-stairs. 

To dwell upon the joy it caused them both is needless, f<Mr with the 
best inclinations in the world towards the good city of London, the mo- 
■ient of departmne firom it is, perhaps, the pleasantest that most French 
Tisitors experience. This, however, was not exactly ^e case with Leonie, 
for her heart was warm with gratitude to her supposed benefactor, and 
another leeling pleaded in her bosom in faTOur of her place of refuge ; 
-SO tiiai she was easily reooneiled to the prolongation of her stay — apart 
&am ho* £atfaer--daring the brief interval that was necessary for him ix> 
he absent 

^ They mi^ do what th^ please with Monsieur Lepage," said Mr. 
Powell Jones to his pillow that night, ^ provided they ke^ him fast. 
If L^ooie is not mine, now, — and on my own terms, — I have sofaemed 
io little parpoee." 

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Thb Government of President Fierce appears to be resolved, as long at 
its brief tenure of office remains, to cany out, no matter at what cost, the 
Monroe doctrine of America for the Americans — that is, for the United 
States people, the Americans, we soppose, par Sminence^ and no inter- 
ference to be allowed on the part of the rest of the world. The new 
American minister, Mr. Dallas, commenced his communications with her 
Majesty's Government by saying that he thought it rieht to announce 
that the President had adopted the Monroe doctrine as the foundation of 
his system of government The question of the dismissal of Mr. Crampton 
and the three consub may be considered as at an end. It is superseded bj 
an accomplished fact. The American Government, absolving her Ma- 
jesty's ministers from guilt or complicity in proceedings which they re- 
garded as an infringement of the laws and sovereign rights of the States, 
still insisted upon the removal of the ambassador and consuls, from their 
being pe|Vonally unacceptable. Her Majesty's ministers, who rather than 
be exposed to so undignified an infliction, should have withdrawn ih&x 
officers and agents when that withdrawal was first asked for, have ac- 
cepted the compromise tendered, sacrificed their representatives, and, 
more happily for the peace of the world than creditable to either their 
policy or dignity, have declared that there shall be no retort courteous, no 
dismissal of Mr. Dallas, and no suspension of diplomatic relations with the 
United States. This is the conclusion which all well-wishers to mankind 
were anxious should be arrived at, and which all parties, save those who 
have nothing to lose by a general war, have desiderated. But it is impos- 
sible, at the same time, to blind ourselves to the fact that the dismissal of 
the British aonbassador and consuls has its origin in other facts and feel- 
ings than the mere enlistment question. It had its origin in the develop- 
ment of the Monroe polic^^— a system of isolation totally unsuited not omy 
to the age in which we live, but also to the close and intimate intercourse in 
which we live with the people of the United States, and vet which they 
are not the less bent upon carrying out As Mr. Disraeu stated in the 
House of Commons, it is the belief on the part of the United States that 
the British Government is animated by sentiments hostile to the legiti- 
mate (?) development of their power, which has excited the feeling that 
has seised upon the enlistment question as a means of expressing th^ 
dissatisfaction and distrust 

This being the case, we may fiurly turn away from this part of the 
question to that which concerns the aggressive policy of the United 
States. There cannot be the slightest doubt entertained that sooner or 
later, slowly or rapidly, decently or brutally, on one pretext or another, 
with or without disguise, the' United States will seek to extend their sway, 
by process of absorption and annexation, over the whole of Mexico and 
Central America, and stretch their Republican Empire from Maine to the 
Isthmus of Panama, and thence to tne Andes. Mr. Marcy's so-called 
conciliatory despatdies, happily received and esteemed as such, clearly 
and distinctly avow a system of aggression. In the first place, referring 
to the proposed arbitration of a tiiird party, Mr. Marcy states that be 

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ctanoi see how mn advene coDftruetion of the interpretatiim of the eoo- 
-veDtkm of April 19th, if it were adopted by an arbiter, ooold tennioale 
the diibfeDce. The Earl of Clarendon aMomed that, at the date of the 
treaty. Great Britain had poeseenona in Central America. But Mr, 
Jiu^ intimates that the American Goremment does not nnderstand ihat^ 
at the date of the treaty. Great Britain had any possessions, or oocopied 
any tenitoiy in Central America. And besides^ if it did, the treaty was 
to be letrospeetiTe ; and in consideration of the Amoricans declininf^ to 
invade and ooenpy the territories now belonging to the Central Amenoan 
B^mhlics^ Great Britain most also withdraw from any p o s sessi ons she may 
Jbold, or toritoriesshe may have oocopied, no matter how long dmebaek I 
This may be a conciliatory adjudication of the Central American di£fer- 
enee, hot it b most assuredly a rery egotistical and a very imperioiis one 
— one to adnt whidi would be m every sense deeply humiliating to 
Great Britain. The American Government oonsoQts to arbitration on 
the geograplucal part of the question, as to what are the rightful limits 
of establisbment at Belixe on the ride of the State of Honduras, die 
quesiaoQ whether the Bay Islands do or do not belong to that repubUc, 
and the question as to what extent of country is embraced in the term 
'^ Mosquito coast,'' or is in actual occupancy of the Mosquito Indiuis — 
considered as Indians — to one or more of those eminent men of science 
who do honour to the intellect of Eurt^ and America ; but the treaty or 
convention of the 19th of April, as viewed by the American GovemnMuat, 
and as applyii^ retrospectively, is to remain in force. Upon that question 
tfa^re is to be no arlntration ; upon the sense of that treaty we are told 
the Americans have made up their mind, and they will not change it for 
«ny arbiter in the world. 1£ the English can establish by arbitration a 
ri^t to the protectorate of the Mosquitos^ or to the occupancy of the Bay 
iSands as &r as title goes, even then the treaty is against it, and to that 
view of the treaty we are bound to submit! 

TheClayton-Bulwer treaty supposed, according to the Americ»Eui verrion, 
an equality of non-occupancy attaching on both sides — the United States 
and (xreat Britain— as regaids Central America. But England did not 
understand it in that light ; its Government understood Mr. Clayton's as- 
sertion, made b his letter of July 4, 1850, to Sir H. L. Bulwer— " that the 
British settlement in Honduras (commonly called British Honduras, as 
distinct from the State of Honduras), nor the small islands in the neigh- 
bonrfaood of that settlement, which may be known as its dependencies ; and 
that to this settlement and these islands the treaty we n^fotiated toae not 
intended by either of us to apply"— to be a bon&fide and honourable state- 
ment ; and they continued in their occupation of British Honduras and its 
dependent islands. We are now told that there is no such a thing as British 
Honduras ; there is only Beliae, which, says Mr. Marcy, ^* is not, and never 
was any part of Honduras ;" and what is more, that, as the English have 
gone on ococq»ying portions of Central America, the Americans will set 
about to occupy the other portions, soon, no doubt, to expel by force of 
arms the intru&ig Britishers; and the treaty, by the violation of it by 
.both sides, is practicaUy dissolved, and has ceased to exist 

In the presence of such a gprievous state of tilings, emanating from 
doctrines whidi no pretender to political or any other morality could 
support f<HP a mcmient, it M deeply interesting and instructive to find that 

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•fintidi steteMen Md Biitidb peoffe aoe ilill imiiad and datflantaad te 
jM«rt die fwbwitwii of war -m loog at k is possible to do ao. It is true 
doit tke earnest and el'oqoes^ '^Pl^ ^ ^>^ Disneli, in the fmeence of 
mtth a state of dmigs fiOk Bat and vd^eded, but it is not tbe less full 
Af gfa«e iiaport: ^< It is a^ opniiaii thai all tbat Aaierioa has Nearly a 
fi^ ta^espeot sine nay obtam, without injury eitkerto Europe in gaoeDsi 
orio Skgland in pardcukc, aod that it is tlie bustness of a statowap to 
feoognise the necossity of an i n cw as o in her power, and at die aama 
^um to make her andoBtaod that she wiU awst surely aoeom^dish adl the 
cbjeets she propoees to heaself by reoogaising those priaciples of inters 
■ti^t*".!^ law which in civilised eomsnimities have always been upheld, 
and to impress upon her that, instead of vacmting that die will fantld her 
gveainess on the Mooioe dodiine, wbieh is the doetrine of isolation, she 
mould seek to attun it by deilBRtag to the pobHc law of Europe, and by 
allowing her destiny to be regulated by tbe same high prineiples of policy 
which idi natk>n8 wfasch ha/re great deetiittes to aceompltth have invariably 

The States of South Amenea, Lord John Rinsell justly remarked, so 
lar from realising tbe ezpeetatkms of Mr. Canning, that we had created 
a new world to restore tbe balance of the old, hafs^ hardly been able to 
maintein order within their own limits. Still less have they been able ta 
attempt any great conquests; nor has the stronger among them been 
able BO comj&tely to Tanqmsb the weaker as to form any great and 
powerful state in Central America. The State of Nicaragua, great as her 
pretensions were to ihe dominion of the Mosquito coast, and little as she 
regarded the obligations with us iriuch had descended to her in ooi^ 
aequenoe of our former treaties with Spain, has not been id>le either to 
&L herself upon the Mosquito coast, or to overcome that colony o£ 
mtrious Europeans — Englishmen and others — and citiseas of the United 
States, which has been established at Ciieytown. In the mean time, a 
miKtary adventurer, Genend Walker, by taking the part of one faction 
against another, has obtaiaed very considerable power in Nicaragwi, and 
it is UB(H« than probable that Presideot Bivas wiU be induced by him, 
and with his aasistance, or rather through his means, to invade the Moe- 
qmio coast and make an attack upon die inhabitants of Greytown. it 
will not only be very difficult in auch a case to prevent collision between 
the ships and Ibroes of Great Britain and America, bat it is almost cer- 
tain that no British ministry will penait so old a protectorate as the Moa- 
qaito kmgdom to be invaded with impunity. When first General 
Walker invaded Nieaiagua and, overthrowine the ezisdng govemm^it, 
aleoted his creature, Don Patricio Bivas, to the nominal head of affuns, 
m asinister was sent to Washingt(m ; but at that time Piresident PiOTce 
had not the effiontery to recognise the government so established. Bat 
efents progressed : the Costa Bicans and Guatemakas took np aims, dm 
aaaall band of filibusters was threatened with exterminatioo, and the 
Manroe pohcy with being nipped in dw bud; so it was necessary dMt 
«ome decisive stm should be taken to ensure reinlbreements, and the 
President resolved upon recognising the ^Rcaragnan Walker-Bivas Go- 
femment as that aoeepted i^ tbe people of the oovntry. Fiom that 
fima the Government, who have expelled the minister of a fiiendty 
'te was even svppoaed tocoanive at anUstment in the 

Digitized by CjOOQIC 

Jmfe ■rtuttliy ptrmitfad (iieir ewa thifw to. oaavty Juan aad 
autttaij stores lo Nicaragua to awell the Ibisees of &b Skxhmtma^ and 
wppfirt ank war m a aeiglilKHiriBg state ! 

The hd k^ that «o aet of ooartesy on the part <^^tbe Botisk aiuustiy 
voaJd affect the policy of the United States ms at this aMment haL^ 
OMoried «iii in Central Ajneriea. The existing demoeratic GoaemaMiil^ 
a gow a d ly xasolTed to carry out the Monroe principles, will do 00^ wbethsr 
at the nsk of war with Gmat Bntain or Bot, at the same tisf^ that the 
Govanuneat and the people of the United States plaee such fonfideoee 
m the peaoe&l diflpos^tioBs of Gftat Britain, as to lead them ta believw 
tkat they woald rath^ permit the United States to have their wajr ia 
thetr af gressive designs — as they did in Califflinia, in Texas, ana m 
Oregon — than go to war. They aiay kave nasoaed correctly ; but they 
anil have to go on cautiously to avoid collisions in cairyiag out their 
iotenticMM, and it will be as well that ihty do not begm by invadiag 
tendtories in the posaoseion af, or under the (woteotcvate of, Great 

It is believed, also, that belore committing tbeaiselves so £ur, the 
WaahingtOQ cabinet aseertaiaed the dispositions of the French Emperor 
in ngard to the Ceatral American <{uestion. They are said to have 
satisfied themselves that France would not, in the event of war breakii^ 
out betweoi Great Britain and the United States, draw the swoid sa 
loag as the honour of France remains untouched. But even were it not 
sa^ the Washington cabinet has expressed itself satisfied that even waia 
Eraoce disposed to do otherwise, she cannot do so. The eagerness with 
arliioh she aeespted peace with Russia is well known and appreciated at 
Washington, and tniB explanation of that desire is in her comparative 
aahaiistinn £pom offensive warfiure. The terrible catastrophe of the in* 
qpdations, which have laid waste BK>re thaa thirteen departaaents ; the 
probability of scarcity occurring for the third year consecutively ; the 
asaaiA of speculation, which is to enormously developed m the country ; 
and the gigantic but unsafe projects of the Cs6dit MolHHer, which amst 
inaritably lead to a fear&il commercial crisis ; even the feet of the great 
outlay necessary to keep down the price of In^ad in Paris, at the cost of 
die vest of France ; the possible exigencies of other great towns, should 
Ae af^prehended seardty and consequent deuness <^ food be wialisod^ 
and the general discontent prodaced by these eoaenrreat circumataaoes, 
there is not a doubt were duly weighed by the cabinet of Washington 
jn the oonelnsions drawn as to the impossibility of France taking aa 
actire part with England in rescuing Central Ainerica from iavaaioa. 

The interests of Great Britain are quite as much concerned in Central 
Aaserioa as they were in Turkey. The protectorate of the Mosquito 
king may, it is true, be called a political sentimentality; but why aban- 
don a loag-standing protectk>n merely because that king is weak ? The 
intnests of justice^ honour, and humanity ferbid that even a sahla 
nonaieh should be given over to the tender mercies of Nicaragaan 
filibostefs, merely he^aue the United States choose to give a retrospeo- 
tive reading to a treaty I The Bay Islands, it may be said, are barely worth 
avar; bi^is the day come when Great Britain is to give ap the possession 
aaan of a bare rock in the ooeaa at the bidding of a political rind? Let 
iha United States Govecaaoent prove 1^ arbitration dieir daim to « ratoa- 

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spectiTe reading of the treaty, and Great Britain might peaoefully 
evacuate the islands in dispute ; bnt this they refbse to do : they aajr, 
bully-like, that their minds are made up upon that point, and they will 
have their own version of the treaty. Belize and British Honduras are, 
moreover, truly valuable possessions ; and the Americans may be certain 
that whatever cessions may be made by the English to reason and fair- 
ness, none will be made to force, whether brought into operation against 
a defenceless monarch, an isolated rook in the ocean, or a rising British 
settlement and community. The honour of Great Britain is concerned 
in upholding her just rights, and her sun is not yet so far set that she is 
prepared to abandon them at once at Mr. Marc/s haughty declaration 
that the Americans have made up their mind as to the sense to be given 
to the treaty, and they wUl admit of no arbiter in the world ! 

Still, 80 long as actual invasion of British territories, or of territories 
under the protection of Great Britain is avoided, although it is no doubt 
painful to all just and generous minds to stand by and witness wrong 
and oppresrion inflicted by the strong upon the weak, to be spectators of 
high-nanded iniquity, to permit, and in a mann^ to connive at, spoliation 
and injustice, by not interposing to forbid them, nations must not be 
guided simply by instinctive feelings. We are not charged with the 
general police of the universe. All Europe is equally aggrieved with 
ourselves. Let the Powers say so. We cannot undertake knight- 
errantiy throughout the world, and fight the battles of France, Grer- 
many, Russia, and Turkey, at the Isthmus of Panama. On the contrary, 
our interests in the latter great thoroagh£Bure are not greater than those 
of other countries. The projected opening of a new and direct route to 
the Levant, Persia, India, Central Asia, and China, by some thousai&ds 
of miles shorter than that by the Isthmus of Panama or Darien, takes 
away immensely from the importance of that line, and acts as a safety- 
valve to peace. 

We could not hinder the ultimate absorption by the Anglo-Saxon race 
of the Central American States, if we did our utmost All experience 
has shown that the weak cannot permanently be protected against the 
strong. The semi-civilised, semi-Spanish, degenerate Mexicans and 
Nicaraffuans, with their incurable indolence and their eternal petty 
squabbks, with their effeminate habits and their enfeebled powers, cannot 
long strive against the unresting, inexhaustible energies of the Anglo- 
Saxon Americans. Criminal, coarse, violent as they often are, it cannot 
be denied that they rule and conquer by virtue of what remains to them 
of the manhood of their progenitors. 

Therefore, though we see clearly whither the aggressive and avaricious 
passions of the United States are leading them ; though we hold their 
absorbmg and annexing policy to be criminal ; though we are convinced 
that, like all other crimes, it will entail its own certain and bitter penalty, 
yet there can be no hesitation in saying that it is not for England to 
take upon herself either to award or to inflict that penalty. On the 
head of the guilty nation be the condemnation and the consequences of 

The anticipated election of Mr. Buchanan to the Presidency, in the 
place of Mr. Pierce, promises some respite to the propagandism of the 
Monroe doctrine. It is pretty generally believed, although Mr. Bu- 

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chanan k a democrat, that has election will be a guarantee for domestic 
quiet, and for friendly relations with foreign Powers. Such an election 
is ixk, howerer, forourabl/ Tiewed by the whole of the United States 
people, for we are told by the New York Herald^ in for different lan- 
guage than we should hare thought proper or becoming to use in these 
disenssions, that — 

" We have no doubt of the fact that a vast majority of the American 
people in the present £stracted condition of the country are opposed to 
the Democratic party, as debauched and demoralised under the malign 
influences of this Pierce administration, and to belieye that there wodd 
still edst a majority of the American people opposed to the ratification 
of the debaucheries of this corrupted party, even if they should nominate 
as their representative an angel from HeaTen.** 

It is truly, deeply to be desired, for the sake of our brethren beyond 
the Atlantic, and for the sake of humanity at large, that the hopes 
founded up<Mi the election of Mr. Buchanan will not be disappointed. 
But whe^er this be the case or not, we feel equally certain that the ex- 
tension of the federal territories to the south must ultimately bring about 
the seyerance of the Slave States frt>m those in whidi slavery is not 
npbekl. There is no doubt, also, that that which would most contribute 
to posQxme that severance, and to bind the Northern States to the guilty 
and suicidal policy of Mr. Pierce's pro-slavery government, would l>e 
armed mteorference on our part. 

The New England States, and the Free States generally, are well 
aware that these seizures and annexations towards the tropics are done 
mainly in the interest of slavery, and on that account tney are vehe- 
mently hostile to all such proceedings. If left to themselves, and un- 
irritated by foreien intervention, they will take up the matter as one 
vitally affecting we great internal question of the Union ; for they feel 
that their success or foilure, their position, their preponderance, are the 
points really and immediately at issue. The absorption of Mexico and 
Central America renders the indefinite augmentation of the Slave States 
not only possible but certain ; and in the severance of the Union with 
the Free States they would be compelled to seek emancipation from the 
degraC^g connexion and the indelible blot. 

Everything tends to show that even apart from such extensions and 
annexations the slavery question is drawing to a crisis within the ter- 
ritory of the United States itself. Take, for example, the abuses that 
have been gmng on in Kansas, part of what was lately known as the 
Nelnaska territonr, on the western tributaries to the river Missouri. 

By the Nebraska Act, which received the signature of the President in 
1864, it was enacted that each new state or territory should, through its 
Legislature, decide whether it should be free soil or slave soil, instead of 
leaving that question to the decision of Conmss, as had been the case 
frmneriy. Under this act the election of the Kansas Le^slature was ap- 
pointed to take place in March, 1855; and, if the decision had been left to 
the bonafide inhabitants of the territory, there can be no doubt thev would 
have established freedom by a large majority. But this was what the 
slaveholders were determined to prevent at all hazards. Accordingly, 
when the day of election arrived, large bands of slavery-men from Mis- 
soari, armed, with bowie-knives and Colt's revolvers, passed over into 

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18 tms AKSRicAiv n&wKmjtr. 

HaiMss, drove H^ free setters from the polls by force snd iiitiiiiid«ikNi) 
and elected a slave Imslatvre. This fllegal poniament assembled shortlj 
afterwards, and passed a nmnber of laws for the maintenance of slavery. 

The people of Kansas protested against this ootrage, and when the 
* border ruffians" had withdrawn, ele^ed a legislature representing their 
'own opinions on slavery. They also elected a delegate to the Honee of 
Representatives ; and the Missomians, having invaded the territory once 
more, elected a delegate also. 

The free setters applied for admission to Congress through their re- 
presentative, bnl Congress was not able to make up its mind on the sub- 
ject ; all it could do was to appoint a committee of investigation, which 
commenced its sit&gs in ^e town of Laurence last April. The evidence 
ffiven before the committee left no doubt as to the systematic invasion of 
the Missourians, as also dmt several members of the sham legislature, 
which President Pierce recognises as '* the regularly constituted authority" 
in Kansas, have all along been residents of Missouri. 

The pro-slavery party having ascertained that Government, in its 
anxiety to propitiate its party, was ready to back them to any extent, and 
seeing that the evidence brought heme the committee was condurive 
against them, they determined to put down its judicial functions by force. 
They began by sending bands of armed men into the territory, and who, 
mider the pretence of enforcing the laws passed by the sham leg^ature, 
committed the most serious outrages in the hopes of driring the free 
settlers out of the territory. As, however, the latter stood firm to their 
rights and principles, the pro-slavery party had to have recourse to still 
more violent proceedings. They assembled in large numbers, and, backed 
by several pieces of artillery, they advanced oo the 21st of May agamst 
the town of Laurence, the capital of the state, and, though no resistance 
was offered, they destroyed the govemor^s house, the Free State Hotel, 
and two printnig-offices, diot some unoffending free-men, and finally set 
fire to the whole town. 

Look, again, to a more domestic Olnstration of die state of society, and 
of the overt antagonism of the slavery and abolitionist parties, to the 
brutid assault of Brooks upon another senator of the name of Sumner, and 
which, it is said, has aroused a deeper feeling in the public heart of the 
North than any other event of the past ten years. 

The p*eat body of the people (we are told by the New Tork Times), without 
cBstinction of party, feel that their rights have been assailed in a vital point — 
that the blow struck at Sumner takes eflSect upon freedom of speech in that 
spot, where, without freedom of speech, there can be no freedom of any kind — 
ud that the liberties of the Bepuolic may well be rc^;arded as in peril when 
such an act can be perpetrated with impunity. Nor is the act itself half so 
startling as the manner m which it is received. Half a dozen senators stand 
by and see one of their number beaten to the earth without Hftinff a fin^r or 
raising a voice on his behalf. Senator Toombs, always open and frank m the 
avowal of his opinions, stands up boldly and sh^aelessly in the Senate Chamber 
and dechures bis approval of the deed. Senator Douglas, with a craven 
malignity which dare not vent itself in an open endorsement of the act, offers 
to the Senate and the country the sncaiking apology for his refusing to intcnrfere 
between an unarmed, defenoelesSy pinioned senator and his ruffianly assailant, 
that he " feared his motives might be nusconstrued." Sixty-eight members of 
the House of Bepresentatives record their names against any inquiry into this 
murderous assault, committed by one of their number upon a member of the co- 

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1HE AMJBocjeR mwncxjvrt. t» 

otdUamketiniichQf theiMiiaBalLegi^idain Office-hokiera vnfer the Praaidwfc 
ol tlK United States take pains to express tacit i^ftfoval of the act : the Sxe- 
catbe oigaa fails to answer it : a Seoilte cogunittc^ disclaims aU jnrisdiotioii in 
the case; the Ctoyemor of South Carolina heads a sabscmstion for a testimoaial 
of natied approbation to the perpetrator of the assaoU; and the whole pro- 
sfaiTeij press of Tiiginia^ South CazoIiBa, and other Southern States, bursts 
into a choms of savage eoLoltatioii, and calls loudly for a rc»etitioii of* 
the asBaalt mpon other representatires of northern principle ana Northern 
States. These things take this instance of brutality out of the ovdinaiy 
category. They nuike it impossible to regard it as one of those outbreaks of 
passion for which ^o one is responsible but the individual, and which all unite 
to reprobate and deplore. They show that a large, powerfol, aoMl poKticalhf 
dofflinant portion of the American people improve and adopt it, and avow their 
d^ennination to use force as a means of compelling assent to their political 
views aad aeauiesoenee in their political demands. Brute force is thus distinctly 
and openly adopted by the advocates and champions of slavery as a weapon of 
political warfare — as a means of Concessional influence — as a mode of silencing 
opposition and compelling assent, quite as le^timate as argument or eloquence, 
or any of the more common-place resorts of Parliamentary debate. It is not at 
aU surprising that such a demonstration should have startled the public sense of 
tiie l^orth, kdA led to an outbi:£rst of eloquent and indignant protest. It is by 
far the most alannin^ of the many portents that have darkened our pditiGu 
sky within the j^t lew years. It points directly to civil war as the only issue 
of pending political controversies. 

In farther illustration of the social condition of the United States, 
more partieuUrly in reference to the questionB now under eonsiderationy 
we will make a few extracts from the last new book of travel that has 
appeared, Mr. "VHIllam Ferguson's ^* America by Rhrer and Rail.* And 
first, for an example in domestic life of the principle which ffuides the 
people and government alike in their diplomatic and poltticd proceed- 
ings. The scoae is at Baltimore : 

A negro wm drivinff a cart across the line of railway, aad our condoctor 
tkiught he had been msolent in gettmg upon it when he saw us coming up. 
'*6ive it him 1 give it him !" he n»red to tne driver, who immediatelv drove up 
verj quickly, so as almost to come in contact with his cart, though fortunately 
it was just bieyond reach. At this the conductor was very wroth ; and turnip 
to where I was standing, on tbe platfSt^m in front of the ear, he remarked, **il 
the driver of the car beftnre us had been here, he would have taken two wheds 

off that ^'s cart." I asked if the railway had the pri(Mr right oi passing? 

He replied, ** Wdl, the city gives us the right of way through the streets; and 
as to the right to pass first, ttake it, and 1 guess that's just about how the Uw 
stands ;" adding, •* If we did not act so, we woukl not get along at alL" I 
suppose he thought my sympathies were rather with Sambo than with him, for 
he mrther said, "I like to spare the chaps, and don't wish wantonly to harm 
them ; but that fellow had no business to get on the line when he siw the car 

And then, again, as to the avowed reason for increadng the number 
of slave states i 

It was not long ere I got involved with one of them in a deeply-interesting 
conversation upon the subject of sUverv. My foiend is so far a strong pro- 
sbvery man, that he believes it will be abolished, but not now, and he does not 
think it should be meddled with. I said we had met with a fidend of his in 

•America: by Ittvar and Baa. By William Ferguson, PX.a, &e. London: 
James IQsbetttidCa ime. 

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Boston, and delivered a message he bad sent by me about a bet. " Ah^" said 
my friend, " D. is a fine fellow, but be holds extreme views. The constitution 
of the United States neither prohibits nor provides for the extension of slavery. 
D. and the Northerners hold that because it is silent about the extension of 
slaverv, it must be construed as prohibiting it. We, on the other hand, main- 
tain that it may and must be construed as permitting it. To us it is a vital 
'question, as, unless we can hold our own in this respect, the free states will 
soon be a minority and swamp us. Therefore we muti have slave states in- 

Mr. Ferguson's impressioDS of the members of local Houses of Repre- 
sentatives and Senates, were the same as those which were received by 
his predecessors. '* The representatives in both houses,'' he s^, '* are a 
mixed-looking set, and some of them are ' queer' senators. We had no 
one to point out the notables to us, and so we did not stay long, content 
with our impression of the appearance of the Massachusetts Legislature — 
an impression not very fiivourable, so far as respects the dignity and 
decorum one looks for in a country's legislators." There is, however,' 
a very kindly notice of the man who has been hurrying two great 
nations to the very verge of war, possibly merely with the view to secure 
his re-election to the presidential chair. 

(General Franklin Pierce received us standing, shook us heartily by the hand, 
and requested us to be seated. He is tall and thin, has a fine open face, with 
large forehead, and greyish hair. His features do not denote great capacity for 
government. They want firmness and quick decision, but they convey the im- 
pression of honourable and kind-hearted dispositions. He entered into conver- 
sation very cordially and frankly. I said we were much struck with the extent 
of everything in America. He smiled, and said the scale, at least, of things 
was vaster tnan in England. I alluded to railways as a point of prominent 
notice, and one which luul sprang up of late years — that there was a large in- 
terest in them in England ; and that I had come over expressly to see them. 
He replied, he was aware that they were largely held in England; adding that 
thongn generally they might go to England to take lessons m railway-makings 
still there were some points, ne thought, in which I might find that America 
was, so far as re^ds railways even, superior to England. I said, there were 
two points in which they seemed to have the advantage of us— one being in their 
gettinf^ their roads made at so much less cost, and the other their way of getting 
them mto a position to earn income at the earliest possible date ; a proceeding 
which seemed wise, if they foUowed it up by expending money to perfect them. 
He smiled ajgain, and said that, notwithstancUngthe cheapness and early earning, 
I would findsome of them were not worth much. 

He talked of what we had seen, and what we should see, and desired us, 
when we went to the Capitol, to ask for Mr. Walter, the architect, who would 
show us over the buildmg. As we rose to go, he mentioned the specimens* of 
Japanese work below as interesting, and recommended us to see them. Alto- 
gether, he was very cordial 

Here is a spedmen of Toung America : 

Tkursdayf March Stk. — Much amused this morning at the breakfast-table with 
a specimen of Young America. A little boy of six or seven came in alone, and 
sat gravely down, ordered, with the greatest self-possession, beef-steaks and 
potatoes, and awaited their coming with the utmost dignity. We saw thb 
repeated often elsewhere. There are no children, in our sense of the term, in 
America— only little men and women. They seem bom with all the responsibilify 
of citizenship, and wear it with great gravity. The merest boy will give his 
opinion upon the subject of conversation among his seniors ; and he expects to 

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be listened to, and is. The habit gives self-possession, and a fluenoj and ease 
of expressioii, but leads to an undue sense of self-importance among the 

At the aame house — the Clarendon — the tables are waited by giris : 
^' Some of them who are good-looking seem to know it rieht wel^ and 
stand in attitudes often very graceful and pretty* One threw a oom- 
cake at another the other morning ; so there is a good deal of the free- 
and-ea^ with them." 

At dharieston we have more experiences of the antagonism of the 
alavery and anti-slavery states : 

In conversation to-day, I asked if it were the case that the law in this state 
prohibited the education of the negroes ? It was replied, that it was so ; but 
that the law was practically obsolete, as most of the negroes were tauriit to 
read and even write, and no jury would find a verdict were a prosecution at- 
tempted. I was also told that at one time there were free schools for the 
Uacks, and that they had also perfect freedom to go and return to and from the 
other stales. That negroes thus goine to the northern states were laid hold of 
by the abolitionists (who, it was remarked by the way, think there is less evil in 
war, riot, and bloodshed, than in quiet slavery), and stirred up to rebellion. 
That the feeling of disaffection was fostered bv papers circulated among the 
negroes, and that a conspiracy had been formed. The negroes have the keys 
of all houses here. They sleep in out-buildings, but have access to their 
masters' houses at ail times. Tne arrangement was, Uiat on a certain night at 
two o'clock they were to rise simultaneously, murder idl the whites in their 
beds, and take possession of Charleston. A negro, who wished his own master 
to esca^, revealed the plot to him, but got laughed at for his pains. The negro 
then revealed it to another white, who was somewhat sceptical too ; but to 
make sure, he and a companion went one m'ght, armed and oisguised, to one of 
the neg^ meetings. Had they been discovered, they wfere determined to sell 
their hves as dearly as thev could; but they were not found out, and overheard 
the arrangements of the whole plot. Considerable sagacity was exhibited in it. 
For instance, the negroes were to wear white masks and white gloves, so that 
the whites might not know friends from foes. Precautions were at once taken : 
and when the day of rising came, the negroes, to their utter discomfiture, instead 
of finding their masters unsuspecting, iound them qxiite prepared. The ring- 
leaders were taken, and twenty-four of them handed. To secure the whites as 
much as p<»sible from such attempts in future, the law was passed i)rohibiting 
^ instruction of slaves, so that the papers of the abolitionists, even if they did 
find mrcidation, might be powerless; and the same law provides, that if a slave 
once leave the stat^ even if it is along with his master, he may on no account 
re-enter it. The object of this very stringent regulation is, that should any 
coloured person ^ing to the North be tampered with on the subject of slavery, 
he may not have it in his power to introduce his new ideas among those who 
remain slaves. I cannot hear that there is any relaxation of thb part of the 
statute. It is very severe, but not more so than some of the laws on the subject 
of n^roes which are in force in the free states ; and both obnoxious provisions 
were forced upon the South as measures of self-preservation. So they claim it 
to be. 

Negroes are not allowed to be out in the street after ten o'clock at night 
without a written permission. As soon as ten has struck, the bell of St. 
Michael's rings the curfew, and then a tattoo is beat at the head-quarters of 
police, after which all darkies disappear into their houses. One of the negroes 
at the hotel was sent out a message to-night after ten, and received from the 
clerk in the office the necessary pass. 

Mr. Ferguson records of another slaveholder's opinions as follows : 

Mr. L. says that he feels that slavery is slipping away from them. He regrets 

VOL. XL. l> 

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iiiy bat h» eumoi denv that it is so, Emancipntion, he admits, isgainii^ grooad 
in public opinioiv imd will, he fears, become universal. He seems to think that 
it is helped Dj over-indulgence. The slaves in Carolina are allowed to go about 
from plantation to plantation when their work is done, and they meet, ne savs, 
and talk, and he thinks thej are becoming independent and insolent, and, ne 
added, he would not be surprised if it ended in revolt. In Cuba, he says, they 
act much more wiselv. No slave is allowed to cross the border of the plantation 
without a white man oeing with him. And everything, he says, is regulated hj 
law, while here there is none. All this showed a feelmg intensely umavooiable 
to ^e slave. 

Our traveller remarks, curiously enough, ihfit the oowskins with whidi 
thcnr beat the slaves come from the North. "Significant thisF' he 
adds. '^ Is the North quite consistent on the subject of slavery ? I 
think very much t^ reverse." 

We heard of one planter who, for punishment, makes use of the system of 
solitary confinement. The cells are not so high as to permit the negro to 
stand upright. There is a bed in them shaped like a coffin. With the negro 
characteristic of superstitious sensibility, this is a refinement of torture. They 
implore "anything but dat, massa !" Tbtd fear of it is said to be so very effec- 
tual, that it IS never required to be put in requisition. 

We must not pass over a pen-and-ink sketch of General Cass— a roan 
whose name is so intimately mixed up with the history of the United 
States during the present century : 

The general himself I had seen before, and at once recognised. He is a fine- 
loc^dng, portly man, of sixty-five or seventy summers ; his countenance denoting 
strong good sense, and a good deal of determination. He was United States 
minister, he told me, for a considerable time at the court of Louis Philippe, and 
enjoyed the personal friendship of that monarch. In the course of a very 
lengthened and interesting conversation, we talked of the feeling of America 
towards England. He asserted that there is no Russian feeling really, and said 
that the entire sympathy of Americans had been with Bnsland, till thev received 
the report of some speech of Lord Clarendon's, in which he had said that the 
combined fleets now m the Sea of Azof might, ere another summer, be in the 
€hilf of Mexico. They had also heard that Louis Napoleon had said that 
England and France combined could defy the world. These, and such-like ex- 
pressions, he said, had annoyed the Americans, and stirred up a feeling hostile 
to England. He regretted it, he said, very much ; and would deplore a rupture 
with the mother country. It is the alliance with France which thev fear. 
They deprecate England lending herself to France on questions of world-wide 

He also referred to the absurd books written by En^shmen about America. 
They come over here, he said, run over the country for three months, and think 
they understand it. Few, he said, very few understood the fundamental prin- 
ciples of their government. Each state has the entire control of its own 
affairs, although amenable to the general government on matters affecting the 
Union. But with the internal government, or acts of the individual states, the 
general government takes nothing to do. Even this, he complained, was not 
understood; and when states, such as Pennsylvania and Missouri repudiated, — 
acts which the general government could no more control than I could,— Sydney 
Smith and others launched their invectives against the whole constitution, go- 
vernment, and character of the United States as such. 

He referred also to what he called the gross fabrications of some writers ; 
and, as an example, gave the story narrated by one, of being asked by the stage 
driver, " Are you the man that is going to so-and-so ?*' and on receiving an 
affirmative reply, adding, " Then I'm the gentleman as is going to drive you." 
This, he said, could not be true. He had travelled over aU the states again and 

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agaiBy and lie felt ccamnced, he said, that if one waa ciftl himself, h* vaa sure 
he would meet with nothing but civili^. 

With all deference to General Cass, I cannot agree with this. The respectire 
uses of the terms man and gentleman here are very Indicroos ; and the ** lady** 
of one "gentleman*' oertaimj said to a friend of oars, in reference to our par^, 
"Tell the men to come in,"— a very gracions way of extending an invitation to 
walk op aaid see her husband's museum. * 

Most erroneous ideas of Ikig^lish manners obtain too. Thus, they think we 
nerer shake hmnds, because it is not usual to do so on a casual introduction. 
Now, here, when you are introduced to ever so many tag-rag and bob-tail, you 
have to shake haims with them all, and are probaUy expected to profess your- 
self highly gratified at making their acquaintance. But, on the other hand, if 
yon have b€«i talking very intimately to your host, or hostess, or their daughter, 
m half an evening, it is a woful breach of eti(^uette to venture to shake Eanda 
on leaving. I was unfortunate enough to do this on one ooeasion, and wis made 
awaie of the solecism I had committed, by the remark having been oveiditfurd, 
" What an infiictiou to shake hands all romtd that way !" 

With this previous experience, it amused me to hear Mr. Cass say, as he held 
out his hand on my rbing to leave, *' You Englishmen must learn to shake hands 
when you come to this country !" " Why, general," I replied, " that is parti- 
cularly an English cnstom, only you reverse our way of it ; when you see a man 
for the first time yon shake hands with him, and profess friendship, whether jou 
knoiw him or not ; and when you part, you do so as if you were utter steangers. 
Now, we wait till we have learned something of how we like each other, and if 
we dob we shake hands in token that we hope to meet again." He aaid the 
proudest moment of his life was on the occaaon of his kaving Paris^ when, 

Oto make his congS to Louis Philippe, the monarch stepp^ forward and 
him heartQy bv the hand. He was present at the coronation of Queen 
Victoria, and he saia that when he saw that girl (as she was then) stand there, 
1^ head of England, he could not help feeling how strong a hold our institu- 
tma had upon us as a peopfe. He saw, and was immoisely pleased witi^ a 
li^e inddeait which oeourred at the coronation. When the aged peer, Lord 
BoUo, a man upwards of seventy, stepped forward to pay homage, 1^ stumUed 
and felL The Queen started forward, as if her impulse was to run and raise 
the old man. Other hel]^ did that ; but the desire to have done it was evinced, 
and made a great im]>re8Sion. 

General Case antioipaites a great fnture for America. So do I, if she will 
onfy 80^ it in the spirit of tiiat righteousness whic^ exalteth a nation. It is a 
gisve question whether or not she b doing so. 

Mr. Ferguson concludes by saying : 

I believe in my heart, from what I have seen sinoe I came to America, that 
ovn is afreer country than this. It ia so defiich* Whether it arises from the 
afavaeB of regnblicanism, or the errors of its principle, is another question. But 
if we are to judge a tree by its fruits, then long may it be before Britain follows 
tihe exapplB c^ tier restless sona. America and Britain seem to me to occupy 
the poeifcion of a lad of nineteen with Ms father of forty. The youth, of oourse, 
tfau^ his father an old foggy, and that he knows better. But when he gets to 
thirty, he is glad to receive with deference his father*s oounsel, and learn from 
paternal experience. The danger is, that in the mean time he learns bitterly 
and deaily from lus own, gatnered in a course of wayward and self-reliant 

Tfie question with regard to Central America revolving itself as it does 
into two parts — ^first, the encroachments of the United States people, and 
secondly, the rights we have to defend and the national honour to uphold 
there — it is evident that the first concerns others as well as ourselves^ and we 
have ao reason sufficient to induce ns to g^ to war upon them alone ; with 
regard to the second, it is a most difficult problem to say how the dispute 


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can be setiled. To abrogate the treaty of 1850, as some have advocated, 
would not diminish, it would only increase our difficulties ; for, previous 
to the treaty, we had pretensions more extensive and more vehemently dis- 
puted by the United States than those which the treaty left us. One of 
the most feasible projects we have seen is to propose, first, to make the 
town, now called Greytowrif a free and independent town ; secondly, to 
assign a legitimate extent of territory to the Mosquito Indians, and place 
them equally under our protection and that of the United States ; or, if 
the manner in which the United States persist in viewing Indians is not 
compatible with our own, let the United States point out any other mode 
of duly protecting these Indians which does not grant any exclusive righta 
or pnvueges to Great Britain ; thirdly, let us leave the real condition 
and position of the Bay Islands to arbitrators ; fourthly, let us declare 
that we do not extend our possessions in British Honduras beyond their 
limits in 1860, and claim from the United States a recognition of those 
possessions as they existed in 1850. If such a proposal and such conces- 
sions would not reopen negotiations, in the face of Mr. Marcy's unprac- 
ticable ultimatum, that the United States are resolved upon one version of 
the treaty and that version only — the abandonment at once by Great 
Britain of all rights, possesrions, and protectorates in Central America- 
it will be obvious that the United States are resolved to force upon us 
that which cannot be resigned without degradation — a degradation which 
it would be equally ignominious and useless to submit to, for it would 
only entail others ; nor would the American people ever be satisfied till 
they saw Old England prostrate at their feet 

It is an old proverb, that no man is a hero to his valet ; in other words, 
that familiarity begets contempt ; and it is not a littie amusing to see 
what the Canadians say of their neighbours the Yankees, at a moment 
when they are insisting upon terms which must necessarily involve them 
in war with Great Britain. 

While the American Government is doing its best to provoke a war with 
England, a state of anarchy, sufficient to engage all its energies, exists in its 
own dominions. Congress men commit murders, senators are dl but beaten to 
death in her Legislative Chambers, and bands of armed ruffians desolate the 
territory, assassinate the citizens, and fire the buildings in Kansas. The North 
sends men, money, and arms to the in|;aded territory, and the South accepts the 
challenge by similar demonstrations. One thing omy prevents a war with Eng- 
luid ; one only stays a civil war in Kansas. The American eaffle is a half-breed 
between a carrion vulture and a dunghill rooster. He lacks the courage neces- 
sary for fair combat, and he crows the loudest when furthest from his enemy. 
The men of the Bevolution are dead ; their inferior children of 1812 are in their 
dotage ; the present ^neration, raised on hot cakes and sweet fixins, and stimu- 
lated with tobacco-juice, is all talk and no cider, as destitute of the stamina on 
which courage is founded as its mothers are of flesh. Look at the women — 
charming at sixteen, faded at twenty, toothless at twenty-five, hideous at thirty, 
dividing their time between their rocking-chairs and their beds, incapable of 
exertion, incompetent to exercise, ever ailing, listless, lazy, straight up and down, 
like an old-fashioned clothespin, making up the deficiency of their developments 
with whalebone, cotton, and bran— are these the things to suckle heroes P The 
race has deteriorated and js dwindling away, and, but for the constant introduc- 
tion of new and healthy blood from immigration, would disappear in a century. 

The moral deficiencies of the people are ec^xul to the physical The boys slang 
each other, but never fight ; the men assassinate, but never come to blows ; they 
talk terrible things in public meetings, and confine their terrible dopigs toa 

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CQBoesled riiot or a sudden stab at an unprepared enemy. Ministera of the 
Cioflpel advise bloodshed and take up subscriptions for rifles ; eyerjthing neces- 
ssrj for a combat is sent to the scene of contention but pluck ; the men are 
-white-liTered and afraid of each other, and if one party adyanoes the other runs 
SW17: houses are plundered and burnt, and unarmed people butchered; if the 
asswDlted pidi up coura£;e and adrance aeain, the assailants run in their turn, 
and like scenes lollow their footsteps. Inoignatipn meetings are held in all Uie 
citiea of all the States, money is subscribed for arms and ammunition, for food 
amd doihing; patriotic orations thunder from the rostrum, and inoendiur decla- 
mations from the pulpit ; the North is about to vindicate its liberties, uie 'Etat 
to At to the assistance of its children ; outraged liberty is to be appeMed with 
the blood of the marauders, the freedom of the soil of Kansas to be relieved 
from the opprolnious despotism of its inraders. Now, surely there will be fi^bt- 
ing. No, ^tlemen, not a bit of it ; it is still all talk, very tall and superlatire 
talk, but still vox Hpraterea nihil, 

finr a Tear we have heard of civil war in Kansas, its territory invaded, its 
polls mobbed, its legislature overthrown and usurped by ruffiuis, records of 
monstrous outraffcs, of violations of property, and of dvil and political rights 
\)efore unheard of in a civilised country. We were told the day of retribution 
-was coming— that the free-soil men were in arms, the whole territory was a 
hnge camp, intrenchments were thrown up, and cannon bristled on them; rifles 
were ther^ and tons of powder and lead. Tenible things were these rifles ; they 
flred twenty times in a minute, and killed their man at a mile. 

Then came further wrongs. The President had conspired against the freedom 
of Kansas ; United States troops were sent in to disarm the true citizens, and 
to leaTC them at the mercy of indiyidual ruffians. Now then comes the tug of 
war; the law-abiding people have borne the last outrage; now Kansas will 
«Tenge herself. The women make cartridges, and practise with rerolrers ; the 
men flourish their weapons and talk of Bunker-hilL The invaders arriye, a 
dieriff with a dozen of men marches into the stronghold of the desperate free- 
men, and, lo ! the war spirit is extingoished like a farthing rushlight in a tub of 
water; the bravest fly like sheep without striking a blow, or daring to fire their 
long-range rifles, even at a mile, and the rest surrender their arms, and herd, 
cowering with their women and children, while their dwellings are burned, their 
property plundered, and themselves threatened by heroes like themselves. Oh, 
shade of Wtthington ! Oh, apple-saroe and punkin-pie ! Oh, 'lasses sweetum 
and chicken fixins ! that the star-spangled banner should float over such a pack 
of coward braggarts ! 

And these are better than fair specimens of the people who tidk of going to 
war with Eng^d in the same way as they do of conquering Nicaragua— who 
propose to nuike a week's excursion for the conquest of^ Canada, and would have 
been giad (^ the job of taldng SebAstopol in a fortnight. 

We do not think there is much occasion to be afraid of them, whether there 
be war or peace. A contest in which there are more hard knocks to be got than 
]^nnder is exactly the one in which our degenerate cousins have the least desire 
to engage. Let them hold Kansas meetings and summer meetings and Grampton 
indi^Uon meetii^ if they please ; talk is their peculiar vocation, a national 
institution, and one of the most innocent. With a population which, eager and 
ready to mvade the rights and property of ethers, is without the courage to 
protect its own ; with an army made up of the congregated scoundrels of all 
nations, and a fleet manned feebly, as it is, with such a set of riff-raff that while 
the one4ialf of the crews are in irons, guard-boats, while in harbour, have to 
watch day and night to prevent the desertion of the others, and the service so un- 
popular that a single steamer has taken months after it was commissioned to ob- 
tain a crew— there is no more to be dreaded from war-vapouring, or the reality 
of it from the United States, than from similar f;;asconade, or actual action, on 
the part of his serene Majesty the Emperor of Timbuctoo. 

It is simply ridiculous, and should be treated like another burlesque.— (From 
the MotUreal Jdvertiser, May 31.) 

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A BASH nunasE. 

Ruin now fitared our reckless hero in the fcoe. Yet, Burpruii^ 
to relate, considering the dire extremities to which he was re- 
duced, his spirit remained imbroken. Beset by a host of duns^ 
who would take no more excuses; every present means of supply 
exhausted; without a hope for the future; deserted by his friends, 
and with the Fleet Prison only in prospect; it was certainly 
wonderful that he could preserve even a show of cheerfulness. 
His gaiety might be assumed, but at any rate it imposed upon 
his attendants, and excited their admiration. On the morn- 
ing of the last day it seemed likely he would spend in his own 
house, he arose late, and made his toilet with his customary 
deliberation and care — chatting all the while gaily with Chasse- 
mouche and Bellairs, as they assisted him to dress, and brought 
him his chocolate. Both valets were so captivated by his pleasantry 
and good-humour, that they deferred to the last moment a dis- 
agreeable communication which they had to make to him. At 
length, however, their avocations ended, Bellairs felt compelled to 
broach the subject, which he did with considerable hesitation* 

** I really am concerned, sir,** he said, " to disturb your gaiety 
by any unpleasant observations, but it is only right you should be 

informed — ahem I You know what I want to say, Chasse- 

mouche, — help me out with the sentenoe." 

^^ Parbleu ! I am almost too much embarrassed to speak," ^e 
French valet said ; " but I trust monsieur will forgive me. He 
has been the best of masters, and I shall be quite disoU to lose 

"Exactly my sentiments, mr," Bellairs subjoined. "I am 
grieved beyond measure that I can no longer have the honour of 
serving you." 

" Why should you leave me?" Gtige demanded, regarding them 
with well-feigned astonishment. " You both give me entire satis- 

" If I were to consult my own feelings, sir, I should never leave 
you," Bellairs replied; "but " 

^ ^ The Author of tkU Tale fwervsi the right of trwuUUum. 

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^I «ee ham i% n^ Oaee cried, with a iamA, '^ Ton wast ymst 
wwgmmammA. WeH, 6^ to Fairiie.*' 

** Yon axe very good, sir, and both Ohaisemoiiohe and myMlf 
appreaate year eenennn intentraBs. Yon have always behavad 
to aa L*ke a gentleman •" 

'^ Like a prince I shoold say," tiie Frenchman interpoaed. 

^Eicaetly, — Hke a prinoe. We have never had tl^ slightest 
cause of compiaiat — have we, Ghassemoocbe?^ 

"^ Not the sH^hteafc," the French valet responded. ^Oor new 
maeter is veiy aidfereat/' 

^'Yonr new master!" Oa^ cried. ^^'SdeaA! have you en- 
gaged yoicrselves without giving me notice?" 

^ We would not do anything unhandsome to you for the world, 
8tr," said Bellairs; '^but Mr. FairHe made it a point that bn 
arrangement wi& us should remain secret till he gave us permis- 
sion to disclose it." 

^ So Mr. Fairlie takes you off my hands, eh ?" Gbge said. 

^Not us alone, sir," Ibellairs replied; ^^he has engaged the 
whole household." 

*' What ! without saying a word to me ? " Gage exclaimed. 

^ fie did not appear to think that necessary, sir," Bellairs re- 
plied. " Pardon my freedom, sir — but, devoted as we are to you, 
we could not have remained so long in your service if Mr. Fairlie 
had not undertaken to pay our wages." 

"Apparently, then, you had no confidence in my ability to 
pay you ?" 

** We had every confidence in your desire to do so; but we 
&ared a day mi^ht arrive when you would lack the means. For^ 
give me for addmg that that evil day has come." 

A brief pause ensued, during which Gage, who was evidently 
much put out by what he had just heard, strove to regain his 
cmnposure. At length Chassemouche ventured to offer an obset- 

^ If monsieur will condescend to take my advice," he said, 
^^ he will ^et out of the house as quietly and as speedily as pos- 
sible, and keep out of the way of his creditors." 

^ What ! fly, Qiasiemouche. No, I will stand my ground to 
the last. Fairlie will never allow me to be molested." 

" Upon my faith, sir, I don't like to say it, but I almost believe 
he has planned your arrest," Mr. Bellairs observed. 

" Oh ! you calumniate him," Gage cried. " He is incapable of 
soeh treachery." 

**Well, time will show, sir," the valet rejoined; ^and I only 
hope you may prove correct in your estimate of our new ma^r. 
Bint if you snould be tempted to take an airing in the Park this 
morning, let me recommend you to go out by the back-door. 
Ysu wall find it the saiest means of exit. Xout creditors are 

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abroad by bundieclsY rir. The street is full of them — tailors^ 
coach-builders, wig-makers, shoe-makers^ jewellers, hosiers, glovers, 
linendrapers, silk-mercers, lace-embroiderers, pastrycooks, poul- 
terers, butchers, saddlers, watchmakers, wine-merchimts — all your 
tradesmen are on the look-out for you." 

" The devil 1 have none of them been paid?" 

"Nobody has been paid, sir — since your arrival in town," 
BeUairs replied. " You nave lived entirely on credit" 

" 'Sdeatn I this is scandalous," Grage exclaimed. " How has my 
money gone ? Fairlie would tell me at the gaming-table ; but 
though I have lost large sums, all cannot have disappeared in this 
manner. I have been cheated most abominably— but by whom ? 
— It is too late now to inquire — fool! fool tJiat I have been." 
And loading himself with reproaches, which we can scarcely con- 
sider unmerited, he sank into a chair, while the two valets, think- 
ing their presence no longer desirable, slipped out of the room. 

Gage continued lost in deep and painful reflection, until aroused 
by a slight touch on the shoulder, when, looking up, he beheld Mrs. 
Jenyns standing beside him. 

" Tou seem greatly disturbed," she said. 

"And well I may be disturbed. Peg," he replied. "I have 
not a guinea left in the world — ^nor do I Jcnow which way to turn 
to obtain one. You smile as if you didn't believe me — ^but I swear 
to you it is the truth. House, servants, equipages, pictures, plate 
—all my possessions are gone. Fairlie has taken everything, or 
will take everything; and I am onljr waiting the moment when he 
will turn me out oi doors, and consign me to the ^ tender merciesi' 
of the pack of creditors who are lurking without to seize me. 
But I may baulk them all yet. At least they shall not have an 
opportunity of deriding me m my misfortunes." 

" I divine your desperate purpose," Mrs. Jenyns r^oined. 
^^ But you need not have recourse to pistol, sword, or poison for 
the present. Your case is not quite so hopeless as you imagine." 
. ^^* A pu give me new life, Peg. Is there chance of escape from 
this frightful dilemma?" 

" Tranc[uillise yourself, or I won't open my lips. I have just 
seen Fairlie. He appeared inexorable at first, but I found a way 
to move him. I managed to frighten him out of a thousand 

"And you have got the money with you? It may save me 
from perdition." 

" You shall have it, provided you promise to use it as I direct. 
Half the sum must oe devoted to the repayment of Arthur 
Poynings's loan." 

** It could not be better applied. And the other five hundred, 
what is to be done with it?'' 

"You must try your luck with the dice. I am sure you. will 

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be soooessfcd. I dreamed last night that you won baok all jour 
fortune at hazard.'* 

^ May the dream be realised I I will play as if my life were on 
tiie stake ; and so it will be, for if I lose *^ 

'^ Pshaw! yon mustn't think of losing. You must resolve to 

^ I win win !" Gage exclaimed. 

'^ Stop! half your gains are to be mine, whatever the amount. 
Is this a bargain?" 
• "Itis." 

'^Then here's the money. Place the amount of your debt to 
Arthur Poynings within an envelope, and I will take care that the 
packet is safdy delivered to him." 

^ I shall not readily forget the obligation you have conferred 
on me, Peg," Gbge replied, as he wrote a brief note to Arthur, 
and folded the bank-notes within it. ^^ You have taken a ffroat 
weight from my breast in enabling me to make this payment, he 
added, giving the letter to her. 

" lie debt is only transferred," she replied. " And now, adieu, 
for a short time. Do not attempt to quit your room till I return. 
And then you mt^ hasten to the ^room-porter's! Your luck 
will have a turn. Mind ! half your gams are to be mine." 

" My hand upon it," he rejoined. ** If I should be lucky enough 
to win a hundred thousand — as I hope I may be — fifty thousand 
will be yours !" 

^ And you will allow no one to dissuade you from plajrin^ ?" 

^ No one is likely to make the attempt — but if made, it wiU 

" Enou|^h " Mrs. Jenyns replied. " Au revoir I" And with a 
smile of triumph she withdrew. 

The interview with the fretij actress dissipated all Ghtge's 
l^my &nciefl^ and aroused an entirely different train of thought. 
Giving the reins to his imagination, he beheld himself seated at 
tiie gaming-table, with piles of gold and roUs of bank-notes before 
him, the i^nilt of successful play. 



Whilb Gage was indulging in these delusive dreams, Mr. Bel- 
lairs hurriedly entered, showing by his countenance that some- 
thing alarming had occurred. 

^ Come with me, sir— quick !-— quick ! — not a moment is to be 
lost," the valet cried. "The baiUfls are in the house, and are 
muing their way up-stairs. You must hide in some out-of-the- 

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nsj corner fill ikie danger be past Ha! it k ioo kte. Tha^ 
are at hand." 

<< Eaaten the dooEy BeSaiiB. Don*t let them in !" Gage ahou«ed. 

The valet endeavoured to obey the injimctioay but before he 
could jKsoomplkh it^ two aturd]!^ haidi-f!»tui:ed men^ armed with 
bludgeons, burst into the room. 

^^ Ha ! ha ! we're a little too quick for you, my fnend,'' ^e fiire- 
mort of the twain vocifisrated. ^^ Here we have him, Martin," he 
added, with a coarse laugh, to his brother bailiff. 

" Ay, ay, Ned Craggs," the other rejoined — " that be the gentle- 
man, sure enough." And with these words he rushed up to Gage 
¥rith bis companion, and exhibiting a writ, cried, ^^ You are our 
prisoner, Mr. Monthermer. We arrest you at the suit of Mr. Jbaae 
NibbL of Billiter-lane, scrivi^ier." 

^' Keep off, rascals, if you value your lives F' Gbige exclaimed, 
qyringin^ back, and drawmg his sword. ^^ I know nothing what- 
ever of Sir. Nibbs, and never had any dealings with him." 

" There you are in error, sir," cried a civil-spoken little man, 
appearing at the door. This personage was plainly attired in a 
smt of Tusty bUu^, and wore a long cravat, grey stockings, and 
square-cut shoes. ^^ You are in error, sir, I repeat," he continued, 
in very mild accents. ^* You borrowed five thousaaid pounds from 
me, for which you gave me your bond." 

*^ I recollect nothing about it," <jage replied. 

" Possibly so slight a circumstance may have escaped your re- 
collection, sir," Isaac Nibbs replied. ^^ But I happen to Iiave the 
instrument by me. Here it is," he added^ producing a parchment. 
" The money was paid on your behalf to Mr. Fainie. You will 
not, I presume, attempt to deny your own signature ?" 

^^ I aeny that I ever received the five thousand pounds. I have 
been cheated !" Grage cried. 

^ I shall not argue the point with you, sir," Mr. Nibbs rejoined, 
with -undisturbed politeness. ^^ It is sufficient for me that I hove 
your bond. OflScers, do your duty " 

But Gage stood on his defence, and with bis sword kept the 
bailiffs at bay. 

" Come, come, sir," Craggs cried, " it's of no use. You must 
not resist the law." 

At this moment the door was suddenly thrown open, and two 
more personages step^)ed into the room. These were Sir Hugh 
Poynings and his son Arthur. Gage was greatly disconcerted oy 
their appearance, and taking advantage of h^ confusion, tiie bailim 
Tushed upon him, and disarmed him. 

^* I am sorry to see you in this position, Gbtge,** Sir Hugh said, 
advancing. ^^ I heard you were in difficulties, and came to see if 
I could be of any use.'' 

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symi/iimu rr. 41 

^ -Spne me yotir oommifleTatkm, Sir Hugh," &e young num 
lepbed, proadljr ; ^ I do not desire ii" 

**llay, you uttoriy mistalBe me, Gbge,** the old baronet repGed^ 
Idndhr. ^Fsr be it from me to insuh you in your diBtreas. I 
wooU sid you if I cacn. What is the sum for which you are 

^ IiTe thousand pounds," one of the bailiffi replied. 

^ 'Sdrath I that's not a trifle," Sir Hugh ejaculated—^ and mere 
than I like to thiow away. Cannot this matter be arranged ?" 

" Only by psyment of the debt, Sir Hugh," Mr. Nibbs rejoined. 

" I woula not interfere with your generous purpose, sir, if it 
eavlA profit Gage," Arthur observed ; ^ but this is merely a small 
part of his fiabOitiea. Aa you hare seen, the house is full of hb 
creditora, and if he is liberated from this person, he will be seised 
by Ike oOieEB." 

^ Thati^a true, ArtBrar," Gage replied. ^ I cannot accept Sir 
Hugb'a asflutence. And let me tell you that the money you 
ao bandaomely adranced me the other day at White's chocolate- 
booae will be repaid you by a friend." 

^ Do not eoQcem yourself about it," Arthur replied. 

«We are loamg time here," Mr. Nibbs said to the bailifla. 
^ Bring your priaoner along. Place him in a coach, and convey 
Mm to the spunging-house in Chancery-lane." 

^Amd is It come to this!" Sir Hugh groaned. "Oh! Gage, 
it grieres me to Ae soul to aee your fathet^s son in such a die- 
gzaoeful predicament. I would help you if I could — ^but, as 
Arthur rightly says, it is impuwible." 

^ If another day had been allowed me, this would not have 
happened, Sir Hugh," the young man repUed, as he quitted die 
zoom in custody of the baili£Gk 

By this time^ the rest of the creditors had obtained admittacnce 
to the house, and the large entrance-hall was crowded by thera.^ On 
ae^Dg Grace, as he descended the staircase, with n bailiff on either 
side, and closely followed by Nibbs, the whole party set up a furious 
cry, and held up their bilk to him, demandmg instant payment. 
It was no yerj pleaaant Ainff, it must be owned, to run the gauntlet 
of a pack of infuriated and disappointed creditors, and Gage vainly 
endesvoured to moUifjr them by expressions of regret. His ex- 
planations and apologies were treatea with derisidh. The tumult 
-was at its highest, when all at once a diversion was made bv the 
entrance of Clare Fairlie and her father into the hall, ana &e 
clain<Kir partially ceased. 

To meet Clare under circumstances so degrading to himself 
aggravated Gage's distren almost beyond enaurance. He was 
covered with shame and confusion. Em proud heart swelled 
ahnoit to burstiiig, and averting his gaze from her, he be- 

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sought the bailiffs to move on, and pass through the crowd 
as quickly as possible. ^^ Take me wherever you please,'' he cried. 
" Only don't — for Heaven's sake — detain me here." But though 
the officers were willing enough to comply with the request, it 
could not be accomplished, owing to the pressure from the crowd, 
who derived too much amusement from tneir victim's distress to let 
him easily escape. Driven to desperation, Gra^ then tried to shake 
off Craggs's grasp, and might have succeeded in getting free from 
one baiuff, if the other had not lent his powerful aid to restrain 
him. Pinioned by these two sturdy fellows, he was compelled to 
remain quiet* 

At the head of the staircase stood Sir Hugh Poynings and 
his son, by no means uninterested spectators of the scene. It 
was long since Arthur had beheld Clare; for though, as we 
have already stated, his sister frequently visited her friend, he 
had never accompanied her. Lucy's description of the delicate 
state of Clare's health had prepared him for a great change in 
the appearance of the latter, but he was inexpressibly shocked on 
beholding her. The flush which had risen to her cneeks during 
her painful interview with her father had now given way to a 
deathlike paleness. She leaned on Lettice for support, and had 
evidently taxed her failing strength to the uttermost Still her 
dark lustrous eye blazed with resolution, and as its glance fell for 
a moment upon Arthur, he thought he understood the motive that 
had brought her there. As to Fairlie, he seemed to be in a 
great state of perturbation, and, next to Gage, was perhaps the 
most uneasy person in the whole assemblage. 

" Lead me on, Lettice," Clare said, in a low tone, *^ or I shall 
not be able to go through with it." And advancing a few steps 
with the aid of her atten£int, she asked, ^^ Who is the creditor by 
whom the arrest has been made ?" 

^^I am the person," Mr. Isaac Nibbs replied. 

^^ Then I must demand Mr. Monthermer^s immediate release," 
Clare said. 

^ I shall have great pleasure in complying with your request, 
provided my debt be discharged in full," the scrivener returned. 
^^ Unless I am mistaken, I have the honour of addressing Miss 
Fairlie, and if it be so, your respected father will explain to you 
that I am obliged to act with a harshness repugnant to my feel- 
ings. But I really cannot afford to lose so large a sum of money 
as five thousand pounds." 

" Neither can we," chorussed the other creditors — " we can none 
of us afford to lose our money. Hundreds are as much to some of 
us as thousands to a wealthy man like Mr. Nibbs." 

^^ You will be satisfied, I presume," Clare continued, addresring 
the scrivener, ^*if you have my fathei^s assurance that your debt 
shall be paid?" 

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''Ob! jes, I shall be perfectly flaiiBfied with Mr. Fairlie's 

nimise to that effect,^ mbbs replied, in a tone and with a 
k that implied considerable doubt as to the likelihood of re- 
oeiviiig an J such assurance. " How am I to act, sir ?" he added, 
aj^ieahng to the steward. '* Must I set Mr. Monthermer free?" 

Pairlie was so agitated by conflicting emotions that he was 
utterly unable to answer. Mr. Nibbs regarded him with surprise. 
He expected a decided negative. 

'* My &ther will take care that your debt is paid — you may 
rely upon it," Clare said. 

'* I cannot for a moment doubt your word, Miss FairUe — 
especially as your respected father offers no contradiction — still I 
should like to have his consent" 
Clare ^en turned to her father. 

" Bemember what has just passed between us/' she whispered. 
^' I claim this act of justice from you." 

** Mr. Kibbs, the debt shall be paid, I promise it," Fairlie said, 
with a great efibrt. 

" Enough, sir. I am perfectly content," the scrivener replied. 
And he signed to the bailiffs to release the prisoner. 

Every one seemed taken by surprise, and for a moment there 
was silence amongst the other creaitors, but as soon as they re- 
covered from their astonishment they turned with one accord upon 
Fairlie, calling out that exceptions ought not to be made, that 
iavour must not to be shown to any one in particular, and that, in 
common justice, all their debts ought likewise to be paid. 

" All who have just claims upon Mr. Monthermer shall be paid 
in full," Clare said. 

" Do you know what you are promising, girl ?" Fairlie ex- 
claimed, half distracted. " Why, twenty diousand pounds will 
not satisfy all these people." 

"Were twice that sum required," Clare rejoined, with an air 
of auihonty which overwhelmed him, ** it must be forthcoming." 

'* But these are debts incurred for the veriest follies " 

** It cannot be helped. Mr. Monthermer must be set clear." 

** Do not urge me to it — my fortune will be swept away. For 
your own sake, be advised." 

"I care not — I want nothing," she rejoined, in a low tone. 
" Do as I woiild have you, if you would make my last moments 

At this juncture Gage forced his way to her through the crowd. 

'* I cannot consent that your father should suffer from my folly, 
Clare," he said. ** I must bear the consequences of my own im- 

" You need have no scruple in accepting aid from my father, 
Mr. Monthermer," Clare replied. " He is only dischar^ng a 
long debt of gratitude to one whom he owed his prospenty — I 

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44 m 

mean your father. Besides, I fim certain that when he makes up 
bis accounts with you, he will be no loser.** 

^* Most undoubtedly he shall be no loser by me,*' Gage cried. 
''Under these circumstances, Fairlie, I suppose I may assure 
Jif essieurs my creditors that all their bills will be paid by you 
without delay." 

" Let us hear what Mr. Fairlie has to say to this proposition?** 
observed a coach-builder, who acted as spokesman for the others. 

" Bring in your bills to-morrow, and rid us of your presence 
now," Fairlie cried furiously. 

"Come along, friends," said the coach-builder; "we will no 
longer intrude upon Mr. Monthermer, or the rest of the com- 
pany. We are infinitely indebted to Miss Fairlie, and rejoice that 
a business which promised to be unpleasant, should have termi- 
nated so satisfactorily." 

And bowing respectfully to Clare, he took his departure, fol- 
lowed by the rest of the creditors; Mr. Isaac Nibbs and the 
bailifis bringing up the rear. 

As soon as the entrance-hall was free from them, Gage turned to 
Clare, and said, 

** What can I do to prove my gratitude for the service yon have 
rendered me ? My life is at your diqmsaL*' 

" Abjure play,. JThat; is all I ask.** 

" Promise Uke a man,^^a^e," Sir Hugh cried, coming up with 
his son. ^' Register a vow b^re Heaven to leave off cards and 
dice, and there will be hopes of yim/' 

** He may make the vow, but heitfl not keep it," Fairiie re- 
marked, scornfully. ^V.^ 

" I will not think so badly of him,** 0?«re wid. " Give me 
your word. Gage, as a man of honour, thiwk you will henceforth 
abandon play, and never again enter a ganringSjjouse.** 

" As a man of honour I give vou my wordSL^g^ repeated. 
And a secret teemor passed tfc)ugh his frame as M^po^e, for he 
remembered his rash promise to Mra Jenyna l 

" We are witnesses to the pledge,** said Sir Hug\Poynings 
and Arthur. • ^V 

" And so are we," subjoined Beau Freke, who stood Vi* Sir 
Randal at the outlet of the passage opening into the halL\ " We 
shall see whether he will keep his word." \ 

** Trust me, I will find some means of luring him to the ga*\^- 
table, despite all his vows to the contrary," Sir Randal re^ed- 
*' Qui a jou6 jouera, is an infidlible axiom." ^ 

" I have something more to say to you, Gage," Clare 
" For my sake, I implore you to " 

The young man looked anxiously at her. But the entrea\ 
could not be preferred. A sudden faintness seized her, and 


fell senseless into his arms. 

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NoWHSSB perlwpt did mxAety undergo each a remnrkable chaoge at 
it did in Edinbnrgh between tbe early and the last days of Henry Lord 
Cockbom's forensic life ; between the days when Henry Cockbom sided 
at the Speculative Society, the fame of which still attaches itself to the 
Alma IMUter £dinensi% with Horner, Jeffrey y and Brougham ; and the 
palmy days of the Edinburgh Review, and of Whiggery triumphant at 
the bencn — the Tcry £&stness of Toryism. But, to a certain extent, 
Edinburgh may still be said to have retained some of its old leading cha- 
ncteriatics of exdnsiveness, formality, and originality. The Scotch 
ftnuKes are s^ held to&^ther, although the lives of the male representa- 
tives may in great part have been spent in the service of the public at 
home or abroad, by the old spirit of elanship ; a true Scot speaks to his 
last hour of a Dick of Prestoimeld, a Murray of Henderland, or a Trotter 
of Mortonhally with a gusto and a reverence utterly unknown in Eng- 
land. The Scots are proud of their descent and oonnezions, and they are 
dao proud of their philosophers. " Though living in all the suceeeding 
splendours," says Lord Cockbum, ^ it has been a constant gratification to 
me to remember that I saw the last remains of a school so illustrious and 
so national, and that I was privileged to obtain a glimpse of the ' skirts 
of glory' of the first, or at least of the second, great philosophical age of 

Heooe it is that a chronicle of local manners and usages, including de* 
scripiions of the persons, sayings^ and doings of distinguished men, with 
a record of important events such as are presented to us by Lord Cock- 
bum, and wmch extend from the days of Dugald Stewart, Dr. A. 
Ferguson, Dr. Black, and Professor Robison — of Dr. Gregory, Lord 
Monboddo, Lord Braxfield, and Lord Meadowbank^ — to those of Sir 
Walter Scott, John Wilson, Dr. Chahners, and of Jeffrey, Monoreif^ and 
Abercromby, present fcatuxes of interest sneh as are rarely to be met 

Henry Cockbum was bora in 1779. His hAiker was then sheriff of 
the county of Midlothian ; so that Harry had that which was indispensable 
in the northern metropolis — a birthrignt to good society. Nor was he 
blind to the advantages of connexion. His mother's sister, he places on 
record, waa married to Henry Dundas, the first Viscount Melville, and 
" our family and that of the once powerful house of Amiston were con- 
nected by blood." In October, 1787, Henry was sent to the High School, 
at a time when the boys dressed in scariet waistcoats and bright-green 
coats, with brown corduroy breeches. Lake many another youth destined 
to shine in after life, Henry did not at first take kindly to scholastic 
discipline. ^' I was driven stupid," he says. " Oh ! the bodily and mental 
wearisomeness of sitting six hours a day, staring idly at a page, without 
motion uid without thought, and trembling at the gradual approach of 
the merciless giant. I never got a single prize, and once sat boohie at 
the annual public examination." He got on better under Dr. Adam, the 

* Memorials of Hb Time. Bj Henrj Cockbam. Bdinburgh: Adam and 
GhiadeeBlacdL 1866. 

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aathor of the woric oa ** Roman Antiquitiefli'' of whose goodnesi, as wdl 
as learning, he speaks in the highest terms. 

They had the barbarity to make us be in school daring snmmer at seven in the 
morning. I once started out of bed, thinJdng I was too late, and ^t out of the 
boose unquestioned. On reaching the High School gate, I found it locked, and 
saw the yards, through the bars, silent and motionless. I withdrew alarmed, 
and went near the lYon Church to see the clock. It was only about two or 
thr^. Not a creature was on the street ; not even watchmen, who were of 
much later introduction. I came home awed, as if I had seen a dead city, and 
the impression of that hour has never been effaced. 

Only two boys besides Henry Cockbura, who were at the High School 
at the same time as himself, have since reached any great eminence. 
These two were Francis Homer and Henry Brougham. Homer was 
then exactly what he continued aflberwards to be — grave, studious, 
honourable, kind ; steadily pursuing his own cultivation ; everything he 
did marked by thoughtfiilness and greatness. 

Before leaving the school we subscribed for a book which we presented to the 
rector ; a proceeding then imprecedented. It fell to Homer as the dux to ^ve 
it, and he never acquitted himself better. It was on the day of the public examina- 
tion; and after the prizes were distributed, and the spectators thought that the 
business was over, he stood forth with one volume of the book in his hand, and 
in a distinct though tremulous voice, and a firm but modest manner, addressed 
Adam in a Latin speech of his own composition not exceeding three or four 
sentences, expressive of the gratitude and affection with which we all took 
leave of our master. The effect was complete, on Adam, on the audience, and 
on the boys. I was far down in the class, and can still recal the feeling of 
enthusiastic but despairing admiration with which I witnessed the scene. I 
thought Homer a god, and wondered what it was that made such a hopeless 
difference between mm and me. 

Brougham was not in the class with me. Before getting to the rector's dass, 
he had been under Luke Eraser, who, in his two immediately preceding courses 
of four years each, had the good fortune to have Francis Jeffrey and Walter 
Scott as his pupils. Brougham made his first public explosion whde at Eraser's 
class. He dared to differ from Eraser, a hot out good-natured old fellow, on 
some small bit of latinity. The master, like other men in power, maintained 
his own infaUibilitv, punished the rebel, and flattered himself that Ihe afCair was 
over. But Brougham reappeared next day, loaded with books, returned to the 
charge before the whole class, and compelled honest Luke to acknowledge that 
he had been wrong. This made Brougham famous throughout the whole 
school. I remember, as well as if it had l^en yesterday, having had him pointed 
out to me as " the fellow who had beat the master.'' It was then that I first 
saw him. 

The valley of the Gala is associated with Cockbum's earliest recollec- 
tions. There was fishing, bathing, and an old ale-house at Heriot to riot 
in. '* What delight I a house to ourselves, on a moor ; a burn ; nobody to 
interfere with us ; the power of ringing the bell as we chose ; the order- 
ing of our own dinner ; blowing the peat-fire ; laughing as oflen and as 
loud as we liked. What a day !" 

Nor was it merely youngsters who frequented lone hostelries on the 
moors at that time. Ireople sometimes say that there is no probability in 
Scott's making the party in Waverley retire from the Castle to the Howf ; 
but young Harry describes the Duke of Buccleuch, then living at Dal- 
keith ; Henry Dundas at Melville ; Robert Dundas, the lord advocate, 

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tt Anutbn; Hepbmn, of Clerkington, at Middleton ; and several of the 
rest of the aristocracy of Midlothian, 'as learing their families and luznrt- 
ons hoosei to congregate in a wretched ale-house for a day of freedom 
and joUtty: 

Tfe ibond them^ roaring and singing and laughing, in a low-roofed room 
scarcely large enon^ to hold them, with wooden cSuis and a sanded floor. 
When their own laoqneys, who were carrying on high life in the kitchen, did 
not choose to attend, the masters were serred by two women. Hiere was plenty 
of wine, particularly claret, in rapid circulation on the ta^le; but my eye was 
chi^y attracted hj a huge bowl of hot whisky punch, the steam of which was 
almost dropping from the roof, while the oaoxu was enough to perfume the 
whole parisn. We were called in, and made topartake, and were yerr kindly 
ufted, particularly by my uncle Harry Dundas. How they did joke and laugh ! 
with songs^ and toasts, and disputation, and no want of practical fim. I don't 
remember anything they said, and probably did not understand it. But the 
noise, and the heat, and the uproarious mirth — I think I hear and feel them yet. 
Mj &ther was in the chair; and he having cone out for a Uttle, one of us boys 
was voted into hb phice, and the boy's heuth was drunk, with all the honours, 
as "the young convener. Hurra! hurra! may he be a better man than his 
father! hurra! hurra!'' I need not mention that the^ were all in a state of 
elevation; though there was nothing like absolute intoxication, so far as I could 

In 1793 young Harry was sent to the college of Edinburgh, and after 
being kept nine years at two dead languages, '* which we did not learn," 
the intellectaal world was begun to be opened to him by Professor Fin- 
layson's lectures on what was styled *' Logic" After this he advanced 
to die ^* Moral Hiilosophy'' of Dugald Stewart, which was the great era 
in the progress of young men's minds. *^ To me," Henry Cockbum 
places on record, '< his lectures were like the opening of the neavens. I 
felt that I had a soul. His noble views, imfolded in glorious sentences, 
elevated me into a higher world. I was as much excited and charmed as 
any man of cultivated taste would be, who, after being ignorant of thor 
existence, was admitted to all the glories of Milton and Cicero and 
Shak^^eare. They changed my whole nature." 

Study now began to be mixed up with the pleasures naturally sought 
aftes by yoatb. The assembly-rooms in those days were in George- 
sqoftre, and martinet dowagers and venerable beaux acted as masters and 
mistresaes of the ceremonies. No couple could dance unless eadb party 
was provided with a ticket prescribing the precise place in the precise 
dance. Woe on ihe poor girl who with a ticket 2. 7, was found opposite 
a youth marked 5.9! It was flirting without a license, and looked very 
iU, and would probably be reported by the ticket-director of that dance to 
the mother. Such a thing as a compact to dance, by a couple without 
official authority, would have been an outrage that coidd scarcely be con- 

The prevailing dinner-hour at that time was about three o'clock, or 
rather two^ if there was no company. Swearing and drunkenness, which 
have been long banished from all respectable society, were very preva- 
lent. Lord Braxfield apologised to a lady whom he cursed at whist for 
bad play, by declaring that he had mistaken her for his wife. At dinner^ 
healths and toasts were special torments— oppressions which cannot now 
be conceived. Wme was rarely on the taUe. It had to be called for, and 


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k WM tkoiiglii sottish and rude to take wine without dedic«tiii|^ ft to 
the health of mmm one^ Lord Cockbum was present, abo«t 1803, whan 
jthe hite Duke of Bucdeuoh took a ghMsof sherrjr hj fahnseftf a* the taUe 
of Charles Hope, then lord advocate, and this was noticed afWwmEds at 
a piece of ducal contempt. This prandial nuisance was horrible. But 
it was nothing to what followed. For af^r dinner, and before the ladies 
retired, there generally began what were called " Bounds** of toasts fol- 
lowed by ^' Sentiments ;'* a faint conception of whose nauseouaness can be 
aasily licmed from the practice still existing in some societM, who, hanng 
BO ideas of their own, are compelled to found their claims to sociality upon 
Ae ready-made wit of others. 

But a new generation gradaiUy laughed the sentiments away; so that at last 
one could only be got as a curiosity, from sosne old-fashioned practitioner. Thisy 
aarvived longer in male parties, especially of a wild character. Yet Scott, ia 
presiding even at the grave annual dinners of the Bannatyne Club, always in- 
sisted on rounds of ladies and gentlemen, and of authors ana printers, poets and 
kings, in regular pairs. Of course, in that toasting and loyal afe, the king was 
never forgotten, even though the company consisted ^y of tne host ai^ his 
wife and children. 

** There is no contrast,'' Lord Cockbora goes on to say, *• between those 
old days and the present, that strike me so strongly as that suggested by 
the diffsrenoes in religious observences ; not so much by tiie world in 
general, as by deeply religious people. I knew the habits of the religious 
Tory well, psotly through the piety of my mother and her friends, the 
strict religious education of her children, and our eonaexion with some of 
the most distinguished of our devout dergymen. I could nsention many 
practices of our old pioos which woukl berrify modem aealots." The 
learned old man then proceeds to show how erroneoas it is to condemn 
the last age as infidel, becaase it was not given an to the modem fashioBS 
and estravagaaoes com nutted under die guise of piety. 

But in polkics the old people were as iliiberal as the asoderns are in 
veMgiooa obsenpanoes. Everything that was supposed to have a liberal 
tendency was at once and sunuBarily denounced. The progress of the 
French revola^n tended much to strengtbem tUs spirit olf opposition : 

No doubt the intolerance was justified, or at least provoked, by fHght at first; 
bat tkn seen became a pretence ^ and the hourly vv^enoe thiA prevailed was 
kept up ohieiy as' a fiMitioas engme. I lived in the midst of it My fatlwr^s 
house was one of the phnes where the leaders, and the ardent followers, of the 
party in power were in the constant habit of assembling. I can sit yet. in 
imagination, at the small side-table, and overhear the conversation, a few feet 
off, at the established Wednesday dinner. How they raved ! What sentiments I 
What principles ! Not that I differed from them. I thought them quite ri^ht ; 
and hated liberty and the people as much as they did. But this drove me mto 
an opposite horror; for I was terrified out of such wits as they left me at the 
idea of bloodshed, and it never occurred to me that it could lie avoided. My 
leasoa no sooner bagSA to open, and to get some fair play, than the distressing 
wisdom of my ancestocs began to fade, and the more attractive sense that I met 
with among the young men into whose company our debating societies threw 
me, gradusdly hardened me into what I became — ^whatever this was. 

Some of Lord Cockbum's pleasantest reminiscences are eonnected with 
the men of the past generation, who did honour to SeotiaBd by tbeb 
lileratura and philosophy. His piotoras of Prineipal Bobertaan, «f Adam 

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Fergosoo, tiie hMtornm of Room, of Dr. Joteph Bltck, of Dr. Henry, of 
Dr. Thomas Macknigbt, of Dr. John Erskine, of the Ber. Dr. Carlyle^ ^f 
Prc^fe»or Jolm B|>lttMMi, are poaitiva pbotograpba. One axoeipt will 
pn>f e wfajl we aaj : 

Dr. Jo6q)h Black had, at one time, a house near ns, to the west. He was a 
stxilni^ and beantifal person; tall, yery thin, and cadaveronsly pale; his hair 
earefuuj powdered, though there was little of it except what was collected into 
a long thin qnene; his ejes dark, clear, and large, like deep pools of port 
water. He wore black speckless olothes, silk stockings, sil?er buddies, and 
eith^ a slim green silk umbrella^ or a genteel brown cane. The general frame 
and air were ikeble and slender. The wildest boj respected Black. No lad 
oonld he irreverent towards a man so pale, so gentle, so elegant, and so 
iUostrious. So he ghded, like a spirit, through onr rather mischievous sportire- 
ness» unharmed. He died seated, with a bowl of milk on his knee, of which his 
eeasing to live did not spiH a drop ; a departure which it seemed, after the event 
happened, might have been foretold of this attenuated philosophical gentleman. 

1 have known of some peaceful deaths not unlike this; but one that was 
even more than tranquil was that of Dr. Henry the historian — about 1790, 
I iAaak. I had tke aoeount of it fron 8ir Harry Monoreiff, who I believe was 
kia £avoQiite younger friend. The Doctor was living at a place of his own in 
his native coiuity oi Stirling. He was about seventy-two, and had been for 
some time veiy feeble. He wrote to Sir Hany that he was dying, and thus 
invited him for the last time — '''Come out here directly. I have got something 
to do this wedt, I have got to die." Sir Harry went ; and found his frsend 
piamhr si^ring^ bit rescued and eheerfd. He had no children, aid there was 
Bobociy with urn excent his wife. She and Sir Harry remained alone with hun 
for amrat tfafee days, leii^ hie last three ; doriog a great part ef which the 
Kfer^od histonaft sat in his easy-chair, and conversed, and listened to reading, 
nd dcffled. While engaged in tms way, the hoofs of a horse were heard clatter- 
mg in the oonrt below. Mrs. Henry looked out, and exclaimed that it was 
'Uhat wearisome body," naming a neighboirin^ minister, who was famous for 
Bever leaving a house after he once got into it, " Keep him out," cried the 
Doctor, " don't let the cratur in here." But before they could secure his ex- 
clusion, the cratur's steos were heard on the stair, and he was at the door. 
The Doctor inatanily winked significaatiy, and sJKned to them to sit down and 
be qviet, and he woild pretend to be sleeping. The hint was taken ; and whm 
the ntruder eirterod, he found the patient asleep in his cushioned chair. Sir 
r and Htb. Henry put their fingers to their lips, and pointing to the sup- 
ftlflnr^ieier as one not to be chsturbed, shook their heads. The man sat 
near the doer, like one inelhied te wait till the lap should be ever. 
Once or twice iie tried te npeak ; but was instancy reprsssea by another finger 
on the lip, and another shake of the bead. So he sat on, all in perfeet silence, 
lor above a purler of an hour; dnring which Sir Harry oooasionally detected 
the d^nig man peeping eauttously through the frin^ of his eyelids, to see how 
his visitor was coming on. At last Sir Harry tired, and he and Mrs. Henry 
pointing to t&e poor Dector, fairly waved the visitor out of the room ; on which 
iSbt Doctor opened his eyes wide, and had a tolerably hearty laugh ; which was 
renewed when the sound of the h(n«e's feet made them oertain that their friend 
was actnally off the premises. Dr. Henry died that night. A pious and learned 
masn, with oonsideraole merit in the execution^ and complete originality in the 
plan, of his history. 

There was also at that time, and, indeed^ there is still to be met with — 
hot at rave intervale — a singular raeeof excelient Scotch old ladies. They 
were a cteligktfiil set ; strong-beaded, warm-hearted* and high-spirited ; 
the fire of their tempers iK>t always latent ; merry even in solitude ; very 
resolute ; indifferent about the modes and habits of the modern world i 


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and adhering to their own ways, so as to stand ont like primitiTe rocks 
ahove ordinary society : 

There sits a clergyman's widow, the mother of the first Sir David Dnndas, 
the introducer of our German system of military manceuvres, and at one time 
commander-in-chief of the British army. We used to go to her hoase in 
Bunker's TTill, when boys, on Sundays between the morning and afternoon 
sermons, where we were cherished with Scotch broth, and cakes, and many a 
joke from the old lady. Age had made her incapable of walking even across 
the room ; so, clad in a n&in black silk gown, and a pure muslm cap, she sat 
half encircled by a hiRn-backed black leather chair, reading; with silver 
spectacles stuck on her thin nose ; and interspersing her studies, and her days» 
with much laughter, and not a little sarcasm. What a spirit ! There was more 
fun and sense round that chair than in the theatre or the church. I remember 
one of her granddaughters stumbling in the course of reading the newspapers 
to her, on a paragraph which stated that a lady's reputation had sufferea from 
some indlBcreet talk on the part of the Prince of Wales. Up she of fourscore 
sat, and said with an indignant shake of her shrivelled fist and a keen voice — 
' The dawmed villain ! does he kiss and tell !" 

And Lady Amiston, the mother of the first Lord Melville, a good re* 
presentative, in her general air and bearing, of what the noble English 
ladies must have been in their youth, who were queens in their fiimily 
castles, and stood sieges in defence of them : 

She was in her son's house in George-square when it was attacked by the 
mob in 1793 or 1794, and though no windows could be smashed at that time by 
the populace without the inmates thinking of the bloody streets of Paris, she 
was perfectly finn, most contemptuous of the assailants, and with a heroic con- 
fidence in her son's doing his duty. She once wished us to go somewhere for 
her on an evening; and on one of us objecting that if we did, our lessons for 
next day could not be sot ready^ — " Hoot man V' said she, " what o* that ! as 
they used to say in my day — ^it's only het hips and awa' again." 

And Sophia — or, as she was always called, Suphy — Johnston, of the 
Hilton &mily : 

Her own proper den was in a flat on the ground-floor of a house in Windmill 
street, where her sole companion was a single female servant. When the 
servant went out, which she generally took the liberty of doing for the whole of 
Sunday, Suphy's orders were that she should lock the door, and take the key 
with her. Tms saved Suphy the torment of always rising; for people went 
away when they found the house, as they thought, shut up. But she had a 
hole throng^ which she saw them perfectly well; and, if she was inclined, she 
conversed uirou^h this orifice ; and when tired of them told them to go away. 

Though enjoymff life, neither she nor any of those stout-hearted women nad 
any horror of death. When Suphy^s day was visibly approaching^ Dr. Gregory 
prescribed abstinence from animal food, and recommended " spoon meat," umess * 
she wished to die. ''Dee, Doctor! odd — I'm thinking they've forgotten an 
auld wife like me up yonder !" However, when he came back next day, the 
Doctor found her at the spoon meat — supping a haggis. She was rememba^ 

Miss Menie Trotter, of the Mortonhall family, was a not less amusing 
character. She was of the agrestic order. Her pleasures lay in the fields 
and long country walks. Ten miles at a stretch, within a few years of 
her death, was nothing to her# This liberal old lady generally sacrificed 
an ox to hospitality every autumn, which, according to a system of her 
own, she ate regularly from nose to tail ; and as she indulged in him only 
on Sundays, and with a chosen few, he feasted her half through the 

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On one of her friends asking her, not long before her death, how she was, she 
said, '* Very weel — qmte weeL Bat eh, I had a dismal dream last night ! a 
fearfu' dream !" " Ay ! Pm sorry for that— what was it P" " On ! what d'ye 
thmk ! Of a* places i' the world, I dreamed I was in heeven ! And what d'ye 
thmk I saw ihae F Deil ha*et bat thoosands upon thoosands, and ten thoosands 
upon ten thoosands, o' stark naked weans ! Tnat wad be a dreadfa' thing! for 
ye ken I ne'er coold bide bairns a' my days !" 

In December, 1800, Henry Cockbum entered the Faculty of Adro* 
cates, and from that time forth he speaks of Edinburgh as a witness^ 
and indeed as an actor in most of its occurrences. Everything rang of 
-die SeTolution in France. Scotch Toryism was rampant The real 
"Whigs were few, but eyen then they began to chum that supremacy of 
talent which was destined in Cockbum's palmiest days to gtre them 
power oyer their opponents. The leading WhiM then were, Erskine, 
'Gillies, Clerk, Cathcart, all judges ; four leading advocates ; and one well- 
imown saturnine writer to the Signet, James Gibson, afterwards Sir 
James Gibson-Craig of Riccarton. The party had also, in the medical 
profession John Allen and John Thomson ; and at the university, Dugald 
Stewart, John Play fair, and Andrew Dalzel. They were all, in Henry 
Cockbum's estimation, men of talent, personal boldness, and purity, 
active and fearless. The teaching of the three last, and the personal 
example of the leading men of the bar, must have done much to pave 
the way to the future triumph of Whiggery in the very stronghold of 

Monboddo, Swiuton, and Braxfield had left the scene shortly before 
Codcbnm entered the faculty, but he has preserved some anecdotes of 
Ae " giant of the bench," as Braxfield was called, of a very striking cha- 
racter. Strong-built and dark, with rough eyebrows, powerful eyes, 
threatening lips, and a low growling voice, he was like a formidable 
blacksmith. His accent and dialect were exaggerated Scotch ; his lan- 
guage, like his thoughts, short, strong, and conclusive. Thousands of 
his sayings have been preserved, but almost the only story of him Cock- 
bum says he ever heard that had some fun in it without immodesty, was 
when a butler gave up his place because his lordship's wife was always 
scolding him. " Lord !" he exclaimed, " yeVe little to complain o' : ye 
may he thankfii* ye're no married to her.** 

It was at the bar that the man's eccentricities were most felt His 
coaduct as a criminal judge, Cockbum remarks, was a disgrace to the 
age. To a man who once eloquently undertook his own defence, he said : 
^ YeVe a vera clever chiel, man, but ye wad be nane the vaur o' a 

Mr. Homer (the father of Francis), who was one of the jurors m Hair's 
case, told me that when he was passing, as was often done then, behind the 
bench to get into the box, Braxfield, who knew him, whispered — " Come awa. 
Muster Homer, come awa, and help as to hang ane o' thae daamned scoon- 
drds." The reporter of Gerald's case could not venture to make the prisoner 
say more than tnat " Christianity was an innovation." But the full troth is, 
Ihat in stating this view he added that all great men had been reformers, *' even 
omr Saviour himself." " Muckle he made o' that," chuckled Braxfield in an 
mider voice, '' he was hanget." Before Hume's Commentaries had made our 
«niimial record intelligible, the forms and precedents were a mystery understood 
by the initiated alone, and by nobody so much as by Mr. Joseph Norris the 

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■Miflnlclovk. IrttgcMgtedtofltawfaaiitumteddtmttiby s i yiM '^Ho^tt 
]K8t gia me Jbaie Nonie and s gnoe jniy, aa* I'll doo for the £mw.*' He Mmi 
m 1799, in his seyenty-e^lith jear.* 

Lord EskgroTe was almost as great a character, onlj in another way : 

Notkag distarhed faim to maeh as the expeote of the pablie diaiiflr fer wUek 
the judge on the circoit has a fixed allowanee, and oat of which the leas he 
spends toe more he gains. His devices for economy were often very diverting. His 
sermnt had strict orders to check the bottles of wine br laving aside the corks. 
His kMrdship onee west behind a sereen at Stirling, whue tae ooMpaor was stifi 
ai table, and seeiag an alarmiiiff row of corks, got into a warm altereatiaa^ 
which everybody overheard, with John ; maintaining it to be " impossibiil'' that 
thev could have drunk so much. On being assured that thev had, and weie 
still going on — " Well, then, John, I must just protect mptM r On which h^ 
put a handful of the corks into his pocket, and resumed his seat. 

Brougham tormented him, and sat on his skirts wherever he went, for abore 
a year. The Justice liked passive counsel who let him dawdle on with enlpnta 
and juries in his own way ; and oonaeqneatly he hated the takat, the doqueMe* 
the energy, and all the djaooHDOiing qualities of Brougham. At last it seo—d 
as if a court dav was to be olessed oj his absence, and the poor Justice was 
delighting himseu with the prospect oi being allowed to deal with things as bft 
diose ; when, lo ! his enemy appeared — ^tall, .cool, and resolute. " I (feclare," 
said the Justice^ " that man Broom, or Broug-ham, is the torment of my life V^ 
His revenge, as usual, consisted in sneering at Brousham's eloquence -by callinr 
it or him tke Harangue. *' Well, gentle-men, what did the Haransnie say next r 
Why, it said this" (misstating it); "but here, gentle-men, the Harangne was 
most plainly wrong^, and not mtelligibill." 

As usual, then, with stronger heads than hia, everything was connected hr his 
teitor with republican horrors. I heard him, in condemning a tailor to oeath 
for murdering a soldier by stabbing him, agmvate the offence thus : " And not 
only did you murder him, whereby he wasberea-ved of his life, but you did 
thrust, or push, or pierce, or project, or nropell, the le-thall weapon through die 
belly-band of his regimen-tal breeches, whicn were his Ma^es4y^s!'* 

A key is afforded to a certain extent to the eccentricities of Scottish 
judges in olden time by the following statement : 

At Edinbuii^h, the old judges had a practice at which even their barbaric age 
nsed to shake its head. They had always wine and biscuits on the bencA, when 
the business was clearly to be protracted beyond the usual dinner-hour. The 
modem judges — those 1 mean who were made after 1800, never gave in to this; 
but with those of the preceding generation, some of whom last^ several yean 
after 1800, it was quite common. Black bottles of strong port were set down 
beside them on the bench, with glasses, caraffes of water, tumblers, and hb- 
euits ; md this without the slightest attempt at concealment. The refreshnMMk 
was generally allowed to stand untouched, and as if des]^sed, for a short time» 

* When Lord Karnes, an indefatigable and speculative but coarse man, tried 
Matthew Hay, with whom he nsed to play at chess, for ararder at Ayr, in Sep- 
tember, 1760, he ezdaimed, when the verdict of guilty was returned, '* Thafa 
dieckmate to you, Matthew I" Besides general and uncontradicted notorietj, 
I had this fact from Lord Uermand, who was one of the counsel at the trial, tad 
never forgot a piece of judicial cruelty which excited bis horror and anger. 

Scott is said to have told this story to the Prince Regent If he did so, he 
would certainly tell it accurately, because he knew the fiusts quite well. But in 
reporting what Sir Walter had said at the royal table, the Lord Chief Commis- 
fioner Adam confused the matter, and called the judge Braxfleld, the crime 
forgery, and the circuit town Dumfries ; and this inaccurate account was given 
by Mr. Lockhart in his first edition of Scott's Life (chap 34). Braxfleld ^ 
(» the judges at Hay's trial, but be had nothing to do with tibe ch 

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uflo oocamnafB MBKHUAu: fS 

a litui^ Mse vatet waa poured iaio the t«»bkr, and aippad moMf m H 
morelj to jBataiot Bttture. Then a few drops of wina vera TantArod upoa^ b«4 
only with the water : till at last patience ooold endure ne longer, aod a (uU 
Immper of the pure black element was tossed over; after whiehthe thing weat 
on regularly^ and there was a comfortable munching and ouafing, to the great 
CKfT or the parched threats m the gaMerj. The strong-heaoed 8t<x>d it toleraUj 
wel^ but it told, plainly enough, upon the feeble. Not that the emine wm 
akaaktdy wtotneOed, Mht it was eenainly tositimes aiioled. This, howwer^ 
was so ordinarj with these sages, that it MaUr nade little apfAieat oh«i^ vpoia 
^em. It was not very perceptible at a distance ; and they idl acquired the 
habit of sitting and looking judicial enoudi» even idien their bottles had 
fetched the lowest ebb. This open court refection did not prevail, so far as 
I ever saw, at Cireuits. It took a different form there. The temptation of 
the inn fremiently nroduced a total stoppage of business ; dnrinff which all con* 
eened— juoges uid counsel, clerks, juiTinen, and proTOsts— >haa a jolly dinner; 
after wludi they returned again to the transportations and hangings. I have 
seen this done often. It was a common remark that the step of Ute erening 
pioc ca a ao n was for less true to the music than that of the morning. 

At tlie time when Henry Cockbura entered upon actiye life, the bar» 
vpon which the condition of Scotland has always so mueh depended, wae 
divided into Whirs and Tories, with an orerwhelming nwnierioal majoritj 
in fkrorar of the ktter. The Whigs, haying started, eonid not be pre* 
Tented going on with the race ; but all hope of official preferment, and 
even of any profSrasional countenance that power could show them, was 
sternly and ostentatiously closed against them. The talents were all with 
the Whigs. In their ranks were Brougham, Jeffrey, CodLbam, Moncreiff 
Horner, Macfarlane, Fletcher, and many others; and at their head, 
Eiskine, Clerk, and Gillies ; on the goyemment side, Blair, Hope, and 
Dnndaa; and in a solradtem position, Walter Scott. 

In 1806, the Whigs were surprised to find themselyes in power. A 
new future opened itself to the powerful community of young men of 
ahOity who had attached themselyes to that party in £>Iinburgh. The 
first Scotch judge that the Whigs made does not appear, howeyer, to 
haye been a credit to the party. The sketch giyen by Charles Haig, ** the 
Mighty^ king of the Ante Manum Club, a man famous for law, punch, 
winst, daret, and worth, is an admirable specimen of cleyer and racy pen- 
aad-ink description. 

Jeffivy's young ambition did not at that time soar beyond reporting^ 
hot the oppositbn of the Bench, to whom fair repc^ng was as unknown 
as it was inconyenient, was one of the proximate causes of the appeaitanee 
of the Edinkurgk iZemev, of which the first number was published on 
the lOtk of October, 1802. Archibald Constable inaugarated with its 
^ipearanee a new era in Scottish literature, and confounded not merely 
has riyals in trade, but his yery authors, by his unheard-of prices. ^* Ten, 
eyen twenty, guineas a sheet for a reyiew, 2000/. or 3000/. for a sin^e 
poem, and 1000/. each for two philosophical dissertations, drew auUiora 
m>m dens where they would otherwise haye starved, and made Edinburgh 
a Hterary mart, fitmous with strangers, and the pride of its own citizens^" 

Society was at that time in a state of high animation, and continued 
so for many years. Cockbum justly attributes this to the surviyanoe of 
seyeral of the eminent men oi the preceding age, and of curious old 
habits which the modem flood had not yet obliterated; the rise of a 
powerful community of young men of ability ; the exclusion of the British 

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fiom the Continent, which made Edinburgh, bodi for education and ^ 
veddence, a faTonrite resort for strangers ; the war, which maintained a 
constant excitement of military preparation, and of military idleness ; the 
blaze of that popular literature, which made it the second city in the em- 

1>ire for learning and science ; and the extent and the ease with which 
iterature and society embeUished each other, without rivalry, and without 

Afiier the war broke out again in 1803, Edinburgh, like every other 
place, became a camp, and continued so till the peace in 1814 : 

We were all soldiers, one way or other. Professors wheeled in the CJollege 
area; the side arms and the aniform peeped from behind the gown at the bar, 
and even on the bench ; and the parade and the review formed the staple of 
men's talk and thoughts. Hope, who had kept his lieatenant-colonelcj when 
he was lord-advocate, adhered to it, and did all its duties after he became lord 
justice-clerk. This was thought unconstitutional by some ; but the spirit of 
the dav applauded it. Brougham served the same gun in a company of artillery 
with rlaytair. James Moncreiff, John Eichardson, James Grahame (the Sab- 
bath), Thomas Thomson, and Charles Bell, were all in one company of riflemen. 
Frands Homer walked about the streets with a musket, being a private in the 
Gentlemen Regiment. Dr. Gregory was a soldier, and Thomas Brown the 
moralist, Jeffrey, and many another since famous in more intellectual warfare. 
I, a gallant captain, commanded ninety-two of my fellow-creatures from 1804: 
to 1814— the whole course of that war. Eighty private soldiers, two officers, 
four sergeants, four corporals, and a trumpeter, all trembled (or at least were 
bound to tremble) when 1 spoke. Mine was the left flank company of the 
** Western Battahon of Midlothian Volunteers." John A. Murray's company 
was the right flank one; and as these two were both from the parish ot St. 
Cuthberts, the rest beiuj^ scattered over the county, we always driiled tojgether. 
When we first began, being resolved that we townsmen should outshme the 
rustics, we actually drilled our two companies almost every night during the 
four winter months of 1804 and 1805, by torchlight, in the ground flat of the 
George-street Assembly Rooms, which was then all one earthen-floored apart- 
ment. TMs was over and above our day proceedings in HerioVs-green and 
Brunt-fields Links, or with the collected regiment. 

Sir Walter Scott was also no ignoble volunteer : 

Walter Scott's zeal in the cause was very curious. He was the soul of the 
Edinburgh troop of Midlothian Yeomanry Cavalry. It was not a duty with 
him, or a necessity, or a pastime, but an absolute passion, indulgence in which 
gratified his feudal taste for war, and his jovial sociableness. He drilled, and 
drank, and made songs, with a hearty conscientious earnestness which inspired 
or shamed everybody within the attraction. I do not know if it is usual, but 
his troop used to practise, individually, with the sabre at a turnip, which was 
stuck on the top of a staff, to represent a Frenchman, in front of the line. 
EveiT other trooper, when he set forward in his turn, was far less concerned 
about the success of his aim at the turnip, than about how he was to tumble. 
But Walter pricked forward gallantly, saying to himself, " Cut them down, the 
villains, cut them down !" and made his blow, which from his lameness was 
often an awkward one, cordially muttering curses adl the while at the detested 

When the Tories returned to power, Cockbum was, by the influence 
of Lord Melville and Robert Dundas, the lord chief baron, made one 
of the lord advocate's deputies, notwithstanding his difference of politics. 
In May, 1807, he pleaded his first case in the General Assembly, and 
from that time upwards he continued to be personally concerned in all 
its judicial proceedings. 

Digitized by 


LOSD oockbubn's memobials. 05 

l%e tomuJ meeting of this coiiTOoation ww one of the most earunu speO" 
iaoles in SootiamL It gare ns the onlj local images of rojaltr we had, and 
eanied the imagination hr back. The old primitiye radness of the plaoe had 
not b^n mach destro^red when I first knew it. The civilised doqnenoe of 
Boberison had ^ded its connoils, but had left the manners and appearance of 
the great majority of his brethren untouched; and the strictness with which 
LonfLeren and Lord Napier, as his Majjest^s Commissioners, adhered, and 
made ererj one who came within the royal circle adhere, to court dress and 
Miqfoette, seemed like a hint to ereiy fragment of the olden time to remain. 

The year 1808 saw the commencement of the new gaol on the Calton 
Hill. " It was," Cockbum remarks, ^' a piece of undoubted bad taste to 
^ve so glorious an eminence to a prison. It was one of our noblest sites, 
and would have been given by Pencles to one of his finest edifices." A 
few jem after this << the Heart of Midlothian" ceased to beat It was a 
good riddance, for it was a most atrocious gaol. This period was also dis* 
tinguished by the dawn of modem Scottish art in the persons of Raebum, 
Nasmyth, John Thomson, and Carse. The first public exhibition of their 
works was in 1808. In 1810, two still-subsisting institutions arose — the 
Hortacnltural Society and the Commercial Bank. The first was founded 
by a well-known character, Patrick Neill, a printer. Cockbum says a 
pretty thing Apropos of flowers. ** In innocence, purity, and simplicity, 
the norist — ^not the scientific botanist, but the florist of his own little 
borders — ^is the only rival of the angler. I wish we had a good Flowery 
Walton." The rise of the Commercial Bank, and of several other public 
institutions, also marked the growth of the public mind. In July, 1810, 
Codcbum was dismissed by the lord advocate from being one of his 
deputies, on account of difference of politics. He was delighted at gettuig 
rid of the connexion, and out of a false position ; he married the next 
year, and set up his rural household gods at Bonaly, close by the northern 
base of the Pentland Hills. 

I b^an (he relates) by an annual lease of a few square yards and a scarcely 
habitable farm-house. But, realising the profanations of^ Auburn, I have de- 
stroved a village, and erected a tower, and reached the dignity of a twenty-acred 
laird. Everything except the two bums, the few old trees, and the mountains, 
are my own work, and to a great extent the work of my own hands. Human 
nature is incapable of enjoying more happiness than has been my lot here; 
where the glories of the prospects, and the luxury of the wild retirement, have 
been all eainanced 1^ the progress of my improvements, of my children, and of 
myself. I have been too nappy, and often tremble in the anticipation that the 
cloud must come at last. Warburton says that there was not a bush in his 
garden on which he had not hung a speculation. There is not a recess in the 
valleys of the Pentlands, nor an eminence on their summits, that is not familiar 
to my solitude. One summer I read every word of Tacitos in the sheltered orC'- 
vicc of a rock (called " My Seat") about 800 feet above the level of the sea, 
with the most magnificent of scenes stretched out before me. 

The year 1822 was distinguished by a painful history — the case of 
Mr. James Stuart of Doneam and Sir Alexander Boswell. Cockbum 
was one of the counsel for Mr. Stuart, and the forensic eloquence and 
ability displayed on that occasion excited universal admiration. He still 
writes of the case somewhat in the spirit of counsel for the defence i 

Soon after the Beacon was put down in Edinburgh, the Sentinel, another 
newspaper of the same kind, and encouraged . by the general countenance of 
the same party, was set up in Glasgow. Mr. Stuart being defamed, as he 

Digitized by 


M LOB0 COGKBrnor'S HmfflRTAM* 

tkoQgkt» ioL tiw BMf pvfclintiQi, inatilsted an aotion of damageft amnii its 
adEkon, two paraoiui called AiwMMbr and Boctbwidc Soon after tiiia» Bort^ 
wiek latHiatod that if tUs aotkm was abandoned, ke would make ali the imum- 
tien he eovU, bj dbek)»Bg the authors of all the attada that had been made « 
Ihia ^wwspaper against Stomrt, and bj giying up the original artidea. Staact 
aooeded to this, and went to Gbagow for the documents, which he sever 
dbvbted, nor hni amy reason to doubt, Borthwick's rig^ to surrender. Ha 
tolt with him as any alaadered gaitloBaiL would with a penitent editor, who 
was only doiuf what is eoaimon with persons in his situation. It was aft«^ 
wards preten&d that Stuart had no right to receiye the papers, beeanse 
Borthwick had no risht to give them; and that he had no right to give 
them, because he baa stolen them. He had stolen the company property 
from his partner! This pretenee was aided by the lord advocate mdicting 
Borthwick for the tiieft. The mere fact of the partnership was an answer t» 
this charge. No doubt, there had been a conditional separation between the 
partners: hot Alexander having violated one of the condttionB by not pmn^ a 
sum at money, had been sued before the Burgh Court of Gksffow by Borniwick 
tor restitution of his r^ts ; sad that court had pronounoed an unchallenged 
interlocutor, authorising Borthwick to resume possession. He resumed it, and 
thus got legd access to the papers, in which his interest as a partner had never 
been extinguished even by the separation. He gave them — not in property but 
for his temporary pnrpose^to Mr. Stuart, who could not, without idiocy, hare 
declined receiving them. 

On examining them, he was astonished to find that the worst articles agaioftl 
him had been written by Sir Aiexander Boswell of Ajidiinleck, a relation, wiUi 
whom he had long been on good terms. Sir Alexander had been aware of their 
impropriety, for they were written in a disguised hand. Mr. Stuart having at 
last detected a respectable libeller, returned to Edinburgh, and waited the arrival 
of Sir AJexander, who was in London. As soon as Sur Alexander heard of the 
ddivc^ of the papers, which contained insults on many other gentlemen, hs 
eonscienoe seems to have told him that he must be oliallengedpy somebody ; 
beeanse, before any challenge was given, he wrote to a friend asking him to aot 
as his second, and proposing a trip to the Bhine " in the event of my bdng the 
successful shot." He came to Edinburgh in a few days ; when he was waited 
upon by the Eari of Rosslyn on behalf ^ Mr. Stuart. He avowed himself rcr 
sponsilue for the article selected as the ground of the call— a song in which 
Stuart was called a coward ; and declining to apologise, a meeting was arranged. 
IHie aonff was in his handwriting; and the idle doubt attempted to be cast on 
this by the prosecutor at the subsequent trial was never hinted at by Sir Alex* 
ander himself. 

They met near Auchtcrtool, in Fife, on the 22nd of March, 1822. Stuart, an 
awkward lumbering rider, had never fired a pistol but once or twice from the 
back of a horse in a troop of yeomanry. He stopped at his beautiful Hillside 
near Aberdour, and arranged some papers, and subscribed a deed of settlement. 
Boswell, who was an expert shot, told his second, Mr. Douglas, that he meant 
to fire in the air. He fell himself, however, at the first fire. Stuart told me 
that he was never more thunderstruck than when, on the smoke clearing, he saw 
his adversaiy sinking gently down. Sir Alexander died at Balmuto in two days. 
Stuart came to Edinmirgh, and immediately withdrew to France. 

The death of so valuable a partisan as Sir Alexander Boswell, though in fair 
duel, by tiie hand of James Stuart, threw the Tory party into a fiame, the heat 
of which, I fear, reached even the department of the public prosecutor. 
Nobodv who knew Stuart's temperament could believe that ne did not mean to 
stand his trial. But lest there should be any doubt of it, Mr. Gibson, on 
Stuart's behalf, gave distinct notice to the sheriff that he would appear. 
Nevertheless, after the original irritation had had months to oool, a statement 
that he kui absconded from iustioe, under a consciousness of guilt, was put iato 
his indietment. This was ot no real importance, but it showed the feehag. It 
was from gaol that he fled, not from justice. 

Digitized by 



Tke piooeediiigs taken against B<»rthwick, on the other hand, had the effect 
of giTing to Stoart's possession of the papers a criminal character uid i^ 
pca r anee. Borthwick was accosed of theft ; and being apprehended in Dondee, 
was brought to Edinbinrffh and cast into prison, where for some time access was 
denied U> his friends and l^;al advisers. He was placed at the bar of the Glas- 
gow spring circuit 1822, but the trial was not then proceeded with ; the diet 
WIS deserted jpro kco W tiwpore, and thus the harshness of his treatment could 
not regularly DC exposed. His partner Alexander also came forward as his 
pofttlft praaeeatoc on a nomoud mriatioB o£ the same oharge. The rewk was, 
that be was k^t under aecnsatiom until after Stuart's trial. And at that trials 
the counsel for Alexander attended — thougb not engaged in the case ; and bj 
rising and announcing that this and that witness, as each retired from the 
wifenea84x)x, would be required for Borthwick's trial on the following Mondar, 
fitaarf 8 dnd an appearanee of being connected with Borthwick's then, 
was repeated till tlie court "put him to silence. 

The ^oal of Ml Steart took fkee on the lOth of June, 1832. No Seotdk 
trial la ■! tiae excited sack interest. If the proseoutors were really anxious for 
a oonyictioB, their k(»es Tanished bus; before their own case was dosed. 
Beyoi^ tlie admitted fact that Boswell nad fallen b? his hand, there was not a 
single circumstanoe that did not redound to Stuart s credit. His injuries, his 
gentkoeas, his ISnnness, his sensibility, and the necessity that he was under^ 
aecor^Dg to the exuting law of society, of acting as he did, were all brought 
e«i br mnstible eridenoe ; whfle the excellence of his general character wbb 
pnrrei kj amy witnesaea, serend of whom were purposely selected from his 
potiiical ODDOMta. No Terdict exeept the acquittal tiiat was almost iistaatiy 
gif ea, couJd have followed. To trr was quite right ; and duelling was then, as 
now, an absurd and shocking remeav for private insult. But considering what 
the tyranny of society required, ana what eourts of justice had sanctioned, the 
earnestness with which this prosecution was pressed does appear strange. The 
jn8tiee-cleri[, who presided at the trial, behaved adnurably. Stuart was no 
■ooBor acquitted, than the pretence of accusing Borthwick of theft was 
iseppedl ; and he was HberaM without ei<er being broudit to trial 

Mr. Stuart was singulariy fortunate in both the seconds. Rosslyn, the aodei 
of an oid nulitarv gentleman, combined the p<^te j^aUantry of that profession 
with activity ana Ulent in the conduct of civil affairs, and was one or the most 
publio-spirited and useful noblemen in Scotland. Mr. Douglas, thoufffa of 
moderate ability, was worthv and honest. His candour in this affair, and the 
scorn with which, after the latal issue, he refused to join the crv of his party 
against 8tuart, msde all gentlemen think of the jeoparay in which the survivor 
■ad tiath might have stood, if Boswell had been otherwise attended. 

Afler a kindly and feelinfi^ notice of Sir Walter Scott as he appeared 
after the calamity that befelhim in 1826, and an account of a visit to 
Abbotsford in 1828, there is a still more kindly notice of a man who has 
laboored for years under a '' most unjust, and a very alarming, thou^ 
not unnatural odium** — Dr. Knox. " Tried," Cockbum remarks, " in 
reference to the invariable, and the necessary practice of the profession, 
oiir anatomists were spotlessly correct, and Knox the most correct of 
them alL" The ** Memorials, which will remain a work of reference to 
Edinburgh history, a classic in the English language, and a monument 
to its author's talent and goodness, conclude witJi the return of the 
Whigs into power in 1830— events, their pleasant chronicler records, 
** which will perhaps affect all the future course of my life, and will cer- 
tainlj be deeply marked in the page of history.** 

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Calm pleasures there abide, nugestic pains. — Laodamia, 

What man, woman, or child has not met with, — ^what essayist on 
Sleep has not quoted, — what '^ nid nid nodding*' drowsyhead has not com- 
placently applauded, — honest Sancho Panza's cordial henediction on the 
inventive genius to whom, by the sleek squire's supposition, we owe the 
realbed idea of slumber and sleep? '' Blessed be the man that invented 
sleep/' quoth he ; '^ it wraps one all round like a cloak." Happy bit of 
graphic diction on Sancho's part, — we seem to hear the comfbrtable Tawn 
of lazy sensual satisfaction with which he drawls it out, and to see him in 
the act of gathering the cloak carefully and completely around his portly 
person, and *' tucking himself up" to a nicety in its cozy folds. Happy 
man be his dole ; and pleasant dreams and slumbers light 1 though we 
fear such a gross feeder could know little of the last item, and that he 
snored portentously, through a wind instrument of three trombone power. 

We had intended to launch out at once in high poetic mood on the 
subject of this paper, and in words worthy of its Wordsworthian motto. 
But that snore of Sancho's has sent us all adrift. It has startled us from 
the lofty repose of reverie to a degrading consciousness of the prose 
aspects of our theme. Its discord has broken up our harmony of ideas in 
most admired disorder. Not more vexatiously could there come on the 
ear of the farmer's daughter, in the act, at open window, of sweeping 
prelusive chords upon her harp, the eontra^basso gprunt of the ftrmer's 

For, like most other things. Sleep has its unpoetical aspects. Indeed, 
few sleepers, caught in the act, are poetical objects. Most sleepers are 

n*'B the reverse. An Imogen, such as Shakspeare has painted her, 
ming of Posthumus and better days to come, is not an every-day vision. 
A Christabel, lud down in her loveliness, is not a type of common-place 
humanity asleep. Of course Imogen did not snore, nor utter inarticulate 
gurgling sounds at periodical intervals. Of course Christabel did not lie 
with her mouth wide open, and an expression of hopeless vacuity on " her 
face, oh call it fair not pale ;" or twist her shape into quite nondescript 
postures, not to be told in rhyme or explained by reason. But this b 
what ^our ordinary sleepers do. They snore to the top of their bent, and 
that, m some temperaments, is aUissimb. They utter broken murmurs, 
most absurdly compounded of hissing, moaning, and nasal constituents. 
They lie gaping to an extent utterly incompatible with the sublime and 
beautiful. They are to be seen, too, curled, or coiled, or collapsed, into 
positions really worthy of study, as showing the eccentricities of poses 
piastiques possible to the human form, not less diversified than illogicaL 
Leigh Hunt has remarked that though a man in his waking moments 
may look as proud and as self-possessed as he pleases, — though he may 
walk proudly, sit proudly, eat his dinner proudly, — though he may shave 
himself with an air of infinite superiority, and, m a word, may show him- 
self grand on the most trifling oceasioos, — he is reduced to ridiculous 

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shifts iflieD OQoe floored by that mat loTeller, Sleep. ** Sleep plays the 
petnfyiDg magician. He arrests the proudest lord as well as the humblest 
down in the most hidicroos postures ^ ao that if you could draw a grandee 
from his bed without waking him, no limb-twisting fool in a pantomime 
riioald create wilder laughter. The toy with a string between its legs is 
hardly a posture-master more extravagant Imagine a despot lifted up 
to the gaze of his ralets, with his eyes shut^ his mouth open, his left hand 
mider bis right ear, his other twisted and hanging helplessly before him 
like an idiovs, one knee lifted up, and the other leg stretched out, or both 
knees huddled up to^;ether; what a scarecrow to lodge majestic power 
in V* Few sleepers, in effect, show to advantage after they are come to 
years of discretion ; it is only infancy and early childhood that will bear 
exsimnadon, as artistic stumes of grace, when the senses are steeped in 

It is while sleep ^* steals gently o'er us,** — in the midway station, the 
half-way house between wide-awake activity and complete oblivion, — that 
one is most apt, in benignant stupidity, to echo Sancho's blessbg. Hence 
we can feehngly sympauiise with the Connaught man, who, with very 
intelligible irritation, complained that for Ms part he found no kind of 
pteasare in his bed ; for, the moment he was in it, he was asleep ; and 
the moment he awoke, it was time to fni up. The poor fellow was 
cruelly mulcted, thanks to his robust healm and unjarred nervous system, 
of the agreeable train of sensations incident to sleep's incipient stage. 
Again to quote the Indicator ^"-^^^ tk gentle fiulure of the perceptions 
comes creeping over one : — Uie spirit of consciousness disengages itself 
more and more, with slow and hushing degrees, like a mother detaching 
her hand from that of her sleeping child ; — the mind seems to have a 
balmy lid dosmg over it, like the eye ; — ^'tis closing ; — ^'tis more closing ; 
~-*tis closed. The mysterious spint has gone to take its airy rounds." 
The dream-pleasures or the dream-pains of sleep have begun, and for a 
while that prostrate form is independent of time, and space, and sense. 

Much have the Poets had to say, as meet and right it was, of the plea- 
sures and the blesrings of Sleep : 

Fond words have oft been spoken to thee. Sleep ! 
And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names ; 
The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames. 
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep ! 
Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep 
In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames 
All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims 
Takest away, and into souls dost creep, 
Like to a breeze from heaven.* 

A volume might be composed of parallel passages to Young^s familiar 
line and its expressive epithet^ *^ Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy 
Sleep," — an epthet with the ori^nal application of which he is not un- 
commonly accredited, as though it had not been applied over and over 
again before his time with much finer effect — as in the rich aggrec^te of 
images, wrought together in tumultuous agitation in the hauntea mind 
of murderous Macbeth, in that hour and power of darkness when the 

* Wordsworth's MiieelikmMui Saimett. 

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gfgcbuf Duncan slept his last sleep, and from wImm date the 
was to know innocent sleep ne?6r again : 

Sleep that knits op the ravdl'd sleare* of care, 
1^ death of each day's life, sofe kboor's bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second ooaaa, 
Chief Doorisher in life's feaat, &c. 

So again in a memorable sonnet by Sir Philip Sydney — 

Come, Sleep, Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 
The baiting pkce of wit, the balm of woe. 
The poor man*s wealth, the prisoner's release, 
He mdifferent judge between the high and low, &c. 

A wakeful night or two will give wonderful emphasis to the signifieaiioe 
of all such poetical epithets and descriptions ; while the finest monkiug^ 
opening on summer splendours of nature, will fail to elicit delight from 
the worn-out watcher.f The necessity of this balm to recruit the wasted 
energies of our nature, as it is uniyersal, so is it infinitely diversified, and 
iifen to illustrations ranging from the pathetic to the humorous. On tbm 
one hand we may quote such a passage as that in one of Lillo's tragediea, 
where a grief-stricken husband is soothiJE^ly oounselied to seek oblivion 
of his woes in sleep: 

Come, let's to rest. Impartial as the grave. 
Sleep rebs the cruel tyrant of Ma power, 
Gives rest and freadom to the e Vw ro uf^ t dave^ 
And steals the wretched beggar from his want. 
Droop not, my friend; sleep will suspend tiij cara^ 
And time will end them. 

Or on the other hand we may torn to sack Tsn es as m M a c kwe s lii 
Fcaed's fVif d'esprti ^ on seeing the Speaker asleep in his Chair donag* 
one of the Debates of the first Refimned Parliameat:" 

Sleep, Bfr. Speaker, ^s surely fair 
If you mayn't in your bed, that you should in your dtair. 
Louder and longer now they grow, 
ToiT and Radical, Ay and No; 
Tatlang by night, and talking by day. 
Sleep, Mr. Speaker ; sleep ^niile you may. 

Sleep, Mr. Speaker. Sweet to men 
Is the Meep that cometh but now and then, 
Sweet to tne we^ry, sweet to the ill. 
Sweet to the chilcfren that work in the mUL 
You have more need of repose than they, 
Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep while you may. 

Sleep, Mr. Speaker. Harvey will soon 
Move to abolish the sua and the moom; 

• Unwrought silk. 

t Wordsworth, for instance, in another of his Sonnets, lamenting recent experi- 
ences of such insomnolency, speaks as thoogh taalalised by the beautifls of i 
iag-Ude, and reproachfully asks Sleep, 

** Without T^bM wbai is all the moming^s wealth? 
Come blessed barrier between day and day, 
Dear mother of fketh thoufhts and joyous health I" 

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finwie vill ao d(wU be iakimm i\m aoise 
or the House on a question or sixteenpeioe. 
Statesmen will how^ and patriots bray. 
Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep while you may. 

Yerj wholesome counsel, that '* sleep while you may," to whomsoerer 
acUressedi Hear the author of The CaxionSj — *' O let youth cherish 
that happiest of earthly boons while yet it is at its command ; — ^for there 
Cometh the day to all when ' neithw the yoioe of the lute or the birds ' 
Qsofli mvium ttUtarmgue) shall bring back the sweet slumber that M es 
their young eyes, as unbidden as the daws. It is a dark epoch in a man's 
Hfe when deep forsakes him ; when he tosses to and fro, and thought will 
not be silenced ; when the drug and drat^ht are the couriers of stupefiu;- 
tion, not sleep ; when tiie eyelids close with an effort, and there is a drag, 
and a weight, and a dimness in the e3res at mom.'' A derang^ 
physique^ a burdened conscience, a heaTy-laden heart, — in Yain do these 
inToke the alienated presence of Sleep. Most impressively has Shak- 
speare exemplified this, in the instance of our Henry the Fourth, whom 
he pictures o'ereanopied with costly state, and surrounded with all that 
should secure reposa, hut, in spite of all, restless, feverish, tossing to and 
fro, a victim to the maladj of thooghl, anvying the sennd alumbers of his 
flManest sulject : 

——Seep, geatledoe^, 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I lii^bted thee, 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. 
And steep my senses in forgetf umess P 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smd^y cribs» 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thea, 
And hush'd with bussing night-flies to thy slombsr; 
Than in the perfumed chambeEs of the great, Ac. 

As a pendant to this, we cite a iragrment from another eld dramatist, 
Jblui Marstnn, who thus graphically expresses the sleeplsMPssi o£ a 
fitatfol, diseonteated spirit : 

I osoBot sleep, my cres' ill aeighbouriag lids 
Will hold no feOowship. O thou pale sober night, 
Thoathat in sluggish fumes all sense dost steep; 
Tbou that giv'st sOl the world full leave to pli^ 
Unbend'st the feeble veins of sweaty labour : 
H^ gallev slave, that all the toilsome day 
Tugs at the oar against the stubborn wave, 
Straining his rugged veins, snores fast ; 
The stooping soytne-man, that doth barb ^ field. 
Thou mak'st wink sure; in nijo^t all naatares sleep, 
OaljT the DMdoontcnt, that 'gamst his fate 
Bepines and quarrels; alas! he's Goodman TeU-elock; 
His sallow jaw-bones sink with wasting moan; 
Whilst others' beds are down, his pillow's stone. 

Bo^ again, Goethe r o pres eo ts Covnt Egmont in prison, reproaekftiny in- 
Tokii^ that benignant presence of Sleep which U9ed io come to him as a 
matter of course, hut now comes not at aU. <' Old friend !" exclaims the 
too wakeful captive, '< ever faithful sleep ! dost thou too forsake me, like 
my other friends? How vrert thou wont of yore to descend unsought 
npon mj ^"ee brow, cooling my temples as if with a myrtle-wreath of 
bfal Amidsl the din of haltia, an Iha wavm af liia» I rated in thine 

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arms, breathing lightly as a growing boy. When tempests whistled 
through the leaves and boughs, when the summits of the lofty trees swung^ 
creaking in the blast, the inmost core of my heart remained unmoved. 
What agitates me now?" Poor captive — 

not poppy nor mandragora^ 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou ow*dst yesterday. 

Southey has pathetically illustrated the same incapacity, in the sorrowing 
vigils of the "expectant Maid," Kailyal : 

"Be of good heart, and may thy sleep be sweet," 
Ladarlad said. Alas ! that cannot be 
To one whose days are days of misery. 
How often did she stretch her hands to greet 
Ereenia, rescued in the dreams of night ! 
How oft amid the vision of delight, 
Fear in her heart all is not as it seems ; 

Then from unsettled slumber start, and hear 
The Wmds that moan above, the Waves below ! 
Thou hast been call'd, Sleep, the friend of Woe, 
But 'tis the happy that have called thee so. 

And Wordsworth is but the spokesman of no slender company of unrest- 
ing midnight watchers, when, on one occasion, he thus apostrophises the 
Sleep he had fruitlessly wooed — 

Shall I alone, 
I surely not a man ungentle made, 
Call thee worst TVrant by which flesh is crost P 
Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown. 
Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, 
Still last to come where thou art wanted most ! 

Another evil attaches to the general evil of sleeplessness. Too often, 
an such a case, — a case, that is, of distempered nerves, or physical wreck, 
or mental anguish, the sleep when it does come is charged with vexing 
associations. Wooed long, and won at last, — the sighed-for boon is 
found a bane. Instead of the Pleasures, lo ! the Pains of Sleep. The 
sleep may be deep, but so is the trouble. It was thus the ancient patriarch 
was visited with midnight alarms — in thoughts from the visions of the 
night, when deep sleep falleth on men, fear came upon him, and 
trembling, which made all his bones to shake. Dejection and perplexity 
attend on the retrospect of such experiences, dejection and perplexity 
on the prospect of their return. *^ I would not spend another such a 
night," protests the shivering dreamer, "no, not to buy a world of 
happy days V* Rather than renew the dismal time, he will almost pray 
to be sleepless quite — pray that sleep may not visit his eyes, nor slumber 
hb eyelids. Happily it is not many who undergo tms torment; the 
case is abnormal, exceptional, in its more aggravated form. But those 
who have become sadly versed in the deeper Pains of Sleep, have recorded 
the perhaps '' long since cancell'd woe" in a manner of moving interest, 
as snowing the capacities of our common nature for strange and dread 
extremities of suffering. The English Opium-eater, whose experience in 
this way was pretematurally stimulated by artificial means, has told us 
how he seemed every night to descend — and that not metaphorically, but 
literally — downwards and still downwards into chasms and sunless 

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mby«W8^ depths below depths, froai which it seemed hopeless that he 
coold erer Teasoend ; and how OTer every form, and threat, and punish- 
ment, that was connected with the monstroos scenery of his dreams, there 
brooded a sense of eternity and infinity that drore him into an oppression 
as of madness. What a yagne grandeur there is in Coleridge's painfully 
poweHul fragment, with tms Tery title of the Pains of Sleep — what a 
wild energy of description, at once dim and significants concentrated and 

But jester-nigfat I prayed aloud 

In angmsh and in agony, 

XJpstitfting from the fiendish crowd 

Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me : 

A Iwrid ligkt, a trampling i^rong. 

Sense of intolerable wrong. 

And whom I scorned, those only strong ! 

Thirst of rerenge, the powerless will 

Still baffled, and ^et burning still I 

Desire with loatlung strangely mixed 

On wild or hateful objects fixed. 

fantastic passions ! maddeniDe brawl ! 

And shame and terror over iQll 

Deeds to be hid which were not hid. 

Which all confused I could not know. 

Whether I suffered or I did, &c. 

The dismay wrought by the night so '^ saddened and stunned,** he says, 
^ the conung day," that 

Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me 
Distemper's worst cakuoiitj — 

and when his own loud scream awoke him from this appalling tyranny, 
overtaxed natore gave way, and *^ o'ercome with sufferinps strange and 
wild, he wept as he had been a child." In a letter of his, printed in 
Joseph Cottle's RecolleciionSy Coleridge says — ^'I^ght is my hell- 
sleep my tormenting angel ! Three nights out of four, I fall asleep, 
strwglmg to He awake, and my frequent night-screams have almost 
ma£ me a nmsance in the house. Dreams wiw me are no shadows, but 
the Tery eailannties of my life." How lamentable an agency opium had 
in all tois, the good brother of 

Amos Cottle (Phoebus ! what a name !) 

has signified with piteous emphasis. 

It is time to have finished this *^ gallimaufry" of quotations and allu- 
sions. But before doing so, we may glance at the ever and everywhere 
recognised affinity between Sleep, and that which subdues in deeper re- 
pose its keenest rains and Pleasures, the Shadow of Death. According 
to Shelley and the poets, Death and Sleep are brothers,— one pale as the 
waning moon, with its lips of lurid blue — the other rosy as the mom up- 
rising over ocean waves— both passing wonderful. The reader will 
remember Wolcofs translation of Warton's celebrated epigram, inscribed 
under a garden-statue of Somnus {Somne leviSy &c.) — 

Come, gentle Sleep ! attend thy votary's prayer, 
And, thou^ Death's image, to my couch repair ; 
How sweeS, thou^ lifeless, yet with life to ue. 
And, without dying, how sweet to die ! 


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flietp isy aometimM, m a lining phikMo^her mpi e miB it, ^tha 
fh— »>*^ in which death ammges hif maditnery. Sleeo is ■ o mt tim ei tkst 
daip mjstmout atmoiphere, in which the human apirit u slowly nmettiing^ 
its wings for flight from earthly tenements." Such haa baan the Brntka^ 
noma aoveted 1^ some-»to pass away from the clasp of the one brother 
to the embrace of the other — just as, when the cucaa o£ Kehaaia was 

the Lord of Death 

With love beniff&ant on Ladurlad saDiled, 
And gently on his head his blessing laid» 
As sweetly as a Child, 
Whom neither thought disturbs nor care enoumbers, 
Tired with long pky, at close of summer day. 

Lies down and slumbers, 

Even thus as sweet a boon of sleep partaking, 

By Yamen blest, Ladurlad sunk to rest. 

Such an Euthanasia may come indeed to few; none may look for what 
is called a '< happy release** from mortal ills, none should expect that 
after life's fitful fever they shall << sleep well,** but those who are working 
out in daily probation the counsel of another poet — 

So LIVE, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scour^ to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach ihj gnvve. 
Like one who wn^ the drspery of ms oouch 
About him, and li^ down to pleasant dreams. 


On the dOth of April we started with a leave of five days to explore 
some of the beauties of the southern coast of the Crimea* Our party con- 
sisted of myself and two others, T. and R., each riding his own pony, 
and T/s servant leadbfl^ another, which carried a tent, with com for fbor 
days lor our quadrupeds, a saucepan, and plates, and sundry havreaacks 
with provisions. Our destination was Yalta, about sixty or seventy 
versts from Sebastopol, and we left the camp in high spirits for our Httle 
excursion; My little grey stepped along merrily under a somewhat heavy 
load ; viz., myself and saddle, holsters, with tobacco, brandy, &e., with 
my waterproof sheet, my coat, and military cloak rolled up and strapped^ 
like a dragoon's, before and behind the saddle. We soon descended the 
heights of Balaklava plain, and passed the dirty Frendi and pretty Sar- 
diman camps, which dot the Woronaoff-road to Kamara. The Sardinian 
camps are very prettily and tastefully arranged, with giten boughs in 
front of the huts, and the men are fine soldier-like fellows, in excellent 

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AfUr [Mnmf thete, we feand oanelvet winding thi^ogb die d^ 
i leedt irom BakidaTa plam to the Venutka i^iay, through whieh 
flows a little stream, while on either side the numntaias rise to some 
height^ eofered with brashwood. Here the Highlanders and Royals are 
ancaiapsd oo the right hand, and their white tents showed nfettifar out 
agnst tke^daik hill-side. 

A party of English kdies, esoorted by naval offioers, naased ns, some 
sn honeback, and some on an artillery-oar. The face or one lady, who 
nde a tall, raw-boned horM, were an expression of torture which ezoitBd 
oar deep eompaaaon, and whiofa we iej<noed to see replaced by the de* 
soffons gravity of a dia|wroDe, when, shortly aftermuds, we fbtmd she had 
effected an exchange with one of the ladies in the oar. Let us hope that 
both enjoyed a good night's rest after the feitigues of the day. 

Some anxious thoughts now began to doud our happiness. For some 
time we had lost sight of our bag^^ige, and as all our slender comforti de- 
pended upon it, we thought it exp^ient for one o£ the party to return 
and ascertain the cause. Accordingly, R. was deipatdiea on tl^ special 
aerriee, but as a eonstderaUe time elapsed a£ter his departure, I Mi too 
uneasy to wait their return patiently, and started to meet them. I found 
there had been a difficulty about pasamg a dead horse, in oonsequence of 
whiofa the baggage, not bebg very securely fixed, bad nearly all mllen oS, 
which trouUesome incident was repeated at intvrals until our first halt, 
when we took eflSMtual measures to prerent it. 

After passing the Tslley in which lay the Tartar vilkges of Mosoomia 
and Venutka, surrounded by beantifol trees (a most refreshing sight to eyes 
wearied with the treeless phteau of Sebastopol), we ascended the hill over- 
looking Bmdar, and, selectmg a peculiarly green field by the road-side, 
we uneeranoniously unsaddled and picketed the horses and let them 

Ktae, while we lay down on the soft grass and heartily enjoyed our 
cheon of ham and hard-boiled cffgs. The view was delicious. The 
lovdy vale of Baidar, enoirded by hSb dodied with woods, lay before us; 
the village in the middle of the plain, and the road winding on until we 
kst nght of it in the Phoros pass, where we intended to camp for the 
night, but down whose sides ominous douds of mist wer^ now beg^inning 
to roU. On our nght lay a Russian chAteau, so thoroughly pilliged by 
the Freadi as not to be worth a visit R., who is a good oraogMsman, 
took a sketch of the Baidar valley, and after half an hour's rest we again 
saddled and pursued our way down the hill, through the pleasant grass 
laods and the village of Baidar, which the Tartars were quitting in great 
numbers, not caring to stay for the return of their old masters. Tms in- 
tsrfered materially with our prospects of dinner, as the eggs, of whidi it 
was mainly to consist, were not to be obtained under the circumstances. 

We now began to ascend the pass of Phoros, keeping a sharp look-out 
for a good camping^ground. As we neared the crest of the hill, we saw 
one of the numerous little wayside fountains of pure and fresh water from 
the hills which abound along the road, while just below us lay a grassy 
dingle in the wood, sheltered from the wind, and screened from the eyes 
of pasfsfv-by. Here were the three great requisites — grass, wood, and 
water, and a beautifol situation besides. So we called a halt, and, de- 
scending into the forest, began to make our preparatbns for the night. 
R. and the servant nnpadnd and pitched the tent, T. unsaddled and 


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groomed the hones, while I enacted the part of the old woman in the red 
cloak, who collects sticks for the fire at these gipsy encampmentv. 
Everythine was soon in a state of preparation, and affcer taking cor 
horses to the fountain to water them, we sat down and commenced wash- 
ing the potatoes, which we found much harder work than we had sap* 
posed, while R. undertook their cuUnary preparation, T. and I walked 
on a few hundred yards to the crest of the pass, crowned by the celebrated 
marble arch* Just as we reached it, T. suddenly shouted, like Xeno- 
phon's soldiers, '^ The sea ! the sea I" and as we adyanced, one of the 
most splendid views in the moiMJUuked on us — no other words can at 
all express the effect of coming so suddenly on this superb view. Down, 
down, hundreds of feet below us, lay the sea — the heaving, dark blue 

On either side the crags rose up in pinnacles, stretching fiir along the 
coast) with the screaming eagles wheeling round us, and far below, round 
the middle of the rocks, floated the cloud-wreaths coming up from the 
sea. We sat down, and for a few minutes neither of us spoke, the con- 
trast was so startling : one instant the smiling inland valley, and die next 
the sublime sea-coast, which we had no idea was within ten miles. While 
we gazed, up came the clouds, splitting on the rocks^ and hiding every- 
thing from our view so completely, that we reluctantly returned to our 
camp. I do not know what T. felt : for myself, I realised what De Vaux 
must have felt when he saw Triermain Castle for a moment through the 
morning mist. I almost believed myself in a land of enchantment, and 
that with the morning sun all trace of cliff and sea would have vanished. 

We soon reached our camp, and sat down to dinner in our tent, while 
the whole pass was soon filled with the damp dark sea-mist. Our meal 
was rather a scanty one, but we heartily enjoyed it, and after a pipe and 
a glass of grog, wrapping our cloaks round us, soon went off to sleep. 
We had a revolver witn us in case of any attempt to steal the horses, but 
the mist and the lone place were quite a sufficient protection. I do not 
know if being in a Tartar country g^ves one a nomad spirit, but certainly 
to me it is perfect happiness to wander about with a horse and a tent and 
camp where you Kke ; and the contrast to the routine of camp and bugles 
made it still more charming for a few days. Besides which, I cannot 
but think that there is in most men so much of the savage as to make 
them enjoy that haphazard sort of life, — at any rate for a time. 

Second Day. — At daylight, the mist which filled the pass showed no 
sig^s of dealing away ; so when we had watered and fed our nags, we 
went again to the little fountain, and had a most delightful batii ourselves. 
I fancy it would have rather astonished any wandering Tartar to find 
three Englishmen splashing about and shouting with laughter at sudi an 
hour and in such a place. Our ablutions duly performed, we went down 
to breakfast (bread and chocolate), and having packed up our goods, and 
with some difficulty got the damp tent into its ba^ again, we started 
dieerily for Aloupka. On reaching the marble anm, we congratulated 
ourselves on having been there the preceding evening, as the fog was so 
thick we could not see two yards ahead. However, the road was pretty 
good, though very steep, so we manfully held our way. Every now and 
then the huge crags boomed on us through the mist like giant spectres ; 
and whenever it cleared a little we oanght a glimpse <tf the villas and 

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f U ie yai Jii, sad the blue tea below. About fire miles from Abupka the 
noBt nearij deared off, and we were rejoicing over oar rood luck so fiuv 
wben, from the side of the road, out jumped a brace of Cossacks and de- 
manded our pass. H^re was a fix! We had nothing of the sort In 
Tain we showed them our ^leaTe," rignedby Lord W. Paulet They per- 
sisted in carrying us off to tiieir captain's picket, at a little Tartar village^ 
nestled in a most bvel^ ravine. The captain was quite puzsled by our 
^^lesLTe/* I assailed lum on one side witn French, and K. on the other 
with German, but he only shook his head and repeated, <* Russ, Russ.** 
It seems that a yery recent order, of which we had not even heard, re- 
quired that eyery one gobg that way should haTe a Russian passport. 
y. and C, three days before, had got on all right without one. Our 
Cossack captain was stubborn, we starring and most reproachful, not at 
all pleased with the prospect of a night in the hills, with no food, Allowed 
by an ignominious return to camp without having accomplished our object^ 
when, to our unspeakable joy, we saw Rifle uniforms commg down the glen, 
and on a nearer approach found two of our friends, with their followers, 
who most fortunately were provided with a pass. We ei^lained our case, 
and they entered heartily into our cause ; so we finally sudSceeded in per- 
soadiog the Cossack to let us go under their wing. Another Cossack took 
diai^ge of us as guide, and on rounding the spur of the hill we saw before 
us Aloujpka, with its mosque, and Prince Woronzoff's ch&teau, the splendid 
mountain in Uie background, and the sea shining in the sun before. 

We w^it down the hill to a sort of hotel kept by a German, where we 
luckily found there was room, and so we unsaddled, fed, and groomed the 
horses, while R. went to make inquiries about food, of which we were 
greatly in need, as it was then nearlyfive o'clock, and we had had nothing 
since . our Hght breakfrst at six. What could we have to eat ? Why, 
*^ Meinherr could have some omelette mit schinken," as they call a sort 
of omelette done up with bacon, which is by no means bad ; and, to be 
sure, there was br^ul and vin du pays. The country wine is excellent ; 
the grapes were imported from Germany, and the wine has a strong 
^^hock]r flavour. I believe they make Crimean champagne, but the 
war was a g^reat interruption to all these peaceful employments, and there 
is Uttle of it left now. In my opinion, it would be a very good invest- 
ment to buy an estate here and make wine, especially if some powerful 
friend in England would introduce it, as the still wine sells here for very 
little, and is really very good. 

Having reinvigorated ourselves with food, we sallied forth to see what 
we could of the place. The town is nothing, so we made straight for 
Prince Woronzoff's ch&teau, which is very magnificent. It was entirely 
I^anned by an Englishman named Hunt, who came out here and super- 
mtended the whole building. R. sat down to draw, while T. and 
I wandered about the grounds. In one nook we found a very fine short- 
lunned cow, which we tried to milk, but totally without success. She 
was probably aware that we were not entitled to it ; but whether it was 
her incorruptible integrity or our want of skill, the result was the same, 
and we were disappcnnted of the pleasant draught we hoped for ; so, as 
it was now beginning to get dark, we left her, and returned to our hotel, 
dined at a sort of table d'hdUy and after the usual pipe we all turned 
in, in a three«bedded room— whudi, however, was a room, and, moreover^ 

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ha3 trtM outside. I dare say my loye of trees anmscs jou, lAo emtt^ 
stantly see tbem ; fant I assure you a real tree is a great Ivmry afternine 
months on the hot rotk of Malta and the Sebastopol plateau. 

ITiird Day, — Up early as usual, and found a fanght, warm su% and 
eTerypromiseotf abneday. AfW a break&sfc of fresh eggs, omelelto mit 
sdiinkeny and a couple of gUtstes of tea (for sudi is the Eossian £ashian, 
and ^«ry good tea raey make too), we went o£P to inspect the interior of 
the Woronsoff Palace^ We soon found die man who has the care of it, 
who very oiTilly diowed us over it It is a very fine place oertainly, except 
that die rooms— -although their number seems endless — are for the most 
mot small. All the light furniture and pictures had bees removed into 
xtnssia at the beginning of the war, but numbers of sofas, chairs, and 
bedsteads still remained. T., in the most unprincipled way,.ooniEiTed 
to possess himself of the key of the Prhicess Woronsoff's bonnet>-boz, 
vmoh he means to have gilt, and wear on his watch-chain — no had reHo I 
There are only two good rooms »the dining-room, and the biUiard-ioem 
opening from it. In the latter was an old pianOi which had been a very 
good one, but was rather out of tune. We bathed in the sea, which 
washes die side of the garden, and agreed to ride on to Yalta at three 
o'clock. A heavy shower coming on, T. and R. went bade to die 
hotel; but I managed to persuade the major-domo to let me auiuae 
myself with the piano. ]No words can describe how I enjoyed it. I 
seemed quite to revel in music once more, and the lai^ and idmost empty 
room made it ring again. In short, when three o'clock came I was quite 
sorry td go. 

While I was playing, a Russian family came in to see die rooms, among 
whom was a very pretty giri. They were so pleased with the music, diat the 
old gentleman asked me to make him a visit at some place with an unpro- 
nounoeable name, which of course I readily promised to do; but, as I have 
quite forgotten both his name and that of his place, I foar there is but 
htde chcmce of keeping my word. When I got badk to die hotd, I found 
our steeds were in the act of being saddled for the start, and the weather 
was again most lovely. As R.'s pony had a sore back, we shif^ his 
saddle to the baggager, and leaving the servant with the baggage and 
two ponies, we started for Yalta, about fifUen versts (ten or eleven milesX 
mtending to slew there, and come back early die next morning; TIm 
road from Aloupka to Yalta is one of the lovehest things you can oono 
ceive ; it lies along the sea-coast, though at some distaaoe above die 
wvter. The ch&teaux of the Russian nobles line die road, for tins is 
their Ue of Wight, and the magnificent mountain diffii form such a 
background as yota do not often see. On rounding Cape Attodor you 
see Wore you Yaha Bay, with the long line of coast stretching beyond 
it; and bemnd you Aloupka, with the turrets of the palace, and die coast* 
Hne &r away agam there. A litde farther on, a very peeuliar rook over- 
hangs the road, on die top of which is a large golden cross, and just be* 
yond this is the entrance to the palace of the dowager^mpreas. It is 
quite new, and I believe she has not yet seen it» We woe shown round 

Sa very stately individual, who seemed to consider the possible presence 
TOj9\tj as almost too great an honour for this wicked worid, and lifM 
up his eyes in pious hxxma when we sat down on the imperial mattress to 
t^ whether it was co mfo rtable. The house is beautifully j^aoed, and the 

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kUrior vtry ^ilendidL It it built in a smiara enfllofiog a oonrt, gttk up 
lifaa^Pflo^MiaaCoiirtattbeCiTitalPalifeQt. Bemad this ai* the diningw 
hall aad reoeurin^aalooas. Than is maeh moce faniitnre here Uiaa at 
AlMmka, aadooe tiny boudoir ii a perfed bijou. On the tahle lay an ink* 
sbmimih its appMidage% and a bell* all in emboitad gold. EyidanUy 
hor imperial migeaty baa more idea <tf eom£»rt than the Rumiaas eeneraUjr 
baPiy eapedaliy in the article of bedding; bat I belieye she is a rmsfiian 
bf harth, whien naay account £br it. Neither this palace, nor the one be* 
lMgin|p to PrinDe Woronxoff which we saw at Aloopka, can be compared 
a^er in size or beauty to the houses of some of our English nobility. On 
leatirav we were requested by our cicerone to inscribe our namea in a 
sprtaCVisiting-booky which crowning honour he eyidently seemed to think 
woald make the rest of our lives a condition of serene beatitude, ocmipared 
with that o£ othw heretic barbarians our countrymen. He received hb 
half-erown with oahn and dignified satis^ustion, and we departed for 
Yalta* wUfih waa now not far o£f. 

The view aerosa the little bay in which Yalta lies is very pretty. The 
wUtftt houses and almost English- looking church nestle in the lull-side, 
aad the water lipples quietly in the bay. We soon reached the town, 
but learnt^ to our vexation, that the only hotel (which is kept by an 
English wonaan) was quite full, but that perhaps we might be received by 
a German, who had, moiseover, a good supply of hay. We found his 
^ hotel " not much of a place, but we were not difficult to please, and 
made up oer minds to remain there. Then came die usual problem, 
*" What coald we have for dinner ?" There were only fish, «« braten,"— 
or a sort of indeaoribable roast meat — no potatoes, and very little hope of 
anything else. However, there being no choice (which always simplifies 
matters wonderfully), we sat down to our dinner, which was very bad and 
veiy dear. Our only comforts were the excellent via du pays and the 
Qoiisoling pipe, after which we were preparing to turn in for the night, 
when in rushed five or six 47th men, to whom our landlord (being, as we 
afterwards found onti Jew as well as German) had previously let the 
rooms. Of course an explanation ensued, in which we all took part 
^lyanst mine host, and the volleys of guttural German and angry English 
were more noisy than intelligible. After some time another room was 
tiasigned to as, but no beds or blankets, till I cut the oontroversy short by 
aeiaiiig our JSefanew &iend by the neck, and compelled him to bring us 
what we required. 

Faurih Vt^ — Up early, and saw to the horses ; bathed in the sea; and 
after paying our host about half his exorbitant bill, we transferred our- 
selves to the other hotel, where we got a capital breakfast of fresh eggs 
and delicious fried rock-turbot. Everything here was extremely clean and 
comfortable, and we were quite sorry to start on our homewsra journey. 

The ride back to Aloupka was very pleasant ; and as we found our 
sesmmtand hor8esallright,andready for a start, we packed up our traps 
and toraed oar backs on Aloupka. The day was very fine ; and as the 
&g had concealed so much of the view when we travelled that road before, 
we had all the pleasure of seeing it as if quite new. The cU£Es are saperb, 
9fiA the way in wludi the vdcanic and stratified formatbns alternate is 
apiaetimeB very curious indeed. 

T.'s pony lost a shoe here, and fell so lame that he was obliged to lead 

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her, and as the sun was netting low we detennined to look oat for a 
camping place. The road win£i along the foot of the cli£Ri, and below 
VB was cultivated and wooded land, dotted with vineyards and chftteanx, 
all of which, however, are deserted, and have been thoroughly ^' looted" 
by the French advanced pickets, and also, very probably, by the Cos- 
sacks. We determined to locate ourselves for the night in one of theses 
and turning into a by-path from the main road began to seek the best 
for our purpose. Tne only difficulty was choice; but at last we made 
our selection, and found a perfect little paradise of a place — a sort of 
parktsh field, with most luxuriant grass, m front of a lovely little villa^ 
with its dependent outhouses nestled into a most picturesque dingle, with 
the usual back and foreground of cliff and sea, beautiful woods, and a 
little path leadine to where a mountain brook fell down a little cascade- 
into a basin it nad hollowed in the rock, forming a most charming^ 
natural bath. A garden-seat under a rock covered with creeping-plants 
was evidently a favourite resort of the former proprietors ; and if there 
are any fairies in the Crimea, I feel sure this is the place where they 
hold their midnight revels; indeed, I strongly suspect that two large 
moths, almost as large as swallows, which we vainly endeavoured to 
catch in the gloaming, were something of the sort in disguise. 

In one secluded place— on a garden-seat, evidently untouched by the 
plunderers — I found a knife and a tobacco-pouch, both of which I kept, 
as memorials of the spot. The villa had been utterly plundered, and 
everything broken except one table, on which we dined, and on which I 
afterwards slept. We lit our fire on the fireplace, but for some time the 
smoke was unbearable ; but at last we succeeaed in making a good bri^t 
fire, cooked the food we had brought from Aloupka, made ourselves up 
for the night, and were soon fast asleep. 

Fifthf and last Day, — Our first proceeding (after the care of our 
horses) was to enjoy the natural bath of which I spoke, after which we 
got our breakfast, and prepared for the start. The thought that this 
was the last day of our litUe excursion was a sorrowful one to us all ; 
but in any case I should have left this little villa with great regret, for I ' 
do not thmk I ever saw a place which so completely took my fancy, and 
I should like much to see it a^ain. 

We found several letters lying open about the rooms. They seemed 
mostly in French, which language, I imagine, the better class of Russians 
use more than their own. 

I think it is the worst part of a war when, the excitement of fightings 
gone off, you see quietly the ruin and desolation it has brought oi> 
peaceftd people. But the Russians forced this war upon us, and 
heavily, indeed, have they paid for it. 

Our way back to die road lay through vineyards and pleasant wood- 
lands, where the birds were singing. We took it by turns to walk with 
T.'s pony till we arrived at Baidar, where we got a shoe put on, and 
after lunch made our final start for camp, which we reached about 
five, P.M., very sorry that our trip was over, and having enjoyed it more 
than I can say. 

The Crimea — at least on the south coast — is a magnificent countnr ; 
and now that the Black Sea is to be opened, I should think it must nse 
into great importance. 

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DuBmo the earlier lustorical periods of thii and otber coantries of 
Europe, it has been justly remarked, die springs of events lay, for the 
most part, nearer the surince than they do now. Yet, even during these 
periocu, history often fails to penetrate to the more deeply-seated causes 
of the great mutations it describes. He who attributes the revolt and 
success of '^ the greatest Julius " to the goadings of ambition and the 
perfection of generalship merely, is as far from the truth as they who 
ascribe the Protestant Reformation in England solely to the will of 
Henry YIIL, and his instruments, lay and derical ; or the Revolution of 
A.i>. 1640 to the abstract notions of kingly authority entertained by the 
Stuarts, and to the &naticism of the Puritans and the other sectarian 
enemies of the Anglican Church. 

Since the year 1793, or rather nnce die change of dynasty in 1688| 
this has become a more important truth. During the whole of that 
period, the motives of the actors in great nationiu changes or under- 
takings are to be sought and found hr beneath the surface, and he who 
barely contents himself with recounting events as they occurred, acts 
like one who deems it enough to record the moves of an automaton 
chess-player, without having the slightest knowledge of the hidden 
mechanism by which they were regulated ; or like him who b content to 
contemplate the figurative writing of the ancient Egyptians, and see die 
actions there represented, widiout the slightest comprehension of their 
real import and meaning. 

That this is also more or less the case in the various events in which Sir 
Robert Peel had a principal share, there can be no doubt. Mr. Double- 
day, in writing the biography of this distinguished statesman, goes back, 
in order to estimate his political actions, principally by their results in a 
national point of view, to the social state of England before the rise of 
manufactures, to the compensation effected for the loss of the American 
colonies by Hargreave's, Arkwright's, and Watt's inventions, and to the 
progresdve depreciation of the currency and continued rise in prices 
wlucb fd^owed upon war, and the extension of the manufacturing 

In the part which Sir Robert Peel took in the great questions of 
his day, Financial Economy, Com Laws, Test Acts,^ Roman Catholic 
Question, Reform, Poor Law, Police Bill, &c., his course has to the 
ordinary observer always appeared tortuous and inconsistent. Mr. 
Doubl^y's theoiT> by which he endeavours to clear away this apparent 
inconsistency, is, that most of the great events of his singular career were 
shaped and fiuhioned by die first financial blunder, made in 1819. 

* Memoirs by the Right Hooourable Sir Robert Peel, Bart, M.P., &c. Pub- 
lished bj the Trattees of hit Papen, Lord Mahon (now Earl Stanhope), and 
the Bight Honourable Edward Cardwell, MJ". Part I. The Roman Catholic 
Qoettion. 1828-9. J. Murray. 

The Political Life of the Right Honourable Sir Robert Peel, Bart. An Analy- 
tical Biography. Bj Thomas Doubleday. Two Vols. Smith, Elder, and Co. 

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In this rash and altogether premature connexion with the parliamentarj 
economists of the time (Mr. Douoleda^ insists), and in the embarrassments to 
which, in after-life, that earW connexion perpetuall^jr subjected him, we find a 
key both to his character ana his career. Hjs admiration of that which most 
have appeared to him the unfathomable profound, allured him, no doubt, in con- 
tradiction to the patomal leasons, to adopt the theoretical bhmdert and afaaoidi- 
tiet of ^e first bullion committee of 1810; and* ui Idid, to «fade the reman- 
steanoes of his shrewder father, for the perilous guidance of the specious, subtle, 
vaiiL and specially arrogant Bicanio. In the tales of the " Arabian Nights,'' we 
read of one persona^ who, whereyer he went, was haunted by a mystoiious 
black box, out of which, as soon as night and silence gave permission, came a 
hideous little old woman, who upbraided the unfortunate wignt with his crimes 
and short-comings till day. How many such nights must hare beset % Bobert 
Peel after the plunge of 1819 P And how often must he have repented ne- 
fl^eotin^ the warning of a too prophetic parent, to be entoiled for life amidoi the 
ume-twiga of a subUs, conceited, and specious stockjobber ! 

The theory is good as far as it goes, so is that of a liberal consenratism 
influenced by want of high birth, of great reserve, and of a certain 
defl;ree of constitutional timidity, or distrust of himself, all of which 
influenced the statesman's actions. But even these things admitted, 
Mr. Doubleday sums up that, — 

To the miyorify of mankind his career must ever remain an enigma. The 
reaL springs of his actions he never could disclose ; nor did he ever divulge (if 
he knewtnem) the ultimate and final results to be expected to follow his policy. 
That policy has, therefore, ostensibly neither begimiing nor end; nor does it 
poMess any features which can make it generaUy intelBgible. To future his- 
torical students Sir Bobert Peel's character, therefore, must ever appear to be 
one of those, the extnunrdinary nature of which all men admit, but upon every 
other portion of which the clouds of doubt must continue to rest. Like St 
Thomas k Becket, Cromwell, Machiavelli, the Emperor Julian, Ignatius Loyola^ 
and others, he will be variously estimated, as his character is contemplated 
f^m various points of view; whilst the true key to his character and career 
remains hidden from the great majority of those who in future time shall think, 
or speak, or write concerning him. 

Such beinff the case, we are better able to appreciate the value of a 
political ant<^ioffraphy supplied by the statesman himself— -for such, un- 
doubtedly, are we ** Memoirs," of which the first part, relatmg to the 
all-^portant Roman Cadiolic question, is now before us. The circum- 
stances under which these posthumous Memoirs appear are matters of 
notoriety. The great statesman, in the midst of die every-day harassing 
oJls of active public life, had time to think of what was due to his reputa- 
tion and to public opinion after death had severed his connexion with die 
world. Sir Robert Peel, by a codicil to his will, constituted the Ead of 
Stanhope (then Lord Mahon), in conjunction with Mr. Cai^well, M.P., 
tnutees on behalf of his posthumous reputation. To these gentlemen he 
bequeathed all his unpublished letters, papers, and documents, public <a 
private, in print or in manuscript, with powers to select and publbh, and 
efon to destroy portions of these pi^rs, at their unoontrolled diacretioa. 
He left them alto full liberty to decide on the period and the mode o£ 
publication, and in the exercise of this discretion they have at lengA 
thought it proper to give not what would have been generally anticipate^ 
the. first portion of the Memoirs, or Papers illustrating the li& of Sir 
Robert Peel, but a separate and complete memoir, partly narrative, partiy 

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/, dfswo is> by Sir Robert Peel kiinie]^ and in lii« oi«m hmd- 

riting, OQ die suDJect of the Roman Catholic qaestion in 1S28-29. 
Ttm nairative, it appears, is one of two or three similar statements left 
behind him by Sir xlobert, the second of which, in the order of time, 
relates the circumstaDees that attended the formation of his first minis* 
tij in 1834 and 1835 ; while the third ezfilains his conduct with Mfiar- 
eoce to the corn-laws. 

To judge by this first instalment of an ex^anatory and TindieatQry 
m emo ir , while there are few statesmen who haTe not in the course of a 
long career done many things callii^ for expknation, eyery one will 
unite to do justice to Sur Robert Peel, that none have met the reqnirement 
mora heely or more unreservedly than he has done in the revelations 
new before us. True, perhaps, there never has been an instanoe wbera a 
minister of a oonstitnti<mal crown, liKe Peel, has seen the necessity, ia 
the latter half of his career, of reverung the cberi^ed policy of yeara 
upon two great questions of momentous import to the country, who has 
had the courage to do so, and also the good fortune to maintain a repu- 
tation superior to all the hostility and odium which such conduct inva- 
riably challeuges — on the one hand from disappointed friends deserted in 
their need; on the other from ancient foes, whom concession has 
strengthened but not conciliated. Peel did all this in the case of the 
Catholic question and of the corn-laws ; and hence^ amongst the volu- 
minous papers left behind him, the correspondence and notes relating to 
tibese questions form the most prominent part. 

Tet, c<msiderine the character of the nrst of these questions, and the 
lengthened and violent discussions to which it gave nse, the materials 
which Sir Robert Peel has left for his vindication are not, strictiy speak- 
ing, voluminous, although such a vindication has necessitated too copious 
an incorporation of documents to render it lively reading. The Memoir 
opens with tiie briefest possible statement of the previous history of the 
Catholic question, from 1812 to Peel's own participation in the Duke of 
WelHngton's government of 1828. It specifies the grounds on which 
Peel himself was opposed to concession, viz., the danger of abolish- 
ing tests which had been establbhed fi:>r the express purpose of giving 
to the legislature a Protestant character, and the fear lest the relations 
in which the Roman Catholic religion stood to the State mieht be so far 
flJtered that incidentally the Protestant Established Church in Iceland 
might be thereby ruined or impaired : 

The oouiexion of that religion with the most important events in the domestie 
histoiy of this country— the forcible transfer of its temporal possessions to the 
reformed Church — ^the recognition of an external spirittud authority — ^the natu- 
nd sympathies (in religious matters at least) with foreign nations acknowledging 
the same authority— the peremptory refusal by the Irish Roman Catholics to 
snbmit to those restrictions to which in all other countries, Protestant or Catho- 
ISe, the ecdedastieal appointments in the Church of Rome and the interoenrse 
with the Papal See were sobjeetr-the impossibility of imposing such restrictiona 
Iqr the mere will of the legislature— these and otber siimhtr considerationa pre- 
sented to my mind matter for grave reiection— for serious misgivmg, whether 
thece could be that identity of interest and feeling which would permit the 
practiod application of the principle of perfect civil equality in the administra- 
tbn of Ikmafairs, and whether, if the equality were nommal and not practical. 

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there would be satislactioii and oonteniment on the part of the Bonuoi 

The Boman Catholic Charch, with its historical associationflH--it8 s^tem of 
complete organisation and discipline— its peculiar tenets and ministrations^ cal* 
culated and mtended to exercise a control not merely spiritual over those who 
profess its faith, is an institution wholly differing in its political bearings and 
influence horn other forms of religions belief not in accordance with the Esta- 
blished Church. 

Whatever course might be pursued with regard to an institution so powerful 
and 80 anomalous in its reUtions to the government of this country — whether 
after the establishment of civil equality that institution should be Idft perfectly 
independent of md unrecognised by the State— whether it should receive a 
limited and qualifled endowment — whether (as some proposed) it should be 
placed, in Ireland at least, on a footing of equality with the Established Church, 
there was in my opinion little hope of a final and satisfactory arrangement on 
that head — ^little hope of establishing religious harmony, or of excluding the 
influences of religious discord from the dvu relations of society. 

The views entertained at starting by Peel have been prophetic, the 
concessions made have had little or no effect in abating the pride, the 
arrogance, or the ambition of so well-organised, or so disciplined a system 
as that of the Roman Catholics, or in excluding in Ireland the influences 
of religious discord ^m the civil relations of society. 

Whilst everything in the defensive narrative and accumulated corre- 
spondence in the '^ Memoir," only serves to show that Ezpedieney was 
the real incentive to action, and that it is mere waste of time searching 
for hidden and mysterious motives where there were none, the moving 
force lying on the very surface of things ; still the same evidence ^oes to 
show bow gradually and slowly thb great statesman yielded to me in- 
fluence ^m without, and to the convictions by which he and so many of 
hb contemporaries were carried away. 

On the 9th of January the Duke of Wellington wrote to Mr. Peel, on 
die break-up of the Goderich administration, to invite him to join the 
ministry which was then about to be formed. In the year preceding 
there had been a majority of four only in a very full House in fieivour of 
a resistance to concession, the numbers being 276 to 272, and hence Peel 
was led to conclude that ** the attempt to form a united government on 
the principle of resutance to the claims of the Roman Catholics was 
perfectly hopeless.** The king himself said that it was to be understood 
that the Roman Catholic question was not to be made a cabinet question, 
but there was to be a Protestant lord chancellor and a Protestant lord- 
lieutenant in Ireland, and this was in part effected by Lord Anglesey 
becoming lord-lieutenant, and Mr. Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne, 
chief secretary for Ireland. 

The first difficulty which the new ministry and the new lieutenancy 
had to contend with, was the propriety of continuing the Act for the Sup- 
pression of unlawful Societies in Ireland ; and in this early stage of tne 
question, Peel shines as a consistent and courageous minister, who lefi 
nothing untried to ensure a victory before he yieUed to the pressure firom 
without Lord Anglesey and Mr. Lamb were opposed to tne renewal of 
the act, as tending to keep alive a feeling of exasperation, the manifesta- 
tions of which it had been practically found inoperative to repress. Peel, 
however, persisted in pressmg for information whether the act applied to 

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Mrtsiii fffoeeecBiigs of the Calholio AstocMtMm, and wberefi>re it had 
never heen enforced. The lord-lieutenant and his secretary then got the 
sfctomey-general for Ireland to denounce the acti so that at the last nothing 
was hh to the ministry but to abandon the idea of its continuance. The 
repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts had at the same time great in- 
fliieDce io promoting the cause of the remoyal of Roman Catholic dis* 
abilities^ and henoe Sir Robert b induced to publish his conrespondenoe 
with his former tutor, Lloyd, the Bishop of Oxford, upon that question. 
But it is impossible to dimise from oneself that none of these points, 
not CTen Sir Francis Burdett s motion in faTour of Roman Catholics being 
carried on the 8th of May, 1828, by a majority of 272 to 266, had so 
great an effect upon the minuter as die issue of the Clare election. Mr. 
Doubleday has felt this in its full force, when he says, ** The election for 
Clare was like a sudden thunder-elap, startling, ominous, and strangely 
timed ; and its echoes were heard in erery hamlet, not only of Ireland, 
but of the three kingdoms. It terrified many, astounded most, and in- 
structed a few. Reflectiye men now felt that the hour of Catholic eman- 
cipation had struck.'* 

Sir Robert Peel eyidently regarded the issue of the election, contested 
by O'Connell himself against the ministerial candidate, as die turning- 
point in the Catholic question. He says : 

The election for the county of Clare took place in the ktter end of June, 
1828. It ended in the defeat of Mr. Pitzgendd and the return of Mr. O'CJonneU. 
It afforded a decisire proof, not only that the instrument on which the Protrat- 
ant proprietor had hitherto mainly relied for the maintenance of his political 
influence had completely failed him, but that through the combined exertions of 
the agitator and tne pnest, or I should rather say through the contagions sym- 
pathies of a common cause among all classes of the Roman Catholic population, 
the instrument of defence and supremacy had been conyerted into a weapon 
fatal to the authority of the landlora. 

Howeyer men mieht differ as to the consequences which ought to follow the 
eyent, no one denied its yast importance. 

It was foreseen by the most mtelligent that the Clare election would be the 
tunung-point in the Catholic question— the point — 

" Partes ubi se yia findit in ambas." 

In a letter to his daughter soon after the eyent. Lord Eldon, after obserying, 
" Nothing is talked of now which interests anvbody the least in the world, ex- 
cept the election of Mr. CConnell," makes these memorable remarks :— " As 
Mr. CyConnell will not, though elected, be allowed to take his seat in the House 
of Commons unless he will t^e the oaths, &c. (and that he won't do unless he 
can get absolution), his rejection from the Commons may excite rebellion in 
Ireland. At aU eyents thb business must bring the Roman Catholic question, 
which has been so often discussed, to a crisis and a conclusion. The nature of 
that conclusion I do not think likely to be fayourable to Protestantism.'* It is 
dear, therefore, that Lord Eldon was fully aliye to the real character and mag- 
nitude of the eyent. 

He wen knew that no Protestant candidate could hope to contest a Roman 
Catholic county in Ireland with greater adyantaces in his fayour than Mr. Fitz- 
gerald. He was personally popmar ; had gained ^reat credit by the manner in 
which he had discharged, at an earlier period of his political career, the duty of 
Chancellor of the Exchequer for Ireland ; had uniformly giyen his yote for the 
remoyal of Roman Cathohc disabilities, and was supposed to haye mi influence 
in the county of Clare, from property, station, and past sendees to his constitu- 
ents^ which must ensure his triumpliant return. 

Digitized by 


70 SIB ROMwr mu 

Loud Aogla^, who wtf daily ocfohaiaag wilh the gosrenment at to 
the nnmher of coDttabulaiy and miKlaiy araikble for the repreadog of 
outragey the probability of ^eir remaining stannoh, and the reinforoemenU 
widch might possibly be sent to asmst tiiem from England, «till did not 
ekee his eyes to the gravity of the position. In a letter to Lord Frauds * 
LetesoQ Gower, dat^ July 2nd> 1828, the lord-lieutenant writes : 

^ I beciB by proausiiu^ that I hold in abhorrenee tbe Aesooiation, the agitators, 
the piMni, and their reOgion ; and I beUere that not many, M ihatmm of the 
bi^^M, are mild, moderate^ and anxious to come to a fair and liberal com- 
promise for the adjustment of the points at issue. I think that these latter 
nave veir Httle, if any, influence with the lower der^ and the population. 

'* Such iB the extraordinary power of the Association, or rather of the agi- 
tators, of whom there are many of high ability, of ardent mind, of great danng 
(and, if there was no Association, these men are now too well known not to 
mahifaun their power under the existing order of exdudon), that I am quite 
oectain they oouki lead on tiie peojde to open rd)eUion at a moment's notiee; 
and their OEganisaticm is such, that, in the hands of desperate and inteUigsnt 
leaders, they would be extremdy formidable. The hope, and indeed the probar 
bilitjr of present tranquillity, rests upon the forbearance and the not very de- 
termined counuj^ of O'Connell, and on his belief, as well as that of the prindpal 
men amongst them, that they will carry their cause by unceasing a^tation, and 
by intimidation, without coming to blows. I believe their success mevitable — 
that no power under Heaven can arrest its progress. There mi^ be rebellion, 
you mi^ put to death thousands, you may suppress it, but it will onlv be to 
put off the day of compromise ; and in the mean time the country is still more 
nnnoverished, and the minds of the people are, if possible, still more alienated, 
ana ruinous expense is entailed upon the empire. 

"But supposing that the whole evil was concentred in the Association, and 
that if that was suppressed all would go smoothly; where Lb the man who can 
tell me how to suppress it ? Many, many cry out that the nuisance must be 
abated ; that the ffovemment is supine; that the insolence of the demagog^ues 
is intolerable ; but I have not yet found one person capable of {>ointinf out a 
remedv. All are mute when you ask them to define their proposition. All that 
even the most determined opposers to emancipation say is that it is better tp 
leave things as they are than to risk any change. But will things remain as 
they are? Certainly not. They are bad— they must get worse ; and I see no 
posdble means of improving them but by depriving the demagogues of the 
power of directing the people ; and by taking Messrs. O'Cohndl, Sheil, and the 
rest of them from the Association, and placing them in the House of Commons, 
ibis desiiaUe object would be at once aooompushed. 

" JuUf Zrd. The present order of things must not, cannot last. There are 
three nuxles of nrooeeding : 

'* 1st. That ot trying to go on as we have done. 

" 2nd. To adjust the question by coneession, and such guards as may be 
deemed indispeasable. 

'' 3id. To put down the Association, and to crush the power of the priests. 

<< The first I hold to be imposdble. 

" The seooad is praotiosble and advisable. 

" The third is only possible bv supposing that you can reconstruct the House 
of Commons ; and to suppose tnat is to suppose that you can totally alter the 
feelmgs of those who send them there. 

" I believe nothing short of the suspendon of the Habeas Corpus Aot» and 
Martial Law, will eneet the third proposition. This would effect it during 
their operation, and perhaps for a short tune after they had ceased, and then every 
evil would letnm with aooumuUted weight. 

" But no House of Coamions would oonsent to these measures until there is 
open rebellion, and th^efore until that ooeurs it is useless to think of them. 

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got BOBnT FBHi. 77 

Ae Mooad wait of yto e eB d ag is tiien, I ooneeife, Ae oni^ pnotioiUe one, 
but the nrescnt is not a promtaoos time to effiact STen this. 

** I abW the idea of trockiing to the overbearmg Catholic demagogues. To 
make any movement towards oonoiliation under the present exeitement and 
ayatem of tenor would reToU me ; but I do most consoientioaslj, and after the 
most earnest oonsideraiion of the subject, giro it as mj oonTiction that tiie 
int BOBient of oonposnre and tranquillity ahoukl be setbed to signih the 
intention of adjusting the qaesiion, lest another period of cabn should not 

Lord Anglesey, in reality, entertained some doubts about the stannch- 
of the Catliolic soldiery. In a letter of the 20th of same month, he 
notices that *^ one regiment of infantry is said to be divided into Orange 
and Calholie fiictions, and the reported arriral of the Duke de Monte- 
bello in Lreiaiid eTidently created an inmiense sensation. It is ourioof , 
kidDDg back as we now do in calmness upon these sad and erar-to-be-de- 
plored hot nerer-ending religions fends, to see what mischief they pro* 
dnoe. It was in consequence of Great Britain being crippled at this 
moment by domestic broils and fisu^ons, that Russia recommenced at that 
period a system of pertinacious aggression, which finally led to the late 
war, and has been the cause of the loss of so many valuable lives, and of 
8«ch gri ev ou s national eocpeaditare. 

While thus ob%ed to concede his pontion upon what he deemed to be 
considarations of physical necessity. Feel always held by the justioe and 
treth of that position ; he yielded to Expediency that wfaidi he con- 
denmed upon Principle ; or, as his opponents would have it, he persisted 
in blinking the natural justice of the case — an absurd way of putting it 
The moat comprehensive and succinct statemoit of his views b given in a 
letter to the Duke of Wellington^ bearing date Brighton, August llth, 

"Mt deab Dtjkb op WBLUNGToy, — ^I have read with the greatest attention 
the papers which I received from you yesterday, consisting, independently of 
the private letters, first, of a proposal to the king that the state of Ireland shidl 
he considered by his govemm^t with a view to the settlement of the Catholic 
^o^on ; and seconuy, of the outline of a plan for the settlement of that ques- 
tion whidi you have communicated to the lord chancellor. 

''I shall eive you' without the slightest reserve my opinions upon the whole 
sabject They axe neeessf^y (as I am writing by return of post) committed to 
pi^per very hakUj; but I have no wish, in communicating with you, to weigh 
expressions, or to conceal anything which occurs to me. 

"I have uniformly opposed what is called Catholic emancipation, and have 
rested my opposition upon broad smd uncompromising grounds. 

"I wish 1 could say that my views upon the question were materially 
dianged, and that I now believed that fall concessions to the Boman Catholics 
coulJbe made, either exempt fiom the dangers which I have apprehended from 
them, or productive of the mil advantages wliich their advocates anticipate from 
the mnt of them. 

**3ut, whatever may be my opinion upon these points, I cannot deny that the 
state of Irehuid under existing circumstances is most unsatisfactory ; that it 
becomes necessary to make your choice between different kinds ana different 
degrees of evil— to compare the actual danger resulting from the union and 
oijgauisation of the Boman Catholic body, and the incessant agitation in Ireknd, 
with prospective and apprehended dangers to the constitution or religion of the 
country ; and maturely to consider whether it may not be better to encounter 
every eventual risk of concession than to submit to the certain continuance, or 
rather perin^ the certain aggravation, of existing evils. 

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'' Take what view we may of the Catholic question, we must admit that w6 
kbour under this extreme and oTerwhelming embarrassment with reference to 
the present condition of Irebmd ; that the Frotestant mind is divided and very 
nearrr habmced upon the most important question relating to Ireland. 

" We cannot escape from the discussion of that question, and we cannot 
meet it without being in a minority in one branch of the legislature. 

" In the House of Commons in 1827 there was a majority of four against 
concession ; in 1828 there was a muority of six in its fayour. 

'' The change certainly was not effected by anv other cause than the prosress 
of uninfluenced opinion. The actual numl>er therefore in the House of Com- 
mons in favour of^the measure is on the increase. The House of Commons of 
the last parliament, and the House of Commons of this parliament, have each 
decided m favour of the principle of concession. The majority of the House of 
Lords a^piinst the principle, looking at the constitution of that majority, is far 
from satisfactory ; out it it were much greater, the evil of permanent ousonioa 
on such a question between the two branches of the legislature would be ex- 
treme, and the parties that would gain dangerous strength from its continuance 
would be those in whose favour the House of Commons have decided. 

'' Whatever be the ultimate result of concession, there would be an advan- 
tage in the sincere and honest attempt to settle the question on just principles, 
wmoh it is difficult to rate too highly in the present state of affairs. 

''The Protestant mind would be united, not at first, for the party opposed to 
concession would probablv under any circumstances be a powerful one. If, 
however, concession should tranquiluse Ireland and produce the effects pre- 
dicted by its advocates, that party would graduallv and rapidly acquiesce in it. 
If concession on just principles were rejected bv the Roman Catholics— or if it 
were abused — ^if they were put clearly and unaeniably in the wrong — then the 
Protestants of all sliades of opinion would be united mto one firm and compact 
body, and would ultimately overbear all opposition. 

" The present state of affairs in Ireland is such, the danger b so menacing, 
that it is an object of great importance to lav the foundation of cordial union 
and co-operation among the Protestants of the empire — supposing you should 
fail in establishing the more general and more desiraole union among all classes 
of the king's subjects. 

" I have thus written to you without reserve upon the first and great question 
of all — the policy of seriously considering this long-agitated question with a 
view to its aajustment. I have proved to you, I trust, that no false delicacy in 
respect to past declarations of opinion — no fear of the imputation of inconsist- 
encjr — ^will prevent me from taking that part which present dangers and a new 
position of affairs may require. I am ready, at the hazard of any sacrifice, to 
maintun the opinion which I now deliberately give— that there is upon the 
whole less of evil in making a decided effort to settle the Catholic question, than 
in leaving it, as it has been left, an open question— the government being un- 
decided with respect to it, and paralysed in consequence of that indedsion upon 
many occasions peculiarly requiring promptitude and ener^ of action. 

" I roust at tne same time express a very strong opimon that it would not 
conduce to the satisfactory adjustment of the question, that the charge of it in 
the House of Commons should be committed to my hands. 

" I put all personal feelings out of the question. They are, or ought to be, 
very subordimtte considerations in nuitters of such moment, and I give the best 
proof that I disrc»;ard them, by avowing that I am quite ready to commit myself 
to the support ofthe principle of a measure of ample concession and relief, and 
to use every effort to promote the final arrangement of it. 

" But my support will be more useful if I give it (with the cordiality with 
which it shall be given) out of office. 

" Any authority which I may possess as tending to reconcile the Protestants 
to the measure would be increased by my retirement. 

" I have been too deeply committed on the question— have expressed too 

Digitized by 



strong o^nioBS in respect to it<— too mnoh jealonigr and distrust of the Homan 
Ge^thoiics — too much i^prehension as to the immediate and remote consequences 
of yielding to their claims — ^to make it advantageous for the king's semce that 
I should oe the individual to originate the measure. 

** It may be right to decline negotiation or consultation with the Koman 
Catholios, out the more you can conciliate them by the mode of proposing the 
messme the better ; the more of good-will and of satisfaction that you can ex- 
tract horn it> the greater is the prospect that the adjustment will be a perma- 
nent one. 

" The Terf same measures, whether of concession to the Boman Catholics or 
of secarity for the Protestants — proposed by one who has taken so decided a 
nart in opposition to the question as I have— would be regarded in a veiy dif- 
ferent light by the Roman Catholics from that in which such measures would 
appear to them if proposed by a person less adverse to concession than I have 

^ It may be said on the other hand, that the proposal of those measures br 
me would tend to reconcile the Protestant mina to concession. But that ad- 
vantage would perhaps be even more fully secured by the explicit dedaration of 
my opinion out of office as a member of parliament, and by my zeidous co- 
operadon in the attempt to effect a settlement. 

*' You must also bear in mind the state of parties in parliament. The 
goTemment oufffat to take every precaution that any measure of relief which 
may be proposea shall not only be carried by majorities, but shall have as far 
as possiole the decided and unequivocal sense of parliament expressed in its 

" Yon must look therefore at the character and constitution of the majority 
by which you are to carry it. 

** You will have a reluctant assent on the part of many of the best friends of 
the covemment — a decided opposition perhaps from some. 

''The great mass of support must be looked for from the ranks of those who 
are, if not habitually opposed to the government, at least under no tie of sup- 
port to it, and perhaps not favourably disposed towards it. Can you depend 
upon Uiem for zealous co-operation in the carrying of the measure P 

" In the principle of it tne^ will no doubt concur. Thev will go with you in 
establishing the equality of civil privileges ; but there will be many details little 
less important than the principle : there are, for instance, the securities which 
(be they what they may) it will be of the utmost importance to carry with a 
general assent, and hj a commanding majority. 

" If carried otherwise, the seeds lor future discontent and agitation are sown. 

" Consider l^ese things well. If the question is to be taken up, there is 
cleariy no safe alternative but the settlement of it. 

'' ^veiy consideration of private feelinp and mdividual interests must be dis- 
r^;arded. Prom a veir strong sense of what is best for the success of the 
measnre, I relieve vou from alfdifficulties with respect to myself. 

" I do not mere^ volunteer my retirement at wnatever may be the most con- 
venient time ; I do not merely give you the promise that out of office (be the 
sacrifices that I foresee, private ana public, what they may) I wiU cordially 
co-operate with you in the settlement of this question, and cordially support 
your government ; but I add to this my decided and deliberate opinion, tnat it 
wiU tend to the satisfactory adjustment of the question if the originating of it 
in the House of Commons, and the general superintendence of its progress, be 
ccmunitted to other hands than mine. 

" I am, my dear Duke of Wellington, 

" Ever most faithfully yours, 

"ROBEBT PbbIu** 

PeeVs constitntional timidity led him to exaggerate the march of disaf^ 
fection among the people and soldiers as much as he underrated the sup- 

VOL. XI*. o 

Digitized by 


80 Snt ROBBBT psn. 

dof his own ^warm friendsy'* '^ prosperous eoantry eentlemen, fox- 
ters, hc,9 most excellent men, who will attend one nignt, hut who will 
not leave their favourite pursuits to sit up till two or three o'clock fighting 
questions of detail, on which, however, a government must have a ma- 
jority." He relies mainly for the vindication of his opinions a^ to the 
state of Ireland upon the testimony of Lord Anglesey, but that nohleman 
appears to have been consistently disinclined to believe that the Cathdie 
leaders would appeal to arms, and unable even to " imagine how they can 
calculate upon success :" this in the hce of the doubts before alluded 
to, which he entertained as to the staunchness of some portions of some 
regiments, and his suggestions as to the removal of recruits. Peel would 
certainly, from die evidence which he has himself accumulated in his vin- 
dication, appear to have yielded his personal and political convictions, and 
to have exaggerated danger in order to bring about the settlement of a 
question, which was thought at that day to be final ! 

But even then there still remained a difficulty, and that was the king. 
Sir Robert contradicts the statement which has reached us through the 
^^ life of Lord Eldon," to the effect that he (the king) had engaged that 
Canning never should be troubled with the Roman Catholic question : 

His majesty is reported by Lord Mdon to have said that '' he was miserable 
and wretched, and that his situation was dreadful," — "that if he gave his assent 
to the Roman Catholic Relief Bill, he would go to the Baths abroad, and from 
them to Hanover; that he would return no more to England, and that his sub- 
jects midht get a Catholic king in the Buke of Clarence. 

LordlUdoD, in the report of his conversation with the king on the 88th of 
March, which lasted four hours, observes, " His majesty employed a very con 
siderable portion of his time in stating all that he represented to have passed 
when Mr. Canning was made minister, and exuresusly stated that Mr. Canning 
would never, and Uiat he engaged that he would never, allow him to be trouble? 
about the Roman Catholic Question. He bhuned all the ministers who had 
retired upon Canmng^s appointment, representing in substance that their retire- 
ment, and not he, had made Canning mmister." 

There must, no doubt, have been some misai>prehension on the kinff^s mind 
as to the engas;ement or intentions of Mr. Canmng with regard to the t)atholio 
Question. I feel very confident that Mr. Canning would not have accepted 
office, having entered mto any engagement or ffiven any assurances which would 
have the meet of phMnnghis government and himself m that relation to George 
the Fourth with respect to the Cathdio Question in which preeeding ministers 
had stood to Geoige the Third. 

There was, however, a j^neral belief that when the king appointed Mr. 
Canning to be his chief mmister, his majesty had personally given assurances 
to the Archbishop of Caaterbnrv and other of the bishops that & own opinions 
on the Catholic Question were the same with those of his ^her, and that it was 
his determination to resist to the uttermost the repeal of the disabling laws. 

In all the communicatiotts which I had with his Majes^ on this subject^ his 
determination to maintain these laws was most stron^y expressed. 

In a letter which I received from his majesty m 1824, he tiiua eipiesscs 

THl Xnro TO MB. PBBL. 


"November 19, 1824. 
" The sentiments of the king upon Catholic Emancipation are those of his 
revered and eicellent £ather ; from these sentiments the king never can, and 
never will deviate." 

Digitized by 




AH subseqiieiit declarations of opinion on the part of the king were to the 
same effect, and the events which were passing in Ireland, the systematic agita- 
tion, the intemperate conduct of some of the lioman Catholic leaders, the violent 
and abusive speeches of others, the acts of the Association assuming the func- 
tions of government ; and as it appeared to the king, the passiveness and want 
of energy in the Irish Executive, irritated his majesty, and indisposed him the 
more to recede from his declared resolution to maintain inviolate the exist- 

The threatMaed resignation of the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert 
Peel first induced the king to grant a general pemussion to coasider in 
the cabinet the whole state of Ireland. A new diffietilty» howerer, arose 
in the proposed alteration of the Oath of Supremacy; Feel hsid lost 
gnmnbdy at the same time, by the issue of the Oxford election, and an 
actual rengnation of office took place. The king, however, anticipated 
so much diflGbalty in forming anothw administratioa, that he desired 
Peel and Wellington to withcuraw their resignation, granting them, at 
the same time, liberty to proceed with the n^easures of which notice had 
been given to parliament. 

Mr. Doubleoaj's account of the transaotion^*whieh, even to the Ter- 
sion of the interview between the king and Lord Eldon, eoineides closely 
with that given by Peel himself convicting, as it does, the king of strange 
insincerity — is tantamount to that placed on record by the minister m 
his vindication. <' The people of both oountries were, he adds, ^ to a 
eonsidenhle extent, really taken by surprise. Most men felt instinctively 
that an epoch of religious and politieal change was now at hand ; but few 
really or confidentially expected to see a full emancipation of the Catholies 
firom all disabil i ties actually proposed by a cabinet presided o?er hy the 
Dttke of WellingtOQ and Mr. Peel" 

Sir Robert has sunmied up an able Tindicarion of his conduct by 
attesting that it was not pusillanimity or unworthy fears, nor personal 
ambition, that influoieed him. He affirms that he was swayed by no 
fear ^ except the fear of public cakmity," and that he acted <* throughout 
on a deep conviction that those measures wsie not only oonduetre to the 
geaaral welfere, but that they had become imperatively necessary in 
carder to avert from interests which had a special claim upon my support 
— ^the interests of the Chureb and of institutions connected with the 
Chorab — an imminent and increasing danger.'' It is a noble affirmation 
ou the part oi a great statesman, but the public have long been familiar, 
in a general sense, with the motives that really iniueneed him on the 
Cathc^c question, and there is nothing in these '^ Memoirs" to affect that 
view of the ease the Policy oi Expediency. 


Digitized by 




We were sitting in the drawing-room one Sunday afternoon in the 
Chrbtmas holidays. Lucy, who was suffering from one of her acute 
headaches, was near the fire, in ray dear mother's old arm-chair (now 
very grand, for our young ladies had worked a handsome coyering for 
it), and my eldest niece, Mary, was in Lucy's place at the end of the 
table, cutting up oranges for the children. Mary was eighteen now, a 
slender, graceful girl, far more beautiful than her ill-fitt^ mother had 

" There's such a pretty carriage at the gate, auntie," cried little John 
Goring, who was standing at the window. 

*^ Not at our gate, child," I siud ; for we rarely had visitors on a 
Sunday. Nevertheless I turned in my chair, and looked out 

It certainly was at our gate. A low, stylish landau, with glittering 
silver ornaments on the horses' harness. A lady in purple velvet and 
furs was in it, and the footman was ringing at the gate. Up came 
Susan, Dr. Gorine's old servant, and handed me a card, saying the lady 
wished to know if she could speak with me. 

<< Give it to Miss Goring," I said to Susan, for m^ glasses were not 
at hand, and my sight is not very clever at small readmg now. '' What 
does it say, Mary?" 

" < Lady Elliot,' " answered Mary, reading from the card. 

" Whoever is « Lady Elliot?' " exclaimed Lucy. " What can she want 
with us? Some mistake, perhaps." 

" Shall I show her up here, ma'am ?" asked Susan. 

'^ Yes, I simpose so. But — with these cakes and oranges and glasses 
about — and tne children ! Show her into the dming-room, Susan." 

I followed Susan down stairs, and the lady came m. A pale, delicate 
woman, with hair quite grey, though she did not look much past forty. 

<^ You have a young lady at school, a Miss Beale," she began, sitting 
down, away from the fire, and removing the sable frir from her neck. 

** Oh yes, ma'am," I answered, << a dear girl she is. She has been 
with us five years. But she is not here to-day ; she is spending a week 
with some relatives at the West-end. Captain and Mrs. Beale are in 

'* The relatives she is with are friends of mine," returned my visitin*, 
'< and I have heard so pleasing an account of your establishment, of the 
comforts your young ladies enjoy, and the care bestowed on them, that 
I have been induced to think of placine my daughter with you." 

^' I am sure, ma'am, we feel much cmliged to you," I said. <' If yoa 
should see fit to entrust us with the young lady, we will do everything 
in our power for her happiness and welfare." 

'< She requires peculiar care ; more care and attention than others. 
But for extra trouble I should of course expect to give extra remu- 

« Is she not in good health ?" 

Digitized by 



^'Yeiy good heddi, robast health; bqt * * Lady Elliot suddenly 
stopped, and then went on hurriedly — ''the subject is naturally a 
pMnful one to me, and when I allude to it I am apt to become agi- 
tated.'' . 

I looked at her in astonishment. Her pale cheeks had turned crimson, 
her breath was laboured, and her hand, as she played with the fur boa 
she held, was moring nervously. I was in doubt what I ought to say, 
•osat siknt. 

^ The fact is, her mind is not quite right Her intellects ** 

'^Oh, ma'am !" I interrupted, speaking, in the surprise of the moment, 
qaacker than I ought to haye done, '' do not pain yourself by saying 
xK»e. I fear, if the poor young lady is like that, it would not be pos- 
nble to receiTO her here." 

** She is not insane," answered Lady Elliot ; " you must not think I 
hare mistaken your house for an asylum ; but she is liliy. Some days 
she is so rational that a stranger would not observe anything to be the 
matter with her, will learn her lessons, and sew, and practise — for, by 
dint of perseverance, we have manaeed to teach her a little music. 
Other days she will be childish and silly ; but I can assure you there is 
no madness, no insanity ; it is only a weakness of intellect** 

'*How old is she?" 

''She is sixteen. The medical men have recently suggested that 
were she placed at school with other young ladies, their companionship 
and example might tend to brighten her intellects. My husband is also 
of the same opinion. You know him by reputation, I presume." 

" No, ma'am, I am not aware ** 

" Sir Thomas Elliot, of Square.** 

^ Sir Thomas Elliot, the great physician ! Oh yes, ma'am, I know 
him. Some months ago I took one of our pupils to him, three or four 

** He is my husband," returned Lady Elliot. *' This child is our only 
daughter, and has been a source of great grief to us. When we first 
discovered her deficiency, as an infant, we believed the affliction to be 
much worse than it really was — we feared her to be a hopeless idiot, at 
least I did: for mothers, in such a case, can only look at tne worst side. 
I thought, when the fatal truth burst upon us, that the shock, the 
horror, the grief, would have killed me. I fear I loved the child too 
much, with a selfish, inordinate affection : three little daughters before 
her had died off, one by one, rendering this last more ardently coveted, 
and, when it came, too fondly cherished. But that hopeless despair— 
£or it was nothing less — has calmed down with years; and though* I 
cannot say I am happy in my child, I am more so than I once thought I 
ever could be. Let me beg of you to receive her.^' 

I need not relate the further conversation, or the' arrangements that we 
entered inta I consented to admit Miss Elliot, with the understanding 
that should her peculiarities prove such as to draw the attention of the 
other pupils off their studies, she should at once leave. 

^ What made Lady Elliot come this afternoon ?" inquired Lucy. 

I did not know, for Lady Elliot had offered no explanation or apology. 
'^ There are some people who regard Sunday with little more reverence 
than week days," I observed. <* Perhaps Lady Elliot is one." 

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" I know what our nurse used to wj — likmk blniiete tnuasMted tm 
a Sunday would ne^er proeper," interposed Frances Goring. ^'AimL 
Miss Howard, one day when sne heard he r " 

''Don't mention Miss Howard's name, ^Frances," interrupted Mary^ 
quickly ; '* you hare been told of that several tiaaes." 

Frances was apt to be forgetful Betides, she did not eonpreheBd the 
full horror which had been brought into the family by Miss Howard. 

The second week after the school assembled Miss Elliot came. Lady 
Elliot did not bring her, she was ill with a eotd, but, fo my very great 
surprise, Miss Graves did : Miss Graves, who, with her sister, Mrs. 
Archer, had formerly k>dged with us. She was residing with Lady 
Elliot, we found, as companion, and overlooker of her daughter. I should 
not have known her again, she was so stout and weU, but she was aged a 
good deal, and had taken to wear caps. We were eoriotts to see Miss 
Elliot, and found her a short, slight girl, looking younger than her age^ 
with a small, simpering, vacant &ce, prominent blue eyes, and dark hair. 
Mary Groring linked Miss Elliot's arm within hers, vod led her into the 
sehodroom. The pupils were just going to tea, and Miss Elliot, without 
the ceremony of being asked, sat down with them, making herself qmkB 
at home. Miss Graves took it with us in the dining-room. 

'' Mrs. Archer is connected by marriage with Sir Thomas ElHot," she 
explained, '' and that is how I obtained me situation. I told Lady ElKot 
how comfiartable Clara would be here, as soon as I knew she was thinking 
of plaeing her with you. Which is but recently, I fimey : the pkn 
seemed to be made up all in a hurry." 

<< What a terrible a£aiction to have a child like Miss Elliot P uttered 

^ Terrible I believe it was to Lad^ Elliot, in Ae first years,'* answered 
Miss Graves. ** She was not the nek Lady Elliot th«D, quite the ooft- 
trary. Sir Thomas was only Dr. Elliot, an obscure country physieian, 
little known or employed: it is but within these hw years thi^ he has 
come out the grand London medical star, knighted by her Majesty, mi 
run after by every invalid. Many a physician, making has annusl 
thoosastds, has had to struggle with an early career of poverty, if nei 
want, and Thomas EUfiot was one. You have not forgotten f^y sister's 
husband, Miss Halliwell, the Reverend George Ardier p" 

Sud IJbrgoUen him I A blush rose to my stupid M, face, and they 
might have seen it through the ascending steam, as I poured out the 
tea. Perhaps Lucy did. I answered quietly that I had not fovgottsn 

'<*His mother and this Sir Thomas Elliot's &ther were sister and 

Here was another recollection awakened. I had ofben, in those suaay 
days, heard George speak of his aunt and uncle fUliot; the lattter a 
country clergyman. 

^' And Tom Elliot — as Sif Thomas, s^ and stately as he is now, was 
then called — ran away with a young lady, whe& he was onlv a medicsi 
pupil, and married her," proceeded Miss Graves. '* Her nitbcr never 
forgave them, and left all his money to his eldest daughter. That eldest 
daughter was a widow then, and in time she died— died youn g a nd be- 
queathed the money to the Elliots. Dr. Elliot then removed to L o nd s >i 

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Mi m » hftiidioaie t^abliflhmont, aod hm now qm of Hw fint pftctioee 

^^ What a deyer man he most be in his profession,^ remarked haej, 
*^ Evnj one says io.** 

^'Not he," answered Miss Graves ; << not a whit more so than othcn, 
bat the nm of haack is u|>on him. He has oootrired to obteun the name, 
to be just now the fmsbumaUe physioian of the day, and ao crowda Botk 
alter hifB." 

^* Well, he oMtft be a happy man, at any rate,** repealed Lncy, <' to see 
lumself so successful after his early strugglea.'* 

** Not so £ut there," rejoined Miss Grares, significantly ; " they neither 
of tfaem give me the idea of being too happy. Sir Thomas is a gloomy, 
austere man, who seems to have no enjoyment in life ; and no recreation 
saye that of giving advice to patients. They say he was a wild, rattling 
yoong fellow in youth, whom eveiybody liked ; but, if so^ he if strans^Iy 
altered. And Lady Elliot looks and moves as if she had a continued Toad 
of care upon her. I say to myself sometimes that one might as well be 
in a convent as with them, for they will both sit in the room for hours 
and never speak. If it were not for their son, I belieye they would aa 
iooo be under the earth as above it." 

<< Their son P I fancied Miss Elliot was an only child." 

^ Indeed I don't know what they would do, if uiey had only her," i^ 
plied Miss Graves, who, owing, I suppose, to our former acquaintance, 
seemed to speak of these family affairs pretty ireely. ** Poor thing I 
what comfort can they find in one afflicted as she is ? Instead of the 
pEide that nature urges us to take in a child, there is rather a feeling of 
sfaftme substituted, in a case like Clara Elliot's — a wish that, were it pos- 
siUe, we would hide such a child's very existence from the world. Believe 
ne, Sir Thomas and Lady Elliot's hopes and love are confined to their 
foo. They idolise him." 

'' Is he older or younger than his sister ?" 

" Several years older. He is about four*and-twenbr« Ah ! and he is 
worthy of their love. Very handsome, very fascinating, very good and 
affectionate : it is rare, indeed, one meets with one so deserving of praise 
as William Elhot." 

" Does he follow his father's profession ?" 

*' Na He is studying for the Bar ; and, report says, likely to shine 
ai it. Not that there is any necessity for William to work. His annt» 
Mrs. Tumhiidl, leit part of the property direct to him, and Sir Thomas 
most be putting by guineas by tne thousand. But William is as indus* 
trious and anxious to succeed as if he had not a shilling. If I had a son, 
or brother, like William Elliot, my pride in him would have no limit" 

Just then Mary Goring came into the room, and began whispering 
in my ear — something about ''Miss Singleton" and ''breM-and-butter." 
I eould not make it out. 

'' fi^eak im, ^>eak up, child," I said. *' We need have no secrets firon 

'' It is not for the bread-and-butter that Miss Smgloton requested me 
to inquire," she said, blushing, as she k>oked at Miss Graves. <' My 
annt always desires that the young ladies may have as much as ever tbsj 
can eat" 

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^^ Cut thin or thick, as they please,** interrupted Luoy ; ^' but Mmbb 
Graves is no stranger to our arrangements. What is it you are saying, 

'< We only feared Miss Elliot might make herself ili,** resumed Mary. 
• She " 

^* What! has she got one of her eating fits upon her?" sharply inter- 
rupted Miss Graves. ** Is she eating a great deal T* 

'^ Fourteen slices since we began to count," replied Mary ; ^* and she 
took from the thick plate. Miss Singleton thought it would be better to 
mention it, before she let her take any more." 

«< That's Clara Elliot all over," cried Miss Graves. <' These eating 
fits — as we call them~4o come over her now and then. You must limit 
her at such times to what is sufficient, Miss Halliwell.'* 

<< Perhaps she will not be limited ?** I replied. 

" Oh yes she wilL You will find her extremely tractable. Control 
her with gentle authority, as you would a young child, and she will obey 
you. It is of no use to reason." 

So we found. And we got on pretty well with Miss Elliot The worst 
days were her laughing ones. Sne would suddenly burst into a laugli, 
no one knew at what, and nothing could stop her ; shrill, screaming, 
hearty laughter, one burst upon another, and sne throwing herself back- 
wards and forwards on her seat, with the exertion. Laughing is con- 
tagious, and the first time it came on the whole school caught it, and fell 
into the roar ; some went into hysterics, and others narrowly escaped 
convulsions. We had never had such a scene ; the teachers, even, were 
affected ; and I and Lucy driven out of our self-possession. In future we 
used to lead her at once from the room, and let her have her laugh out, 
away from the schoolgirls. Another annoying thing was about the 
pianos. Some one sat by her whilst she practised, generally Mary 
<joring, to whom she had taken a ereat fancy, but she would seize a sly 
opportunity of bringing both her hands down with such force upon the 
^eya, as to break the wires, thump, thump, thump, as one uses a hammer, 
laughing in delight all the time. The strength of her hands was astonish- 
ing, and we had two pianos damaged in one day. Lucy and the teachers 
declared she used to be worse at the full and change of the moon, but I 
did not see much difference, myself. One thing I must say in her favour 
—that she was perfectly truthful : always telling the straightforward 
truth, fearlessly. No matter whether a met told against her or for her, 
out it came, without any softening down. It would seem that the dread 
of displeasure, which causes other children to equivocate in their endea- 
vours to conceal a fault, was a feeling unknown to Clara Elliot 

On the third day of her residence with us I was seated in the drawing- 
room, while Mary Goring took her lesson frt>m tlie harp-master, when one 
of the maids announced Mr. William Elliot, and there entered the very 
handsomest young man I ever saw. I do not admire men who are gene- 
rally called handsome — big, showy, black-curled, prominent-featured, 
deep complexioned ; with a loud voice, and a moostachio as long as my 
arm. (I hope I have put the proper letters into that, but I am not 
accustomed to write foreign words.) Mr. William Elliot was none of this : 
tall he certainly was, and elegant, with features of gpreat beauty, pale and 

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quiet, % sweet look in his haiel ejey, and a pleasant voice and manner 
thait attracted yoa whether yon would or not I don't know what there 
-was in him to win my heart, hut as he held out his hand to me, and 
msked after his sister, it went oyer to him there and then. Maiy con- 
tinned her playing, without notice, for it was a rule of our house that 
lessons were never interrupted for the entrance of visitors. She had, 
however, nearly finished. 

Clara Elliot came in, giggling and jumping, pulled her brother's face 
down to kiss, and then napped herself on the sofa, and began one of 
those senseless fits of laughing. I was glad that the harp-master left 
just then. Young Mr. EUliot, with a flush on his hce, wound his arm 
about her waist. 

^ Clara ! Clara!" he said, in a kind but authoritative tone, " I want 
to talk to you. Do not laugh just now. Come and look at my new 

Her ally laugh subsided instantly ; it was evident that her brother had 
a hold on her affections or her poor mind, and she suffered him to take 
her to the window. A groom, well mounted, was leading his young 
mastei^s horse before the house. 

^* Oh, he IS superb !" cried Clara, jumping again as soon as she saw 
the horse. '* When did you buy him, William f' 

« Only yesterday." 

'^ Come and look," she uttered, runninfi^ across the room and pulling 
forward Mary Gioring, who was putting we music straight preparatory 
to leaving the drawing-room ; *^ it's my brother's new horse. Do you 
know who the is P' she added, as soon as they reached the window — '* she 
is my new sister. Her name's Maiy." 

Ue bowed slightly at this unceremonious introduction. Mary would 
have released herself, but the girl clasped her tightly with her strong 

A foolish haicj came over me, and perhaps I am a foolish woman for 
relating it, but that can do neither harm nor good now. As they stood 
there, side by side, looking from the window, William Elliot and Maiy 
Goring, their profiles were both turned towards me, and I was struck 
with a angular likeness between the two— the same beautiful cast of 
feature, the drooping eyelid, the arched nostril, and the same sweet look 
in the mouth. It struck a chill upon my heart You may call it pre- 
sentiment if you will, or you may call it the breeze from the door, but 
the likeness and the chill were both there. I drove it away and forgot 
it : I have felt and thought of it more, since, than I did then : and I 
unwound Miss Elliot's arms, and dismissed my niece. 

<" I hope Lady Elliot's cold is better T I said. 

** Thank you, yes. She talks of driving down to-morrow. I am glad 
you are happy, Clary," continued Mr. William Elliot, fondly stroking 
lus sister^s hair. " Do you think," he whispered to me, as she flew off 
to another part of the room, on some flighty errand, ** that the chang^e 
here promises to be of service to her ?" 

I conJd not give an opinion. She had been with us too short a time ; 
and presently Mr. Elliot took leave. 

As he left the room I turned to ring the bell, and in that moment 

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Claia imig tbe window wid# open and strotehtd hma^ iukgmomslj ««t 
of it Hj beart — «• the sajiag g oa was in a j mouihy and^. at I 
qnaiig towards her, I managed to take the bell-pali with me. 

" Mv dear,^ I said, ^' yoa mast not lean out in thia waj ; jo« vngbi 
&U ana kill yourself. Brides, it is too eold for the window to be opeoed 
to-day. Jack Frost is in the roads.^ 

<< I like Jack Frost,^ she answered. << And I nerer &11 out of ilM 
window. I h<^ on." 

As I dosed the window I took her hand in mine, and agaia came duit 
nUy htngh : it was at sight of her brother, who was going out at the 
Mte. He looked up with those handsome eyes of hu, and kissed his 
hand to her. The groom cantered up, and Mr, William Elliot prepaied 
to meant. 

Goodness me I she was like a young eat Before I well knew she had 
drawn her hand from mine, before I knew she had left my side, she had 
flown down stairs and was out in the road, dancing round her brodwr's 
horse, llie horse began dancing too. Clara only dapped her hands 
and daaoed the £ut^. 

I saw Susan rush out to the gate, and I rushed down the stairs, and 
the bdl-puU after me^ which had somehow hooked itself on to the 
pocket-hole of my dress. But Mr. William EUiot was off his steed, 
quietly, but quick as a flash of lightniog, and had his arm round her, 
leading her in again. I met them at the hall door. 

<* You must not think me wanting in care," I panted to him, the &ight 
having run away with every bit of breath I had ; <* I was not prepared 
for h^ sudden moyements. I shall be so in future." 

" Her movements sometimes are sudden," he replied, ^' but she never 
oomes to harm. There is a Providence over her, Ifiss Halliwell, Bke ' 
there is over a child." 

The next day, a very fine one. Miss Graves came down in the carriage. 
Lady Elliot's odd was worse, so she had seot her instead, to take Clma 
tor an airing. Clara pouted and would not go. Miss Graves was at a 

^' Lady Elliot will blame me and say it is my fault," she said to us. 
^' She made a pdnt of her going out this bright day. Clara, dear, we 
shall see such fine things as we go along : we shall see Punch and Judy. 
It is in full work, fife and drum and all, lower down the road." 

Pundi and Judy was a sight that poor Clara was wild afWr : there wai 
BOthing she ei^oyed so much in life. Miss Graves really had passed the 
diow on her way. This was a mat temptation to Gara, and dis 
seemed irresolute, but finally sbo<£ her head : she wanted to stay with 
Mary Goring. Miss Graves then suggested that Mary should accompany 
them, and Clara eagerly seised at it 

''So you had a visit firom William Elliot yesterday," observed Miai 
Graves, when they were gone to get ready. ^' What young lady was it 

'' He only saw his sister," I repHed, forgetting, as I spoke, the tenspo- 
raiy stay of Mary Goring in the drawing-room. *' And two sad frights 
she gave me." 

^' Yes he did. One of the young ladies, he told me." 

** Oh, true, I remember now. It was my niece. Miss Goring." 

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^ TIma 1m w sofelj sntlen with W/ was the njo^^ 
' He kepi taJHaag about kor to me laat night, and said she waf Aw 
; girl be ever saw.'' 

^ Ahy jmmg men are apt «e sa^ diat of all the prettj girls they meat,"* 
was mj answer. Bat somehow I theaght of thai uglj chill agam. 


EAanut eane, and Clara Ellioi went home on iht Wedneadaj in 
Passion-week to spend some days. On the Thursdaj (as I heard after- 
wards frtem Miss GnMres) she got Marr Goring into her head, and so 
tsaacd her mother to SMMi for her, that Lad j ElHoi grew quite cro«. In 
most c a a e s, Clara was as easilj swajed as a child, 1^ when Am did get 
hoU of a fixed idea and iam obsiinaie orer it, thm was no moimg br. 
Ai ike duMier-tahle she refused to eat '<I don't want anj dinner,'' she 
saUenW remarked, ^ I want Mary Goring." 

" Who in the world's Mary Goring ?" inquired Sir Thomas. 

'' Oh, one of her schooUeUows," repbed Lady ElBot «< She has been 
dbinmg ihe name into me aU day." 

"Jionssnw," leaponded Sir Thomas. ''You are pottmg on mon 
childishness than you need, Clara. Eai yoor dinner." 

''She is net noosenee," retorted Clara. <'She's better than yon are 
hss^ WyUam knows it." 

A ivsh, quite micalled for, rose to ICr. William Ellwt's (ace. <'Ckra 
has talked to me about some young lady whom she seems to have iakan 
a fancy io," he explained. "I suppoee it is the same." 

«« Yon saw her," brnrsi ferdi Clara— ^yoo ha^e seen her twice. Yon 

^U»we ir answered Mr. Wilfiam. 

Lady Ellioi intorposed, and, to pacify Clara, promised that she sfaonld 
leich Mary Goring on ihe a acrrow . But the monow was Good Friday. 
TiMy wesi to (^mh ; aftsr senrice some risiters came in ; and ihe day 
pasaed withoat £siching Mary Goring. Nerer, Miss GraTes said, had m 
seen Clara Ellioi so obstinately sullen. Alas ! the next morning Ckura 
waa missing. The house was searched over, but she was nowhere to be 
fomm^ They sapposed Ae must bare risen early, d r ce s o d herself, and 
gone cot, nnaeen by the aerrants. Her bennei, velfei mantle, and Mi* 
of furs were gone. A strange coaamoiien the house was in : nerer had 
Clara ElKoi attempted such an escapade before. Lady Ellioi waa nearly 
ooi of her aensea. 

" She must have gone after thai young girl she was worrying orer," 
cried Sir Thomas. " Mary ^what was it ? Her schooUakm." 

Noihmg more likely. And Mr. William Elliet, die most active of ihe 
party, flew down stairs and into a cah. 

We were sitting at breakfast in the diniag-room, when one of the 
servants cane in, and said that Mr. William EUioi had eidled and wiAed 
to fee me iostanily. 

**Mr. William Elliot at this hour!" I repeated, riring from my dMir. 
'^ Can aayiluog nnpleasani have happened ?" 

'^ Yoa'U never go io him in thai fignre, mmt!" cried Mary, in ahnrm. 

AndiadeedlbeBaveldidkekarigkt For on this Saiwday Mm- 

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iDgy as many of the papils had gone home, the maids were about to turn 
out part of the house, and I was going to help them. So I had put on a 
large old-fashioned muslin cap with a spreading border, to save my head 
^m the dust, and a short, buff cotton bedgown — ^if my modem readers 
know what that ancient article means. 

^' He will think Aunt Hester's showing out in her nightcap and night- 
dress," said Master Alfred Goring, who nad come to us for a three days' 

** The gentleman's waiting outside," inteiposed Ann. ** He would not 
go up-stairs." 

« Dear me ! outside ! Never mind my dress, children. I beg your 
pardon for keeping you there, sir," I said, as he entered ; *^ I had no con- 
ception that you had not gone into the drawing-room. The truth is, I 
was a little averse to appearing before you in this attire, but I am g^ing 
to be busy with the maids. My nephew suggested that you might think 
it my night-dress, but I can assure you it is not, though I beg you to 
excuse it" 

'*It is I who ueed excuse for intruding on you at this hour,'' he 
answered, with a smile, as he ran his eyes over my shoulders and head. 
And then he told us what was the matter. We had seen nothing of Miss 
Elliot, and he hurried away to prosecute the search. 

About middle day Lady Elliot came down, nearly frantic. '* A g^rl 
like Clara, who wants proper sense to take care of herself!" she uttered. 
<* Suppose she falls into bad hands ! Oh, Miss HalHwell, this horrible 
suspense will* kill me." 

1 could give little consolation to Lady Elliot, and she soon left. In 
her state of mind it seemed impossible for her to remain long in one 
place. Our house was like a £Eur that day, and the cleaning got on 
very badly. As to myself, I found I had to leave it to the servants, 
ehsmge my costume, and have a fire lighted in the drawing-room. Mr. 
Elliot coming, as I have said, in the morning ; Alfred running in and 
out, looking for her up and down the road, and calling in at the police- 
station; then Miss Graves coming; then Lady Eluot; then another 
flying visit horn Mr. William ; and in the afternoon we were honoured 
by a visit from Sir Thomas. The family, that day, passed- their time 
running between their house and ours. Sir Thomas Elliot was a tall, 
handsome roan, with a reserved manner, and chary of words, so different 
from the description I had heard of the once random Tom Elliot. 

" You perceive, madam," he observed, " we can only come to the con- 
clusion that my daughter must have left home to come in search of Miss 
-—Miss — excuse me, I forget the name." 

" Miss Goring, sir." 

"Miss Goring. I beg your pardon; May I be permitted to see 
Miss Goring? Though possibly she may not be able to throw any light 
on my daughter's movements." 

What light was Mary likely to throw ? However, there could be no 
oUection to Sir Thomas Elliot's seeing her, if he wished* So I called 

An expression of surprise arose to his hce when she answered my 
summons. He had, no doubt, expected to behold a silly schoolgirl, and 
in walked Mary, with her ladylike manners, her handsome half-mourning 

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diesa, and Iier wianiog beauty. Hia manner to me had been, I thongfat, 
a Utile patronising^, but he rose up to her, the finished gentleman. 

«« M7 daughter speaka of you as her friend," he said ; ** she was, 
doubtless, coming in search of you: can yon offer any suggestion as to 
where she may have strayed ? 

** No," answered Mary. << Unless,'' she hesitated, whilst a damask 
colour flew to her cheek, for it was not pleasant to speak to a father of 
his daughter's deficiencies — ^* unless she should have met the show she is 
so fond of, and hare followed it" 

'* You aJlude to Punch. But I think it was too early for the ridi- 
euk>us exhibition to be abroad," replied Sir Thomas, who was aware of 
his daughter's predilection for the popular amusement. 

^^Have you suggested it, sir, to the police who are in search?" I 
a^ed. ^* If she did happen to see it, she would be certain to stray 
away in its wake." 

'< No," he said, '< it did not occur to me. But I will lose no time 
in doing so now. I really thank you very much, madam, for the 
thought." So he went away, and we saw him g^t into his brougham. 

The next aniral was Miss Graves again, just as we were going 
to tea, which I ^en caused to be carried into the drawing-room. Lady 
Elliot had sent her. 

'< This is really dreadful," she exclaimed, taldne the cup I handed her ; 
'^Lady Elliot is quite beside herself with excitement. Picturing all 
sorts of shocking things happening to the child. I am quite exhausted." 

*' I know wlukt I should do," ^Ld Lucy. ^' I should set the bellman 
to work." 

*^ There is no bellman in London," laughed Master Alfred : the whole 
bustle was fun to him. '' / should engage all the Punch and Judies 
gcnng, and set 'em up at the street comers. She'd be sure to appear 
before one of wiem. 

<^ I do not fear her commg back safe," cried Miss Graves. *' Who 
would harm a poor half-witted child hke Clara ElUiot ?" 

Lucy looked grave. *^ How are they to know she is half-witted ? 
And we do hear frightful stories of the wickedness of London." 

** "Which are all true," eagerly interrupted Alfred. *' If they can 
catch hold of an unprotected femiUe, they cut off her hair and draw her 
teeth, and the fashionable barbers and dentists give them no end of 
mcoey for the spoiL" 

'' Be quiet, Alfred." 

^* It's true, Aimt Lucy. If you don't believe me, you just go into one 
of the thieves' streets some day, and see how they'd serve you. My I if 
Miss Elliot has strayed there ! won't she come back with a bald head 
and empty mouth I" 

All wis was of course nothing but nonsense on Alfred's part ; he little 

thought But I had better go on regularly. We were still at tea when 

Mr. William Elliot came in again. So pale and fiigged, that I was 
grieved to see him, and said so. 

" I own I am chsheartened," he said. " If Qara is not found before 
night, I tremble for the consequences to my mother. And where to 
search, or what to do, more than we are ahready doing, I do not know." 

" I say, here's a visit," exclaimed Alfred, who was then at. the window* 
'' Such a rum one. Does Miss Elliot wear a white petticoat?" 

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<< What do ^u meMi?" I dwrplj ttid. For I did aot fike hia to 
joke about it in the presence of Mr. Elliot. 

^ I am not joking," answered Alfred, ^i It's a visit at yoor gate, 
aunt A carriage without sides, laden with human lirestock, and dnwn 
by a Jerusalem pony. What will you bet one of them is not l£st 

Elliot r 

We flocked to the window. Good Heayens abore I it wcu Mim Elliot 
But in such a trim ! I shall never forget the sight 

The yehide was drawn up before the gate. One of thoee wide boards 
on wheels, which I had seen Tegetables and shell^fish hawked upon. Flat 
upon it sat a man, who drove the donkey, a woman holding a duld» and 
between them a female figure in a broken straw-bonnet, a ragged cotton 
shawl of no colour but dirt, and a white petticoat The figure was Clara 
ElHot, but we did not recognise her till they came up-stairs, and I saw 
William Elliof s lips turn as white as ashes. 

What an object the unfortunate girl pesented ! She was not precisely 
en chemise (as our Freoch teacher is apt reproachfully to cast at the little 
gja^y when she pounces into their ch amber at night, and catches them at 

Kin-the-ccmier), but she was not £ur remoyed horn it. No Tdvet 
Bt and mantle, no furs, no silk dress, and no gloves. Nothing but 
the disgraceful bonnet and shawl over the white petticoat, her own 
stockings, and a shameful pair of slipshod slippers. She seemed to 
ei^oy i£e affieur amaiingly, and threw herself on a diair with bursts of 
laughter, hugging the shaind around her. Her hair and teeth were n£e. 

« Does this here young kdy belong to here?'' began the. man, a tall 
fellow, all skin and bone, with a deformed foot 

We all answered in a breath that the young lady £d belong to us, but 
Mr. Elliot's ymoe rose above oun, deinanding to know nhdte she had 
been detained, and what brought her home in that state. 

*' I was away on my rounds, gentlefolks," returned the man, ^* and 
knowed nothing on it till I come home this a'temoon, and (bund the young 
miss along of my missis. Th^ can tell you about it better nor I can.'' 

The man pudied his wife nirward as he concluded. She had mild 
blue eyes and a hectic cdoor. And, now that the first shook of their 
appearance was wearing o£^ I began to like the people. Rough and dark 
as the man was, oommon and low as they were in station, I am sore they 
were honest and kindly. 

** We keep a bit of a shed for coal, ma'am, near to Covent Garden, 
and for greens and things that my husband can't sell on his icands," she 
said, addressing herself to me, whom she probably took for Clara's mother, 
*< and this morning, about eleven o'dock, as 1 was a coming in firom 
delivering a quarter of a hundred of ooals to a customer, somd^dy lavs 
hold on me and asks if that was the way to Halliwell House, — — Kotd." 
(/leaveoutthenameof the locality, not the woman.) ^ So I snd. No, 
it wasn't, nor anywhere near it, and then I notioed what a odd-k)oking 
young person it was, and she borst ont laughing (perhaps because she 
saw me a staring at her) and up and told me she nad been robbed of her 
doAes. Well, I did not pay no attendon to her, for we have all sorts 
of giris in our part, saving your presence, ladie% but she followed me 
into our shed, and began phmag with mj eUldem, and adcad me to get 
a cab asid tab her hoate. I asked her it she'd goiaome money, and she 

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Mid, No, thej had taken her pune, hat her finendi ivovld pay. So after 
that, I pit some qneetioos to her, and began to believe her tale, e^edallj 
as I saw that her under-eiotheey which they had not touched, was fine 
like a lady's." 

^ Who took yoor dotiies from you, Clara?" interposed Mr. William 
Elliot, in the kind, but authoritatiye tone he sometimes used to her. 

** I was coming here to fetch Mary," she answered. '< I had walked 
a' good way, and was looking for th^ turning, but I could not find the 
lidit one. Then a woman asked what I wanted, and I told her, and she 
said she would show me, and took me along with her." 

'< Well ? Go on, Chura," said her brother. 

<* She took me into a room, up some dirty stairs, where there was 
another woman. I was angry, and said that was not Halliwell House, 
and Ant said we were only going to have some break&st first She said 
that," added Clara, her eves brightening up, ^ because I told her I 
had cheated mamma, and all of them, and run away without any. Then 
she and the other woman took my own things off me, and my pocket, 
and put these on, and when I cried, they promised I should hiave them 
all back again iHien I got home, and they gave me some bread and 

'* What did they do after that ?" mqoired Miss Graves. 

^ Afler diat the other woman came out with me, and said she was 
fipoing to bring me here, but suddenly she was gone, and I could not find 
her. It was a nasty dirty street, and I did not know my way, so I asked 
Acr^ — ^pointing to the woman in the room. 

^.It is the same tale she told to me, ma'am," resumed the woman. 
^ There are wretches in this wicked town that do prowl about to pick up 
chUdem, and others who can't defend theirselves, and rob them of their 
things. So I believed as the yonng lady had teUed the truth, and I kep' 
her in our back room, alonr of my yoone* ones, for she don't seem to be 
one as oogfat to be abroad by herself, and I give her a bit of our dinner, 
sodi as it was. And when my husband and big boy come home, I 
persuaded of him to bring her down here, which he didn^t want to, and I 
come along myself for, says I, her friends will be more satisfied like, if I 
mes to terafy that she has been kep' safe sinee she come into my hands. 
I'm ashamed as I'd nothing to lend her to put on, in place of them dirty 
things," added the woman, with an increase in her hectic colour, and 
lowmng her t<me, ^^ but this have been a hard winter with ns, and I have 
been forced to pot awi^ aU but what I stands up in." 

Hiere was genuine good feeling betrayed in the woman's speedi, and 
I saw William ElHot's eyelashes gUsten, as he turned to lock out into 
tiM road. His vnfortunate sister! what a disph^ it was for him. 

^ It wam't as I were unfeeling, or thought of my trouble in bringing 
the yoang person down, gtntlefiSks," grufBiy spoke up the husband, ^ nor 
it vram't as I knew the animal was done up ; but there ain't a busier day 
throughout the year, for us eostermongers, than Easter Saturday, and I 
was gt>ing out again with a fresh stock, which now I have lost the sale 
on. Our boy Bill, too, as we've left in ebarge of the shed and the young 
sues, can't sell as his mother can." 

*< Ton shall he no loser by what yon have dsne^ my good man," inter- 
posed Mr. Elliot, warmly. 

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<< Welly 8ir» it were my missis as talked me into it, so I won't say as it 
weren't. * Suppose it was our own girl, Bill, as were lost,' says she to 
me, ' shouldn't we he in a peck o' grief o?er it, and ain't this one's folks 
the same, and un't it our duty to take her home without delaying of it, 
and let 'em see that no great harm have come to her ?' So, with that, I 
harnessed in the donkey again, for I had took him out for a rest, and 
folded a sack for the young person to sit upon, and we brought her 

What more he would haye said, if anything, was interrupted by Clara 
Elliot. She sprang to the tea-table, seized hold of a slice of hretA and 
butter, which was Wing there on a plate, and offered it to the woman. 
** Take it," she said ; " you gave me some of your potatoes to-day." 

'< Not for me, miss," was the answer ; '' I can do without it. If I 
might give it to my little boy instead" — ^looking at me — " I should be 
glad." She had held the boy in her arms all the time, but with difficulty, 
for he seemed to be a most restless child, about two years old. << He's 
always up at the sight of food, ma'am, for he don't get enough of it, and 
childem nas such appetites." 

Mr. William Elliot took the bread and butter from Clara, doubled it, 
and gave it himself to the child. ** He shall get enough in future," he 
whispered to the mother, with one of his kindly looks. 

We saw the people drive away again. The man sat down first, helped up 
his wife, civilly enough, and stuck the boy between them, on Clara's sack. 
Mr. William Elliot and Alfred Goring stood at the gate while they 
mounted, Alfred in a frenzy of delight at the scene, and Mr. William 
writing down in his pocket-book the man's address. Almost at the same 
moment. Lady Elliot drove up in a hired cab: her own horses were 

She was painfully agitated when she heard the details, although thank- 
ful to receive Clara si& and sound. The girl's half-clad, ludicrous ap- 
pearance, the wretched substitutes (which we speedily consigned to the 
dust-bin) for her own clothes, the description of her conveyance home, 
the nondescript vehicle on which she sat in state, on the coal-sack, behind 
the donkey, Uie rough costermong^r and his half-starved wife, and, worse 
than all, uie girl's utter indifference to the shame ! Indifference ? she 
enjoyed the remembrance of the novel ride. All this was as wormwood 
to Lady Elliot 

<' Oh, William, what a disgrace !" she murmured to her son, as the red 
flush came into her pale cheel^ the liffht into her glistening ey» ; *^ better 
I had no daughter, you no sister, uan to have her thus ; better that it 
would please God to remove her from us I" 

Little less agitated was he, as he bent before his mother, little less 
flushed his own fiice, but it was with pain at hearing such words from her. 
<* Dear mother," he whispered, as he took her hands, <* look not upon it 
in this spirit. Rather be thankful that the affliction is so much lighter 
than it might be^and espedally thankful this day, as I am, that she is 
restored to us unharmed." 

She strained his hands in hers, before parting with them, and gazed 
tenderly into his handsome face, feeling tlurnkfulfor the blessing bestowed 
upon her in him. And indeed she had cause : for there are few sons, in 
these degenerate days, like William Elliot. 

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That genial hmnorUty Sydney Smith — the witty and ahle advocate 
of common sense and right — once complained '' tfaiat the upper parsons 
live vindictively, and evince their aversion to a Whig ministry by an im- 
proved health. The Bishop of — — » has had the rancour to recover after 
three paralytic strokes, and the Dean of — to be vic;orous at eighty- 
two ; and yet these are men who are called Christians ! 

We have never heard a like complaint from the young aspirant for 
dramatic honours, and yet how numerous have been the '* old stagers" 
exulting over their thrice twenty years, each one with its full quantum of 
seasons. We have seen the frost scattered upon their brow, though the 
winter bad not ventured within their hearts ; and there they sat m the 
market-place, still piping unto the crowd that they might dance* We 
know that after the blossom there will follow decay and blight; but some 
men retain their freshness for a longer period than others, and, with 
Sedley's heroine^ 

Bloom in the winter of their days, 

Like Glastonbury thorn. 

Much has been written on the general subject of longevity, the 
theories in connexion therewith being as endless as contradictory. There 
are upon record neariy two thousand cases of persons whose ages have 
exceeded a hundred years ; but upon a severe scrutiny it is found that 
many of them rest upon a vague foundation — ^the extreme cases l3ring in 
remote countries where registers were inaccurately kept and identity diffi- 
cult to be traced. Li the dark ages, we are positively assured that many 
of the kings of Arcadia lived to the age of three hundred ; but we may 
verj justly assume, with Lord Bacon, that *^ perhaps this is fabulous.'' 
CaJcolations, again, have been made upon the many cases of lon&;evity in 
Italy, from the return or census ordered by the Emperor Vespasian ; but 
then it is forgotten that the object of that return was to tax the people, 
who strove to make out a goodly number of years in order to avoid the 
assessment. Of Roman, Greek, French, and German emperors and 
kings, down to ihe reign of James I., we find in two hundred princes 
only four octogenarians ; whilst amongst the first two hundred and forty 
popes, there are only five who lived to the age of eighty. ' 

From many frusts collected, it would seem that a condition of toil and 
of comparative poverty is more favourable to lon^vity than one in which 
there is no demand for exertion. Of eight of we oldest persons known 
— three of whom attained the ages of 164, 172, and 185 — one only be- 
longed to the higher ranks of society, all the rest being dependent for 
their subsistence oh their own labour. Men are not less strong and 
vigoroos than in bygone times, and the average term of existence has, if 
amfthing, inottased. Dr. Southwood Smith says — ^* Not only has the 
vaiae of life in England been regularly increasing, until it has advanced 
beyond that of any country of wluch there is any record, but the remark- 
able hict is established, that the whole mass of its people now live consi- 


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deiably longer than its higher classes did in the seyenteenth and 
eighteenth centuries.'' According to Casper, the following profesnons 
coBtttB the corresponding number of individaals out of one hnndjwd who 
attained their seyentieth year : — Theologians, 42 ; agriculturists, 40 ; 
merchants, 35 ; soldiers, 82 ; ekfks, 32 ; advocates, 29 ; artbt^ 28; 
professors, 27 ; physicians, 24. In this list the prize is awarded to 
Theology ; but the Drama, with which it was auted in the days of 
" Uysteriee" and " MotaHties,** could put in fair claims for distinction. 

It has sometimes been considered mat a theatrical life— being incom- 
patible with early hours, and moreover exposed to many aUuring tempta- 
tions — must tend to shorten existence. There are, however, nmnerous 
instances of actors reaching a very advanced a^, both in England and in 
France ; and in the course of for^ years thirty individual connected 
with our own stage ** bade this world good-night^ who had each braved 
the storms of seventy winters. We here i^ypend the name and age of a 
few who played with them the same part upon the same stace, or were 
associated widi them in their calling — ^the list being capaUe of great 
extension : — Killigrew died at the age of 86 ; John Lowin, 83 ; Bowman 
(who died in 1739, but had several times performed befere tlie second 
Charles^ 88 ; Quin, 73 ; Mrs. Garrick, 98 ; Mrs. Olive, 75; Beaid, 74; 
Rich, 70 ; Betterton, 75 ; Quick, 83 ; King, 76 ; Charlee Dibdin (the 
naval son^-writer), 74 ; Murphy, 78 ; Bsjcrymore, 71 ; Wycherley, 
75 ; Southern, 86 ; Moody, 85 ; Mrs. Bracegirdle, 85 ; Macklin, 
107 ; Gibber, 86 ; Cambedand, 79 ; Hull, 76 ; Yataff (the contem. 
porary of Garnek, not be of the Adelphi), 89 ; Munden, 74 ; Chwa- 
berlam (a provindal aetor), 86; Mn. Abington, 84; " Gentlaman" 
Smith, 89 ; John JobnsUme, 82 ; Pope^ 73 ; Mrs. Hartley, 73 ; John 
Bannister^ 76; Mhl Bannister, 92 ; Faweett, 72 ; Powell, 82 ; Geoige 
Cohnan, «" the youiffer,'' 74 ; Gattie,70; Mrs. John Kemhle, 88 ; Msl 
Sparks, 88; O^Km& 86 ; Wrougfatoo, 74; Mn. K^^lovec, 70 ; Better- 
ton (her Cither), 83; EUcanah Settle, 75; Haadal, 76; Haydn, 78; 
Madame Mara, 84; Mrs. Siddons, 76; Mrs. Mattocks, 81; Chaidw 
Abbott, 89; Mn. Pitt, 79 ; Roger KamUe (the fether of John and 
Cfaadee), 82; Mn. Wallaok (the mather of James and Henry), 90; 
Bliflsett, 83 ; Bmnton, 82 ; Wewitiet, 76; Mrs. DaveiqpcHrt, 84 ; Min 
Pope, 75 ; Thomas Dihdb, 70 ; Packer, 78 ; Byrne, 90 ; PhUip Astfev 
(the fenader of the Amphil^eatre), 72 ; Seunden (the noted ^'showman, 
who is said to have fostered Edmund Kean and Andiew Duorow), 90 ; 
Henry Johnston, 70 ; Min Besford (for maay seasons at Covent Garden), 
94 ; the benevolent Joanna Baillie, 89 ; Patrick Banett (tha &ther of 
the Irish stace), 88 ; Dowton, 88 ; Mrs. Harlowe, 87 ; Charles Kemble, 
79 ; Richard Jones, 73 ; Mn. Edwin, 82 ; and Mrs. Ann Kelly, 103. 
The latter lady, who died at Lewisham some three yean Anoe, quitted 
the stage at the age of sixty, having lost her hearii^. She was a member 
of the c<mipany which boasted of the talents of Edmund Kean and 
Sheridan Knowles, before either had been greeted with metropolitsa 
plaudits ; and it was with no mean pride that the old lady recounted the 
fact of her having played Alicia to the Jane Shore of the Siddons. 
Robert lindle^ died in 1855, at the age of 83. He, too, was of the 
theatre, in which he was k]M>wn in 179'^two yean after Moiait's death, 
and more than a quarter of a oeatuiy before Weber was beard oL ISLo^ 

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aa> AcroBS— A isveeix at tse oaiuok clttb. 97 

often fattfe wetten ftat " to i ri y old man^ — m yetrs bog Kfter— wind- 
ing fab "wmj into the ordiertnt. 

The eombiiMd vm of tfaow wlioie nanes we hsve givto mmovnt to 
five tfaeonad nioe Bandred sod thir(^-ooe jean. Time, tkerefoie, b 
sorelj Mffl in Iw infeneyy and Anftiqinly is to be eontidered as aoo^fat. 
Here are bnt seventy-tbree from m number of Aoee whom ilm atege 
has deligfated to faoMKOv and yet Aeir lives nnited make the worid as 
yestar^harn, for they reach beak to a period which is daleloas eeaio 
seienty yea r s before the Creation! 

ffliaiDmaiB, when little pasthb twoaeoie years, Aos abided, endently, 

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow. 
And dig deeptreaohas in thy b«ui^s fteld. 

Now in many of Ae instances to which we have just referred, the forty 
winters were nearly doubled, with but few of the deep trenches being 
pereeptible. Many of those old disciples of Thespis retuned much of 
their juTenility, spearing to argue that a man may not grow old unless 
he likes. Possesong the energy of youth with the experience of ac^e, it 
seemed as tiiongh thW had £scovered the true elinr, and, like Macbeth^ 
bore " a charm^ life. Did we not know that these, our own old actors, 
were thoroughly English, we should have imagined that they had ever 
been inhabitsoits of the island of filackinaw. A few years since a traveller 
inquired of one of its settlers if people lived there to a ^ood old age. 
" I guess they do," was the truly American answer, *< for u people want 
to die they can't die here ; they are obliged to go elsewhere. 

The adjective '^old" wKs doubtless occasionally coupled with the names 
of some of our finvourites, long before the term was sanctioned by years, 
and even when they misht have exdaimed, '* I am yet in my prime. It 
may by some be considered an unflattering cognomen, though we are 
taught to blend with it associations of honour. Bacon tells us that the 
vine has better grapes for wine when it is old ; and Coleridge says that 
** what is gray with age becomes religion." 

life itself is a drama, the scenes of which are rapidly and ntaceasingly 
shiUng ; and the career of those of whom we have been speaking was 
but a leng^ned performance. In their activity they outstepped the 
many who entered with them upon the race of life, though in the end 
they were themselves outstripped by the old stager Tbae, We have met 
many of them, bearing, like Truw, a sparkling countenance, and still 
exuhing in the bloom which had been ruthlessly wiped away from others. 
In many instances, age did not imply exhaustion or decay : the years 
were there without t}ie mark of old age. A few were stm joyous, as 
thoAgh there had ever been a lidlit upon their path. The evidence of 
fiice and ponson would have struck off a decade or two from the reckoning 
made by the almanack or the parish register, though absurd curiosity 
would persist in prying into dates — those stubborn things which refuse to 
be cheated of their due ; whilst some were ^* well up^' in chronolo^cal 
matters, or possessed memories exceedingly tenacious on such pomts. 
Others of our old favourites, when seen, brought home to us the mutability 
of our existence. Fallen into the *^ seie and yellow leaf," they were lean- 
ing on their staff, or, like die last of the Romans who recently departed 


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from U8y were appljing to their ear a trumpet. The back, again, was 
somewhat bent, as wough they had been stooping that *^ the years might 
play at leapfrog oyer it.^ These guests had tarried so long at the board 
that they appeared anxious to leave. In the *^ Hermite de la Chauss^ 
d'Antin,** we meet with a fancy which has often struck us. The hermit 
visits the catacombs of Paris, in company with some young people. On 
leaybg those dark, subterranean passa^s, the latter tripped lightly into 
the open air, but the old man tarried behind. A fair young thing re- 
turned, and taking the hermit by the hand, said, ^ Why do you loiter T 
« I was thinking," said he, '^ whether it was worUi the while to come out." 
Some natures appear to glow with youth to the last, with spirits un- 
wrinkled, the well-springs of early feelines and cheer^lness preserved. 
" There is a youth which never grows old— a Love who is ever a boy." 
The enthusiasm of their morning life, to be sure, is partially chilled, and 
some may have grown more selfish and less poetical ; but the fire is not 
wholly extinct. Fontenelle presents an instance of this. At the age of 
ninety-seven he was in company with the then young and beautiful 
Madame Helvetius, who had been married but a few weeks. Fontenelle, 
a great admirer of beauty, paid the bride many compliments, as refined 
as they were gallant. When the guests were sitting down to table, 
however, he passed the lady, and seated himself without perceiving her. 
" See now," said madame, "what dependence is to be put in all your fine 
speeches ; you pass on before without looking at me." '^ Madame," sud 
the gallant old man, '* if I had stopped to look at you, I could never 
have passed on." 

To return to the consideration of the old actor. His is but an ephe- 
meral art, his fame is but mortal. He does not address posterity, being 
content to win contemporary plaudits. He hears the shout of livins^ fieune, 
but leaves behind few records for remembrance. Fortunatus, it is known, 
had only a life-interest in his purse, and at his death it vanished with 
him. £?en so the feune of an actor, which would seem an illustration of 
the Arabic proverb, " To-day a fire — to-morrow ashes." We are not 
the less indebted to ^* the players" for pleasant memories and past obli- 
gations. They have occasionally lightened our toils when struc;gling up 
a steep road, relieving our weariness with draughts from a rich vintage, 
fit nectar of the gods — ^who, by the way, are themselves old, though they 
renew their youth perpetually. For this we owe them something. Many 
of us can go back to our youth and exhume its buried pleasures, among 
which would be seen visions of the theatre, the stage peopled with those 
whose voices had grown so familiar that they almost seemed to us our 
own. We have encountered an old favourite m aflter-days, and our boy- 
hood seemed returned to us. Charles Lamb used to remark that be 
never passed the pit-entrance to old Drury without shaking some forty 
years off his shoulders, and bringing back the memorable evening of his 
first visit thereto — the evening of pleasure, which since had never visited 
him except in dreams. In lUce manner we recal familiar forms and well- 
known Calces, seen by us in vanished years. 

Oh joy! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live ; 
That nature yet remembers 

What was so fugitive. 

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Some of the old actors we have been calling to mind were the magnets 
of popular attention in our youth, and though their laurels became faded 
before the dose of the real drama, they had not outlived their gaiety. 
The iron years^ it is true, had somewhat bound and fettered them ; but 
when others had disappeared, they were still green and ruddy — like the 
berries of the holly, which have tneir freshness when traces of decay are 
-vifflble on other flowers. Their lease of enjoyment was not worn out 
The common anniversaries of individual life, which we all more or less 
reBpect, found many of our old actors joyous still, with but little dif- 
ference, save that another year had been added to its many predecessors. 
For more than threescore years some had been runnm&f tne race, yet 
seeming scarcely tired ; they had lived, in fact, almost as long as some of 
onr abuses, so nuned for their longevity, yet still clung to the theatre as 
to a love that was not to be shaken off. Kemembrance of the footlights 
and of the green-room was too vividly impressed upon them to fade with 
time. They were dark without the histrionic lamps, and ever and anon 
would renew their acquaintance with them, even as the boy who leaves 
the playground to go into school to surmount a hard task, rushes back, 
on its completion, to the scene of his sports, as spirited, as capable of ex- 
ercise, and as alive to enjoyment as when he left it. And how these old 
stagers maintained their right to characters possessed by them in their 
youth, as though that youth had never lost one tittle of its buojrancy ! 
In stage matters the indignation of the ancient Juliet appears always to 
be considered as justifiable. ** Here," said the supersedea actress — ^' here 
have I been playing JuHet these five-and-thirty years, and the manager 
takes the part from me to give to a chit of a thing not above eighteen T 

How few of them, again, approved of the little Saxon word oldf 
Pope, the actor, for instance, af^r naving abdicated the throne of tragedy, 
ana become the re(H«sentatiye of the elderly gentleman of comedy, was 
exceedingly solicitous of being reputed much younger than he really was. 
Upon tins tender point he was frequently teased by Michael Kelly. The 
ffnmer, one mormng, called upon his niend, who put into his hand a 
letter, beanng the Dublin postmark, duly addressed to ^^ Alexander Pope, 
Esq., care of Mr. Michael Kelly." Pope, afber many thanks, opened and 
read the efiEunon. His unknown correspondent beeged of the recipient 
a favour for his grandson, reminding the Thespian now often he (Pope) 
had in Dublin patted the writer on the head, praised his aptitude as a 
sdiolar, &a, and thus concluded : ^< I am now eiehi^ years of age, and 
do hope that the friend and patron of my boyhood w^ not desert me or 
mine m my declining years. Pope saw the drift of the friendly epistle, 
and his heart was only warmed back to forgiveness by the temptation of 
Kelbr's excellent dinners. 

There are still regrets for good old times, though some discredit them. 
The prejudice we entertain for them was participated in by most of our 
old actors, whose sympathies and affection for the stage lingered with 
them to the last. Cave Underbill continued to perform after he had 
reached his eightieth year ; Macklin loitered upon the boards till after 
fourscore years and ten ; the dramatic life of Yates spread over three- 
quarters of a century ; John Bannister clung to the lamps after uttering 
his farewell words, and could scarcely be removed from them ; the 
Siddons occasionally revisited the footlights after her professional career 

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IimI aoded^ and rt bone read pJi^ to d^u^fated obdet, wilimiigirom her 
ancient porter the homely cntioum«— << The old lady tonei her pipee as 
well as erer ifae did.'' Grimaldi — we trust it is no dn to tun from 
Mdpomeoe to a clown-^told his frieods on his last leav<e-takkig< — << To* 
night has seMi me assmiie the motley for a dioit tnne. It dung to my 
slui as I took it oS, and the oldcap nid bells raiq^ moumfoIlT as I quitted 
them for ever." Last bot not least in these remembranoes of old i^ganiSy 

I may instaiK»Jliie greart musician whose yoice has just been faodwd-*- 

hn fin ~ ~~ 

John findiam. He^ too, was reaching the ripened age of foorseore [ 

and when serenty of them had been comited by him, the world listened 

to his strains as it had done sixty yean prmoudbp. 

Among onr Parisian neighbours — wtio, as well as oorsdtes, bars had 
dieir old actors — we may cite Brunet^ who, i^er he had quitted the stiq^fe, 
would erery night visit the green-room of the Yariet^ dressed for a 
part, although he had none to play. " I am able to cheat myself'' he 
wouH remark, " with the notion tliat the call-boy is about to shout my 
name, and ibis dress strengthens my ilkusoa." He even sooght per- 
mission to play the pnt of a man, an oSd landlord, who did not ^Vf^ 
upon the stage, but had simply to knock at a door three times bdnnd 
toe settles* For this performance Brunei dressed himself moat ova* 
fiolly ! Potior, likewise, dedaivd diat a deep melancholy came upon him 
when he passed the theatre in which he wae wont to receive the plaudits 
of the poblic. So oertain is it that custom is stronger than philosophy* 

We have still spared to us sereral who can count their threescore yaan 
and upwards. Farren, who has reoendy left the theatre, was for n^nly 
half a century before its footlights ; fiartl^ completed that term sooie 
fooryears since, and his voice is occasionally heara at the wings. Farley 
must now be an ootoffonanan : he was said to hw been mx years om 
when be first became mtimato with Uie London boards in 178 2 s o y oirty *- 
four years since! Thechasto Yoong is entering upon h» oghtieth rear, 
stffl hale, happy, and respeoted. Haciey is just completing his finiedi 
year of servitude in the public service^ his name still in the fdaybills of 
the day. The same may be said of John Cooper and odiecs we ooidd 
mention. There is Jaooes Wallack, too, who was ^'behind the wovamT 
trfien the present ce ntu r y was in its cradle. He is still plmng^ aad a 
Transatlantic critic recently infoimed us Aat "hag foce has lost none of 
the expression and manly beauty for which it was distinguidied. His st^ 
is sdll elastio, and the buoyancy of his spirits seems as unoontrellabk as 
erter. Time has touched Inm lightly— ^the greybeard has passed him oyer 

It is onr pleasure oecasionaily to meet William West Betty, the Touaff 
Roscios of a former day — " the little David that slew such great QoliaOv 
for KeinUe and Cooke, nay, even the Siddons henel^ paled their Light 
before him for a season. Ijiis, again, was more than half a oentury nnoe. 
Then there is T. P. Cooke, ^ histrionic sailor, who has somewhat 
recently danced his hornpipe before the lamps, apparently umnindfol diat 
it is nearly sisfy yesn since he first made Uieir aoquamtanoe. Wo have 
actresses, too, who have— -^ut no ! a lady's age is a mystery we oaoBoi 
pretend to solve. Time, we know, is an inexorable enemy of beauty; 
out as our fsir friends have still their smiles, we presume t»t whatever 
'^ superannuated dimples" they may have are concealed. 

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W« faul^ vrifttn Ham he, iAmb^ with a rnkd deeply impiMiifi bj 
thoQgbts of bygone actors— of whom uumy a kind tradition Imgen ev«Q 
y t| w »pMda miito ^ Ganidi a«h. We fiwoid ooxs^vva abae» at 
a tHMwiitn diqr'VMM «Hioeafingiti^ beUndthe ehoa onztaiaa of «v«iuBff. 
Tbmkomwm^pnfiA>m to tbt uBdefined qMoief of xeverie into wfatdi 
aii aoity at nme tnae or other, hare fallML The ounrent of an ideaa 
1*31 ip an d o w d to past sohms, and old oMcnoms became more folly 
avakned. Imagmatioii completed the ontlme by one of the moel pro- 
■■nnnt of her lane*— that ^a likeneH in pari tende to beeeoie a likonett 
of Am wfaoleJ* We saaed upon the pictiired walls, and, gif ing' freedom 
to ti w g ht , the plaoe beeameeuddenly ilhmnned, and we«augfat gUomtee 
of WHiea that were bii^t and garianded like Ariadne't crown. Thoee 
who had loag' sinee rannhed finm the haunts of men were aeen i^;ain» at 
iw the minor of memory— 4he mm and woasen of pterie m generationjiy 
who faraaghi with them many loDg«-biiried ^< cranka and wiles." These 
shadowft were noi dim and nndefiaed, £or we soon reeogniaed in the gay 

nmfmhlj the draraatio lominariea of the pait ceotory. Some were ** in 
the habit as Afej hved," and came with tnonghtful face and steady step ; 
but the great majority were dressed as for soom carnival or soenio ex- 


Li a groi^y of four we eepied those who represented a peciod in history 
wUeh flMrked the us e t ona tion alike of the stage as of the monarchy. 
B ett o rton was there— he who was '* bom alone to speak what Shakspeare 
eoiy knew to writa" Gave Underbill was amusing the little knot with 
reoDsniaceBioes of the oU Cockpit in Dniry*bne, aiM had tales to tell of 
Bhnfcn^ hie managec^ and of KyaastoD^ at one time the chosen rcfue- 
ssBftadve of ftmale dttittctezs. The old man spoke with gxeat Teneration 
of Sir Wilhttn Davenant, wiu> had pnmooneed him '* one (^ the truest 
phMBB for haaaour he had evtf seen." The warm-heerted N^ Gwynne 
— the ch-dmunU ctange-girl of the theatre— was oae of the listener^ and 
ecaastondDiy gladdened the oonirarae by her own bright sallies of plea- 
SBBlry. We obs etne d that she wnd especial attention to John Lacy, who» 
like herself, enjoyed many of the favours of the '* merry monarch." As 
tUa groop reeeded, the n>regiDund became oocupied by new characters, 
whos* mssmeta snd costumes were different from those we had just wit- 
nessed. In the phuse of fietterton stood Barton Booth, who, aome of the 
eonpany rsiaa i hed , exoeikid all his oompesrs in the more turbulent tran* 
spsrte ef the hesrt. We obsemed, also, Doggett, who appeaned to be a 
gBsatSKPOonte with Ins brethren. We could leant from them that he 
was the patentee of one of the large houses, and had thoughts of per- 
palnsting h» name by the beqaest of a coat and badge to the young 
watermen of the Thamea. He was ioined by two hdies— Mrs. Braoe- 
ndle and Mn. OldfisUU-who, like himself receiTed the meed of praise 
nsas all aroand« Qmn was amongst this party, but he appeared some- 
what morose and angry. He considered that the pubho-— who once 
hailed himasAe chief pillar of the theatre— had thrown him in the 
shade;, ibr a new Hghi had arisen which all fell down to worship. From 
the gsDecal aM>veaseot, and the sullen look which Quin cast in a certain 
diieetion, we pereeiywl that the new idol was approaching. It was 
Gaiiick, in the y/etj flush of his fiuM, surrounded by a host of flatterm 
Adulatioa was beng poured into his ear ; but he, like so many of his 

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race, appeared as if he could quaff whole draughts of praise and stili 
continue thirsty* 

We did not at first discover the English Aristophanes, Samuel Foote, 
as he stood so far apart from the butterflies that hovered about the path 
of the Roscius. Colley Cibber we observed, from his gay attire, being 
about to play the part for which he was already dressed, that of Lord 
Foppington, in <^ The Relapse." He was past his threescore years and 
ten, thoueh still connected with the theatre. Time had left some marks 
upon his features, but his easy good-humour and liveliness of conversation 
marked him still as a young man. He was full of gaiety, though he had 
recently been disputing wiUi Pope with much keen railleiy* Cibber was 
telling his friends that in his juvenile days he held a veiy subordinate 
situation in the theatre, and on one occasion delivered a messaffe on the 
stage in so indifferent a manner that Betterton in anger inquired who he 
was. " Master Colley," was the reply. " Then foneit hiin,'' said Bet- 
terton. <' Why, sir, he has no salary." *^ No ! then put him down ten 
shillings a week, and forfeit him five. At this little bit of autobiogn^Ay 
there was much merriment among the company gathered about the poet 
laureate of King William. 

Imagination still continued to clothe the scene from her own store of 
mystery. Spranger Barry was introduced, and his silver tones attracted 
general attention. Congregated around this rival of Garrick were some 
of the fairer portion of the assemblage. Prominent among them we 
observed Mrs. Woffington — the captivating Peg, whom old Tate Wilkin- 
son designated ^< the arch wanton that flung away the gem of her beauty" 
— Mrs. Cibber, and Mrs. Pritchard. Kitty Clive, too, the Comic Muse, 
was of the number, having just arrived from Little Strawbernr Hill. She 
appeared charming in her natural grace and vivacity, leadmg a life of 
ease and independence, and chatting almost daily with her neighbour, 
Horace Walpole. The cause of her present visit to town was to see the 
new actr^ a Mrs. Siddons, of whom she had heard so much. Upon the 
company inquiring her opinion of her merits, E^tty warmly rephed that 
she was " all truth and daylight." 

The party was next joined by good old Thomas HuU, who made 
known to those assembled a philanthropic project. Having marked that 
beauty and attractions suddenly fetde, he pointed out the necessity of 
garnering up some of the produce of the harvest, in order that a day of 
blight and scarcity might be provided for. With one or two exertions, 
he secured the co-operation of those most interested in the prqposal, and 
the establishment of a Theatrical Fund was decided upon. 

A^ younfi^ man next appeared, who was evidently gifted with all the 
requisites for his calling — an original mind, with great powers of feeling 
and expression. It was John Henderson, who seemed destined for the 
chair which Garrick would ultimately have to vacate, but who^ we were 
sorry to observe, quitted his companions early. 

Our shadowy vision now became exceedingly cheerful, for Comedy 
appeared to be holding her court, and right joyous were the spirits in 
attendance. The goddess, proud of her chosen votaries, was arrayed in 
her choicest smiles, lighting up the scene with .peculiar animation. The 
presentations were numerous, and upon the announcement of each namei 
we strove to catch a semblance of the form and features of those we had 

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prarioodir seen onlj in dreams. There stood Dodd, ibe Andrew Ague- 
cheek ana Jiel Dnigger of his time ; the chaste Parsons, speakiDg with 
taste and jndg^ent^ though sofferiDg severely from an astnmatic a£Pec- 
tion. " Ned " Shnter, too, was there, with strong nature and irresistiUe 
bimiouv M ^^ ^ Edwb, the high-priest of l£>mus. The latter was 
hailed hj the goddess with peculiar welcome, and so was Moody, who had 
excited mirth on her account in his Hibernian personations. But all gare 
way to the ladies of the laughter-loying deity, whom our gallantry 
ought first to have brought to remembrance. Mrs. Hartley we observed!, 
of whose beantv we had read in so many sonnets, and whose lineaments 
the pencil of Keynolds so loved to trace. There, too, was the accom- 
plished Miss Farreo, the elegant representative of fashionable life, who, 
it was whispered, was about to receive a coronet from the noble house of 
Derby* By tins bright ornament of the stage stood Miss Pope, and as 
die approached the oIbuIs on which her mistress sat, some one recited the 
I of Ghnrdiill : 

When pleasure and ease had seduced to her arms 
Ccmvivial Clive, and the stage lost her charms. 
The jest-loving Muse was alarmed at the story. 
And fearing a rapid decline of her glory, 
Deputed her Pope, as successor to Clive, 
To keep poignant wit and gay laughter alive. 

The ladies we have named were not without their attendants, foremost 
amongst whom we recognised the good old Duennoy Mrs. Mattocks, as 
well as Mrs. Pitt, who had been the Nurse to so many Juliets, 

We next observed, from the general movement, that a little scene was 
about to be enacted, a selection bemg made from the '' School for 
Scandal," and a rich treat it was. The origmal Charles Sufface — 
'^ Gentleman Smith" — lent his aid, being assisted by King and Mrs. 
Abington as Sir Peter and Lady Teazle^ whilst Palmer enacted the 
plausible Joseph, This was, indeed, a scenic delight ! And then what 
warbling followed from a '^ nest of nightingales,*' comprising Madame 
Mara, Mrs. Crouch, Mrs. Dickons, Signora Storace, the Billington, and 
Rosamond Mountain ; whilst little Bland stood unassumingly by their 
ade, uttering her wood-notes wild. 

Our spirit like a swan did float 

Upon the silver hreath of that sweet singing. 

There was again a change, and the costume of those who occupied the 
scene was somewhat changed. In the centre of the picture stood the 
Siddons, of whom Kitty Clive had so liberally yet briefly spoken. We 
could not hear the voice of the Queen of Tragedy, but the incomparable 
free gave evidence of being allied to matchless excellence. Beside her 
stood Shakspeare's own woman — Dora Jordan — with a magic in her 
beart-warm laugh that distilled around a genial pleasure. The Siddons 
was surrounded by several members of her gifted family, including the 
stately John and the ponderous Stephen. In quick succession there 
now came forward many others, but so rapidly did they present them- 
selves that we were unable to distingmsh more than a portion. Old 
Macklin — a •* premature Methusalem" — we know was tnere, with a 
remembrance stretching back to a portion of the first group we had 
seen. The Bannisters, too, we perceived, and likewise Quick, Munden, 

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104 ivnxmc fluonKoo). 

Ao gay md spngbtlf Lewi% nd Geoigt FzvdfiBkk Cflokft. Tbs 
latter ira obaervad mova partbnUrly, froaa « Uttfe epiacrfft wkiA oe- 
ctnnrecL Hmto wai a ^vUflpcr arotma Aat, in ike caaa of Cook% geaam 
mdulged in eeo&atncitf ; that too itwaefody ha lookaiL upon the wine 
iriwn it wa9 red, and sacrificed all for its Mse joys. A taU, sihn yo— g 
man was introdnoed to the tragedian, whose name we heard was 
Mathews* He had but reoentl^ come amongst them, and Cooke was 
die first to tender to him adnoe. ^ Young man," said bs^ " if tov 
wish to xise to be a great actor, in fiiot, to be a Cooke, esobew drinbng'. 
By tint sin ML die greatest; how, then, can a comedian hope to prosper 
by itP' The vomig mwa e^er remembssed the preeep^ whwh the 
teadier nnhsppify neglected ! 

Still pressing onwnd oame ibrms and features more &mifiar to as than 
many we had preTioiidy seen. Old Pope we remarked, as wdl aa 
Fawoett^ John Jofaostone, EmeiV) Incledon, Liston, 4bc Dowton and 
Samuel Russell soon after joined them, attired for a p etfoi ma nce catted 
the ''Mayor of Garrett," in which one had to enact a henpecked 
husband, and the other a great civic soldiar^ who boasted of the gal- 
lant marching of his oorps from Brentfiud to Ealing and from EaHng 
to Acton. 

At the recital of this exploit ihere was mndi clapping of hands, in 
which we soujg^ht to join. The effort, however, to brmg together our 
approving palms cost us mudi. Our reverie was at an end. These 
shadows or bygone times fleeted awsy as a fiury dream, ^ and what 
seemed corporal melted as breadi into the wind. A curtain — darker 
hr than the theatre had ever seen in its most cheeriess day — had de- 
scended upon all The men and women of past generations had fidlen . 
through me trapdoor in Mirsa's bridge, and were now but pictures on 
the Willis of the Grarrick Club I 


VIII. — William Gifford. 

^ Time was — ^we must put it in the past tense now — when Wil- 
liam Gifford was recognised as a power of the age. But even then 
it was mainly, if not entirely, in virtue of his office as Editor of the 
Quarterly Remewj that power was ascribed to him. It was ex officio 
power, chiefly, his allies will confess; wholly so, Us adversaries 
contend. But whatever the quality of the power, the measure of 
its potency was such as to alarm as well as irritate men of more than 
common make — ^talent writhed under its thumbscrew piessure, and 
genius winced, perhaps even vrated a aqueal, at its pinch. Aifoct 

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wauAK aomiD. 109 

to ceoim liim at hoB TictiflH nddit, and bid faiin stick to hii abori- 
gmal luif and not proroke tmem to vitak mtmoim bj his tdtrii^ 
creptdarian atrocitiefl^ — adll they feared him Eving, nor oonM (flome 
of th&ny and diej die sweetesk-Uooded) foigive or foigek him dead. 
Leigh Hunt, for example, who seems years anoe to have ^made it 
up'* with every (me eLse, has come to no terms with kirn. *^Ab 
refleotion,'' he wadtes, ^did not improro nor BoSEeaing soften him, 
he is the only man I ever attacked, respeoting whcnn I hare felt no 

A TBBt prmtige the waspish little gendeman had secured — b^ 
tefoiting capital which he pnt out to capital intorest — ^by has oo- 
Tilawght on the DeUa Cruscans. The author of the Pnnuiti of 
Literature publidy thanked him for taking off kis hands the plea- 
sant trooble of chastising, and extinguidun^, the Laura Marias^ the 
J^cninghams, the Antony Pasqnins, the Piozzis, and Mary Robin- 
8ona--aIL these piet^ ones, at one fell gwow. The same extern 
minatingprooess was to be applied to the Jacobin as to tiie Minerva 
Preas. Tke Cockney school was to be smolml ont as the Rosa 
MariMa Seminary had been. Giffi>rd had achieved a ^splendid 
BQcoeaT in bieakmg bottmflies on the wheel; he must now set the 
wheel a-goinjg with men and women; theg must be the ^sabjeotir 
of his opemtioo, to be bruised, batteied, nroken to bits. A SiiMsUey, 
a Hazhtt, a Lady Moigan, were to be zoduoed to ihir lowest 
terms (by hypothesis, nd), in caustic prose, onoe a quarter, without 
quarter; just as the twaddling dotards and green girls of the 
Minerva Press had been roasted to a turn, or a few turns over, in 
the verse of the Baviad and Mseviad. The achamement of Gifford^s 
attack on these latter, a feeble folk, is a little suiprisin^, not to say 
unaccountable, at this time of day. But it qualified him for o£Eice 
under the Anti-Jacobin regime. Mn Bell, in his ^^ Life of Can- 
ning," writes, in no mincing terms, as follows : ^^ When the Anti- 
Jacobin was started, the available talent of the Reform parl^i in 
and out of Parliament, greatly preponderated over that of its oppo- 
nents. An en^e was wanted that should make up, by the 
destmctivenesB of its explosicms, for the lack of more numerous 
resources. That enmne was placed by Mr. Canning^ who saw the 
necessity for it deauy. But it required a roygher hand tiian his to 
work it — one, too^ not likely to wince from mud or bruises. The 
author of the Bainid and Mseviad was exactly the man — ^hard, 
coarse, inexorable, unscrupulous. He brought with him into this 
paper a thoroughly brutal spirit; the personwities were not merdy 
gross and wanton, but wila, ribald, slaughtering; it was the diih 
section of the shambles." t So judges a Liberal, about the middle 

* Aatobiocpraphy of Leigh Hnnt, toI. iL 

t " Such udi^/' it is added, ""had their eflSoot, of coarse, at the time, and 
tliey were written for their etket; bat they exhibit soch low depravity and 
baseness — ^violating so iligranlly all troth, Mnioiir, and decency, for mere tem- 
porary narty objecra, that we ea^isot look upon them now without a shudder." 
— Bsu/s Life of Caimng, 

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of this our century. But the anti-Liberak of its dawn were pleased 
with their man; he did their spiriting un-gently, and to their mind ; 
he hit hard, with a will, and without a misgiving; his name grew, 
and the fame of him, and the terror of him ; and he 'became Editor 
of the Quarterly Review. 

That was in 1808. On the last day of 1826 he died; and Sir 
Walter Scott, good Tory and steady Quarterly Reviewer, thus im- 
partially records (in the GumaJ) his estimate of the author and the 
man: ^^I observe in the papers my old iriend Gifibrd's funeral. 
He was a man of rare attainments and many excellent qualities. 
His Juvenal is one of the best versions ever made of a classical 
author, and his satire of the Baviad and Masviad squabashed at one 
blow a set of coxcombs, who might have humbugged the world long 
enough* As a commentator he was capital, could he but have 
suppressed his rancours against those who had preceded him in the 
task; but a misconstruction or misinterpretation, nay, the mis- 
placing of a comma, was in Grifford's eye a crime worthy of the 
most severe animadversion. The same fault of extreme severity 
went through his critical labours, and in general he flagellated witn 
so little pity, that people lost their sense of the culprit's guilt in 
dislike of the savage pleasure which the executioner seemed to take 
in inflicting the punishment."* Sir Walter humanely accounts 
for this lacK of temper, in some degree, by Gifibrd's indifferent 
health, as testify the verses in which he says that Fortune assigned 

—One eye not over good. 

Two sides that to their cost have stood 
A ten years' hectic cough. 

Aches, sntches, all the varions ills 

That swell the devilish doctor's bills, 
And sweep poor mortals off.f 

Let US take the verdict of another fast Tory, more reasonably 
dreaded by Giffbrd's " Cockney" sufferers than was GKfford him- 
self, upon the value of that plenipotentiary's literary puissance. 
** Gfiffbrd, we suppose," — ^it is John Wilson who loquitur ^ — " was 
not a bad satirist; but of his powers it is hard to judge, for we know 
not how to distinguish between his own gall, his own bile, his own 
spleen, and those same charming commodities furnished to him by 
others — ^by choice contributors to the Quarterly :^^ — and then, after 
affirming that few satirical articles in that Review have been of 

• Lockhart's Life of Scott. 

+ But Gifford mis^ht also justly claim, as his gift. Sir Walter is prompt to 
ado, " the moral qnalities expressed in the next fine stanza— 

• A soul 

That spnms the crowd's malign control, 

A firm contempt of wrong ; 
Spirits above affliotion^s power, 
And skill to soothe the Imgering honr 

With no inglorious sopg.' **^Ibid. 

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much merit (bitter bigotry not b^g keen wit^ and original genina 
being required to make intolerance tolerable), and that, as for fine, 
free, flowing, fearless, joyous, extravagant, horse-plajring, horse- 
lasgliing, insane and senseless mad humour ^Christopher North's 
own)^ not one single drop, not one single gleam, not one sinde 
meker^ ever moistened, or irradiated, or shook the pages of that 
'^ staid, sober, solemn, stately, King-Church-and-Constitutioii 
Periodical,^ — after this sweeping sentence touching the Review at 
large, Wilson goes on to say of the EJditor in little: ^^ The ghastly 
editor grinned as he cut up the grubs, like a grim insect-butcher, 
instead of smiling like a suave entomologist" — it beinff your true 
naturalist's practice, when he has first smoked his beetle to death, 
to pin him down in the glass case ^^ with a pleasant countenance," 
and not to mangle or " disfig^ure" his " preparation," though he 
does pierce it tl^ugh the spine by a small, thin, sharp, bright, 
polished spear, labelled with the creature's scientific name. Not so 
the practice of Mr. William Gifibrd. For, " O bright blue sunny 
spring and summer skies," exclaims Christopher m impassioned 
remonstrance^ ^^ why hunt butterflies with the same truculent phy- 
siognomy, the same sly stealth, and the same bold leap, with which, 
in the deserts of Afirica, you would attack a tiger roaring against 
you with a tufted tail, some ten or twenty feet high ? Why treat 
an ass as if he were a lion ? A dragon-fly is not a dragon. Mr. 
Merry was not an Avatar, descending in his Tenth Incarnation to 
destroy the world — Mrs. Mary Robinson, though certainly not the 
thing, was yet not the Lady of Babylon, with her hell-red petticoat 
and cap of abominations, in her siniul and city-sinking hand. Yet 
the craobed, elderly, retired little studious gentleman was as proud 
of his Baviad and Mseviad, as if, like another Hercules, he had 
scoured of robbers the inside and outside of the whole world."* 
The very first numbers of the new Review showed the world what it 
might expect from the author of that satire. Southey, a prominent 
contributor, hastened to expostulate. ^^ I could have wished," he 
writes to Gifibrd, " that this Review had less resembled the JEdin" 
burgh in the tone and temper of its criticisms. That book of Miss 
Owenson's is, I dare say, very bad both in manners and morals; 
yet, had it fallen into my hands, I think I could have told her so 
m such a spirit, that she herself would have believed me, and might 
have profited by the censure." f This being so, GKfibrd was pro- 
bably glad enough that the Irish lady had TWt fallen into the hands 
of Sobert Southey, who as good as avowed himself pigeon4ivered, 

• Sec Wibon's review (and it is one of his very best) of "The Man of 
Ton." (1828.) 

t " I We been in the habit," says the writer, farther on, " of reviewing, for 
more than eleven years, for the lucre of gain, and not, God knows, from any 
likinff to the occupation ; and of all my literary misdeeds, tiie only ones of 
whicn I have repented have been those reviewals which were written with undue 
asperity, so as to give unnecessary pain.**— 2^ tmd Letten of Southey. 

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and kdang gall io make ffliriflMm bitter : Qiffovd'a judgnent ivas 
qmoaed^ on principle and piactiee, to BooABfa plea for aeeroy ;^ 
and so judgment rejoioad agamat mavqy. 

For, now that he was an enihroned £diftoi^ he was not die man 
to be dictated to, conoeming ihe polioj of hb role. Hb manner 
of li& fiom hk yonth had beoi of a kind to encouiage, almost 
to enlbroe, a stiurdy habit of self^reUance.t He reminds one of 
£niokerbookei^8 deacaption of that New Tork goremor who was 
^ universally known by the q)pdlation of Wiluam thb TEffrT," 
and who ^ was a bris^ wasjnAy Hide oidffenHmnany who had dried 
and withered acwmjf apropos of which cuTing and wi&ering pio- 
oesi, Mynheer Diedridi recocds the observstiou of a profound and 
phiksoidiioal judge of human natnrs, diat if a woman waxes fiirii as 
the gnywBold, thetennoeof herKfeisirarypreoarious; butif haply 
file witbetiL she Utos for ever: sudi, he says^ was likewise the case 
with his 'William the Testy, who (and it applies to our William the 
Testy aho) ^^gniw tougher in [uroportion as he dried/'^ There was 
a time when GifEbrd, a sutar with soul tdtrh crqndam, studying 
Eudid and algebra, worked out his problems^ -to use hk own 
wordsy§ ^ with a Uimted awl on pieces of leather:" and it seemed 
as though the iron had entered into hk soul, to sear not lacerate it, 
and the leather beeome identified witib his tough dried fledi and 
blood. Lamb made Sssni Criq>in reproach him for desi^on of 
what a ruder suiar and poet calls ^^ Doote and shoeses" (to rhyme 
with ^ Muse6")t|| in &T0ur of literature, critical, satirical, and sea- 

All luuidfised, sad in an eril ham, 

Lured br aspiring tiiooghts, a j son, you dsft 

The lowly labours of the " Gentle Craa" 

Eor learned toils, which blood and spirits sour. 

All things, dear pledge, are not in all men's power; 

* Some dozen years later we find Southey thus writing to— not Gifford, but 
a suffidentlj " otherw is e-minded*' correspondent, blana and benign Bernard 
Barton : ^Tnough I bear a nart in the Quirierh Remew ... I have long since 
immd it nscesaary ... to mm a resomtiov of renewing no poems whaterer. 
My prindplea of oittcism, indeed, are altogether oppoaite to tiuMe of the age. 
I would veat eyerrthing with indulgence, except wnat was mischkrous : and 
most heartiW do I disapprove of the prevafling fashion of criticism, the direct 
tendency ofwfaich is to call bad passions into play." — Rid. 

f ** He had a sdf-ooooait wyoh led him to despise others in a yery uigusti- 
fiable manner ; and he had an idea of retaining his dominion by menaces and 
nperoiliouiness." '* Gifford had a sinffular lisefrom the obscurity of his eariy 
life, and it seemed as if his unexpected prosperity had overset \^"—jMtobio- 

Ihjf of Sir S^trUm Btjfdgei, 
Knickerbocker's History of New York, book iv. chap. i. 
In the autobiographical sketch prefixed to his version of ''Juvenal." 
As thus^the hard, however, is by name, though not to fame, unknown) : 

"Blow, blow, oeleatial breezes. 
All among the leaves and trees-ea ! 
Sin^ sm^ ye heaveidy Mnsea, 
Wlme I mends my boots and aboes^B I" 

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The wmi SMti of filmb «Ait0 ike giovjid ; 
And sveet oantent of mind ia oftener ibond 
In coBUer's parlour than in critic's howei^ i^c* 

So wiDy, in the name of St. Ckitpiii, and dating the ioanet 
<< St CrispinVeve," that gentle Gharks who^e eomniffliits on Fold's 
Broken £teart had been staled hj Oifford^f ^ the blasphemies of a 
poor maniac." This, wntten (it would am)ear) at random, the 
sometime ^^poor maniac'' bad UHgiTeB; mi he was even induced 
to contribute to the Quartgrfy a review of Wordsworth's ^^ Excur- 
aon :" but he could not forgive the liberties Gifford took with that 
artiiole — ^which* when it came out, had been so '^ mercilesslj 
mangled" bj the Crispin-Editor^ that the writer soaroelj knew k, 
and implosed Wordsworth not to read it Southev, too. was again 
and again ^grieved by Gifford's habit of ^^ cobbun^" his articles. 
Bat ^cSbr<]^8ucoe8Sor in the Quarterly has decb^ Ids conviction 
that Gifford's curtailments were judicious, and his firm belief that 
on the whole, even as to mere words, Southey, like the resl^ owea 
a great deal to that sharp superintendent — wno, after al^ lK>re the 
reqxuisibiGt74 ^ese prumngs and parings raised nearly as much 
in Hood on the reviewing stafi^ as the ^^ eankered carle's'' own 
reviews did among the au£ors he assailed. 

Tliat litle, ^^ cankered carle," was applied to him byTomlioore. 
It is worth while, however, to note now the same xhconas bears 
record to a fact which party prejudifie may have deemed prepoe* 
terous; namely, the mildness and harmless quiet friendliness of the 
man in private life. A man so unpopular is supposed by most, and 
has been represented by some, as overbaariB|[, imbfaarable) and 
whatever other bad compound of what is ^or-jsh can be devised. 
IfeKve writes in his jouniai: ^^ Called tmon Oifford, editor of the 
QuarterJy ; have known Mm long, but lorbore firom calling upon 
him ever mnce I meditated ^ Italia Rookh,' lest it might look Eke 
trying to pro|Htiate his criticism" [a pleannt Int ofintemal evi- 
denoe, by the way, of Moore's destmslion of hie Journal fi>r tiie 

Eublio eye] ; — " tne mildest man in the world till he takes a pen in 
is hand,'^so Thomas Moore found and describes him ; addiiig 
^^Imt then all ^ftll and Bpitefiilnes8."§ Sir Egerton Brydges, again, 
wk> caUs GHfibrd ^^a aingulariy ugly little man, of a wasping 

* LeilerB of Ghflvks Lamb, di. ix. 

j- In fais jKrnew of Webor*8 edition of ''Ford,** Qv. A»., 1811. 

:p 8ee an article on Southey's Life and Letten, attributed to Mr. Loekhni, 
in the ^tartfrlv Review for Jaamaiy, 16S1. The wnter tfcere remarin, with a 
maliee (m its lightsome French not serious English sense) appreciable in an 
Editor, that the amn&dnff point as to Sonthej is, that he seems to hare pretty 
uearlr made np his mind to accept the helm of the Quarterlj^ whenever (iifford 
shonid resign it ; " and in anidcipation of being inrited to do so, which he never 
was, commonioates to the same schoolmaster who had so long sympathised with 
his sufferings under the editorial pruning and paring, his own views and plans 
for a svstem of a(kiinistration idetUieal with the old gentlematCt** 

{ Memoirs, &c., of Thomas Moore, vol. iL 

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temper^ and much oyerrated both as a poet and a oritio," owns, 
" I wund him, however, courteous, communicative, and frank, when 
I paid him a visit."* Although the general notion of him may be 
pretty nearly expressed in one of Mr. Landof s epigrammatic per- 
sonalities, directed to another quarter. 

Snappish and captions, erer prowling 
For something to excite thy growling ; 
He who can bear thee mnst be one 
QeaUd to beasts as Waterton;t 

yet is it more just as well as agreeable to believe, that there was a 
heart inaide of that withered frame, and that the blood circulated 
there, albeit the drculation was defective, and with a something 
like determination to the head. ^^If he partook a little," says 
Hartley Coleridge,^ " of his favourite Ben's acerbityS of temper, 
much should be forgiven to a man who, I believe, had no real 
malice against any human being, who was neglected and maltreated 
at the period of hfe which should store up happy feelings to serve 
for the remainder, and who declared, m tne hearing of Mr. 
Southey, that he never had a day of joyous health/' || One could 
almost pray that the Longmans and Murrays, ere they instal their 
editors, should require uom all candidates not omj a definite 
literary prestige, but a medical certificate, warranting them round 
and sound, unimpeachable in their bilious secretions, and altogether 
fit and proper persons to effect no end of a policy in any life-in- 
surance office. 

* Antobiography of Sir Egerton Biydges. 

+ Lander's Misoellaneons Poems. ("To H.") 

j: Hartley, as himself an editor of Massinger, had opportonitv to test the 
value of Gifford's labours in the same field. And lus testimony is, that Qiiford's 
services, as an editor of the text, can hardly be overrated ; and that his ar- 
rangement of Massinger's verse iplacea him on a level with Person ad a master 
of the res metriea ; wnile his antiquarian illustrations are curious and learned, 
without any of that ^talage of obscure reading, which swells so many editions to 
an elephantiasis. 

$ ^(his affinity between the little old critic and the burly old dramatist has 
been noted also by M. Philar^te Ghasles. "Gifford," he writes, ''^tait mi 
esprit sympathique k Ben Jonson ; oomme lui Apre et inexorable, il avait aossi 
lutt^ centre la mauvaise fortune, et son observation nVtait jamais bienveil- 
lante." " II critioue les critiques ant^rieurs, il les accable de ses d^dains, et 
pour prouver qiie Ben Jomon n*€Utit pas irascible, il s'abandonne lui-m^me ^ de 
tnolentes invectives qui, d'ailleurs, ne sent pas d^u^ d'^oquence.''— i^i^tlKirv 
anglais avani Shakspeare. h iv. 

II Hartley Colendge*8 Introduction to*' Massinger." 

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Those Siamese twins, the Session and the Season, have i^^one — we 
will not exactly say " to the dogs," but — " the way of all things." 
Nerertheless, the familiar expression that first suggested itself is, perhaps, 
the more applicable of the two, as far as concerns the performances of 
the Legislature. We are told that a certain place is paved with good 
intentions, and, if it were not a breach of privilege, we should say that 
Parliament appears to be very much like *' a certain place." 

Nothing could have been more perfect than the promise of the Session. 
It was known that peace was at hand, and now was the time, therefore, 
for remedying all the domestic grievances which had been suffered to 
grow to a head, uncared for, so long as the war continued. Ministers 
seemed resolved — for once in the history of ministerial rule — to do some- 
thing to justify their retention of place, power, and profitable employ- 
ment, and every cabinet mind that was strong enough to prepare a reme- 
dial measure, at once declared its intention of doing so. A more brilliant 
programme never was devised — a more complete^^oico was never accom- 

What with bills knocked on the head by sturdy antagonists, bills 
garoited by refiractory supporters, and bills strychmned by themselves, 
the endeavours of Government during the session — supposmg them not 
to hare been shams — ^may be likened to the results of a heavy criminal 
assize, horn which the greater number that are tried go forth irreparably 

But it is all ^ same to Ministers : they have got their ticket-of-leave, 
and if the public be the sufferers, so much the worse for the public. The 
process of divorce is not rendered easier or less expensive, and wives 
with bad husbands must still enact the part of patient Griselda ; the 
free disposal of property after death is still hampered ; the final appeal 
for Justice still remains a farce ; corporation abuses still flourish ; mer- 
cantile delinquents Still thrive, in spite of the ablest exposure, for the 
want of a public prosecutor ; and wicked uncles and guardians may still 
do what they like with what is not their own. 

To sum up in half a dozen words : — the Parliamentary Session of 
1856 will ff3 down to posterity as '^ The Great Session of Non-per- 

Yet in the midst of the scramble some few have been lucky, — a thing 
that always happens. Lord Palmerston has been gladdened by a Garter, 
and long may he live to wear it ; Lord Shelbume has become, pro h&c 
vice, a statesman; the Bishop of London is consoled in his palatial re- 
tirement at Fulham with six thousand a year ; the more moderate Bishop 
of Durham is content with four thousand five hundred ; and the Tip- 
perary militia have— ^or their services — ^been rewarded with a shower of 


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bullets : disembodied in tbe most literal sense, with a discharge in full. 
— ^This is about as fair a distribution of good things as usually occurs. 

To the same category, however, do not belong the nominations of the 
Duke of Cambridge to the command of the army, nor of '^ Williams of 
Kars" to that of the artillery. Something better than chance-medley 
has presided over the dbtribution of these appointments, and the service 
in general, no less than the one particular branch, will undoubtedly reap 
the benefit of them. 

On the other handy the selection of the recipients for the Legion of 
Honour has created more heart-burning than satisfaction, and " disgust" 
is but a faint word by which to express the feeling of every military man 
when the long-promised, ever-deferred "Order of Merit" is mentioned. 
" Merit," said Lord Palmerston, a short time ago, " is purely adventi* 
tious, — in fact, a nonentity;" and Lord Panmure seems wisely to be 
of opinion that what is non-existent cannot well be recognised. While 
on military subjects, the Chelsea Inquiry claims a word, merely, how- 
ever, for the purpose of saying that it ends, as every one expected, 
exactly where it began. Nobody has been blamed for all the misfor- 
tunes that befel the army in tbe Crimea; not even Lord Aberdeen ! 

Political affairs liave made no more progress out of doors than within 
the walls of St. Stephen's. The self-mutilated Administiative Reform 
Association has endeavoured, with a new head, to reconnect its mem- 
bers ; but the tail, which chiefly gives to this kind of animal its vivacity 
and power of motion, is still wanting : that organ wriggles aloof, expena- 
ing its energies on infinitely smaller, but far more approachable matters. 
The proceedings of tiie Association do but repeat the M story of the 
tiuree tailors of Tooley-street, with the indomitable John Arthur Roebuck 
as the priiicipal knignt of the thimble. 

We asked last montii what had become of Lord Wensleydale (or, as 
the fisfaeetious Secretaiy to the Admiralty calls him, ** Lord Wednesday- 
six-months") ? The question has been answered by making his peerage 
" hereditaiy,"— his lordship having no fiunily, nor the chance of one. 
Had this arrangement taken place in Ireland, it would have been laughed 
at as a legislative bull : here, it is considered only another ministerial 
bungle : the simple surrender of the royal prerogative. 

The SeaaoB has, Ibrtunately, been more productive of entertainment 
than the Session. 

The faehionable world have had their fill o( feteSy — royal, social, 
and military. Buckingham Palace has been thronged with royal guests 
and royal suitors, — charitable basaars have prospered at the suit of 
the fairest and most persuasive intercessors, and the sandy mud of 
Aldershott has rivallea the muddy sand of Chobfaam. The Queen has 
been everywhere, and, as a matter of course, in this land of fbllow-my- 
leader, all her subjects have followed her Majesty's example. The Premier, 
keeping in mind the old adage, that *' all work and no play makes Jack a 
dull boy," has most kindly given a whole holiday every now and then to 
the o'er-laboured Commons, — a whole holiday, with a glorious tuck-out 
and a ride in an omnibus into the bargain I The Cabinet clique, too> have 
eaten their whitebait at the Trafalgar, — the house for the purpose, if 
the rooms were only provided with lut-pegs, for it is not everybody that 

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Hk«! to fine -wlih his hat on, except a Jew or a Member of Parliaraent. 
Mr. Hart should look to this, unless, peradventure, he chance to be a 
memb^ of the worshipful company of hatters, and have a special interest 
in the destruction of imts. By the way, it is a matter of wonder that 
Mr. William WilKams has never risen " in his place" to ask the First 
Lord of the Treasury who pays for those annual ministerial feeds ? 
Does that noble individual " stand Sam," — or is the amount wrung from 
what Orators like Mr. WilHam Williams are fond of calling, '^the 
sweat and blood of the million ;** — or does the hat — a damaged one, of 
course— go round ? It is high time that there should be a notice of 
motidi on the subject At all events, Bfr. Williams has an opening for 
next session^ — as good a theme for debate as any the present Paiiia- 
ment has witnessed. But to return to the Season. 

This being Leap-year, it was rather hard upon the ladies to be 
mulcted out of the six most marrying months. Here we are in August, 
and the last drafts of Benedicks have only just landed from the Crimea. 
After meat comes mustard ; — they arrive when the season is at an end. 
If it was qmte settled last autumn by the Emperor of the French — the 
real ** master of the situation" — ^that our troops should no longer tug at 
ihe Ma«H>vites' beards or eherish their own, " why not," exclaim the 
ladies — ^'lAj not give us the opportunity of exercising our quadrennial 
privileges a ikUe earlier? We had only the maimed, the halt, and t3be 
l£nd, to choose frx>m; the sound in wind and limb — if we may be 
allowed die language of the turf — come when the race is over, for who 
cares for a wedding-breakfast when the strawberries are gone ? Who 
wants a husband on the Rhine or in the Tyrol ? Besides, who can ex- 
pect to get one — if the thing toere wanted— when all the men (of for- 
tune) have gone yachting, or grousing, or deer-staBung P No, my lords 
apad gentlemen, you may pass as many bills as you please to limit your 
commereiiJ Halnlity, but there is— or ought to be — no limitation of the 
fiabifity matrimonial. There is a great deal too much shirking already, 
without encouraging a downright swindle. Leap-year, indeed ! It has 
leaped over all our vested i^hts. What is the use of flower-shows, and 
foontuns, and music-gardens, if we are only to stare at and pity each 
other? Those things are got up for our amusement, but do you think 
any of us care twopence about roses, and spray, and trombones, if there 
is to be no flirtation ?" This certainly has been the great grievance of the 
Season, and it has made The Great Extra almost a matter of necessity. 

" The Great Extra 1" What was that ? 

<< Who asks the question ?" we reply. '^ Have not the readers of the 
Miscellany^ — that is to say, the whole civilised world, — ^read the account 
we gave of the ' Reopening of Her Majesty's Theatre' on the 10th of 

Some sceptics there were, who wilfully refused to credit the assurances 
made by Mr. Lumley when he startled the town with " glad surprise." 
** None of these things will happen," said the great hebdomadal prophet, 
a soothsayer who has faith only in his own vaticinations; " these promised 
prime donne will never appear, or if they do present themselves, it will 
only be to increase the list of failures for which Her Majesty's Theatre 
has a patent." But what came to pass ? 


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Mr. Lumley not only fulfilled his promiiies to the letter, hut performed 
more than he thought proper to promise. He might with safety have 
predicted success : he confined himself to a simple announcement. Ma- 
dame Alboni was to reappear, — Mademoiselle Piccolomini and Made«> 
moiselle Johanna Wagner were to make their respective debutSy — Ma- 
demoiselle Rosati was to shine in her newly created role. Well, the 
Cenerentola and the Sonnambula were played, and Alhoni's Toice was 
unanimously declared to be finer than ever. The Traviaia followed, 
and the star of Piccolomini rose at once to the zenith. Than this 
charming, intelligent, accomplished girl, there never, within our re- 
collection, has appeared an actress-singer who so instantaneousljr became 
the fiivourite of the public. Nor was her success the mere wtum of the 
moment: every succeeding appearance, whether in the Traviata^ the 
Figlia del Reggimento^ or Don Pasquale^ has only tended to increase 
her reputation. The observant critic discovers fresh beauties in each 
representation, — and for this simple reason, that all she does is hoxn 
the impulse of dramatic genius, a Acuity which eives new life and colour 
to every reproduction, — " the same, but yet unlike." Of a totally dif- 
feiMit character, but — ^if houses crowded to suffocation be a test— with a 
success no less equivocal, have been the Romeo and the Tancredi of 
Johanna Wagner. In none of these operas has the music been the main 
attraction : they have owed their chie^st welcome to the gif^ actresses 
who have played the principal parts. *< But the Corgaire will not be 
produced," cries Sir Oracle, and his voice has scarcely ceased to echo when 
Bosati bounds upon the scene, the fairy queen of chorographic pantomime. 
There has, indeed, been one drawback to Mr. Lumley's season ; its short- 
ness. But if London will prematurely go out of town, he cannot be 
blamed for dropping the curtain. 

And so ^' The Season" is really over I There can be no doubt of it, 
afiter what was sud a day or two smce by a distinguished member of the 
Fielding Club : " Even the obituary of the Timee is getting stupid : one 
never sees the name there now of a sinele fellow one hnows.'* 

Put down the TUnes^ then, for a while, ye seekers afW intellectual 
enjoyment, and take up BenUey^e Miscellany : the store of good things 
we Wer is not to be exhausted. 

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The Jmnt-Stook Banker — the man of a thousand expedients — is abne 
in his study, intent on the difficult problem of shaping tne Future. There 
18 enough on his hands at present, and more than enough. His three 
g^reat projects, the Central African Bank^ the mines of Bryn*Mawr, and 
the Royal ScandinaTian Railway, have run their length, as fiftr as he pro* 
poses to benefit by them. He is making up his books, calmly calculating 
bis own profits, and still more calmly contemplatmff the widely-sinead 
min that most follow the bursting of the bubbles which he has blown. 
His indiffierence to this result is not diminished — perhaps it may even be 
increased — by the fact that Us best friends are amongst those who will 
suner most. 

" Whaterer they may lay to my charge"— -thus ran his thoughts — 
"nobody can accuse me of partiality. When I hit my own brother-in* 
law as hard as any one else, the deuce is in it if the public have any right 
to complain. That brother-in-law I The proud mt. Vaughan of 61As- 
Llyn, who scorned me while I was an unknown, plodding attorney, and 
took me up— -Heayen bless the mark I — when all tne world acknowledged 
my position. Well, he will pay for his pride in his condescension. Am 
I sorry for his son Herbert, the promising young man, destined one of 
these fine days to make such a figure ? Not exactly. A little bird, with 
the ycMce of my friend Martha, has whispered sometning in my ear which 
goes far to reconcile me to the misfortunes which he may — ^1 am afraid 
I am obliged to say must — inherit. L^nie ! Ah ! if I haye a weak 
pomt, it 18 there. But I must conquer that weakness after my usual 
fashion, by turning the difficulty I cannot directly meet. The first step 
in that afindr is taken ; her bther is put out of the way i by this time he 
is snug in prison — as the play says, ' exceeding snug.' It was a lucky 
thing for me, at this moment, tnat Rigby Nicks was brought up at a 
French school, and has such a faculty for imitating eyery kind of hand- 
writing, the scrawl of Monsieur Lepage amongst the rest. By becoming 
the medium of correspondence between father and daughter I haye the 
game, so far, entirely in my own hands.. Meanwhile, these accounts are 
my first consideration. By the balance already struck, I have realised 
two hundred and forty-three thousand pouncb — < errors excepted,' as 
punctilious clerks are in the habit of writing. That amount is safe — 
though not, perluups, in the Bank of England— but I should like to know 
how much would tall to my share if the Central African and the Royal 
Scandinayian were wound up before I got out of the country. I had 

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two courses before me when my career first opened. A legitimate mode 
of proceeding — ^rather difficult, considering my antecedents — ^with mo- 
derate profits, at a long date, and 'honour, love, obedience, troops 

of • hvnbug ! An ulegitimate one — moet congenial — with quite as 

much honour, love, and all the rest of it, and a colossal fortune with 
immediate possession — subject only to the dight drawback of having to 
make mysdf scarce when the magnum opus, the grand scheme of pro- 
jection, was accomplished. There is but one real difficulty in affairs of 
this sort, and that is timing the event so as to meet every contingency. 
Commercial credit is such a ticklish thing that the best plans in the 
world may be blown upon if the ball isn't taken at the hop. A month 
sooner or later makes all the difference. However, I have made my 
arrangements de longue mocfi, and it will be hard indeed if I don't bring 
them to bear. Sweden owes me something for the pains I have takea to 
forward her industrial interests, and as were hi4[>pen8 to be no law of 
extradition between Sweden and England, that must be the place of my 
retreat I wish the climate were not so col4, nor the summer days — 
when summer does come-— quite so long. As much warmdi as you 
please, and as little daylight ; — 1 never was fond of too nuoh daylight. 
Not that I mean to pass my life amonpt the Swedes : as well veigetata 
in a field of their own turnips ! I shall take that very virtuous country 
in transUu, and, who knows, perha|)s I may leave it quite a new man ! 
At all events, it will be as a rich one^ and in that cafMKnty I shall be 
welcome all the world over. A year or two hence somebody else will 
have eone to smash, and my affiur will be clean f^^otten. But I onist 
carry it out by a coup de maUre, Let me see I What does my engage- 
ment-list sayF This is Coltsfoot's morning. Yes, He is down for 
eleven o'cloolu It must be that already. Ah, five minutes pfust I" 

The study door was qpened, and a servant aimounced Mc Coltsfoot 

"Talk of the devil,'^ mutteied Mr, Powell Jones. ''Ah, mj dear 
Coltsfoot — ^lad to see you — sit down. Engaged on particular business 
till I ring.'' 

This last remark was addressed to the servant, who, widi a ** Veiy 
goodf sir," withdrew. 

Mr. Coltsfoot was a gentleman of the medical pgofepgioa, of the oUss 
of general practitioners. In more than one inspect he resembled the 
instrument oalled a ** lifo-preserver :" very pliant and innocent to outward 
view, very hard and dangerous on a closer aoquaintaaoe. He smiled at 
you with his large mouthiful of ydlow teeth, just as die wolf smiled on 
Little Red Riding Hood; he felt your pulse as if it throbbed with his 
life-blood, not yours, so deeply interested did he appear in the healtUul 
character of the ouireati though had it stopped under the pressure of his 
fiag«r Us coanteoanoe would still have worn the same bland ezpressioB ; 
he always accosted his patient as if his personal interest in the answer 
were the greater of the two, as, indeed, not unfrequently happened. 

« And how are we, this morning?" was the salutatioii — a stereotyped 
one-— with which he addressed Mr. Powell Jones. 

"As well as can be expected," retmned the Joint-Stock Banker, 
^'oonnderinff die nature of tne disease." 

*' Which I take to be tLplethorm — not Mf molem exacitly, but s«|^pQie 
wa wgr oif MOMstoM /" 

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<^ For which you doctors, of course, recommend phlebotomy ! AH in 
good time, my dear Coltsfoot But to businesB. Have you foond what 

^Hem! iv«ell, — ^yet, — pretty neaiiy ;^-«peiluip8 I may lay a« neaily as 
can he." 


*'In my own heat." 


" About five or six-and-forty — ^your own time of life, in fact** 

•« What's his complaint?" 

" Consumption," said Mr. Coltsfoot, smiling. 

" How long will he last?" 

'< That d^nds. I can keep hkn going for six weeks or two months, 
or he can he r«n dowB — ^like a dock — a little fooaer ; just as it happens.** 

^'In these cases they sometiaies go off rather une^q^eotedly, don't 

** Oh yes. There is mo rdiaace on confomptiTe patients. To« ahrays 
prepare their finends for the wcorst, and when it oooun no one is sor- 

<< In the ordinary course of events, now, when do yon siq^iose he might 
make a vacamnr ?" 

*' As I said before : aboot six weeks, or so." 

** I tlndc thai woidd do^" said Mr. Poweti Jones, aftet miisbig far a 
few moments. " Of my height, and make, and genmd a{^>eacranoe P* he 

** It is nng^ar enough, hut — to nse a common phrase— you are as 
like as two peas. Pisople codd hardly till you apart" 

^* I need searoely ask tf he is poor." 

^ Almost a pauper : that is to say, they just live from hand to mouth 

hy hard wwk.** 

** By 'they,' I take it he is married, with a fimnly." 


" And the wifo. Have ^pm said anylUng to her yetP* 

** Too nrast understand, m the first place, that my services ^bete are 
graitiiitims. I began by establi^ing a daim on her gratitode." 

Mr. Powefl Jones smiled, and Mr. Coltsfoot duplayed his yellow 
teg*; the latter Aen resumed : 

*' In the next place, she is, as I mentioned already, very poor. She 
knows that her hn^Mind mast die, and I just put it to her, feeling my 
way, whether she had rather he at the expense of the funeral or have it 
AetnfA by some one else, with some^ng over on her own account 
What do yon think was her answer?" 

''How can! ten P Rubbered, perhaps." 

<' 'For that matter,' she replieo, 'it's pretty much the same to me ; 
for, Iheaak God, we subecfihe to a Burial CM^' ** 

^ l%is took you aback, I suppose?" 

" Not at all < So much the better,' I remarked. ' The Burid Ciub 
w3l pay y6u so much, and I wiM douUe the amount ; only you must 
lesEfe llie fuoeral arrangenents entirely to me.' ** 

** What did she say then?" 

" That she would consider of it." 

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<< Did it end there?" 

« By no means. The next time I saw her she wanted to know why I 
had made her such an offer? I replied, that her hoshand's case was 
peculiar — that we — the faculty — were always interested in peculiar cases 
— that it was of great benefit to science, and to the public m general, to 
ascertain the precise cause of death under certain circumstaboes, and 
more of that sort, ending, as I was obliged to end, for I could not haye 
got the body without her consent, by saying that I wanted it for a post' 

" She understood you ?" 


"Was she shocked?" 

"Not at all. These people who subscribe to Burial Clubs begin by 
thinking of death as a commercial transaction. Their weekly subscriptioa 
would be an insurance premium, if they could afford it. fiut if she 
wasn't shocked at the thoughts oi 9k post-mortem^ her husband still living, 
she looked at it with what painters call ^ a firesh eye,' that is to say, she 
saw in what manner the treatment might be improved, and asked for 
more money." 

" Which you promised ?*' 

"I did." 

" Very well ; she must have what she wants. And now that we are 
discussing this particular subject, we had better come to a final under- 
standing about your terms." 

Mr. Coltsfoot's smile was a real one this time. 

" Name your figure," said Mr. Powell Jones. 

" A thousand pounds," returned Mr. Coltsfoot, quietly. 

Mr. Powell Jones stared. " That's a heavy fee, he said. 

" Not under the circumstances, my dear sir — if you oonnder. ReooUeot, 
all the onus of the affiur fiiUs upon me, after you are gone. If there 
should be any hitch in the business, I might lose all my practice, wcnth 
a good deal more than a thousand pounds." 

Mr. Powell Jones coughed slightly, but made no remark. 

"Besides," continued Mr. Coltsfoot, in his most persuasive manner, 
" you might wait a hundred years before you met witn such an o^^Kyrta- 
nity. I say nothing about the difficulty of finding a friend who would 
run such a risk. Why, my evidence at the inquest will be worth all the 

" Ah," observed Mr. Powell Jones, " I had not thought of that" 

He who had considered the question in every point of view ! 

" Then, I suppose," he resumed, " that our bargain is completed. A 
thousimd pounofl! How will you take it, as we bankers say? Central 
Africans are still rising^ — there's room for further improvement in 
Royal Scandinavians ^" 

The mouthful of teeth expanded : " No shares, thank you. To come 
to the point : — cash ; half down, the reminder on the day when — when 

" Bolt," said Mr. Powell Jones, filling up the sentence. " Well, be it 
so. But remember, there mustn't be a point omitted. You will visit 
your patient every day from this time forward. As soon as you appre- 

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hend a diasge I must hear of it — and if anything shonld ooenr to pracipi* 
tate M^ moments, you must hasten yours. I can't afford to throw away 
a chance like this ior a mere scruf^e. You know it will come to exactly 
the same thing in the end. Whether he lives a few hours more or less 
can be of no consequence to anybody — ^but me.** 

** With this proviso,** said Mr. Coltsfoot, lowering his voice to a 
wlugper^ though the keenest eavesdropper would have gathered nothbg 
ham his habitual tone — " with this proviso that— |^ accelerated — five 
hundred more !" 

^* Tou know the value of your commodity," was Mr. Powell Jones's 
answer. ^* However, the accommodation must be paid for. But, after 
all, it may not come to that" 

*^ Let us hope not — ^let us hope not," reiterated Mr. Coltsfoot, with 
half-dosed eyes, in accents of true benevolence. " But it rests with you, 
mj dear sir— it rests with you. I am only a simple agent." 

''Here th^it," said Mr. Powell Jones, unlocking an ierUoire^ and 
taking out a five hundred-pound note, " is the first instalment for your 

'' Rely upon it, my dear sir," replied Mr. Coltsfoot, as he clutched the 
crisp paper, '^ all shall be arranged entirely to your satis&ction. You 
have out to give me twenty-four hours' notice of your intention, and the 
thing is dime." 

'' You need not call here again lill I send to you," were the parting 
words of Mr. Powell Jones ; "frequenlT visits might be noticed. But yoa 
will write one line every evening.' 

'' So," said the Joint-Stock Banker, when he was again alone, ^* that 
part of the business is settled. My substitute being rea^, I think I can't 
do better than make my will. An interview with Coltsfoot fitly prepares 
a man finr mortuary considerations." 



HonsEisuB Lepage having given his full consent on parting, L^nie 
yielded to the pressi^ instances of Madame Rodeck, and, with ner aunt, 
removed to Wessez House. 

The amiable cousin of Mr. Powell Jones took infinite pams to make 
herself ameable to her guests, and was not altogether unsuccessful. The 
eSie fa£le of Madame Brochart, was good living — in French familiar 
plnase, ^<elle s'occupait de son ventre;" and it was Madame Rodeck's 
care that she should have occupation enough, so that between eating and 
sleeping the old lady passed the greater part of her time. 

L6onie was not, of course, assfulable on the same side, but j^easure in 
every other riii^ was the constant sugg^tion of her new friend. 

What was the value of life, she ur^, if it were not enjoyed when 
youth and opportunity gave it additional zest I But in such a worid as 
this, pleasure could only be attained by the command of money.^ Had 
not Mademoiselle Lepage observed, even in the course of her wief ex- 
perience, that all the heart-burnings, quarrels, privations, disagreeaUes <^ 

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0v«rf •ort, arose from Mrerty ? It was not neoeflsaiT to be food of meiiej, 
for monej's sake, bnt how eoukl people do eadi other good wiihont it— 
Madame Rodeck wanted to know that ? Real generosity, she said, con- 
sisted in opening the purse fre^j, and none coold do that like the ridi. 
There was her cousin Powell, for instance. A more generous crea^ne 
nerer breathed ; riches had been well bestowed upon him ; he never heard 
of a case of distress that he did not instantly rehere it. But it was not 
charity only that claimed his lympathy. He liked to see his friendi 
enjoy themselves, and understood all the little wants, the fantasies even, 
that made the application of money so agreeaUe. 

** If ever that man should £dl in love," exclaimed Madame Rodedc, at 
the dose of a lonc^ eulog^um on her inestimable cousin, '* I envy the object 
of his choice ! Ske will, indeed, be a hap{^ woman !" 

L6onie neither agreed with the principle laid down by Madame Rodeok, 
nor shared in her kist ra(H;urous opinion, though she fully admitted the 
utility of money, and expressed her belief that Mr. Powdl Jones made a 
wiy admirable use of it Of his kindness to her fother riie was e xtr em el y 
sensible, and her gratitude was greatly increased by the receipt of a kttsr 
which reached her on die third day after the departure of Monsieur 
Lepage. It ran as follows : 

" My dearesx Child, — Here have I been two days in Paris, with- 
out the power of writing to thee, so entirely have I been ^igaged with 
Ae business that broueht me. At last I profit by a moment^s opportunity 
to tell thee what has nappened since I came. It was my fint duty to 
present myself at the hotel of the Minister of the Interior, who did me 
the honour at once to grant me a personal audience, and in that interview 
iM BM that I misht remain without inquietude as to my future. The 
Emjperor, he said, had been enHghtened with regard to my political 
opinions by a member of the English parliament— our ever kincl friend, 
to whom also I am writing — and that when the necessary formali- 
ties had been accomplished, no obstacle would exist to my return 
to Bordeaux. This news made my heart beat with joy, but in my own 
mind there is still an obstacle. I left our home vrith a lost fortune ; with- 
out the means, dearest child, of giving you another, I desire not to re- 
enter my native city. This cannot be done in an instant, though my 
prospects of success are the best possible, so in P^uis for the preoent I re- 
main to put in train my |^reat project. Already I have taken some steps 
which are of the highest unportanoe, and now it is quite certain that after 
a few months only I shall again be a rich man. All this I owe to the 
heft of frieods, to whom neraier thou nor I can ever cease to be no* 
fonndly gratefol. Lei us remember him in our prayers ! Ah, my onBd, 
it is a great thinr to rehabilitate one's name and fortune when both were 
attiie worst) andwidiouthimlhadnotthepowertodo either. Amongst 
the causes of my present happiness, not the least is the reflection thai I 
leave thee under the protection of that generous man and the exoeflent 
Madame Rodeck, to whom I ofier my most lespectfol homage. Confide 
entirely in them as if it were myself. Tliere exist still some reasons wky 
I oamet reeeive letten at my own domicile, so for the present oonfidis 
thy replies to the oare of oar benefootor, who is aUe to ferwaid * 

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under an official en? cJope. And bow» «y dearest d^d, fiu«w^ ; 
tendetly embrace thj aunt for me, and receive thyaelf a thoueaiid 
bjesmngg from thy affectioiiate biher^ 


'^Nol (me of our old friends have I jet seoi ; but, in trath, I have 
Tiflitod nobody." 

Ah* if L^oDie had known that her poor frttb^, at the moment when 
she was rejoicing in his supposed good f<Mrtane^ was once more in the 
piison of ti^ ConcUrgeriey betrayed into the hands of the police by the 
vmy man whom she was directed to esteem and trast I 

But not a shadow of misgiving crossed her mind. Susmcion musty 
indeed, haye been a part of her nature had she entertained a doobt of the 
genuineness of the letter : it bore the Paris post-mark» the handwriting 
was that of her fisUher, hb signature was exactly imitated, and the sen- 
timents he expressed were peHeotly nainral to uie occasion. As soon as 
she had read the letter to her aunt she hastened to answer it : 

"My beabest Father, — With all thy love for thy poor L^nie, 
thou canst not imagine the happiness caused by the good news thou hast 
sent Thon knowest, my frUher, that my heart readily cmns to joyful 
sensations : picture to thyself dien, my delight — but no, it is not possttile 
to do so — when I learn that all thy si^erinss and disappointments are at 
an end ! To feel assured that I shall see thee again in the midst c^ thy 
old vineyards, with the beautiful sky of the Soirth above thee» with thie 
voices of all thy friends meeting thee with words of welcome. Ab, such 
a change will be a recompense for the past ; dost thou not think so» my 
Cither ? Since three days past— from the hour yoo w«At away — I was 
oppressed with apprehensions of an uncertain, perhaps an adverse fiite, — 
to-day they are all dissipated, and if teara are in my eyes it is not sorrow 
that brings them there. My aant rej<»ce8 in the thought of again re« 
turning to France, though die is here quite at her eaas^ iow Madame 
Bodeck, to whom I with pleasure ODirvey your message, pays her great 
attentjon, and to me also^ Yes, I will pray for the continued prosperity 
of our benefactor. Surely he merits it I should be most uagntefrd 
if I were not penetrated by that belief. But, my father, from thee 1 
conceal nothing ; one circumstance has given me pain* A young girl, 
like me, ahonid receive mresents only from her near rdations. Yeeteraay 
I found a magnificent bracelet upon my toilet-table. I mentioned to 
Madame Rodeck, whose houdoir is next to my chamber, that perimps her 
maid had by accident left what was hers. She sm^edy and said it was 
no mistake, for she, herself, had placed it there^ for ne to wear. * Ah, 
madame,' I said, ' it is too ooitly an ornament £ar my position. You 
must excuse me if I cannot accept it' < Not for my sake V she asked* 
*■ No, madame.' ' Then, for the sake of somebody ewe ;' and she smiled 
still more. ' Somebody else I' I exolMOMd, ' wIuh thea» is that some- 
body ? It is not my fsther. No othor pOTSon has the right to make me 
a present V * You are a foolish little thuo^,' die answered ; < another 
may love yov quite as much as your fothe^ — and more toow' ' Birt that 

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can only be a husband,' I replied ; < we are now talking nonsense. I ask 
no more questions, madame, but beg of you to return this bracelet to 
the proper owner.' She wished to say more, but I would not listen, and 
I left die bracelet in her hand. Now, my £sither, who can I suppose has 
wbhed to make me this present, if not the firiendly master of this house? 
Doubtless, he is ignorant of the custom in France, but the words of 
Madame Rodeck gave me some trouble. She has not spoken on the 
subject again, and naving told thee, my father, all is foreotten ; forgive 
me for talking of my trifline concerns while so many diat are serious 
occupy thee. For the rest, 3\ here is very fi^ay and pleasant. My aunt 
is in good humour, and Azor gets more fat wan before, and more sleeoy. 
I call io him at this moment, and he just looks at me without raising lus 
head from his cushion. He shall run for it, by-and-by, when he gets to 
the Cours d'Aquitaine. Ah, my £sither, that will be a happy day when 
we shall be there again. My aunt wishes to have from Madame Coque- 
licot, at No. 75, in the Rue St. Denis, a bunch of scarlet poppies and 
ears of com, like her old ones, which are now worn out, but I do not 
know how thou canst send them ; yet if it be possible I know thou wilt. 
Adieu. I embrace thee with my heart a thousand times. 


** I foigot to say that Azor wears a new collar. It was brous'ht for 
him by Monsieur Herbert on the morning of thy departure, while we 
had gone with thee to the railway station. My aunt admires it greatly, 
and it is pretty. Monsieur Herbert has not since been seen by us. Pro* 
bably he nas gone to the country." 

L^ie put this letter into the hands of Mr. PowellJones for trans- 
mission, and a consultation took place between him and Madame Rodeck 
when they had read it. 

'' Is tins true, diink you," he asked, ^< what she has written about 
French unmarried girls not taking presents, or does she happen to be 
particularly strait-laced?" 

^' I never knew it before," replied Madame Rodeck, *^ for I haven't 
been much amongst girls ; but this I know, that after marriage a Frendi 
woman will take anything you offer, and thank you into the bargain. 
As to Mademoiselle Lepage, I confess I think she is rather difficult" 

^ Of a cold temperament, perhm ?" 

<^ Urn ! Not exactly that I nuicy she could be in love if she met a 
person to her liking." 

« What sort of jwrson, now ?" 

'' I see no objection to yourself." 

*« You don't But does she r 

** Why not ? You are good-looking enough for any woman, and richer 
than most men ; I have taken care to impress Aat upon her. If s sure 
to tell in the long run." 

*^ I scarcely see how, in thb instance, if she won't accept such a thing 
as a bracelet or a shawl, or anything of that sort." 

<' People do say," said Madame Rodeck, laughmg, '< that no woman 
can resist a real cachemire. I never was tried in that way." 

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'^ Wellr you shall order two at Oriole and Peacock's, and keep the one 
jou Vke best The other " 

^ Thank yon for one, Meredythy** said the lady, with a curtsey. ^< But 
you mustn't take me quite au pied de la leUre. Plresents^ I'm afiraid, are 
not in this girl's line. She has a great deal of spirit I can see that"* 

•< I have had proof of it myself. How then do you mean to approach 
hcrr • 

'^ Act up to the advice I gave you when we concocted her father's 
letter. Make a parade, without seeming to do so, of your liberality. I 
will get up a subject for you at dinner to-day, and you can be very much 
affected by the story ; offer to give a large sum, — the effect will not be 
lost upon her." 


^ Apres ? Why, I shall dilate upon your benevoienoe^ as I have done 
alreai^. This wifl prepare the way for what I propose* In old Lepage's 
next Matter he must say he has unfortunately met with an old creditor 
whose claims had not been salasfied with those of others. This creditor 
threatens to arrest him unless he immediately pays so much. Lepage 
has no means of raising it except through your assistance, but, after all 
your kmdneu to him^ is ashamed to asK it himself. All his prospects 
turn upon the question of liquidating this debt. Would nis dear 
daughter undertake the delicate negotiation ? If you put it in this way 
die is not likely to refuse. Filial piety is her cardmal virtue. She then 
comes to you with her pitiful tide, and you— do what yon please. 
Hiere ! I think I have sketched out a very nice little plot It will be 
your fauH if you don't turn it to account" 

** Upon my soul, Martha, you are a very clever creature, and have 
tuAj earned the cachemire. But can't the old woman, her aunt, be 
maJe useful also in some way ?" 

'' Of course she can. She mustn't eat the bread— or I should say die 
truffles— <^ idleness. Let me present her with the other shawl, — your 
gift^ of course, — as a tribute of respect There will be no refusal in that 
quarter, I promise you. She is a very weak-minded woman, but like all 
persons of that description, extremely tenacious of an idea when once she 
18 suppUed with one. You shall stand in her estimation in the next rank 
to a oUque d'ScrevisseSj or a jfilet de bctuf h la Beamaiie'^-4he two 
things she most adores. I think if I told her that you used garlic for a 
perfmne she would fall down and worship you." 

And Madame Rodeck laughed immoderately at her own conceit 

'^ But, seriously, Martha," said her sot-dtsant cousin, as soon as he 
could make her listen, ** she can be made serviceable !" 

'* Haven't I said so ? I know exactly the way to go to work with her. 
I gained her good-will by fondling her dog. I secured her friendship by 
tickling her palate. She is mine, or yours, body and soul, depend on it, 
the moment the goats'-wool covers her shoulders." 

*^ Apropos of that wretched cur— that Aror— I don't altogether like 
the postscript to this letter. She means Herbert Vaughan, I suppose !" 

** I suppose she does. It was a mere civility, or, at the most, a coup 
manqui. You observe, she says they did not see him." 

** I wish he was far enough off." 

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^ I widi 80, too— if I w«se with ktai. Bat, to tell you the tntdi, Mft- 
demoiselle Lepage is not wronff in her coojoct«re. He has goao iato 
Wales. I learnt tlvit at hia di&, yestexdaj." 


** Tes ; drove boldly up to the do^nr, and aaked for him* The page 
brought out word that he had left town two days before. I inquimd 
where they sent his letters, and was told to GI&s-Llyn. How long did 
he mean to be away P It wae unoertain. Perhaps a week — pc^iape 
longer. So, till he eomes back, I am, as you see, Meredyth, a widow 

** At all eyents he is not here to do you or me any harm." 

<^What a coward you are, Meredyth. That French girl doesn't 
trouble me in the least; why should his presence or absence affect you?" 

"^ I don't know. But it does." 

'< Well, then, make hay while the sun shines. Get her into yowr 
power, and be off with her before he comes back. He shall find m» 
here to console him." 

*^ You I why I reekoned upon your taking L6onie down to Chateau 
BdmoBt, and my ieining you there." 

^< I have thought beUer of it since I came here. Ch&teau Belmoat 
wottkl never do for her. Had she been like the geniality of girls in hv 
porition, that plan might have anewered very wcfi. I know Ittlf a dosen 
young ladies at this moment, quite as handsome as she is, and lurought 
up m society, who would haye dropped off the tree, like a ripe pear, v^ith 
half the persuasion I haye employed with her. You may look inoie^ 
dulous, but it's a fact. No. She must be inoculated after another 
fosbion. We must make her affection for her father the key to unlock 
her heart. FoUow the course I propose, and, as I^y Mscbeth says, 
< Leaye all the rest to me T " 

** la theso matters,* said Mr. Powdl Jones, as they separated, ^ the 
deyerest among ua is but a fool to a woman." 



Ma PA mi Bodsck's suggestions were s|>eedily adopted. The farce of 
beneyolence was skilfully enacted, and fsuled not to produce the effect 
anticipated. The second letter from Monsieur Lepage was also imme- 
diately written, despatched to the same agent who had transmitted the 
first, posted again in Pans, and delivered at Wessex House on the second 
day aner the conyersatbn Just recorded. 

Besides the application mr a loan, it acknowledged Leonie's answer in 
a hasty postscript, wherein she was counselled, for her fother's sake, to 
do nothing that might wound the susceptibility of their ^* noble bene- 
fiictor," eyen though it might be contrary to her own inclinations. 

L6onie wept bitterly on reading this letter. She had never in her life 
disobeyed her father, and it was not the moment to begin when his per- 
sonal Hberty and all his prospects were inyolved in the course she adopted. 
But the task enjoined was a hard one, and again and again she strove, 

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widKNit loeeewy to oooqaer the repugnance she felt to itf performance. 
The laft lines a£fected her even more than her father's actual neoessily, 
for thej seemed to her to conyej the surrender of a principle, fiut m 
this matter she resolved to act independently. She would preserre her 
own seif-^esteem while she fulfilled a painful duty. 

Making no communication on the subject to her aunt, and carefully 
arading Madame Rodeck, L^nie at last made up her mind to speak 
to Mr. Powell Jones. She found him, as usual, in his study, surrounded 
by books and papers. But his thoughts were not on them, for he had 
been waiting all the morning for this visit, and a gleam of satisfiiu^tbn lit 
up his features as she entered. 

'^ Ahy Mademoiselle Lepage," he said, ^' this is very kind of you to come 
and see me. I was afraid that another long, long day of tedious business 
was all I had to look to, and in the midst of it there comes an unexpected 
p l ea su r e . Let me offer you a chair." 

'' Thank you, sir, no,** replied L^onie, in a subdued voice ; '< it is better 
in me to stand for what I have to say." 

^' Then you oblige me to do the same," said the Joint-Stock Banker, 
rifling; ** but that is of no consequence," he added gallantly; *' to imitate 
Mademoiselle Lepage must always be right. But you tremble; are you 
ill ? Pray, pray be seated." 

^ No, sir," replied L^onie, in a firmer tone, mastering her emotion, 
^'I stand* I have no illness— only some trouble." 

^' If it is anything in which I have power to offer advice or render 
aosistnncc^ I hope you will command me." 

** You are yery good, sir. Something I must ask you." 

She hesitated, put her hand to her bosom and drew forth a letter. 

** My father," sne said, and stopped abruptly. 

*^ Good God !" exclaimed the Banker, witn well-feigned alarm, ** no 
accident has hiqppened, I trust, to Mondeur Lepage ?" 

*'No, sir, not an accident; but— but — ^he has a great difficulty." 

^ A mat difficulty ! I beg you will explain." 

Leonie trembled still more, she became very pale, then the colour re- 
turned to her cheeks with a deeper flush, she raised her eyes, cast them 
again on the ground, and spoke rapidly : ^* When my &ther lose his for- 
tune, ar, through the troubles of commerce in the political disturbances, 
he could not avoid to have debts. He paid to all tne world, leaving for 
himself nothing; but one creditor remained. That person smce he 
went to Paris bis seen him, and claims all that is still owmg. It is more 
than my fiuher possesses, more than the double of what he has. If this 
man be not satiraed, my father — goes — to prison. He ask me— 4ie ask 

L6onie burst into tears and hid her face in her hands. 

^ Most distressing. My dear Mademoiselle Lepa^, pray— *-" 

** Your generosity, sir, I know. But if I know it, idone that should 
prevent me from speaking. My father's invention is good, you think so, 

«* Certainly— I feel sure of it." 

** My fiither promise me a great many shares to be my fortune. See, 
sir>-I give them all back, to remain poor for ever, if only I can obtain 


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liie money lie require to pay liis creditor. He dare not aik you wliat I 
oUi|^ myself to do/' 

^' Does he name the amount of his debt ?** 

*^ Tes, nr. He name five thoosand francs.*^ 

<< And have you really distressed yovrself, my dear Mademotsette Le- 
page, about sum a trifle ?' 

« A trifle! Oh, sir, it is much T 

^ I hope you won't think so. Your fiitfaer ought instasliy to hate 
applied to me widiout giving you this trouble. He shall have an order 
for what he requires by this day's post Really, it is not etea a loan ; 
nothing but a simple advance ; scarcely that, in^kwd, for we are in some 
dome partners ; at all events having our interests united in one specu- 
lation, which is Hkely to turn out exceedingly profitable. Thb affur 
can easily be made straight by-and-by. You must look upon H, my 
dear Mademoiselle Lepage,*' — here he took h^ hand — ^ only as a natter 
of business between two persons whose object is the same. I fully ap- 
preciate your father's delicacy in the matter, but he need have had no 
scruple m applying directly to me. Anything would have been better 
than to have caused you a single tear — a single moment's 0u£Fering — 
anydiing. You will sit now, will you not, dear Mademoisdle L^onie 7* 

She <&opped into the chair he offered and wept again, but this time it 
was with a sense of relief. The smile that played over the Banker^s 
features as he watched her averted countenance, plainly revealed the 
joy he felt in the success of Madame Rodeck's scheme. His manner 
towards L6onie became still more t^ider. He drew dose to wbeie sIm 
sat, and again addressed her : 

'^ You will think no more about this riigfat affair ?" he said. 

Leonie looked up with a grateful expiesnon : 

'^ Forgive me, sir, for having been so bold." 

<' Forgive you," he replied. ^ Those axe words that should raAer 
come from me." 

" How, sir ! I do not understand you. I can have nothmg to 

^* Yes, my dear Mademoiselle Leonie, but you have, whesi you know 
the offence I have committed. And yet, perhaps, I am wrong to call it 
an offence. Ah, if I might hope so !" 

** I cannot tell, sir, what you mean, unless you speak more plainly." 


She started. 

<<Most beautiful— dearest" — he seized her hand again^-^^I lo?e 

** Mon Dieu !" she exclaimed, and rose to her feet in an instant. 

'^ Yes," he continued, kneeling before her, " I love you— passionately 
— ^madly. To see and not adore you is impossible. Tell me that I do 
not love in vain 1" 

The same strange sense of trouble came over L6onie as when Mr. 
Powell Jones first spoke to her on the evening of the dinner at Weseex 
House, and she remained silent. 

'^ You do not answer me," he continued ; — ** speak — speak — can you 
—do you love me ?" 

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"Sirr Aeiaid, extrioati^ her hand frwa Uf grasp. <<IliaT»ao 
worda. I am aatoDtshed. What can I aaj ?*" 

** flay ool J that you love me P* 

^'Ohno! iaipoMibler 

Itwaa the Banker's torn to lise. He thought he hid carried the 
fbrtnsi by a ooa^ de mam. Never was an elderiy lover more takea 

Leooie irent on : 

** For your gnat goodness to my &ther,— for the hosj^tality yon have 
shown to me and to my aunt» — I cannot thank you too much; but oh, 
sky do not think of lovhig me." 

^ It is too late to «ive sooh eomisel," cried Mr. Powell Jones ; " I 
kjived yon, Leonie, the first moment I saw you. Do you zwnem- 

He stofmed suddenly, perceiving his mistake. But that last woid was 
enough, in an instant the seene in the square and what he had said 
upon the occasion, rushed back to L6<mie's memory. The very m^n 
was before her — the only one— who had insulted her. 

"Ah!** she exclaimed. « Yes, I do remember. You are then that 
infiunoos person. I must have beMi a fi>ol not to have recognise yon at 
once. You are the man that dare to address me in the street. Ah, mon 

«^ listen, L^nie,^ said Mr. Powell Jones; <<what I then said was 
^w d 'W M — ntter folly. I saw you by chance only, knew not who you 

w«?e — ^you might have been«-no matter what. The w<»rds I uttered 

wholly without meaning—were addressed to a perfisot stranger. Tf^^ I 
dreamt that the daughter of my friend ** 

" Your friend, sir! It was a sad hour when my &dier saw you first. 
You cannot deoeive me, sir. I recoiled too well you say my fiuher is 
poor — <he will understand how to keep oat rf the way.* Those are not 
words to be spoken to any young girl. They show a bad, wicked 

** L^onie, I sweur you are mistaken. I never entertioned a thought 
diat could wrong beauty, innocence like yours. To give you all my lor- 
tiHfce — to make you my wi fe " 

** Your wife ! No, sir : when I marry it is to a man of honour ! I see 
aU your plan. It was to smrate me from my father you send faim to 
France. You fear him, you oase, bad man I" 

" If Ifear him," siud Mr. Powell Jones, with a sneor, stung by Louie's 
scorn,— *< if I fear him, I have but to leave him to the tender mercies of 
his creditor. The laws of France are not so nuld as to let him go till 
he has paid the uttermost farthing." 

L^nie wrung her hands in mute despair. Mr. Powell Jones saw his 
advantage, and resolved to press it. 

" Listen," he said. " You come to me with a tale of dbtress about 
your father. I hear you out, and at once engage to release him from his 
' difficulty :' that was your own expression. I profess, what I feel, the 
deepest love for you ; I offer you honourable terms of marriage ; you 
revive the error of a hasty moment, — you heap upon me words of reproach, 
you threaten me with your father's anger. If I dreaded it, as I have al- 

K 2 

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ready said, it is bat to leave my promise unfulfilled, and what becomes 
of Monsieur Lepage ? He starves in a prison, and you are still in my 
power. Now, Leonie, I set the case plamly before you. If you wish to 
avert such a fate as I have named — ^I can forget hard words, the hasty 
passion of a girl — give me your hand, and all shall go well between us. 
Say that you will marry me, and the telegraph shall anticipate the fisust 
which the slower post will confirm. Do not confine yourself to the sum 
you have named ; ask anything you please, and it sludl be yours. Will 
a daughter suffer the father she loves to die in gaol, when a word of hers 
could save him ?** 

The alternative he proposed was cruel. To marry without love, — ^with« 
out esteem, — ^to accept the man whose first thought had been her own 
dishonour, — ^whose viUanous designs she had unmasked to his own face ! 
But, on the other hand, if she refused, — she read it in her suitor's cold, 
malignant glance when he named Monsieur Lepage — her feither's rain 
was certun, that &ther whom she so tenderly loved, for whose life she 
would willingly lay down her own. 

•' Save him!" she said. " I— I *" 

She could not finish the sentence, but fell fainting on the floor. 

Madame Rodeck came from behiDd a screen in a remote part of the 
room, from whence she had witnessed the whole scene. 

" Bravo !" she cried. ** You have pkyed your part well, Meredyth, 
and deserve to win the girl. I sui^K)se you don*t mean to marry her P 

<< Marry her !" returned the Joint-Stock Banker. <' You shall be her 
chaperon while Rigby Nicks performs the ceremony. I could many 
her, though — if it were necessary. What a lovely creature ! Help me to 
restore her, Martha — you have some essence about you, no doubt Stay, 
lift her gently. Sprinkle water on her &ce. How beautiful she is !" 

^* Far enough gone !** said Madame Rodeck to herself. *^ He will do 
something silly even now, unless I prevent him." 

L^onie began to revive. She sat upon the sofa to which she had been 
carried. She looked round ; her eyes fell first on Mr. Powell Jones, and 
an irrepresable shudder passed through her frame ; her next glance fell 
on Madame Rodeck. The presence of one of her own sex seemed to re- 
assure her: she held out her arms involuntarily, and Martha rushed 
towards her. 

^ My sweet child !" she exclaimed, '< thank Heaven you are yourself 
again. There — there— do not attempt to speak. I know all, my own, 
own daughter. Oh, how happy we au shall be.*' 

Ltonie suffered herself to be led from the room. 

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Thk exploratory ▼oyage of which we are about to mre some account^ 
from the works of Dr. W. B. Baikie, in command of uie expedition, and 
of Mr. HntchinsoD, the surgeon, was imdertaken in consequence of the 
intelligence received from Dr. Biarth of his having crossed, on the 18th 
of Jane, 1851, a lam stream, named the Binue, which, from the 
information that travelkr received from the natives, he conjectiured to be 
the upper part of the river hitherto known to Europeans as the Tsadda, 
or Tshadda, the great eastern tributary to the Rwora, or Niger. The 
expedition was fitted out to determine a point of so much importance in 
opening a commercial road to Central Africa ; and the two objects 
roeciallj mentioned in the Admiralty instructions were, first, to explore 
ihe liver Tsadda from Dagbo, the point reached by Allen and Oldfield in 
1833, as &r to the eastward as possible; and secondly, to endeavour to 
meet and afford assistance to Drs. Barth and Yogel. A steamer, deemed 
to be suitable for the objects contemplated, was constructed by Mr. Laird, 
and called the Pleiad, and the conduct of the expedition was entrusted 
to Mr. Beecrofr, her Majesty's consul at Fernando Po. Unfortunately, 
the latter gentleman died during the Pleiades passage out to Fernando 
Po, and the command of the expedition devolved m consequence upon Dr. 
Baikie. The Pleiad entered the River Nun on the 12th of July, with 
two large iron canoes, full of coal, in tow. 

''Nothing,** says Dr. Baikie, speaking of the delta of the Niger, 
<« could be more s^loomy than these dreary streams, enclosed between 
dense lines of sombre mangroves, forty, fifty, or even sixty feet in height. 
The only thing left to our sight was a narrow strip of sky overhead. 
No dry land was visible, not a canoe nor a native was encountered, and 
the only sign of life was when here and there a solitary kingfisher, 
startled by such an unwonted appearance, fled laxily from its retreat, but^ 
ere a gun could be even pointed at it, again disappeared amid the dark 

Hutchinson also describes the lower part of the river, as far as 
Aboh, as presentmg littie worthy of notice. 

No elevation of ground— thickets of palm-trees, guinea-grass, and bombax— 
odd plantations of yams and India com — some houses so low in their roofs that 
a man of ordinary stature could not enter them upright— others perched aloft on 
scaffolding — no doubt to preserve their inhabitants from being submerged when 
the water rises. So serpentine is the stream here, that for miles up there has 
been no reach in the river more than five or six hundred yards before and behind 
the ship. By King Barrow's Town— past the Angiamman villages, the towns of 
Sabrogego, Hippotiamo, Agbari, Kalibal, Oluba, and other plaices with equally 

* Narrative of an Exploring Voyage up the Rivers Kwora and Binue (commonly 
known as the Niger and Tsadda) in 1854. Published with the Sanction of her 
Majesty's Oovemment. By William Balfour Baikie, M.D., B.N., in Ck>mmand of 
the Expedition. 

Narrative of the Niger, Tshadda, and BinuS Exploration: including a Beport 
on the Position and Prospects of Trade up those Rivers; with Remarks on the 
MaUuria and Fevers of Western AfHca. By T. J. Hutchinson, Esq., her British 
M^jes^B Consul for the Bight of Biailhu 

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ridiculons names, all of which had the same appearance — a number of dirty huts 
stretching along the river's side, backed by aense brushwood, and fronted by 
half a dozen canoes in the river, the visible peculation consisting of women who 
fled in terror (at the sound of the engme's whistle), in company with the dogs 
and goats that were about. No mangrove ^ws above Sunday Island ; and 
as we ascended, we passed many creeks leadmg off in the Bonny and Benin 
directions — ^the stream getting gradually wider. 

Mr. Crowther remarked, however, that there were strips of land cleared 
and planted along the margin of the river, which were densely wooded to 
the water's edge in 1841, and small villages showed themselves where all 
formerly was desolate and uninhabited, and the very people seemed leas 
timid and better clad. This is, at all events, encouraging. Owing to the 
FteiacTs having grounded near Truro Island, the expedition did not reach 
Abo until the afternoon of the 21st Old Ring Obi, the friend of the 
whites, was dead, but hu successor, Aja, Obi's second son, ^ve them a 
kindly reception. The brutal practice exists, according to Hutchinson, 
among these people of burying twins alive, and all children who cut the 
upper teeth mst are sacrificed also. 

The Pleiad left Abo on the 24th, taking a Mussulman who could 
speak English, nicknamed All Hare Lander, with them to act as an 
interpreter. They now began to meet with herds of hippopotami, and 
sevenJ small brown monkeys, with very lone; tails, were seen disporting 
in the trees. It is very much to be doubted if the late Mr. Brockeden, 
although one of the most sedulous attendants at the Royal Geographical 
Society, had his name attached to more than one spot on the globe. 
Captain Allen, himself an artist, named an island on the Kwora af^r his 
brother linmer ; but, alas for the uncertainty of geographical immortality ! 
we are told in a very brief and curt manner by ]k&. Hutchinson, " Aoe 
is no such idand in the river as that described in Lieutenant Allen's chart 
as Brockeden Island !" 

Iddah, the next place of importance on the river, after Abo, is de- 
scribed by Dr. Baude as in a very pleasing situation. Placed on an 
eminence overlooking the river, me huts interspersed with loflky trees, 
with finely-tinted foliage, and with high land for the backgroond, the 
view, afUr inhaling tiie pestilential miasntata of the delta, and being so 
long denied the free enjoyment of the air of heaven by frowning man- 
groves, was at once re&eshing and invigorating. Hutchinson bears 
teitimiNay to the same feeling. << The appearance of the lofty eliffii and 
high land at Iddah,** he says^ ^with the summits of die Kaknnda 
mountains peering op behind, ^eased every one on board.'* 

On Ae 4th of August the Pleiad dropped anchor at the confluence of 
ihe Tsadda or Binue, and of the Kwora or Niger. Considering that 
sinoe the days of Mungo Park the western brai^ has ever been coor 
flidered as the midn tributary to tiie Niger, the differenoe of impcesskns 
arrived at in modem times is curiously placed by Dr. Baikie. 

Pursuing a somewhat meandering route, tiie Narrow Kwdra flowing from the 
northward wound along the base of the western hij^hlands, while full before us 
came pouring from the eastward the broad, the strai^ht-coursed Binue, tiie com- 
minriing waters of the two mi^htjr streams ibrming the expansive, like-like 
Confluence, its sur&ce dotted with islets and banks, or ripfued by contending 
currents^ while in the distance the united rivers impetuously rushed towards the 
sea, through the deep defile by which we had so lately aseekded* The crtsMive 

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nuDB of the once busy Odok^do, the centre of trade in this place before its 
destmction bj a ruthless FnliUa band, were hid from view by tne thick brush- 
wood; but the crowded huts of its important commercial successor were plainly 
discerned on the opposite shore. Along the banks numerous Tillages could be 
detected, while fi^iuently, more inland, a curling wreath of smoke would 
htinj the existence of some sequestered hamlet, hal^hidden beneath lofty trees. 
Jar m the eye could readi, orer nules and miles, the ground teemed with exu- 
henat ▼egetation ; seeming often in the fantastic appearance of its wild growth 
to Rfsl in its exemption from culture. Such a fruittul soil in other climes, and 
with a happier peculation, would yield support and employment to countless 
thousands, and long ere this ha?e proved the source of untold wealth. To com- 
plete our panorama, quietly at ancnor, and now surrounded by canoes, there lay 
the fifclle Fieiad, the avoHi-eouriere of European ^ergr ana influence ; and I 
trust, the forennmar of ciritiBation and its attendant blessings, and of better 
di^s to these ziohly-endowed but hitherto un£Drtunate regions. 

The puogiess up the Knue seems at first to have been yery slow ; the 
wood dkl not bum well — so little so, that they had to andior five or six 
lucies to got OD steam. This was on the 7ta of August, the first day 
upon irmsAk thsy Bayigated the river of so much promise, and their 
progress did not exceed six or seven miles I The lower part of the river 
harnkg been prsvioaety explored by Lander, need not detain us. Passiog 
the little towns of Gaoaah, Obojunga, Atipo, and Offbo— the latter 
situated on cli£& as high over the water as those of Iddab-^ip to 
Lander's Seat, the country, Hutchinson says, appeared to be superior in 
fertility to any he had seen since he entered into the Nun. Dagbo, the 
fiist yillage in the Doom province, whidi is tributary to Zeg'Tjeg, a 
■lissnhlo Utlo village, was the lindt of former exploration, and beyond 
that oy^ mile of progress eoioys a new interest rassing this point, the 
expedition aorived on the 19th at Akpoko, *' the neatest little African 
yiUage,'' says Hutchinson, " I ever put my foot into ;^ and Dr. Bailde 
also describes it as "the cleanest and driest town" they had visited. 
Situated at the foot of the Doma, or Allen range of hills, in a kind of 
natoeal asDf^theatre, Uiis place is defended from the marauding Fiktahs 
by a deep fosse and bv walls. 

We can understana, although we can in some cases barely appreciate^ 
the yaluo of the names given to new discoveries in the Arctic regions. 
Hadson's Bay, Barrow imd Melville's Straits, and Wellington Channel 
will always have a certain hydrographical importance ; but there are 
tioaiBandi^ and capes, and islets w£ch have been named and ma]pped by 
OBO e]q)edition,oniy to be erased or merged into a mainland or arclupelago, 
with another name, by lat^ explorers. One set of Lords of the Ad« 
miralty have often succeeded to one another in the icy regions of the 
Kbalhr— the charts of which indicate pretty accurately where patronage 
k^ or was supposed to lay at the time of iUscovery — although strange 
■iistahes hove taken place on that score : a change of ministry having 
sometimes occurred during the time of the absence of the expedition, and 
it was seacoely found convenient to alter all the names on its return. But 
we really cannot see by what right at all an expedition should assume to 
knlf to name an ^* Admiralty Archipdago," a Sir Charies Ogle's Xshmd^ 
Richardson blands, Burnett Islands, Smyth Island, Mount Eferbert, 
Mount Train, and a host of others, in a country already inhabited. It 
would surely have been in better taste to have adopted the names in use 

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among the natives. These English names will prohably neyer be adopted 
by any but stay-at-home map-makers, if even by them. 

Fasdng several villages, chiefly on the right bank, the expedition 
arrived on the 23rd of August at Ojogo, a pretty little town ntuated on 
the eastern extremity of a rather extensive island. Hutchinson says that 
the features of the country from the Doma hills to this place, a mstance 
of about forty miles, were all similar ; trees thinly interspersed through a 
bright prairie of tall guinea-grass, with no rocky intermixture, and a rich 
loamy soil, evidently capable of nurturing into maturity any spedes oi 
iatetbtoipicsl produce. The river became at this point more expansive, 
and the soundings consequently more shallow. The expedition was very 
well received by the chief of Ojogo, and remuned for some time at the 

Slaoe under an erroneous impression that Barth and Yogel were at 
Leana, a town only a few days* loumey dbtant, whereas it afterwards 
appeared that it was some six weeks ago that they had been there. Cro- 
cooiles were abundant in this part of tiie river, and there were also £s]se- 
gavials. One man had lost part of his leg by a bite from the former, and 
a serviceable wooden leg was constructed for him — Mr. Hutchinson says, 
at his suggestion. The inhabitants of the opposite side of the river, which 
is here a mile wide, being at war with the people of Ojogo, the members 
of the expedition did not meet with so kindly a reception on the one bank 
as on the other. 

Above Ojogo the river contracted, and the water deepened. It is not 
called either Tsadda or Binue at this point, but Lihn ; a little beyond, it 
was called Nu. On the 4th they came to Rogan-Roto, a town of con- 
siderable size, opposite to which was Konduku, whose inhabitants lined 
the banks in hostile attitude. At Rogan-Koto there were se?eral weaving 
establishments, at which beautiful cloth is fabricated, as also a manufitc- 
tory of brasswork. Yet, with all this population and civilisation, our ez- 
pemtionists thought proper to call the islands on the river Rowland WH; 
and on the next day, when they arrived at another considerable town, 
called Abitshi, they declared it to be on Clarendon Island ! This was the 
principal place where the commodities of the upper and lower Binue 
were exchanged. 

The people of Mitshi had the honour of having the eastern boundary 
of their country designated for the future after the present distinguished 
hydrographer of the Admiralty — Captain Washington. It is to be 
hoped that they will preserve uie memory of the hot in their national 
archives. Beyond was a range of mountains with fiuniliar names. Mount 
Egerton, Mount Latham, and Mount Christison, all appropriately 
marshalled under the presidency of Lord Ellesmere. Baikie and 
Hutchinson differ in a day as to the date at which they passed these 
mountains. They enjoyed at this point tiie novel sight of a large herd 
of elephants, upwards of a hundred in number, crossmg a littie streamlet 
not much more than a mile away. 

On the 6th of September, having been all day anxiously looking out 
for signs of man, they were highly pleased by discovering in the after- 
noon a large walled town on the south side, and although it was late 
they landed at once : 

Frevioos to our arrival numbers of people had been observed along the banks, 
but on the approach of tlie gig they all disappeiured, and when we reached tiie 

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riiore the only pearaon left to leoeire ns was a lolitaij indifidaa], who betireen 
fear and excitement oonld hardly ntter a sin^ word. I walked np to him, ex- 
tending my hand, which he surveyed most snspicionaly, and at length tonohed 
with as much reluctance as he wonld a piece of red-hot iron, but finding that it 
did not bom him, and that we were quite friendly, he threw down his spear, and 
danced and shouted for ioy, exclaiming that be would lead us to tne town, 
which was at some little custanoe. Havmg to pass some marshy ground, he in- 
anted on carmijB^ me across some streamlets, snouting all the time at the top of 
Ma Toioe in UMsa, "White men, white men! the Nazarenes haye come; 
white men |;ood, white men rich, white men kings ; white men, white men I" 
Presently his shouts were responded to, and we saw a large band, fully armed, 
rush along a narrow path, vociferating wildly. Their approach had certainly 
something threatening in its look, so much so that our boaf s crew, getting 
alarmed, scampered back to the boat, leaying Mr. May, Mr. Chrowther, Dr. 
Hutchinson, and myself, with Mr. Richards, and my assistant, to face the 
strangers. fi?en our Taliant little interpreter, Aliheli, felt insecure, as seizing 
my arm he whispeced hurriedly, " We must go back to the ship." We, howerer, 
cnvtinaed to adranoe, and presently encountered the rude-looldng throng. On 
hearing that we were frienos, the leading man first threw himself wildly into the 
arms of our conductor, and then flying headlong against me, grasped my hand 
nnd shook it yehemently. Each one of our party had his own body of admirers, 
and in particular lifr. May was quickly out off and surrounded, and became a 
distinct ooitre of attraction. CSt the remainder of the crowd, some ran ramdly 
towards us, presenting the butt-ends of their spears ; others drew their dow- 
stiings without arrows in them ; many threw tnemselves on the ground and 
went through an extemporaneous course of grmnastics, and all shouted aloud. 
Eyeiy one appeared in an ecstasy of delight, while our guide continued to exert 
his lungs in such an extraordinary manner, that we were afraid he would rup^ 
ture a biood-veasel, and I am quite certain he got off cheaply if he had nothing 
beyond a simple sore-throat. After this wild welcome had subsided into some 
semblance of a merely enthusiastic greeting, I told the most consequential-look- 
mg man that we wished to yisit his kkff, to whom he at once conducted us. 
We went along a narrow pathway, omy sufficient for single file, enclosed be- 
tween tall diwa com, the stalks of which waved high over our heads. PresentlY 
we arrived at the gate of the town, strongly pansaded, and crossed the ditch 
which surrounded the walls. Numbers of astonished natives, of all ages and 
sexes, lined the way, all the men carrying spears, swords, knives, and bows and 
arrows. We soon reached the king, who, in the centre of a large crowd, 
attended by the head men in the place, stood to receive us under the shade of a 
wide-spreading tree. I approached and saluted him, and introduced my party; 
witii all whom he shook hands, and then looking upwards said, he thanked God 
that white men had come to his country. I rapidly explained to him our 
wishes and our objects, addmg, that as it was nearly dark, we should pay him 
a longer visit next day. Numbers now pressed forwards to shake hands with 
ns, and about us there could not have been fewer than from 400 to 500 people, 
mostly armed. 

If Dr. Baikie cives the most picturesque account of the reception^ of 
the party at G^diko, Mr. Hutchinson is most graphic in his description 
of the people inhabiting this before unknown town on the Binue : 

Whilst digesting this information (says Mr. Hutchinson, in relation to a few 
gec^;raphi(»a items, upon which, as usual, little dependence could be placed), let 
us take a glance at the ladies and gentlemen around us. Some of the former 
have their hair dressed in a very peculiar fashion ; and a few of the king's wives 
had theirs most elaborately ornamented. One of them in particular was done 
up in a manner sufficiently excruciating to send any Parisian friseur demanding 
aomiseion at the Salpetri^re lunatic asylum before to-morrow morning. A niece 
(tf seariet ribbon fustened with a brass button was pkced above the centre of the 

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lorehead, and theBoe was brought badnrards to the nape of the neek, Ofer the 
hair of the head, which was woren into a toweriiM^ arcL From each temple 
deaeended aphdted feetoon, whidi was confined with brass cylinders, and made 
to &sten imaer her chin by a continuation of beads. On one side oi the aich 
was a hnge brass pin of native mannfoctnre, and on the other was an iyorj one, 
both tastefollj canred. Throoffh the cartOa^ of her ears were bored enormens 
hdea of the circomferenoe ol a shilling, m whidi ornaments of ivory, beads, 
brass, or antimony were nsed to be stodL^ as the ordinances of the fa shio aa bl e 
woM wa;vcred at Gaaitiko. Some of the ladies had leaden or brass eanings, 
abcNCt the siae of the rings that are nsoally put in pigs' nostrils at home. ICakj 
gentlemen, too, had enormons perforaticms in the same organ; and, with this 
personal adominent, had only for clothing the rags of wMt might hare been 
Uoasa tunics before ihe flood. 

The soft sex here, also, had a species of ornamentation whieh was qnite nawd. 
to me, and not at ail eaptivating ; tiuwgh periiaps, amongst men of artistie taste 
in tibor oonntry, it might be styled ''deleotabie," if there were such a wood in 
the Gandiko hmgnage. It oonusted of brass nails in the noses ! At ahont a 
qoarter of an indi Move the edge of the nostril outside, the bright brass head 
flistened (m the duk skin. Its stem perforated the outer wall of the nose to 
ue inside, and was then brought out with a curve towards the ear. The heads 
of ^e nails were flatter than our trunk brass nails, the stems longer, sqnarei^ 
and more obtuse ; thej were evidently of native fabrieation. As soon as deal- 
ings were oompleted with a lady for a pair of these artides, which she ezdumged 
for a small looking^ass, there was a regular dissolution of partnership between 
many noses and ims nails, in the prospect oi a traffie on the put of the 
owners. For a time I oould not dedde whether the rapidity of this movement 
w«s esused by the novelty of seeing their hiack ^Mses in a looking-fflass, for thoj 
had ncfver viewed a mirror before, or whether it spoke favourablv for their com- 
meareial eBterjoise. But, in either case, the gods of fashion ail over Nigntia 
might be put in convulsions by this outrage on their ordinances, and so I 
declined further encouragement to the nasal revolution! 

Cfese h^ G^Madiko was anodier town called Gankera, lai|^ than tbe 
int-mentuMied town, and ''a pamtfon of neatness in all its streets ita 
ovoid and quadrangular places. Jfoi an inch of ground vras nnccdtivated 
around these towns, and French beans were growing as Inxnriandj 
against the palisading outside the houses, " as though they were under 
the fostering hand of the head gardener at the Jaidin des Plantes in 
FmkJ^ Ahoiii a mile and a half from Gdndiko there was another town 
catted Ibi, stiH larger dian either of the two before described. BeTOid 
diese again was a town called Waihiri, which thej did not visits and then 
ijbej came to Zhibu, tbe capital of this populous and flourishing district, 
situated on very high ground in a plain of several miles* extent^ perfectly 
deared, and much of it in process of cultivation. His Majesty of 29uba 
was a sullen, unhappy-lookmg personage. He received we expedition, 
however, vrith the same courtesy as they had experienced at ihe nsnds ci 
other African kings, but he evidently wanted also to do a littie busbess 
in the slave line. A circumstance occurred here which must have aflbrded 
aome araosement to the mendbers of the expedition. It is evident tbat a 
little lealousy existed between Drs. Baikie and Hutchinson ; w% have 
seen that, in the case of die wooden W, Hutchinson daimed having sufl^ 
geated the charitable invention, for which Baikie gives him no credit. 
At Zhibu, the king mvested Hutchinson with a tobe, or robe of honour, 
<^kf bring,'' says Dr. Baikie, << the tallest and stoutest of onrpartv, qua^ 
MSomob which in A&ica are hdd in great admiration.'* BniMmmf 

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on Ym fBTt, seemed to ttnnk tiuil he deeerred H ts nmch as ike kmi&t of 
the expedition. He does not tell us wherefbrey bat simply intimates that 
he trial to receive it with as much solemnity as if it were a fy>ga acade^ 
mica. What makes the affiur still more ridicolons is, that Dr. Baikie 
had made the king a present <^ a velyet tobe and a brass-sheathed 

Droras of hippopotami and many croeodiles, as well as birds of brilliant 
and fari-eokraied plumage, gave animation to their pi o gi as s on the 10th. 
A number of low, sedgy islands were also passed, which made the nari- 
gation Tory intricate, but the river continued wide and deep as usual, till 
after the junction of the Akam or Bankundi, about fifty miles above 
Zbibu, when it contracted into a width of about two hundred yards. 
Beyond this latter town there w^e no traces of human habitations £ar a 
disianee of at least sixty miki, the country having the same ridi and 
a ttr n e ii ve though monotonous appearance throughout. Arriving, how- 
ever, on the 18ini at the Munenun, or Murehison mountains, groves of 
Palmyra, or cabbage palm, announced the presence of the town of Nak, 
and beyond wu the town of Zhiru on one bank, and Bomonda, up a creek, 
on the other. The capital of the district, Hamarrua, was also seen from 
tke topmast, apparently twdve or fifteen miles awa^ in the oountry. 
Several oolnmno of smoce intervening between the Man hills and the 
river, idso pointed out the sites of other towns» and gave the kwality 
qmte a populous aspect, to which was to be added tiie agreeidile project 
of an immense tract of apparently cleared land, with undulating niil and 
vale, extending many miles into tne interior. 

On the 21st a messenger came on board from Muhammad Sultan of 
HaaMgfua » to wefeome the expedition, and the next day a mission was 
despatdied to thank the king, and to formally announce its proximate 
amval, winch was only delayed by the want of fuel. At length, on the 
evening of the 22nd, the Pleiad anchored off the little town dP Gnrowa, 
and on the 24th the mission returned, much fiitirued with their jooraey 
of fourteen miles to and from the capitaL Dr. Saikie, Hutchinson, mi 
a sBudl party then started on a visit to the Sultan. Bart of the way lay 
np acraek to the town of Usu, where the^^ left their boat; the remamder 
of the way ky through a country *' the richest in kiamy soil," Hutdiin- 
0on 81^ ''that he had ever travelled over," whcve adds of iiea and 
Indian com ahemated with herbs and shrubs of the richest bloom and 
kiBMgey and plains, where the grrass erew so luxuriantly, that at times it 
met over their heads when on horseback. Birds of the most gorgeous 
plwmnge lent animation to this scene of v^etative rolendour. Tlie 
pathway, owing to its being the rainy season, was muortunately auiy 
and sloughy. 

The city of Hamarraa was found to be sitimted on the top of a hill, 
the front of which was garnished by loose granite roeks, audit was found 
to be a very extensive ^ace, more so tiian Zhibu ; the houses more sub- 
stantial, gardens attached to each of them, and huge baobab-trees rearing 
Aor lolfy branches in the many spaces that existed throughout. The 
a^peditioB was eondneted through the streets by a single file of javeEn- 
araied awn, and diieetiy after they had been seated m the apartment 
assigned to tiiem for the night, Ae Saltan sent Ins cemplimentB and sak- 
tatms, with tiie expression of his pleasure at their visb to his town. An 

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exteDflve mipifer acoompaoied these ezpretnoni of inendlineM, not a 
little welcome after their journey : 

The mornii]^ of the 25th hroke dark and lowering; and at half-past six 
o^dodc the ram came down in torrents. It continued so nntil near mid-day. 
His majesty sent us up a loxurions breakfast of several African dishes, and a 
large cahtbash of fresh milk, the greatest treat of aU. During our confinement 
to the house, in consequence of the ndn, we had many Tisitors, some wanting 
to sell straw-plaited doyleys, beautifully dyed, spears, swords, brass and copper 
rings. The heavy wet was a great obstacle in the way of my seeing the town as 
I £sired; and, as our time was limited, we had to send many messages to the 
Sultiuv* req|uesting that he would give us audience, as we purposed returning to 
the ship this night. It was considerably after noon when we proceeded to the 
palace. Passing through the streets, we saw many of the softer sex in small 
groups, here ana there, gazing at us— not with looks of impertinent ourioeity, 
but with a simple expression of wonderment, which gave to their faces an 
indescribable charm. If any one will allow beauty to exist amongst African 
wom^ I shall maintain against all comers, that it does exist amongst the 
ladies at Hamarrua. Half Arab and half Negro, their countenances of a bronze 
hue, have a classical outline of such charming features as we are in the habit of 
associating with Greek modeb. And with this there was something of a beam- 
ing expression of kindliness that pleased me very much— a suavity 6f trusting 
gentleness, combined with a slight tint of joyfulness, that brought to my mind 
the beautiful thou^t of L. £. L., of " half smiles, bcurn of no cause but the verj 
buoyancy of inwara ghidness." Dressed in their blue country cloths, and their 
hair ornamented in a very pleasing style, without any attempt at bdleishness, 
they gave me a very superior idea above what I had lutherto considered African 
ladies to be. 

The nassages between the houses are not like the outways we have travelled 
through in other towns. All are dean and wide enough for two or three horse- 
men to ride abreast. An air of genend comfort seems to pervade all around— 
there is no sigjn of filth or of poverty in the town; and the space in front, re- 
markable for its spotless cleanliness, surrounding the Sultanas palace, was of 
several acres in extent. The entrance to it was through a round house, flanked 
on both sides by a bamboo lattice-work of at least twelve feet high, that enclosed 
all his ground — constituting the royal residence. Thence we were conducted 
through a court-yard into another circular house, the floor of whidi was covered 
with a rich Turkey carpet, and three velvet Houssa tobes for us to be seated on. 
This was the audience-chamber. Across the centre of the room was suspended, 
half-way up to the roof, a satm drapery, having jdlow, scarlet, and white lines 
parallel with one another in perpendicular stnpes. Behind this screen, which 
was not transparent, the Sultan Mahommed, Baraki Hamarrua sat — no doubt 
enthroned in Rreat state ; the only indications of existence being his voice, and 
the rustling of silks in which he was enrobed. From the former I would judgje 
him to be a middle-aged man. As soon as we were seated, Dr. Baikie asked if 
we were not to look at the Sultan's face when tidldng to him; and the answer 
"No!" h&Bg given, we were obliged to imagine his reality from the sound of 
his voice and the rustling of his dress. We were then invested with Houssa 
tobes by Saraki Houssa, which were given to us as a present by the Saltan. 
Grave-looking and grey-headed mallams sat around us ; and, as we had a jounej 
of fourteen miles over a not very pleasant road, our conference was not a pro- 
longed one. Dr. Baikie explained to him that the queen had sent him out here 
to ascertain if the river was navigable— to search for Dr. Barth— and to make 
friends for the queen with all the African kings whom he came in contact with. 
He replied that he was very glad to see white men coming to his country — ^that 
he did not hear of the gentleman Dr. Bailde inquired for, except he was the one 
whom he had heard of as being at Sakatu— and that he would like to make 
friends with our queen, by sluing her home two female slaves, if Dr. Baikie 

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would take them ! To this of course it was replied, that oar queen did not ap- 
prove of skTery ; and that the females coold not be taken as slaves even if we 
iiad accommodation for them on board onr ship. 

The Sultan having made a further present of five poisoned javelins^ 
and promised to let them have three horses, and to send down two 
bollocks the next day, the little party took its departure. They had 
so time to explore the city, but Mr. Hutchinson says that he saw enough 
of it to give him a conviction of its superiority over any city they 
had entered up the Niger, Tsadda, or Binue. It must be several miles 
in circumference ; and the houses are so constructed, with relation to 
room, that the inhabitants can live uncontrolled or uninfluenced by the 
observations of their next-door neighbour. The dwellings are formed of 
mud and stone, and are remarkably neat in all their appointments. From 
near the stem of a huge baobab-tree, outside the town-gate, a command- 
ing view may be had of the whole ranee of the Muri mountains, of the 
river gUding down between them, and of the Munemin, or Murchison 
range, on the other side. 

The engineer haring ridden on in company with the Kruhoys, Baikie 
and Hut^inson walk^ down the pathway, expecting the promised horses 
to follow : Dr. Bailde, afier a time, going on ahead, and Hutchinson 
waiting; till, not after much urgency, the latter succeeded in gettu 
a horse to convey him to Usu* Not so Dr. Baikie. He must he allowe 
to relate the adventures tiiat befel him in his own words : 

Having got to the bottom of the hill, and finding the road as before, ver^ wet, 
I pulled on mv shoes and stockings and went barefooted, that being by far the 
easiest mode of progression along a path of this description. In this way I had 
walked alone for from seven to eight miles, when I lost almost all trace of the 
path. Having ascertained by my comjMSS the position of tiie river, I endea- 
voured to woik my way in that direction, but soon got more entangled than 
ever. I climbed up several trees to look around, but could not discover a single 
guiding mark. I was completely in the bosh, the grass and brushwood being 
so long, thick, and close, tnat every step I took was a severe exertion. It was 
now past sunset, and getting rapidly dark, and as it was only too evident tliat I 
had loflt my way without any chance of bettering myself, the next question came 
to be how 1 should pass the night. The most comfortable and the safest spot 
aeemed to he up a tree, so I tried one, and got as high as I could, but did not 
much relish my quarters. All the others near me were too smalL but I recol- 
lected having observed some time before a tall baobab, which I determined 
again to search after. I took a good mark, so that, if unsuccessful in my 
cruise, I still might have something to fall back upon, and starting with a good 
run to dear the grass, was fortunate enough in a few minutes to get a glimpse 
of the wished-for narbour of refuge. Luckjl;^ for me it had a double trunk, with 
a d^tance between of about two feet ; so tying my shoes together, and casting 
than over my shoulder, I placed my back against the one trunk, and my feet 
agunst the other, and so managed to dimb until I got hold of a branch by 
wmch I swung mvself further up, and finaUv got into a spot about twelve or 
fift€«n feet from toe ground. Here I placed, myself on a branch, about a foot in 
diameter, projecting at nearly right angles, and by leaning against the main 
trunk, and stretching out my legs before me, I found I had a tolerably com- 
fortable seat, whence I might peer into the surrounding obscure. The niffht, 
fortunately, was not very cbrk, the stars gleamed overhead, while virid flashes 
of lightni^ over the neighbouring hills enabled me, from time to time, to cast a 
momentaiy glance arouna me. I got on mv shoes and stockings as a protection 
against insects, then passed a piece of cora loosely round the oranch, so that I 
could pass my arm through it and steady myself, and finally made preparations 

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138 Ezpsmnov to the niobr. 

for repose by kkkiitf two pkoet k the boric of ihe tree for my heefe to rait in. 
About ogkt o'dook 1 distmetly beard in the distance the bum of human voioet, 
and ^Qiouted to tiy and attract attention, but to no arail ; bebenng^ boweYer, 
that there were some huts near^ I marked the direction by a large tree. Feeling 
ra&er tired, I lay down on my face along the branch, throwing my ban&erchief 
over mr bead, and passing eadi of my hands into the opposite sleeve, to prevent 
tiliem nom bemff oittcm, I was soon in a state of oblivion. I must have slqpt 
upwards of four noors, when I awoke rather stiff, &om ray constrained pontioB, 
and bad to try a change of attitude. To pass the time I lit a cigar, aad, as I 
had but one, 1 only smoked half of it, carenilly putting back the remainder to 
serve for my breakfast. A dew was now fallmg, crickets and frogs innumerable 
were celebrating nocturnal orgies ; huge mosquitoes, making a noise as loud as 
bees, were assaulting me on all sides, imd some large birds were roosting in the 
tree over my bead. I tried in vain to doze away the hours, but I had nad mr 
usual allowanoe of sleep, and not being a bigoted partisan of the drowsy gocIL 
even when I reaUy required bis aid, he refuMd to attend to my invocati^ I 
w«kdied with most pamful interest the rising and setdngof various oonstella- 
turns, and was at length deligbted with the i^pearance of Venus, showing that 
morning was now not far off. A fresh novelty next presented itself, in the form 
of suiKiry denizens of the forest, crowding to pay honiage to their visitor. Howls 
of various degrees of int^isity continu^y reached mj ears, some resembling 
more the high notes of the hysena with occasional variations, and others, very 
dose to me, being unquestionably in the deep bass of the leopard. I onoe 
fyioied that I saw a fij^nre moving not far from me, but could not be positive. 
As light began to suffuse itself over the eastern sky, my nocturnal oompanions 
gradually retired, until at last I was left alone, yet not solitanr, for that 1 could 
not be, as long as the incessant buzzing in my ears told me tnat mv Lilliputian 
winged antagonists were yet unwearied in their attacks, and still ^unsatiated 
with blood. At length, as mj dawn was being supplanted bv brighter day- 
lidit, I ventured to descend from mv roosting-place, where I bad spent, not 
altcM^etber without comfort, upwards of eleven hours. 

Mv first endeavour was to find a footpath, and, after a little search, I 
stumbled over a little track, which, however, as it led in a wrong direction, I 
had to abandon. A more prolonged investi^tion discovered another, very nar- 
row, and almost hidden by long grass, which, after the heavy rain, was lyins 
right over it. To prevent my a^ain straying, I was obliged to bend forward 
and walk, almost creep, along a idnd of tunnel, pulling up a few stalks and 
letting them Call, as a guide in case I should have to return. Though in my 
elevated quarters the dew had been slight, on the ground it had men very 
heavy, and in a few minutes I was completely drenched. When I emerged at 
the other extremity of this path, which was about half a mile long, and was 
again enabled to look round, I saw a little circling smoke, towards wbieh I im- 
mediately made, and found a few huts. Some Aborigines appeared, and, after 
their surprise had subsided. I managed to explain, by means of a few brdcen 
H6usa words, that I had lost my wav, had spent the night in a tree, and now 
wished to get to Wuzu. They pointed out the way to me ; but, as it was not 
verv evident to mv European senses, I induced one to come with me as a jguide, 
ana we aocordingly trudged along through mud and water, by a route which, to 
any but a thorough-bred native, woidd have been impossible to keep to. After 
walking, or rather wading, in this manner for two or three miles, we fell in wif^ 
my black servant and a couple of men armed to the teeth, going in seardi of me. 

Sickness breaking out among the crew, and fuel becoming very scarce. 
Dr. Baikie rdinqoished the idea of attemptbg to ascend we nver any 
fbrdier than this pcnnt — a disagreeable alternative, be says, as there was 
abundance of water, and the river had not yet ceased to rise. He resolved, 
however, to attempt a short boat voyage, and to effect this the gig was 
rot ready and provisioned, and he started in company with Mr. May, 
five Kruboys, and a Sierra Leone man, who spoke Hausa, as an interpreter. 

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KXFSDinoK TO THi mossu 189 

In ihe vreniDg they arriTed at ibe 6oM» Yillaffe of Lvi, wkef thmr met 
widi ike eostonuury kind and hotpitaUe receotum, naturally oonmuE^lttd 
widi a good deal of eonofity and some little mistrast Tke next aay» 
MMOOg iriiat ^Mj deogaated as ""Pleiad Island," and the village of 
BttDdawa, they met some hunting parties, more islands, and a bmi of 
h^ypopoiami, and towards evening they came to some hnts, and bttng 
^Kctednp a eieek, throng which they had to posh their way amid loiig 
giMS and reeds, and pass nnder overliangiDg branches, they ultimately 
anired ai Djin, or Gm, "^an eztensiTe town with a dease populatioB*" 

llie nest day, leaving D^ with herds of lidirt-eokMired cattle^ with 
hnmpa on tfieir withers, medmg in the pastures, wey passed Abiti, a small 
Tillage, with, as usual, a fidiing-statioD, and entering a oteek arrived at a 
village, which was at that time flooded. The people of Dulti, as the 
inmids^ed village was called, were even more boatile than those of I>jiB, 
and when thor rudeness oUiged the small party to withdraw, they pm> 
sued them down the creek till they got back into the tivar. Such a re- 
ception seems to have cooled the ardour of our ez{toers ; the wind, also, 
was not favourable; add to which, their minds i^ppear to have been made 
up beCordiaDd; snd now, when within only fifty or sixty miles from the 
junction of the great nver Faro, or Faro^ they turned their boat's head 
down the river. This was en the 29th of September, the river still rising, 
and the water pouring over the acljaoent country, which was bound oa 
both sides by mountaaa ranms. 

In the mean time, the Pleiad, having fired two guns on the 28th, also 
incontinently commenced her descent, iatd continued, apparenthr regard* 
less of the boat-party, navigating its downward course for four^ days, 
till it was brought up by going broadside on to the top of a small island, 
some twenty n^s above Zhibu, and where those on board remiuned with 
hippopotami snuffing and snorting around them every night, till they were 
luckily overtaken I7 the boat-party on the 1st of Octdl>er. It was not 
iS\ the drd that the Pletad was completely free to continue her journey, 
asid iSbe same evening reached Zhibu, tlie whole country being under 
water to within one hundred and twenty yards of the city walls. An at- 
tempt was made while at this place to make an exploratory excursion to 
Wukari, the capital of the Kororofift oountry, but it was defeated by 
the cupidity c£ the king, or chie^ and his unwillingness to supply 
the party with horses. Another attempt was made to reach the same 
town ficom Anyashi, where they arrived on their descent on the 10th of 
September; but this was also frustrated, as it was found that the water 
was falling, and a week's delay might have been dangerous to the safety 
of the ei^dition. The hope of being at Fernando Po in three weeks or 
a fortnight's time, the anticipation of letters and papers from friends at 
home, and the gratification of returning with ummpaired health, eviden^ 
occupied the thoughts of our travdlers mote, when once tibe steamer^i 
bows had been fiuriy turned down the river, than exploration of towns or 
intereourse with Etteopian diieftains. 

The results of this first attempt at a navigation of the Binue are, 
however, taken altogether, of a satis&ctory character. The ascent appears 
to have been effected at the time of Booi, and it is, therefore, difficult to 
say how far the river is navigable to steam-boats throughout the year. 
Still it must ever remain a more or less available highway into the very 
heart of a large continent, and by means of its branches and ramifications 

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contact can be obtained witb many thousand miles of country. The 
regions watered by the Binue and its tributaries have, as far as explored, 
been found to be Whly favoured by nature, teeming with animal life, and 
with fertile soils, abounding in valuable vegetable products, and adapted 
by diversity of position, of elevation, and of character, for all the varied 
purposes of tropical agriculture. Numerous tribes were met with on 
mendly terms, all endowed by nature with what has been termed the 
^'commercial faculty," ready and anxious to trade and to supply inmiense 
quantities of highly-prized articles most valuable for various economical 
appliances. A most important outlet is thus indicated for home manu- 
&ctures, as the unclad millions of Central Alrica must absorb thousands 
of cargoes of soft goods, eageriy bartering their raw cotton, their vege- 
table oils, and their ivory for our calicoes and cloths. Mr. Hutchinson is 
of opinion that if government does not step in to put an end to the law- 
lessness of the Filatahs, all idea of a successful trade with the Niger, 
Tsadda, and Binue countries may be given up. This, however, we can 
scarcely imagine to be the case. The thirteen different states now enu- 
merated on the Niger and Binue have, to a certain extent, an independent 
existence, and although exposed to the marauding and slave-catching 
expeditions of the Filatahs, they do not appear to have succumbed to 
their rule. Powerful as the pulo-Sultan of Sokoto and Kano may be, it 
is reasonable to suppose that the dwellers on the banks of one of the 
greatest rivers of Central AMca enjoy superior advantages to the inha- 
bitants of central oases, and possess in reality greater resources, wealth, 
and power. The size and character of their towns would appear to in- 
dicate this. By being brought into contact with European commerce 
and civilisation, these would oe further increased and developed. The 
products of the interior would inevitably pour down to the marts on the 
Binne, and Hamarrua, Zhibu, Ojogo, Igbegbe, and other ports would 
become more populous and more flourishing than ever, and would soon 
be able to demise mere marauding expeditions. 

Mr. Hutchinson would also like to see France and England united in 
a mutual plan for the civilisation of Africa. He thinks that there is 
ample scope in the countries on the banks of the Niger, Tsadda, and 
Binue, for a company formed by die asnmilation of members of the 
CrSdit MobiUer Society in Paris, with a company of British ci^talists. 
No doubt it is so, and we should like to see such a happy alliance in 
so good a cause ; but we do not think that there is much more to do, if 
done in a proper and peaceful spirit, on diose rivers than can be very well 
accomplished by British enterprise. We are more inclined to side with 
Dr. Bailde's view of the case. England has always taken the lead in 
African exploration; hers has been the expense^ hers many of the valu- 
able lives lost in its prosecution. Be it England's future, then, to follow 
up the good work, commenced so long ago, and consecrated by the blood 
of Munffo Park, of Martyn, Lune, Clapperton, Richardson, and many 
other other sons, as well as by the Uves of Homemann, Belzoni, Overweg, 
and other enthusiasts travelling on her behalf. Let her not leave other 
nations to finish what she has begun, but pursue her labour of love, and 
aim at the acquisition and retention of the glorious titie of the Friend of 

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^ Thje period we have now reached is fraught with shame and 
dishonour to our infatuated hero. Willing^ would we pass it 
by, — ^willingly would we cast a veil over his errors. But it must 
not be; it is necessary to show to what depths of d^radation a 
victim to the ruinous passion of play may be reduced. 

Hitherto, the proud name Grage received from his ancestors has 
been untarnished. Follies and excesses innumerable, and almost 
unparalleled, have marked his career ; but he has done no act un* 
becoming a gentleman. His word has been ever sacred; his 
honour without stain. But of what value are a gamester's oaths ? 
Of what accoimt are his professions of amendment ? Is he to be 
moved &om his fatal purpose by the tears and anguish of those who 
love him and are dependent upon him ? Can their clinging arms 
withhold him from the accursed tables where ruin awaits him ? 
The drunkard may become temperate — the rake may reform — but 
the gamester, never I 

So was it with Grage. Notwithstanding the services rendered 
him by the noble-hearted girl who had stepped between him and 
destruction ; though at her earnest solicitation he had abjured cards 
and dice ; though be knew that the violation of his oath would in- 
flict the keenest wound upon her, to whom he was so deeply in- 
debted ; though he felt all the infamy of his conduct, and feared, 
and justly feared, that henceforth his name would be a by-word of 
scorn — with all this before him, little more than a week had 
elapsed after the occurrences described in the foregoing chaper, his 
promises to Clare were forgotten, his oath broken, and ne was 
once more seated at the gaming-table, surrounded by the &Ise 
fiiends and profligate companions who had despoiled him of his 
fortune, and basely desertea him in his hour of need. 

By what agency this was accomplished we shall proceed to 

Freed firom all liabilities and embarrassments by the discharge of 
his debts — for Fairlie, it must be mentioned^ had strictly fulfilled 

* {^ Tk€ Author of this Tale reserves the right of translation. 
VOL. XL. I* 

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his promise to his daughter, and paid the whole of Grage's creditors 
— the young man had now an opportunity of commencing a new 
and wholly difierent career. But the reckless life he had led had 
completely unfitted him for active pursuits. He had never pos- 
sessed any habits of business, and he had now become so enervated 
from pleasurable indulgence and dissipation, ihat he shrank with 
alarm and disgust from the very idea of laborious employment 
No profession l>ut the army seemed to suit him ; but how could 
he enter the service in his present miserable plight ? What sort 
of figure should he cut without ample pecimiary resources ? — and 
he had none ! His pockets were emj)ty; his credit gone; and 
he could not devise any scheme by which money could be raised 
No one would make him advances ; and he had no security to 
offer for a loan. Possibly, the difficulties he experienced in this 
respect might have been removed by the instrumentality of Clare, 
who scarcely would have left her jgood work unfinuhed; bvt 
she was unable to assist him. Ever smce her efforts in his behalf 
and the trying scene she had previously undergone with her 
fiither, she had been utterly prostrated, and incapable of mental or 
bodily exertion. Thus 6a^ was deprived of his only chance of 
succour, for pride prevented him firom seeking assistance from Sir 
Hu^h Poynmgs^ 

As yet he continued an inmate of the mansion in Dover-stree^ 
having received permission from Fairlie to remain there for a few 
days. But o( necessity this state of things could not endme. 
Something must be done. Money must be had — ^but how? He 
sat in his own chamber from morning to ni^ht, racking his brain 
in search of expedients ; but none occurred to him, except that 
which was interdicted. 

As to the five himdred pounds given him by Mrs. Jenyns, to be 
employed at the gamin|g-table, he had returned it with a hUex 
explaining the impossibmty of compliance with her wishes. To 
this letter the actress did not deign to reply, Mid from that timc^ 
for nearly a week, he saw nothing of her — and heard nothing. 

Confinement to the house became at len^h so insuppcxrtably irk- 
some — for very shame at his total want of money prevented Gage 
from viating his customary haunts, or even stirring forth at aU--- 
that he musta^ coura^ to write to FairHe, entreating the loan of 
a few hundreds ; but with very slender hopes, it must be owned, of 
a favourable re^nee to the application. Fairlie's rejoinder iM 
as follows: ^Tou shall have the sum you require, if you will 
engage to leave the country at once ; but on no oilieat condition. 
Let me have jooi deciaon to-morrow morning.'' 

While Ga^e was pondering over this proposition, feeling moie 
than half inckned to accept it,lie received an unexpected vkit from 
Mrs. Jenyns. 

"Ah! Peg,** he said, rising to greet her, "I am very glad you 

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aie ooine. I might not o^rwiae have seen you again. I am about 
to leave Ei^land for erer." 

" Leave &iglaiid ! — of your own free will ?" she inquired. 

<* I hare no great choice in the matter, certainly." 

« I thought not. Then why go ? Why abandon society which 
you have found so agreeable? Nobody used to have such ke^ 
relish for town Kfe as you ! I have heard you declare a hundred 
times that nowhere else could you find so much amusement as in 
London, and you had tried every capital in Europe. ^ GKve me 
London,' you said, * with its charming theatres, its nocturnal reveb, 
its gay and exciting masquerades, its operas, its ridottos, its cofiee* 
houses, its gaming-houses!' Yes, once upon a time there was 
nothing like a n^t at the groom-porters in your estimation, 

"Those times are gone by," the young man replied, sigh- 
ing. " My purse is ^inpty <md must be repleni^ed. I have no 
means of hving h^e. r airlie wishes me to go abroad." 

** He wants to get rid of you. Were I you, I would stay and 
plague him " 

^I should plague myself much more by so doing," Gage 
rejoined. ^ How am I to participate in the amusements you have 
mentioned? My tastes are unchanged, but I am wholly unable 
to gratify them. The theatres and masquerades are just as at- 
tractive to me as ever, but I am obliged to shun them. I cannot 
enter a cofiee-house because I dare not call for a bottle of wine, 
not having wherewithal to pay for it. I, who once gave the 
most magnificent entertainments in town ; who have spent hun- 
dreds— ay, thousands — in every cofiee-house in Saint James's and 
Covent Garden ; who have given gold by the handful to any 
woman who pleased my fancy for the moment ; who have rioted 
in pleasures like an Eastern monarch; who have bought enjoy- 
ment at any price ; who have laughed at my losses at play, 
though those losses were ruinous ; — ^I who three months ago was 
master of this mansion and all in it, who could call twenty miles 
of one of the finest counties in England my own — ^I am reduced 
to this horrible extremity. Of all the wealth I have squandered, 
not even a guinea is left, and I am obli^ to hide my head 
because I cannot brook the world's scorn. No ! no ! I must per- 
foree accept Faitlie's o£fer. I shall go abroad, and enter some 
foreign service. You will hear of me no more— or if you do, it 
wiU be that I have/allen on some battle-field." 

" This is mere folly, (Jage. Take a rational view of your 
ntuation. You have run through your fortune as many a man 
has done before yo«. That is not surprising, considering your 
character* Yon are without resooroes, and grasp at the first 
otkt of assistance, wi^ut reflecting tMjr it is made. Beware 
how you lake another teise step ! I)o you not detect Fairiie's 

1. f 

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motiye in wishing you to quit the country? Do you not com* 
prehend that your presence is troublesome to him, and that he 
would fain remove you altogether? But do not accede to his 
treacherous proposal. Stay where you are. Place yourself under 
my guidwice, and I will engage to repair your fortunes. I have 
a hdd upon Fairlie, which he would gladly shake off. but which 
your presence renders secure. I cannot expilain myself more fully 
now. but you may rest assured I am not talking idly. As a means 
to the end I have in view, your exhausted coffers must be re- 
plenished, and this can only l>e done in one way. Tou understand 

"Too well," he replied, avoiding her dangerous rejgards. "I 
understand you too well, Peg. But you tempt me in vain. I 
cannot — dare not play. You know that I have vowed never to 
touch cards and dice a^n." 

"And what of thatr she, cried contemptuously. "Will you 
allow a rash vow, uttered at a moment when your judgment was 
blinded, to control you? Clare Fairlie had no right to extort the 
oath. Her claims upon your gratitude are ridiculous, and ought 
not to weigh with you. She compelled her lather to do a bare 
act of Justice — that is all. But even admitting — which I do not^— 
that she acted generously, and that her generosity bound you to 
her, no oath extorted by her can liberate you from your previous 
promise to me. I confided a certain sum toyou to be emjployed 
mplay — half your winnings to be mine. Was it not sor Did 
you not give me your word to this effect?" 

" I did— I did — but I could not foresee how I should be circum- 
stanced with Clare. Release me from the promise, I entreat of 

" Never ! I require its fulfilment this very day. Here are the 
five hundred pounds I entrusted to you. use them as I have 

"For Clare's sake I implore you not to urge me thus." 

" What is Clare to me — and why should she step between me 
and my designs? I am resolved you shall play. Settle your 
accounts anon with her. Mine must be disposed of first." 

" Oh, if I could but repay Fairlie the sums he has disbursed on 
my account, I might feel exonerated from all obligation ! " 

" Why are you so scrupulous ? I tell you Fairlie is a cheat 
—a knave, who has robbea you all along ; but if it will ease your 
mind, repay him with your winnings at play what he has paid 
your creditors." 

"An excellent notion!" Gage exclaimed, eagerly grasping at 
the suggestion. " Yes, it shall be asvou recommend." 

" I recommend no such folly. Were I in your place, Fairlie 
should never have another fitrthmg from me ; nor would I rest till 
I had made him disgorge the bi3k of his plunder. But of this 
hereafter. You must begin by obtaining frinds." 

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**Tou seem to make sure I shall win. Recollect how unlucky 
I have hitherto been." 

*^ You will win now. I am quite sure of it. Come and sup with 
me to-ni^ht at mj lodgings in the Hajmarket, and we will go 
afterwards to the Gxoom-f orter^s, where you can play as deeply as 
you please. Sir Randal and Mr. Freke are sure to be there.'' 

**I won't play with them P Gage exclaimed. 

*^Not play with them! Nonsense! Why, the best revenge 
you can enjoy will be to beat them at their own weapons, and win 
back the money vou have lost. And you shall do it. I promise 
you a run of Iuck such as you never had before." 

"You are very confident, Peg, but it is well to engage with 
a good heart in a trial which, come what will, shall be my last" 

** Make no more resolutions against nlay, for vou are sure to 
break them," Mrs. Jenyns cried, with a laugh. "And now take 
the money. At eight o'clock I shall expect you." 

And sne hastily quitted the room, leaving Gage like one in a 

A long struggle took place in his breast, which ended, as might 
have been foreseen, in his Evil Genius obtaining the mastery. 



Eyening had arrived. A sedan-chair was standing in the hall 
to convey Gaffe to the Haymarket, and he was about to step^ into 
it, when Lettice Rougham entered by the open door. Perceiving 
Monthermer. she ran towards him and gave him a note, eamesdy 
entreating him to read it before he went forth. 

"Is it from your mistress?" he inquired. 

Lettice rephed in the aflSnnative, adding: "Alas! sir, she is 
very ill ; but she made an effort to write tnese few lines to you, 
hoping they might not be without effect. Do read the^ letter, I 
beseecm you, sir, and then perhaps you won't go. It will br^ 
her heart if you do— indeed it willl" she cned, bursting into 

" Why, where do you suppose I am going?" Ghige exclaimed, 
looking at her in surprise. " What is the meaning of these 
♦ears?" . 

** They aren't shed for you, sir, I promise you," Lettice rejoined, 
rather sharply. " You don't deserve that any one should grieve 
on your account — ^much less such a sweet, tender-hearted creature 
as my mistress. Oh dear! oh dear! what will happen to her if 
you go?" 

" A truce to this nonsense, Lettice ! What silly notions have you 
got into your head ?" 

" They're not silly notions, but plain truth. Just step this way 
a moment, dr, tiiat I may speak to you in private." And as soon 

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88 they were out of hearing of the chairmen and 8erTant% she add, 
lowenng her voice, ^^ Tou^re bound on a wicked errand, and will 
oepent it all the rest of your life. Don't attempt to deceive me, for 
jou can't do it. I know perfisctljr well where you are gcung to sup, 
and with whom — and what you mean to do afterwards — and so 
does my dear mistress." 

For a moment Grage was speechless, and, thinking she had ob> 
tained an advantage over him, Lettice determined to follow it up. 

^^ I am glad you have some sense of shame left," she continued^ 
" and I begin to have hopes of you. You may wonder how I 
know all about your proceedings, so I had better tell you. 
I was coming to your room this morning with a message, which 
it is too late to deliver now — but it was something very kind 
and con^derate — something greatly to your benefit — on toe part 
of my dear mistress — when I found the door ajar, and hearing a 
female voice, which I at once recognised, I stopped to list^u It 
was wrong in me to do so, perhaps — but I couldn't help it. I 
heard what passed between you and that bad, deceitful woman. I 
knew what she was trpng to bring you to from the first word 
I heard her utter, and I shuddered when you didn't at once, like 
a man of honour, reject her base — her abominable proposals." 

" Lettice, how dare you use such language to me ?" 

" I can't help my feehngs, sir— and they make me speak out. You 
were to blame to listen to that woman at all, but much more so to 
consent to what she asked of you. You little thought what had 
biou^t me to your room." 

^ Why, what did bring you there, liettice ?" 

^ I can't tell you now. My mistress has forbiddoi me. ^ He 
must never know what I meant to do for him, or he may put a 
wrong construction on my motive,' she said, as I went back to her 
wi£h a sorrowful heart, and related what had happened. ^ I will 
take no further interest in him,' she added; ^1^ is unworthy 
of regard.* ^ Indeed, miss, I can't help agreeing with you,' I re- 
plied ; and I won't attempt to conceal from you, sir, that such were, 
and still are, my sentiments. Poor soul, she cried for a long time 
as if her heart would break, and though I did my best to comfort 
her, I couldn't succeed. After a while sne grew more composed, and 
remained quiet till evening drew on, wlien she asked for pen and 
pqper, and I propped her up in bed while she wrote this tetter to 
you. Slowly — very slowly did she write it, and with great diffi- 
culty. Oh, if you could have seen her ans^c count^ianoe, her 
dank:, drooping hair hanging over her shoulders, and her thin, thin 
fingers ! it was a sight to melt a heart of stone — and I tfamk it 
would have mdted yours. When she had done, die sealed the 
letter, and bade me take it to you. ^Tell him it is the last 
time I will ever trouble him,' she said; ^but implore him to 
attend to my request.' And now, sir, having said my say, I will 
withdraw while you read the letter." . 

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^Tkore 18 BO oocwoBL to do «o, Lettkse,'' Gage r^IM, pnltiog 
«&de the oote; ^^I caBaotiead it now/' 

^^Not readit! Tou cannot be so caroel I I wonH 'bdiieve in indi 
black ingiatitude." 

^ I cannot stay. I am behind my tisie. I wiU wiite to your 
jMBtran io-moirow mornings If you leally bare the regud you 
moSsBB for ber, yoE oi^ht not to ba^e disclosed what yon acci- 
dentallT oiF«ihefl^ this moniing, as you must have been aware it 
was caicokted to give her needless pain. But the best way to 
jrapoir yoBT error is to ke^ sUeaoe now. Ton mustn't betray me, 
Lettice. I rely on your discretion.'' 

" Don't rely on me, six^-^lon't do it I wc«*t hide anything 
iiOBk my mistcBSS*^ 

** Wdl, as yon please. But if any ill arises from your impm- 
-deace, the blame will rest widi you.^ 

This was too much for poor Lettice. She was quite bewildered. 

^^ Oh, do be persuaded to open the letter before you g^, sb !" she 

led, maku^ a last effort to detain him. ^^ Open it^ and I'm 

certain you won't persist in your wicked purpose." 

Gage made no reply, but, breaking from her, hurried to the 
aedan-chair, and ordered the bearers to proceed with all possible 
despatch to the Haymai^^t 

Lettice did not taxry to listen to the jests of the footmen, or 
satisfy their curiosity as to the motive of her visit, but betook her- 
self SEuUy, and with slow footsteps, to Jermyn-street, unoert^ what 
course she ought to pursue in reference to her mistress, and almost 
inclined to thmk it might be best to follow Ga^'s recommendation 
and keep s3enoe as to his delinquencies. As me was crossing Pic- 
cadilly she met Arthur Poynings and his sister returning fi*om an 
evening walk in Hyde Park, and perceiving her distress, Lucy 
anxiously inquired the cause of it. Seeing no reason for disguise, 
Lettice told her all that occurred, and both sister and brother— but 
-eKpedtHlj the £mner — were greatly troubled by the recital. Arthur, 
inaeed, was roused to positive fiiry against Ga^; though, for 
Lucy's sake, he repressed his indignation. Advising his sister to 
pasa some hours with Clare, and, if need be, to remain with her 
during the night, and recommending both her and Lettice to ob- 
serve the utmost caution in what they said to her respecting Gage, 
he accompanied them to the door of Mrs. Lacy's house in Jermyn- 
atieet, where it wiU be recollected that poor Clare had aought 
xefiige, and then left thein^ promising to call at a later hour. Lucy 
was not widiout misgiving as to his intentions, but she thought 
diere was little chance of his meeting with Gage that night, and on 
the morrow he might be calmer. 

She was wrong. Arthur had resolved that tiie morrow dioukl 
not dawn before he had seen Gage, and vented his an^r upon 

And now to return to Gage. While he was borne npidly along 

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towards the Hajrmarket, he took out Glare's letter^ and broke the 
seal. There was still light enough to enable him to distinguish its 
characters^ and he read as follows: 

^^I have been told that a confirmed gamester can never be re- 
claimed. I did not believe it^ for I entertained a better opinion 
of our nature, than to suppose that any passion could be so over- 
whelming and irresistible as to subvert every good resolution and 
principle and obliterate all sense of honour. I now Deceive m^ 
error. I find one, on whose plighted word I had implicitly relie 
again ensnared by the toils from which I trusted he was delive 
— ^his oath broken — ^himself dishonoured. 

^^But be warned, Grage — be warned while there is yet time! 
Turn back from the very door of the Temptress! Repulse her 
when she would entice you in ! Shut your ears to her soft per* 
suasions and falsehoods. Burst the chains she has cast around you. 
Fly from her ! If 3rou enter you are lost — irretrievably lost ! 

1 had indulged in dreams of your future happiness— dreams^ 
alas! from which I have been rudely awakened. I pictured 
you, as you might have become, aflter a time, by efforts properly 
directed, prosperous and distinguished. I saw you restored to your 
former position, and blessed wim the hand and affections of a bdng 
in every respect worthy of you. And thoi^h I knew that long 
ere that fortunate period could arrive, I shouM be gone, I did not 
repine. Now, all those hopes are annihilated. 

" Fain would I release jou from your vow ! It rests not with 
me to absolve you from it But I can pity you — ^I can forgive 
you from my heart — ^I can pray for you, — and this I will do to 
the last! Farewell! 


This touching letter moved (rage profoundly, and he almost felt 
inclined to obey the admonition, and turn back at once. But he had 
not force enough to shake off his thraldom. His good genius had 
deserted him, and, arrived at the door of the Temptress, he went in. 



Mb8. Jenyns professed the greatest delight at seeing him. She 
was exquisitelv attired, and never looked more attractive. Brioe 
Bunbury, Jack Brassey, and Nat Mist had been invited to meet 
him ; and however disposed Gage had been to resent their late 
conduct towards him, he could not hold out against their present 
demonstrations of regard, but shook hands heartily with all three. 

^^ I must be^ you to accept my apologies for what occurred at 
White's the otoer day, Monthermer," Brice said. " We all be- 
haved very unhandsomely to you — ^but we are devilish sorry for it" 

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" Say no more, Brice/' Grage replied. ** I have no sort of 
quairel with you; but I am deeply omnded with Sir Randal." 

<^ I shall not attempt to palliate his conduct/' Brice replied, 
^^ for it was indefensible; but he owns himself completely in the 
wTongj and is anxious to atone for his folly. Whenever you meet 
him, he intends to apologise — and &• does Mr. Freke. Ah ! how 
delighted we all were to learn that old Fairlie paid your debts. 
But why have you kept away from us ever since? We have 
looked in vain for you on the Mall, and at the coffee-houses." 

Supper being announced at this moment. Gage was saved from 
the necessity of reply. Mrs. Jenyns led the way to an adjoining 
room where a repast was served, of which Lonot himself might 
have been proud. Every dish was a delicacy. Delicious wines 
went round in flowing bumpers, and the spirits of the company 
T06e as the ffoblets were drained. Mrs. Jenyns had no desire to 
<^eck the hilarity of her quests, but she took care that Gbige 
should not drink too much for her purpose. So while she allowed 
Srice Bnnbuiy and the others to quaff as much champagne and 
buigimdy as they choee, she wisely restricted him to claret. 

As may be supposed, with the business thev had In hand, the 
party did not sit long nmr supper — ^not half so long as Brice would 
have desired — ^but adjourned to Spring Grardens. Before starting^ 
1/bs. Jenyns took Gage adde, and reiteratm^ her advice to him to 
play with extreme caution, and to double his stakes if he won, she 
gave him a pair of dice, telling him they were the luckiest she had 
ever used, and she wished him, therefore, to play with them on the 
present occasion. 

Arrived at the Groom-Porter's, they went up-stairs and entered 
the room where hazard was always played. The large round table 
was crowded; but, on seeing our hero, a gentleman hastily with- 
drew, and Gage took his place. Our hero's appearance caused 
significant glances to be exchanged between Beau Freke and Sir 
Randal, but they both courteously saluted him. When it came 
to his turn to play. Gaffe put down a hundred pounds, and took 
out the "lucky dice" given him by Mrs. Jenyns. 

" Seven's the main,'" Sir Randal cried. 

^^ A nick ! " (jage exclaimed, and swept all the money, amount- 
ing to some hundreds, off the board. 

" Did I not tell you you would win ?" whispered Mrs. Jenyns, 
who stood bdiind him. "Go on! Stake all you have won. 
Good luck will attend you." 

And so it proved. In less than an hour he was master of upwards 
of five thousand pounds. Feeling he was in a run of luck, he 
went on, constantly doubling his stakes ; and neither Sir Randal 
nor Beau Freke seemed disposed to bdk him. At first they 
had intended he should win a small amount — feeling certain 
they could get back their money whenever they pleased — but 
they were out in their calculations. The dice fell precisely as Gage 

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would liaise liad them fall, and aa if a wisard had diaken tke box. 
Vexed as well as surpriaed at Gage's uxunteinipted run of kok, and 
determined to oheok it. Sir Randal pot down a thousand pounds, 
and his example was followed by Beau Freke. Mrs. Jenyns 
slightly touched Gage's arm. He was trembling with exdtenent, 
but the pressure calmed him at onoe. Agun he nicked the main, 
aaad swept all fix>m the table. His adTersaries stared at each other. 
They could not understand it, but felt piqued to proceed. Four 
thousand pounds are {daced on the table, and change hands ia 
a twinkling. Double again— dice-boxes rattle, and Qage is a 
winner of 8000Z. His e^ralting and defiant looks goad his ad^f«r- 
saries to continue their play. The stakes have now become 
serious, and all eyes are fixed on Gbge as he shakes the box. 
Loud are his shouts of triumph — deep me curses of his opponents. 
Will they have their revenge ? Dare they go on ? They answer 
by doubling the stakes. It is an awiul moment — and Gage grows 
{Mile and drops pearl upon his brow. But he rattles the box boldly, 
and casts die dice with decision. Huzza! 'tis a famous lluow. Bat 
it is the last His antagonists have had enough. They will play 
-no more that night; and Gage rises a winner of nearly ZSfiOOL 

He is wellHui^h &enzied with ddight — he laughs extravBgantly, 
and diouts as it iuebriated. Such exhibitions are too firaquent m 
that place to attract much attrition, and few notice lus frantic goob 
aad gestures. His crnKments bear their defeat better than mi^ht be 
expected — better, indeed, than they would bear it, if they did not 
persuade themselves they ^ould soon triumph in their turn. They 
therefore shake hands cordially with the winner, and telling hia 
be is bound to give them their revenge on another occadon, which 
he readily consents to, they take ,their departure with an air of 
Apparent unconcern. During all this time, Mrs. Jenyns has kq[»t 
careful watch over Gage's winnings, and, in <»rder that there may 
be no misunderstanding between them aherwards, she has divided 
the amount into two heaps ; and when Grage comes back to ilbe 
table she shows him what Ae has done, and a|[^ro|>riatin^ her 
own share of the spoil, leaves the rest to him. He is quite satisfied, 
and proceeds to secure the rolls of buik-notes and the gold allotted 
to him. This done, and the ^^ lucky dice" returned at her request 
to their owner, a coach is called, and Mrs. Jenyns, with a profusion 
of tender adieox to Gi^e, steps into it and drives off. 

Grage remained standing for a moment at the door of the gaming 
house, indulging in the rapturous emotions occasioned by his 
soooess. People were g(»ng out and coming in, but he took no 
notice of them. At last, however, he remariced a tall personage at 
a short distance fiK)m him. who, so far as the individual oouKl be 
distinguished, was ai^>arently watching him. Our hero had too much 
wj about him at the moment to run any needless risk, and he 
about to move o£^ wh^i the man in qoeadon strode quiddy 

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lowaxdslihn^ttidasliedrewneary Gage pezoeived bythe light of 
the lamp Imng above the portal that it was Arthur PoTxungi. 
Quge voaU have gladly avoided the oieeting^ but escape was im- 
poflBible. Arthur seizea his arm and held him &st 

^ You shall not stir till job, have heard what I have to saj to 
yon,** jofooks Poynii^ ciiea. " You have for ever forfeited the 
flharacter oTa gwitleman and a manof honour^andmust heacefcnlh 
associate only with j^amesters and sharpers. You have been guilty 
e£tfae basest ia^pttitadey and, ohi shame to a Monthermerl have 
broken your plighted word. You have made yourself the tool of 
oneof the worst of her sex, and have eoBsaited to be(x>me a partner 
in her tricks and dishonest praotioes.'' 

^How, sir?** Gf^ crieo. ^Do you dare to insinuate that I 
bttve^ayod fdsely P 

^ 1 ou may have been that in&mous woman's dupe, but that 
you have used loaded dice I am certain," Arthur rejmed. ^^ I 
was present when you entered the room. I made way for you 
fti the table — ^though you did not notioe me — and took up a 
position where I could observe your play. I was struck with 
Mrs. Jenyns's manner, and noted a peculiar look when you first 
threw the dice. As you went on and continued to win, my 
ausfxicaons were confinned, and I only wonder at the blindness oif 
yoor oppcmenia. No doubt they were ddiuded by the bdief thai 
they were playing with a man of honour — a man of honour, I 
mean, in their sense of the term, not mine." 

^^ It is false !" Grage cried. ^ Such deception cannot have been 
{oactised upon me." 

« Have you the dice with which you played ?*' Arthur d^ 

^ I have not — ^I gave them back to her— but I will not rest till 
i have satisfied my doubts. If you have made a fitlse accusation, 
you shall answer for it with your life." 

Arthur laughed disdainfully, and, releasb^ the hold he had 
hitherto maintained of the other's arm, exclaimed in accents o£ 
diiriftin, but with which some pity was mingled, ^^Act as you 

5 lease — ^believe what you please — I care not. lou are bora to be 
uped, and will, therefore, believe that woman's assertions in spite 
of positive proof to the contrary. But you will find out the truth 
ere lon^ — and to your cost. I shall never withdraw the charge 
I have brought against her— nor recal a sm^le expression I have 
used towards yourself. You merit evenr epithet of^ scorn that can 
be heaped up<m you. But think not I will give you satisfaction. 
I crofls sworc^ only with a gentleman, and you have forfeited all 
daim to the title." So saying, he turned on his heel and departed. 
Kot many minutes afWr this, Ghige had made his way to Mrs. 
J^yns^s lodgings, and, without announcing himself, abruptly 
eBtKied her room. She was in the act of countuig her gainfl^ 

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and looked surprised at seeing Gage^ but not in the slightest degree 

" Where are the dice you lent me?" he cried. ** Give them to 
me at once." 

" What ! are you about to pky a^dn?" she said. *^ Be content 
with what you have won alreadj. xour luck may turn,'* 

" Perhaps it may if I play fairly, but I had rather lose than win 
on any other terms." 

^^I don't understand you. Has any one been taxing you with 
unfair play?" 

"Yes; Arthur Poynings was present while I played, and he 
declares the dice were loaded. Let me have them instantly." 

" Here they are," Mrs. Jenyns replied, searching amidst a heap 
of gold, and producing a pair of dice. "Examine them, ana 
judge for yourself." 

Gage took the dice and broke them in pieces on the hearih. 
The cubes were of solid ivory. 

" Are you satisfied now?" Mrs. Jenjms cried. *^ I wish you had 
had more confidence in me and less in Arthur, for in breaking 
those dice you have destroyed your own luck." 

"It matters not," Grage rejoined; "a load has been taken feom 
my breast by finding I nave not been guiltv — ^however uninten- 
tionally — of foul play, and I am equally glad to feel assured that 
Arthur's suspicions of you were without warrant." 

" I am greatly obliged to you and to Mr. Arthur Poynings for 
your good opinion of me," Mrs. Jenyns rejoined. 

" Forgive me. Peg, that I did you Ais great injustice. But 
Arthur's taunts and reproaches stung me to the qmcky and his 
malicious charge against you seemed to have a certam consistenqf 
which I could not disprove, otherwise than as I have done." 

" Tou will bring him to account for his slanderous insolence?" 
Mrs. Jenyns cried. 

" I cannot obtain satisfaction from him, for he refuses to meet 
me. But I must and will set myself right. I have a strange 
scheme in view which I trust to carry out. You shall hear what 
it is to-morrow." 

" Why not teU me now?" 

"No; it would be useless to mention the project till I am certain 
of being able to realise it. But I think it will surprise you." 

" Very likely. I hope you have given up your intention of 
repaying Fairhe?" 

" I am more than ever^resolved upon it. Indeed, that is an essen* 
tial part of my design, as you will find when I disclose it to you." 

" xou are not about to leave me so soon?" 

^^I am a poor companion at this moment, or I would stay* 
Arthur's bitter reproaches rankle in my breast — and do what I win, 
I cannot help thinking of Clare. Her image constantly rises before 
me. Good night !" 

And raising her hand to his lips, he departed. 

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Eablt next morning Gage sought Faixlie; and on seeing him 
the steward immediately demanded whether he meant to go 

^ No/' Grage replied. " I shall remain. You must know that 
I went to the Gxoom-Porter^s last night, Fairlie." 

The steward instantly flew into a towering passion. ^< So you 
have been at the gaming-table, have you? " he cried. " And you 
have the efirontery to confess it — to boast of it? I told my 
daughter you would break your vow. I told her it was madness 
to pay your debts. And I was right." 

** How much have you paid for me, Fairlie ?'* Gage remarked, 
taking a seat, which the stewa^ did not condescend to offer him. 

"How much!'* the steward rejoined, with increasing fury. 
" Several thousands — ^but it was done to oblige my daughter. I 
am Sony now that I yielded to her importunities, and threw away 
the money so foolishly." 

" But the amount ! — ^let me know the precise amount ?" 

" I can't see why you require the information; but I have paid 
exactly 13,0007." 

^* And all my creditors are satisfied ? " 

^^ All of them. Nibbs alone was five thousand. The rest amounted 
to 8000/. — a large sum — a fortune, in fact. But Clare would have 
it 80." 

" You never yet were a loser by me. Fairlie — and you shall not 
be a loser now," Gage rejoined, taking out a thick rouleau of 

"Why, zounds! you won't repay me — ^you can't mean it?" 
Fidrlie stammered, in the utmost surprise. 

^* These notes are yours when I have my creditors' receipts." 

" Here they are,— ^very one of them," Fairlie answered. " How 
came you by such a windfall ? But I needn't ask, since you tell 
me you have been at the Gxoom-Porter^s — ^ha ! ha ! You must 
have had rare luck, sir, to win so large a sum?" 

^ Do not concern yourself about the matter, Fairlie. We are 
now quits." 

" £jitirely so, sir," the steward replied, obsequiously. " But I 
don't know whether I ought to take this money. Clare will never 
forgive me when she hears of it" 

" She will never hear of it from me— so make yourself easy 
on that score. Hark'ee, Fairlie, I have a request to make of 

^^ I am sure, sir, I shall only be too happy to grant it, if in my 
power," the steward replied. 

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" Perhaps 'you may not be so ready to do so when you hear 
what it is. I have a strong desire to pass a week in Monthermer 

^^ Nothing easier, sir. I shall be ddij^ted to see you there." 

^^ Bui I do not wish to go there as guest — but as lord and 

^^ I fear Aat is impossible)" Fairlie replied, witli a bland smile. 
" I am excessively sorry — ^but ^" 

^ I knew you would object. But hear me oat. All I denre is 
to resume for a week die part I once played there. I will give it 
up at ihe end of that time." 

" Well — well, — if that be all, I am wilUng to humour you." 

^ But, more than this, I desire to gr^e a grand entertainment 
to my finends — a princely revd, in short." 

*^ But not at my expense, sir — not at my expense !** 

^^ Certainly not I have three Aousand pounds left, and tins I 
will devote to the entertainment" 

*^A wonderful notion, sir, — quite worthy of you. But you 
are quite sure you hare no secret deogn in it?" 

" My design is simply to give a la^ eutertainment by which I 
may oe remembered. When it is over, be assured I will not 
trouble you further." 

'' I am <|uite satisfied. You ^all have such a revel as never be- 
fore was given in the Castle, or elsewhere in the county. I know 
your sumptuous tastes, sir, and will provide accordingly. Tou 
shall feast like Belshazzar. But I must make one stipulation." 

''Name it" 

" Till midnight you shall be lord of the house. After that hour 
I shall assume the title." 


" Wnat day do you appoint for the entertainment?" 

** To-morrow week." 

" Ere then you may play again, sir, and your good luck may 
desert you. To prevent accidents, you had better pay before- 

<< Gage laughed, and handed him three bank-notes of a thou- 
sand each. " Thcare, now vou are (juite »fev he said. 

** Rely upon it, I will do you justice," Fairlie said. " Mon- 
thermer Ca^e is yours for a week, and if I come there during 
the time it will only be to superintend the preparations for the 

Esnd entertainment. Invite as many guests as you please, 
ve as you have ever been accustomed to live> in riot and 
profusion. Stint nothing. Carriages, horses, servants, plate^ wine 
— I place all at vour disposal till to-morrow week." 

" Jn that week I will live a year I" Gage cried; ** and when it 

is past But, no matter! — I will not think of the future. 

Present enjoyment is what I covet 1 should like to set out tof the 
Castle at once." 

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^^ llie tntveDiDg-eaina^ riiall be ready for yoa in an hour, air, 
wxdi four hozsea,'" Faiihe replied. ^^ Bellain and Chanemooche 
shall go witk you, and I will send down the rest of the honseholct 
in die eourse of the day. If you will favonr me with a Ust of 
such persons as yon denre to ask^ I will send out the invitations 
without dday. You may safely confide all arrangements to me. 
I will gi've the necessary ordeis at once." 

And as he rang the bell for the purpose. Gage left him, and re* 
pairii^ to his own chamber, sat down to write a lett^ to Mrs. Jenyns. 

All was in readiness at the time appointed. Gage started on 
tiie journey in his own superb travelhng-carriage, dashing out of 
town as fast as four horses could carry him, and snch was the 
expedition he used, that, ere evening, he had readied the borders 
of the wide domains he had once called his own. The road led 
him within a short distance of the Beacon Hill, and he could 
not reast the impulse ihast prompted him to survey the familiar 
scene. Accordingly, he ordered ihe postilions to halt, and, de- 
scending, left the servants with the carriage, and mounted the 
hill akme. It was a beautiftd evening, and the view from the 
summit had nev^ looked more enchantmg. All was unchanged 
since he had last beheld it. There were the richly cultivated 
lands, spreading out in every direction — the &naB and the 
humble homesteads, surrounded with haystacks— the woods with 
their colonies of rooks. The reapers had been busy during 
the day garnering their golden produce ; but many of the 
fields were studded with sheaves of com. It was a peaceful as 
well as beautiful scene, and its contemplation seemed calculated 
to soothe a troubkd breast. But it did not soothe Gage. On 
the contrary, it aroused thoughts of singular bitterness. For a 
moment the veil seemed rent from his eyes, and he viewed his 
conduct in its proper light. He regarded himself as a madman. 
To throw away such a property! — how could he have done it ? 
Was the mischief irreparaole ? Was it all gone ? Yes 1 all I all ! 

Hitherto his gaae had avoided the Castle. He now looked 
towards it. Ay, there it was, towering proudly over its clump of 
trees — a magnificent object. Gone from him for ever! The 
thought was madness, and so intolerable did he find it, that, utter- 
ing curses upon his folly, he turned awav and rushed down the hill. 

Arrived at the foot of the eminence ne found himself face to face 
with a man, whom he had not previously observed, but who had 
been watching him. 

"Why, Mark Rougham, is that you?" he exclaimed. 

"Ay, it be me sure enough, your honour," Mark replied; 
" and it be a strange chance that has brought me here this fine 
e'en to see your honour." 

*^ Are you still one of my tenants — ^I mean a tenant to Mr. 
Fairlie?*' Gage inquired. 

** No) no; I be bailiff to Sir Hugh Poynings, at Reedham," 

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Mark replied, ^^ and a very good situation I haye of it ; quite com- 
fortable for mysedf and my family. I have no wish to be a tenant 
to Muster Fairlie, though I can't help sometimes regretting Cow- 
bridge Farm. Indeed it were merely to indulge myself with a 
look at the old place that brought me here now. Excuse my 
freedom in putting a plain question to you^ sb? I ask it fro' t* 
strong interest I feel in you. I heered say you'd lost a mint o' 
money at play," 

" Irs true, Mark," Gage replied. " I have lost, as you say, a 
mint of money — more than I shall ever get back, I fear. ' 

" Hiat's a pity — a great pity," Mark groaned, " But thatfs not 
precisely the question I meant to ask, neither. To may ha' lost a 
great deal, and yet not a' your fortin, I trust it be not so bad 
as that?" 

*« Believe the worst, Mark. I won't deceive you." 

"And it's true, then," Rougham cried, despairingly; "this 
noble estate — the finest i' a' Suffolk — it be a' gone — a* gambled 
away 1 " And covering his face with his hand, he wept aloud. 

At last, Mark shook off his emotion, and said, " I never thought 
to hear this from your father^s son, sir. He died i' m^ arms near tnb 
very spot, and tms may gi' me a right to ask you, m his honoured 
name, what you mean to do?" 

" I cannot tell you now, but you shall know hereafter, Mark. 
Meet me at daybreak to-morrow week, on this spot, and you shall 
learn my final resolution," 

" Here, did you say, sir? Do you mean that I am to meet you 

" As I have just said — on this day week, at daybreak." 

" A strange place of meeting — and a strange hour," Mark ob- 

" The meeting may be stranger," Gbge said, gloomily, 

" I hope it may lead to gocS," Mark said. " You know the 
prophecy relating to your family?" 

" I have heard something about it," Gage replied. "What is it?' 

" The rhymes run thus, if I can bring 'em to mind," Mark re- 

" Hard by the hill whereon the Beacon stands, 
One proad Monthermer shall lose house and lands ; 
On the same spot — ^if but the way be phun— 
Another of the line shall both regain.'' 

" A strange prediction, truly," Gage said, musingly. " ^ If but 
the way beploM — what can that mean ? No use mquiring now. 
— Fail not to meet me, Mark." 

" On Friday, at d^break, if breath be in my body, you may 
count on seeing me," Kougham replied. 

" And whatever breath be in mine, or not, you will find me 
there," Gage rejoined. " And now farewell, Mark." And with- 
out another word, he hurried to the carriage, leaving Rougham to 
ponder over his partmg words. 

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^ The Poetical Works of Ben JooBon"* will not form the least attrao- 
tire Tolume in Mr. Bell's Annotated series — a series which, we observe 
with regret, is significantiy making its issues fewer and farther between 
— the punctual monthly volume on which we might reckon with confi- 
denee, and did reckon with pleasure, having now ceased to appear, and 
with it the promissory note pre6xed or annexed thereto, teaching us what 
new poet to look out for next month. Can such an edition go off in a 
decline for want of support ? with so capital a constitution too, that bade 
£Edr for a long and lusty tale, of years. But oh the pity of it, ye Public, 
but oh the pi^ of it ! 

However, here is '* Bengemen Johnsone," as Henslowe writes die , 
name, and we greet him in the traditional style ascribed to Drummond, 
with a " Welcome, welcome, noble Ben." His minor poems show him off, 
in \na inner and outer life, with remarkable emphasis, variety, and pre- 
cision. Mr. Bell observes that if nothing remained of Jonson but his 
plays, we should arrive at very erroneous and imperfect conclusions upon 
his personal and poetical character. " We could never know him from 
his plays, as we believe we know Shakspeare. The rough vigour, the 
broad satire, and the tendency to exhibit the coarse and base aspects of 
the world in preference to the gentie and noble, conv^ an inadequate, 
and in some respects a false, impression of his genius. It is in his minor 
poems we must look for him as he lived, felt, and thought." For here it 
18, the genial annotator goes on to show, tiiat Jonson*s express qualities 
are fully brought out ; Us dose study of the classics ; his piety, sound 
principles, and profound knowledge of mankind ; his accurate observation 
of social modes and habits ; and that strong common sense, taking the 
most nervous and direct forms of expression, in which we may trace the 
germs of Diyden more clearly than in any other writer. Here too, and 
here alone, we find him surrounded by the accomplished society in the 
midst of which he lived, and of whose principal celebrities he has trans- 
mitted to us a gallery of impenshable portraits. 

*' His pictures of town lite," adds Mr. Bell, '^ of the lowest dens and 
denizens of the metropolis, and of interior morals from the palaoe to the 
hot-house^ are no less conspicuous in his minor poems than in his plays. 
But it is in the poems alone, with the exception of the ' Sad Shepherd,' 
and a few passages in the masques, otherwise overweighted with lead, 
that he develops his fine vein of pastoral feeling. His descriptions of 
country life, and rural scenery and associations, are no less remarkable 
for their truthfulness than their relishing sweetness." The lines on Pens- 
hurst, the seat of the Sidneys, and the epistie to Sir Robert Wroth, are 
referred to as special examples of excellence in this kind of vnriting. 

Indeed, big burly Ben is seen to the best and to the worst advantage,, 
in this collection of epigrams, epitaphs, songs, odes, episUes, and miscel- 
laneous verses. What a charm and grace he was master of, may be seen 
in the songs <<To Coelia;" what refined taste and feeling, in the 

* Edited by Robert Bell. John W. Parker and Son. 1856. 

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'< Epitaph on Elizabeth ;" what illimitable coarseness, in ^' The Famous 
Voyage " down Fleet-ditch ; what bullying bluster, in scores of lampoonish 
epigrams, addressed to contemporaries whom he hated, envied, or de- 

Many of the satirical and manners-painting fragments, i^entifully 
exude those '* humours,'' in the ^' exposition " of which Ben's cnief merit 
as a dramatist has been sometimes said to lie. He even excelled Shftk- 
speare himself says Sir Walter Scott, in drawing that class of truly Eng- 
lish oharacteis, remarkable for peculiarity of humour — that is, for some 
mode of thought, speech, and behaviour, superinduced upon the natural 
disposition, by profession, education, or fantastical affectation of singu- 
larity. ** In blazoning these forth with their natural attributes and ap- 
propriate language, Ben Jonson has never been excelled."* Aubrey, 
when comparing the comedy of Shakspeare with that of his own age, 
predicts that Shakspeare's "comedies will remain wit as long as the 
English language is imderstood, for that he handles mores hominum ; now, 
our present writers," adds old Aubrey, " reflect so much upon particular 
persons and eoxcombeities, that twenty years hence they will not be 
understood." Mr. Knight has applied this remark to Jonson's come- 
dies also, as contradistinguished firom Shakspeare^s, — givine Ben ample 
credit for being, on this account, the far more valuable auwority of the 
two in what essentially belong to periods and classes. " Shakspeare has 
purposely left this field imcultivated ; but it is Jonson's absolute domain." 
Accordingly, Mr. Knight adds, of Jonson, that, studied with care, as be 
must be to be properly appreciated, he presents to us an almost in- 
exhaustible series of Daguerreotypes^ — forms c(»>ied from the life, with 
absolute certain^, of the manners of tibree reims, — ^when there was 
freedom enough for men to abandon themselves without disguise to what 
they called their humourM.\ Waller, in his laudatory address to Ben 
Jonson, has these lines : 

Thou hast akme those various inclinations 
Which Nature fives to ages, sexes, naticms. 
So tiao^ with tnine all-resembling pen. 
That whatever custom has imposed on men. 
Or ill-got habit (which deforms them so, 
That scarce a brother can his brother know), 
Is represented to the wondering eyes 
Of all that see, or read, thy comedies.J 

But the humours which Jonson so studiously renders, being generally 
connected, as Schlegel§ says, with certain arbitrary or conventional 
modes of dress, action, and expression, are intelligible only while diey last, 
and not very interesting at any time ; whereas Shakspeare gives the 
springs of human nature, which are always the same, or sufficiently so to 
be interesting and intelligible. Jonson's imagination fastens instinctively, 
after Hazlitt's description, on some mark or sign by which he designates 
the individual, and never lets it go, for fear of not meeting with any other 
means to express itself by. << A cant phnise, an odd gesture, an old- 

* Scott's Essay on the Drama. 

f C. Knighfs •' Shakspere: A Blagrai*y.*» Book iv. ch. L 

i WaUer, by Bell. p. 203. 

§ Dram. UtsMlare. 

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fjjBhinnfrtl ragimantal uniform, a woodeD kg, a tobacco-box, or a baeked 
sword, are the ttandiog topios by which he embodies his characters to the 
imaginatioii. They are cut and dried comedy ; the letter, not the spirit 
of wit and humoor.''* While Shakspeare overlooks nothing, — paswons, 
Tioes, Tirtues, greatness mingled with weakness, follies conjoined with 
nobis asmrations, Ben Jonson '* n'observe," says M. Chasfes, '^quela 
variety oes caracteres, des caprices, des humeurs, et leur jeu dans le 
monde.^t The same critic characterises the Jonsonian comedy as a col- 
lection of originals, after the manner of La Bruyere — though the touch 
of the sixte^ith-eentury Englishman is, of course, less^/ine and less vive 
than that of the Frenchman of the grand siecle. Plnlar^te Chasles, in 
effect, takes very much Hazlitt's view of Jonson's comic pretensions, — 
and describes tl^ old poet as seizing on his personage, turning him over 
on this side and that, putting the suitable diction into his mouth and the 
appropiiate raiment on his back, and making a study of him until the 
fall of the curtain. " If any of those nobodies whose place in society is 
that of ciphers among figures — if any of those insignificant beings who 
only attraet contempt to be exchanged for oblivion, — ^if one of this class 
ia distinguished by some tic or caprice special, — him Ben Jonson marks 
oat as worthy of a place in his piece."} 

Ben's characters are, in short, '' manufactured." They are what 
Hartley Coleridge§ described them — a compilation of fashions and 
humours, put together with great strength and adroitness, but without 
that ^ Promethean heat" which should fuse and animate these hn)ny 
parts into a perfect living whole. It is Hazlitt's remark, that the titles 
of Jonson's dramatis penofue, such as Sir Amorous La Fool, Truevnty 
Sir John Daw, Sir I\)litic fFould'be, &c. &c., which are significant 
and knowing, show his determination to overdo everything by thus letting 
you into thenr character beforehand, and afterwards proving their preten- 
sions by their names.|| *^ Les noms," to quote M. Chasles again, '< que 
Ben Jcmson impose h ses personnages sont des Etiquettes exactes sous les- 
quelles il les dasse, comme un naturaliste ses malachites et ses silex." 
And M. Chasles cautions translators (Ben Jonson in French, fancy!) to 
retun this characteristic trait, the good taste of which may be question- 
able, but withcN^ which Ben ne reslerait pas lui-meme, Keminding 
them, that an English translator of certain << inferior" French plays, 
wherein are to be met with a M. Jobard, a M. Boissec, a M. Pom- 
madm, &c. ('< names that are become classical in some theatres in France, 

* Hnzlitt's Lectures on the English Comic Writers. 

t Etudes 8ur Shakspeare, j 4. 

X ^ SooYenons-nons que la com^e de Ben Jonson s'attaque aux r^alit^s. II 
ne croit jamais avoir assez caract^rit^ son monde ; rnde et bourgeois comme le 
baron de Feneste et la satire M^pp^, il exprime par un sobriquet le vice du 
personnage qu'il met en so^ne. Ce vieox masque de la bouffonnerie philoso- 
phique est pr^eux poor qui veut connaitre le siecle du po^te." — Thddtre anglais 
avant Skaktpeore. 

! Introduction to his edition of Massinyer. 
Thus, in ^ Tolpone," Pmnegnme saji, ^ Toor name, sir?** 

SirJP, ''My name is Politic Would-be 

iVre^r. <<.... Ah, that speaks him." 
Wfaeeeiipon Ha^tt observes, how H should *' speak him," if it was his reiU name, 
and net a nielmaiBe given him on purpose by the auHMr, is fand to conceive. 
C< On fihakspeare and Ben Jensoo.'O 


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and which'oompoee pretty nearly all the comioue of the pieces to which they 
belong^ woiila,for umilar reasons, be bound to find a burlesque synonym 
for each of these burlesque nicknames. The practice adopted by Shad- 
well and later playwrights, of prefacing their plays with descriptire 
accounts of the characters they are about to bring on the stage, was 
sanctioned by the example of Jonson, who prefixed a minute catalogue of 
thb kind to his ^^ Every Man out of his Humour:" a practice which is 
justly estimated by Archdeacon Hare, when he calls all such lists merely 
clumsy devices for furnishing the reader with what he ought to deduce 
fix>m the works themselves; for it is offensively obtrusive to tell us before- 
hand what judgment we are to form on the persons we read of, since we 
are thus prevented from regarding them as living men, whom we are to 
study, and to compare with our idea of human nature. Instead of which, 
<' we view them as fictions for an express piupose, and compare them 
therewith. We think, not what they are, but how they exemplify the 
proposition which the writer designed to enforce: and wherever the 
author's piupose is prominent, art degenerates into artifice. In logic, 
indeed, the enunciation rightly precedes the proo£ But the workings of 
poetiy are more subtle and complicated and indirect : nor are our feelings 
so readily touched by what a man intends to say or to do or to be, as by 
what he says and does and is without intending it/'* Hence, in the 
Archdeacon's opinion, Ben Jonson's characters are faulty, from within 
outwards, being mosaic constructions, designed to exhibit the enormities 
and extravagances of some peculiar humour, — ^the author's definite pur- 
pose being, to exhibit such .and such qualities, instead of living concrete 
men. Such a plan, prepense, is as unpromising for genial humour, as 
the ** now I will be witty" of the self-constitut^ wit is for the satis&o- 
tory sequel of his performance. 

No wonder, then, that Jonson's characters in general should have so 
much the form of abstractions. They are abstractions, by the sentence 
of Coleridge ; who says with truth that Jonson takes some very prominent 
feature from the whole man, and makes it the basis of the entire cha- 
racter: his dramatis personts are thus almost as fixed as the masks of 
the ancient actors ; you know horn the first scene — sometimes from the 
list of names — exactly what every one of them is to be.f It is not easy 
to concur with John Oldham's eulogy '< Upon the Works of Ben Jonson, 
when it avers— 

Plain humour, shown with her whole various face, 

Noi masked wiih awf antic dress. 
Nor screwed in false ridiculous arimacet 

(The gaping rabble's dull delight. 
And more the actor's than the poet's wit), 

Such did she enter on thy stage, 
And such was represented to the wondering age.§ 

* Guesses at Truth. Second Series. 

t Literary Remains of S. T. Coleridge. 

X Compare this with Hazlitt's verdict on Jonson's humour: ^ There is almost 
a total want of variety, fancy, relief. .... HI0 comedy .... is cross-grained, 
mean, and mechanicaL Squalid poverty, sheer ignorance, barefkced impudence, 
or idiot imbecility, are his dramatic oommon-plaoes—things that provoke pitj or 
disgust, instead of laughter. .... Each of his characters has a particular cue, a 
professional badge which he wears and is known by, and by nothing dse." — 
Hazutt's Comic Writen, Lecture 11. 

§ Bell's edition of John Oldham, p. 66. 

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If aUowed to pot our own sense on some lines of Edmnnd Waller's^ on the 
same sobject, we can subscribe more freely to them — 

But Virtue too, as well as Vice, is clad 
In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had 
Beheld, what his high fancy once embraced, 
Yirtue with colours, speech, and motion graced.* 

Jost so. Abstract Virtue is made to walk the stage, and abstract Vice, 
with such an allowance of concrete flesh and blood as would satisfy Plato. 
At least this is the case with some of Ben's many dramas, where, as in 
•* Cynthia's ReveUi,'' and the " Staple of News," the abstract and the 
all^^rical strut and fret their hour upon the stage, and then, to our 
relief, are seen no more. 

Haying cited what we have from the anthology of poetical criticisms 
on Jonson, that of such a connoisseur in this genre as Charles Churchill 
must not be forgotten : 

Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning trained, 

His rigid judgment Fanc/s flights restrained, 

Gorrectl J pruned each wild luxuriant thought. 

Mailed out her course, nor spared a glorious fault. 

The book of man he read with nicest art. 

And ransacked aU the secrets of the heart; 

Exerted Penetraticm's utmost force. 

And traced each passion to its proper source ; 

Then stronclj marked, in liveliest colours drew, 

And brought each foible forth to public view. . 

The coxcomb felt a lash in every word, 

And fools, hung out, their brothenrfools deterr'd. 

His comic humour kept the world in awe. 

And Laughter frightened Folly more than Law.f 

A high valuation, throughout. About the last point, Ben*8 ^^ comic 
homoiir,'' a good deal is to be, at least has been, said, con, as well 
as pmo. Not every one is tickled by it. Dryden illustrates his ai^« 
ment) that ihe most successful writers for the stage, " have still con- 
formed their genius to the age," by the following example, to begin 

Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show. 
When men were dull, and conversation low. 
Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse : 
Cob*s tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse, &c.| 

Soott recogni8es§fin the comedy of Jonson, some eflPorts partaking of the 
character of the older comedy of the Greeks ; and remarks of his ^| Tale 
of a Tub,'' that he here follows the path of Aristophanes, letting his wit 
run into low buffoonery, that he might bring upon the stage Inigo Jones, 
Ins personal enemy. And when Gifford ''fell foul of* Sir Walter for 
some remarks on uie predominance of the coarse and '^ brutal ** element 
in Jonson, in tiie mat novelist's Life of Dryden, Jonson's sturdy editor 
was thus answered : *^ Few men have more sincere admiration for Jon- 
son's talents than the present writer. But surely that coarseness of taste, 

• Bell's edition of Waller, p. 203. t The Bosciad. 

t Epilogue to the '* Ckmquest of Oranada." 
§ Essay on the Drama. 

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which tainted his powerful mindy is proved from fait writiDgs* Ifhsay 
authors of that age are indeoesty hot JonMm u fihhy and grom in fan 
pleasantry, and indulges himself in using the language of scavengers and 
nightmen."* Hazlitt eharges Jonson in general with having no idea of 
decorum in his dramatic fictioius and, in particulary with representing^ in 
<* The Fox " a parcel of women who are ^' altoge^cr abominable^" who 
^< have an utter want of prineiple and decency, and are equally without a 
sense of pleasure, taste, or elegance/'t Fhilar^te Chaslesf warns the 
ingenuous Frangais, of studious habits and Anglican tendencies, against 
Implying a modem standard of what is correct and conventional, cmtx 
nuances bruiales que Ben Jonson a employees sans scrupule ; against 
forgetting that the nineteenth century has its vices as well as the sixteenth 
— that the outward form of manners undergoes a change from time to 
time — that, in their own and Moliere*s belle JFratice, what was decent in 
Moliere's age is inadmissible to-day. 

Jonson's tragic strength has been characterised by Scott as consisting 
in a sublime, and sometimes harsh, expression of moral sentiment— dis- 
playing, however, little of tumultuous and ardent passion, still less of 
tenderness or delicacy. There is a fair show of reason for Hazlitt's 
opinion, that Jonson's serious produetions are superior to his comic ones, 
on this ground — that what he docs, is the resolt of strong sense and 
painful industry, which agree better with the grave and severe, than with 
the light and gay productions of the muse. He pleases by method, in- 
vents by rule, assails the heart by studiously prepared and regular ap- 
proaches,§ does not take it by storm. His contemporaries were quite 
sensible of the laboured dyracter of his plays ; one of them records 
how Shakspeare*s audiences ** were ravished" at Brutus and Cassius in 
*< half-sword pariey,'' whereas 

they would not brook a line 

Of tedious though well-laboured " Catilinb ;" 

** Sejanus," too, was irksome ; they prized more 

" Honest" lago, or the jealous Moor. 

And though the Fox and subtle Alchymist 

Long intermitted could not ouite be missed. 

Though these have shamed aii th' ancients, and might raise 

Their author's merit with a crown of baja, 

Yet these, sometimes, even at a friend's desire 

Acted, have scarce defrayed the sea-coal fire. 

And doorkeepers,!! 

• Wotes to Scott's " Life of Dryden." See also his discussion of the subjeet, in 
his flccomit of Hawthomden, in the '* Provincial Antiquities." 

{** On Shakspeare and Ben Jonson." 
*' Du Th^tre anglais avant Shakspeare, et des Dramaturges ses Contem- 
§ Then Jonson came, instructed from the school. 

To please in method, and invent by rule; 
His studious patience and laborious art. 
By regular approach assailed the heart: 
Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays, 
For those who dnrst not censnre, scarce could praise. 
A mortal born, he met the geneitd doom, 
B«t left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb. 

Samuel Jobtson : Prohgm, spokm hy Mr. Oarrick, at the 
Opening of the Theatre Jto^ Drwy Ltme, 1747. 
II Leonard JDigges. 

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BBN JOHSOir. 163 

J ww o n ^ set ksrainfl^ above feelings in wiitiiMp hit tragedies/' mm Mr. 
Leigh Hmtt,* lAo sad« that fien, in his lii^iett no^i, instead of tW 
aeoene and good-natured mi^t of Shakapeaie, haa something of a pQ&d 
•ndianMy pomp» a bignesa instead of greatness^ aaalogoos to his gooit 
hahit of body. SldlM as he is in dnwnatic oonttmetiont he produces no 
Hhsum, aa Hartley Coleridge remarks : *' We see him ererjwhere at 
wixk with the wires.*^ The same findy-endowed critic censures Ben's 
seemingly arrogant apprehensiveness of the stnpidity or sluggard braina of 
fab pnblie— compaiing him, in thia remet, to the archer in Amphipolis 
who d es p at ch ed an arrow with a written direction to '^ Philip's right 
eye," so carefully does Ben label the riiafts of hit own satire mr their 
praper destination* 

That the foundations of his learning were laid deep and wid^ ia 
generally granted, by the foremost of his under-Taluators. It cornea out 
ohiteTy in by-way trifles, as well as in large masses and daborate display. 
Thus, Mr. Hallamf raentions as a proof of Jonson's extensive learning, 
that the story of" The Silent Woman," and several particular pages in 
it, have been detected (by Gi&rd) in a writer so moek out of the beaten 
track aa Libanius. David Hume, who describes Joasen o£Ehand as 
possessing all the kaming which was wanting to l^akspeare, and want- 
nig- all the geniua of which Sbi^Lspeaie was p os s ess e d , cidls him '^ a servile 
copyist of the audents," who tran^ted into bad English the beautifal 
pa8Si^;es of the Greek and Roman anthers, with<rat aeeommodadng them 
to the manners of his age and country, f Scholastic tastes oould, and did, 
rdish mightily the erudite penmanship of this fint-dass classic IL 
ViQemain having occasion to quote Jonson's tribute to the '^ tweet swan 
of Avon's" glorioQS 

flights upon the banks of Thames, 
That so did take Eliza and our James, 

shrewdly suspects, in " our James's'* instance, that royal predilection must 
have favoured rare Ben rather than gentle Willy, " que le docte souve- 
rain devait pref^rer les pieces de Ben Johnson, toutes charg^es d'tmita- 
tions du latin et du grec."§ Like the Scottish Solomon, Ben was not 
only of a scholastic turn, but, as HazKtt observes, had dealt a little also 
in the occult sciences and controversial divinit}% 

"La science," writes M. Philar&te Chasles, ** occupait Ics Jours et les 
nuits de Jonson ; il ne creusait le sillon penible de son drame qu'apr^s 
avoir prepare, comme on engrais n^cessaire, un amas de souvenirs grecs 
et latins."!! As examples, there are a quotation from Pindar at the 
beginning of " The Fox" — a forgotten fragment of Libanius which serves 
as t«xt for ^ The Silent Woman"— Juvenal's contributions to the jests of 
Mistress Otter — ^the levies imposed on Lucian and Atheo^Bue for die 
necessary sustenance of Truevnt — and the condensation into the young 
folks' " pribble-prabbles," of the quintessence of Ovid's Art of Love. 

• "Men, Women, and Books." 

t Lhentoze of Suropa IIL vi. 59!. 

t Burners «" History of England :" Appendix to the Betgn of James L 

I Yillemain : » Etudes de litt^rature aDdeane et ^trang^re." 

I ChaslfB : ** BpoQoes SwAsps a r i ep n cfc** 

aBilBrly,awriteriBthe£UJn&iii^Jte;«w, Oet., 1830, says it is evident that 
Jonson eottcded in his own way for his ptays as Sir Hans ^oane did for hia 
Museum, and then fitted in his specimens like a worker in mosaic. 

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If JoDSoa is allowed bj all to be a man of real learning, he is abo 
twitted by nearly all as a pedant. Of *< The Alchemist^'' Mr. Hallam 
asserts his belief that, notwithstanding what he calls the *^ indiscriminate 
and injudicious panegyric of GiflFord,** no reader of taste can fidl to. con- 
demn the '' outrageous excess of pedantry'' with which the earlier scenes 
abound; ^^ pedantry the more mtolerable" from its consisting of the 
<< gibberish of obscure treatises on alchemy/' such as could be probably 
interesting and possibly intelligible only to a crazy few. In one of his 
Roman tragedies he cannot resist inserting a prescription for a muctu^ 
an antique yersion or prelibation of Rowland's Kalydor. The bookman's 
bookishuess is, however, less exceptionable in his serious than in his 
comic dramas ; for, as Haslitt says, *' his pedantry accords better wilh 
didactic pomp than with illiterate and vulgar eabble ;" insomuch that his 
learning, engralted on romantic tradition or dassic history, is allowed to 
^f look like geniqs."* 

Miratorqae novas frondes, et non sua poma. 

His Roman tragedies are said, by a critic who considers them literal 
impersonations of classical antiquity (^'robust and richly graced," bat 
stiff and unnatural in style and construction), to bear about the same 
resemblance to Shakspeare's, that sculpture does to living forms. They 
may be vastly more true to the book, they are vastly less so to the lire. 
In tins respect, Shakspeare's little learning was not a dangerous things- 
his small Latin and less Greek went far enough to hit the mark, as no 
other could hit it ; while Ben's superior attainments went a great deal 
fiurther, and &red a great deal worse. Scott calls his << Catiline" and 
*^ Sejanus" laboured translations from Cicero, Sallust, and Tacitus, which 
Jonson's own age did not endure, and which no succeeding generation 
will be probably much tempted to revive.f HazliM, who caUs ** Sejanus" 
an ^' admirable piece of ancient mosaic," is reminded by the pnncijMJ 
character, of a lofty column of solid granite, nodding to its base from its 
pernicious height, and dashed in pieces by a breath of air, a word of its 
creator — ^feared, not pitied, — scorned, unwept, and foigotten. ^^The 
depth of knowledge and gravity of expression sustain one another 
throughout: the poet has worked out the historian's outline, so that the 
vices and passions, the ambition and servility of public men, in the heated 
and poisoned atmosphere of a luxurious and despodc court, were never 
descnbed in fuller or more glowmg colours."^ The story may well be 

* « By dint of application, and a certain strength of nerve, he could do juttioe 
to Tacitus and Sallust no less than to mine host of the New Inn. His tragedy 
of 'The FaU of Sejanus,' in particular, is an admirable piece of ancient mossic* 
'-''BAZLm: Lectm^imtkeAsfiifEiuabeth. IV. 

t ** With the stem superiority of lesming over ignorance, he asserted himself 
a better judge of his own productions, than the public which condemned him ; and 
hanahtilj claimed the laurel which the general sn£Qrage often withheld; but the 
world has as jet shown no disposition to reverse the opinion of their piede- 
cossors ** ScoTT^fl Eatm on the J)rama^ 

t HazUtt's " Dram. Lit. of the Age of Elisabeth." Having used the words, ''a 
luxurious and despotic court," Ac, it was not in the nature— not to mention habit, 
which is second nature— of William Haslitt to refrain from a fUng at the court 
and politics of his own land and times. He is half afraid to give any extracts from 
'^ScganuiL'' he affirms, lest they should be tortured into an application to other 
times and characters than those referred to by the poet. Some of the sounds may 

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said to baye been told ''after the high Roman fiishion;" for though 
Home cannot boast, in her golden, her siWer, or any other ase, of one 
g;Eeat writer of tragedy, — so that tragedy ''after the hi^ Roman 
fashion'' of writing it, is a mere complimentary way of speaking, or rather 
no oompfiment at all, — ^yet, as Barry Cornwall suggests,* "Sejanns" 
might hare been the -woAl of one of the rhetoricians of old Rome, for 
anydiing to be seen to the contrary, either in its sentiments or general 
constmetion. But whether Mr. Procter is not too stinted in his praise of 
this tragedy, as a whole, may be reasonably questioned, and that by 
readers who fully agree with him that it is too laboured, wants yitality, 
aodTity, ease, — that the entire dialogue wants fluctuation and relief— and 
thai, in efifect, the piece at large is too like a translation. Surely it htu 
a itrength and dramatic skill, that might have secured it from what 
Campbdl calls the " petulant contempt^ (not that Barry, belored of 
Huses and men, is <»pable of such a feeling) with which it has too often 
been spoken of. " Though collected from the dead languages, it is not 
a lifeless mass of antiquity, but the work of a severe and strong imagina- 
tiooyf compelling shapes of truth and consistency to rise in dramatic 
order from the fingments of Roman eloquence, and hbtory ; and an air 
not only of life but of grandeur is given to those curiously adjusted mate- 
Tiab."^ JBren if Jonson has translated, literally translated, from Tacitus, 
who would not thank him, Campbell asks, for " embodying the pathos of 
history in soch fines as these, descriptive of Germanicus ? — 

'0 that man! 
If there were deeds of the old virtue leffc. 
They lived in him .... 
.... What his generals lacked 
In images and pomp, they had supplied 
In honourable sorrow — soldiers' sadness, 
A kind of silent mourning, such as men 
Who know no tears but from their captives, use 
To show in such great losses.' " 

Many a passage of this sort — not the sort of passages that lead to nothing 

bear, Ibr what be knows, an awkward construction : tome of the otgects majr, he 
apprehends, "look double to squint-eyed suspickm : but that is not M» fitult" 
And so on. Hailitt gave credit to Government prosecutors, iitformtr8,«<Aoo^0iNtf 
cmme, of being even more prompt to " twig" a piece of political doubh mtmte or 
dotible tme, than he himteir was. He fancied them as eager to wear the (fool's) cap, 
because U fitted them, as he was to twist and torture it into aflt; they, that th^ 
might punish in ibeir way, he, that he might attack them in his. 

* Id the Introduction to his Edition of Ben Jonson. 1838. 

t Imoffmatiom is, in Mr. Procter'a judgment, the one parlous want in ** S^anus." 
He comidains that the great master-sp&it of Imagination, which fuses and moulds 
evervthhig to itr purpose, and which produces force and character, consistency 
. and harmony, firom meagre ikcts and shapeless materials, is not there. Christo- 
pher North, trae to his vocation of mauling every sdon, real or reputed, of the 
Cockney School, ridiculed this sentence as, " we dare say, very fine; but we have 
seen it scores of times within these dozen years in all the Journals of lit^ 
Britain." Sir Kit was taming down from his old ferocity, at the time (1839) he 
thus wrote; but^ as the smell of blood witt aflbct sobered fircB that have retired 
from business as beasts of prey, so, to come across any assumed representative of 
CoduOgne, still racked the joints of the old man with the crutch, and fired his 
veins to quasi fever-heat. 

t niomM C^ampbdL 

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[ ^ Seiantis" show. ^* Catiline" is inferior in Ais, as in most otber 

respects, thongb, aoeording^ to Lord Dorset^ it was JoBSon's ftwromUe 
pieee. It will always be interesting^ for its elabcwate presentment — so 
fiddiiiil and spirited a re*presentment from antiquitT— of Cicero in his 
consulate, whatever Hai^tt may say of its being spun owt to pfolixity 
witii ike consul's ^* artificial and affected orations against CatiHoe^ and in 
praise of himseli" It will take long to tire the worid of Cieero's own 
oiatioas ; till then, the English portion of it (not a pars mimma) will 
find a charm and a reward in reading them as Englished by our stalwart 
Ben,* tofi^ether widi accompanying fragments of senatorial eioqoeiioc^ 
from the ups of odiers in that palmy state of Rome. 

* Hartley Coleridge, howeTer, pstmounoes the speeches in ^ Caliline^" tedkws 
beyoad those of any of Ben's contemporaries. And Hartley is a good judge, and 
a kind withaL 



These are the arts 
Of pagery, as the tides run. 

Bkn Jokson. 

New Inn. 

No jewel in his cap he wore, 

No plmne, in page-like pride ; 
No Inte upon his back he hove; 

No dB^sN by his side; 
He never had long silken hoae, 

Or wore a satin blouse ; 
Nor did he ever bear a rose 

On either of his shoes ; 
Id ladies' bowers he na*er was seen, 

He ne'er sang ballads anyhow, 
His name was not Alphonse, Eugene, 

Lncentio, or FridoUn, 

Chembin, or Aaeaniol 
Bet the names wUeh to Pages were gireo 

€m yote^ 
And the name of the Page I am speaking of. 

As much likeness as Snkey to Eleaaere, 
Or Betty, to Phyllis or Lalage; 

From mdi Pages he was just as dlffsrent as 
A page ost of Bnder's '< Hndibras" 
Wttm a page out of Butler's *< Analogy." 

He was clad in a totally dttferent way. 
In the exquisite taete of the present day, 
In a tight litde Jacket of rifle-green 
Whereen three bright rows of gOt bnt- 

Brery button most sadly snggestire to me 
Of araphibioos fashion and finery ; 
And to render the difference greater stOl, 
This little foot-page*s name was BUI, 

Euphonised into WiUdna, the naming of 
Being merely a matter of taate, not of 

His duties, so £sr as I'm able to tell, 
Were to open the door and to answer the 

To go for the books to Hookham's ; to look 
In his master's letters and teaze the oook; 
To foUow his mistress to church; and wait 
At table, and meet, I may likewise state. 
The collateral ckdma of the knires and 

And to fill, to the fiunily's pride and joy» 
The place of a man at the price of a b^ 

I knew not whether to smile or sigh 
At my ftriend's Procrustean pbilesophy ; 
But I know that I Tery much longed to 

" Pitch the page to Old Harry, dear mad«, 

I pray. 
He's a sham and pretence I If yrm foft 

keep a man. 
Get some ' neat-handed PhyHb' instead, till 

you can. 
And boldly abandoning * ButtoDB,' cmpioj 
An Mfwie Page,' histead of a hibfcerfy 


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The JoIj mnnber of BerUley^s Miscellany contained an article, *^ A 
Berene at the Garrick Club/' in which reference was made to many of 
die old stagers who had placed out their scenic part, and were passing 
the eryening of their day m quiet retirement The list included the 
hononred name of Chasles Youkg ; but as the MtseeUany was being 
given to the world, Death dropped the final curtain upon the distinguiriied 
perfonner, and a long and exemplary life was closed. 

'The world is erer on the move, and new scenes are being continually 
enacted. " We are all," says Dickens, ** either going to the play or 
coming from it." Upon the railroad of life we travel by an express train, 
seekine to rival the speed with which our messages are conveyed upon 
the U^tning wires. In such hasty transit we leave behind us stadon 
after station, and many of the sunny spots by which we have passed 
are aH xmknown to us : even so, as generation succeeds generation, how 
much of the past is forgotten I In that foigetfnlness, few who have 
made their name famous in the worid would seem to suffer to such an 
extent as the followers of Thespis. The fame of an actor is based upon 
a feeble pedestal : for whilst the sister arts of painting and sculpture 
secure to their votaries a monument in their woncs, the " poor player^ 
claims but perishable properties ; in search of the " bubble reputation" 
lie throws away a fife, and has, save in rare instances, no other legacy 
dmn a name to bequeath. Garrick, the great master of the art, was 
conscious of the fleeting character of the actor's popularity. Ninety 
years since — in January, 1766 — death robbed the stage of Quin and 
nkewise of Mrs. Gibber; when the Roscius, in his prologue to the 
** Clandestine Marriage," thus offered his reflection upon the subject — 
the commencing line having reference to Hogarth : 

The painter dead, yet still he charms the eye, 

Wlme England lives, his fame can never die ; 

But he who stmts his hour upon the stage. 

Can scarce extend his fame to half an age ; 

No pen, nor pencil, can the actor save. 

The art and artist share ooe common grave. 

Ok! let me drop one tributary tear. 

On poor Jack falstaff's giave and Julief s bier ! 

You to their worth must testimony give, 

'Tis in your hearts ^one their fanie can live. 

Still, as the scenes of life will shift away. 

The strong impressions of their art decay. 

Your cbil£ren cannot feel what you have known — 

They'll have thei! Qums and Gbbers of their own. 

The greatest ^ry of our hanpy few. 
Is to be felt, and he approVa by you. 

We have been reminded of the truthfulness of this reflection when 
some old staler has "shuffled off this mortal coil," and the history of ao 
eventful life has been summed up in a line or two of a newspaper obituaEry. 
** So fades the mirth of former years." Such thoughts have again been 

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presented to us in connexion with the death of the distiog^tshed ftcior 
whose name heads our present paper. For fi?e-and-twenty years had he 
maintained a lofty position upon the metropolitan hoards — standing for 
some portion of that time hy the side of the Kemble and the Siddons — 
and yet, of the playgoers ot the present day, how many are there who 
never witnessed his artistic personations, and to whom his name is less 
fiamiliar than others of inferior note ? Every admirer of the drama, 
however, and a large drcle of personal friends, join in regret at his loss ; 
and in offering our tribute to the worth that is departed from us, many 
will linger with us over the memories of the past, as we recal events con- 
nected with one who was respected as much for virtue as followed for 
talent. There is but little of variety to be found in some biogn^phical 
records, but the life of a good and accomplished man is not without its 

Charles Mayne Young was bom on the 10th of January, 1777, in 
Fenchurch-street, his father being a surgeon of considerable repute. He 
was evidently bom to be prosperous, uiough we never heara that his 
entrance on the stage of the world was marked by an incident similar to 
that which beferjohn Bannister, and which that comedian was accustomed 
to relate with great glee and characteristic humour. When the moment 
of his birth was approaching, his grandmother, with the superstition of 
senility, ran to the cupboard for a silver spoon, which she placed between 
his lips, that he might possess the popular tide to good-luck, derived 
from nb being bom with **a silver spoon in his mouth. 

The education of our young citizen was received at Merchant Tailors' 
School and at Eton. In his youth, moreover, he visited Copenhagen, in 
company with a Danbh physician of eminence, and at the palace of the 
sovereign was much noticed and admired. His introduction into this 
courtly society was through the influence of the phyrician referred to, 
who mled a post in the royal household somewhat similar to that retained 
by Sir William Knighton in the establishment of George IV. Now, 
before we place Mr. Young upon the stage, we must refute a statement 
to be found in all the theatrical notices we have seien of his earlier 
career. It has been stated, and constantly repeated, that his father in- 
tended him for mercantile pursuits, and duly placed him in the counting- 
house of one of the first merchants in the City. It is said, in continua- 
tion, that an inkling for the stage ripened into strong desire ; that, long- 
ing to breathe the buoyant but unreal atmosphere of the theatre, day- 
books and ledgers were neglected hy him, m order that he might at 
night repair to one of those nurseries of genius, where '' 'prentioed kxogs 
alarmed the gaping street." 

This U not the fact. The father of Charles Young was blessed with 
talents of no ordinary description, hut he possessed a most unhappy 
temper, and his house in consequence became a scene of contention, over 
which he raled with the rod of a despot To add to the insults heaped 
upon his family, a mistress was brought bv him into the house, and in- 
vested with supreme power. This was the signd for general revolt 
The three sons, naturally enough, sided with their mother, and with her 

attitted the paternal roof. By these proceedings numy prospects became 
banged. Charles obtained an introduction into the establishment of 
Mr. Loughland, to whom he was to have been articled. Monetary ques- 
tions, however, were ultimately raised : the firm had very kindly le- 

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mitied the payment of the usual premium in such engagements, but 
could giTO no salaiy. '^ This will never do," reasoned the young derk ; 
« money must be luid — ^I hare a mother to support.^ We &ncy we hear 
the silrery tones of the filial youth, as he considers the maternal claims 
upon his efforts. Friendly advice was not wanting in this emergency. 
** You read poetry very well," said some one, <* why not go upon the 
stage." This was the pivot upon which turned the after-career of the 
young man. He paused but a moment, and — became an actor. He 
might, however, have said with Pope, 

I left no calling for this idle trade. 
No duty broke^ no father disobey'd. 

Far more fortunate than many of his brethren, he did not at first start 
as a stroller, and wander for years in the most thorny paths. Hundreds 
have trod those paths, experiencing every privation, and finding it difficult 
at times to appease what old Homer calls the '* sacred rage of hunger." 
John Kemble was in early life fsuniliar with its rugged way, and Edmund 
Kean traversed it for more than half his days. Many like them have 
taken that route to fame. The present lessee of the Haymarket — the 
public's own favourite, Buckstone — when connected with the ** theatres 
rural, " once walked from Northampton to London, seventy-two miles, on 
fourpence halfpenny. His costume at that time, he has told us, consbted 
of a threadbu-e whitey-blue coat, with tarnished metal buttons, and a 
pair of unmentionables originally of white duck, but ^hich, from having 
been worn about six weeks and being engaged much in tbe fields, had 
assumed a refreshing tint of a green and clay colour, which gave them 
qmte an agricultural appearance. To this costume a finish was given by 
a pair of dancing-pumps, tied up at the heel with packthread. 

From these casualties, we repeat, Charles Young was happily exempt. 
After some little tndning in London, he stepped upon die boards at 
Liverpool, appearing under the assumed name of Green, in the character 
oi Young Norval. This was in the year 1798. Experiencing more 
success ^an sometimes attends even a practised stager, be shortly after 
led the business at Manchester, resuming there his own patronymic. He 
again retmned to Liverpool, and at the commencement of the present 
century he was the hero of the Glasgow stage, with a widening and 
rising reputation. Returning to his old quarters at Liverpool, we find 
him, in 1801, playing Macbeth and other tragic characters to Mrs. 
Powell, then engaged as a *' star ;" as well as Frederick Bramble, in the 
" Poor Gentleman," to the Emily Worthington of Miss Duncan, who 
became celebrated as Mrs. Davison. Mr. Young's benefit this season 
brought to the house 163/., a proof of the estimation in which he was 
held. We have before us several of the playbills of this period. On the 
3l8t of October, 1803, the comedy of "John Bull" was enacted, Job 
Thomberry being played by Mr. Young, Peregrine by American 
Cooper, Dan by the late Charles Mathews, and Mary by Bfiss Grimani. 

The last-named young lady was the daughter of a Venetian marquis, 
whose property had been confiscated through some transactions connected 
vriUi Spun. He came to England, and embraced the Protestant religion, 
refusing, subsequently, some fiberal offers made him by the Pope on con- 
dition that he returned to the Catholic faith. His daughter adopted the 
stage as a profession, and became a member of the Haymarket company. 

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170 OHARI^lS Y0UK6. 

She was beautiful and accomplished, calculated to adorn a palatial home 
in Venice, that 

Gbnooi eitj in the aea. — 
The visitor to Venice cannot fail to notice the palaces of the Gnmani 
family, four or five members of which have filled the chair of the Doge. 
Mbs Grimani went from the << little theatre in the Haymarket" to that at 
Liverpool, and was there seen by Charles Young. To see her was to 
love her. He was her Romeo upon the stage, and poured into her ear as 
passionate a tale as was ever told by a Montague beneath the turrets o€ 
Verona. Making an offer £or her Kand, he was answered ^' Yes," in the 
sweetest first music that actor ever heard. To Miss Grimani Mr. 
Young was united on the 9th of March, 1805. Their nuptial happiness, 
however, was of brief duration, for the lady died early in the ensuing year, 
shortly after giining birth to a son. The deepest reg^t was evinced by all 
who had known her, and the gentry of Manchester, in which town she 
died, testified their respect by sending their carriages to attend her 
faneral. She was buried at Prestwich, about four miles from tiie town, 
and found a quiet resting-place in that beautiful and picturesque church- 
yard« Her grave is overshadowed by a tree, and her husband never 
visited Manchester without going to mourn on the spot 

This was a severe blow to the yoimg actor, who for a lengthened time 
esdiibited " the scorched footsteps sorrow leaves in parting." To lose thus 
early the object of a first affection is sufficient to cast a shadow over a 
man's life for eves. The vision of the lost one may be hidden by the 
noontide ray of bu^ life, but it will ag^n be seen in the soft hush of 
evening ; even amid the plaudits of the world will the ^^ still small voiee" 
be heard. 

Oh I that hallowed form is ne'er fcMrgot 
Which first love trac'd; 

Still it lingering haonts the greenest spot 
On memory's waste ! 

Having for a time managed the theatre at Chester, and, with the one 
melancholy exception just recorded, finding nothing but the smiles of 
fortune — due to the uniform correctness of his character — Mr. Young was 
invited to the metropolis, and on the 22nd of June, 1807, appeared at the 
Haymarket in the character of Hamlet, From among the dramatic 
notices which appeared upon the occasion, we select a row lines from a 
diurnal print, wnich at that time was famed for its theatrical reviews : 

^* On Monday, a gentleman made his first appearance on this sU^ge, of 
the name of Youn^. The character was Hamlet. Mr. Young's figure is 
good, his countenance flexible, his voice harmonious and commanding, and 

his manner is that of a gentieman Having named some of his 

faults, which we have stated only that he may correct them, we turn, 
with prospects of hope and pleasure, to his undoubted excellences. Mr. 
Young is not the common actor of the staffe ; he has genius and much 
feeling ; and if he did not altogether enter mto the character of Hamlet^ 
an allowance must be made for the difficulty and variety of a part in which 
Kemble, undoubtedly the first actor in Europe, is daily making improve- 
ments. We will finish by pronoimcing Mr. Youn^ a great acquisition to 
the profession. The Drury Lane managers should certainly give him an 

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The geneial impresaion created by Mr. Yonng upon hk injbroductioii 
to the London boards was most gratifying. One little incident which 
occurred on the opening night may be recorded. A warm reception was 
giTen to the new candidate upon his first presenting himself; but as the 
approring sounds died away, there was heard a solitary but prolonged 
hiss. Several eyes were turned in the direction of the discordant note, 
and ascertained its source : it emanated &om the young actor's father ! 
At the conclusion of the play, however, when the approving shouts were 
reiterated, the amiable sire — either in the spirit of repentance, or from 
the instinct of a momentary pride at the position which his son had 
Tcached — was seen to applaud among the loudest 

During his first season at the Haymarket, Mr. Young played, in ad- 
dition to his introductory part, Don J^JbUx^ Osmond, Sir Edwmrd 
Mortimer, BoUa, Penruddock ("Wheel of Fortune"), FetruMo, 
Gondibert ('' Battle of Hexham''), Stranger, Harry Domton, &c. ; 
and his services were soon after secured by the proprietors of Covent 
Garden. Up(m the conflagration of that theatre in 1808, he went with 
the company to the Opera House in the Haymarket, where, among other 
assumptions, he created some impression by his performance of 3aran, 
in " The Exile," then first produced. He returned to Covent Garden 
upon <^ opening of the new house — the splendid structure which is again 
in rains — but found little scope for the display of his abilities, save in the 
absence of John Kemble, whose colossal fiime had £uled to eclipse the 
rising merits of his disciple. We have taken the trouble to wade tnrough 
a file of playbills of this period, and find that during the year 1811 
Mr. Young sustained the following characters: LordToumley, in the 
^^ Provoked Husband ;" OtheUo, Charles Kemble relinquishing Camio 
and playing logo ; Gustavus Vasa, in a pli^ of that name ; Ford, in 
the " Merry Wives of Windsor" {FalitaffDeung played by Fawcett, and 
Master Slender by listen) ; Fortius, to the C€Uo of Kemble ; Roderick 
Dhu, in Morton's version of the " Lady of the Lake," in which Charles 
KemUe played Fitzjames ; Faulkland, in ^'The Rivals;" Lord de 
MaUory, in a new comedy entitled the '^ Gazette E^xtraordinary," l<nig 
ago sunk to <' that tranquil bottom where all is quiet ;" Samlet, for the 
benefit of British prisoners confined in France; Beverley, in "The 
Gamestw," supported by Mrs. Siddons; Evander, in the "Griecian 
Daughter;" Baran, in "The Exile;" Count Beniowski, in Charies 
Kemble's adaptation of Kotzebue's " Kamsohatka ;" and Macbeik, during 
the indisposition of John Kemble. A journal of the day remarked, in 
reference to tlus last perf(nrmanee, that ^' diough Achilles was not present 
in the dramatic field, Ulysses was." 

On the 29th of February, 1812, John Kemble revived the play of 
*^ JuKus Cssiur," in which Mr. Young's admirable impersonstwn of Cassims 
hoAy divided the palm ¥rith the Brutus of his great master, who had ac- 
quu^ed a lofty eminence in Roman characters. 

Whilst refirediing wa hands from the dust they reeevved in twming 
over the nmtic leaves of volumes of old playbiiis, we may Meount an 
inddent which ooeurred at the Bath Theatre dving the repvesentatioaof 
" Julius CsBsar." The Kemble and the Yotmg were not in -this scene, 
but ikm plaees were filled by those lAtQ were Moeived vrith oonsiderdble 
€em>ur mMm the metropolitan boards — Messrs. Warde and Frederidc 
Vales. The fbnaer saaeted the high^ukd Roman, aad Ae laMsr the 

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lean and hungry conspirator. In his first scene, Yates had to deUyer the 

ly as .£neas, our great ancestor, 
( Did from the flames of Troy upon bis shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber, &c. 

This, by some unaccountable nervousness, he gave as follows : 

I, as iBneas, our great ancestor. 

Did from the flames of Tiber upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so &om the waves of Troy, &c. 

It happened that the venerable Mrs. Piozzi — the companion of Johnson — 
was sitdng in the stage-box, close to the proscenium, and such a perver- 
sion of her favourite Shakspeare could not pass unnoticed ; in her en- 
thusiasm, she cried out, '^ Text, Mr. Yates, text : flames of Tro^, waves 
of. Tiber, if you please.'' This unexpected interruption so frightened 
poor Cassiu8f that he seemed half disposed to fly the field, leaving Mrs. 
Piozzi to finish the part for him. An assurance, however, from Warde 
that the lady's prompting had not been observed by the house, encouraged 
him to proceed, though the circumstance of having liquefied Troy almost 
paralysed his exertions for the rest of the evenin|^. 

The year 1812 witnessed the formal leave- takmg of Mrs. Siddons, aa 
actress of the most transcendent talents. Mr. Young himself related to 
Thomas Campbell — the poet of ''Hope" — the impression which that 
matchless woman once made upon himself when playine with her in 
<< The Gamester^' upon the Edinburgh boards. In the fourth scene of the 
fifth act, when Beverley has swallowed the poison, Bates enters, and 
Mrs. Beverley (in reply to a charge against her husband of having been 
seen quarrelling in the streets with Lewson) exclaims, '' 'Tis fiedse, old 
man ! They had no quarrel — there was no cause for quarreL" In uttering 
these words, Mrs. Siddons caught hold of Jarvis, and gave the exclama- 
tion with such piercing grief, that Mr. Young said his throat swelled, and 
his utterance was choked. He stood, unable to speak the words which 
he ought immediately to have uttered ; the prompter repeated the line 
without effect, when the gifted actress walked up to our tragedian, and in 
a low voice said, '' Mr. Young, recollect yoursdf." 

It was upon the same boards that Mrs. Siddons was first introduced 
to a Scottish audience. She had secured a reputation both in England 
and Ireland, and the sensation produced by her promised visit to the 
Scottish capital was exceedingly great. The house was densely packed^ 
but when the star of the night presented herself to the audience, a silence 
deep as death was her only welcome. Succesrive flashes of her glorious 
elocution feU in vain on the cold ears of her auditors. At last we con- 
centrated her powers to the most emphatic utterance of one passage, 
vowine that if tnis did not succeed she would never again cross the Tweed. 
The deep silence which succeeded her grand effort was suddenly broken 
hr an exdamation from a cannie Scot, *' Eh, mon, that's na sae bad !" 
This homely remark, acting as a charm, at once dissolved the lethargy of 
the audience, and peal upon peal reverberated through the house. 

To return to Mr. Young. The year 1814 brought a change in the 
state of thinM theatrical. In the «[anuary of that year there were first 
seen in London the meteor flashes of Edmund Kean, to whom we shall 
further allude when we place him upon the same boards with our more 

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CHARLEli YOUNG. ^ -^173 

leoenily departed actor. Erin likewise fomiafae&'a constellation in l^iss 
CNeOl, w1k> came as a candidate for tbe ebon chair which the Siddons 
had left vacant Two years later (1816), Macready entered the lists and 
sought to win his spurs. Notwithstanding these new and yaried daima 
upon the attention of the public, Charles Young continued firm in his 
statelj position. In the jear 1817 we find him supporting the muse of 
Bichard Lalor Sheil, who had not then flung himself into the arena of 
politica. Several plays were written by him for his young countrywoman, 
Jfiss CyNeill, including ''The Apostate/' the representation of which 
boasted of the combing talents ot Messrs. Youne, Charles Kemble, and 
Macready. During the rehearsal of his pieces, we future Master of the 
Mint and the representative of Queen Victoria in beautiful Florence 
undertook himself to instruct the Covent Garden actors. '' Now ob« 
serve," said he, on one of these occasions, '^ here's Mr. Young; here's 
Mr. KemUe. Well, the guard comes on. Mr. Young draws Us sword, 
and finds he has not got it" We need scarcely say that this Hibernian 
explana^on became a jocular tradition of the green-robm. 

John Kemble retired from the stage in 1817, closing his professional 
Hfe in Coriolanus, Forgetting the infirmities of age — he was then sixty, 
and had been for years a martyr to the gout — he threw all his g^at in- 
tellect into the louy- minded patrician, and rushed upon the stage with 
the step and enthusiasm of youth, and the same ardour supported him 
through the play. A fiirewell dinner was given to this favoui^ actor at 
the Freemasons* Tavern, under the presidency of Lord Holland. On that 
occasion, Talma, the celebrated French tragedian, complimented his 
retiring fnend in English, whilst Mr. Young recited an oae written by 
Thomas Campbell 

In the September of 1818, Mr. Young was the Joseph Surface of the 
'* School for Scandal," when that comedy was selected to introduce to the 
metropolitan stage a new candidate—William Farren. In June, 1819, 
he played Old Norval to the Lady Randolph of Mrs. Siddons, who for 
seven years had been occasionally returning to the boards, but now finally 
passed into private life. 

We now bring our hero to the culminating point of his career, and for 
a moment must look into the treasury of tne theatre. Mr. Young's 
salary at Covent Garden had hitherto been 25/. per week ; but about 
1822 a spirit of retrenchment crept into the councils of the ruling powers, 
and 20/. per week was declared the maximum salary henceforward to be 
pud. Charles Young resisted this innovation, and quitted the *' home of 
the Kembles." This &ct became known to the potentates of the rival esta- 
blishment, who engaged him at 50/. per night, which sum he continued to 
receive until the close of his professional career. His first appearance upon 
the Drury Lane boards was on the 17th of October, 1822, his favourite 
diameter oi Samlet beine selected for the introduction; and on the 27th 
of the ensuing November he stood for the first time by the side of Edmund 
Kean — the lago and the Othello seen by Shakspeare in his dreams. 

In accordance with our promise, we must now digress for a few mo- 
ments to speak of the << great little man," by whose appearance at Drury 
Lane in 1814, as already observed, a new light was sned upon the thea- 
trical world, producing great partisanship between the disciples of Kemble 
and the new school. The extraordinary effect produced upon the town 
by Kean has, perhaps, with the exception of Gamck, never been equalled. 


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Drory Lane waa at the time prostrate, and Kean came as a Coloflsos to 
support the vast temple, and to restore its fieJlen fortunes. He opened in 
Shylock^ to a very indidSerent bouse, but succeeded in exciting a sensa- 
tion by his sudden bursts of passion and dazzling flashes of effect. Hb 
triumph was complete; though he had to labour against many natural 
defects, such as want of stature, a harsh, discordant voice, dec He was 
often imperfect in his judrmen^ but his energy was so unfailing as to 
bear down criticism itself. John Eemble saw him, and remarked — 
*' Our styles of acting are so totaUy different, that you must not expeot 
me to like that of Mr. Kean ; but one thing I must say in his favour- 
he is at all times terribly in earnest." And was he not really in earnest 
on one occasion, on encountering a rival — Junius Brutus Booth — ^upon 
those same boards of Old Drury ? Chance had thrown the last-named 
actor into some little prominence. The success of Kean in the de- 
formed lyrant had rendered a Richard a desideratum ; but there was 
such a terror in the assumption that established &vourites shrank from 
the attempt, and Kemble and Young declined the contest — the latter, 
however, subsequently played the part. Booth summoned all his courage, 
and in February, 1817, at Covent Garden, tried the character, expe* 
riencing much applause. He at this time resembled Kean in voice, 
stature, and genend appearance. Having repeated Richard to a thin 
house, differences arose between him and the proprietors, during which 
he signed a memorandum of an agreement with the Drury Lane manage- 
ment, and was announced to appear as lago to the Othello of Kc»uu 
Thursday, the 20th of February, 1817, witnessed this trial of skilL The 
house was to ^' o'erflowing full," and the actors at the side-scenes partook 
of the excitement, and awaited the issue in doubt and trepidation. Kean 
was completely self-possessed ; he appeared to be conscious of his strength, 
and determined by a single blow to throw aside the slight impediment to 
his general triumph. Booth, on the contrary, seemed to shrink from the 
strugfifle ; but eventually he overcame his fear, and nobly tried the fight 
But the chances were not in his favour. Kean soon began to warm with 
the part, when his small figure seemed to expand, whilst the fury and 
whinwind of his passion appeared to endow him with supernatural 
strength. He rushed about the staffe in every direction, restless and 
violent. Booth received no mercy at his hands, and that night his light 
appeared to be totally extinguished. 

From the time when Kean first seized upon celebrity, there was open 
to him a brilliant career, the ball being at nis foot, to be kicked by him 
at his pleasure ; but the whims of genius allured him into the by-paths of 
passion and pleasure. He suffered himself to be beset by unworthy 
companionship, and this was the rock on which bis fortunes wreckeo. 
Frank in manner and impetuous in soul, he never disguised his virtues or 
his vices. He had many amiable qualities; but, plunging into the cease- 
less whirl of intemperance, his ear became closed to the whisperings of 
sober truth. Byron was electrified by him ; but the actor who possessed 
this power, and could chill the blood of his auditory by the fearful eneigy 
of his genius in OtheUo^ would step from the theabre into a taproom^ 
and there delight a mixed assembly with ^^oalitng gaiety and acted songs. 
It was thus he hurried on 

From flower to flower* 
A weazied chase— a wasted koor. 

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asid fbrtime, reputation, and life were sacrificed. Poor Kean, a yoonger 
man than his mal Young, has been sleeping br three^and-twenty yean 
in the churchyard at Richmond, near to tbo xemains of the poet who 
sang of the ^< Seasons^ and their change. 

We now return to our allegiance, resuming the meuKMr of Mr. Young, 
whom we lef^ upon the hoards of Drury Lime by the side of EdmuM 
Kean. Aa m 1812 his C<iss%us had divided the palm with the Bruiui 
of John Kemhle, so, ten years later, did his la^o maie the plaudits with 
the best OtheUo of modem days. In Pierre^ again, he left his rival 
behind him as Jaffier — tho«^h the latter, it must be confessed, is an 
unprofitable part, and can rarely be brought upon the canvas in a line of 
eqeaHty with Pierre. Mr. Young likewise played lackmo to Kean's 
Posthumous, in Shakspeare's << Cymbdine." In the season of 1823-24 
he returned to Covent Garden, upon his lucrative nightly engagement, 
reappearing upon the old boards as Samlet This character was Ukewise 
selei^ed by John Kemble for his reappearance upon similar occasions. A 
qoestion was oooe raised among the critics, whether *' OtheUo" or " Mac- 
beth" was the greatest of Shakspeare's productions. ^ The critics^— 
aaid the great Coriolanus, onoe in ccHiversation, referring to the sdbject-* 
** m&y settle that point among them; they will decide only for them- 
selves. As to the people, taJce up any Shakspeare you will, from the 
first collection of his worlu to tiie last, which has been read, and look 
what play bears the most obvious signs of perusaL My life for it^ they 
will be found in the volume which contains the play of * Hamlet' " 

Mr. Young continued at Covent Garden, and there, in 1827, he again 
met Edmund Kean, who had been engaged by the proprietors for a brief 
period. Charies Kemble, at this house, was a fitting CassiOy and 
^* Othello'' was consequently {^yed in a manner unrivalled by anything 
to be found upcm the modem European stage. In October, 1828, Mr. 
Young had an <Miginal part, the Rienzi oi Mary Russell Mitfbrd ; and 
the personaticm exhibited many beauties, occasionally touching the 
height of passion. On the 3l6t of May, 1830, he first played 
Ftrffmius, and being loudly called for at the termination of the piece, he 
blanked his friends for the compliment, and intimated to them lus inten- 
tion of speedily closing his dramatic career. The fulfilment of this an- 
nouncement had nothing of the wavering so frequenUy exhibited. Having 
beffli seen by the Parisians, and having fulfilled his latest provincial en- 
gagements, the year 1832 saw him grateful for past ^eivours and anxious 
for retirement. He conceived that there were higher duties than those 
his profession claimed, and that between the theatre and the grave some 
space should be reserved for thought ; and so, like the Roman in the 
Capitol, he derired to adjust his manUe before he fell. He aoo(M!din|^j 
announced his &rewell night for the 30th of May, HcmUet being chosen 
for the closing part. The ni^it came^ and bsifore tiie lamps sat an 
audience, loud in its grateful enthusiasm, tendering its fiirewdl to aa 
aitiat to whom it had been so often indebted for rational enjoyinent, and 
who had so ofien stood forward to uphold that which should be esteemed 
a vital branch of the intelligence of an age, not the gratification of an 
idk hour. Old friends were there, who had wdcomed the artist widi 
ho|»eful greetings on the moning of his career, and gathered anmnd him 
to abed a bri^tMsa on its setting. Maoreadj & this ocoasioa" ■•§ 


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Ganick and Barry had done before him — gave up SdnUet and pkyed 
tbe Ghost. Mr. Young himself never played better ; and at the close of 
the tragedy he thus addressed the audience : 

^< Ladies and Gentlemen, — I have often been before you with a 
fluttering heart and a faltering tongue, but never till now with a sense of 
pain and a decree of heaviness which almost still the beating of the one 
and impede the utterance of the other. I would fain have been spared 
this task, but it might have been construed into disrespect towards you ; 
it is the usage, and to that I bow. I very proudly acKnowledge the in- 
dulgence — we g^at and continued kindness you have shown me for five- 
and-twenty years. You first received and encouraged my endeavours 
with a Kemble, a Siddons, a Cooke, and an O'Neill, and by their side I 
shared your applause. In this, the very last hour of my theatrical life, 
I still find myself cheered, supported, and upheld by your presence and 
approbation. Although retirement ^m the stage, and from the excite- 
ment of an arduous profession, has been long my fervent wbh, yet^ 
believe me, there are teelings and associations connected with these walk 
and with die boards whereon I stand, and where I have been so often 
cheered by your smiles and ratified by your applause, which make me 
despair of finding words sufficient to express my gratitude. I throw my- 
self upon you to measure the extent of gratitude by the kind rule yon 
have always observed when you have secured it. I surely say no more 
than the truth when I state, that whatever fame or fortune I may have 
obtained, or whatever worldly ambition I may have gratified, I owe them 
all to you. It has been asked of me, why I retire finom the stage while I 
am still in the possession of all the qualifications I could ever pretend to, 
unimpaired. I will give you my motives, although I do not know that 
you will receive them as reasons ; but reason and feeling are not always 
cater-cousins. I feel the excitement and toU of my profession weigh 
more heavily upon me than formerly ; and if my qualifications are unim- 
paired, so I would have them remain. I know that they never were 
worthy of the degree of approbation with which you honoured them ; 
but such as they are, I am unwilling to continue before my patrons until I 
can offer them only tarnished metal. Permit me, then, to hope, that on 
quitting this place I am honourably dismissed into the bosom of private 
life, and that I shall carry with me the kindly wishes of all to whom I 
now respectfully and grateftiUy say — Farewell." 

The curtain that night dropped upon Mr. Young's professional career 
for ever, and he finaUy quitted the stage of which he had been so long a 
conspicuous ornament; a dignity, moreover, is conferred upon any 
calling — ^the British Senate not excepted — ^by one who brines into it 
commanding intellect and unimpeached integrity. With him there were 
no more last words, no coming back at the waving of a golden wand. 
Grisi and others have sighed fiirewell, and have speedily forgotten the 
same. Not so with Charles Young. He had given his word, and ke^t 
it as his bond of foith. He might have put much more money in his 
purse. Tempting offers, for instance, came over the Atlantic — 12,000/. 
for eight months' services — but failed to win him from his purpose ; and 
he passed into retirement, to the enjoyment of a refined and intellectual 

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Mr. Touni^ may be oontidered ihe last of a school— ihe school of the 
Kembles — with which was associated all that was great in the actor's 
calling. The modem stage has nothing that can be said to oorrespond 
with it ; and some few thinffs have to be taken into consideration, in order 
to estimate aright the high position occupied by the founders of sudi 
school At the period of its ascendancy, the '< legitimate drama*' had not 
migrated, as now, into the suburbs, having resting-places at minor 
saloons ; it was only allowed to yenture within the sacred territories of 
the majors, as Drury Lane and Coyent Garden were then styled. Our 
dramatists thought not then of casting glances across the Channel, and 
the stage, consequently, was free from the influence of Gallic art Such 
was the state of the London stage at the commencement of the present 
oeutury, that Harris, of Coyent Garden, g^ye the younger Colman one 
thousand pounds for his play of *< John Bull," realising ten thousand by 
the bargain. The prize for which an actor at that time contended was 
an engagement at one or other of these patent theatres. There was then 
enjoyed by the members of the profession an opportunity of learning and 
perfecting themselyes in their several departments. The actor was not 
then, as he is now too frequently exhibited, a secondary upon the stage, 
paling before the light of colossal scenery and starthng effects. Tne 
smallest parts were distributed among those who had been thoroughly 
trained to their calling ; and our patent theatres consequently exhibited 
a compact mass of talent, at the head of which stood the Kembles, their 
position being compounded of professional eminence and social rank. 

At the time Jolm Kemble first appeared upon the metropolitan boards, 
he had seen no great actor whom tie could have copied ; his style was 
Gonsequendy formed by his own taste and judgment, and grew out of his 
own intellectual habits. His studies were ardent, and embraced every- 
thing cdlateral to his art ; and much of the splendour and the retinue of 
the stage owe their introduction to his fine taste and poetic conception. 
He may be sud to have revived Shakspeare, giving to his creations a new 
life by the agency of a philosophical and poetical spirit ; for by the union 
of several kindred arts and the exercise of taste, the genius of our own 
great classic beg^n to be properly embodied upon the stage. With the 
Kembles came an altered state of dramatic performances. The theatre 
assumed its national rank, and became a source of elevated j^elight, being 
looked up6n as a school of manners and the most intellectual of all enter- 
tainments. The throne of this supremacy, as we have said, was occupied 
by John Kemble and his matchless sister. Distinguished by the lofty 
grace of their persons and the refined dignity of their manners, perfec- 
tion in them was a gift of nature, improved to its highest pitch by art 
and study. The agile movement and the elegant levity of the school of 
Garrick were superseded by a majestic manner, not confined to the lofty 
characters of Shakspeare, but thrown around every performance ; whilst 
the sudden bursts m a different school were exdianged for a sustuned 
and swelling emotion. 

It was to this school— deemed at one time the standard of perfection 
— ^that Charles Toung belonged. Stepping as a norice upon a prorindal 
stage, in ten years he found himself a candidate for metropolitan honours 
b^ the side of the Kemble and the Siddons ; and it is a no mean proof of 
his abilities that he was not at once ecUosed by the brightness of the 
twin-constellation. Aspiring to their style, by mental cmtivation and 

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lilent lie acquired their manner, thoagh their genius was a gift not to be 
ihos easily seised upon. He lacked the majesty of personal deportment of 
his cieat master, but at the same time he was me from some of his defects, 
whubt his talents were more useful and dit e r si fied. Po so ea ce d of elemit 
manners, a scholar, and a man of unblemi^ed intc^ty, he had qaahties 
which led the way to laTour and reputation, ^ture had given bin 
•everal attributes — a handsome perscm, an expreasire eountenanoe, and a 
fine Toioe ; wi^ these exterior adrantages and a remarkably intelligent 
VMiderstanding, he was calculated to represent the chissic drama as wdl as 
Ae works of the modem stage. Unlike Edmund Kean, he exhibited no 
sodden bursts or electrical shocks, but all was graceful, flowing, and ceo- 
tinoous. In the colouring of the picture, one part was not enridied at 
tin expense of the other, the proportions of light and shade heing perfectly 
peserred. With a musical Toice, he was great in stage deUvefj, aira 
both in mann^ and in utterance was declared the *^ prince of rheto- 

It is not our province here to enter into minute criticism upon Mr. 
Toung^s Taried performances. It was in tragedy and the serious drama (hat 
nature qualified him to excel, though he was endowed with some Tcrsatilttjr. 
Occasionally he courted comedy ; and here he was sufficiently jovial in 
jRi&lq^ whilst his Sir Pertincue Macsycophant was at the time considered 
the most complete conception the modem stage had witnessed. In hMe 
and Macheatkf moreover, he showed himself the possessor of vocal powers 
of no mean order. He acquired a reputation in the Mtr Roman scho<4 
of declamation, and with much force and discrimination threw this quali- 
fication into the parts of Bruitts, CasshtSy and Caio, His Hamlet was a 
fine impersonation, rendered so by the refinement of his taste and tbe 
cultivation of his mind. John Kemble highly appreciated this perfbrm- 
aaoe, and in his later years partially resign^ the diaracter into me hands 
of Mr. Young. His OiheUo was dignified and declamatory ; whilst his 
logo was equal to any of his performances. Of " mine ancient,** in fact, 
he was considered a perfect representative. Edmund Kean was duly 
conscious of his rival's greatness in this diaracter. During their engage- 
ment at Drury Lane, it had been decided tiiat die parts wbleh they played 
together shouki be alternated. This arrangement, howerer, was not 
carried out, as Kean refused to play logo afi;er Young. " That d— d 
musical voice of his," said he, '* with his handsome f&ce, has spoilt me for 
Ae part" Let us add to the characters we have mention^, amongst 
other embodiments of great excellence, Macbeth^ ProsperOj Stranger, 
and Zanga, Opinion, of course, varied with respect to the merits ol 
some of these representations, but the divided sentiments all tended to a 
general appreciation of the actor's excellence, awarding him a "brighi 
particular^ place in dramatic annals, hereafter to be named with 

Garriok and statelier Keinble, and the rest. 
Who made a nation purer through their art. 

Charles Young has a strong hold on general remembrance. Hie course 
of his entire life — ^with one blighting exception — ran smoothly on, for the 
tide of success that set in with him in the morning of his career norer 
ebbed. He strove to elevate his art, to exalt the wder of whidi he^ was 
a member ; and though oritieism may difier as to the characteriities or 

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the actor, there is no diversity of opinion with regard to the man. Ordi- 
nary hsne is hut a tinsel, fadW before the nobler attribates of the Chris- 
tian, than which our hmguage nas no brighter word. Charles Young was 
that Christian, and of his many good works, done by stealth, let us place 
one upon record. Returning mm the theatre one night, he was accosted 
by a female. There was something in the tone and manner of the woman 
that arrested his attention. AfW a lew inquiries, he desired her to call 
on him next morning. She did ao^ and told her tala. It was one of 
heartless seduction, of estrangemeat of friends, and three nights upon 
ibe streets of London. The truth of this statement was ascertained, 
and she was placed by Mr. Young in a respectable home, with an annuity 
of 261., which was duly paid hm for tbree-and-thirty years. She is dead 
now; but out of her liUle stipend of 10s. per week she had saved 18il 
for sickness and her funeral expenses, and she died blessing her benefactor, 
hf whom a wanderer had been brought back to the paths of virtue, 
and a soul, it is hoped, saved. Theiie were but few triumphs in the 
coieer of Edmund Kean so valued by him as the hct that ^' the pit rose 
sA him." The circumstance we have here narrated will outweigh the 
nsing of a thousand pits. 

Quitting the stage in the full poesesdon of his power, with a haodioaie 
oompetence, Charles Young gath^ed around him, in his dignified Imsmv, 
a laige circle, gladdened by his amiabili^ and intelKgenee. At the dueal 
houses of Devonshire, Sutherland, and Bedford, the mansions of the 
Dacres and the Essexes, he was ever a welcome guest, for whom the best 
banter was saddled and the best gun loaded. Beloved for private virtues, 
as he had previously been admired for exalted powers, he had with him 
to aoeompaay old age, *^ love, honour, obedience, troops of friends.** For 
the last wee years he resided at Brighton, a great mvalid, and for the 
past twelvemonth was compelled to retire from society, being unable to 
leave his apartment. With sentiments of genuine and unaffected piety he 
endured his sufferings with manly patience and Christian resignation, and 
passed to a ha|^ future on the 29th of June, having entered upon his 
e%htieth year. His remains are interred in the churchyard of South- 
wick — a short distance from Brighton — of which village his son, the Rev. 
JuBan Young, was recently the vioar. 

In recalling many of the circumstances connected with the career of 
Charles Young, there has been a luxury of agreeable recollections and of 
warm md heiurty feeling. The stage, we know, has many detractors ; 
hut Bueh a career as the one to which we have endeavoured to pay a 
tribute is an example, that there is no walk or pursuit in human Ufe in 
whidi just feelings and honourable sentiments may not be advantageously 
exmreised. Cicero said of Roscius, nearly two thousand years sinoe, 
'^ He is a man who unites yet more of virtue than of talents, yet more of 
trmth than of art ; and who, having dignified the scene by the various 
portndtures of human fife, dignifies yet more this assembly by the 
example of his own.** And such, but recently, we could have said of 
Charles Young, in whom was blended honour and integrity, with deve^ 
tien to pure ends. Through each shifting scene the world tendered to 
Imaits ai^nroval, 

And heaven applauded when the curtain fell 

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— Ikaginjltion, which, in truth. 

Is but another name for absolute power 

And clearest insight, amplitude or mind. 

And Season in her most exalted mood. 

Wosdsworth: ThePrdude. BookXIV. 

So full of shapes is Fjlnct, 

That it alone is high-fimtasticaL 

QoAKarEAXE: Twefflhifigkt, Act I. Sc. 1. 

WiLLiAH Tatlob, in his treatise on British Synonyms, pronounces a 
man to have imagination in proportion as he can distinctlj copy in idea 
the .impressions of sense ; imagination being the faculty which images 
within the mind the phenomena of sensation. He pronounces a man to 
have fancy in proportion as he can call up, connect, or associate at 
pleasure, those internal images (^ayraC€iP=:to cause to appear) so as to 
complete ideal representations of ab^nt objects. According to this 
definition, *^ Imagination is the power of depicting, and fancy of evoking 
and combining. The imagination is formed by patient observation ; the 
ftncy by a voluntary activity in shifting the scenery of the mind." It 
fellows that) the more accurate the imagination, the more safely may a 
painter, or a poet, undertake a delineation, or a description, without the 
presence of the ohjects to be discriminated ; and that, the more yersatile 
the fancy, the more (»iginal and striking will be the decorations pro- 

In the elaborate FrefiEU^ to the edition of his Poems which appeared 
in 1815, Wordsworth indulged in some strictures on this definition. The 
Poet was interested in the question to a special decree, since that edition 
included a classification of Poems of the Imagination, and Poems of the 
Fancy. He objected to Taylor's view, that it is not easy to find out 
how Imagination, thus explained, differs from distinct remembrance of 
images ; or fancy from quick and vivid recollection of them ; each being, 
in effect, nothing more than a mode of memoiy. If the two words bear 
the above meaning, and no other, what term is left (Wordsworth inquires) 
to designate that faculty of which the Poet is '' all compact ;" he whose 
eye glances from earth to heaven, whose spiritual attributes body ferth 
what his pen is prompt in turning to shape ; or what is left to charac- 
terise Fancy, as insinuating herself into the heart of objects with creative 
activity ? 

In applying the term Imagination, then, to poems of his own, the 
Bard of R^d^ has no reference to images that are merely a faithful 
copy, existing in the mind, of absent external objects ; but he uses it as 
a word of higher import, denoting operations of the mind upon th<^ 
objects, and processes of creation or of composition, governed by certain 
fixed laws, ne proceeds to illustrate his meanmg by instances. A parrot 

* Taylor's « British Synonyms discrimhiated." 

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iUifi^ he lemaiks, firom the wires of his cage by his beak or by his 
daws ; so does a monkey from the boughs of a tree by his paws or his 
taiL Literally and actually the Urd in question, and the beast in ques- 
tion, both hang. Now, in the first Eclogue of Viml, the shepnerd 
MeUbaui^ thinking of ^e time when he is to take bave of his fiirm, 
thus addresses his goats : 

Non ego yos posthac riridi projeotus in antro 
Domosa penaere procol de rape videbo * 

And, again, Edgar m <<Ring Lear," in the fiunous DoTor Cliflfs 
scene, in we course of his description says, 

half way down 

Hangi one who gathers samphire. 

Between the pendent parrot and monkey, and the pendent goats and 
samplure-gatherer, there is '' all the difference." Each case may be ^' a 
banging matter,*' but always provided ''with a difference." Li ihe 
passages from Virgil and Shakspeare there is a slight exercise of the 
SEUsulty which Wordsworth denominates Imagination ; for neither the 
goats nor the samphire-gatherer do literally hang, as does the parrot or 
the monkeji but, presenting to the sense something of such an aj^pear- 
ance, the mind in its activity, for its own gratification, contemplates 
them as hanging. Pass, however, from a slight to a full exercise of the 
Lnagination, in its use of the word hangs. Thus, in Milton : 

As when far off» at sea a fleet described 
Hangs in the cloads, by equinoctial winds 
Close sailing from Bengala .... 

so seemed 

Far off the fljing Fiend. 

Here Wordsworth recognises the full strength of the imagination in- 
volved in the word hangs, and exerted upon the whole image. '' First, 
the fleet, an aggregate of many ships, is represented by one mighty 
person, whose track, we know and feel, is upon the waters ; but, takinj^ 
advantage of its appearance to the senses, tne poet dares to represent it 
as hanging in the clouds, both for the gratification of the mind in con- 
templating the image itself, and in reference to the motion and appear- 
ance of the sublime objects to which it is compared." 

If William Taylor's notion of Imagmation found little favour with 
Wordsworth, Chiarles Lamb's notion of it found much. As may be 
supposed, when, in the exquisite essay on the Genius of Hogarth, 
Lamb, that " flower of the fiocK* of essayists, describes it as that power 
which draws all things to one ; which makes things animate or inammate, 
beings with their attributes, subjects with their accessories^ take one 
colour and serve to one effect 

* No more, my goats, shall I behold you dimb 
The steepy cimk, or crop the flowery thyme ! 
No more, extended in the grot below, 
Shall see you browsing on the mountain's brow 
The priduy shrubt, and after on the bare, 
Lean down the deep abyss, and hmg in air ! 

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In tlie condadmg Book of the << Prelude,** Wordsworth baa this 
passag^^alreadj quoted as a motto to our farrago): 

^Xmagination, which, in troth 

Is bat another name for absolute oower 
And clearest insight, amplitude or mind, 
And Eeason in her most exalted mood. 

Reason, in the high Coleridgean sense : the anti-pole of reason in the 
French sense, the pert and petty philosophe sense, the ^' rational " sense, 
the eighteenth centwy sense. ViUemaun, for instanee, somewhere con- 
trasts men of imagination with let ramnnfftffs— and goes on to oom|iare 
Imagination to that golden branch which Virgil speaks of, *< qui brille et 
se fait reconnaitre dons la for^t sacree, au milieu de tons ces arbres d*une 
hauteur ^gale :" 

Discolor unde ami per ramos aura refnlsit. 

Jt is asserted by John Foster, in his critique on his brother Baptist and 
bother critic, Robert Hall, — together the Gtmmi in the modem Baptists' 
eoBStellation, which p^aps may be said to haye this extent, no more, — 
thai, except in the opinion of very young people, and second-rate poets, 
intellect is the first faculty in every great mind. X third critic, also a 
pulpiteer, and also a nonconformist, veaturea to contradict this averment ; 
and, citing the names of Homer, Plato, Dante, Shakspeare, Milton, 
Spenser, asks what doubt there can be that Imagination, though far from 
being the sole, was the presidinc^ power, in all those majestic minds ? He 
g^nts that imagination should he based on a superstructure of solid 
reason, and its flights and intuitions restrained within the banks of nature, 
and the limits of possibility. He grants, too, that you never find it alone 
in any of the higher orders of mind ; but be maintains that, as it has by 
some been argued to form, in its ordinary degree, the real dtfierentia be- 
tween man and the lower animals, who do reason, but never imagine, — 
so seems it, in its higher development, to be the sovran faculty of die 
kftiest natures, not perhaps of critics and logicians, but certoinly of 
{Jnlosophers and poets. 

Imagmation is not, indeed, the be-all and end-all of the Poet, what- 
ever perverted sense may be palmed on the phrase 

is of imagiaation all oompaot. 

Mr. Macaulay, in the earliest of his acknowledged essays, had occasion to 
refer to Shakspeare's description of poetry, in lines, as he says, universally 
admired for the vigour and felicity of their diction, and still more valuable 
on account of the just notion they convey of the art in which Shakspeare 
excelled. The lines are these : 

As imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitatbn and a name. 

These are the fruits, says Macaulay, of the ''fine frenzy** which Shak- 
speare ascribes to the poet» — a fine frenay doubtless, Imt still a frenzy. 
'< Truth, indeed, is essmtial to poetry; but it is the troth of madness. 

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Tlie Teaflonings are just ; bat tlie premises are false. After the first sop- 
poflittons baTe been made, ererjthing ought to be consistent ; bat those 
first suppositions reqnire a degree of credulity which almost amomits to a 
partial and temporary derangement of the intellect.'* Hence of all people, 
ehildren — the essayist goes on to observe — are the most imaginatiye ; for 
tibej abandon themselves wi^nt reserve to every Uhmon, and every 
image which is strongly presented to their mental ^e prodoces on diem 
the effect of reaKly : so that a IHtle girl is more affected by ihe story of 
poor Red RicBng-hood than any man, whatever his sensibinty may be, is 
afieeted by Hamlet or Lear. ^ She knows that it is all false, that wolves 
caimot speaky that there are no wolves in England. Tet in spite of her 
knowledge she believes ; she weeps ; she trembles ; she dares not go into 
a dark room lest she shonkl feel the teeth of the monster at her throat 
Sfidi is the despotism of the imagination over micnltivated minds." And 
nunh liVri is the monopoly exercised by the imagination in the works of 
poelB who have not attained to manhood in their art, who are imaginative 
^ nhesr a sort," s strong sort but a wrong sort, that lacks counteracting 
Ibrees to keep it in its right place, and guide its power in a right direc- 
tion. It is mt mistaken aim and sorry pride of poets of this eaUbre, to 
he of imagination all compact. All compactness is commonly wanting in 
their imaginative creations ; tiieir phantoms are verily guiHless of flesh, 
bone, muscle, or any such thing; the clond-capt towers they rear are 
very castles in the air. 

YoQ may distrust in general with perfect safety the poet who lays a 
stoong stress on his devotion to Imagination, and confounds accordingly 
his aspiration to her fiEiveur with his inspiration by her fire. Mr. Martin 
F. Tnpper has written better things since — but he by no means winningly 
pr e po sses sed the readers of his early strains (*' Geraldine,'' See,) when he 
addressed Imi^nation as 

ThoB fjair enohantress of my willing heart. 

Who charmest it to deep and dreamy slumber. 

Gilding mine evening clouds of reverie, — 

Thou tovely Siren, who, with still small voice 

Most soflljr musical, dost lure me on 

(yer the wide sea of indistinct idea, 

Or quakinff sands of untried theory, 

Or nigy sboab of fixed expenaient 

That wmd a dubious pathway thro* the deep,— ' 

Imagination, I am thme own child, &c., &c. 

This own child of Imagination, who is a fair enchantress and a lovely 
Siren, and who a little later is called by her own child " my friend," " my 
comrade dear," 

Brother and sister, mine own other self. 

The Hector to my soul's Andromache, 

epitomising all known tables of affinity in one licentious poeticism, or 
poetical licence, insomuch that one is disposed to exclaim (confusing for 
the nonce Imagination with Fancy) 

Hillo, my Fancy ! whither wilt thou fly P— 

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ihii own chUdy then, of Ui own comrade dear, Us own brother and dstor, 
his own other sel^ is led by thia " unhappy connexion" of his just where 
he ought not to go, o'er the wide sea of indistinct idea, and quakina^ 
sands of untried theory, and so forth,— forth, forth into No-man's land, 
or the dreamy, doxy, dormitatoiy hud of Nod. Imagination of another 
land it is that poets are made o&— another kind, or if not absolutely that^ 
certainly another degree. 

And when that other degree, that higher multiple^ is duly proyided, 
still the poet is not tpsojacio assured. A supplement is wantea to make 
up the complement* "Ke is only <* parcel-gilt" if his gilding ends here. 
As a recent writer in the Westmmster Review obserres, we commonly 
hear the single faculty of Imagination set up as the distinguishing 
superiority of a poet, especially by those who do not peroeiye, that inas« 
much as poetry is the yoice of the whole man, it must take its calibre 
from the calibre of the man. ^* Imagination, be it neyer so daringly 
active, will produce no good poetry if conjoined with inferior fiunilties, or 
if deprived of the requisite matenak which are to become plastic in its 
hands." Coleridge, it is added, used to insist, and wisely, on the neoes- 
nty of the poet's bemg larfl;ely endowed with logical powers. *^ Indeed 
the great poets manifest aU powers.** A goodly group of co-ordinates, 
an efficient corps of co-efficients, are perhaps a conditio sine quA nan to 
your poets of tne class A 1, of the true noH and nonfacti race. 

Wordsworth has told us something of the nature and native nobility 
of this high-bom thing. And among other powers wherewith Imagina- 
tion is endowed, in his estimate of her, pre-eminent is the power she has 
to shape and create. This she does, he tells us, by innumerable processes 
—none more deliehtful than in that of consolidatmg numbers into uni^, 
and dissolving and separating unity into number, — alternations proceea- 
ing from, and governed by, a sublime consciousness of the soul in her 
own mighty and almost divine powers. 

It has been truly enough said, however, that Imagination is, by ninety- 
nine out of a hundred ephemeral *' poets," confounded with creativeness, 
— \b understood to be a faculty whereby the mind raises up visions of its 
own, seeing that which is invisible to all else, and giving forth shape, 
and colour, and form, which have their birth and being only in the mind. 
Whereas, it is, in truth, no such thine, but a faithful copyist and recorder 
of things as they are, in the world of nature. Comment f A month 
hence, and nous verrons. 

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To appreciate Madrid in its rarious social aspects and its many poli- 
tical phases, the reader must lamich himself at once into the whirl of 
£uhion and the agitations of every-day life, as Beaamarchais did of old, 
and as our young German diplomate did during the late stirring events 
that occurred in the Spanish capital. Oui Attach^ was an enthusiast — it 
is the best tone in which to approach an appropriate theme. ** Lord 
Byron,** he says, " awoke one morning and found himself famous. I 
have no doubt the sensation was delightful ; but I would not exchange 
for it the joy which I feel this morning, on opening my eyes aflter a short 
and hurried sleep, at finding myself in Madrid. From my earliest years 
Spain has been the land of my day-dreams — romantic, chivalrous Spain I 
Its very contrast to my native land, with its cold blue lakes and frozen 
moontiuns, made it charming to my imagination. Land of cloaked 
caballeros ; of senoras, with dark eyes gleaming firom beneath black 
mantillas ; of serenades and adventures, of love and song ; land of the 

After a first and necessanr attendance at the Legation, and a scarcely 
less essential visit to Don Jose Salamanca, the Madrid banker par imt" 
nenc€j a drive down that .street of palaces, the Calle de Alcal^ to the 
Fuente Castellana or the Prado, is not only de rigtteur, it is indispensable 
if die stranger wishes to see the prettiest head-dresses in the world, show- 
ing to the greatest advantage the splendid eyes, fine hair, and expressive 
features of the wearers, or what were, in the eyes of our Attach^, the 
best-dressed men in Europe : 

I stopped M to ask him the name of a pretty woman, to whom he took 

off his Eat. She was Ijmg back in a small open carriage with beautiful horses, 
the smallest of English jockeys, and servants m the French Imperial liveiy. She 
was dressed in the most perfect of French toilettes, and the whole turn-out 
was irreproachable. Half a dozen youn^ men were galloping by the portiere of 

her carnage. "That," said M , "is the Duchess of Alva, sister of the 

Empress of France, the greatest SUganie in Madrid. The Palace of Siria, 
belongmg to the ducal faimly of Alva, is one of the finest in the city. It was 
built, nearly a centurv ago, by James Stewart Fitzjames, third Duke of Berwick 
and Siria, under the direction of Bocbriguez, a celebrated architect. The interior 
is maenificent, and it has been lately re-funiished with, I am told, extraordinary 
splenaour." " Do you not visit the duchess P" " I leave my card at the palace 
occasionally, but she receives no one. It is three years since I have been ad- 
mitted. But it is almost a r^yal residence. I particularly admire the chapel, 
beautifully paved with marble, and the widls pamted with frescoes by Galiano. 
There b also an immense tenaoed garden, mled with flowers, and fountains, 
and marble statues, disposed with a great deal of taste, and a fine gallerv of 
paintings collected in lUly by the father of the present duke." " But why does 
not the duchess receive P from pride P" " Not at alL She is as simple m her 
manners, and as free from pride and affectation as a child. I must do the 
Spanish anstocracy the justice to say, that whatever their pride of family may 
be, it is never offensively ^own. You will find that the grandees here receive 
voy little, and I will k»ve it to your own philosophy to discover the reasons, 

* The Attach^ in Madrid; or, Sketches of the Court of IsabeUalL Tranthited 
firom the Grerman. London : Sampson Low. 185S. 

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wben yon become acquainted with Madrid society." " How superb the Medina- 
G€Bli looks to-dtty !" said a young German, who had joined us. " What a fine 
specimen of an Andalusianl What jet-black eyes and hair, what white and 
glittering teeth, what deep-red roses on her cheeks and Hps ! What a figure, as 
she leans back in her carriage, with rather a disdainful expression, and a curl 
upon her coral lip ! What a brigand's bride she would make, drawingthe 
trigger of a pistol, or sword in hand like the maid of Zaragossa !" ''Mow 

amazingly eloquent !" said M ; "why do you not join herP" "I prefer 

adoring the young duchess at a distance. For humble mortals like me, the 

Countess de Y s is more approachable. See her walking there so daintilj 

— so charmingly dressed from head to foot, with such soft eyes ! And -srhnt a 
smile !" added he, as the little condesa turned her eyes in our direction, and 
acknowledged the obeisance of her devoted admirer. 

So much for out-of-door life. To form an idea of what the same life 
is in-doors, we will go with our Attach^ to a soiree dansantCy premising 
that all the jeunesse dorSe of the capital — all young men capable oi 
dancing and flirting — are called polios, i.e. chickens. *' I think," remaricg 
the Attach^, naively y ''one ceases to be a, polio afiber thirty." There are 
many who deem themselves ApoUos in this country after forty. The 
scene of the soiree dansante is at the French Embassy : 

Nothing can be better than the way in which the marquis and his lady do Uie 
honours of their house. As a polka had just struck up when we arrived, I 
requested, without introduction, the honour of a turn from the pretty little 

Condesa de , who, having just entered, had not yet marked her engagements 

upon her tablets, and who waltzes and polkas divinamentey as the Spaniards say. 
In an iaterval, during a long and tiresome quadriUe, I told her the difficun; 
position in which I was placed, from having two youn^ sisters fall of curiosity 
at the mode of dressing of the Spanish ladies, my desire to store their miiidGB 
with usefid knowledge, and my ignorance of the mysteries of the toilette. I 
entreated her to take pity on my ignorance, and as a preliminary, to tdl me 
what her own dress was composed of. " Que tonteria ! (what foUy !) said she, 
"^rou surely mutt know that this is ^/tf<jtf' rose-coloured silk — that these are 

point-lace nounces — that these are roses in my hair— that these jewels are ** 

" Diamonds ; yes, I know that. It was onlv the glacS silk that puzzled me. I 
flatter mvself even that I am a judge of Luce, and that I know somethnu^ of 
fine jewels, yet I have seldom seen a greater disphy of both than to-night." 
" That is nothing ; wait until you go to court, or attend a real ball. No one 
wears half of their diamonds to-night." 

I asked the name of a Ycryjou jargon, whom I had heard talking English, 
some moments before, with Mrs. 8-— — , an English lady who resides here. 
'* He is the son of a rich Irish banker," said the condesa, " yet he has a Spanish 
ducal title, and is married to the daughter of a grandee of Spain, whose son is 
the husband of one of the Ynfantas. That pretty person who has his ann, 

dressed in blue, and so extremely fair, is the Countess of , a German br 

birth. That silk, you must observe, is moire aTiAqtie^ytrj handsome, though 

rather heavy for dancing. But here comes M. de for a waltz. If you do 

not wish to find a partner fw yourself, I shall put you under the charge of the 
Marquesa de , who knows everybody." She beckoned to a pretty, good- 
humoured-looking personage, and told her to show me the carte du pays, and 
giving her my arm, we commenced a tour of the rooms. 

The drama is in a different condition at the present day in Madrid to 
what it was in the time of the author of the '< barber of Seville," w^eo 
the wearisome acts of insipid plays were attempted to be enlivened by 
musical interludes. There is now no taste more developed in Madrid 
than that for the drama ; nowhere more exoeUent actors, more brilliant 

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pieoefl^ "vriiether anci^it or modem, or a more iuat and diacrimioatiiig 
audience. Some of the theatres are also unequalled for heauty, SfMMSioit^ 
nes8» comfort, and elegance. Still even the theatre has its peculiar social 
aspects. The Queen, for example, has two hozes, one in the centre of 
die house and another upon the stage, which she usuaUy occupies, except 
upon state occasions. Opposite the stage-box is that of iihe In£Emte Don 
FzanciscO) below it that of the cabinet ministers, and oppoiite theirs is 
the box of the Dudiess of Alra : 

The ministeis^ box was empty during the first two acts. Afterwards the 
minister of war came in, and took up his position with his back to the scenes, 
seeming to find metal more attractive in Hhe boxes. " II n'est pas d^(it4" 

said M. de , to whom I made this remark. There were indeed a wondarful 

number of pretty women in the four tiers of boxes and in the ffalleries. Bri^t 
eyes seemea to ^leam forth even from the ethereal regions of flie Faraiso. ui 
the entr^actes, tiie occupants of the butaeat (arm-cnairs) in the pit take an 
opportunity of ascertaimng this fact, either visiting the boxes, or turning their 
lormtoru in that direction. 

The French ambassador and his family occupied a box next that of the Queen, 

on the first tier. I recognised the Dnquesa de A s, the pretty Duchess of 

S s, the Countess of S i, the Duchess of F— -a, the Countess de 

V s, Ac. I happened to be seated next a yrex^i\^j parvenu^ with whom I 

had made acouaintance at the Casino, and who, knowing everybody by sight, 
thoagh probably not admitted into the circles of the aristocracy, undertook to 
tell me not only the names but tJie history of the occupants of each box. If I 
had believed him (but since I came here my ears have ^wn strangely incre- 
dulous of slander), I should have been shocked at the disclosures of my com- 
municative neighbour. His histories generaUv ran in this style : " That lady 
with feathers in her hair and a rose-coloured shawl, is the Countess of — . 

Next her is seated her lover. General . In the next box is the Marchioness 

of , a celebrated beauty. That is her husband, and his chdre amie is in 

that box on the pit tier, that tall woman with the yellow shawl and black eves. 

She herself has reladones with Don , that little man with moustacnes, 

loddng through his opera-glass;" and so on, through each row of boxes. 
Scarcdy one escaped ; if the lady happened to be old and plain, he had still a 
stoiy to tell of her former conduct. 

This vulgar scandaliser, our Attach^ says, was by no means an ill- 
natured man ! It is curious that the extremes of civilisation meet ; it is 
the fashion in Old Spain to speak in this manner, and often mean nothing ; 
just as it is in Russia and the Danubian Principalities, yet youu^ in 
civilisation. Vanity has a great deal to do with the system, and it is 
pleasant sometimes to see it punished in its own home ; witness the 
anecdotes told of a certain Don Joan, a polio of preposterous pre- 
tensions : 

I should not have troubled you with this long account of Don Juan, but for 

an amusinff incident which occurred last evening at Lord H ^'s after dinner, 

of which he was the discomfited hero. He was there in all the glories of a 
pak blue waistcoat, opal studs, and a most recherohS toilette. He had been 
seated at dinner next the beautiful Marquesa de S;— , and ai>peared to be in a 
state of intense excitement. When we had got into the cabinet, he took me 
aside with a mysterious air, and showed me a small oomer of a lace handker- 
chief protrudine from his waistcoat pocket. ''Do you know whose this is?" 
said he. I professed my ignorance. '^ Did you not observe me at dinner P I 
flatter myself I did not prove a very disagreeable companion. You know I took 
her in to table. I told iua: she looked cUvinely. The marquis was just behind 

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US. She said nothing, but you should have seen her expression ! What eyes 
that woman has !" "And tue handkerchief?" '* Ah ! my dear friend, I must 
be discreet ; but it was easy to draw it from the unresistioff hand which rested 
confidingl? on my arm. It shall never leave me but with life !" " Egre^ous 
coxcomb r was my mental ejacuh^on. " Confess that you are a little envious, 
my dear fellow," said the bore, following me as I made my retreat to the draw- 
ing-room. Just then we observed a ^ht movement amongst the guests. 
"Pray do not trouble yourself," said the marquesa, " only I have dropped my 
handkerchief. I believe I have left it in the dining-room." I looked at Don 
Juan, whose hce was in a blase. The master of the house despatched a servant 
to look for the missing handkerchief. Several gentlemen volunteered their 
services, but returned, saying it was not to be found. All the cushions were 
turned over; all the sofas searched in vain. The marqu^ was shocked at 

ffiving so much trouble, yet seemed annoyed. Lord H insisted upon going 

nimsdf, when Don Juan, who had been looking the picture of uneasiness, rushed 
off, and in a few minutes returned, looking very red, and displavinj? the hand- 
kerchief. "Where did you find it?" said several voices, " In th 

[ you find it?" said several voices, " In the ante-room.** 
" A thousand thanks," said the marquesa. " I am glad you found it, as it has a 
curious value attached to it." Every one admired the curious old point and rich 
embroidery of the handkerchief. " That is not its chief value," said the mar- 
quesa. " It was given to my grandmother many years ago, when she was a 
young bride at the French court, by Marie Antoinette herself. Ton see it has 
the crown of France with the fleur-de-lis embroidered on it, and the initials 
of the poor queen. My mother gave it me as a precious relic, and I seldom carry 
it. In future I must be more careful." 

I was malicious enough to look at the discomfited Don Juan, who had the 
hardihood to whisper — " All this is a mere rt(se. She saw me speaking to Mme. 

G- after dinner, and was jealous ; and besides^ noon reflection, she perhaps 

feared the fate of Desdemona. But I have promiseci to look in upon the little 

Countess deV in her opera-box to-night, so adiosP' "Now, there goes 

one of the pests of society, said the Man][uis de C , as we were walking 

together towards the theatre. "Luckily, he has been discovered to-night. He 

had alrcMly shown that handkerchief to M and to me ; he would have 

shown it in the same way at the Casino. Although known and laughed at, yet 
some few would have been gulled by his absurd vanity ; and the poor marquesa, 
against whom scandal has never breathed a word up to this hour, would have 
been supposed to favour this most insufferable bloddiead !" 

A still more cruel trick was played upon the same unfortunate poUo 
at a masked ball : 

A trick was played upon poor Don Juan, from which he will not recover for 

some time. Young S dressed himself as a woman, and turned his head 

completely j but as no adventure of this kind is of any value in his eves, unless 
participated in by all the world, he put about forty people in Ms oonfiaence. He 
walked round the room with the/air mask leaning heavily on his arm, fanning 
her witii an air of tender solicitude — he waltzed with her, which she insisted 
upon his doing, and not being accustomed to that style of exercise, he became 
mddj, and would have fallen, but for her powerful supiK)rt. He took her to 
the buffet, and to us who were in the secret it was sufficiently amusing to see 
the quantities of pdi^ de/bie which the charming creature contrived to devour 
under the shadow of her black silk curtain, and the bumpers of champa^e 
which the unsuspecting Don Juan poured out for her, accompanied by expressive 
glances, fanning her, as she leant back with the most languishing air, after 
eating a supper fit for one of her Majesty's guards. 

M thought they were carrying the joke too far, when he gave her his arm 

to escort her home, looking round at us with a triumphant air. It seems that 

8 himself was of the same opinion — ^for when the carriage had arrived at 

the Fkzuela de Cervantes, he be^od, Don Juan to order it to stop, pretending 

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tiuit be felt faint, and that the air would Tevive him ; and while Don Joan, after 

oaxefnllj handmff him out, was paving the coadmian, S suddenly started off 

at full.speed, ana darted round tne comer of the street, leavinff the unlucky 
Gabalkro alone in his glory. I rather think he suspects the trick, as he was 
very stiff and dignified when we met him this morning, and, contrary to custcnn, 
qmte silent upon the subject of his nocturnal adventure. 

It appears that at the great ball given at tbe French embassy on the 
day of San Eugenie, more than one indiscretion occurred, although 
only one led to a double duel, that of young Soul^ and tbe Duke of 
Alra; and that of the French and American ministers, and in which 
latter M. Tuigot was seriously wounded : 

A few minutes afterwards, I happened to form one of a group of pollas, 
amonffst whom was the Duke of Alva. They were very merry, and making 
remarlb, critical or laudatory, u^n all the world as they passed,— upon the 
beauty, the toilettes, ftc., especially of the. nrls and young married women. 
Amonsst others who passed us, was the lady of the American minister, dressed, 
T thii£, in dark green velvet, and leaning on her son's arm. " Here," said the 
duke, in Trench, "comes Marie de Bourgogne." Some one whispered to him 
that the lady was French, and he turned awa^ and chai^^ the conversation. 

Alas ! what mighty ills from little causes flow ! As it turned out, the young 
man had heard the remark, and treasured it up as a matter of grave offence. 
Want of knowledge of the world — for he seems very young — 9m the idea of 
an intentional offence to his mother, may plead his excuse. Be that as it may, 
it seems that he left the assembly boiling with rage, and determined to make it 
a matter of life and death between himself and tne duke. Fortunately, some 
cooler head than his own prevented him from making an esclandre in the ball- 
room. It seemed a night famous for indiscreet remarks ; for a little while after, 

as the handsome young Duke of F a was leading his partner to a chair, she 

exclaimed, ''I want you to look at the most ridiciuous dress 1 Observe that 
lady with rubies and diamonds, and such a baroqueAwikiag gown, of every colour 
nnder the rainbow." " So it is," said the young duke ; " I told my mother it 
was frightful, but she insisted upon wearing it." The young lady was shocked ; 
but her partner, laughing heartily, went up to his mother. "Maipma," said he, 
** everybody thinks your gown a fright." " I am sorrv for everybody's taste," 
said the marquesa, good-humouredly, "for I think it a beauty." 

Let no one think that adventures are no longer to be encountered in 
Madrid. The following occurred to our Attach^ at a masked ball, 
whither it is but just to relate he had gone vrith four or five young men, 
Spaniards and poUoSy after a noisy supper. They went together to the 
ball about one o'clock : 

I amused myself tolerably for an hour or so, trying to find out one after 
another of the masks, who amused themselves by saying witty things at my 
expense, and some I must confess were verv witty, and their repartees very 
amusing, one especially whose accent betrayed her to be an Andalusian. Tired 
at lengu of the squeaking voices, the etenial ''Me conocesP Te conozoo," — 
for nothing is more monotonous than a masked ball, when one has no particular 
object in view,— I went into S— 's box, and sat down in an arm-chair near 
the door. 

I might have been there about half an hour, when the door was slowly opened, 
and a masked figure appeared, with a mysterious air, half shaded by the curtain, 
^e was dressed in mourning, even her mask fringed with black lace. Her 
eloves, however, were white, and she held in one hand a remarkably beautiful 
.mrse white rose. She beckoned me with a quiet but very imperious gesture, 
and 1 got up, expecting the usual " te conozco. These woras she certainly said, 
but in a whisper, and added, " Follow me." 


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I obeyed her orders, and sIm glided on beibre ne, tfll we reached the hidl- 
looBL There ehe took my am, and for some time wattied on in perfect aiknao. 
I gweesed her to be the marquesa of this, the dnehees of that, but ehe gave lo 
answer, merely shaldng her head as a negative. Her hands ipere sooall waA 
beantifiillj formed, her feet remaikabie even for Spanidi feet. Of iMr -faoe 
nothing was seen but two remarkably Inigfat ^ee, which flawed iroxB. oot of her 
black masL After walkinjg round and roond the room for some time, she 
stopped near the door, an(f in a sepulcbial whisper said, " Have you courage 
enough to come with me ?^ Of course my answer was in the afiSrmative. Mj 
curiosity was excited, my vanity flattered, for there was an elegance and lan- 
guor i^ut my mysterious companion, that convinced me she was no common 
person. Her figure was that of a younr aid, tali and sH^ht. Her drees was «f 
the richest matenala, a kind of cloud df obck lace and jet Mainr peqile had 

observed her, but no one knew who she was. M and several other men 

standing near the stove in the lobby, made a hundred jesting remarks as we 

'* Have you a carriage?" said L She shook her head, and whispered : ^T*- 
morrow I shall have l£e finest one in Madrid. To>night I go on foot." " The 
night is cold," said I. '' Not for me— I am colder than the night,'' she aa- 
swesed. As we hurried along, I b^ran to feel a kind of absurd, vagne nneau- 
ness. It seemed to n^ that i was following the footsteps of a phantom, a kind 
of Lurelei^ and her hand, which rested on my arm, was so deadly oold» that it 
made me shudder. 

As I observed the thinness of her dress, I lamented that I had left my doak 
at the opera. " I might have induced you to aooept it, mysterious mask," said 
L "I shall find m^ cloak at home," was the not very satisCsctoiy replv. " The 
house where I live is colder than this." Onoe I stopped short, ma. insisted 
upon knowing who ^e was, but she gngped my arm tightly, and a kind of fiaa- 
oination seemed to impel me forward. Tnrongh the m^ roundabout and least 
frequented streets she threaded her way, and at last emerged into the CSaUe de 
Alcal^ stopped before the old church of San Jos^ and to my eonstemattcm 
mounted the steps. ** What mockery is this ?" said I. *' You are not going 
into a church, in that dress, at this hour F" The front doors were cloaed. She 
descended the steps, pulled me after her^ went swif tlv round the comer of the 
street, and entered by a side door. *'One moment ! she said» earnestly. '*I 
shall not detam you long." 

We passed through the sacristy, then along a dark passage which led into the 
diureh. In ihe oenke of the middle aisle, iaintlv lighted, was a pat^^klaite, 
covered with bUu^kdoth, towards whidi die directed her steps, whilst I wikined 
her movements in ocmstemation. Suddenly it oceurred to me that my myate- 
rious companion was mad^ and I forcibly undasped her hand from my arm, the 
white rose remaining in mine. She turned round, and put her finger to her lips. 
" Hush !" she whispered. " Tell no one. I was buried there this morning. 
Adieu.** It was nearly dark where we stood. Afl at onoe I peroerred that I 
was alone. Where she had flitted to, I am vnaUe to say. My eyet wcne 
riveted upon the black monument, and it seemed to me that I saw the baBgincB 
move, it mi^ be from the air whidi blew in at the open door leading iato^ 
passage. I looked round in vain. No human bein^ was visible. I groped my 
way out of the church with great difficulty, ehuddenng with odd and boiior. 

1 could not go home, but wandned about distractedly. Oarriaget were 
driving bv full of masks, and shrieks of laughter and mocking voices r eao nn ded 
througn tne streets. Masks in quaint costomes, peasants, pierrots, dominoes 
spranfi^ past me, shrieking in their falsetto voices, and laariiing at my air o£ 
Mwilaeimait. I fdt as if oppreesed by a nightmare, which I e^ild not shtko 
off. In vain I mA to mys^ that it was a carnival trick, a mystiieation, mA 
fp by some voung men, to tiy my nerves, and the extent of mv northern beuof 
in the marvellous. The air was piodng cold, mid I did not foel it 

How long I wandered through the streets, trying to edleot ny aeattend 

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, I hvdlj hum, but «t Iwi I IdhhiI mysetf agam in froBt of Qm Joe^. 
Bk ck«n were bow open. The bells ^were nngiiig rar the first early num. A 
iem poor men and fromen of theworidng dass were going in— -women with little 
ofaikben and baskets. The son had risen, but in the dnudi the light was still 
faint, and a few oandles were burning at a side altar. There, however, was the 
-coffin with its bbok hannngB, and at the head, a ciDwn of hurge white roses, 
imBBokr to the one wUch I still held in my hand ! 

I asked a woman who was kneeling near me, if she knew whose inneral 
smwjCG was to be oelebnKtedtfaat morning, bat she ooold give me no inlonDation. 
I went out hj the aide door, wiiich led into liie sacnitj, and put the same ques- 
tion to one of the boys of the choir, and he told me it was the young Comitess 

of , who had died two days before. I knew this young girl, had often 

danced with her, and had not beard a word of her death. She nwi long been in 
ddioale health, yet continued ^ing to balls, and would not be penaaded that 
dwiBing and li^ hoars were injurious to her. 

Ifelt iMMPe than oirer like one in a dream, and hastOy left the ohureh. I now 
ebaerved for the first time that I was trembling with oold. I went over to the 
Cai^Biusse, asked for some hot coffee^ and then taking a berHiu^ went home and 
to bed, hoping that a few houre^ sleep would make me feel more rational. I put 
the loee in water, so that when I wakeoaed I might be suse that my mgbt's 
ndreBtnrewasnot adraasi. 

The only ratiooal explanation that can be given of this adventure is 
ihat it was a dream, dreamt in the arm-chair in S 's box, and followed 
by Beyese iUness, &om whidi our Attadi^ only awoke to consciousness in 
»B beiL For ifaree days and n]|(»hts indeed be was delkious. Needless 
to amy ibst ike doctor did everything in ins power to ()tiiet bis patient*s 
•Anvdened fiiaiey, but he only accomplished this by getting np a stoiy of 

iSie Condesa de having a sbter who was insane, and who, making 

her escape unknown from home, had been to the masked ball in her 
aster's dothes. Nor was this the only time that our Attache was vic- 
tinoaed. The £Dllowing oconrred upon another oooaeion at the Le- 

JILn interesting female* in the deepest mourning, requested to see his excdlency 

iqxm business. She was shown mto the ante-room, but Count A being 

jnrticularly engaeed, desired me to inquire what her business might be. I 
round a remarkably nretty woman, apparently about eight-and-twenty, with a 
pair of languishing dark eyes, and a very fine figure. I expressed his excel- 
lency^ regret at wing unaole to see her himself, and requested her to make me 
the medrum of her communication. After a pause and a deep sigh, she com- 
menced her history. 

1^ was the widow of an officer— the orphan daughter of a distingmshed 
colonel, who had lost his life in some battle, the name of which has escaped mv 
memory . She was left to the tender mercies of the world, penniless, and with 
"five children, daughters, the ddest eight years old. Through some neglect her 
widow's pension had not been paid. She had come to Madrid to solicit an 

audience of the queen. She had neord of Count A *s generosity and charity. 

She came to entreat him to speak in her favour. I did not see how hb soHcita- 
€on was predsefy what she re()uired. I recommended an appeal to the Minister 
of War. flbe thanked me very much, and cast down her eyes, fringed with a 
dazk curtain ctf eydashes— ^en raising 'diern again, she said, while a large tear 
trembled in eadi (I will swear to the tears)-— "it is hard for the daughter and 
widow of two brave afficcrs to be reduced to sohdt aid— but what will a 
mother not do for her children 1 and those children starving f I am afraid I 
^bnced indiscreetly srt the demice of her mourning attire, mit she am)eared to 
tal^e no notice, vox aaked me if I thou j^ that Const A—- wouldTend her a 
Bmall sum to pay the rest of her ladgmgs for one weci:. I told her I would 


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take her message to the count, bat she stopped me, and laying her white un- 
gloved hand npon my arm, and poorinff a whole fire of artillery from her radiant 
eyes — ** Stav,' said she, " I would rafiher receive a favour from you. Something 
tells me that you are generous. I have more faith in youth, with such a coun- 
tenanoe as yours, than in the cold, worldly prudence of an older diplomate." 

I stammered out something, and put my hand in my pocket— drew oat a 
porte-monnaie, and was quite ashamed on opening it to find that it contained 
only two sold napoleons. I told her I hardly ventured to offer so small a sum, 
but woula call at her lodgincs in the eveniug. She took them, however, with a 
pensive smile, and eave me ner direction — " Dfioa Ana de Gonsalez, Galle de 
Silva, No. 15, fourth story, to the left hand." Then with another killing glano^ 
she prenared to depart. I handed her into her berlina^ and received & sweet 
'' Beso las manos ae Y. Caballero," as it drove off. 

The count was with the Austrian minister when I returned, so 1 reserved the 
account of my mission to another opportunity, and in the evening set off, armed 
with a full purse, to the Calle de Suva. I found the number— mounted to the 
apartment — ^poor enough it seemed to be. I knocked— a shrill-voiced maid- 
servant reconnoitred me through the loophole. I asked if the Sefiora was at 
home. She threw open the door, and marched on before me through a dark 
passage, at the end of which she walked into a long, low-roofed room, and an- 
noun^ me as a aenilenutn^un Caballero. 1 foundmyself, as soon as the light 
of one flaring talfow candle enabled me to distinguish anything, in the presence 
of five old ladies ; four with mantillas, and one very deaf, half-blind old lady, 
the mistress of the house. 

They were ranged upon stiff wooden chairs, with their backs dose to the wall, 
and each had a cup of^ chocolate in one hand, and a small sweet biscuit in the 
other. Every biscuit remained suspended in its descent into each cup, and all 
eyes were turned to survey the intruder into their tertulia. 1 made my reqpeots 
to the old lady, whose grey hair, without a cap, turned up with a hiom comb, 
prodaimed her to be the mistress of the domain, and be^g;ed to know if the 
Sefiora de Gonsalez was at home. " MU males r* said the old woman. '* No 
better. I have suffered a great deal from my rheumatism since last Monday. I 
went to mass in the rain, and caught more cold. Sit down, Caballero. Take a 
cup of chocokte." 1 declined, and repeated "La Sefiora de Gonsalez,*' in a 
louder key. " Sefior de Sales," said the ladj, '* please to be seated. Take a 
glass of water, and an azucarillo" " Tou wish to see the Sefiora de Gonsalez P* 
at last said an old lady. " No such person has ever lived here. You have nus- 
taken the number, Sefior. Dofia Margarita has occupied this apartment for 
thirty years." 

I felt inclined to execute the perfidious widow, and besides I saw that the old 
ladies were dying of curiositv for an explanation, for you must know that I 
was rather a smaH-lookin^ Caballero to appear in this fourth stoiy, being dressed 
for a soir^ at the Austrian minister's. Jua a few words 1 exphuned my errand. 
'* Ave Maria ! Caramba ! Que picara ! La viudita ! (the little widow !) with htsr 
mourning dress. But you must be tired, Caballero. Sit down — ^take an om- 
carillo*' A little subdued burst of kughter made me look round, and there on a 
low stool in a comer, before the table on which the solitary cancUe was burning; 
sat the prettiest girl, 1 am sorrv to sav, knitting or darning a stocking. Figure 
to yourself a fine-looking graceful Anaaluza of about eighteen, with a profusion 
of dark hair rolled rouml ner head in about fifU plaits, mat, full, dark eves, 
and a row of pearls in her fresh mouth, which she pursea up very primly when 
I turned round, seeming very much ashamed of having given audible vent to 
her mirth. The result of this agreeable sk^ht was, that 1 sat down, took a glass 
of dear water and an azucarillo, and trieclto make mysdf as agreeable as pos- 
sible. The hostess received an explanation, given in a shriU, distinct key by one 
of the ancient Sefioras, and much sympathy and indignation was expressed by 
the venerable Dofia Margarita. 1 could not hdp thinking how truly polite 
these good people were, and how perfectly at their ease in the presence of a 

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THE attach:^ in MADRID. 193 

I vas just bethinkiiiff myself of taking leave, when the first old lady who had 
spoken, rose up, called her daoghter, the fair knitter, and prepared for her de- 
parture, saying that her oook had &pulmoma, and she mnst go home to see her. 
Sach a kave-taking, and kissing, and putting on of shawls, and messages, and 
promises of return ! And as ihad risen at the same time, the hostess told me 
the house was at my disposal, so was the aunque inuHl (although useless), fto., 
and Tet no one knew my name, or seemed to care to know. I asked permission 
of tfie old lady to accompany her and her daughter home. Hiey lived in the 
CaDe de loa Espejos. On the way, I received many cautions as to how I lis- 
tened to imposing widows in future. Dofia Dolores walked on demurelv in 
front. I accompanied my new acquaintances up to the fourth story of their 
house ; was requested to walk in, which I declined, and cannot flatter myself 
that I have made the slightest impression upon the fair Dofia Dolores, who, 
by the way, managed her ran and mantilla in tne most bewitching manner. My 

storjT was recneivea with much applause next day at the count's table. M 

was in ecstasies at my being so verdant. It seems that this class of interesting 
impostors is not uncommon here. 

We must conclude with a sketch of a different character — a political 
one — Madrid as it was after the insurrection that brought O'Donnell and 
Espartero into power : 

Madrid has completely changed its aspect, and without having the miraculous 
seven years' slumber of Rip Van Winkle, it would suffice that one should have 
CftUen asleep seven weeks 9^, and awakened this Ist of September, to find an 
entire alteration in men anathings. My friend M has retumea from Bar- 
celona, escaping from riots, cholent, and misery of every description, and we 
walk the streets together in moralising mood, or ride far away into the country, 
leaving Madrid dust behind us, or rather exchanging the dust of the city for 
tiiat of the country. 

We went yesterdav to look at Queen Cristina's palace, which presents a sorry 
spectacle. We stood there while the moon threw a mellow veil over its ruined 
walls ; and it seemed to me that years must have elapsed since they echoed to 
the sound of dancers' feet, and to the gay music of the cotillion. How many 
changes in a short period ! How all that gajr and joyous societv is scattered I 
Where is the queen-mother, who sat there smiling and gracious P — Driven into 
exile. Where ner charming daughters, the life of that assemblage? — Also in 
exile. That litde Ynfante Fernando, childish and nervous ?—%ead. His 
troubles are well over. The Prince of Parma ? — Stabbed. The ministers and 
their families ?— Fled. The kdies of the pahu^e? — ^Dismissed and dispersed. 
What has become of the queen herself, whose word, however gentle, was a law 
to her cabinet ?— -Surrounded by strange faces, deprived of her early friends, 
and forced to obey and even to thank those who have risen in rebellion against 

** Where's Brummell P— Dished. Where's Long Pole Wellesley P— Diddled," 

said M , irreverently. "The dead will certainly not return, out those who 

have fled may be back again and in power to-morrow." 

Last week I had the honour of assisting at a grand dinner, given bv the 
French embassy to the new cabinet. All the diplomates were present, always 
excepting the representative of the United States. Among the nrst who arrived 
was JBspartero, m whose outward man there is certainly little to attract the 
popular fancy. Divested of his tuiiform and multitudinous crosses, he would 
appear an ordinary-lookingindividual, rather in feeble health, devoid of strength 
emier moral or physical, ^is manners are grave, his features in no way remark- 
able ; his hair dyed dark, and rather closelv cropped. In conversation he is far 
from brilliant, and except that he is himself a man of the people, one looks in 
vain for the qualities wnich have made him the hero of the popula^ cause. 

OlXmneU, on the contrary, is a showy-looking man, of fine figure, immensely 
tall, his face remarkably handsome, though heavy and not particularly intelligent 

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Ib lift exproBflioiL He is moie fluBDit in converaatioii, withmoce ease id i 
and is altogether more brilliant than his ooUeagoe. Old General San. ififignel 
has an uncbniably honest conntenance ; his hair, whiskers, and moostaohes per- 
fectly grey ;. strong, ragged features ; a fine (^ei^tic expression ; however one 
may disapproye ot his p^tical principles, it is impossible to doobt his sineeotj. 
General Kos de Olano, wiry and nervous, thin and restless^ looks as if some 
internal fire were wearing him out. 

The banquet was long and serious, notwithstanding a sprinkling of agreeablB- 
women ; but their superb jewels, and the uniforms and crosses of the generala 
and diplomates, had a brilliant effect. Seated at the bwer end of the taUe^ 
amount the aubaltem members of the diplomatic bod^,. I could only obserw 
that tnere was a greater flow of wine than of conversation, and a good deal ofi 
stiffness and embarrassment on all sides, excepting in the feminine portion, of 
the society. Espartero spake little, and eat less, and looked sleepy and suffer- 
ing. O'Dounell was grand and condescending. (Xd San Miguel seemed very 
well pleased to let the ladies attend to him. 

In the evening the addition of several guests gave more animaticm. to tfa» 
societv. Espartero and O'Donneli took leave early. Countess , a deter- 
mined enemy of the new government, remarked, in a loud whisper as they went 
out, that they reminded her of a peacock and a barn-door fowl 

It is but fair to remark that our diplomate, whom we strongly suspect 
of beings a sharp-witted, clever Iriahnupv under iHie gmae of a young 
Crecman attache, always speaks highly in favour of the young qufiflm* 
He is supposed to be conversing widb: an experienced senaixur : 

** One thing more still surprise me," said I. ''The queen, so younr ami bt- 
offenfiivo, for whom so many swords were drawn in her childhood, who^ I an 
told, is generous and charitable even to a £ault, tuul royal in h» mnnificeBoe, — 
how has she become a mark of calumny, so that even the false aoonsatigav 
a^ninst her which stain the columns of the Times hardly excite indtgnation ?" 
** xou aoB judging," said the marquis, '' from the surft&oe of things. Ail the 
wise and gpocTmen of this country are indignant at these base attacks agaiml 
our sovereign. These people still adore their generous queen. But there ia a 
party in Spain who endeavour ^stematically to undermine all monaichieal iiio 
fliatations; Eindtng-that a vain attempt (for Spain is essentafly HMHiarclmd); 
anable to destroy the principle, they have turned their attacks against ime 
aerson of IJie monarch, and if they cannot destroy monarchy, they would- at 
Isaat desnuie the sovareign. These infamous stories are carsfnlly piepaDed. 
ina i di o n a ly propagated, and a superstructure of guilt raised upon any sli§^ 
imprudence wlbml to a young princess, who, a queen at thirteen, after an 
education interrupted by civil wars, was not endowed wi<^ a supernatural insight 
nito diaracter. 

"Of the truth or falsehood of these accusations we can judge as well as the 
pubUo. We can see that, in her public conduct, her Mijes^ is a nH»deI of 
ieoanun'. They can see no further. If these stories, are propagated by her 
servants, what reliance can be plaoed on tiiem P The c(Hrrespondent of the Tbmf 
was never admitted within the palace waUs ; therefore in all that he relatea he 
can oalv draw upon his own corrupt imagination. But if these stories are 
npeated by any younr man who pretends to be the queen's fiavourite, can he be' 
wertl^ of cremt ? and is the queen to be denied that juetioe which we extend to 
the \9wmt of her sea F" 

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So Uuit warning dull had worked itself ont at last, and the tribulation 
luMi €(HBe. Was it my £Mdt ? Was it my fault ? I shall ask myself 
tbe n^metaom to the latest hour of my life. Perhaps, when they invited 
Iwr to spend sone time in their luxurioos hoase, I ought to hare remeo^ 
bered the chill, and that it was the first time I saw them together when 
it had stolen over me^ and theref<N*e have refused my consent. But they 
fissaed earnestly for her, saying what a comfort she would be to thenr 
UB&vtuiiate daughter, and I was laughed at for hinting at any objection 
to it. Lucy laughed at me ; Miss Graves laughed at me ; Frances Goring, 
thovgh she was but a child, laughed at me : and when they inquired my 
gioundsy I had none to give, for not even to myself did I, or could 1^ 
define tbenu " They live in style, they keep gay company, it will be 
gifving Mary ideas beyond her sphcore of life, were all the arguments I 
eonld ui^; none difiiwilt to overrule. So Mary went for a few days at 
Eaater, vhiek would have been nothing, for she came home, I do beUev^ 
perfectly heart-whole ; but die went again at Midsummi>r, to aeoompaaj 
Lady Elliot and Clara to the se»-side, and then the mischief was done. 
Whai ^se eould have been expected, thrown^ as she was» into the fiMci- 
aatiBg society of WilHam Ellioi? 

But wba wae to know that he would make one of the party ? Nok>dj. 
In the first week of Lady Elliot's arrival at Spa (as good a name as any 
other lor their marine residence, it not being convenient to give the right 
one) she was surprised at being followed thither by her son. He wan 
oone- fi)r some sea-hadikig, he said, and forthwith engaged apartmenta 
at an hoteL Nine weeks her ladyship remained^ — nine weeks ! and the 
trfmle of that time were he and Mary p«rpetaally together. Sir Thomaa 
Elliot wrote once, a curt, decisive letter of three lines, demanding bew 
wrb more time he meant to waste, and Mr. WilUam wrote bade that he 
waastaiyingwherehewasy just as hard a* he eeuld in hischambem. So 
hft was: stc^ying the sweet ^e and pure mind of Mary Goring. 

^I guessed how it wa%'' Miss Qravea said afterwards to me. '* There 
w«iee2imbii^npUieeH£Si.; and wunhlings on the beach, after aea>^hells ; 
mA landings in the a£lemoon 'r and ma^ght lingerings in the gardok 
in the ev^nng; Mr. William coold net quite deeeive me. I was left to 
tdoa COM of Clttra ElMot^ while h^ talked sentiment with Miss Goring.**^ 
^Stvatting en the h^mch togedur, and talking sen ti ment by meon-^ 
fight?' I uttered in dismay. ^ And yon eoidd seo all thia going on, and 

"U »ihB moonfight doaa it dA," peevi^y retorted Miss Graives;^ 
" sentimental strolls would come to* nothing without it The moon pute 
nansansT into yocrag heads than all th» noivela that ever were 
B. rU gtwjwuF an example^ One night th^ wrae all out in thn 
, Mk. WiUismv Glar% and. Miss Goring. A long, narrow strip of 
Kit waa, at thn bn^ of tho house, stxetding down nearly to thsi 
OHk. Tanemnnia, Md Lady EUkitQalledfrefla the window, but nohedjr 
answered, so I had to hunt them up. I tied my hftinHietrhirf e^eg my 

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bead, for I had got a touch of the toothache, and away I went An 
intensely hot night it was, with the moon as bright as silver, and I looked 
here, and I looked there, till I got to the end of the garden. On the 
bench there, fast asleep, with her head resting on the hard rock behind 
ber, was Clara, and, standing close by, was William Elliot with his arm 
round Mary, both of them gazing at the moon. Now I ask you. Miss 
HaUiwell, or any other impartial person, whether such a scene could have 
been presented to me in broad daylight ? People are reserved enough 
dien, and take care to stand at a respectful distance. The moon is al<me 
to blame, and I'll maintain it." 

Dear me ! she quite vexed me with her rubbish about the moon. Ar 
if, when she saw those two growing fond of each other, she could not^ 
have despatched a hint of it to me by the post! ** What could Lady 
Elliot have been thinking of?*' I inquired. 

" Bless you, she saw nothing of it," returned Miss Graves. " Her 
idea was tnat William haunted us for the sake of taking care of Clara, 
and she was rarely out with us herself. She makes so much of Mr. 
William : she would never dream of his falling in love with anything less 
than a lord's daughter. But there's no great harm done. When I was 
Mary Gortng's age, I had lots of attachments, one after the other, and 
they never came to anything. A dozen at least." 

It was so stupid, her comparing Herself to Mary Groring I Not that I 
wish to disparage Miss Graves, who is a very estimable young woman, 
but she and Mary are differently constituted. Miss Graves is fiill of 

Eractical sobriety, without a grain of romance in her composition, all 
ead ; while Mary is made up of refined feeling and imaginative senti- 
ment, all heart. The one would be likely to have a dozen << attach- 
ments," and forget them as soon as they were over ; but the other, if she 
enoe loved, would retain the traces for all her future life. It was of no- 
use, however, saying this to Miss Graves: she would not have understood 
me, and I was too vexed to argue. Besides, it would not undo what was 

I saw it as soon as Mary came home. There was a change about the- 
girl : a serene look of inward happiness, an absence of mind to what was 
going on around her, a giving way to dreamy listlessness of thought. 
And when, in the course of conversation, it came out that Mr. Williaoi 
Elliot had made one of the party at Spa, my surprised exclamation caused 
the damask flush in Mary's cheeks to change into glowing, consdooa 
crimson. It is true Mary had, in one of her letters, mentioned Mr. 
WUliam's name, but I never supposed he was there for more than a day 
or so: run down to see his mother and sister, by, perhi^, an excurnon 
train. So that suspicious crimson convinced me at once : I wished it 
anywhere but in Mary's face : and when Miss Graves came to our house, 
ft row days subsequently, to spend an evening with us, I spoke to her 
about it, and hence the above conversation. 

- " You need not annoy yomself over it," persisted Miss Graves, wha 
was anxious to excuse herself. *^ If they did fiedl in love vdth each other 
-^which I dare say they did, and I won't tell any story about it— they 
will soon forget it, now they don't meet If you keep her out of sight, 
when Mr. William calls here, he'll soon cease coming, and the afBedr will 
die a natural death." 

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"Of ecfme Mary will not be permitted to see him,** I warmly re- 
joined ; " but as to the a&ir dying out, that is another thing." 

The crosses one's good resolutions meet with ! the ruees young people 
are up to, unsuspected 1^ old ones! Woiild anybody belieye that at 
that tery time, that same identical hour, when I and Miss Graves were 
in the drawing-room, laying down so cleverly our plans for their separa^ 
tion, they were together, in the dining-parlour below us? Upon my 
going into that apartment some time afterwards, who should be standing 
there, at the open window, but Mr. William Elliot and Mary Groring ! 
Enjoying each other's society in the dangerous twilight hour of tmit 
summer's night ; in. the sweet scent of the closing flowers ; in the calm 
rays of the early stars — aU dangerous together for two young hearts. 
The saying of " knocking one down with a feather " could not precisely 
aj^yto me, for you might have knocked me down with half a one. 

"Well, I'm sure I" I exclaimed, in my astonishment, not quite so cour- 
teously, I fear, as politeness to a guest demands, *^ I did not know you 
were here, sir. Have you been here long ?" 

" Not long," replied Mr. William ElUot, advancmg to shake hands 
with me. 

Not long ! It came into my mind, as he spoke, that I had heard a 
bnsftle, as of some one beincp shown in, a full hour bejfbre. 

I had not seen him for tnree months, and his good looks, his winning 
manners, struck upon me more forcibly than ever. Not S6 pleasantly as 
they used to do, for the annoying reflection sug^;ested itself — If they 
won over to them my old heart, what must they have done by Mary's ? 
I took my resolution : it was to speak openly to him, and I sent Mary 
Qp-stimrs to Lucy and Miss Graves. 

" Mr. ElKot," I began, in mjr heat, « is this well done T 

He looked fearlessly at me, with his truthful eye and open countenance. 
There was no guile mere. " Is what well done ?" he rejoined. 

'^ I am deeply grieved at having suffered my niece to accompany your 
mother to the sea-nde. I did not know you were to be of the party, or 
she should certainly not have gone." 

" Why not. Miss HalHwell ?" 

"Why not! I hear of ramblings on the sands and moonlight inter- 
views in the garden — you, with Mary Goring. Was this well done, sir?" 

** It was not ill done," was his reply. 

" Mr. Elfiot," I continued, " I am a olain-speiJiing old body, but I 
have had some experience in life, and I nnd that phun-speaking answers 
best in the end. You must be aware that such conduct as you have 
pvrsued cannot wdl fail to gain the affections of an inexperienced girl : 
and my belief is, that you havd been wilfully setting yourself out to win 
those of Miss Groring." 

<* I will not deny it : I have tried to win them. Beoanse, dear Miss 
HalHwell," he added, advancing to me, and speaking with emotion, 
** becanse she first gained mine. I love Bliss Goring, truly, fervently, with 
a love that will end but with my life. From the first day I saw her 
here, when poor Clara said she had found a new sister^-you may re- 
member it — she never ceased to haunt me ; her face and its sweet expres- 
sion, her manners, her eentle voice, were in my mind continually, <uid I 
knew they could only belong to a good, pure, and refined nature. It 

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did not take long comp>nion8luy» wImii we w«re tiirown tog^huff to per- 
fect that love ; aiid,taatdone,Idid8et mTS^out^aayoaobsenpeytowiA 
ben, in ezeluu»ge» I trust I have sueoeeded.'' 

If I had m^ up to the top of the Monuflaeot (wheee I have nrpev 
^t ventured), the run could not more effectually have taken, vwmy mxy 
breath and my senses than did thia bold avowal, which to my can sotwled 
as much like rhapsody as reason. " And what, ki the name of wonifae; 
do you promiaa yourself by all this^ sir ?" I asked, whea my a ma ae m ant 
could find speech. "What end?" 

^ There is but one end that an avowal, such as mine, ceuld have in 
view, Miss HaUiwelL The end, the hope, tdiat Jillise Goring will beeoma 
my wife." 

" Well, you will excuse me, Mr. Elliot," I said, a&er a long stere at 
him, '* but I fiear you must be crazed." 

He burst out laughing. *' Why do you £ear that ?" 

" There ia no more probability of your marrying Mary Goring tiMn. 
there is of your marrying that ahmr, stf . So the best thing yon ean di^ 
ia to get her out of yomr head as spei9&fy as you caac" 

He did not speak for some moments, and I saw the colour moon*, ta 
hia brow.. *^ What is your objection te me, Mms HaUiwell ?" 

" I suppose you ace playing on my nonplicity, sir, to ask what my eb- 
jee<aoa is,^' I replied. '' k is your ftmily that the objeetioa will eome 
from, not mine. The son of the great Sir Thomas Elliot will never he 
mfiered to wed simple Mary Goring^" 

** Mi« Gozinff is of gentle blood," he remonstrated. 

" I trust she is," I said, drawing myself up, *^ though we, the aictsae of 
her mother, are obliged to keep a school he our living.. But your frianda 
will look at posituMi) as well as gentle Uood. Mij I aek, sir, if Sir 
ThMnas and Lady Elliot knewr ef thie?'* 

"Not yet." 

" Ae I thougj^t, Ml. Elliot. Year romance with my nieae mostL end 

" It will not, indeed, Miss HalliweH." 

" Sir, it shall. And I must observe that you harve acted aezuel port. 
A young lady V affsctimis ase not to be played with lilie a fi>otball. 
However, you have seen her for the laat time." 

<' AUow me to see her once more,,'' he rej<Nned. 

« Not if I know it, Mr." 

"For an instant only, in yeur preaenee," he- eaenestlff 
" Sorely that ean da no- hara^ if we aae te part." 

Semathiog came into n^ hsam, just then, about George . 
viaion of my last interview with him ia Load Sea^Md'a park. ^W1» 
should I deny these two a final adieu?" I asked myseH So I rekala^ 
aad called Maiy down — and. waa ezceedui§^ sefti for my pains.. 

She- shrank to Biy aide when she eame in, but WiUiami EUiot deeir ha 
tnm mA. " 1 have been avowing to your aant how matteia stasul^" he 
aaid. " She weoU persnada me toi reiinqaish you: she tUnka sack Imrm 
aacuaaeaaba thrown eff at wilL Se I aaqneated yonr p i es e aa e baai^ 
Mary, thai w« mie^ aaaurah^ oar engagement ia of a diflaient nahwaa 
Ifcat we aBftbeaad to each ether by ties iirevataUeiatha apiat, aatiha^F 
hereaAea shall he made in. leality." 

So that was all I got by calling Mary. She had paled, and blushed, 

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UABiwvma^ lit 

aod fi i HM a d , and bow iIw Wean taery omL shake. Mr. WiUum InuMd 
<W€r her wkh fUMwiring woioi of tbedaepeafc lendanieae. Iiaira«lf 
\hA perplexity htSam ihmny, and not one wink of iLtep did I get 
blessed night. 


OsB 6»f the renowned phjsioiaa, Sir Thomaa Elliot, was nei htmasK 
la lien of the stately imperturbabili^ which eharactefised the diati»- 
gtdahed west-end praotationer, his nuuaaera betrayed a nemoainesa, an 
absence ol miiid, ne^ev before witnessed* To oae lady patiesty who eoa* 
aaked him for dy^psia, he ordesed eod-liver oil and port wine ; to 
anothai^ who wae deep in eonsonption, he prescribed leeches, and? to Ifna 
upon bariey-water. He had a large influx of patients that day, and an: 
unosoal number of calb to make from heme. Not until a few minqlag 
bdSnpe iJu dinatf^oor did he find his time his own. 

fie weot stiaighi to his wife's room, and sat down on a low Ottoman 
^hifth stood in its midst Lady Elliot glaneed reund at him, aMnewha*. 
surprised, for it was not ofUftlter li^;e koigbt &veurad her wi^ hia fgm^ 
sence there in the day. She eontuHied dressing without, oomneMt Sir 
Tkeraaa aad Lady iSliot vmafy waetad sapoiuoaa worda^ eaa npon Ae 

"^ Can't yon finish foryoomel^ andsendher aw»y P' ctiai SueThoMM^. 
iadieating the attendant hf a movement of the head. 

Moeesarprieedstifi, but not cuiioes (for Lady Efik>t,yQaB|g and hand* 
seaie^aariie-waeyet^ really gave one the idea m p ea sessiny aointemstin 
whai pertained to thm present life — or in the aner to fi>Qow it^ fi» Aa 
matter of that). An dismissad the maid, but did not withdraw heneli ei 
her eyes from the glass, as she continued her toilette. 

'^ I d&d net think,. Louisa^ yon could hanFo been nieh. a f&tlk,^ was the 
cemplimentaiy opening cf Sr Thomas EHiot, in a low toM of iataase^ia- 

Lady Elliot looked at him — as well she might — and a.fladirD8e toihrnr 
face. She paa a ed^ howews, hefbie Am spok% coldly aad resentfidly. 

*^ I psQirad mysrif that, years ago." 

Sir Thomas knew well to what she alluded: to her own hasty and «» 
sanctioned union with himself: aad a peevirffc "tush" haoko fima hsahps. 

*^ You hare proved yourself a greater one now, Louisa, and ^e« must 
pandonmy plainoassinsaying^sa If yen and I rushed iato a headlong 
mamig% it eii|^ t» hsme Been th» mor^ oeasoik fis year aai loading 
William into one." 

^Waiam!" eAoad Lady Elfiet, in • starred vmce. Itwas^p^aps, 
Am only anlfect thai ceold aarouee her. She idolised her sonw 

** You have got into this habit of taking your ean coarse, widmnt 
cansaWbg errefrning^ tocan ; geiig here, going llieEa— doing Ai^y, doing 
that^^paeseadedSvThcnas. ^'When yen went to Spa. for ass etennd 
anadkr el wfinhs, had yim iafermedma tliat it waa yomr intentienc tn hawe 
William and Miss Gonng there also^ and make ttan eompanions tneaeb 
other, IshoaUhMcepntastaptoit;. Any ooa hot yen raigh* havn osen 

'^Befalt?' fiidtesadi Lady^ EBiot» wsthi a. siskeaing 
irint waa eonmwv 

"Of course,*' aagriiy lupatcid abrThoai "^Wbennyeang CittMi^ 

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like Willitm, is thrown for weeks into the society of a girl, loyely and 
fiuoinsting as — as — the deuce" — Sir Thomas, at the moment, could not 
think of any more appropriate simile — ^' only one result can be looked 
for. And it has turned up in his case." 

" You mean " 

<< That he is over head and ears in love with her ; and has been to me 
this morning to ask my sanction to their marriage. I wish you joy of 
your daughter-in-law, Lady Elliot" 

Lady ^iot scarcely suppressed a scream. " It is impossible, it is im- 
possible," she reiterated, in agitation. *' I never thought of this." 

*' Then you must have lived at Spa with your eyes shut. But I can 
hardly believe you. To think that you and Eliza Graves could be moping 
and meandering all those weeks, and not see what was g^ing on under 
your very noses ! Women are the greatest " 

What, Sir Thomas did not say, for he dropped his voice before brings 
ing the sentence to a conclusion. " I thought William was at Spa an 
unaccountable time, and wrote him word so," he continued, *' but I never 
imagmed you had got that Miss Goring there." 

'^ You must have known it," returned Lady Elliot 

*' How should I ? I saw she was staying here the day or two before you 
went, but I thought — if I thought at all about it — ^that as a matter of 
course she returned home. I say you are always acting for yourself, Lady 
Elliot, without reference to my feelings — if I have got any, which pierhaps 
you don't believe. When, the morning of the day fixed for your depar- 
ture^ I was summoned in haste out of town, you might have delayed it till 
the following day. Most wives would. But no, not you ! I came back 
at night and found you gone. How was I to know that you took Miss 

** It is too preposterous ever really to come to anything," observed 
Lady Elliot, eager to find comfort in the opinion. '< William, with his 
personal beauty, his talents, and his prospects, might marry into a duke's 
fiunily if he chose." 

<* Exactly. But he chooses to marry into that of a schoolmistress." 

** He must not ' choose,' " persisted Lady Elliot, growing excited ; *^ he 
must be brought to reason." 

"Brought to what ?" asked the knight 

** Reason." 
. " I don't know," was the significant reply* '' 'Reason' did not avail 
in a similar case with yon or with me. William may prove a chip of the 
old block." 

<< It never can be permitted," said Lady Elliot, vehemently. ^ Many 
Maty Goring I It would be disgracing him for life. William would 
never be so ungrateful." 

'^Leaving your ladyship the agreeable reiection that you were the 
chief bringer about of the disgrace. Looking at the afSetir dispassionatdy,. 
I do not see how it is to be prevented. William possesses money, inde- 
pendent of us. Enough to live upon." 

<« Enough to starve upon I" scornfully interrupted Lady Elliot 

^* Twice, nearly thrice, as much as we enjoyed for many years of our 
early life," rejobed Sir Thomas, in a subdued voice. '' And to them- 
selves, who axe just now spoony with fantastic visbns, 'Love in a 
oottage' may wear the appearance of love in a paradise." 

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«Caii nothbg be dono ean noihmg t^ii ?" reiterated Lady Elfiot 

** One thing may. I tboiild hare put it in feroe this morning, hot 
that I oertainfy thongfat yon must hare been aparty to the scheme, after 
what William let oat of the goings-on at Spa. 

^ And that thing ?^ she eagerly asked. 

'^ To forlnd it on pain of my curse. As 1 belieye our parents yery 
nearly did by us. I do not think l^^lliam would braTC it" 

Lady Elliot pressed her hand oyer her eyes, as if she would shut out 
recollection of toe years which had followed her rebellions marriage. The 
retrospect was one of dire anguish : for worse, in all probability, than 
bad been the reality. Her husband turned to leare tlie room. She 
qprang after him, and drew him bade. 

<« Oh, Thomas! anythbg but that. Nerer curse our boy, whatefcr 
betide. Thbk of the misery our disobedienoe entailed on us. Do not 
force Atm into if 

«' Thenyou will let him marry the girl T 

<< Yes. If the only altematire must be our fote oyer again for him." 

" He comes to-night for the answer," continued Sir Thomas, standing 
with the door in his hand. "< What is it to be ? Consent? Ileayethe 
decision to yon : for I will not, in this matter, subject myself to after- 

" Consent^" die replied. But Lady Elliot wrung her hands in anger 
as she said it She had anticipated so much more brilliant an alliance 
for her son. 


So sunshine came into our dwelling, for William Elliot hastened down, 
and laid his proposals before us for Mary. I could not belieye my own 
ears. He frankly stated that Sir Thomas and Lady Elliot were not 
cordialfy inclined to the match, for they had looked to his choosing rank 
and wealth; but they had not withheld their consent, and, he was cwtab, 
Mary would soon wm her way to their entire loye. Perlums this was as 
mn<m as Mary could haye hoped for, indeed more ; for in pomt of worldly 
greatness William Elliot was above her. I suggested that they shoula 
not marry until the ** entire loye'* of Sir Thomas Elliot and his wife had 
been obtained, but Mr. Wiltiam laughed at me, and of course Mary 
thought with him. They were both in a maie of enchantment, and 
common sense was put out of the question. 

For a few weeks our house was the pleasantest of the pleasant. Pre- 
parations were set on foot for the approaching union. Mary's things 
were bousfat, and Mr. William took a pretty abode in the Regent's Pane. 
He did adopt my advice in one particular, and that was, to beffin life in 
a small way : more in accordance with his own than his fothers income. 
A flood fortune must come to him at the demise of Sir Thomas and 
Lady Elliot^ but they might liye many years. So he agreed to set off 
in a yery moderate style — for him — ^though / thought it a sufficiently 
sumptuousone. One man and two maid-seryants— no carriage^ only Mr. 
WilBam's horse, which he aud he eould not giye up. Ah ! whf^ de- 
lightfo] diacnssions we had on those warm eyenings, not one of which did 
]£r. l^^dliam oyer foil to intend widi us. He had discoyered that diniiu^ 
in the middle of the day was good for his constitution, and neyer feK 

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fiOt HARTOOfilKa. 

^Mfl, li«^note0lBd, withoQt an ««% tea, wkiek lie ooM aot ^ aft home, 
BO b^fgad lea^e to Md ovs. it *wai quite «i every *ity tfanijgf, vow, for 
iM ko take it in the drawi u g -toem . i dbn*t ImMr ivIieAer Mmtv ttm 
through his depth, about has iMmstiMion and his eaily teas, but I My 
and was pleased, and a merry party we used <ko mm. I S wn u tuncB he 

woald get «ie to gb« Mary a lesBOi tu hooB oU e c p t ng, and eet faimself to 
listen with a serious i^e, wiiile all Ae tifloe these hAndeome eyes «f fab 
wouU be daneing with Biernment. ^' Ahomt legs 'of nmtton and i^le- 
taats," fae wonld ear, wfaidi weidd send Fnaiees Goring off in ibi ef 
lawghter, abtiost as bad as poor Oara E^mC's. I wevki Bonetimef givn 
them an opportnoky of being alone together— <fiDr I venMmbered my mm 
early days, and the rapture that was anne wlian I had a solitary momeat 
with €roorge Avoher. I limited their interviews to *d»ee Mnotes : at the 
fast tbk of the t^iird, in I woidd pep to the 4rawing-reom again, wMeli 
speed, I believe, rather exasperated Mr. William. One eveniDg, «■ soq« 
as tea was over, he asked me to let Maxy go oat wallung with him, but 
I doelannd, and <]i£Eered fliyselfiaBtead 1 eoM he never asked again. Not, 
Ifape, that «ny one wiH suppose I tfaonght tR of Wilfiam BUiot. A 
SDOBe honound>ke young man never Wreathed ; and I oonid have tmited 
Mary with him anywhere : bnt way dear mother bronght me up to ob- 
serve these punctilious manners, and I cannot get out of them. Bnt 
-Aey did aot want for opportunities of being alone together. Mary was 
eeeasionally invited with dara to spend die day at £iidy ESIiot^B — wfaoi, 
I may mention, was growing less cool to her with every visit, more lifae 
she had used to be before she knew of her son's preference. The carriage 
would bring them home at night, escorted by Mr. William, and a nice 
time those two must have had of it, for Clara was sure to go to sleep the 
jBoment they 'getin, and never wake tiU they fot -out. Plenly of oppor- 
tanity, then, ^r talking secrets ; but it jarredaganst my old-fasUoBod 
notions, and I hinted as nnoh to Mr. WiRiam. Bow he laughed ! md 
I l aug he d , too, when he told no I was a good okl drason -of a guardian. 
Then, dumging -to serionsness, he to6k my hand in ns, and whi s p ere d 
me with that sweet, eamec* •expression on his &ee, Ast I oonld not 
Dvotect Mary move fidthMly than he wonftd^ for that Ae was deaper to 
him than -ever she was to me. 

An end «ame to it — abs 1 alas ! as I think it mostly -does «ome to aH 
Ihai^ lint are joyens «nd bright in life. And then i asked myeelf how 
I oould -ofvr have been Muded into the beinf that the eon of Sir Ilnmas 
and Lady Elliot would really es ponse MJaiy Goring. 

A TiEJDORaPHio omnmons cams enriy «ne inuining to the popidir 
nl^Mian, Sir Thomas Elliot He was wawted, in mil haste, nt Middlo- 
bary, a town a few hows' jonmey finnn London by vaiL Sir Thosnas 
hastened to the Faddiagten etatkm, canght the eoBpress-train, and wns 
with las patienit, a bdy, in the jAernoen. Her melusal nttendant was n 
Mc Ashe: Dr. AAe, he wns often^ied in MiddM>uiy: sad • Mr. 
Waihmton had also been eaied m. When in oonvwsntiQS^ the dkeo 
of the medwdawn led to matters foreign to thegp atie a t Bavery. 
aoo nnro noe in a so diu d oeii sii t BtioHa . 

''lihoukllikotokaowwhMtberpNnDaioontffitnlionhaBbeon^* ro- 

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Sir Tbomm *to Dr. A^ke, speakiii^ in rafereAoe to Ibe patient. 
" i presome jtm kB,w% boen her nml medieal stlendsnt* 

*^Ko,l hBLYt not," repfied Dr. Ashe; "^ this is the first time I hvrs 
attPiAid her. Dr. ijporing used te he the £Mnily attendftnt But shb 
most hsTe enjoyed pretty good health, for he faas been dead — let me see 
— 4MI8 than two years, and no one has been eeHed in to her sinoe.** 

Dr. <xoring ! Sir Thomas ^ffiot prioked up his «ars, and a ia^ of 
infeelligenee •darted into, his mind. Bbe, who iiras soon to he his son^s 
wife, was a native of MiddlcAmry, and the daug h ter of a meifiesd man. 
TUi T^, Gonag, thea, mvBt ha^e heen her fatber. Be would ask a fcw 

<< What sort of a man was Dr. Gorii^r he snddenfy wid. '<Re- 
^aetahle? Pepalarf* 

" Very much so," was the reply of Dr. Ashe. 

" JJnial tihat aastv busiBeai eoonrred, a^bovt his wife," broke in Mr. 
WaaAnntem. ^ He lost hoth respect asd popularity then.** 

^W^atbnness was that ?^ kKpired Sir Thomas. 

*'She was rec ov a wn g fiK>m an ittness — one of the meest liMie wemen 
you OTer saw — ^in ^Act, all but well," observed Dr. Ashe. ^' I had seen 
her in the morning — for I attended her with all her cla ldi ' cn a nd told 
her that the neict day die might move into the drawing-room. That 
wm abomt eleven o'clock. By iive ia the afbemoon she was dead." 

^ What from?" inquired the physieiaa. 

"Poiaon, Sk Thomas." 

^PoiaonT echoed Sir Tfaonna EUisit. 

^ S try chn ia. Net a ^oaamon poison iSktm,*' 

^% wiwm adminiBtered?" 

^Tfaen was the ifaestion," said Dr. Aibe. ^ IthasBever been cieffl<ed 
UDj bom that day to tins. Widi sobm people, poor Goring got tiie credift 
cf ft: hot I bdis^ Am man to have heea as innocent as I was." 

Sir Thomas Elliot rose ^m hn chair in a peitaibed manner. EGb 
son about to marry the daughter of a man SM|HW te d of «— ! He aat 

" The case was jpublished in the Lameei/* resuaied Dr. Ashe. '^Of 
oouise wiekhaut casdng any conjeotares as to the admiaisterer.* 

<^iremaBAb0rnow--ireaiemberma£Dgit,"onedSirThoaiias. ^But 

it never atrack fmt tha* What wen the grounds for aaspeetmg the 

husband ?*' 

"In my opiaaoa, I say, thero were ne rrouads,** l ep eakid Dr. Ashe. 
** I BOfsr saw a aaere affeotianate hasbaod wan Garing was: and he had 
iiathing to gam fcy her deedi. £verything to loae.'' 

'< The iasmRaDce taaMy," aaggested Mr. Warburton. 

<< Noaeenaei I know a lew oast diat in his teefth : very wigusdy, if 
dwjr ind only ooaaidered the feots. Mrs. Goring had a dear ioeoflae sf 
8001. a yev, an aaaail^, wfaieh died with her. Did not go to her 
husband or childsaa, anderstand, Sir Thomas; abselvtely died witli her. 
She had iMuredlier own life, some years before, fer two Jhonsaad pounds 
—or three, I forget, now — for the benefit of her chUdraa. But wiiat is 
two or dMea thouaand pounds ia oompariaeii with thaee handred a year ? 
And Goring did not toaeh the money: he iavntad it fer the <ihiMreD. 
He was a maligned man." 

''Was he accused of the crime?'' asked Sir Thomas. 

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^' Oh no, no ; nothing of that. At his wife's intennent — I never saw 
sudi a crowd in the churchyard before— some roices hissed him, *• Mur- 
derer !' ' Poiscmer !' that was the extent But if ever grief was genuine 
in this world, it was Goring's for the loss of his wife. Thej were on the 
wrong scent," muttered Dr. Ashe, in a lower tone. 

^* Dr. Goring, unfortunately, did not show out quite clear upon an- 
other point," interrupted Mr. Warburton. " There was a govenieaa 
residing with them, a Miss Howard, and he was too attentive to h^ : 
but Gorine vras a free man at all times in hb manners with women. 
Some sud it was her fault ; that she laid herself out to attract him ; and, 
altogether, the aflBsdr had given pain and annoyance to Mrs. Goring. So 
Dfiss Howard received warning to leave, and the little Gorings were to 
be sent to school Before the change was made, Mrs. Goring was 

** Was this governess suspected T inquired Sir Thomas Elliot 

** I don't know what other people may have done," interposed Dr. Ashe, 
warmly, '^ I had my opinion upon tne point, and always shall have. 
But it does not do to speak out one's opinions too freely. There was no 

' Where was the strychnia procured ?" 

«From Goring's own surgery. At least, such was the conclusion 
drawn, for he kept some there. Though whether the bottle had been 
touched or not, he could not himself teu. Mrs. Goring had dined, and 
was asleep on her bed, the nurse having gone to her dinner. During her 
absence the poison was introduced into a glass of water, which, as was 
customary, stood at the bedside, and Mrs. Goring, when she awoke, 
drank it. Goring was in the garden the vrhole of uos time, never came 
into the house at all, as the servants testified, until aroused by the screams 
in Mrs. Goring's room. Miss Howard was in the dinine-room, which 
adjoined the surgery, and the servants equally testified that if she had 
qiutted it to go up-stairs, they must have heard her. So the case was 
wrapped in mystery, and remains so." 

*' The worst feature was, Dr. Goring's marrying the woman afiber^ 
wards," observed Mr. Warburton. 

<' Marrang il«r / the governess ?" exclaimed Sir Thomas Elliot 

^* He md. She was dismissed firom the house on Mrs. Goring^s deatfi ; 
but, twelve months afterwards. Miss Howard became Mrs. Gonng." 

" Why, the man must have been mad !" utt^ned Sir Thomas. 

"He was wrong there," said Dr. Ashe. " I told him so. But what 
I said went for nothing, for he was bent upon it. His death was a mys- 
tery aho ; I never could Bftthom it He married this girl, Sir Thomas, 
went off with her for a fortnight, and came back, so changed that we 
hardly knew him. He started on the ioumey a gay, healthy man ; he 
returaed wasted in frame, broken in spuits, and in two monias was laid 
in his first wife's grave. There was no particular comphont, but he 
wasted away to death ; literally /nnecf away , it seemed." 

^* And pined in silence," added Mr. Warburton, << for he never would 
acknowledge himself ill." 

*' I see, gentlemen," returned Sir Thomas, " it was a bad afUr alto- 
getiier, firom begmning to end : one not too well calculated to bear the 

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** At any nit the light of day has never been thrown upon it^** an* 
•wered Dr. Ashe. 

** And the daughter of such a man shall never become William's mte,** 
mentally conclndM Sir Thomas Elliot ** But, to go baek to the next 
room, gentlemen," he added, aloud* '' My opinio n " 

We need not follow their consultation for their patient. It came to 
an end, and Sir Thomas Elliot went steaming up to town again by the 
first train. It happened to be a slow train, stopping at erery station, 
'vrfuch diore the physician into a fever nearly as great as that of the poor 
lady he had been to visit, he was so intensely eager to meet his wife. 
A compliment he had not pidd her of recent years. 

Lady Elliot seixed with avidity upon the information. It was a pre- 
text for demanding of William to break off the match. ** Of course," 
she said, " he will not think of entering upon the connexion now.** 


A TBSSKNTDCBiiT struck me that something was wrong when Ann 
came into the schoolroom, and said Sir Thomas Elliot wanted me. 
These presentiments do come across us sometimes, without our knowing 
why or wherefore. Do they ever £eu1 of beine borne out ? Never, with 
me. Surely there was nothing nnnsual, noUiing to create surprise or 
uneasiness, in Sir Thomas Elliot's paying us a morning visit, connected 
as our families were about to be ; yet before I got to ue drawing-room 
door, all that was to take place seemed to flash upon me. Sir Thomas 
turned round at my entrance, and prefixed what he had to say, by 
stating that he had been called to Middlebury, the previous day, on 
profesnonal business. 

'' I am aware of it, sir," I said. '' Mr. William took tea with us last 
evening, and mentioned that you were gone there." 

**How did he know?" growled Sir Thomas, under his breath. 
" Called in and heard it firom his mother, I suppose. Well, madam, 
to be brief— for I have patients waiting now for me at home, and knew 
not how to spare time for coming here — I am concerned to tell you that 
I recdved an account of the late Dr. Goring (« Doctor,' as I hear him 
universally called, though I find he was only a general practitioner) which 
has oonnderably surprised me." 

<<In what way, sir?" I asked, with calmness. Though, indeed, my 
heart was fluttenng sadly. 

''Why, madam, can you be ignorant that — you must pardon my 
speaking phunly : I only repeat the statement as it was given to me — 
that Dr. Goring was suspected of having poisoned his wife ?" 

" Oh, nr !" I interrupted, " do not, I pray you, speak so injuriously 
of the dead. Dr. Goring was an honourable man, of a kind, good 
nature^ a gentleman and a scholar, one not canable of so dreadful a 
crime. I am cognisant of all the particulars, and I assert that whoever 
accused Dr. Goring of killing her, was guilty of a wicked calumny." 

^< But he VHU suspected," urged Sir Thomas. 

'' Not by those who knew him, who knew the circumstances." 

'' There was some one else mixed up in the affair : a governess ?" 

«« XJnluippily there was," I answered. " Say, rather, the author of it 
all^ Sir Thomas," I added, with emphasis. '' But I whisper this only 
to yon.* 


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*^ Who afterwards beeaaaie Dr. Gkmiig^ wifSi P coHtbund Sir Thunas, 
looking steadfutly at me. 
^ I am 8shamed to mj she did." 

^ Wen, madam, tfah is just what I have heard. Wa -will not diftr 
aboat minor detaUs, ihe facts are the same. Under Iha oimraiitanoeSy 
you cannot be surprised l^at I hare tUs monuDg &rfaiddeQ my mm to 
timik man of Miss Gonng;'' 

« Oh, Sir Thomas Elliot r I exclaimed. ^'Itwill be a cruel iUng !" 

** I hope not. I do ikA wish to hurt the young iad/f feelingB mem 
don is unayoidaUe, and I cast no reproach upoa her. I bdiave her to 
be, personally, most estimable. Still, I must have ime eonsidentfioae for 
toy eon's honour and for that of his fiunily, and a yovug lady Sable to be 
pointed at as — as — in short, as the daughiOT of Dr. Gmag of Middle- 
bury, cannot be eligible to become William Hiiot's wife." 

I think he said more ; but I was too grieved, too stunned, I may say, 
to remember what it was. I only know he peremptorily broke off the 
negotiation for an alKanee yntk Maiy Goring. I watched fain gvt into 
Ids carriage, from Ihe window, and I don't know llHiit my heart lud mikt 
fidled me so painfully in my ¥^. Hmo was I to brei^ it to Mny ? 

I did not know, Ihougk I pondered over it all that iiftelong di^. 
When evening comes, ai^ she finds it does not bring kmy I ic|ieafced to 
myself, how can I ever say to her, ^ Not only this evenii^ is ha afaaeat, 
but for all others F* It wiM break her heart Luey wondered why I 
absented myself &am the schoolroon, and I codd not muster oouaage 
to tell her. So the evening came, and I had said nothings \mk it, 
brought Mr. William Elliot. I oafied out to the senraats to show him into 
the dining-room, not to let him come up-stairs, and then ran down aay- 
self. '<Oh, Mr. William!" I uttered— wd for the v<ery li& of me I 
could not help bursting into tean — ^ what is to be done ?" 

He took my hands land as evety but his own irere unsteady, and his 
face wore an unnatural paleness. 

''What dora Mary say? How does aha bear it?" weie his first 

'< I have not dared to tell her. I did not know how." 

<< That is well. She had better hear it isQim, me." 

" From you! Oh no, Mr. Elliot." 

**^ Believe me, yes," h» firmly rejoined. ^ None «an soothe it to her 
in the telling as I can." 

^ It is the first shocdc that will he the worst, and I dread it for faer." 

He turned from me, nut his arm on the window-frame, and leaned hia 
forehead upon it I dia not like to witness his emotion ; his whole atti- 
tude spoke despdr. 

^ Let me see her " he resuned. 

I reflected, and befieved it miffht be best For what was !» what wero 
we all to her, in comparison wif£ William Elliot? 

<<Onepromise, BIr. ElHot," I aaid. ^^ToaarenotgaingtotBdktoher 
of a continued engagement, or-Hi^^yrivate maniagaF Enve aoe, hut I 
have heard of such tiungs bemg done.** 

'* No ; I give you my honour. I ha^e already gitan it to my anther. 
This evening is to close my interooarse with I^^oy, and the intanriew I 
ask for, is, mat we may bid eadi odier ftfrewelL I have no altetnsftive* 
None. My mother" — ^he paused, and a sort of shudder seemed ^ mmm 


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MABT G0RIN6. 207 

over him — ** my mother pointed out — that is»-I would say she exacted a 
promise from me that I would never marry clandestinely ; without her 
fall consent. And I gave it/* 

'^ Quite right. You could not have done otherwise." 
*< Andkiow that tkey hare taken this prmdice against Marf's fiunily, 
to ask for consent would he fruitless. So there is no hope, and I cannot 
help myself. But tfaey had better" — he knrarad his Toice to a whisper — 
« have destroyed us both, as iier mother was destn^ed. It would have 
heen more mercucil. 

I went -np-stain to the drawrng-room, and beckoned Maiy out. ^' Oh 
annt T flhe said, ^ what is all this ? Is anytlnnr thematterr 

** Te8> dear «hild, there is," I answered* fbncUy strewing down her hair, 
while tfaia veady tean gathmd in my eyes. ^^ I have known it all dbqr, 
aad I coaU not tell you. William Elliot wifl : he is in the diniag-o 
Now do not i^;itit6 yoarself." 

** B«t what is it? Are we" — she tremUed exoeasivdy — '^ is h^- 
'^ Go to hun, m V darling. He will soothe it to you better than I l^^ 
So ihe went into the room, and Mr. Elliot moved forward, and closed the 
do(»r behind them, while I paced about in the haD, outside, like a troubled 

It was quite dusk wlien he came out to leave, but the hall lamp was 
fighted, and I saw the traces of deep emotion, of tears, on both moea. 
Yea, on both ; and you need not despise William Elliot ibr that. We 
donH, many of us, tnroughout our lives, go through such a trying inter* 
view as tfiat had been to mm. 

« God Mesa you, dear Miss HaDiwen," he aaid, *^ end thank you lot 
the many eoortesies, the kindness, you have diown aae. And God bbas 
you, 'Msrj," he added, in a whimper, ^ and Mmember what I have aaid. 
Tboogh ikew have sueoeeded in separating vs, though yoor path must lie 
one way and mine another, and we may not meet again, you will ever be 
fint in the heart of William Elliot" 

The sins of the &ther8 shall be visited upon the children ! Was it ever 
exemplified, in any casc^ more plainly than in this ? When my random^ 
thoughtless brother-in-law, Matthew Goring, made bve to his daughter^a 
governess, or encouraged her to make it to him — whichever it might he 
—outraging his wife, outraging his eUMreB, outraging me (I, who 
pointed out his wicked folly to him, and got ridicule from him for my 
pains), did he laoagine that very folly would be the means, hereaftez^ of 
destroying his dearest child's happiness and prospects in life? No. Yet 
it proved so. Oh, men ! you who have wives and children, how careful 
should you be to tread in the right path ! A little dereliction £rom it may 
seem to you but^ a light matter, not wordi a thought, o^ worth the 
amusement of the moment : it seemed so to Dr. Goring. Yet, ibr lum, 
what did it bring forth ? His wife's destruction ; his disgraceful second 
marriage ; his own eariy death ; the breaking up of his children's home^ 
and the driving them out, orphans, into the world. And now the fatality 
was pnrsuii^ even them ! Lightly enouj^h does man commit sin, but when 
on Ihe point of wOAiDy fallmg into it, he would do well to pause, and re- 
aaember that the promises of Uod are never broken, and diat one of those 

promises is, *^ I WU. TISII THE fiJHB or THE VAZHBB6 I2P0H THE CEO^ 

P 2 

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IX. — Samuel Taylor Colbridob. 

A F0BEM06T place is due to Coleridge among those great men^ 
stiU ruling our spirits from their urns, who, having done much, 
might have done so much more. When Mrs. Jameson told Tieck 
of the poet's death^ which she had just learnt in a letter from Eng- 
land^ he exclaimed with emotion^ ^^ A great spirit has passed away 
from the earth, and has left no adequate memorial of his great- 
ness.''* To his fnend Mannings then in the Celestial Empire, 
Charles Lamb, in one of his most Lamb-like letters, writes: ^^ Cole- 
ridge is just oeacl, having lived just long enough to close the eyes 
of W ordflworth, who paid the debt of nature but a week or two 
before: — ^poor Col.^ but two days before he died, he wrote to a 
bookseller proposing an epic poem on the ^ Wanderings of Cain^' 
in twenty-four books. It is said he has lefl behind him more than 
forty thousand treatises in criticism, metaphysics, and divinity^ but 
few of them in a state of completion. They are now destined, 
perhaps, to wrap up spices." Though all this, taken literally, was 
one of those bravuras of elaborate nbbing, which Charles was not 
only fond but proud of — telling Miss Wordsworth with a chuckle, 
that he feared ne should one day go to the naughty man for it — 
yet in the spirit and scope of the premature obituary, there is a 
melancholy adherence to the veroy ii also an amusing audacity in 
the ben trovato. There may not be an atom of the vrai about it, 
but there is a world of vraisemblance. Coleridge's cup of promise 
was full to overflowing; but between the cup and the lip, what a 
chapter of accidents. As Molifere says — 

On n'ex^te pas tout ce qui se propose ; 
Et le chemiu est long du projet a la chose.f 

Wordsworth, in the " Prelude," afler a glance at Coleridge's past 
career — whether as a "liveried schoolboy," in the .depths of the 
huge city, day-dreaming on the "leaded roof" of Christ Hospital; 
or migrating thence to Cambridge, and there sitting down " in 
temperance and peace, a rigorous student;" thus continues: 

^Wliat a stormy course 

Then followed. Oh ! it is a pang that calls 
For utterance, to think what easy change 

* On another occasion Tieck remarked, that Coleridge possessed the creative 
and inventiye spirit of poetry, not the productive; *' he ^AofM^^ too much to 
produce— the analytical power interferea with the genius : others with more 
active fiacnlties seized and worked out his magnificent hints and ideas." 

t Le Tartufe, IIL 1. 

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Of cironmstanoes might to thee have spared 
A vorld of pain, ripened a thousand hopes» 
For ever withered.* 

Such magnificent plans as he sketched, too; such comprehensiTe 
schemes; castles in the air so im]x>sin^ in aerial perspectiye, with 
their doud-capt towers^ all ^^ fortified in papei^'f only — all to have 
tiiis efifect, no more— oh, the pity of it^ but oh the pity of it ! 
Wordsworth himself, indeed^ from his own experience in early 
manhood, could tell how bitter a thing it is to live baffled and 
plagued by a mind that every hour turns recreant to her task, and 
that takes heart again, only to feel immediatdy some hollow 
thought hang like an interdict upon her hopes. l!nis, the bard of 
Rydal tells us, was his lot; for, at the penod referred to, either 
still he found ^^ some imperfection in the chosen theme^^ or saw so 
mnch wanting in himself, that he recoiled and drooped, and 
sought repose in listnessness from vain perplexity, ^^ unprofitably 
travelling towards the grave, like a false steward wha hath much 
received^ and renders nothing back." | But Wordsworth was a 
man of other mettle than his old friend and neighbour and fellow-* 
labourer. He had a temperament, a set of nerves, a constitutional 
vigour and resolve, by which he soon and serenel^r got the better 
of such listlessness. Coleridge was weak, and in that sense ia 
which to be weak is to be miserable. In the definition of the 
author of ^^ Dream-life," he is a weak man who cannot twist and 
weave the thread of Ins feeling — ^however fine, however tangled^ 
however strained, or however strong — into the great cable of Pur- 
pose, by which he lies moored to his life of Action.§ By which 
definition is convicted of denlorable weakness that most noticeable 
man with large grey eyes, wno^ as he let them 

^traverse the ceralean fields 

And mark the clonds that drove before the wind. 
Ten thousand glorions systems would he build. 
Ten thousand great ideas filled his mind ; 
But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind. || 

At the best, they often evaporated in talk. When Mr. de Quin- 
cey, on the eve of his first interview with Coleridge, met and con- 
versed with Lord Egmont on the poetfs past, his present, and his 

♦ Prelude, Book iv. 

+ We fortify in paper, and in figures .... 

. . . like one that draws the model of a house 

Beyond his power to build it ; who, half through, 

Gives o'er, and leaves his part created cost 

A naked subject to the weeping douds^ 

And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Second Fart o/KuxQExmrlY. Act I. so. 3. 
± Prelude, Book i. 

( "Ik. Marvel'^ (Mitchell) : Beveries of a Bachelor. 
Ihomson: ** Castle of Lidolence." Stansalix. 

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prospects, after clisciissmg sundry Htenuy ihenes which he could 
(an ne would) treat to advantage, ^Bat, at any rate," said his 
lordship, ^Met him do something; for at present he talks very 
indek like an ai^d, and does noting at alL'' Colend^ he addc^ 
ims now in the prime of hia powers — ^uniting something a£yo«illH 
fbl vigonr witk sufficient experience of life; harinp die btnefit, 
besides, of vast meditation, and of reading umosuaUy di a c u i si i e ; 
insomudi ^t no man had ever been better qm^fied tx> feme the 
bcvoic period of literatore in Engknd, and to give a chazaelev cf 
weight to the tihik)8oplnc erudition of the coimtzy upon the Ck»- 
tiimit. ^^ And what a pity," exdaimed Loid Egmont, who wns 
earnest m mging poor ^ CoL'a" friends to pot mm npcm waias^ 
taking some great monnmental work, sufficient for a diaf^y ofhn 
TarioDS and rare accomjdiidmients, for his muhiform enxtition, on 
the one hand, and for his splendid power of theorismg^ and rnii 
biinn^ hof^ and remote notices of mots <m the other, — ^ what n. 
-p^y if dus man were^ after all, to vanish like his apparition; and 
yoiij^ I, and a few others, who have witnessed his gmnd btwmrma 
of display, were to have the usual fbortnne of ghost-seersy in meeting 
no credit Ihr anystatements that we might vouch on hs bdialf I*** 
Bedbaps^ however, the taidency of the a^e at present is, to give 
mdiraited eredit to ihe vouchers of Coleridge's powers as a table* 
tdlka-^ and to depreciate and, in some quarters^ whistle down die 
wind, his reputation as an autibor, if not in poetry, certainly in. 

It is^ aooordingly, beconnng more and more the fiubkn to under- 
rate his aetual ./asfii uce^mphsy as tkou^ ther were not mccmnpluy 
BO&rm tiiey fp; as though^ being confessemy a fragmentary and 
incomplete wnter, all his writings were necessarily tainted with 
this onginal sin, to a degree that renders them valueless, meaning- 
less, useless. And true it is that there is a vexatious resemblance 
to ^^ fractional partif' in the bulk of his essays leetiues, criticisms, 
philosophical £ssertations; that tiiere may be broken promise as 
well^ as partial performance in *^ Aids to Reflection;'' that the 
^^ Friendt" who proifers hia services ^ to aid in ^ foxmatian of 
fined principlea in pcJitics, m<»ral% and rdigion," is not always a 
Fciend in noad (thoujrii thesre is still to be found ^ he that blesoeth 
his Friend with a kud voice"); true, again, that Coleridge's 
<* Essays on his own Times" contain much that is little likdy to be 
for all time, if indeed for any times but his own, and they gave 
him small enoonragem^t enough; and that his ^^Constitution of 
Church and State'* is, praeticaUy considered, nether here nor 
there; and his ^^Tjslj Seonnona?^ by no means a sufficing ^^ States* 
man's Manual;" and his ^^Bioeranhia Literaria" a melange which 
not aaly does not keqi Hob word ot prcunise to the hope, but breaks 
it to the ear. But to deny the worth of the Eamjist^s essajings, 

* Thomaa de QuMgr: Ai iWangnytm SkeUies. 

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to aee BO beauty in them that thej diould be denied^ no deptk in 
tliem that irill lax the mental plumb-line^ no hidden treasures thai 
-viUL npcqr study and jeaeaxchr--to be carelees about gathering up 
liM» nagmenis that remain, that nothing be lost — Uasy if it ia a 
grmring taidesiOT of the a^, ia suiely also a zeproacb to the age^ 
and cannoi be <a long eonlinnance^ 

Colfiiidg* might indulge, moie than waa ^ood fi>r him, or his 
hetaacSf in ^ theoeophic moonahine;'' but his philosophy was not 
viifllly and solely theoscmhy. '^ We aiegreatly mcieduloua respect- 
ing tM dqpth of Colerioge," said the Times newspaper, not long 
anoe, ^^ and regard his ^ philosophy as the most enormous sham 
sinoft Swedaftborg." This crack ^^ deliverance" of the Tmes was 
ddbghtsome to rery many, who are only too glad of such a sanc- 
tio& to poohrpooli o. T. C. as a thAmpbe^ and nothing more; and 
wbo aeoept ironicaUy^ as a speaking portrait, Mrs. Browning'a 

-»— yiaiooaTj Ckderidge, who 
Bid sweep his thoughts as angels do 
Their wings, with cadence up the Bbe.* 

^ Yoa swam and fiutlered," e^s one of the Highgatcrt* hAitmisy 
^ m the mistiest wide umntelligible ddnge of thi^,, for most part 
in a ralker profitless moomibrtable manner^ — '' in the high aeas of 
theosc^hic philosophy, the hazy infinitude of Kantean transcendeiv* 
taHsm,'' &G.X So again Shelley pictures the '' rapt one of the god- 
like fiirdiead,'' in his epistle firom L^hom to a lady friend: 

You win see Coleiidge ; he who sits obscure 
In the exceedhi^ lustre and the pure 
Intense nradiatKm of a mind, 
Whieb, with its own intcnial lustre btind,. 
Haffs weaoljSr through darkness and despair— 
A cuoud-encircled meteor of the air, 
A hooded eagle among blinking owls.} 

Bttt there was something more than the dim religious light of 
^^ iheoeophifi moooMhine," into which sundry detractors would re- 

• Visioa of Foets» 

t At Mr. Gillman's, the kind host and the (some will think, appropriately) 
r of Ck)leridge. There are people so unsympathismK with 

fractional bu>grapher 

tiie guest, both as writer and as man, that tKey ean find it in their 
(hcjwls, qiotka!) to be angry with the host, for " eherishing" as well aa loTiii| 
and Wy*qriTig lum. We n^ht almost paraphrase the thoughta and intents <2 
their " hearts,'' in the qucru&us upbraidmgs of certain Odyssey un-worthies : 

''Why sash profooioii of iadukoice shown 
To this poor, timaroiia, toil-detesting ^<me^ 
That others feeds on planetary schmes, 
And pavs his host mil hideous noonday dream .^' 

PbM'sHoMiB: (Wr». Beokn. 
% Gvhfer lifeof Steriiag; 
§ ShdVaPoeMi Latter to Maria (Bsboraew 

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solve the sum and substance of the sage's outpourings. Professor 
Wilson, who declared that, while Coleridge was discoursing, the 
world lost all its common-places, so that you and your wife imagined 
yourself Adam and Eve listening to the a&ble archangel Raphael 
in Ae Garden of Eden, — added to this " merrie conceite,'' that 
'twas your own fault if you did not ^^ a wiser and a better man 
arise to-morrow's mom." He affirmed too, let his testimony go 
for what it may with those who find all imagination and no reason 
(only unbounded unreason) in CJoleridge's pmlosophy, that, wher^a 
in most cases, Reason and Imagination (which by mistake are said 
to be separate &culties), like man and wife, live like cat and dog, 
in mutual worrying, or haply sue for a divorce, — in the case of 
Coleridge ^^ they are one spirit as well as one flesh, billing and 
cooinff in a perpetual honeymoon." A theosophist, then, if you 
will; out something more, a good deal more: a philosopher and 
deep thinker, a subtle logician and abstruse metaphysician, who, 
indeed, never did himself justice, but is not on that account to be 
denied justice by others. 

Rate the quality of his influence as you will, but do not under- 
rate the measure of it. Call him a power for good or for evil, as 
you list; but do not deny him to have been a power at alL What 
review can we take up. what philosophical treatise can we examine, 
what theological work can we meet with, what church with a 
thinking man (not a mere preaching man) in the pulpit can we 
enter, now-a-days, and not observe traces, more or less palpable and 
direct, of the Coleridgean influence ? Whatever free movement in 
'^ divinity" may have arisen of late years, is largely due, be it 
blessing or be it bane, to the inspiration of him, who wrote the 
Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit. In this respect he has much 
to answer for. His free thinking has become the proximate cause 
of a flood of free thinkers. He is not responsible for the excesses 
of the thorough-goers among them; but he is the spiritual parent 
of the progeny at large, promgal sons and all^ We are conscious 
of the relationship in reading Julius Hare, and the earnest elo- 
quence of Richard Trench, and the vexed question-able essays of 
Frederic Maurice, and the adventurous suggestions of Rowland 
Williams and Benjamin Jowett; nor can we escape the sense of it 
in the writmgs of modem Unitarianism, in the Thom and 
Martineau school, — nor even in the daring deductions of a Parker 
and a Newman, a Foxton and a Froude. A Uttle leaven leaveneth 
a large lump; and in some cases the fermentation works too fitr, 
the matter upon which it acts being predisposed to violent action: 
but it is the same leaven; and that which worketh, will work, even 
to the end. 

Mr. Landor, who allows to Coleridge " excellence" no less in 
prose than in poetry, and adds that he raised expectations which 
were suddenly overclouded and blank, undertook what he was 

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coDscioiis he never should perform, and declared he wai busily 
employed in what he had only dreamt of— -asserts that never was 
love more imaginary than Coleridge's love of truth. ^^ Not only 
did he never embrace her, never bow down to her and worship her^ 
but he never looked her earnestly in the face."* It is something 
to have Mr. Landor's testimony to Coleridge's gift of excelling in 
prose: those who most loudly affirm their disbelief in his love 
of truths are commonly the loudest also in abusing his prose 
style^ as equally afi^ted and correspondingly insincere. That 
style offends those who are all for Addison, pur et ntnple. It con- 
founds those who hate dictionary words, and they ^' confound" it 
in their retributive wrath. " Pedant !" they cry, at first sight of 
such a Coleridgean construction as ^^esemplastic."t Coleridge 
himself anticipates the objection in this case, ^^ But this is 
pedantry !" and replies: "Not necessarily so, I hope. If I am not 
misinformed, pedantry consists in the use of words unsuitable to 
the time, place, and company. The language of the market would 
be in the schools as pedantic, though it might not be reprobated 
by that name^ as the language of the schools is in the market." 
Coleridge's prose is as idiosyncratic, as individual a thing as his 
poetry. It is remarkable, one of his critics observes, for length of 
sentence; for disregard of petty elegancies; for continual cugres- 
sions; for a horizon of thought, ever retiring and widening as we 
advance; for the use of frequent archusms of expression; for per- 
petual unexpectedness and occasional obscurity ; and for great 
freshness and fervour of poetic imagery. He somewhere proposes 
an ultimatum as the infallible test of a blameless style — and that is, 
its tmtranslateableness in words of the same language without injury 
to the meaning. There is a passage in the "Friend" where, 
standing up for the peculiarities in his diction with which fault was 
found by subscribers (or, more likely, non-subscribers) to that 
periodical, he begs to decline casting his sentences in the French 
moulds, or affecting a style which, he alleges, ^^ an ancient critic 
would have deemed purposely invented for persons troubled with 
the asthma to read, and for those to comprehend who labour under 
the more pitiable asthma of a short- witted intellect." | 

Hazlitt calls Coleridge's prose "utterly abortive." He pro- 
noimces the riiost frequent characteristics of the "Friend" to be 
"proHxitv and obscuritjr." But Hazlitt's intense indignation at 
his old ally's new tactics in philosophy, politics, and religion could 
not prevent his seeing even m the " Friend," anti-Bonapartist and 
otherwise vexatious as it was, some noble passages and fine trains of 

* W. 8. Landor's Letter to the Rev. C. C. Southey. 

t "Stetiyakuiie/* constracted by Coleridge from tigtynkamtp (to shape 
into one), to sraard agunst confusion with the nsoal import of the wodL 
Imagination. See the Miographia LUeraria, chap. x. 

t "The Friend." Vol l p. 19. 

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S14 aAMnLX4T10Ka)U8IMX^ 

tbdoght. HftzlUfc wns nerer tized of ^taqpcmm^' the iwnifitiiail 
measwes 'Vfhk^ found ml adTocate m the ^^Fnoid,,'^— the ex- 
peditLon to Copenhagen the eiqpeditiDm to Wakhezeiv and de 
aaaasattiftKMDk of Bonaparte;* bat he iras not too deeply steeped in 
pcc^odiee to have lost ai^ht or taate and leUah for the beauties that 
are inteESpened with chm matter and difiuse, in that iU-&ted serial^ 
thai aoon ^ fcabd potenttalitj^'^ which was to have done so muc^ 
for Golerid^ and ms country^ but abn^tly dosed^ ere its thirtieth 
number, with the bankruptcy of the punter, the infinite mcNrdficar 
tioa of the editor^ and the apathy or else ill-will of a -rary sdect 
anbsciiptioa-Itst. The utter miamanagemeat of ^^ The Frimd/' aa 
a literary apeculatkiD, was explained and iUustnited many years 

S)^ in the Lake Beminiscencea of the English Opium-eater, 
e recent issne of Soutbiey's Lettacs, edited by Mr. Wood Warter, 
<^ftwtftii>ft contemporary aUnaions to the same subject, whidi 
thorou^y tally, in all the main points, with De Quinoey'a 
narrative. ^ Never," writes Southey to his tried and trusty fnend 
Misa B«dker, in 1810, ^^ never was anything so gxievoudy mis- 
managed aa ^e ^ Friend.' Because he [Colendge] would hiiTe all 
the profit (having taken it into his head that I was dieated by my 
pubEdier), he would publidi ibr himself; thus has he the whole 
trouble of cdileeting his mon^, the whole responsibility, instaad of 
having a publisher to look to ; and the expense of postage wiU £Eur, 
very laiy exceed any publisher's percentage. Then he writes to 
the puUiQ about all lus oifficulties and his proj ects, as if thej wuited 
to know anydnng about them, — not perceiving that this krwers 
him ii^ the eyes q£ the fecdish, and certainly does not raise him in 
the judgment of the wise. And certainly of all modes of publka- 
tkm that oould be devised, nothing could be so ill adapted for such 
materials as a weekly £:»rm. Had be brought out thesesame papers 
ilk a body, either as a sjrstem, or as so many essays, they would luive 
commanded more attention, he would have be^ saved the whde 
anxiety of periodical exerticm, and people would have bad no 
reason to complain because they found something altogether dif- 
ferent firom what they expected."t In its revised form, the 
^^ Friend" may not be exactly and entirely a Book of Beauty ; but 
it is a book of beauties whica they that seek shall find, and not, 
however rich, be sent empty away. The occasional i^tdiea of 
Glkajacter---Luther in the Warteburg, ^ heroic student sittbg 
beside his hunp, ^ which is seen by the kne travdkr in the jdain 
Baseho&roda like a star on the mountain," — ^Eraannu^ whose wit, 
'^ahraya bottomed on sound sense^ peoples and ennchea the mind 
of the reader with an endless variety of distinct images and living 

* See Haditfs faitiDg and bitter review of '^Colendce^s 'LftT^etnoa,'" in 
tha mUnkmrak iMM^Deecmbor, 18i». 

t Key. J. W. Warier's ''SelectioM frcm tiia Lettess of Bobert Southav^ 
(1866). Vol. iL pp. 189-90. 

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krtfaUe into grarre and iPt^hty tnidis,^ — Warbarto% wko always 
eeens to irrite as if Ke had deemed il ^ a dntj of decomm to 
imUiah Ids fancies on die Mosaic Law as the Law itself "was de- 
Hrered^ id dninden and Hghtnings^^' — the ^ eraif Ronssean, Ae 
dreamer of lore-sick tale% and the spinner of qpecolatiTe eobn^;* 
Aj of Hgbt as the mole, but as qmck-eaied too for eyerj wUmr 
of ^le pabhc opinion ; the teacher of stoio pride in his prindpfes^ 
yet the Tictim of moiUd yuiitj in his ftehngs and conduct," — 
there is no stint of such peisonal portraiture to relieve grader 
dia qui a it ioBS : and who can forget the harrowing tale^ in the so* 
caUed ^Second Tjanding-phce,'^ of the Bavarian wire-drawer^s 
dan^ter, Maiia Eleanor SchdnKng, and tiie incidental jnctore 
of &st nobfe-hearted Harfin, herself too ^ a daughter of canunitj, 
one who from year to year must lie down in weariness and rise 
up to labour; tor whom this world proTides no other comf<^ but 
ine sleep whKsh enables them to forget it ; no other phymcian but 
death^ which takes them out of it'' TWe is that about the nar- 
rstiye whidi reminds one of the ^Hous^old Wrecl[f' and the 
^ Ayfeoger^ those two litde-known and lightly-priaed, but^ to all 
who do priae them, deeplj-moving tales, by a man of genius closely 
akin lo ibe genius of Ck>leridgey and whose lot in life as man and 
as author has been strangely similar in some painful particulars^ — 
espedally in the languor of ^t imrtia which 

^tantam diffaderit imis 

Oblmonem sensibus, 

engendered by, not the 

Pocnla Letiufios . . . dieentia sonmoB, 

wfaevecf Horace* writes to Maecenas, but by that potent drug 
widdi to the calm pleasores adds the majestic pains <h sleep, and 
in time exxdianges mmnot i}aaX wend Lethe- wards for sommia more 
dreadful dian waking eye hath seen or can see — for a choking 
^ sense of intolerable wrong,'' 

Thirst of reTenffe, the powerless will 
Still bafBed, ana jti bxaning still ! 
Desire with loathing stran^ly mixed 
On wild or hateful objects ixed 
Fantastic paftdooa! maddeiMng brawl I 
And ahame axkd tmor o?er aUl 

Ab a critic, Coleridm stands out in high relief from the ^^ sound 
oonmHHi sense^ school at which he lored to raiL Of all forms of 
self-conceit the most hateful to him was, what he calls the ^ callous 
fiarm," when it boasts and swells up on the score of its own 
ignomice) as implying exemption firom a folly. '^ We profess not 

• Epodon, XrV. 

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to understand," ^^ we are so unhappy as to be <|uite in the dark as 
to the meaning of this writer,'' &c^ — the critical pride that apes 
humility thereupon quoting a passage without the context, and 
appealing to the ^^ Public'' whether they understand it or not. 
^^ Wretches I" he exclaims in a transport, and addressbg the 
^^ sound common sense" corps en masse^ in language sans peuTj 
though by no means sans reproche^ — " wretches ! sucn books were 
not written for your public. If it be a work on inward reli^on^ 
app^ to the inwaroly religious, and ask them ! If it be of true 
love and its anguish and its yearnings, appeal to the true lover I 
What have the public to do with this ?" * Elsewhere he cha- 
racteristically characterises them as snails in intellect, who wear 
their eyes at the tip of their feelers, and cannot even see unless 
they at the same time touch. ^^ When these finger philosophers 
affinn that Plato, Bruno, &c., must have been ^out of their senses,' 
the just and proper retort is, — ^ Gentlemen, it is still worse with 
you: you have lost your reason!'" Reason, that is, in the 
Coleridgean sense, Vemunfi^ the due apprehension and relative 
appreciation of which is the one thing needful in every student of 
Coleridge. It must be rightly apprehended and appreciated in 
order to profit by, not merely his metaphysical theses, be they 
moonshine or sunshine, but by his miscellaneous criticisms on books 
new and old. 

There is such a thing in criticism as hunting for (and ergo find- 
ing) mares'-nests, or as extracting moonbeams from cucumbers; 
and some think Uoleridge an adept in the art. ^^ Do you believe 
upon your conscience," asks Rabelais, " that Homer, whilst he was 
couching his Iliads and Odysseys, had anjr thought upon those 
allegories which Plutarch, Heraclides, Ponticus, Eustathius, Cor- 
nutus, squeezed out of him, and which Politian filchedf again from 
them ? If you trust it, with neither hand nor foot do you come 
near to my opinion, which judgeth them to have been as little 
dreamed of by Homer, as the gospel sacraments were by Ovid, in 
his Metamorphoses; though a certain Frfere Lubin^ and true 

♦ Coleridge's "Notes: Theological, Political, and Miscellaneous." 
t "Filched," derobi. One of Kabelais's annotators, Duchat, has the credit 
of having proved that the free-spoken Francis, iUe Oallorum Oalltti Lemocritui^ 

" Hie nnns Habekusins faoetus, 
Nugarom pater, artifexque minis," 

was guilty of wrong, done in malice prepense, to Politian, in applying to him 
any such exoression; and that he so applied it, reckless of its truth, merely to 
"]^easure" nis friend Budieus, to whom the renown of PoUtian was matter of 
envy and annoyance. 

t Coarsely rendered in Urquhart and Motteux's transition, "a Rulligu^ 
friar." Babelais is supposed to allude to our English Jacobin, or Friar of 
orders white, who explained Ovid's Metamorphoses ailcfforically, an edition of 
his far-fetched hermeneutics having appeared at Bruges, in French, in 1484, the 
year after the birth of Babehus. 

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baoon-picker wonld have undertaken to prove it^ if^ perhapsy he 
had met with as yerr fools as himself, or as the proverb says, ^ a 
Ed worthy of such a Kettle/ " * In a nmilar vein, Edffar Allan Poe, 
lemarking on the doctrine that ^^ every fiction £ould have a 
moral,'' and on the fact that, what is more to the purpose, the 
critics have discovered that every fiction hcLS one, refers to Philip Me- 
lanchthon, who wrote a commentary upon the BtUrachomyomachiay 
and proved that the Poet^s object was to excite a distaste for 
sedition; while Pierre La Seine, going a step farther, shows that 
Homei^s intention was to recommend to young men temperance in 
eating and drinking ; Jacobus Hugo, too, satisfies himseu* that, by 
Euenis, Homer meant to insinuate John Calvin — by Antinoiis, 
Martin Luther — ^by the Lotophagi, Protestants in general — and by 
the E[arpies, the Dutch. "Oiu: modem scholiwts are equally 
acute. These fellows demonstrate a hidden meaning in ^ The Ante- 
diluvians,' a parable in * Powhattan,' new views in ^ Cock Robin,' 
and transcendentalism in ^ Hop o' my Thumb.' " f Minds there 
are, transcendentall^ disposed, which have a grand talent as well as 
irresistible constitutional tendency to 

catcji a thing within a thing. 

See more in a truth than the truth's simple self, 
Gonfase themselves.]: 

Thus the English bio^pher of Goethe, who owns the existence 
of many excellent critics in Germany, yet protests, justly enough, 
and none too forcibly, in the name at once of Art and common 
sense, against the fundamental error, and the extravagant fruits, of 
that peculiarly German school of criticism, which, claiming to be 
profound, is only profoundly absurd. That fundamental error he 
defines to be the translating Art into Philosophy, and calling it the 
Philosophv of Art : a work is before the critic, and instead of 
judging this work he endeavours to get behind it, beneath it, into 
the ^^ depths" of the soid which produced it : he is not satisfied 
with what the artist has given, he wants to know what he meant ; 
he guesses at the meaning ; the more remote that meaning lies on 
the wandering tracks of tnought, the better pleased is he with the 
discovery, and sturdily rejects every simj)le explanation in favour 
of this exegetical Idea.§ The ^^ philosophical " critic, like the poet 
(and he like the lover), is, in a sense, of imagination all compact. 

* Babelais : The Author's Prologue to the Life of Gargantua and of Panta- 

' "Tales and Sketches," by E<kar A. Poe. 

Robert Browning : " Bishop Bloumm's Apology." 

" Thus the phantom of Philosophy hovers mistilybefore Art, concealing Art 
from our eyes. It is true the Idea said to underfie the work was never con- 
ceived by any one before, least of all by the Artist ; but thai is the glory of the 
critic : he is proud of having plunged into the depths. Of all horrors to the 
Germans of this school, there is no borror like that of the sur/ace^it is more 
temUe to him than cold water." Itsws&^s Life and Works of Ooethe, Bookvi. 
chap. iL 

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la his qoert of bis Idea^ and iiu derout mnhip of it wlitea it itf 

natj bat where neTerthelesB he finds for it a local habitatioii and a 
name, lie TesemUes JDon €arhsj in Yoong's tr&ged j of ^ 13m Be- 
renge/* who ezckiias to Letmora : 

Ha?e I not seen ihee where thou hast not been f 
And, mad witk the idea, cbii^>ed the wind. 
And doted 190a Botidng ? * 

He doling Don raves very much after the iq)proved style of 
other transcendentalists, maa with an idea, wind-cJasping, nullity- 

But with all this be it borne in mind^ that the true critic of find- 
class pretenmons, — the real critical geniusy in fact^ — is gifted with 
certun imaginative^ even creative nowers, the possesion and legi- 
timate exercise of which constitute nis differentia from the ** lower 
ordersf* of his kind. Herein lies his speaalty, marking bim out as 
a distinct species from a common genus. His ^ imagination needs 
must stir,'* to make him what he is : for, as Wordsworth says, 
speaking for or in the lover who owns to his mistress that in her, 
he has sometimes loved his &ncy's own creation, 

Tmagination needs auist stir; 

Dear maid, this truth believe. 
Minds that have nothing to confer 

Fiad liitk to perceive.! 

It is but the same philosophy that Coleridge himself so impres- 
sively expounds,^ in that memorable Ode ofnis suggested by 

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick l^enoe. 

One of Charles Lamb's ^^appraisers'' recognises in him, that ex- 
qmsite deamess of poception, timt acute penetration, and that le- 
fined and delicate tact, whidi together constitute the critical &- 
cu%in its highest and jmrest form : which faculty, says tldswnftca-, 
wlm it attains to that highest form, never fails to usurp some dcsv- 
tion of the creative power with which it is busying itself Con- 
vinced of this, he makes bdid to assert, that ^ there nev^ was a 
truly great critic who did not see more in a great work c^ art than 
rea£hr exists in it." 

Those who judge Shafcspeare as David Hume did, and who 
think of Coleridge bb cotton lords and commons are apt to do, will 

•'Tie Revenge." Act I. 
Wordsworth's Poems founded on the Affections. 
Lady I we receive but what we give. 
And in our life akae does nature Eve: 
Ours it her weddingwmeBt, ours her eta)ad! 
And wonM we anght behold, of higher worth 
Ulan that inanimate cold woiid j^ormi 
Tt> the poor loveless e^er-amdous crowd. 

Ah ! from the sod itself mnst issue lortk 
A light, a c^, aiair fanunous clovd, fte. 

Dejeetum: An Ode. 

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regsrd tlie foregoing tiiesn as ijmo dieto ODcommTmiosti&g ftil ^tntljr 
gr«Kt critics^ nom the feHowship of reascnmble men, the cathotie 
c ommni iion of common ieme. 

Whaterer be llie Talidj^ of the es:oommimicatio&, a ^^trdj 
great critic" of this kind did Coleiidee prove himself to be; and 
nowhere more remarkaUj so than in his criticism of Shakspeare. 

One who is deeply and avowedly indebted to that criticism, Mr. 
Charles Knight, has summed up under three heads the modes in 
which a critic may deal with subjects of high art. The first is, 
where the critic enaeavours to look at an entire woada — ^not at parts 
of a work only — in some degree through tbe same medium as the 
poet when looking at his imfbrmed creations. The second is, 
where the critic rejects that medium, for the most part through 
incapability of using it, and peers through the smoked glass of 
what he calk common sense, that his eyes, forsooth, may not be 
dazzled. The third is, where the critic, from a superabundance 
of ihe power of detecting what appears the ridiculous side of 
things (which results from a deficiency of imagination), takes a 
caiicaturist^s view of the highest exercises of the intellect, and 
asserts his own cleyemess b^ presenting a travestie.* To the first 
class— some will unhesitatingly allege, first in the first class — 
belongs Samuel Taylor Colmdge. it was his punctiHons prin- 
ciple, if not alwa^v punctilious practice, to adopt the stand-point of 
the author he criticised; to see as he saw, that he might see what 
he saw; to accept and keep in mind the other^s postulate, before he 
reasoned on the proposition at large; to examine aright the other's 
premises, before he drew his own conclusions. Axx)ording to Mr. 
Arthur Helps, the great deficiencies oi criticism in all ages have 
been a deficiency (S* humility, a kck of charity, and a want of 
imagination. And he observes that in no respect will this com- 
bined deficiency be better perceived, than in considering the way 
in which men persist in commenting upon the works of others 
from their own peculiar ground and point of view. " They will 
not exercise a charitable imagination, and look at what is done 
with due r^ard to the doer's drift and conception. Their own 
conceits perpex and stultify their judgment." t A caricature^ is, 

« Knight's SiucUes of Skaik^>oare. 

t "Eneods inCMmoiL" Book iL diap. iL 

X Some of Mr. LowqU's free-and-easy, pnnnk^ aad ranmzig rhymes allade to 

" the knife oC some mitic assassm. 

Who stabs to the heart with a o&rieatwre^ 

Not 80 bad as those daubs of tbe San, to be sore, 

Yet done with a daggers -type, whose vile portraits 

Disperse all one's good, aad oondense all oae's po(»: tnitB." 

The punster poet's Imes read fike a '^meny-go-roiiDd'' pan^hrase of oeiiaBi 
stnotores, laore soberly worded, by an old I'rench classic : " Qoeiqiies-mis de 
ecBx qiii oat la an oavrage, -an n^^portent certains ^mfi doirt ils n'ont pas 
compns le sens, et qu'ils alt^rent encore par tout ce ^u'iliy mettent da leor; 

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at the best, their " counterfeit presentmeni" of the author^s verum 

tuuir — a caricature, varying in oreadth and freedom with the cari- 

. caturist^s turn of mind, and defect of insight. Thomas Moore only 

Soke the complaint of many a brother-lmrd, when he once paren- 
etically put m a protest against 

those sapient wits of the Eeviews, 

Who make us poor dull authors say 

Not what we mean, hut what they choose ; 
Who to our most ahundant sliares 
Of nonsense add still more of theirs, 
And are to poets just such evils 

As caterpillars are to flies,* 
Which, not content to stiuj^ like devils. 

Lay eggs upon their hacb likewise.! 

The way in which some of Coleridge's predecessors had treated 
Shakspeare, was very much after this fasnion; witness the occa- 
sionally ^^ atrocious notes," as Mr. Charles Knight calls them, 
which Steevens inserted in his edition, under the pseudonym of 
Amner. Archdeacon Hare pungently says: ^^ A critic should be a 
pair of snuffers. He is oftener an extinguisher; and not seldom a 
thief.^ X We may take up the parable, and apply it. Such a thief 
in the candle was Richard Farmer, whose name and fame were to 
flnrow by what they fed on, and consumed, the name and fame of 
ohakspeare. Such an extinguisher was Thomas Rymer, who 
would fain 

Put out the light, and then put out the light 

of *^ Othello" — not without leaving a foul smell from the extin- 
guishing process — ^in this case not 

Stealing, but giving odours. 
And such a pair of snuffers — however undignified, and of " base 
mechanical" derivation, the figure — was Samuel Taylor Coleridge: 
his office, as an interpreter of Shakspeare, to aid m the develop- 
ment of a burning and a shining light ; to remove excre8cences,§ 
thievesj and all and sundry hindrances to the full free radiation of 
illuminating power. 

et ces traits ainsi corrompus et d^figur^, qui ne sont autre chose que leurs 
propres pens^ et leurs expressions, ils ies exposent & la censure," &c. — ^La 
BamnfeKB : Les Caracieres. (" Des Ouvrages de VEsprit.*') 

* '* The greatest number of the ichneumon tribe are seen settling upon the 
back of the caterpillar, and darting at different intervids their stin^ into its 
body. At every dart they depose an egg.*'— Goldsmith. 

f Moore's "Fables for the Holy AUmncc." 

1 " Guesses at Truth." First aeries. 

{ It must be confessed, however, that Coleridge was for removing as ex- 
crescences what his taste considered to be such, by a too summary and literal 
mode of procedure. His admirable dac^hter is constrained to own, that he 
seemed inclined to reject as not genuine in Shakspeare, whatever he thought 
was not worthy of Shakspeare. Thus he was for making a dean riddance of the 
Porter scene in "Macbeth" — that very scene upon which "Mi, de Quincey has 
written a criticism of rare penetration and suggestiveness — too brief and frag- 
mentary, indeed, but worthy to rank with Lamb's noble tribute to Lear^ in iSe 
essay on Garrick and Acting. 

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It was about seyen o'clock in the morning, at some time daring the 
month of January, 1856, and on the deck cl the good steamer Zehra^ 
diat I sifted the k>ng, bold range of cliff on the shores of the Cherso- 
nese, aft^ an unusual^ rough passage of eight-and-fortj hours from tiie 
moutli of the Bosphorus. 

Sweeping the horaon with a telescope, the eye is first attracted by a 
white building in the bosom of the rock, which we are informed is the 
monastery of St. Greorge ; a bleak-looking spot from the sea, but, Tisited 
from inland, it fimns a charming oasis on the wilds of the plateau. As 
we approach nearer, the castle and long running wall of defence at the 
mouui of the little creek of Balaklava Incomes apparent ; and beneath it, 
thoee wild, inhospitable-looking cliflPs, at whose base the ill-&ted Prince 
and her compamons were dashed to atoms like cockboats in the great 
^de of November, 1854. Rising above, in the distance, are the hUls of 
Baidar, foliage reaching to their summit, and still dotted with the snows 
of winter. 

As we gfide on we become aware of what appears nothing more than 
a creek in the rocks, but which we soon discover to be the now woxld- 
funous harbour of Balaklava. We had craite enough of the Euxine^ and 
were delighted at the prospect of rest afforded us ; but our desires were 
not so near iheb fulfilment. Many a sea-sick soldier has eagerly watched 
for the appearance of the flaff on the summit of the ruined keep as a signal 
that his miseries on the deep were at an end, and, like ourselves, has 
been doomed to many more hours' knocking about in the heavy swell 
off ihe harbour before he could set his foot on Crimean soil. However, 
notwithstandmg all delays, at about twelve p.m. we found ourselves, bag 
And baggage, in a boat, and about to set foot on shore. 

The scene before us was well worthy a few moments' quiet observation. 
Beneath the long shed under which we landed, and which was used for 
debarking forage, were grouped some hundred individuals — Britons, 
French, Maltese, Sardinians, Greeks, and Turks — -iabbering together, 
and, as far as I could make out, each trying to make himself understood in 
his neighbour's language. I defy any man unacquainted with the costumes 
of her Majesty's Crimean army to make out his countrymen in that 
motley group. However, the Crimean ribbon on the grey shooting- 
jadcet of a hairy and rather nawylooking individual gave me a due, and, 
accoetinghim, I requested him to direct me to the quartermaster-g^eral's 
office. He replied by applying a kick to the nearest Turk, who was 
equattang unconcernedly on a sack, and in some Balaklava lingo directed 
him to guide me, adding, ^< Backsheesh, Johnnie." Awapr hobbled my 
friend, I following him as best I could, not being so familiarised, as he 
evidently was, with knee-deep mud. 

Having presented the '' backsheesh," and dismissed my guide, I was 

VOL. XL. <) 

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ushered into a yery cranky building, where resided the functionary I was 
in search of. There I found seyeral officers at break&st, and, after sundry 
dyilities, was directed to go to the Telegraph-office (an order which 
sounded odd enough in that wild land), and thence communicate with 
the regiment I was about to join, in order that some conveyance might 
be vent down to take up myself and light baggage. After a certain 
delay, I got an answer to aay that there was no way that eyening of 
ffetting up to the front ; and on returning to report tms I was informed 
wat an ambulance-wagg<»i which, had just deposited its freight was on 
the point of returning to camp, and that I was at liberty to ayul myself 
of it. I was glad enough to do so^ as the prospect of trending a night 
at Balakhnra, widi no yeiy distinct noticm where I was to sleep, was nak 
inyttuig. We (for iheie were lliree of us) managed to bestow oonelrfia 
•od tnms in this most uncranfortable eonreywaoe even for a num ia 
robust health, the driver ?ave the mule a poke with a diaip stick, we 
waved onr binds to our obliging Baiaklava acquamtaoees, and at the 
nfee of one mile and a half per hour we wendea our way to fbe mmf 
bafoas SeirastopoL 

Wlat dadc, gloomy reminifloenoes does not that long, ihoary vmd 
awaken ! One's thoughts involuntarily roll back one short yeai^ and we 
Bern to behold the endless dismal prooesnon which day by day toiled to 
sad from ihe canip; we think of those unhappy men who arrive at 
Baiaklava eaehausted from over-work and nnder-fecKCung; we picture them 
letoming, without a morsel of ^>od to sustain them, wadii^ kn o ^ doe p 
ikiougk that endless mod, to die from disease and fiitigve in their «iMer- 
less camp! 

But let us dismiss for a while the sad tiioughts whidi dns road 
awakens, and lo<^ upon it at a more cheering period — viz., in the winter 
of 18554^6, when contentment shone upon every countenuioe, and wiMn 
waggeos teeming with the necessariee and even luxuries of Ikk passed et 
eaoh moment. Emerging from the town, the M frnniliar shri^ of the 
engine gsveted us pleoumtly, and strongly contrasted with -die wild waA 
uncivilised appearance of every person and thing around us. IVooon tfy 
a motley group of individuals on little Turkidi ponies, cdias baggagen^ 
pass us at a canter — at least as respectable a oanter as they am bcil up 
on that miry road# 

Though in England we might have connderable dodbts and even sua- 
pidoos as to theur calling, we cannot question here that we behold about 
a dozen British offioers. A little closer inspectioa diaeovers a radier 
queer4ooking article of a white colour duigling from the saddle-bow of 
liie foremost delieate-lo<&ing young gentleman of about nineteen sunnnera. 
^ That must be a loin of pork," exclaims one of my fellow-travellers ia 
the waggon, <<for I see apig's face tied to his sworcUbeh." Look again 
at the offioer whoee forage-cap proclaims him a Guardsman. He carries a 
basket before him on the saddle. What vinous of porter, and Bass, and 
periiaps some of Brooks's cognac, aflber that sixteen miles' gallop, peep 
from the hi^. Alas, for a respectable hahUui of White's, a sirlcwn ^ 
beef, in its ruddiest condition, adorns his saddle-bow ! Suddenly, a shrill 
crow proceeds from the par^, and the head of a doomed bird protrndtng 
fr^m lAie pocket of one of the group leaves no doubt as to the originator 
of Ae disturbanee. They pass on, and are lost in the distanoe. 

As we creejp forwards, I see with some surprise, at the door of a vOTy 
veedy hovel (for politeness' sake I will call it hut), H ^ that mod^ 

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wkooe wdMnii wUaker, unexceptumable widie tk, and M.B.. 
waiBteoit were odob confideKed cather thrown away <m the Dublin 
nrriaon. Rather a sadder and perhaps a wiser Butn as chaplain to Aa 
Onianw army, a good deal of red Daardon his chin, a fiir eap on his head, 
aod with a blackthorn of portentons sise, he somewhat resembles the de« 
l e rip tio n of a nudnight villain with whioJi Mr. Reynolds delights to adorn 
Us romances. ^^]£llo! sir,'* shonts a man ol the Land Transport 
Corps; ^'youVe dropped yoor telescope.'' And, on looking tonnd, 
I saw a FienchmMi m ^ act of pickuig it np, and tacking it with 
gnat mmg^fioid under his arm. I jvmped ott and darted afier him« 
*' Pardon, monsieur," I said, very politely, '* that is my property.* 
He setomed it with a profound bow. An Englishman, under tne cir- 
tnmataoees, woold have looked g^ty and detected. Frenchman's HiU, 
about two miles from Balaklava and five from the camp, wae a very 
anriouB sight. Thousands of little blue and red figures swarmed on it, 
lemin^ng <me of an ant's nest just distorbed. Our neighbours are cer- 
tainfy a rerasricable contrast to ourselves ; perhaps it is that their notion 
of meum and tuwm is somewhat less distinct than our own ^t the ^t is 
to be attributed diat a Frenchman, on a campaign, is seldom at a Umb for 
any neeeaMny of Hfo, if that neeessary is procurable 1^ any means what- 
soever. For instance : the English soldier goes to the quartermaster of 
his regiment to draw his aUowance of firewood ; he is told there is none 
in store, Be retoms to his tent moody and defected, and says he is side of 
tUs A d soldiering. The Frenchman, au contrairey when his day's 
doty b over, sallies forth with his clasp-knife and prowls &r and near 
aver the eovntry, and returning with his fuel on his back, and anything 
alse lie has been able to lay hands on, cooks his ratbn-baeon, and heats 
the water for his ration-rum. 

The whole valley of Balaklava was dotted with these little figures 
sauntering nilnmly along, with their hands deep in the pockets of their 
CoasBck ovecafls^ but still with an eye to business. It was here, too, Uiat 
I Sat saw those gbrious Zouaves, those enfanU perdms of the French 
army, &Bt in advance and last in retreat, thor hand against eveiy man, 
and every man's hand against them, wi^ that devil-may-care swagger 
never seen in uiy other soldier}' in the woild, not excepting our own 
dashing €taardsman and jaunty Hussar. Even some time after, when 
disease and deatb were frist thinning their gallant zmnks, and every 
French sokBer who pMsed seemed to ^ar Fate impressed on his counte- 
nance, die mrits iad gallant bearing of the Zouaves were but little 
aficted ; and though the step might be less elastic, yet the determined 
eye and dauntless lode shone conspicuous as before. 

And now, by die distant boom of an oecasional gun, we are made 
nasible that we an gradually approaching near to the mighty eity upon 
whose fote tlie interest of the entire civilised world has been concentrated 
for the last e^;kteen. mondis. We get impatient at the slow progress of 
eor team of mules, and strain our eyes anxiously in die direetum whence 
the firing proceeds.. Half an hour more and we are in the camp of the 
fourth division upon Cathcart's Hill. We gaze from beside the fiagetaff 
apon the captured eity, its battered palaces cmd churches looking bri^t in 
tlie evening sun, wlnle the view is beautifully lightened by an occasioaal 
fnS from uie northern forte, or a shell rinng in the air and bursting over 
Aft town. Notwidistanding tibe bitter cold we wander amonr the tomb- 
stones, under which repose all that is mortal of the heroes of Inksnaaa, 

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imd many a trench fight hesides ; and here and there die record of an old 
schoolfellow meets my eye, whom I had lost sight of for years until I saw 
his name engraved on the humhle monument, telling how he who lay 
beneath had &llen — one in the obscure trench skirmish, and another by 
the stray bullet on the ridge of Inkerman. 

The hospitalities of the camp are profuse, and I am asked to dinno* br 
a dozen different men, but being engaged to Colonel » I refuse. It 

is amusing to a stranger to hear the way in which the iuTitationa are 
couched. One man recommends a fresh round of beef to your notice ; 
another a pig's face — ^the one, I shrewdly suspect, which I had encountered 
on the way up. 

At dinner, being a new arrival, I encounter numerous questions about 
England, friends at the " Rag'' and the ^* Junior," the prospects of 
peace, ^. Eventually I turn into bed — t. e: two horse-cloths and various 
coats and cloaks — and, in spite of the wind shrieking through the chinks 
of the hut, and long icicles hanging therefrom, the natural result of a 
thermometer at zero, I get to sleep, but awake at about three am. from 
the intense cold, my beiuxl and moustache a mass of ice. 

I internally execrate the Crimea, and for the first time since leaving 
England wish myself back in my barrack room. I turn round and try 
to get to sleep* Vain attempt. So up I get, put on about four coats, and, 
lighting a pipe, disconsolately await the dawn. 

Will it be credited by those who have never experienced the almost 
supernatural changes of these regions, that by two o'clock next day the 
sun was shining almost oppressively ! The bands were playing in the 
camps, and men throwing themselves on the g^und as if it were a sum* 
mer's day, and the thermometer had not been down to zero during the 
preceding night ! 

Our time now passed agreeably enough. Perpetual rides to Sevastopol, 
Kanuesch, Balaklava, the French and Sardinian camps, leoking up old 
friends, all scattered within a circle of twenty miles ; and then the morn- 
ing's stroll to the Redan, the Malakhof, and the trenches, despite certain 
dSsagrementSy served to make the hours hang lightly on our hands. 

I was sitting one day in C 's hut, after dinner, when an orderly 

entered and presented a sheet of paper, on which were printed orders to 
the foUowing effect: ^ A brigade field-day, in light marching order, at 
nine o'clock, a.m. Three hundred men to be detailed for fatigiM duty 
in the Redan, under a field-officer. Fort Nicholas to be destroyed at 
one o'clock, p.m." The last announcement, although we had been anti* 
dpatingit for some time, took us quite by surprise, so little is known be- 
yond one's own immediate neighbourhood in so large an army. It was 
a sight not to be missed, so we were in the saddle next morning by eleven 
o'clock, and wending our way towards the Woronzoff-road ravine, near 
which it was understood that die English commander-in-chief and his 
staff would witness the explosion. Neariy every one whom duty per^ 
mitted seemed making his way thither also, and various were the 
rumours flying about. One report was to the effect that a telegraph had 
been received that morning from England instructing Sur W. Codnngton 
to await further instructions on the subject ; another, that an armistice 
was signed, and then in force. Twenty other stories were invented fot 
the benefit of ihe credulous, but the appearance of Marshal Pelissier at 
this moment silenced our doubts, and prepared us for the great sight 
which was to follow. 

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Tbe FroDch marshal was ia his low little pbaetoiiy drawn by fbur 
greys, aiid aooompanied by bis usual escort of cayalry. Shortly after oor 
own general appeared, witn his unpretending staff of a couple of aides and 
an orderly, which was soon afterwards augmented by many an offidal and 
curious gazer from the camp. An engineer ridmg hastily past is eagerly 

questioned. General ^*s wde-de-camp comes in for a ToUey m in* 

quiries from the various groups scattered about, which he nlenoes by some 
awful '^ ihavej*^ and gallops forward. Men get tired of waiting, forgetting 
that» in order to be in time, tbey haye anticipated the eyent by nearly 
two hours. The Russians, meanwhile, are popping pretty smartly at 
thor former stronghold, and though we see wnere the shells burst, we 
are not near enough to watch the enect of the shot General Codrington 
is a little in front of us, surrounded by a motiey staff. Presentiy an 
officer rides up from the direction of tiie town, — we conclude to say all is 
ready, icr several officers fortiiwith dismount and level their telescopes on 
their saddles at the fort. I can imagine nothing more like the inter* 
vening half-hour before an action tiian were those minutes of anxious ex- 
pectancy. There is very littie chaff bandied now. We look Uke men 
about to witness a great spectacle ; every face pale from excitement ; and, 
except the constant boom from the northern forts, not a sound is heard. 
An engineer is seen at this juncture to leave the outer trench and dive 
into the town. A round shot is sent after him. The sun shines brightiy, 
and the reflexion of the doomed fort is plainly seen in the water ; and, 
as we all observed afterwards, perhaps the town and harbour never 
looked more beautifril than on this bright wintry day. But the sure and 
alent destroyer is at hand ; in a few moments that magnificent fort will 
be a heap of ruins, the very removal of which will be at a cost of more 
labour than the original bmlding. 

The moment has arrived. We hear and seem to feel a rumbling 
sound like the throes of an approaching earthquake ; the eminence on 
which we stand absolutely quivers beneath our feet; and amid the 
din the massive walls of ** Fort Nicholas" totter for a moment, then rise 
and burst asunder with a terrific crash, fragments flying into the harbour, 
the town, and the Black Sea beyond, while tbe smoke ascends to heaven 
in a round, compact body, the effect of which is singular to witness. The 
Knsrians open out from their forts as if to bestow a parting malediction 
on the destroyers of their fortresses ; and, considering it unsafe to ride 
into SevastopiH that day, we turn our horses' heads towards the camp, and 
gallop back to lunch and talk over the destruction of Fort Nicholas. 

One can scarcely be wrong in estimating the &11 of this fine fort, pre- 
ceded as it was by the destruction of the docks, as one of the most im- 
p(Mrtant in its effects of our operations against SevastopoL The mistaken 
lenity which had induced the Allies to spare Odessa, while they played 
with it as a cat with a mouse, holding the ever-impending destruction 
over its head, but never allowing the cloud to burst, had scarcely pce- 
pared the Russians for the more decided line taken by the Allies i^ter 
Sevastopol had fallen ; and the feeling had gradually sprung up that the 
war was marely intended to act as a salutary check upon their encroach- 
ments, and that, content with saying your stronghold is in our hands, the 
Allies would proceed no further -, but, as with Carthage of old, the fiat 
had gone forth, wad Sevastopol delenda est Fortifications, docks, bar- 
racks^ all planned and executed under the fostering care of Nidiolas 
himself must successively fall under the very eyes of tiieir defenders. It 

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WM tbon, and not till tiieny ^iihen it bai beeome md«it tkst the war 
wasripidiy beeoming a war of extirmmation, that Roesia began to Aow 
s ynytom s of jieMbg, and a ftdlen cify, a sunken fleet, and ikte naas of 
her fbr^Seationa staring her in the fiMe, wrong firom b^r terms to wbicii 
she sensed eren to listen while SerasAopol stili raised its head in im* 
conquered pride aboYe the waters of the Eiizine. 

The weather was now at its coldest : on the 10th of Febraarj it was 
serend degrees b^w asero, and we beard of a good many oases of fioet- 
bite in tiie eamp. Men looked singalar enough, with their long bkek 
bearda transformed into a sheet of ice, with icicles depending from tiie 
ends of the moustache, and oontraslxng stron^y widi dieir bronaed and 
weatheF-wom featares» It seems to have Imn a merdfid dispenaatioa 
that the winter of 1854-55— -that of die siege — was not maik^ by the 
bitter intennty of the sncceedmgone, though perhaps the wet was imrly 
as trying as the cold. I heard it often curved by old hands, '< Faaey 
if we luMJ to go down to the trenches tCMiight ; we should be froaen to a 
man." I found a tent infinitely preferable to a hut on thete bitter nigfats, 
for the blast which came roaring across tfie plateau penetrated at erery 
creek and corner of the dumsily-constmcted waDs, while under oanf«a, 
if the pegs were properiy fiisteneid down, one's domicile was oon^aratifdly 

On sereral occasions during some of the coldest days, when writing^ I 
have found my pen suddenly did not mark the papor, and have ^scoreved 
a litde lump of black ice in the quill. I have often seen people in this 
county smue incredulously when I have mentioned this circumstaiioe — 
even Crimeans who retonied to England before the last wintw set in ; 
but I make no doubt that by this time there are many at home who can 
bear evidence to the truth of my statement. 

Hearing one morning that preparations had been observed on the 
heiffhts of Inkerman for a grand Russian review, we mounted our ponies- 
and started off to see it. Shaping our course through the ^ht division 
and French camps, we found oivsdives by about deven o'<Soek oa die 
ridge of Inkerman. The day, fortunately, was very dear, and with a 
teiesoope we eould distinguish objects qmte distinctly at three or fomr 
miles' distanoe. As teas we could make out, thore seemed to be an army 
of some ihirtor thousand Russians on tiie opposite height, numbering a 
large proportion of cavalry. A body of Cossacks, remarkable for their 
tall caps and rfuiggT littie ponies, were manoeuvrmg near the edge of dw 
ridge. We saw a large body of infantnr depk>y into line, advanoe down 
the hill, and then retire amid a doud of skirmishers. The rifle^its im- 
mediately below were always lined with riflemen, and many an eager 
sportsman, fowling-piece in hand, in' eager chase after the woodaodt^ 
has^ in his turn, been popped at^ and in some cases mortally wounded by 
the bullet of his hidden foe. After watching the body dF Russldes for 
some time, we turned our horses' heads towards the two-gun battery, around 
which every inch of ground was disputed with desperate ferocity on die 
day of Inkennan. Colonel j who had been wounded on wat san- 
guinary field, gave us a very interesting description of what came under 
h» observation. " The moment of attack," he said, ^was certainly 
most beautifully timed, and die Russian information respecting our 
movements must have been marvelloudy exact, for at daybreak^ mf 
mediately aftn* the regiments had turned in to snatdi a few boon 
repose before the next turn of duty, and die ibMcCb had just msEvhed 

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off to the trwadm^ the RtuMo adfmnatd ganda luMt ham bten 
desoried creepiDg vp tins ridge <m which we itend, their giej eoalg 
mini^eg with the aatanm kavefl on tbe haahes^ luoity as it wae toe long 
a u ppe wd, an affidr of outpostv, hut the attadc of a might j amj. like 
maiij othera, I was half aneep when the firing oemmenoed, and thoi:^ I 
appwhended nething of anj censeqaeoce, I tuned ont and fomid the 
contisiied roll of mudcetry was attracting erery oee'a intention. I got the 
— th under armsy and soon an aide-de-^samp came galloping up ordenng 
us to the ri^e^ on whi<^ the secimd dirinen lav, saying that the enemy 
wcBPe attaching us in feree. We hastwied ddoier in oohmm of oompa- 
niflsiy hot lassareyoi^ belore we had heen half anhourinactiooy we wete 
apHat up into groups of twenties and durties, some in the twonrun hatteiyy 
others in the ravine hy the Hnustone quarries, each man ^|;hting des- 
perately fat life and rallying round some leading spirit^ Tf^iile every 
aoldaer was a hero. We were under a heavy fire when I saw a column oc 
Guards approaching. The Russians seemed to knowihat these were our 
car^ ^ekitf and turned die fire from us upon the new coBMn : it was a 
sad m^st to see those tall heonkms drop|Hng like ninepins as thej ad-^ 

fof r 

.- b was ft proud and happv moment fi>r the snrnvors ei that 

haid>£M]gfat fidd when they behdd the dark mnimca retracing Aeir stops 
across the hridge of Inkerman, for at one period of the fight die peatbn 
was wett-nigh lost, as, owing tty the surprise^ the reinlbroements oame up 
at loeg intevnJs, and in some instaiioef hy companies, aad die brwpe 
hand who still foc^t on the brow of the hill were asveral times wdl- 
ni^ overpowered by the immense masses of their foes." The remains of 
die confliei still lay thick on die ridge. Rotten grey and soariet cloaks, 
oeats^ cspa^ cartridge-boxes, and belts, wese rtrown br and near ; this was 
espedaUy the case in and about the two*gun battery, where so thidc lay 
die skin dttt the Guavds made & banquette of ^ir faUen comrades to 
fire oa the advancing enemy. The ravine to die left is also thiokly 
aliewn with unybrms, and shot and shell in abundance. 

The consummate daring and enterprise of the attack on our position 
at lakennan ought, in my imnd, notwithstanding its failure^ to be equally 
ranked with its de£Baee» The &et of l»ingiBg those imiaenee mnsws 
aad heavy g^uns up that almost perpendieulsr asoent, and in die very 
teeth of die £oe, was as daring an efBsrt aa eves was attaanted bj m 
general, and notibing but the stubborn and dogged resistanoe ot English- 
men eould hanre saved the porition. 

Am<»g die numerous objects o£ interest in die Crimea are die nutfni* 
fieent and apparently ineuiansdUe Umestone quarries, out of which 
every stone which forms Sevastopol was taken. It is curious dutt these 
fine quazTtts have been unnodced by neariy every visitant to the Crime* 
of bte years ; hot I read the aooount of & traveller whoy about the b^^* 
■ing of dus century, ase^idedthe Tchemayain a boat firom die harbour, 
and suddenly came upon the quarries, which he speaks of in strong 
terms of adaairBdon* The Rusrians will certainly never be in want of 
autaials to rebuild their city. Immediatriy heW the limestone ouar^ 
ries is a quaint old bridge, at one time an advanced post of the Ros- 
rians^ who nave 1^ mfflnorials of dieir presence in die shape of a variety 
of earrings in their nature resembling those found on old vase^ ho^ at 
Pompeiy and leading one to condude diat some similarity of customs and 
tastes must have existed between die Ross and dw ana«iit Italian. 

On our Betnx%weni8dead^tofr to see die I!rench canqis at laker- 

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man, and the Feduikhine heights towirdi Tractir. Never ifaall I finr- 
get the impression made upon me by that morning's ride. Much as I 
had heard of the disease and misery of that pcvtion of the French 
army, the dire reality starting np on every side beggared aU desorip* 
tion* The wretched, melancholy objects that dragged themselves to 
the door of their tents to gaze imploringly at the passer-by ; the ambu- 
lance mules in a long, sad procession, with their dead-alive burdens, the 
head sinking on the breast, and the arms dangling at the side like those 
of a corpse ; and the wan, emaciated appearance of those who still re- 
mained at their duty, struck a painful and ine&ceable chill into the 
beholder, and contrasted sadly enough with the happy, healthy appear- 
ance oi our own camps. I recollect the Moniteurs rather strong comments 
on our correspondents' letters to their papers on the state of the French 
army being read one evening aloud in a mess-hut, and the general con- 
clusion arrived at was that the ire of the French pi^er was assumed, to 
prevent any more unpleasant disclosures. 

How it arose would be, perhaps, difficult to define, but just at this 
period there was a decided coolness, to use no stronger term, between 
ourselves and our neighbours the French. The comments and discos- 
aions as to the cause of this were very general, and many and various are 
the causes I have heard assigned. There is no doubt that the French 
did not understand the blu£F, uncompromising English manner, any more 
than we did the extreme politeness which lays down as a rule that every 
officer in the French service shall acknowledge another as naturally as h& 
is himself saluted by the soldier. During the dark and gloomy days of the 
dege this courtesy was never, I am told, neglected by the French officers; 
but our people went plodding on, each man thinking of his own miseries, 
and of the few hours of existence which might remain, and gave but little 
heed to courtesy. The French, however, soon got tired of saluting men 
who did not return it, and so it was that, during the time I was there, I 
never saw a French officer take the initiative of politeness, though I am 
bound to say that the bow was immediately returned when offered. The 
French soldiers, on their part, when in their cups, were addicted to taunt 
our men about the Redan, totally forgetting the far more complete repulse 
which they had themselves sustained at the Little Redan. Whether this 
feeling would have continued had the armies taken the field and fought 
once more side by side, time only could have shown, but it became very 
evident that the sooner the inaction succeeding the siege was put an end 
to, the better. I have heard officers on the staff ignore this assertion of 
mine, especially those who had been associated in any way with the 
French Aai^major^ but what I now speak of is the general feeling whidi 
existed between the mass of the two armies, and not of occasional acquaint- 
aDce% for, as I myself found, it was only necessary to enter a Frendi 
officer's tent and request some refreshment, and I was received, not with 
mere politeness, but with the kindness of a brother officer. 

Much has been said and written relative to the mismanagement and 
want of ability which directed our attack upon the Redan, but it seema 
to me that sufficient allowance has scarcely been made for the extremely 
unfavourable circumstances under which the English assaulted the Redan, 
compared with the French simultaneous attack upon the Malakhof ; and 
never, before I had crossed the open ground between the British advanced 
trench and the Redan, and stood upon the crest of the Malakhof could I 
estimate the preponderating advantages on the side of our allies. When 

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Ihe mgineen had reported all ready for the aeeanlt, the Britbh, owing 
to the nature of the ground on which thej worked, could approach no 
nearer to their ohject of attack than two hundred and seyenty-nve yardi, 
while the French had approached within fifteen yards of tlie Malakhof. 
Thia being considered the most difi&cult point of attack, and, moreoyer, a 
work without the possession of which all the others would hare been un- 
tenaUe^ it was arranged should be attacked first, in order to give the 
stcnrming party the chance of a surprise, and that, when a footing had 
been established, more as a diversion than for any other motive, the Britidi 
should assault the Redan. 

In the mean time, it must be borne in mmd that the most awful fire 
erer directed against a beleaguered city was being showered firom the 
mouths of three hundred pieces of cannon upon the enemy's works. 
Not a Russian could show nis head either in the Malakhof or Redan. 
Ensconced behind their traverses they awaited the assault I have often 
heard those few hours of inactivity previous to the assault, while the 
stormers heard the iron shower yelling and shrieking over their heads, 
described ss the most trying moments of the whole war. At noon, the 
time appointed for the attack, the firins^ suddenly ceased, and at a 
single bound the nimble Zouaves crossed the intervening space, and 
were actually in ihe work en masse before a shot was fired. Up goes the 
flag, the death doom of so many gallant spirits, and our storming party 
issue from the trench into the open space. But, in the interval, thie 
alarm of an attack has spread, and, unlike the defenders of the Malakhof, 
the Russians who hold tne Redan are ready to sweep the open as soon aa 
the stormers appear. Too effectually is that performed. Leaving half 
their number, the assaulting party reach the work, and here, cut to 
pieces, unsupported and surrounded by thousands rushing in from the 
Malakhof, they fight their way back foot by foot to the ditch. The re- 
pulse, it must he confessed, was complete. I was told by an officer who 
entered the Redan among the first, tnat one of the regiments who came 
out in support captured two Russians, who exclaimed, '* In^is ! Inglis !** 
and, throwing up their hands, intimated by the gesture that an explosion 
awaited them within. There is no doubt that there was a very wide- 
apread impression among the troops that the Redan was extensively 
mined, and that those who stormed the place would never return. This, 
coupled with the fiulureof the 18th of June, created a desponding feeling 
amone the men that the work would never be taken; and though, perhaps, 
British troops, individually, never exhibited more dauntless gallantry 
than on this occasion, yet it was scarcely sufficient to overcome the fore- 
boding of mishap which seemed to have taken deep root throughout the 
army. When I visited the pUice an officer's guard was stationed there, 
and strong fatigue parties were constantly employed in digging out the 
guns and shell, some of which were embedded several feet in the earth. 

The ground leading to the work, for nearly half a mile, was literally 
paved with shell, and I had to dismount to prevent my little baggager 
from tumbling on his nose. 

It will be a curious tour a few years hence, for those who have seen the 
Crimea in the war time, to visit Sevastopol when peace has thoroughly 
resumed its sway. To ride down the Boulevards last seen strewn with 
round shot and shell; to attend service in that fine old church, so utterly 
sacked and dismantled ; to hear the dang of the artisan and the bustle of 
trade resounding in those streets where scarcely a human being was seen. 

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eieept tlie oecatioiial matrj pa^g on his dmry post, and ivliere tbe 
bnrstiog of a shell or the whiz c? a round Aot alone hroke upon the 
melancholy silence. 

Sddom has war been more seen and felt in a captoied city thaa it was 
a £9w months back in the dismal streets of SevastopoL There one saw 
the sobnrban villa with its little portico^ the green nuHng on die dwarf 
wall, its terraoed garden and once pagoda-like sommer-honse, in whiidi 
Juioy might picture the prosperous merchant reposing after his bustling^ 
day, all bearing the marks of the deadly conflict wmoh for eleven long 
months had raged without. A shell has burst apparently in the very 
portico and riiattered one of the pillars; Ae same xate has befiedlen the 
summer-hoose, the roof of which has been blown bodily off; the aqnara 
Mpertures in the walls alone are lef^ to tell where the windows once were ; 
shell, round shot, and grape, seem to have searched out every nook and 
crevice. It is, in truth, a oi^ of the dead ; and yet, as you stroll down to 
the harbour^s edge, leaving the town behind yon, die clear and pdlucid 
waters seem to speak of nought but peace snd tranquillity, except whea 
a dear white puff firom Constantine or Paul reminds one tiuit the winged 
messenger of destruction is stalking abroad. 

Our friends the Zouaves have veiy litde respect even for the plaoea of 
wordiip, for they are turned into the lowest uees^ Nothing but die bare 
walls and roof remained of that maffnifioent church in the centre of the 
Boulevards ; and, scarred and riddled with shot, they frowned gloomily oq 
you as you rode past The French speared veiy jealous of our entering 
their side of the town up to the very last I recollect, on one ooeasion, 

going down with Lord ^ who had obtained a pass from Marshal Pdis* 

sier himself; but the sentries seemed to regard it with no respect what- 
«rer, and a stem shake of the head was all me answer they oondesoended 
to make. One man in particular was more civil than the rest, and qualified 
his refusal by remarking that the Russians had been firing heavily all day, 
and that it would be unsafe to venture on hors^ack. To this- tender admo« 
nition we replied that we had no objection to run the risk of a shot. He 
ihen changed his tone, and said that our being killed was a matter of no 
possible consequence, but that it would be a much more serious affimr to 
draw the enemy's fire on the town. There was a large and handsome 
building, resembling the Madeleine at Paris, which, from its exalted and 
mrominent position, was a fiivourite mark for our artillery to practise at 
No one seemed quite sure as to what it was, but it was gpeneially beUeved 
to be die dieatre. One day, when riding, we enters the area whidi 
surrounded it, notwithstanding the vehement ejaculatkins of two litde 
•entries, who kept shoudng, " Ah 1 saci^ Dieu ! on ne passe pas \k !" until 
at last they could stand it no longer, and came rushing d^r us with fixed 
bayonets, perfectly scarlet with passion, and swearing most lustily. It 
was very evident they had litde respect for die uniform. They are cer* 
tainly very cool hands on guard, and with dieir arms dung at their back, 
and their Franciscan^loolang doaks, with the hood pulled well over thdr 

the sound proceeded from. It was very litde use arguing with diem, or 
swearine stoudy you were a general of divimon ; they received the first 
with solemn silenoe^ and the seeond with an incredulous shake of dM 
head, and ''Celam'est^aL'' r 

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PflritqM tfw flBOBt mfthnAoly wtmIc in tbe town wer» die unnmn .«f 
the onee Twagnifinent docks on the Kevabelnftia (Britith) nde, now a that* 
tered heap of masomy, and bearing little Msenbfanoe to the nripnd 
doek, whioh had giyen berth to the fine fleet now deejnnr beneath the 
watesB of the harhonr — a let rib otion following speedity endiemnnacra at 
Iffinope. It ferred as a subject for Berions contemplation to gaae on 
tfaeae ahatteied marts peeping aboire the dark waters un^ the battariaa 
of the IluananfortSy and to reflect that there lay all Aat remained ef Ae 
impending wmt-dlond, which had gone en dfeom strength to atiengih xmA 
it well-nigh overwhrimed the Ottoman Empire. 

It was a i^easant contrast in every way, after visitingthe Fieneh eaaqv 
ftodoas over to the acRoining one of onr gallant allies the ^< Sanfnes,'' as 
they were jooolarly called, and who £oac some time were mdier gmo^led at 
hjy die mote hatd^woiked poctbn of the allied amy as hnm kapt heime" 
tieally sealed '' in their little tin hazes,'' vatil they eamrgea from them to 
aome effect at the battle ci Tractir Bridge. The extreme politeness and 
genttemantike demeaaonr of their offioars especially, attcaeted and won die 
hand feeling ef aH who came in contact with diem. Serecal times, when 
ncowling about their «amp on the slope (d die hill towards Balaldava, I 
tunre bra addressed by a Sardinian ofioer, oflbring to show me anything 
Iirishedtosee. TheirstaUes were well worth a visit They are extreai^ 
com fo r ta ble, being, as well as the huts, constructed widi boughs of trees 
and bntahwood. The hones are smidl, but hard, wiry-lookmg mmnals, 
and appaientW just calculated for a campaign like the Crimean, vrhere the 
greatest posamle amount of work en the lightest possible diet vras tbe 
ggetKt deaideratom. The men's huts were equally oomfortaUe, and had 
a ^etoreaqne look about diem which one looked for in vain in either our 
own or the Fiendk camps. On a fine day every soldier's accoutrements 
were to be seen, well cleaned, hanging at the door of his domicile. 
They are indeed a fiiM litde army, and do infinite credit to die nation 
who sent them forth to batde in the oanse of European freedom. 

The weather, having Tery mudi improved of kte, gave us some 
eaeoaragemeirt to make an expedition to Baidar, a trip which we had 
looked forward to fotr gome tinie, but which seemed out of die quesdon as 
kmg as die snow-storms and cutting winds lasted. One fine froisty morn- 
ing we freighted a mule-cart with *^ grub" of various descripdons, and a 
few extra coats, in case the weather SkoM prove fickle, and, despatching 
it on early in the morning, prepared to follow it at the Y&cy reasonabk 
hour of eight A.if. The sun was shining brighdy as we rode down 
Catheart's Hill and struck off across the Woronioff-road to the light, 
dodging among the white tents and huts until we found ourselves on die 
ridge overlooking the plidn of Balaklava. Immediately before us, and 
extending in a line mciDss die valley, were die redonbts l^os. 1, 2, and 8, 
so ec essivdy tabn by Ihe enemy from die Tuiks on the 25th of Oo- 
tober, 1854. On the extreme right lay, endrded by hills, the town and 
harbour of Bakklava; to die left front circling the hill, at the base of 
which the light brigade charged, were the white tents of the Frenoh, 
and farther on was the Sardinian camp. We descended by a scrambling 
path into the plain of Balaklava, and put our horses into a nttling gallop 
across it, which bioueht us to the base of die French positk)n, overlodb- 
ing the batde-ground of tbe Tchemaya. Riding thnuigh die camp, we 
-casnae upon a nazrow gorge between two dwarf hUls, and here it was diat 
die kotteet part of the fight ym contested. Turning off to the left, 

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tfuoagfa die gme, we rode up to the antkiue bridge, eoarred widi iiitnj 
a ^t» It WM nere that the enemy raaae a last ataod^ and here tlie 
moat fanffQinary carnage took place. 

Ihou^ it was lathw out of onr way to Baidar, we resolved to visit 
the once picturesque and still wild and interesting village of Tchorgouny 

ibe fire of the lokerman batteries, was no easy task* There were sevwal 
French Chasseurs more than half across, in the act of watering their 
horses, so we thought we might venture the other half. In we dashed. 
We had got to the deepest and swiftest part of the stream, when some 
kmd friend behmd exdaims, ** By Jove ! the enemy are opening on us." 
We did not spare the spur, but it was as much as our horses oould do to 
keep their legs, much less increase their pace, and we soon, with any- 
thing but pleasant feelings, perceived a round shot tear up the ground mt 
about eighty yards from us, with the unpleasant reflection that ^e ftext 
miffht have a better direction. We, however, gained the opposite bank, 
and, once furiy in a gallop, our Uood began to warm, notwithstanding 
another bad shot on Sie part of the Russkies. As we advanced into the 
OTen, I heard one of our party, evidently amlntious of tasting e(Ad iron, 
observe, " Why Ae devil don't they fire ?'* 

Anodier half-hour's riding, or rather scrambling, over wood-clad hills, 
on the precipitous sides of which no living quadruped, saving and except 
. a Turkish '* baggager," could, I believe, keep his footing, brought us 
to a defile once tne site of a Russian encampment, at the end of which lay 
the village of Tchorgoun, a halting-place of our army on the march fix>m 
^ Alma. It was tiien a flourishing Kttle hamlet, with a romantic old 
castle and tall cypresses, and, embosomed in surrounding hills, formed as 
pretty a picture as the pencil of an artist could desire. • War had, how- 
ever, told its tale upon Tchorgoun, as well as on its more important 
neighbour, Sevastopol. Blackened and shattered houses, stumps of the 
once stately i^resses, long since cut down for firewood, and a dismantled 
oastie, were all that remamed of the original Tartar village. While 
cogitating on the scene before us, and proceeding to explore the ruined 
ca^e, our reveries were interrupted by considerable shouting on our 
right, and, on turning towards the point from which the disturbance pro- 
ceeded, we discovert that we had passed a Sardinian outpost on mn 
eminence overlooking Tchorgoun, and were unpleasantiy aware of two 
small personages in green coats and with feathers in their caps, one of 
whom was deliberately covering us with his rifle, while his companion was 
shouting at the top of his voice, as if wishing to give us a chance before 
his comrade fired. So pressing a demand we could not but comply with, 
and accordingly approached our new acquaintance, who, however, sturdily 
kept his piece levelled straight at us. In spite of Colonel — *'s best 
Italian, saying that we had not the smallest idea of going over to the 
Russians, we were ordered to retrace our steps under the turveiUanee of 

one of the sentries, who saw us safe within the French boundary. B 

was furious at this cofUretemps^ the more so as he declared that the little 
devil would have shot us to a certainty; but lU— — passed it off face- 
tiously, ronarking that these d— d fellows were accustomed to potting; 
a joke which we were not in the humour to see the fun of. Notwitii- 
standing our various dangers from friends and enemies, we eventually 
found ourselves in the Woronioff-road, en route to Baidar. 

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Cot for many nulee out of the solid rode, and with a pnoipioe of i 
hundred feet on the one side, and a mountainous range clothed to the 
summit with foliage on the other, the road passes through seenerj muuF- 
paased hj any in Europe. The road was originally made hy Prince 
WoronzofF, when governor of the Crimea, as a means of communicatioii 
between his palace and Sevastopol It is in some plaoes a very respectaUe 
thorough£ure. The beautiful mansion to which it leads has been utterly 
gutted. It was left just as it stood, with its libraries and fiimituTe, even 
to the very jnano in the drawing-room* Our allies and our own army, 
however, took care not to leave too much for the owner when peace 
should restore him his property. There is a story of several Frenoiunen 
who had been for some time chasing a grey goose upon this spot, when it 
took to the water, but the bad luck of the bird brought him within ranee 
of an English officer, who was also on the prowl, gun in hand. The 
Englishman soon broueht him down, and proceeded to possess himself of 
bis lawful conquest, when the Frenchmen came up vociferating loudly, 
and claiming the bird, as they declared they saw him first, and had been 
hunting him for the last hour. The British officer, of course^ strongty 
remonstrated, and ill consequences might have arisen, but it was refemd 
to the senior English officer on the spot, who, I suppose, sacrificing every* 
thing to the entente cordiale^ decided against his countryman, mudi to 
the satisfaction, and I should think amusement, of the French. 

Before entering the range of hills, we see at some distance above us, to 
the right, the camp of the Highland division at Kamara, with hills rinng 
around it on the south, east, and west. *' There," said Colonel , as 

he pointed out the camp, " lay the lucky dogs of the army who have 
oome in for a good slice of renown, and comparatively littie work to do 
for it. Lord Raglan's remark to Sir Colin CampbeU, that the divition had 
been laid up all the winter at Balaklava in lavender, was not unapt ; but 
Sir Colin did no^ quite seem to relish the remark, for the story goes that 
he replied that if his lordship was to inspect his breeches he would not 
suspect them of having been in lavender ; aqd as for the charge at Bala- 
klava and the ' thin red line of steel,* " continued Colonel — , ^^ it was a 
l^etty piece of writing, and was an i^t finale to a brilliant article, but 
those who knew Sir Colin Campbell would scarcely credit tiiat so expe- 
rienced an officer would treat with such dangerous contempt cavalry 
whom he had never before encountered in the field, nor have neglected 
90 simple a measure for the preservation of his force as forming four deep 
when the euemy advanced ; the real &ct is, that the Russian cavalnr never 
came near enough to render the movement necessary, but retired at the 
first volley." 

It was evident that the reputation which the Highlanders had certainly 
rather cheaply acquired, was a " raw" with the gallant officer who had 
won his medfU by eleven months roughing it in tlM trenches. 

Our road thenceforward seemed to lie through a mountun garden. 
How a botanist would have revelled among the varied ferns and wild 
heathers which sprang up amid the rocks above and below our path! 
Here and there, looking aown the precipice, we saw skeletons of horses 
or camels, many with their accoutrements still rotting on the carcases, 
who had probably during the snow storms missed thdr paths, and perished 
in the abyss. At some distance feurther we came upon a ruined church, 
one of the French outposts, and also serving as a canteen. A canii$ii^ 
was standing at the side of her pony, and giving a French soldier some 
drink out of a sort of bucket slung over her shoulder. We saluted her as 


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we rode pati^ to which Ae politely lej^ied W a pretty little ware of her 
whip, and a geatnie to come and paAake <x her flask, which invitadon, 
after our ride and oomiiig from a young and prottjr woman, we were not 
lotSk to ace^ o£ Bairing the beara, she had a thorough Crimean 
Appearance. She was much browned hom continued exposure, and litr 
daik bluejacket bene eridaioes of campMgning. Her dark hair was 
bound up in heavy masses, which spjpemi struggling to eso^ from the 
little ci^ set jauamly on one side, and notwithstanding her youthful and 
fisBiinine appearance, there was a twinkle in her dark eye wludi seemed 
tosay that she ooold take very good care (d herself in any cireuDsstaooes. 
In answer to our inquiries, she said fiiat she came out very shortly after 
Inkerman, and had remained ever since. She spoke very vividly of the 
hodETon of Tractir &idge, and siud tibat she was five hours on the field 
after ihe fight had colluded. She appeared to have ao particular 
yearning fior home, but seined quite satisfied with the campaign as long 
as the canteen lasted. In company with hw two comrades she rode 
some distance on with us, and I nave seldom met with a more sociable or 
chatty young lady. We parted with expressions of regret on both sides, 
and many entreaties on ours ihat she would honour our dinner with 
her presence; which she declined, to our disappcuntment. 

J nad rather a curiosi^ to inspect a Tartar himieBtead, and so dis- 
mounted at a cottage under the excuse of getting a light for my ppe. 
The fitther of ihe funily vras smoking over some expiring embers, and a 
young girl near him, whom I should have taken for his daughter, had it 
not Men for die diBo^rity of age between herself and the litue brats who 
wece around her. The man rose when we entered, but she did not move, 
and on^ acknowledged us by a sort of nod. They had fine features, and 
dark hair and eyes, and would have been handsome had it not been for 
an undefinable heaviness of expression, whidi is the chief characteristic of 
ahnoBt every Tartar countenance. It i^pears to lay in^e eye more than 
any otiier feature. Thej are very dark, but heavy and expressionless, and 
scarcely ever lighten with ^ smile or animation of any sort The males 
wear the peculiar cap of the country, a high round one of black wool, and 
it was curiom to see the youthful scions of the fiunily in these caps, 
which at first strud^ one as a shaggy head of dark curly hair. I pr^ 
sented a half-crown, iriuch was racdved, after sundry loolcs of doubt and 
curiosity, with apparent gratitude. We came in sight of the river and 
villap;e of Baidar at about two o'dodc in the auemoon, the former 
looking like a imeckled snake curling at the base of the hill, the village 
standing out of the luxuriant green pasture-land which intervened, dotted 
with the yellow flower peculw to Crimean soil, and refreshing to the 
eye ao kmg accustomed to the barren plateau. We jogged (m at a 
canter, a misgiving crossmg our minds about the provirion-cart, whidi 
happily was not realised, as at the turn of the hill we saw a speck on 
belne us which set our minds at rest Near Baidar we encountered a 
very drunken Frenchman, who appeared, by his gesticulations and vehe- 
ment sacris^ to have a considerable difBerence of opbion with the mule he 
bestrode as to ihe pace they wished to go. As we cantered past, his mule 
farig^iiened up and k^t up with us, much to the delight of " bono 
Francis ;" when, however, we drew rein, his obstinate beast stopped also, 
which was too much for the drunken mood of our friend to submit to, 
and be accordingly rode forward and proceeded to remonstrate on the 

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mistake of not keeping op our pace. Incensed at bur not quite agreeing 
with his view of the ease, and more so at our evident amusement, he 
selected me as his butt, and, riding up, growled in a voice hoarse with 
drink and anger, ^'Ah! Bacr6 cochon! No bono Anglais I No bono 
Redan r 

We were more amused than inclined to quarrel with our tipsy ally, and 
fortunately meeting a French corporal, we consigned him to his care. 
Our provision-cart was unloading at the trystmg-place, a clump of 
cypresses to the right of the road, and glad enough we were to picket 
our horses, baring preriously eased them of their saddles, which we con- 
verted into camp-stools, and proceeded to do justice to the salt beef and 
hard-boiled eggs with a zest such as a wild life only gives. Merrily did 
the horn-cup drcle that fine afternoon, and far preferable was that dinner 
of herbs to the stalled ox, which 1 have often, both before and since, par- 
taken of in more luxurious regions, aye, and even with feirer compamons 
at my side. Many was the story which oozed out of the past campaign; 
many the land remembrance, the word of warm feeling for the departed 
friend who slept a warrior's last sleep on the wilds of the plateau ; and 
there were reminiscences of the dark, dreary siege-times, when the 
boldest felt their spirits droop a while, sweetened by the quiet repose of 
ihe present time. Toneues seemed suddenly untied, the Veritas tfini 
came out, and one sat and wondered to hear how — — , who was continually 
mentioned in despatches, was anything but a hero, while the unlucky 
D— , who still held the exalted rank of a captain of foot, had re- 
mained at his duty during the whole siege, and had been foremost in 
every brave encounter, had received no brevet, no congratulatory ad- 
dresses, but merely his Crimean medal and its four bars, with its kilted 
warrior and his goddess on the one side, and her most gracious Majesty's 
effigy on the other. As story succeeded story and mingled with school- 
boy recollections; it was difficult to realise the fact that an enterprising 
foe lay within a short distance— who could say how short ? — of that se- 
cluded spot ; ^t it was far from impossible that a party of prowling 
Cossacks might form an uninrited addition to our party ; and, more from 
prudence thim from weariness, as the day waned apace, we remounted our 
horses, and slowly wended our way back to the camp. Our gallant little 
ponies, as we gauoped across the heavy ground on the plain of Balaklava, 
scarcely showed the e£Fects of a forty-four miles' ride. We were tar more 
susceptible of fatigue than they seemed to be, and felt ver^ glad to forego 
tiie nightiy rubber, and turn in as soon as possible. Tallung of Cossacks 
brings to my mind a story told of three officers of our cavalry, who, dis- 
obeying the strict order that no officer should leave his camp without his 
swcwd, one day took a long ride in the direction of the Baidar. At a wild 
part of the mountain road they were somewhat unpleasantiy surprised by 
obserring a littie Cossack, who, mounted on his shaggy httie pony, and 
lance in hand, was evidentiy keeping a '^ weather eye" upon their move- 
ments. Under any other circumstances he would have been looked upon 
as a very contemptible foe, but our friends had no other weapons than 
their riding-whips, and consequently a dignified retrograde movement 
seemed the only alternative to being summimly spitted. When, however, 
they diowed signs of retiring, their attentive foe advanced, and the dis- 
tance between them hegao rapidly to decrease. The Cossack, I suppose, 
seeing how matters were, turned their retreat into a rather undignified 


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336 A MONTH nr the CRDfEA, 

ffiglit, and for & oomidenible <iistaDce three En^liA dragooof were pur* 
sued at ftdl speed bj the diannatiTe Kttle soldier of the Don, laooa m 
nst, and p rep ar ed to stiek tiiem at the shortest notice. I shodld imagme 
they were scarcely rash enough to Yenture abroad again without offeoatw 
weapons of some sort 

lly stay in the Crimea was now drawing to a doee. Romoors of 
peace were every day more rife, and though there were many aidant 
soldiers and young aspirants who expressed great discontent at die in* 
glorious termination c^ the war, the majority were sighing after home, 
and did not look forward to a coming campaign with any great satib- 

There was a wide-spread feeling of dissatis&daon at the way in 
which honours, decorations, and promotion had been £stributed, and 
many a bronaed camp«gner, who had done his work r^fat wdl, witk 
scarcely a word of recognition, looked forward with no Teiy exalted 

Xto another period of unrewarded exertion, 
fre is a system, which has been adopted in a limited degree in die 
distribution of some of die dec<»ataons giren by the Eaoperor of the 
Frendi, which it is generally allowed would work well if acted upon in 
all cases of the sort, and would go far to undermine the system of rew ar d s 
by fevouritism which has been so long the bugbear of tlie army. 

It IS this : that after a general action or any other military operatioD, 
when promotion and decorations are to be bestowed, eadi offic^, bod- 
commissioned officer, and soldier, should be selected by the sufi&agee of 
the class to which he belongs as most worthy of the reward ; for who 
can be such good judges of the indinduid merits of a man as those who 
have senred with him under fire and in the thickest of the fight ; who 
hare seen and experienced how the ready thought and ^pick dedabn 
haye turned the tide of oontest ; who have seen how the wounded sohfier 
refiised to be carried to the rear, and still unflinchingly fought by Us 
c<^nr8 ; who have heard the rallying voice, and seen the waving sword 
inspirine all around with firesh confidence, or making the lart stand en 
the hostile battery ? These are the men whose deeds should be cfaroaided 
by rewards, and not the aide-de-camp who is sent to the rear to hasten 
up supports, or the senior of his rank whose merits consist in haying 
suocee^led to a temporary command in action. It may be urged, that tf 
this system were adopted, that popularity or the reverse would hsye 
weight in such a distribution ; but I do not in the least think sck I 
could name a most unpopular commanding officer, though a very good 
soldier, whose merits being overlooked, was made a caose of comphnnty 
not only in his own regiment, but throughout the brigade he served in. 

As rumours of peace multiplied, the prices of horses and odier com- 
modities fell. A pony at Balaklava, for which, when I landed, twenty 
pounds was demanded, on the report of a corps cTarmee being sent into 
Asia under Sir W. Eyre, rose to thirty-five, and fell to twelve when 
the Parisian conference was reported, and for this sum he finally sold. 

At length the day for my departure arrived, and after many a friendly 
ferewell I mounted my pony in the teeth of a desperate gale, and 
started for Balaklava. I had previously an order from the quarter- 
master-general for a passage in a steamer then lying in the harbour, and 
immediately proceeded on board, but the violence of the gale blowing 

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light iBto Balakkva, prevented our pottmg to sea, and as it continued a 
good pert of the neact day, and we had a considerahle nunher of sick and 
wovnded on hoard, it was decided that we should not sail for another 
thii^-six kovs. Several of w never having heen to the monastery of 
St. Ueorg^ we determined to take the opportunity of heing wind-hound 
to ezpkm it, and we set off on a Sunday afternoon, ahout two o'clock, 
in a boat, landing m Leander Bay, and taking a direct line across 
the faiUs. For aboot the first miI^ and a half die country seemed one 
vaat viney ar d, though untilled and uncared-for for the last eighteen 
months. Some way fiurtha* on, at the other side of the hill, we passed 
through the viUa^ of Karayni, at one time the cavalry head-quarters, 
and posseesing a cnurch and some few houses, of which tlie only habitable 
ones were used by the Land Transport Corps and a few Turics. The 
dMirdi had hnd no better than the other buildings, and was utterly 
gvtted, the altar-piece only being left standing, and an old cross, on 
which was a Greek inscription, which, as £ir as I could make out, was 
6 ayaO. ^. lutxn* B«/9r. . . . x^pc* And here I may remark, that among 
the numerow tombstones in Bidaklava and its vicinity, I did not see one 
that was respected, or had been protected from disfigurement or destruc- 
tioD. Many were quite destroyed in making the railroad. None of thoee 
in the churchyard at Karayni were intact, and several on the slope of the 
hill, towards Balaklava, were shattered and disfigured ; a square one in par* 
tieular, near to which an officer of the artiUery is buried, whose name I 
now forget, is almost entirely destroyed. I tnut that the memorials of 
o«r own eotmtrymen, who sleep uncoffined on Cathcarfs Hill, with 
^ their martial cloaks around them,'' may reomve better treatment at the 
hamds of our former enemies. 

We continued our route on the southern slope of the hill, and from 
this to the monastery the road was literally strewn in one long thorough- 
fare widi die bodies of horses, camels, mules, and donkeys who had sunk 
under their burdens. Perhaps there were few mute evidences of the war 
that spoke more strongly than did the bodies of these wretched animals, 
drawing as they did a picture of the continued starvation and overwork 
which overpowered the enduring camel and the wiry little Varna pon^, 
and made diem sink to rise no more on the dreary plain. In one spot m 
pardcnlar I saw four or five Turks who had dug a pit, around which I 
counted the bodies of forty-seven horses alone, and into which, I imagine, 
they intended to throw them, though theb idle atdtude and the perpetual 
chibouque dad not show any symptoms of immediately executing their 
purpose. After a walk of seven miles we arrived at the monastery — a 
long white building, with a curious-looking old chapel on die plateau 
side. Walldng through a sort of alley, I was quite taken aback with the 
diarming little view which presented itself. A gravelled walk rose im- 
mediately before the building, bounded by a low railing overlooking the 
sea. The intervening space was a series of paths and terraces, with wild 
flowers and herbs of every description ; and at die bottom was a shelving 
beach, along which were stretched numbers of convalescents of both armies, 
enjoying the dolcefar niente to perfection. The subsiding gale left a consi- 
derable swell, and the waves kept dashing furiously on the beach, their white 
foam playing in the evening sunshine. It was altogether a sweet spot, sin- 
gularly well adapted for the sick or wounded soldier during the campaign, 
and a delightful interregnum of ease and comfort before he returned to the 

R 2 

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dismal trenches. Indeed, it is pretty roundly asserted that it was a sort 

of refuge for many a shirker in those dark times. We met Miss W , 

one of the lady nurses, & yery motherly person, extremely popular hoth 
with officers and men ; she came cantering up on her little pony with an 
officer^s wife who resided at the monastery. The chapel is a curioos 
grotto-looking place. With its dark, antique-looking pillars, one might 
almost fEUicy oneself in the ancient vaults of the Inquisition. I made my 
bow to two of the Russian monks who were deienus there during the war. 
They seemed well contented with their lot, and expressed no very great 
interest in the changes of affairs. We could not accept any of the 
various offers of entertainment lavished upon us with true Crimean hos- 
pitality, and, as the sun was gradually sinking into the Black Sea, we 
turned our steps homewards. 

It was nearly dark before we reached the hill overlooking Balaklava, 
when, in the gloaming, we suddenly came upon two enormous wild dogs, 
who very strongly resembled the Canadian wolf, feasting upon the dead 
body of a horse. One was so engaged that he did not see us, his head being 
oompletely hidden in the horse's carcase ; the other gave a growl and 
bounded forward, crouching on the earth, his head resting on his paws, 
and his little deep-set eyes glaring most offensively at us. To retreat 
would have been to invite pursuit ; so, taking the initiative of combat, I 
rushed forward, waving a stout walking-stick over my head and giving a 
loud whoop. For a moment the beast held his ground, but the next they 
both turned and scampered off at a pace defying pursuit They are moat 
mafl;nificent animals. I know no sort of dog in this country to compare 
wi£ them. One, the male, I conclude, was marked vrith black across his 
back, while the belly and legs were of a yellowish colour ; the female was 
neariy all yellow. They have beautiful heads and powerful loins, and 
appear well adiq>ted in every way for sporting. I think, if a few were 
to be brought over to this country, a very good cross with a setter mi^t 
be obtained. They are said to be fierce and untractable even if rewed 
up ^m puppies. 

We reached Leander Creek late in the evening, and, after hallooing 
for about half an hour, got a boat to put us on board the steamer. I 
turned into bed, and woke to find myself gradually moving towards the 
mouth of Balaklava harbour, and once more eti route to Old England. 
Every one crowds upon deck to catch a last look at each well-known spot, 
and the fost receding castle and hospital as they disappear over the diric 
waters. Odds are laid freely that they will never see Balaklava again, 
and these anticipations have since been happily realised. NeverthSess, 
there will be few more interesting excursions for the *^ roving English- 
man" than to visit the Crimean peninsula, to stand on the ridge of 
Inkerman, immortalised as the ground where two nations, so long foes, 
fought as brothers side by side, and, while gazing from^e remains of 
the Malakhof on Sevastopol, to pray that the firm alliance which 
eventually delivered the Cnmean capital into our hands, may be per- 
petual, and that its united strength may be ever exercised in the cause of 

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The shock which JAome had experienced did not pass away with the 
moment that gare it hirth. The more she reflected on the sacrifice she 
was called upon to make, on the character of the man whom she had 
tadtly consented to marry, the gloomier seemed the future, the darker 
lus character. Pale, silent, and restless, she was no longer her former 
self: she trembled every time the door opened, lest Mr. Powell Jones 
should appear ; and if her purpose could have been accomplished by flight, 
she would not have remiuned another hour beneath his roof, though she 
threw herself upon the world to beg her bread. But not to fulfil to the 
letter the compact into which she had entered, would have lefl her father's 
position unaltered, and it was solely to save him that she had ventured 
so deeply. 

Oppressed by the weight of an evil from which she saw no means of 
escape, L6onie s health began to fail, and her nervousness increased to 
such a degree that Madame Rodeck, who watched her every movement, 
under cover of affecting the sincerest interest in her welfare, thought it 
necessary to interfere. She guessed, rightly enough, that as long as 
L^ome remained at Wessex House, the interests of Mr. Powell «^nes 
would not be very materially advanced, and this opinion, after L^nie 
had kept her room for three days, she expressed to her pseudo cousin, 
proposing to him that she should take her and Madame Brochart into the 
coun^, — not to Ch&teau Belmont, for the reasons already given, but to 
some quieter and more accessible place, where the Joint Stock Banker 
could present himself when L^onie's nerves had recovered somewhat of 
their tone. Mr. Powell Jones mused over this proposition for a minute 
or two> and then agreed to it, naming the sea-side on the coast of Kent 
as the locality he should prefer. 

It was with tears of joy — ^the first time for many a day they had flowed 
from such a source— that L^nie listened to the plan, and moved by gra* 
titode towards Madame Rodeck, she forgot all the repugnance to that 
lady which she had originaHy experienced. To leave London was to free 
herself— at all events for a time, orief though it might be — from the pre- 
sence of the person whom she dreaded most ; to go to the sea seemed 
drawing nearer to her father, who, Madame Rodeck told her, would 
shortly rejoin her. There was but one regret which arose to mar this 
arraoeement. In her distress, L^onie's thoughts had more than once re- 
verted to Herbert Vaughan, in whom she felt she had more than a com- 
mon friend, but his absence had precluded the possibility of appealing to 

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him for advice. Monsieur Lepage, engrossed by his own affairs, had 
never mentioned the connexion with Mr. Powell Jones which Herbert 
had adverted to when the Inventor discoursed of his patron, and L^nie 
remained perfectly ignorant that any such connexion existed. She knew 
not when he was expected again in town, but a secret hope suggested 
that he might, perhaps, call at the lodging in Greek-street when he did 
arrive, and she resolved to take the chance of leaving a letter for him 
there, in the care of Mrs. Wilmer, the person of the house, who had 
always treated her very kindly, for, besides a personal liking for the youns^ 
and beautiful French girl, she was aware that the rent so punctually pud 
was the &uit of L^onie's unaided exertions. 

"Forgive, sir," she wrote, "that I importune you with words of 
sorrow. To write to you at all I should not dare, if my grief had not 
been g^reat. Strange circumstances have caused much change in my 
situation — ^in that of my father — since the day I was" (the pen was run 
through the two last words, and " we were" substituted) ^' so happy to 
see you last A cruel embarrassment, of whieh I cannot more dcArlj 
speuc, obliges me to leave London, and already my father is in France, 
but quickly, I hope, to return; — ah! he would not have gone if the 
present he could foresee. I do not know why I thus address you, or 
what it is I desire to ask, but you have shown interest in the poverty of 
my father (who now is going to be rich afain), that makes me consider 
you his friend. Never would he accept of favours — even of liberty — if 
he knew the price his daughter pay for it Ah ! sir, there is my great 
infortune ; but, for it, where is the remedy ? It is that which I &sire 
to learn ! Paidon, sir, that I trouble you, but I could not go away 
without offering thanks for your kindness. 

"L. L. 

** My aunt would charge me with compliments, but I do not disclose 
to her that I write.'' 

This letter, which, it must be confessed, did not throw mudi Ught on 
her actual situation — though a lover might have divined its meaning — was 
taken by L^nie herself to Greek-street Mrs. Wilmer noticed Leome's 
altered ^>pear8noe, and asked alter her health with some solkitude. 

*^ I hope, miss," she said, "you're not fretting about Mosseer Lep^pe. 
What with his handinesB I'm sure he'll do wherever he goes. It's hard 
for to be in a strange country when one's parent ain't diere, only yon 
muftn't take on about it ; Musseer Lepage can't oome to no harm. Baft 
this London air don't agree with you. Seldom does with foreignen. 
Yet you was alwap well and rosy when you was staying in this house. 
Maybe it's the change of living and late hours as has took away your 

Mrs. Wilmer's bald, disjointed chat might have tridded on for ever, if 
L^nie had not stopped her. 

^< Perhaps, madame, you are in the right London is not Terr 
healthful for me or too agreeaUe now, and because I leave it it » tbit I 
am here. I go from London to-morrow." 

" But yoor aunt, miss, and the little dog P' 

" Oh, yes," replied L^onie, fiedntly smiling, " my annt and Azor ac- 
company me, and the lady who invite os frtxn your hove. We go to 
the sea-ride, where I wait till my £Bither come." 

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THE Jonn-i»rocK bakkee. 241 

^Ah! the set air will do yovL good. Wkenerer I want a 
dbaoge " 

^ But, madame^ pardon mo. I hare so litUo time to speak with yon. 
Tie aaotive, besides to say adieu, for which I come, is to ask of you a 

^ I'm sure, miss, I shall be happy to do anything I ean to serve you.** 

^Here then, madame, is a letter. The oljeet of it is very serious. 
I wish it to be jplaced in the hands of — of — of— the gentleman, — ^you 
may remember him, — a tall gentleman, — not old — who call one tmie 
«pott my father. I think pe^ps he shall eome here again. Should 
that not be, then you will kindly keep it till I ask it again." 

If L^onie had not looked so sad Mrs. Wilmer mieht have rentured 
on something jocose respecting the '^ tall genUeman" who was ^* not old,** 
hut perodriiig diat the tears were standing in her eyes while she spoke, 
abe merelr replied that she perfectly remembered the visitor, and would 
soi fttl, if he called, to deliver the letter. L^onie then took leave, with 
Sk heart somewhat lightened, and Mrs. Wilm^ was left to meditate on 
the naiure of the commnnicatioo which had been entruHed to her charge. 
Of eomse she put a woman's interpretation upon it. '< Poor thing," she 
said, as she looked afbr L6onie m>m the door, ^* I see now what's the 
natter. Tisn't the air of London nor nothing of the sort. She's not 
happy in her love. A fine, handsome gentleman, too, as ever I saw !" 

On ibe following day, Madame Rodeck and her ^^ sweet young finend," 
as she ddighted to call L^onie, together with Madame Brochart, the 
ioseparaUe Axor, Miss WiUdns, the lady's maid, and one or two other 
aervants, took their departure from Wessex House. Mr. Powell Jones 
had been most obsequiously attentive to L6ome, endeavouring by all the 
means in his power to obliterate from her reooUection those antecedents 
whidi had improssed her so unfavourably; and, as an earnest of the good 
£dth with whkh he aeted, gave her at the last moment a letter, which, 
he wd, he had only reeeived that morning &om Monsieur Lepage. It 
told her, with reiterated blessings invoked on the head of ^' his benefactor'* 
— words which sent a sudden chill to L^onie's heart — that the difiBbulty 
in which he had been involved with his creditor was now entirely re- 
moved; that the money which he had received from Mr. Powell Jones 
had not only set him free, but had enabled him to obtain the ear of certain 
ofBeial p e r s onag es whose assistance would greatly advance the success of 
his project ; it toU her that he was onoe more happy — ^it hinted myste- 
nously at something which would give him the greatest eoHsfaetian when 
he returned to England, and then it ended widi eulogy of the man who 
had befriended him, so strongly worded that Leonie could scarcely fiul to 
perceive that her fiithw was {heading while he praised. The imitation of 
Monsieur Lepage's writing was as well executed on this as on the former 
occasion, but the Joint-Stock Banker's desire to stand well with Leonie 
had carried him beyond his mark ; and it was in vain that she tried to 
reconcile phrases almost servile in the expression of her frkther's gratitude 
wkh the manly independence which had always been so marked a feature 
in his character. Admitting all the circumstances under which the letter 
was written, its tone was painfully perplexing ; her frither's hand was 
^«e, but were those her £uher's thoughts ? Yet the doubt by which 
she was troubled was too vague and indefinite to lead her to any oondn- 

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tnxm tave thif — that f he wm still tupremel^ unhappy ; and jAntn Mr. 
Powell Jones pressed her passire hand on partings and whispered his hope 
of serine her '^a changed person " in the course of a few days, it was all 
she coidd do to presenre the forced composure beneath which her real 
feelings were shrouded. Madame Brochart, however, made up Amt 
L^onie's coldness; she was, as usual, all smiles and afiability, having 
made an excellent breakfast, and carrying in her hand a smsil basket 
(which no consideration could induce her to part with) that held a very 
substantial luncheon. 

«' That old woman,** muttered Mr. Powell Jones, '< won't be got rid o^ 
I'm afraid. Well, I must leave her to Martha." 

Left to himself once more, the Joint-Stock Banker had now to eonsider 
his own immediate course. He was aware that an uneasy feeling had 
begun to show itself in the City with respect to the Companies wluch he 
had pushed so far. As many of the ''Royal Scandinavians'* as the 
market would bear were already in circulation, and Ephraim Broadcast 
and others — his brother-in-law, Mr. Vaughan, included — held more, that 
might be let loose at any moment The *' Central Africans" also had 
run up — like a bean-stalk— as high as they could ever be expected to 
reach, and sellers on 'Change began to be more frequ^t*than buyers. 

'' Here's an article," said Mr. Powell Jones, tiudng up the Ttmeg^ 
'' that would do me more damage than 1 care to think of, u I waited to 
witness its effect. I see by its tone, though no particular speculation is 
named, that the ' Central African' won't he long before it gets a hard 
rap. Those fellows always hit the right nail on the head. When once 
they have a good subject, they never leave it till it is thoroughly exhausted 
and their end accomplished. I must be jogging, as the Scotdi say, 
' while my boots are green.' " 

A note which was brought in while he was laying down the paper, 
tended not a little to confirm this opinion. It was signed " H. C," and ran 
as follows : '' His case is more rapid than I expected. I don't think he 
can live over to-day. I will call on you this evening at eight." 

Mr. Powell Jones rang the bell and sent for his butler. *' I dine at 
the Club," he said, " to-day ; but place the dessert in the library, with 
some of the '34 Port, at a quarter to eight. Mr. Coltsfoot is oomine.'* 

Out of doors, in the course of the day, Mr. Powell Jones aacertamed 
that there was more than one feverish pulse in the share market People 
said they didn't know what the Times was driving at ; — ^there was some- 
thing in the wind, they were sure ; — what did he Uiink of it ? Mr. Powell 
Jones replied with a smile and tapped his breeches pocket, as much as to 
say that he was safe, let what would happen. Bat he has extended his 
walk nevertheless, and penetrated the dim regions of the City as £» as 
Fog-alley, where, in one obscure tavern into which he entered, as if the 
place were quite familiar to him, he found a rough seafaring man smok- 
ing his pipe alone in the parlour, with a large silver watch, like the seg*- 
ment of a six-pounder, lying on the table before him. 

" Five minutes more," said the sailor, ''and I should have been gon^ 
for the rest of the day." 

*'Vm lucky, then,'^ replied Mr. Powell Jones. << For the rest of the 
day you will have to be occupied on my account. Get the crew on board 
this afternoon, up with your steam at daylight to-morrow, and take the 

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GoAawk round to lUmsgate. As iood as ^oo get there call for a letter 
at the post-offioe, and repeat the Tisit twice a day till you reeeiTe one. 
Here is some money.** 

He put a bank-note in the man^s hand, nodded at him, received a nod 
— ^with a supplementary wink — ^in return, and then walked out -of the 
pailomr of the Blue Ancmor. 

At '^ The Regenerator^' that afternoon he had a word to say to every 
man he met in the Atrium. To one he made a shrewd suggestion, to 
another he gare a word of advice, a third he gladdened by telling him 
that he had spoken of him in a certain quarter — and half a dosen ^ the 
elite of the club men were made happy by an invitation to dine with him 
that day week at Ridimond. He thsn sat down to his solitary cutlet, 
carefully looked over the evening papers, and returned to Wessex House 
about five nunutes before the anrival of Mr. Coltsfoot 

In spite of his habitual self-command, the impasmve man fSelt his 
heart beat quicker as the surgeon entered the room. He motioned to 
lum to take a seat, poured out two bumpers of port in large claret glasses, 
drank off one himself, and then, fAlling oack in his easy-chair, uttered the 
monosyllable, "Well?" 

Mr. Coltsfoot raised his glass to his lips, emptied it at one turn of his 
wrist, and, as be set it down, answered as brieny, ^' Crone !" 

''The devil!" said the Joint-Stock Banker. ''That's sharp worir. 
But you won't catch me napping." 

" I thought not," returned Mr. Coltsfoot, " if I gave you a hint in 

"When did he die?" 

" At ten minutes past seven." 

" I was at dinner then, at ' The Regenerator.' " 

" For the last time, I suppose." 

" Not at all. I mean to dine there again to-morrow. I shall have a 
good deal to do in the course of the day, but that is a part of the pro- 
gramme. What arrangements have you made ?" 

" I am to ffive the woman the sum I promised her, this evening, and 
to-morrow ni^t, at ten o'clock, the subject will be handed over to me. 
I shall have a cab rmdy, I know the driver — and he knows me^ — and 
then we are under your orders." 

" Very ^ood. Now then where to deposit the body. Some sfK>t, 
lonely at night, but likely to be visited in the mommg. Would Pnm- 

" No. That's too near. Berides, the cab can't get close enough up, 
on account of the palisades." 

" What do you say then to Hampstead-heath ?" 

" The very place. There are roads across it in every direction. If no 
early bird makes the discovery, the Sunday folks, keeping holiday, are 
sure to do so." 

" I. know that part very well," said the Joint-Stock Banker; " so do 
you, I think." 

Mr. Coltsfoot replied that he did. 

" I'll meet you there at eleven o'clock at the first milestone on the 
FineUey-road, just beyond a house called ' The North Star,' built for a 
taveni, but not occupied." 

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^' I remember it" 

^' Before you go thii eyening — ia faot» yoa may M well do it now — I 
must get you to write an order on some chemist, in profimionil language, 
lor a botUe of the rij^ht sort of stuff." 

^' Acidum bydrocyianieum,** said Mr, Coltsfoot, with a grin. ** Power- 
ful odour, instantaneous detection. No mistake in thai. Sare the fixila 
a world of speculation.'* 

'< Prussic acid be it, with all my heart," replied Hr. Powell Jimm^ 
langhing in his turn. 

" Thm is another thing necessary," ohserred Mr. Coltsfoot. ^' I shall 
have to dress the body before I remove it You must make me up a 
bundle of cbthes, linen marked, coat and waistcoa t , and so ferth, which 
yon are in the habit of wearing, e?eiything that will assist ideotifiea* 
tion ; a card also in a pocket-book or qiare case will make reoognitioa 

'' You shall have them," said the Joint-Stock Banker; <' and Aia I 
suppose is all we have to settle?" 

<' All," Implied Mr. Coltsfoot,— " all but one SQiall matter. At we are 
not likely to meet again — except once — on this side the giave^ the 
balance of our little account would not be disagreeable. You see I 
haven't put you to the expense of the extra we tdked of. Nature has 
stood your mend." 

The unholy bareain was then and there sealed, aad Mr. Coltsfoo4» 
with a heavy oundfe concealed beneath his doak, stole away that night 
firom Wessex House five hundred and some odd pounds richer than when 
he entered it. 

CHAPTBR xinn. 


The Joint-Stodc Banker rose early on the day ihat was to be his 
last in London, for he had a great deal to do before the sun went down. 

At no time &miliar with those about him, unless they were in his 
aeerets, he was this morning more reserved than usual, and only spoke 
m mottosyllaUes to his servants. At break&st he sent everything awaj 
untouchea exoept a single cup of coffee, of idiich he took only a small 
quantity, and when his butler inquired if he were not wdl, he gave him 
an angry look, and muttered something which the man could not dis- 
tinctly hear. In the Bank, where he made his appearance aooorfinr to 
custom, a degree of irritabiUty was perceptible in his manner, the oraers 
he gave were contradictory, and the clerks Mi one and all persuaded 
that ** something had gone wrong with the governor," but what it was 
Aej tried in vam to discover, for the business transactions of the day 
indicated nothing unusual. After occupying hioiself for a couple oif 
hours <* in a restless sort of way," as the clerks remarked to each oUier, 
Mr. Powdl Jones withdrew to his private apartments, firom wheuee he 
presently sent a message for Mr. Rigby Nicks, the manager, to attend 

If the a f o re s ai d clerics were surprised at the apparent ffightiness of 
their pnncipal in their presence, they would have been still more so had 
they witnessed the perfectly calm, collected, business-like manner in 

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which he iaaeoBati, wfasn alone with Mr. Biglnr lUkiy all the eoaoenia 
of the Joint-Stock Bank of Centcml Africa. That gentleman was much 
to&cloaely allied to his loheBMB to admit of anj oonceahnent being prac- 
tiaed with hian, and, aeeordingly, in hia conTenatioQ thero waa no re- 
aerre. The principal subject under discnssion on the present occasion, 
was the amount of the cash balance down stairs, and the best mode of 
arithdrawiDg as large a part of it as could be e£Eected, without ezeiting 
the suspioioDS of the head cashier* It was hard to leare anything in the 
tin, bat appearances must be kept up to the last, and a certab sum was^ 
th er efi ote, left untonched; an order for the rest, ofl&cially signed and 
coanters^B^ned, was drawn up, ostensibly for tbe purpose of inTestsMot^ 
but in reality for mutual fyision when they met at a later hour. 

<< Which way shall you go, Rigby ?" asked Mr. PoweU Jones, when 
this point was arranged. *' I, you imow, as soon as I hare picked up 
my freight, am fer the nearest port in Sweden.** 

^* Ihaye been thinking oyer the matter,** replied Kgby Nicks, '^ and 
haye made up my mind not to go at all.** 

<< How do you mean?" 

*^ I intend to stand the radcet. The ezperienoe I haye about things 
of this sort saldsfies me that I can fight my way through the sma^ 
wiAont coming to harm. The affairs of the bank are in such a deyil of 
A mess, that I ddP^ ibe best accountant in London to pvrt them in order; 
We shall go into the Gax€He^ of course ; there will be examination after 
examination in the Court of Bankruptcy, with no result ; and the end of 
it aM win be an order to wind up witbout a diyidend.** 

^' And the criminal part of the transaction?** 

*'0h, that win M wfoa you. A sufficient motiye txa <the rash 
act,*— as the newspiqMrs will call ^ remarkable dodge you are dnrnt 
to put in practice. I— as you are aware — always acted under your 

Very pleasant was tfie mbrth which feUowed this abstract account of 
future proceedings, but with a graye face Mr. Bigby Nidcs went back 
to cheat his cashier, and with one still grayer, thouffn nobody now was 
by, Mr. PoweU Jones sat down to write repentant, self-aceonng, despair* 
ing letters to his most intimate friends. The foUowine^ whidi he ad* 
dresse d to his brother-in-law, may serye as a q>ecimen <^the rest : 

«< Wessez House, SslordiQr. 
** Mt dbax Vauohah, — With a heayy heart, with dim eyes and a 
ftlterins' hand, I write these lines— ibe hwt I shall oyer pcoi. Long 
before ttns reaches you the mortal career of Meredydi PoweU Jones wil 
be run. Yes, Yaughan, I have resolyed to take the only step that can 
lelease me from the embarrassments by which I am oysrwnefaned. IUb 
Bight, with my own band, I pboe die barrier of the graye between the 
wMld and my wretched selll I dare not think of the name I shall kaye 
behind^ but if a friend remains to one so guih^, let him— if you, 
Yaugfaan, are the man, I beseech you — be oompassionately silent Tat 
was not dU eyil in my intention. I laboured principally, it is true, £ar 
my own personal adyantage; but I would haye seryed oawrs also by the 
means I took to enridi myseK I erieye to tell you that the proeeeds cf 
the Central Afincan shares ore all absorbed,— 4dl wiihm a Tsiy tr^ 

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with which the bank will have to meet its eDgagements on Mondayy-— 
that Monday I dare not live to see. Of ' Royal Seandinairians* yoa are, 
to my sorrow, a great holdw; they may recover themsdves in time— to 
a certain extent — but I have been compelled to make a large over-iisae 
beyond the authorised number which formed the capital of ths Company, 
and I greatly fear that those whidi were allotted to you are of the dtm 
which may be considered-^if not spurious — at least unproductive. I 
strove to avoid this, for personal reasons, but it was impossible. Of the 
lead mine at Bryn-Mawr, I can only say that I hcpe it may eventually 
turn out well, though this hope is dashed by the re6ection that any 
profits which may accrue must be absorbed in the liquidation of tb 
debts of my separate estate. Such, Vaughan, is the state of things which 
a sense of justice obliges me to disclose. I do not ask you to forgive the 
injury my improvidence has inflicted, but do not curse the memory of one 
who can never forgive himsel£ Farewell — and for ever. 

"M.P. J. 

" There is a dog at Ty Gwyn, a fiivourite setter — lus name is Carlo. 
The creature has loved me : sufifer it not to starve 1" 

" Thb last bit of pathos," siud the Joint-Stock Banker, when he had 
ended, ** will read well, whether it touches my friend or not In point 
of fac^ there is no such animal in existence. Let me see, — whom shall I 
write to next ? Lord Leatherhead. It will go into the papers, of coarse. 
That's the way people are compensated when any great misfortone 
happens. I may as well do Rigby Nicks a good turn, and take all the 
blame myself. Besides, I may want him again some day." 

Half a dozen epistles of a similar tenor to the preceding constituted the 
farewell correspondence of Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones. As soon as they 
were written he went out and paid visits at several houses of business in 
the City, at all of which — save one— he put on the gloomy, occupied 
manner which had already told in his own establishment. The exception 
was the counting-house of Ephraim Broadcast, whither he went with the 
most cheerful countenance for a little more of that accommodation which 
the Quaker freely dispensed when the security offered was marketable. 
He must have thought that sudi was the case now, for he took a three 
days' bill from the Joint- Stock Banker, and gave him a cheque for 
fifteen hundred pounds in exchange, which the latter immediately got 
cashed. With this and a sum rather larger in amount, the produce of 
his division with Mr. Rigby Nicks, the Joint-Stock Banker wound up 
his monetary affairs. His social proceedings completed the part he was 
acting. Again, as he had said to Coltsfoot, he went to '^ The Regene- 
rator," where he dined in a way that made up for his early abstinence, 
attracting attention, not by sullen behaviour — that is only too common a 
dub feature — ^but by loudness of voice and an air of excitement which, 
after he was gone, was the general subject of conversation. On his way 
home he looked in at a hairdresser's where he was not known, and, having 
ascertained that the shop would be kept open till a late hour, gave an 
order for a travellmg-bag filled with toilet necessaries, for whidi he said 
he would call, and t£en, about half-past eight in the evening, returned 
to Wessex House. 

On his arrival there he desired the butler, Mr. Goffe, to bring the tea- 

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THE Jonrr-STOCK bahkbb. 247 

thiDgs to the libnry, and when thqr came, he sud, of his own accord, 
that he felt nnweU and very maoh ^atigacd, and wished to have a pre* 
acnption made np which he thonffht he shonU take. In half an nom* 
Mr. Qoffe returned with the medicine. The chapter of accidents had 
faTonred the Joint-Stock Banker. The chemist's '* yomig man,^ his 
master being out, was only too well satirfed to show off before an elderly 
customer; he read the Latin in a conceited tone, asked if " the party^' 
"was ** bilioQS," looked as wise when he heard the reply as if he were a 
member of the Rojal College, took down the bottle which contained the 
pmssic acid, and supplied Mr. Goffe with a dose of the '< soon-speeding 
geer** strong enough to have carried off, not the Joint Stock-Banker only, 
but eyery one of his co-directors. At die expiration of another half-hour, 
Mr. Pow^ Jones rang the bell, sent away the tea-things, ordered a 
chamber candlestick to be left at hand, and dbmissed die butler for the 
night, with the observation that he did not wish to be called before nine 
o'clock next morning. Alone once more, he waited for a few minutes until 
all was still ; then puttine on a large loose paletot and a hat, in the 
crown of which his initiids were pasted, he glided down stairs, opened 
the street-door far enough to ascertain that no policeman was near, 
stepped outside, closed the door without noise, and then walked briskly 
away. At the hairdresser's, he desired that his hair should be cut 
quickly and as short as possible, " as he was going to travel," ordered 
some " instantaneous dye" to be put up with the other things, paid for 
thmn, and left the shop. As he passed a hatter's, it struck mm that he 
should want a travellmg-cap, and he aooordingly provided himself with 
one. It was now a quarter past ten, so he hailed a Hansom and ordered 
the driver to take him to the church near the Eyre Arms Tavern. There 
be discharged the cab and walked quickly down the Finchley-road. At 
the Swiss Cottage the colleee dock struck eleven, and he hastened on. 
In a few minutes he reached " The North Star," and turning the angle 
of the road descried in the darkness the outline of a carriafi;e drawn close 
up to the footpath by the milestone. He coughed, as he drew near, and 
the signal was answered by a tall man in a clo«k, who came towards him. 

'* Tuss?'' he whispered, abbreviating, as agreed upon, the Latin term 
for the surgeon's name. 

" All right," was the answer. 

« Will you ride?" 

The Joint-Stock Banker shuddered at the thought 

"No,Aankyou. I'll walk." 

" J must then," said Coltsfoot, "to keep our friend steady." 

He got into the cab as he spoke, Mr. Powell Jones went first to show 
the way, and the vehicle slowly followed. About a couple of hundred 
yards lieyond the second milestone they came to a clump of beech and 
fir-trees, where there vras a cross-road. 

" This way,** said Mr. Powell Jones, turning to the right; " a quarter 
of a mile more, and we shall get on die heath." 
^ At a point in the road where there was a short, steep ascent, he de- 
rired the driver to stop, and spoke to Coltsfoot 

•* Between these high banks," he said, " the load can be removed with- 
out risk of bein^ seen should any one be on the heath." 

^* Fm glad of it," returned Coltsfoot ; '< my companicm has not been 
^ery amusing. He tmmU keep jobbbg his heaa agamst the window 

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We're ghen lum the hooonrs o£ a ftmeiml pace if we eui't eomplete ibe 
oeremony. Now Aa^ oabbj, get down mm your box and just walk 
over the top of ilie InlL If jo« see notldiigy you kaowyoa eaii twear to 
Dotfung, ahonld any qneetioii be aaked.** 

^ I aaka about nuffio," aaid tbe cabmaa— '< 'oeptin' of my £ure.'' 

*^ My friead wDl double the amount agreed on,'' laid tiie J<nnt-Stoek 
Banker, ^ if you keep quiet'* 

** All serene," said the oabman, leaving the colleagues to AemseiTec. 

Between tiiem, Aourii widi some difficulty, the corpse of 1^ cob- 
s umpti f e patient, dressed up in the oostimie wmdi Coltobot had camod 
away the night befine^ was eouTsyed to a faillodc at a diort distance from 
the road, ana placed in a recUning position. 

<< We must gire Inm his medicine," said Coltsfoot, who seeased gready 
entertained by the proceedings. ^ I'm a man of expedients, you know, 
aad for fcar yon should bare had any difficult about getting the essenca 
of bride-cake, brought a bottle of it myself and another of laudanum. A 
man of your station would of course do the thing out and out, so we can 
give our friend here as much as his mouth will hoU ; it won't go math 

'^But I am supplied ; hero it is," said Mr. Powell Jones. 

^ Never mind," replied Cdtsfoot, ** this will da You can keep yomr 
allowance till you really want it Just hold Ins head." 

Tliey kneh on the ground, and by the nckly lisht of the waning 
moon, which ffleamed i^Km the dead man's pallid noe. Coltsfoot coo- 
trived to administer the poison. They then refdaced the body on tfie 
UBodc — the hat which the Joint-Stock Banker wore was thrown on the 
heath, as if it had accidentally Men, and with a stealthy pace they crspt 
down to the eab^ where they were rfjoined by the driver. 

«< Whidi way now?" said Coltribot 

** Round the heath and down by Gdder^s-green, and so across to 
Cricklewood, akxig the £ldgeware-road and through the Kilbom-gate ; 
that will be the best way to break the traU." 

This route was taken. When they reached Oxford-street the oon- 
foderates separated. The surgeon was driven home, and Mr. Powell 
Jones walked to the nearest stand and shaped a new course l^ hims^ 
As they parted, Coltsfoot pressed something into his friend's hand, 
whispering, " It may be useral." 

It was the phial of laudanum. 

" Good-by,* he said. " God bless you." 

The Joint-Stock Banker graydy replied, ^ Amen." 



It has abready been intimated that the frith of Herbert Vaughan in 
the eligibility of his father's speculation was not the very greatest It 
was, indeed, chiefly for the purpose of expressing a vivd voce opinion 
respecting them uiat he left town so suddenly, and he took the first 
opportunity after his arrival at Gl&s Llyn of sp^ddng on the subject. 

Herbert knew by Mr. Vaughan's letter that he was *' deep" in trans- 
actions with Mr. rowell JonM> but he had no idsa how deep, and to his 

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and disBunr be lMnit> wImd his fidier had made a clean 
breast of it — ^wbwh be md in the moet exulting manner — that he was 
^ in'* to an extent wUdi his wb<^e fdrtmie, if matters nnfortnnatdy went 
wrong, would £ul to eorer. 

<< Biity" said Mr. Vaaghan, when Heibert hinted at poniUe danger, 
** tins liew of the ease is utterly absnrd. Intimately acquainted as I am 
with the p rogres s of aflairs mm first to last, since Jones undertook ilie 
DMoagement of the * Central African,' and being, as it were, on the spot 
with respeet to Bryn Mawrs — ^to saj nothing of my general knowledge of 
ndsnig^^ would be ridicukMn to suppose ^t any harm could hi^ypen 
to US OB aocoont of the adrances which I haye maoe." 

" My dear fother," replied Herbert, << I have not the least doubt that 
the assuraBoes which you have received represent everyoiing in the most 
satisfiici of y fight, but what I want you to do is to examine matters a 
fitlAe ctoser yourself, and ascertain from inquiries of persons not interested 
ia ikub saceess of diese projects bow they are really estimated." 

^Why, in Heaven's name, HerbCTt," impetuously exclaimed Mr. 
Vsnghsn, who had a tolerable share in the hasty cfaoler of his country- 
meD, — ** in Heaven's name what would you have me do ! Shall I put an 
advertisement in the papers, requesting advice on the part of a gentleman 
aot thought capable by his son and heir^a young man too clever by half 
—of managing his own affairs ? Shall I go about proclaiming myself a 
tooif and berang the world to endorse my-— or your — opinion ? Upon 
my heart and soul I think you had better write to the Lord Chancellor 
anid ask him to issue an order for a commission of hmacy upon me ! 
Examine for myself! As if I had not examined! Inqmre! As if I 
had not inquired ! You must take me for a positive ass, Herbert, to talk 
in this sort of way !" 

Peihaps, if Mr. Vaughan had not entertained some slight misgiving- 
such as all men have who suddenly embark on a sea of speculation — ^he 
would not have resented his son's advice with so much irritability. 
Herbert took no notice of this phase of mind — ^being accustomed to 
gmilar outbreaks, — but steadily pursued his theme. 

" About the Biyn Mawr mine," he said, " it is known perfectly well 
to aQ the country, that no one ever yet tried to work it that <fid not 
heartily repent having done so. Everybody says it is full of water— a 
subtefianean lake, in raet." 

** Everybody, then, is no wiser than yourself," retorted Mr. Vaughan. 
*' Water there is, of course, but not more than enough to be useful when 
^Aat has run ^ IcNad is drawn ofP. Why, tiiat's the very thing the 
manager is occupied with at this moment. He tells me — I have it in 
blade and white — there's his letter, you can read it, — ^he tells me that 
when once he gets the new centrifugal steam-pump into full action, he 
can dear the water away — ^he knows it from the soundbgs they have 
taken — ^in six or eight weeks at the furthest." 

^ In die mean time the expenses are heavy." 

"To be sure they are. You can't lay down tramways on such a 
mountain side as Bryn Mawr without some outlay. Then there are the 
works, the furnaces, and all that sort of thing, besides the number of 
people we employ. Yes, it costs something, sure enough, but it will 
pay, Herbert,-— pay handsomely, when we begin to raise the metal." 

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<< Well/' said Herbert. ** But, leaying the mine for the fwesent, I 
presume you are equally sanguine about the African Company ?** 

** I should be yery hard of belief if I couldn't trust the eyidenee of my 
own senses. You don't mean to doubt the share-list ?" 

** No. I give it credit for all it represents, just as I recognise the 
scale of the thermometer. But I remember that, like the mercury in 
the glass, shares are apt to fsill as rapidly as they have risen." 

'^ Nobody denies that But people who have their wits about them 
can tell to a nicety when a change is at hand. As I mentioned when I 
wrote, I do not mean to keep my * Africans' after they have touched 
five-and-twenty. There's no expense in holding on these. I have but 
to g^ve the word and I realise at once." 

*' Yes. But at the distance you are from the scene of action, you 
must depend on special information. Suppose that were delayed four- 
and*twenty hours and the shares went down, and then suppose wliat 
people call ' a panic' seized the market ! Where would your profits be 
then ? My advice, my advice, my dear father, — and I can have but one 
motive in offering it,— our mutual advantage, — is, that if the shares are, 
as you say, very high, sell out at once and make money while yon 

" That's all very weU, Herbert, but you forget that I must make a 
certain sum to put me straight. If I sell on a rising market, as Jones 
says, I have my labour for my pains ; whereas, by waiting and watching 
for the critical moment, I gain enormously. Besides, what reason b there 
for apprehension ? Jones has a great deal more at stake than I have, 
and he don't dream about selling — yet, — if at all. Look, moreover, at 
his position, — his knowledge of business. Do you think a man would 
throw away chances like his ? I venture to say there is not a capitalist 
in the kingdom that has a greater hold on the public mind than Powell 

*' But, my dear father, you are not bound up in his fortunes, I hope. 
Better men than he, you know, have gone to the walL Look at St. 
Lawrence, the railway king — ^look at almost all the men who have risen 
suddenly: they tumble to pieces like a house of cards when once thor 
credit is shaken. But I must tell you the truth. I don't know what you 
really think of your quondam brother-in-law — for he is no uncle of mme, 
though you thought fit to call him so— but as far as I have any capacity 
for judgmg, I look upon him as a most unsafe person to have anything 
to do with." 

" And pray, sir," — Mr. Vaughan's anger was kindlmg anew, — ** pray, 
sir, what may be your particular motive for thinking so?" 

" Why," replied Herbert, " in the first place, I have always believed 
that the countenance is, to a certain ejctent, an index to the mind " 

*<My hear-rt to good-neM," spluttered Mr. Vaughan, " you suspect a 
man's principles beoEiuse you don't like the cut of his face ! If you can 
give no better reason than that, I advise you to hold your tongue alto- 
gether. Have you anything more ?" 

'^ Ye% sir* 1 may be d^eived in the expression of Powell Jones's 
features, though I feel certain I am not, — ^but about his a8S0<»ates — lus 
most intimate friends — ^there can be no mistake. At the head of the list 
of the directors of this African scheme is Mr. Rigby Nicks." 

"Well, sir, what of him?" 

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<< If he be anything better than a broken-down attorney, set up again 
for a purpose— if he be not an adventurer in the fullest sense of the 
word — an ady^iturer and something more— never believe another word I 
utter. I have it from sure authority. And this person is the elose 
confidant of Powell JoneS) employed m all his business, active in all his 
operations. Then there is a woman with whom he is connected-— a 
daring, impudent creature, who passes for a relation. She calls herself 
Madame Rodeck, but her real name — a man told me at the Club who 
knew her well — ^her real name is Ruddock, the widow of a marine officer 
who died somewhere here in Wales ; she keeps a boarding-house of no 
vary good reputation at Cotswoldham, and her antec^ents are as 
doubtful as her present position. Well, this woman is now staying at 
Powell Jones's house — the Bank in Wessex-square — and, for anything I 
know to the contrary, is under his protection." 

Herbert had^touohed upon a tender point in his &ther's character. 
Forgetting his own conduct in early life — or, it may be, remembering it 
only too vividly — Mr. Vaughan had long laid claim to the distinction of 
being a highly moral man, and, taken somewhat aback by this intelli- 
gence, could offer no excuse for his enterprising colleague. A private 
reason, moreover, had its weight. The name of *' Ruddock'^ had 
awakened associations which, however pleasant they might once have 
been, were not such as he desired to recal. '' The handsome Morgans'* 
— more especially Martha, the elder — did not spread their nets in vaia 
when, in years gone by, he was a visitor to their part of Wales, and more 
of his money mid melted beneath their glances than he liked, at that 
distance of time, to acknowledge even to himsel£ He remembered 
Martha's rapaciousness — he needed no reminder that she was thoroughly 
unscrupulous, — and — ^was it a pang of jealousy ? — ^the last allusion made 
by Herbert grated upon him more unpleasantly than all he had said 
beside. He turned from the oriel.window in tne old library of Gifts 
Llyn, where the above conversation had taken place, and walked hastily 
up and down the room. At one end of it his eyes rested upon his family 
pedigree emblaioned over his hearthstone ; at the o4her, they fell upon 
the heir to his name and fortunes. Between the two, combined with the 
original misgivings by which he had been beset, he came to the condusioa 
that he had not acted altogether with perfect wisdom in placing unlimited 
faith in the representations of Mr. Powell Jones. Minbg adventures 
were at all times hazardous ; joint-stock companies were, sometimes, 
synonymous with bankruptcy ; the moral view of the question did not 
greatly mend the matter, and one of those cold sweats came over Mr. 
Vaughan which people experience when they think of aa accident from 
which they have narrowly escaped. 

After half a dozen hasty turns he suddenly stopped where Herbert stood. 

*' I am," he said, with some hesitation of manner, " a good deal — that 
is to say — greatly shocked at what you tell me about Jones's connexion 
with — that — that person; and, oertamly, if Mr.-*Mr. Rigby Nicks is 
not a man of character and fortune, it might be advisable to — to with* 
draw the capital I have invested in these concerns, provided I can — nm 
—get out of them vrith advantage." 

«'I think, sir," returned Herbert, <^yoa had better do so without 


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redroniog en aaj poMible profit I shoold begin widi tfie Afinoaa sharoB. 
Why not write at once to your broker?" 

Mr. Vangfaan stammered rather more than before. He was ashamed 
to let Herbert know the length to which he had trusted Mr. Powell Jones. 

*< My — my broker^" he said — " ah, yes— my broker. The — the feet is, 
Herbert — I have not got— exactly — a broker of my own. This Mr. 
Bigby — ^Rigby Nicks luis been the — the medium through which my — 
my operations have been effected, but of course he — ^he has employed 
a proper person.'* 

** Rigby Nicks !" exclaimed Herbert; ^* this is worse dian I thought. 
However, it does not matter who did the business if you hM the shares. 
You hare them in your possession P" 

<< Oh yes," rephed Mr. Vanghan, eagerly, ** I hate the shares safe 
enough. Here they are. You shall see them." 

He applied a small Bramah key that hung at his watch-chain to a de- 
spatch-box which stood on the library-table, and todc out two bundles of 

«< Those, marked 'V he said, '<are my ^Central Africans,'— these, 
lidwUed * B,' are some — some very excellent things-—' Royal Scandina- 
vians.' Come here and sit down ; we will go over them together." 

The papers formed a goodly pile, and ropresented a mediate fortune : 
a colossal one, indeed, if what they represented could then and diere have 
been realised at the promium quoted in the last Saturday's share list, two 
days before; but between Saturday afternoon and Monday morning 
events may occur to lessen many supposed values. Herbert had never 
before handled or even seen so many <' securities," but he was not so 
much impressed with the rem>ect which most men feel for property aa 
vrith astonishment to think that his father, a plain countrr gentleman, 
should have become thttr possessor. But Mr. V anghan had tiiem all at 
his fingers' ends, and ran over their numbers in more than one series. 
There they were, printed documents of the most unimpeachable quality 
—none could doubt it, — all duly signed by Chairman and Vice-chair- 
man, — negotiable napw if ever any were. It really seemed to do Mr. 
Vaugfaaa good to look at them, and for the moment he forgot that his 
most urgent desire was to get rid of his shares as speedily as he could. 
If one little word had been whispered in his ear just then ! Would the 
same exprssoon of exultation at the sight of wealth, of remt that he 
should part with it before he made it more, have lingered on his features? 
But the little word was not spoken, and Mr. Vaugfaan continued still the 
complacent dwells in a fool's paradise. 

He was disturbed in it, however, by the representations of Herbert^ 
who, seeing how much money had been embarked in these <' securities," 
became more desirous than ever that Mr. Vaughan should cease to hold 
them, and at length he wrung from his father a reluctant consent for 
him to return to London provided with the necessary authority for effect- 
ing an immediate sale. So much, indeed, was Herbert impressed with 
the necessity for acting promptly, that he took leave of his fother on the 
spot, and immediately set out on his journey. Having readied the 
nearest railway by a cross-country coach, he slept at the hotel thai 
ni^ht, and proceecMd next morning by the first train to London. 

For more than half the distance he was quite alone, but at a small 

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statioD aboot fbrty miles from town he was joined by two other trareliers. 
One of them was a small, wiiy, bristly, sandy-haired, eager-looking man ; 
hb oompanion, whom he addressed as '< my lord^*^ presented a totally 
di£Perent appearance, exceedingly btdky, perfectly bald, and very slow of 
speedi — the sort of person, in lact, who conveys the idea to a stranger of 
being particularly heavy on hand. 

The tittle man burst into oonversatbn before he had well taken his 
seat ^ he was talking, indeed, as be followed '' my lord " into the 

" Very annojrmg," he said, ^ not to be able to get a paper here ; they 
ought to be obliged to sell them all the way down the line." 

** So they ought," said my lord. ** I wonder they don't.** 

^ So near your place, too, my lord ! If I was your lordship, I should 
compel them to accommodate me — that is to say, the pubUo." 

" Don't you think five miles rather far to come to read the papers ? 
Beridee, I always get mine in time to read it after dinner." 

** After dinner, my lord I If I was your lordship, I'd take eare to have 
» oopy of the Times on my breakfast-table every morning. See how 
invaluable it would have been to us at this moment; we should most 
Vkelj have known all about it But, my lord, what I mean is, that 
&mith — he's the person, I betieve-^should be obtiged by his contract to 
ei^ly every station in the kingdom with the daily papers the moment 
they are published. I think his eondnct actionable. I've a great mind 
to take counsel's opinion on the subject How fur, my lord» is it to 

^ About thirteen miles from my house, if you go round by Chum- 
pington ; but if you like the lower road ** 

"No, no, my lord — by the rail; stay — perhaps Bradshaw — yes — 
here it is: — * Diddlecot, twenty-seven aiul a quartet.' Ah, there's a 
mile-post !" 

The speaker pulled out his watch, thrast his head out of the window, 
aad kept glancing alternately from, die dial to the side of the nuL At 
the next post he jerked himself back into his seat 

" A quarter of a mile in five-and-twenty seconds. That's a mile in one 
miniite forty. ' Bull-rush Bottom'—that'^B where we got in — * to Did- 
dlecot, eight and a half' — say six now— six times one forty— we shall 
be at Diddlecot in ten minutes, or less ; then^ I suppose, we shciU get a 

«Ah!" said my lord. 

" Has anything very remarkable happened, sir," asked Herbert of the 
little bristly man, " that you are so anxious to see a new^per?" 

"What, haven't you heard the news?" answered the party addressed, 
turning sharply roimd. 

" I have been travelling across the country," replied Herbert, '* and 
my * latest intelligence' is already three days old." 

** Three days ! Then you know nothing, for it only happened on 
Sunday morning, or late on Saturday night." 

" I thought," observed my lord, ** you told me yesterday." 

" Yesterday, my lord, was when I read the account in the Timet. I 
shall never forget what I felt I was scorched, blistered, completely 
shriveled up. ' Thns go fifty thousand pounds of my lord's money,' 


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z^rere the fint words I uttered. Whtt £d I do? Started at once to 
oomnranicate with your lordship." 

^ Yes, Perks, you did," stolidly ohserred my lord, *^ and glad enough 
I was when I saw you, for that letter was a puzzler.** 

** And here we are," sud Perks, without noticbg his companion'a 
remark, ** gomg up to see what turn affairs are taking. Lord Leather* 
head, sir," he went on, addressing Herbert, "has the finest estate in 
this county; but fifty thousand pounds is a blow, sir^ to any man^ I 
don't care who he is. Rothschild wouldn't like it" 

*' Certainly ; it is a large sum. Your friend— his lorddbip-— has lost 
this money by some person's defalcation ?" 

*< Defalcation, sir !" cried the impetuous Perks — " downrieht swindling 
— unmitigated knayery — villany of the deepest dye. And we worst of ifc 
is we can't get hold of him." 

*^ Fled the country, I suppose," conjectured Herbert 

'^ If that had been all there might have been a chance. No, nr, — the 
fellow has prusnc-acid-ed himsel£ Committed suicide on Hampstead- 
heath, — found \ymg on his back, — bottle in his hand, — body cold and 
stiff,— without his hat i" 

" Without his hat!" repeated Lord Leatherfaead, as if that were the 
worst part of the affiur ; but then his lordship was quite bald. 

<^ To think of a man in his position doing such a tiling !" continued 
Perks. ^' I should haye as soon expected it of the Bank of England.— 
7W mUUans at least is what they say the public are let in for, Fia 
afraid you're over fifty tiiousand, my lord !" 

** Ah 1 Over am I ? God bless me ! To be sure 1 He was our chair- 

" And pray, sir," said Herbert, " may I ask—** 

But the steam-whistie extinguished the question, and before he could 
repeat it, the train stopped at Diddlecot 

** Moram' peeper. Last momin' peeper !" cried die newsvender. 

'' Here ! give it me !" shouted Mr. P^s, and the next moment he was 
buried in its voluminous folds. After hastily glancing down the columns 
of a very long report on which his eye instinctively fastened, he turned 
to Lord Leatheriiead and said : *' Inquest adjourned : particulars most in- 
teresting;" and then eagerly gave himself up to the details without appear- 
ing to be aware tiiat such a person as Herbert existed. As for Lord 
Leatherhead^ he seemed quite content with the information he had re* 
ceived, and senatorially composed himself for a nap, which certain un- 
mistakable sounds presentiy mowed he fully enjoyed. Between a sleep- 
ing man and one absorbed in a newspaper there was not much difference 
as regarded companionship, and although Herbert's curiosity had, for the 
moment, been roused, a subject of deeper interest speedily took possessioa 
of his thoughts. Wiih the vision of L^nie before him, and the hope of 
seeing her, perhaps, before the day was over, the &te of an unknown 
swinSer soon vanished from his recollection, and when he left the train 
at the London terminus he had not the slightest notion that he was still 
united in a common interest with two persons so utterly uninteresting to 
him as Mr. Perks and Lord Leatherhead. 

In leas than half an hour, however, he found that all London was in 
commotion at the sokade of Mr. Meredyth Powell Jones, tiie Great J(»nt- 
Stock Banker. 

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Some twenty yean since, the pNoet Wordsworth sat by his home on 
Bjdal Mount — ^m>m whence had issued such grave jet cneeiful wisdom 
«->and thought of the many friends whose sun had gone down behind 
the distant hiU. In addition to other rare spirits, Scott had departed, and 
the funereal calendar of a year or two included die name of Crabbe, of 
^^leiidge, and of Lamb; and the old man plaintively sighed — as the 
tnehncholy phantoms haunted his memory — 

How fast has brother followed brother 
From sunshine to the sunless land ! 

"We seem agun to have Mien upon cheerless days, the poets giving place 
to the players, whose brightest lights are being Ast extinguished. 
Within tbe last few months we have lost Braham, to whose songs a pre* 
▼ions generation had listened ; the chaste Young, the link that held us 
to the Siddons and the Kemble ; and now — ** last, but not least in our 
dear love'*-*we have to chronicle the demise of the Vestris, the witching 
actress of our younger days. 

Innumerable times have we been asked the a^ of this most popular 
at London's &vourites — whose fame was little uiort of Eurc^ean — and 
generally has our reply been received with an apparent shrug of doubt- 
ralness. ^' I am not so very old," said Madame herself, a fiew years 
sbce, on taking leave of a provincial audience ; but the world had been 
so long &miliar with her fascination, that it was fain to ezageerate 
her age, and place her in the list devoted to hr more matronly udies. 
Let us again repeat her age, with some few records of her professbnal 

The lovers of art cannot feul to remember the pleasure they have de- 
rived from the exquisite specimens of engravings bearing the name of an 
acadenucian, Francesco Bartolozzi. The son of this artist, Gaetano 
Bartolozri, married a German lady of great musical acquirements, 
Madame Teresa, from which union sprang the charming actress now 
lost to us, Lucia Elizabeth Bartolozzi, who was bom in London, in the 
January of 1797. In the course of a liberal education, she evinced an 
eariy talent for music, as well as a most retentive memory ; she so<« 
became mistress of the French and Italian languages, and, we are pleased 
to add, had not forgotten the purity of her own. At the age of fourteen 
she was a visitant at the principal places of fashionable resort in the 
metropolis — ^her brilliant eyes attracting towards her considerable notice. 
With the symmetry of youth and the grace of mien, there were blended 
an her 

The glance that wins us, and the life that throws 

A spell that will not let our looks repose, 

But turn to gaze again, and find anew 

Some charm that well rewards another view. 

In an evil hour, whilst mmgling in the circle of gaiety, the young Lucia 
was introduced to M. Armand Vestris, who was then turning tb heads 

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of the frequenters of the Opera by his unrivalled dancing. Armand was 
the grandson of the Vestris whom the enthusiastic Parisians styled ** Le 
Dieu de la Danse," and appeared for the "first time in England at the 
Opera, in 1809, dancmg a pas de deux with Madame AngioIinL He 
was known as a man of jpleasure, and dissipation was stamped upon his 
features. After a short acquaintance, Armand Vestris was united to the 
bright-eyed Bartolozzi, at the church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, where 
a uieatrical heroine of a former day — the warm-hearted Nell Gwynne 
-—found interment, Archbishop Tenison (at that time the vicar of St. 
Martin's) preaching at her funeral a sermon of forgiveness. 

The marriage ceremony was performed on the 28th of January, 1813, 
the bridegroom being then just twe nty- siy, whilst the attractive Inide 
had numbered but sixteen summers. We have said that Armand Vestris 
was a gay man. Moving in a fashionable sphere, he discovered, soon 
after his marriage, that a life of pleasure brought with it liabilities which 
his own income failed to meet, and he therefore proposed that his young 
wife should venture for a prize in the lottory of the stage. The gifted 
descendant of the old engraver was nothing loth ; and so, after some 
preliminary training — not having been educated with a view to the stage 
— she stepped upon the boards of the Opera House, the great temple of 
the lyrical drama which still graces the Haymarket. 'Hiis was on Ae 
20th of July, 1815, the part in which she first appeared being Proaerpma^ 
in Winter^s *'I1 Ratto di Proserpina." Tins character was repeated 
several times, a favourable impression having been created, the publk 
accepting youth and elegance for more artistical accomplishments. ^Sb- 
sannah, in '< Figaro," and a few other performances, followed ; and sub- 
sequently Madame Vestris accompanied her husband to Paris, where she 
first appeared, at the Th^tre Italien, on the 7th of DecembCT, 1816, as 
Proierpina, Whilst in this gay city, she found herself neglected by her 
liege lord, with but little inclination to pine in solitude. The lioentiofis 
metropolis beckoned her with its smiles, and for a time she revelled in its 
giddy maze. She had constant thoughts, however, of the profession to 
which she had been introduced, and, being a perfect mistress of the 
language, ^equently played at the French theatres both in tragedy and 
in drama. 

Returning to England in the winter of 1819, Madame Vestris was 
introduced to the English stage, upon the boards of Drury Lane, on the 
19th of February, 1820, in the character of lAUa, in the « Siege of Bd- 
grede." Adeia, in the " Haunted Tower," was her second perfennanoe ; 
and after a few other impersonations, she fascinated the town by her 
inimitable assumption of Giovanni, 

It was about this time we first met Madame Vestris, a period in our 
career when th& heart was young, and when the stage, with its bri^t 
eyes and glowing forms, dazzled the imagination. At one of our mi 
meetings, Madame warbled, with all her pristine witchery, the unfor- 
gotten ballad of "Who'll buy a heart?" It was then we became 
conscious of the full extent of our poverty, for, alas ! the means of eflFect- 
ing such a purchase were denied us. 

The success of Madame Vestris in Giovanni led to the revival of other 
pieces in whidi she figured in male attire, the Kst including Capiain 
Macheath, Apollo, HypoUio (« The Kind Impostor^), C^terkUm (" The 

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Fstel VrrT), Young Makchn (<< Lady of the Lake"), and Ptiul (<' Paul 
and A^r^^nia*'). Much was said at the time of the improprietj of 
aetressee appearing in the garb of the opposite sex, and the justness of 
many of we strictores must be acknowledged. There was a charm, 
howeiwr, in some of these assumptions to which much of Madame's 
popularity was then due. LeiiHa Hdrdify Lydia Lcmgmik^ and other 
*^ leeitimate'' characters, were played by her ; but the enthusiasm of her 
adnurers, it must be confessed, was reserved for the occasions when she 
appeared in male habiliments. The beautifully-fitting blue surtout of 
the amorous Don was of itself deemed worthy of a visit to the theatre ; 
and whilst the critics were preaching morality, the idol of the town was 
attracting a host of worshippers. 

In 1825 our fair artiste lost her husband, from whom she had dwelt 
apart since their first separation in Paris. During the same year, Mr. 
John Poole gave to the Haymarket Theatre his comedy of " Paul Pry,** 
whidi became a perfect passion. In this piece Madame Vestris, in die 
character of i%(s&e, introduced *^ Cherry Eipe," the song par excellence, 
which was echoed from one end of the land to the other. During the 
next year, poor Weber brought to Covent Crarden his opera of <' Oberon,** 
in wmch she divided the honours with Braham, Bliss Paton, and other 
operatic celebrities. 

The fibrst ten years passed by Madame Vestris upon the English stage 
was one long triumph ; her London engagements were pruu^iaUy con- 
fined to Covent Garden and the Haymarket, whilst in the provinces she 
was an immense favourite. Engaged once for " a few nights only" at 
Norwich, dnring her performance of ApoUo, the audience {mAk the soli^ 
tary exception dF an old gentleman in toe boxes) was intent upon the re- 
penkion of the air, " Pray, Goody, please to moderate." The songstress 
stood &r a while in a most unpleasant position, the stentorian lungs of the 
dissentient exercising themsdves with " No, no ; off, off," to the great 
amioyanoe of the actress and the countless " ayes." At length she ad- 
vanced to the footlights and recommenced the song. Arriving at the 

Bemember, when the judgment's weak 
The prejudioe is strong, 

Madame turned to the side-box, eazed for a moment at her noisy oppo- 
nent, whose gallantry had evidenUy been lefk elsewhere, and dropped him 
a graeeful curtsey. The tremendous burst which followed acknowledged 
tiie witchery of tne syren. 

The year 1830 exhibited Madame Vestris in a new character, that of 
a most arUstic manageress — or '^ iro-manager," as Leigh Hunt would 
pleasantly write it. On the 8rd of January, in that year, she undertook 
the direction of the Olympic Theatre — at one time the Elba of the de- 
throned EUiston, when the sceptre of imperial Drury had been wrested 
firem him. This little bandbox was soon rendered by her the most 
fiashionable and attractive theatre in London. Surrounded by a host of 
talent—herself the Queen of the Revels, enjoying the smiles of her sub- 
jects and winning their '^ golden o^nions" — Madame exhibited a taste at 
once correct and classically elegant. To aid her efforts, popular audiors 
brooght Uther their &vourite trifles ; whilst the mytiiological drama was 
seen in its most sunny aspect, decked with a lavish profuinon. 

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Let m look into this little botid<»r of a theatre. It is the eveninffof 
the 7th day of December, 1835, and the house is densely crowded. The 
p^ormances, we perceive, include two novelties, respectivelj entitled the 
<< Humpbacked Lover" and the <* Old and Young Stager;" but prior to 
the commencement of the first-named piece, Listou appears with a coun- 
tenance so serious that we ftnc^ his old love of tragedy has returned to 
him. No ! he has a young fnend to introduce, in whose welfiu« he is 
deeply interested. Listen to his opening words : 

Oh let me b^ this night with you and here 
One moment to be serious ana sincere : 
Serious and Liston P ^ou will pause and ask — 
Mathews and friendsmp made me drop the mask. 
*Twere useless now to dwell on days long past« 
Yet with that spirit's humour mine was cast. 
And something of your kindly-yielding fame 
Came to me, biendled with his Dright'ning name. 
Forgive this recollection, but he leaves 
One who would fain, on these your joyous eves. 
Try on the buskin which— the word'^s a spell — 
Fitted the father, as I know, so welL 
With a right spirit, and a crowning name, 
He spreads his sail out in the wake of fame. 

We need scarcely say that the subject of this address is Charles Ma- 
thews, received with so much coidifu welcome, and tended with almost 
parental care by the old stager whose introduction we have quoted. 

Intimately associated as Mr. Mathews has since been with the subject 
of our present sketch — as we shall see, ** anon, anon, sii^' — we may here 
place before our readers a few items from hb own bill of fore. 

Charles Mathews, only son of the actor of the same name, celebrated 
for his inimitable monodramatic entertainments, was bom at laverpool 
on the 26th of December, 1803. Attaining the age of twelve, he waa 
placed on the foundation at Merchant Tailors' School by the Reoorderof 
London, with the intention of educating him for the church. The close 
air of the City, however, ill agreed with his health, and he was removed 
to a school in the Clapham-road, where he was prepared for college. The 
genial Charles, it seems, manifested a greater preference for architecture 
than for the pulpit, and, instead of proceeding to Oxford, was placed in 
the office of an ardiitectural draughtsman, being articled to Mr. Pngin, 
and subsequently studying in the office of Mr. Nash. In 1822 he per- 
formed — with some private friends at the English Opera House — a cha- 
racter in French, ie Comedien {TUiampes^ in professed imitation of 
Perlet Shortly after he accompanied the Earl of Blessington to Naples, 

riecuting the study of architecture at the Palazzo Belridere. In 1826 
was (professionally engaged in Wales, in erecting Hartsheath Hall, 
with a bridge, &c. ; but being little pleased with his labours, he returned 
to the school of the arts, and for four years travelled through Italy, 
Switzerland, Germany, Sicily, dbc In 1828 he was elected a member of 
the Academies of JBfilan and Venice ; and in the winter of that year, at 
Florence, joined the private theatricals of Lord Normanby and liOrd 
Burghersh, where a few but varied characters were played by him. In 
1830, whilst at Venice, a fover deprived him of the use of his limbs, and 
confined him to his bed for six months. He was at length enabled to reach 

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England, with limbs wasted and useless, and for raonihs was carried in 
ihe arms of a servant. Upon the recovery of his health he obtained the 
snrreyorship of the district of Bow ; bat some three years later, finding 
arehitectnre slow in its returns, he commenced the study of oil-painting, 
aood exhibited a picture at Somerset House. Upon the death of his father 
in 1886 he became part proprietor of the Adelphi Theatre, which he 
managed for a short time, and then sought the ordeal of public suffrage 
at the little house in Wych-street. 

Charles Mathews would seem to have inherited a turn for mimicry and 
rapid personation of character. Though spared ihe serritude of the 
actor*8 art by the usual initiatory process, he soon fought the way to 
public approval, and has long been hailed a comedian of the higheet 
finish. An actor of such consummate ability might truly represent the 
higher walks of comedy, but comedy now-a-days we seldom hear of. 
Writers care little now for the precepts of Horace or the practice of the 
elder dramatists ; and our gay neighbours across the Channel have taught 
118 die abbreviation of plots and acts. We have now a species of drama, 
too trivial and unreal to be called comedy, and yet by no means to be 
classified with hrce. In these vaudevilles, or French adi^tations, oc- 
casionally sparicling with brilliant costume, the English stage has no such 
hero as Chiuies Mathews, possessing as he does an elegance and delight- 
ful ease of manner, with peculiar fluency and volubility. 

Betuming to the path from which we have slightly deviated, we may 
remark that the old and young stager whom we saw together upon the 
Olympic boards in 1885 did not then meet for die first time. Seven- 
and-twenty years previously (in 1808) the late Charles Mathews was the 
occupant of a pretty rustic cottage in one of the retired lanes of Colney 
Hatch. There firiends of the rarest talent revelled in rural freedom once 
a week. Harriet Mellon — not dreaming then of a coronet — was often 
seen in the group, a slim and beautiful creature ; whilst Listen came and 
danoed with him who is now a mourner, at that time a delicate boy of 
five summers. 

At the termination of Madame's eighth season at the Olympic, she 
bade &rewell fdr a time to her patrons, liberal offers from America 
having induced her to venture across the Atiantic. This was a long 
journey, and the lady required a protector. Death had robbed her of 
one husband, but she had seen no reason why she should throw 

The garnered glories of her flowered face 
Upon her lovers tomb, 

and therefore sought out for a new one. She had not far to look, for 
Charles James Mathews, we have already shown, was a member of her 
company. We can offer no interesting details of the preliminary pro- 
ceedinfi^s, but we know that on Wednesday, the 18th of July, 1838, the 
star of the Olympic was united to her clever comedian at Kensington 
Church, the happy pair starting immediately for the hr west, full of 
hope and anticipation. Success, however, is not to be commanded ; and, 
as Robert Bums once sang, 

The wisest schemes of mice and men 
Gang aft awry. 

On arrivmg «t New York, and finding the weather insuflbrably warm, 

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260 iffAnAiffTC YEBTRI6. 

they puned a few weeks in cool retireinent^ dnriog which time a poitioa 
of the piesB was indnstrioiisly employed in ^ writbg them down.** In 
this the parties so well sacceeded that a persecntion was commenced upon 
their public appearance, sufficient to destroy thmr professional prospeets, 
and to midermine the health of the lady. From these attacks she was 
removed by her husband, who took his nrewdl of an American andienoe, 
on the 13th of November, in one of the most manly addresses upon 
theatrical record. 

Madame Vestris — Mrs. Mathews we should now call her, but the pen 
clings with affection to the old name — reappeared at the Olympic on the 
2nd of January, 1889, in a new burlesque entitled ''Blue Beard," and 
Wydi-street heajrd the plaudits with whion her return was greeted. 

At the close of her ninth season the Olympic was finally forsaken 
for Covent Grarden, which was opened by her on the 80Ui of Sep- 
tember, 1689, with Shakspeare's comedy of '' Lore's Labour Lost," m 
ifidiich she herself played RotaUne, At this house Madame Vestris pre- 
sented to her patrons a class of entertainments more suited to the lordlier 
temple over whidi she presided. She was herself for instance, the Ladg^ 
Teazle of Sheridan's brilliant comedy ; the AmarcaUka of Beaumont 
and Fletcher's *< Spanish Curate;" and one of the merry wives of 
Windsor, the true Mrs. Page of the poet's faney- The company 
selected by the &ir lessee formed a goodly array of talent, and many 
novelties were brought forward ; but on the 80th of April, 1842, the 
third and last season of this management vras brought to a dose, the 
undertaking having been the reverse of prosperous. 

The later career of Madame Vestris is too reoent to require being 
dosely followed. After the closing of Covent Garden she played for a 
time with Mr. Macready at Drury Lane, and subsequently at the Hay- 
market, the Princess's, the Surrey, as well as at the principal towns m 
the provinces, ultimately becoming located at die Lyceum, where her 
friends were introduced to her on the 18th of October, 1847. The old 
Olympic Revels were here renewed, the well-known name farming one of 
the prmcipal features in the playbills. Brilliant eztravaganns firom the 
prolific pen of Planche and other sparkling productions were broogfat 
forward, and placed upon the stage with a d^^ree of taste on the part of 
the fair director that was truly remaritable. '' I am not yet put upon the 
dielf," we remember her pleasantly saying in one of these fiiiry exhibi- 
tions, in which her rich conirallo voice was heard with much of its 
original charm. It was evident, however, to those who remembered her 
in the zenith of her beauty, that the eye had lost some portion of its 
lustre, that the step had less of its graceful sprightliness— a change which 
forced upon our thoughts the truthfulness of^the adage, that " things will 
last long, but not for ever." 

Illness at length assailed the fascinating star of the theatre, and com- 
peUed her to succumb. Her last public appearance was on the 26th of 
July, 1854, in the comedietta of " Sunshine through the Clouds," on the 
occasion of Mr. Mathews's benefit. It was nearly forty years previously 
that she first stepped upon the boards— a girl of surpassing lovehness — m 
a husband's benefit, and her last professional hour won from her a similar 
favour. From that night the sunshine was seldom seen through the 
douds by poor Bfiadame. Her malady was accompanied by increasmg 

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phyncal agony, through which she lingered in hopeless suffering until the 
night of Friday, the 8th of August. Six days later her remains were 
interred at the cemetery of Kensal Green, where rest many who mixed 
with her in the hiisy scene. Two of her old managers are there, Charles 
Kemble and Morris, of the Haymarket ; with Liston, too, one of her 
chief i»opB when the Olympc was under her golden sway. 

Madame Yertris was long acknowledged the most charming actren 
imon the English stage, and for nearly forty years lived in the nill blaie 
of poUic fiivour. She was a woouui of undoubted talent, whether judged 
as an Englidi, French, or Italian comic actress, or as a charming natural 
▼ocalist; and blended with her farmer efforts waa an indescribable fasci- 
nation not eanly to be shaken from remembrance. Time, as was once 
observed by an admirer, appeared for many years to stand still, gazing 
upon her attractions ; and so gentiy did the ereat despoiler of beauty deal 
wUb h^ in face, figure, and voice, that ^re is scarcely a female on 
record who so lone retained unimpaired her professional fame. Acting 
and singing with her was an impulse ; she had none of the learning of a 
acfaoo^ but trusted to her own innate feeline and taste, her performances 
receiving a considerable charm from the melody of her voice. The stage 
has heard no such voice since the days of the splendidly-gifled Jordan, 
whose joyous tones imparted a warmth around, whilst her laugh was the 
most ^Hveoing thing in nature. The lower notes of the Vestris were of 
a ridmess rareiy surpused, and the symphony to one of her songs created 
in her audience a manifest gratification. It may be questioned whether 
she was equal to the personation of the higher class of theatrical heroines, 
lequinng for their due embodiment an intellectual subtlety ; but for the 
vaudeville and the extravaganza, with which her name is so intimately 
associated, she possessed every graceful accomplishment, and was the very 
spirit of this species of light comedy. To her sumptuous fancy and 
refined taste we are indebted for the great improvement in our scenic 
representations, her talent for dramatic effect exercising an influence 
wnich will long be observable upon our stage. 

This gifted actress, in the morning of her day, had no monitor to 
direct bar course, and heard no other voice than that of flattery. The 
you^ beauty consequently imbibed a love of display which became her 
characteristic through life. Those who should have taught her to avoid 
tenq)tation led her to its fearful brink, covering the abyss with a gilded 
and a gloesy web. Hence, in after days, came rumours of fulings to 
which the world too freely listened. Of those failings we will speak 
gently, remembering her early traming, and knowing that the narrow 
tomb is now her home. With great endowments, and with lavish praise 
constantly ringing in her ear, she knew nothing of affectation. Her 
ffenerosity and kindliness of heart was frequently exhibited, and received 
its reward in affectionate ' and unwearied attention in her own hour of 
suffering, over which Providence kindly spread the healing win^ which 
bid her fh>m our sight. We owe her much for refined entertamment, 
and shall often think of her — 

Kindly and £[entlj, bat as of one 
For whom 'tis weU she's fled and gone ; 
As of a bird from a chain unbouna. 
As of a wanderer whose home is found — 
So let it be ! 

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There ia no existing or projected railroad that can for a moment com- 
pare, in point of interest and importance, with that of the Euphrates 
Yallej. It hrings two quarters of the globe into juxta^ition, and three 
continents — Europe, Asia, and Australia — into co-relation. It binds the 
vast population of Hindustan hj an iron link with the people of Europe, 
it inevitably entails the colonisation and civilisation of the great vallejs 
of the Euphrates and Tigris, the resuscitation in a modem shape of 
Babylon and Nineveh, and the reawakening of Ctesiphon and Baghdad 
of old. 

What is there in any other railway that can compare with results of 
Buch magnitude, fraught with so many interests to various nations, as 
can be here obtained ; and who can foresee what ultimate results suck 
communication may ^ve rise to in the relations of these nations — ^the 
comparative condition of Hindus and Chinese, and of Europeans? In 
all such cases it is distance and difficulties of intercourse that uphold 
dbtinctioiis. Annihilate space, and the great barriers that separate 
people, and the differences of manners and customs, of modes of thought 
and feeling, of doctrines and dogmas, of precept and prejudices, that keep 
up these barriers, gradually disappear, and an approach to unity is more 
and more realised. 

A route once established between the Mediterranean Sea and the 
Persian Gulf, not only would the shortest and most rapid means of com- 
munication between the capitals and emporia of the West and East be at 
once open for political and commercial purposes, but the grand imjpedi- 
ment to the improvement of the Sultan's dominions, the want of the 
means of intercommunication, would be removed, and no line would pro- 
mote more effectually their good government and prosperity than that 
which would lay open to the energy and capital of the emigrant of the 
West the expansive and fertile plains of the Tigris and the Euphrates. 
It is not too much to say that it .would double the population, the re- 
sources, and the wealth of tiie Ottoman Empire in less than a centuiy. 

To England, not only is the possession of a short route to India of 
inestimable value, more especially when the actual lineal distance will 
be reduced by about a thousand miles, but still more so is this the case 
where rich fields are offered to the genius of her statesmen and the 
enterprise of her merchants, by giving back to commerce, through the 
civilising influence of steam, tiiose countries which were " the cradle of the 
human race, and the theatre of the most important events in the Jewish, 
Pagan, and early Christian histories.'' 

* The Scinde Railway and its Relations to the Euphrates Valley and other 
Routes to India. By w. P. Andrew, Esq., Chairman of the Scinde Railway 
Company. W. H. Alien and Co. 

London to Lahore, by Steam and Telegraph, vid General Chesney's Euphrates 
Valley Route. Reprinted irom the Raihoay Record of May 24, 1856. 

The World's Highway. Reprinted from the Calcutta Review for March, 18!^ 

The Euphrates Vall^ Route to Lidia. By a Traveller. Stanford. 

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Of tbe proximate aocomplislmient of this great project, so long the 
dream of the philosopher and the statesman, there can be no longer any 
real donhts entertained. The obstacles which were opposed to it were 
never of a physical, but of a solely political, nature. These have now 
been removed at the cost of some of the best blood of France and 
England. It is not our object here to enter into geographical or topo- 
graphical minutiae, or details of imports and exports, we would wish to 
confine ourselves to a popular, and yet correct, statement of the objeota 
proposed. The sdieme, in its whole and comprehensive bearings, belongs 
to Mr. W. P. Andrew, a gentleman who has been destined to inaugurate 
measures fraught with political, commercial, and social progress of 
world-wide import, and who, it is to be hoped, will be enabled by 
a liberal and enlightened government, aided by an enterprising and 
discerning public, to carry out his projects and convert ideas— en- 
tertained in many instances in commoa with others — into so many 

The importance of the Euphrates as a more expeditious route to our 
Indian possessions, is only a portion of this great and comprehensive 
scheme. It projects that the whole of Central Asia and of Northern India, 
firom the banks of the Caspian to the gates of Delhi, and to the palaces of 
Calcutta, shall shortly have an outlet by the Valley of the Indus, and 
tiience shall communicate by that of the Euphrates with Eui-ope. It 
must be premised that nulway communication from Calcutta to Delhi, 
from Delhi to Lahore, and from Lahore to Peshawur, is in existence^ or 
when not so, the existence of such is assured. The construction of a 
railway of 200 miles would perfect the communication between Lahore 
and Mooltan on the Indus. The distance from Mooltan to Hydrabad is 
670 miles of water-communication. The principle proposed of conduct- 
ing the traffic by water, when available, in connexion with railways on 
other sections, is one which has been so frequenUy and so ably contended 
for by Mr. Andrew, that the prudence and judgment of the recommenda- 
tion are admitted on all hands. So far back as 1846, Mr. Andrew 
suggested that railways should be introduced into Bengal in connexion 
with river navigation, so that the new mode of transit, instead of super- 
seding, should co-operate with the old — at all events, in the first instance 
—whether on the Indus or the Euphrates ; and the same views and argu- 
ments are as applicable to these rivers as to the Ganges. " The imil- 
roads and the steamers," say the local authorities, *' are the cryine wants 
of the Punjaub, in the department of public works. These provided, the 
produce and commerce of these temtories will be turned to their due 
course — viz., the Indus and its feeders ; and to their natural outiet, the 
port of Kunachee.'' At present the traffic is carried round by Calcutta — 
an awful sacrifice of time and money. 

The Scinde Railway is a line of 1 10 miles in length, extending from 
the port of Kurrachee on the westernmost point of Hindustan, to a point 
on UuB Indus at which that river becomes navigable for all commercial 
purposes for large craft up to Mooltan, and from which place the con- 
struction of a railway to Umritsir and Lahore would complete an un- 
interrupted line of railway and water-communication from the port of 
Kurrachee to the frontier of our north-western possessions in India. 
There has, it may be observed, been a regular communication established 

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between Karraehee and Mooltan, a distance of 800 miles, for tile last 
t1ii«e years by goyemment steamers. The Scinde Railway will place 
Kurraehee in communication with the Indus at Hydrabad, a point where 
the river becomes free from the intricacies, dangers, and delays of the 
navigation of tlie Delta. 

The capabilities of the port and harbour of Kurraehee have been 
attested by the very highest authorities. That port is, indeed, avowedly 
the gate of Central Asia. <* From the Sutlej to the Oxos," says Thorn- 
ton, in his Ckizetteer, ** whoever wishes to communicate with any place 
beyond the sea, must pass through Kurraehee." It occupies a positioa 
scarcely less favourable to commerce than Alexandria. It is the only 
land-locked harbour on the coast between Bombay and the Bed Sea; it 
is on the sea-coast of the Indus Valley, and is the nearest safe port to the 
Persian Gulf. It is perfectly safe, and easy of access for lam ships 
during the height of the soum-west monsoon. The average of Sue ship- 
ping is from 90,000 to 100,000 tons yearly, of which about 40,000 tons 
were, last year, square-rigged vessels. Mr. Frere, the present distin- 
guished chief commissioner of the province, has lent his sanction and 
influence to the scheme of inland communication from Kurraehee, and to 
Ijiat advocated by the late Sir Charles Ni^ier, of making the same port 
the point of departure of future communication between India and 
Europe. Indeed, all the high authorities in India — Lord Dalhourie, Lord 
Elphmstone, and Sir John Lawrence, the Chief Commissioner in the 
Punjaub, entertain this view of the subject. 

As to the more extended range which will be offered to our ocMnmeice 
by thus opening up the markets of Central Asia, we shall quote Mr. 
Andrew's own words : 

A proper system of transit, once established through Scinde and the Punjaub, 
a few enterprising European merchants at Kurraehee would soon afford a medium 
for extensive shipments from the Punjaub and provinces to the nortii-west of 
Delhi, and the distribution of our manufiaotures to the remote parts of C^tral 
Asia finding customers along the valleys of Afghanistan as far as Herat^ and in 
Balkh, Khiva, and Bokhara. 

I wiU now point for a moment to the extensive provinces of Central Asia 
which are now our near neighbours, and explain briefly how those important and 
comparatively far advanced countries have oeen supplied with merchandise, and 
have disposed of produce since the course of the Indus was comparatively closed 
to commerce by the exactions of the native princes. To follow the description 
ti^e reader most refer to a large map of Asia. Firat, he will find to tiie north- 
east of our frontier, in the immediate vicinity, the celebrated valley of Cashmere, 
inhabited by a people renowned for their great skiU and ingenuity. Beyond tiiat 
lies Thibet, famous for its fine goat wool, and the manufacture of yam for the 
shawls woven in Cashmere. To the west and south-west we find the Afghan 
territory, with the large towns of Cabul, Ghizni, Kandahar, and Herat the Gaie 
of India; in the same direction, the northern provinces of Persia. In a north- 
westerly direction we find the extensive and fertile countries of Torkestan and 
Bokhara, with the huge central towns of Balkh, Khiva, and Bokhara; ami, at a 
great di^amce westerh", we find the Caspian Sea. 

The commerce of tms vast territory is now carried on by so circuitous and 
expensive a route, that it will be easy to restore it to the ancient and natural 
channel of the Indus, and by that means how much it is likely to be increased, 
now that it is freed by the supremacy of Eru^land from the pohtical obstructions 
and exorbitant demands of the turbulent and semi-barbarous states on its baoks, 
may be readily conceiyed. 

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''In former tiines the Indus was the great hi^way of commeroe between 
India and Central Ajoa; but upon the mamemberment of the empire of the 
Great Mogul, the river fell under the power of a mnltitode of pettj ohiefa, whose 
exaotioiis gradually extinguished the traffic. One odnsequence of this revolution 
was, that Cabul, Bokhara, and Persia, instead of being supplied from India witii 
manu&ctured goods, as had previously been the case, received most of their 
supplies from Kussia, which, urom the facilities of conveyance afforded by the 
Volga, running into the Caspian Sea, was enabled to come into the markets of 
the East upon eligible terms. These advantages possessed by Russia have, it is 
understoocC been latterly augmented bv the establishment of steam-vessels upon 
the Volga and the Caspian; and the Russian are now supplanting tiie EngUsh 
manufactares in the Punjanb, and even threatening to do so in the north-west 
provinces of Bengal" 

It 18 not, however, as we have before said, oar object here to enter into 
the details of the imports and exports of Central Asia. These will be 
found examined with much care in Mr. Andrew's work. It is clear that 
Russia commands a ereat commerce with that populous region, even in 
English goods. This could not only be affected vid the Indus, but also 
via the Euphrates and Tigris, whose upper tributaries are geographically 
connected with Persia, Annenia, and the Caspian. The trade of India 
with Central Asia amounts to about one million sterling. With reference 
to this country, the importation of the raw productbns of Asia are re- 
garded as even of more iniportanoe than the export of the more expensive 
and less huJky articles of British manufiicture. Our trade with India, it 
has been justly ronarked, is only in its infiincy. In 1834, it soareely ex- 
ceeded 4,000,000^, while it now amounts to nearly 20,000,000/. UokU 
lag, as we now do, the Indus from Cashmare to the sea, we have a power 
whidi, ** if wril understood and wisely improved, puts us in possession of 
the key of the whole commerce of Central Asia, and which cannot be 
pursued without adding to the prospects and productiveness of our new 
territories,'' as they would also loosen the political hold which Russia 
possesses over Central Asia, by her commercial relations with that 

A mere glance of the mi^ will satisfy the most superficial inquirer as 
to the commercial and geographical advantages of the position of Kurra^ 

chee, both in relation to the existing route by the Red Sea and Egypt 
and the projected one by the Valley of the Euphrates. Upon this sub- 
ject Mr. Andrew cites an article m>m the Madras Atherueum, written 
during the progress of the war : 

" The Indian government contributes 70,000/. a year towards the charges of 
an extended communication with India and China, and the intercourse with 
England^ by way of E^t, is now regular and rapid. The prejudices, and even 
the imperial considerations, which favoured the old circuitous communication by 
way ot the Cape of Good Hope, have given way before the irresistiUie desire for 
rapid locomotion and intercourse with all parts of the world. This influence is 
sw exerting itself with full force. As soon as the war with Russia is over, and 
Turkey becomes settled down into a state of peace, and is j^ually brought 
within the range of European enterprise, improvements, and civilisation, we are 
satisfied that the desire to secure tAe shortest route to India toill be revived in 
Jkdl Jktree, and that eventually we shall penetrate through Asia Minor to the 
Persian Oulf^ so as to make that ndghiv river once more, as in ancient timesy a 
Ughmay to the emmree of the Bast. Ixkoj one had predicted three years ago, 
tmtt an English railway would be constmoted from Balaklava to Sebastopol, the 

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notiim would have been quite derided. It is, indeed, far more probaUe that tins 
generation will not pass away before a railway is perfected, so as to unite the 
Euphi^^ at some accessible point with the Mediterninean, and thereby shorten 
ana render still more easy the overland communication with the East, througii 
the Persian Gulf." 

Mr. Andrew himself, who has long considered the subject in relation 
to the opening of Northern India and the Punjaub by the Valley of the 
Indus, Old not hesitate to state his opinion at an early period of the in- 
quiry, that '^ steam transit in the Valley of the Indus, once fairly esta- 
blished, the overland route, turning from the Nile to the Euphrfttes, 
Aleppo, and Seleucia, will supersede Cairo and Alexandria. With a rail 
from Seleucia, by way of Aleppo to Bussorah, and a steam service across 
to Kurrachee, our m^ will reach that port in fifteen days, and with the 
aid of improved steamers and the rail, passengers and goods will reach 
Lahore in a tenth part of the time now occupi^. 

The route from Europe, vid Suez and Kurrachee to Lahore, is aboufc 
2700 miles shorter than the route via Suez and Calcutta to Lahore ; and 
by the opening of the Euphrates Valley rout«, the distance will be re- 
duced in all by 3694 miles, viz. : 


London to Lahore, rt^f Trieste, Suez, Aden, and Calcotta . . 9615 

London to Lahore, &kf Trieste, Suez, Aden, and Kurrachee . . 6908 
London to Lahore, vkf Trieste, Seleucia, the Euphrates Valley, 

and Kurrachee 6021 

Independentlv of the foresoing considerations, the value of the line of inter- 
course proposea to be estaolished from the northern coast of Syria to the 
Euphrates, and thence to Bussorah and the Persian Gulf, will appear still 
greater when we estimate it as combined with the commercial importance which 
the four great rivers of Western Asia must add to it. In this respect, GeiKral 
Chesney observes, that <* the elevated plateau, which extends from the base of 
Mount Ararat into Northern Armenia, Kurdhistui, and part of AsiaMinor, 
contains the sources of four noble rivers, having their estuaries in three different 
seas ; and thus, from Armenia, as from the centre of a great continent, givm^ 
an easy communication to the nations of Europe and Asia." A reference to 
General Chesney's map will show, *' that by following the KixH-Irwak through 
Asia Minor, we reach the Black Sea; from whence there are inlets into Russia^ 
Austria, Turkey, &c. In the same way, the Arat, by terminating in the Caspian, 
opens several routes towards Great Tartary, as well as to^mds the rest of 
Central Asia and China; while the Tigris and Euphrates, with their numerous 
ramifications, afford abundant means of communicating with Persia, India, 
Arabia, and the continent of Africa." With these regions, an extensive com- 
mercial traffic is maintained to this day, through the medium of very large and 
numerous caravans, which, from a very early period, have provided the countries 
traversed by those four rivers with the produce and merchandise of Eastern 
Africa, and furnished the latter with those of Asiatic and European origin. 

The substitution of land carriage for water carriage, or rather, the 
substitution of overland cuts for long sea circuits, is, as the Timet stated 
in a leading article some little time ago, the one simple principle of the 
present undertaking. 

''The sea stu;e8 of the present route to India," according to the Tiw^et, 
" exclusive of the trip across the Channel, are two : one from Marseilles or 
Trieste to Alexandria; and the other from Suez to (Kurrachee) Bombay, or 
Calcutta. These stu;e8 constitute by fw the longest part of the journey, being 
6075 miles performed by steamers; from whioh an average speed of some ten 

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miles an liovr is all that can be expected. Ilie longer again of these two stages 
is that from Sues to Hindostan, as it includes a dronit round two sides ofthe 
triangular territorj of Arabia. The first object, therefore, is to get rid of the 
detour bj Aden ; and this is to be done by carryinff the passengers to the 
mouths of the Orontes, instead of the months of the Hue, ana forwarcUng them 
across the Turkish territory to Bussorah, at the head of the Persian QxM. The 
railroad reauired for this purpose would run along the Euphrates Yalley, and its 
length would not exoe^ 900 miles ; whereas, iU completion would reduce the 
distance from London to Calcutta by more than one-ialf, — by twenty days, in 
fact, out of thirty-nine ! This project, it is conceived, could be accomplished in 
five years* time; and the route would then lie through Ostend, Trieste, by the 
Memterranean Sea, to the Orontes, thence to Bussoran, and by the Persian Qulf 
to Bombay (or rather to Kurrachee), where it would meet the Indian railroads 
now actually commenced, and by that time completed to Calcutta (and north- 
west provinces). We have thus got rid of the i&d Sea circuil^ and substituted 
a land ronte for 900 miles of the distance. There remains now the straight run 
from Bussorah to Bombay (or Kurrachee), and the circuitous reach from Trieste 
to tbe Orontes, to be commuted for the facilities of direct railway transit bv 
land." ^ ^ 

By the arrangements now proposed, India would be reached in fiflteen 
daySy or about half the time now occupied, viz. : 


London to Tiieste by rail, and from thence by steamer to 

Selencia * * 8 6 

Seleuda to Jaber Castle (80 miles) 3 

Jaber Castle to Bussorah by steamer (935 miles) ... 3 3 

Bussorah to Kurrachee by steamer (940 miles) 3 

U 13 

It 18 nnderstood that a oompany of rich landowners of Hungary have 
agreed to prolong the railway from Vienna to Raab, as frur as Belgrade 
in Servia, and have made the necessary applications on the subject to the 
authorities. An Anglo-French company has undertaken, on the other 
hand, to construct a hne from Constantinople to Belgrade. This double 
Kne will place the capital of the Ottoman Empire in direct communica- 
tion with Ostend or Calais. When a trans-European line of so compre- 
hensive a nature is established, a line of railway connecting Constanti- 
nople or Scutari with the Euphrates line at Seleucia or Antiooh will 
inevitably suggest itself as a desirable and highly remunerative enter- 

Several schemes have been projected of railways across Asia Minor — 
« country of very remarkable physical con6guration — being in fact a 
great central upland, interrupted by mountain chains, and chequered by 
more or less isolated culminating points, cut on its confines by deep 
river-bearing glens and ravines, or sloping off more or less precipitously to 
the lower maritime or littoral band. The most wild and visionary of these 
schemes was one propounded some time back in the Calcutta neview — 
in a sketch which nas been since reproduced in the form of a pamphlet. 
The absurdity' of the project, and the utter ignorance and indifference to 
geographical details exhimted in its discussion, have been so fully exposed 
by an anonymous traveller in a pamphlet entitled <^The Euphrates 
Valley Route to India,'' that their further discussion need not detain us 


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The ftvdior o£ die laiter pamphlet toiiis «p in a oonchmTe 
the project: 

It appears, then, £rom the smnmaxy here firen, that lb. R. M. Stq>heiaon*a 
loheme of a direct railway to India, which bis heen trumpeted to the public aa 
the grandest which has yet heen proposed, will not hear the ordeal of even a 
siqpei^cial discussion. 'Aui part which refers to the connexion of Belgrade and 
Constantinople has already been in the hands of many projectors,^ and it is to he 
hoped will soon he carriea out. That part which meri to a Hne across Asia 
Hmor is only the reri^ of the crude su^^;estions of otheis, and is projected 
in utter ignoranee of the pl^ysical oonfcMination of the eountry; an ignoranoe 
whidi attains its climax wnen it describes the country occupied hy the Taoraa 
chain of mooi^ains as a perfect le?eL In that part of the Ime which refen to 
the valleys of the Euphrates and the Tigris, the projector; bv mixing up with 
his project the Sinjar Hills and Tekrit, leaves us in doubt whether he means the 
one river valley or the other; or the central plains of Mesopotamia ; and lastly, 
for that part of his project whidi conoems the coast line ot Fars, Laristan, ana 
Mekran, he is indebted to Sir Justin SheiL Of the surv^s made by her 
Majesty's govenmient and the Honourable the East India Company, of the 
rivers Euphrates and Tigris and their tributaries, as well as of their adjoiniitf 
territories, he mkes no meatiom whatsoever. They are obvionsty too asigun- 
cant to be noticed in so magniieent and so visioaary a scheme. 

On tihe other hand, as far as practieal suggestions are concemedy the 
&ct is, as long ago pointed out by General Chesney, and since by Mr. 
Andrew, that the valley of the Halys, now called the Kial-Irmak, pre- 
sents a great natural opening across the central vpUnd e£ Asia Minor^ 
and affords an easy approadi from Taurus to die Black Sea, or to the 
great Constantinopolitan rotlA from Scutari to Armenia and Persia. The 
positive and practical details of the first part of this route from Scutari, 
by the pass ot Hajji Hansah, to the valley of die Halys, haiw been de- 
•erihed in a communicstion laid b^ore the Britidi Aasoeiatioa, at ita 
meeting in Belfisut in 1862. The central portions of the valley o£ the 
Hdlys {oesent no engineering difficulties whatsoever. The vallej is ona 
of exceeding beauty, pastoral in its lower part, the towns and villagaa 
lying at the foot of tiie hills at some distance from the river bed ; higher 
up it still continues expansive, but becomes wooded and dotted with 
piotuiesqiie towns and viUages, which only want roads and more avail- 
able means of intercommunication to impart to them the life and anima- 
tion of Europe. The valley narrows in its upper part near Yarapaaoa, 
and at a point a little beyond this the line would leave the Halys by the 
valley of a small tributary called Injeh-su. Passii^ thence along a 
natural opening that presents itself between the foot of the giant 
Arjish Tagh and the town of Injeh-en, on to the plain of Nigd^ it 
would gain the Cilician Gates, now called Kukk B<^;haa, or '^ narrow 
pass,*' by which it would d^cend into the fertile and populous plains of 
Cilicia, from whenoe Seleucia could be reached by a Httoral liae^ or 
Antioch by tiie pass of Bailan. 

By the time that such a junction would be effected, it is also to be 
hoped that the Euphrates nulway would extend the whole length of the 
river valley. In such a case the time occupied in the transit would be 
reduced to a journey of a few days only, and when the navigation of the 
Persian Gulf could be superseded by a Persian littoral line of rail, aa 
suggested by that distinguished geographer, Sir Justin Shell, the whole 

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jonrnej from Ostend or Calais to Knrrachee will be performed in an 
incredibly small space of time. It is more than probable, bowerer, 
ewem should oninterrupted railway communicatioii be carried out with 
India, that the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean would still renuiin 
the Hue of traffic £or heavy goods, and that the lower part of the 
Euphrates and Selevda would still be the commercial harbons of the 
commercial transit between the East and the West. This would be 
particiilarly the case with re«;ard to Australian traffic. It is a common 
mistake that the road m& the Isthmus of Panama is the shortest fieom 
London to Sydney. The two routes stand in the relation of 8400 
geographical miles from London to Sydney vid the Euphrates, and of 
9900 geographical miles vid the Isthmus of Panama, or 1600 geogra- 
phical miles in favour of the first-mentioned route. It would probably 
remain for a long time cheaper to ship goods that had been con- 
veyed to Seleucia from India, China, or Australia, vid the valley of the 
Eui^irates, at all events such as are destined from Great Britain, France, 
and Western or North- Western Europe generally, than to convey them 
along extended lines of railway belonging to diflferent countries, and 
•object to various tariffs. With passengers it would be diffsrent. A 
certain increase in expense might be deemed to be counterbalanced by 
greater rapidity of transit. 

Awaiting, however, the completion of the Indo-European line of rail- 
way, the more immediately feasible part of the plan, as now before us, 
wouM free the voyage of all its difficulties and inconveniences, and ex- 
empt the passenger from most of his previons pains and penalties. The 
transit from London to Knrrachee would become indeed a mere pleasure 
excursion. From Trieste the traveller would speed his way along the 
Adriatic, the navigation of which is proverbially easy and safe. The 
bold and picturesque shores of the opposite coasts are visible throughout 
on both sides. Entering the Mediterranean, he would pass the Ionian 
Islands, Candia, Rhodes, and Cyprus, rich in picturesque beauties and 
historical associations, never at the same time losing sight of the shores 
of the Morea and of Asia Minor, tiU the lofty peak of Mount Casius 
would announce his entrance into the Bay of Antioch and at the old port 
of the Macedonians — Seleucia Pieria. 

Probably few points on the fiace of the earth can compare with the 
Bay of Antioch in point of scenic beauty. No wonder that the city of 
Seleucus Nicator, the port of the kingdom of Antioch, and the place of 
embarkation of the most gifM of the Apostles, should have been once 
an opulent, flourishing, and exceedingly populous cil^. Let as h<^ 
that its old harbour will be restored, as it is proposed to do^ and that 
modem steam-ships will rewaken the echoes which were once roused by 
the galleys of the Romans in the neighbouring fastnesses of Mount 

Issuing horn the bosom of this lovely valley, teeming with the frtk- 
grance of myrtle and box, and everywhere dad with a ridi and luxuriant 
vegetation, over which, here and there, as at Seleucia, sumamed the 
*^ Stony," and over the Orontes, smiling on its way to woo and win the 
island-nymph Meliboea, rocks and crags topple in wild disorder, the 
traveller will pass Mount St Simon, a relic of old monastic secluaon 
and penitence, and gain the open, wooded, and ever fair valley of An* 

T 2 

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tiocfa, once the seat of the luxurious and seductive Daphne, and still the 
site of a town once renowned as the residence of the Syrian kinss, 
as one of the largest cities of the world, and as the chief station of ttie 
Christian religion. 

Beyond this, a green slope with the river on one side and hills on die 
other, will lead him to where the Orontes is crossed hy the Jisr Hadeed, 
or Iron Bridge, the well-known Pontufer of the Crusaders — the line of 
passage heing marked by the marshes of the lake of Antioch on the one 
aide, and available green sward on the other. It is the same marsh that 
determined the £ate of the Palmyrean light horse when combated by the 
cohorts of Aurelian. The great pldn of Antioch is still called Emk, a 
corruption of Emma, the Roman name of a site, now marked only by 
some ruins upon the Em-guli-su, or water of the lake of Em. At this 
point, or at Herem, where another rivulet flows into the plain, the travel- 
'ler would probably leave the lower levels to gain the stony tracts that 
extend, with a few interruptions, thence to the Euphrates. Not that 
these woodless stony tracts are void of interest. Much to the contrary, 
they are exceedingly picturesque in their rocky disorder ; green fig-trees 
sprout out from between the great limestone slabs, and tall bustards stalk 
along their rough surfaces. At the outset of the journey, the ruins of 
churches, monasteries, and private dweUings, with great reservoirs hewn 
out of the solid rock — remains of an early and persecuted Christianity — 
abound amid these wildernesses of stone. 

Amid these same stony tracts also, like an oasis in the desert, is the 
fertile plain of Danah, surrounded by the ruins of Christian villages ; and 
beyond this is Aleppo, occupying with its extensive suburbs eight small 
hills of unequal height, the intermediate valleys, and a considerable extent 
of flat country, the whole comprehending a circuit of about seven miles, 
and that again surrounded by gardens and orchards of pistachio, fig, 
pomegranate, orange, lemon, olive, vbe, mulberry, cotton, tobacco, castor, 
sesamum, and an infinite variety of fruits and vegetables. The long time 
metropolis of Syria is shorn of its pristine magnificence, but it is still a 
great city, of very considerable commercial importance from its central 
position in relation to other Syrian towns, and of no mean resources 
within itself. 

The traveller quitting Aleppo would probably first touch the river 
Euphrates at Balis, in the time of Cyrus the seat of a park and palace of 
Belesis, the governor of Syria, and where some lofty ruins still represent 
the Barbalissus of the Romans. Having thus gaiued the open valley of 
the << Great River," the traveller would henceforth have little to complam 
of as to the wearisomeness of his journey. Almost every bend of the 
stream would present him with a new scene — the same great river under 
a new aspect— its waters narrowed at one time almost into rapids, at 
another stretching out into lake-like expanses, and then again rolling 
lazily Along in many silver streams separated by as many burnished golden 
islands. The banks would present bam with alternately vast expanses of 
level p^reen sward interrupted by low rocky ridges that advance towards 
the nver bed at the salient points, or long belts of tamarisk and other 
shrube or trees, or pastoral lands dotted with the tents of nomade Arab 
tribes, Gs cultivated plains with the villages of a sedentary and agricultural 
people, or wildernesses of wormwood, as they w«re in the days of Xeno* 

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phon and still are in part, or rocky hills as at Zelebeh, or lerel sandy 
plains as in Babylonia, or ultimately marshes and endless groves of dates, 
as they become in their lower or Chaldean portions. Ruins of olden 
cities, castellated buildings, and modem towns and villages, with oooa- 
monal wooded and inhabited islands, diversify this long valley. Jaber 
Castle, the proposed terminus of the railway, is the first to attract atten- 
tion. Little is known of its history. It is odled Kalahi Jaber hv Abul- 
feda, but we learn from Golius that it was called Dauser, after its toonder, 
one of the princes of the Mundar dynasty. Stephanus of Byzantium 
also notices the castle by the name of Dausara ; and it is related of the 
Emperor Julian, by his historian, Ammianus MarceUinus, that he visited 
Dauana, ** a presidential castle." The EquUes Mauri lUyrieani Dabanm 
are also mentioned in the '^ Notitise Imperii," as under the Duke of 
Osroene ; and Procopius enumerates the castle of Dabanas amone others 
on the Euphrates. Sulinam, chief of the U^huz Turks, who was drowned 
in the Euphrates, was buried here, and hence D*Herbelot says it was 
called Mizari Turk. Knoller, in his history of the Turks, calls it Ziebar 
Cala. Sultan Selim erected a mausoleum at the spot where the remains 
of his great ancestor reposed, and a monastery of dervishes was also 
founded at the same place by the Sheikh Abu-Bekir. 

Opposite to Kalah Jaber are the Abu Bara hills, with two or three 
Sheikhs' tombs and towers on their crest, and the plain beyond is culti- 
vated by the Wulda Arabs. Beyond Jaber an extensive forest district, 
known to the Arabs as the Zor, stretches as far as to where the river, 
bending to the eastward, spreads out into a magnificent lake-like 
expanse, having the mounds of Sura — '* Flavtafirma Sura*^ — and the 
rums of Thapsacus— Tiphsah of Solomon— the most renowned of all the 
passes of the Euphrates, at one end, and the Nikephorum of the Mace- 
donians, the Callmicus of the Romans, and Rakka of the Khalifs, at the 
other. A more impressive and striking scene can scarcely be imagined ; 
and it would take a volume to place on record all the points of historioal 
interest that are associated with it. 

The plain of Siffin, the scene of a long and disastrous conflict between 
Uie first successors of Muhammad, and a long line of jungle and forest 
called the Aran, are followed by a ridge of basaltic hills, which stretch 
all the way from Palmyra to a point on the river, where is also the site 
of another Palmyrean town or port on the Euphrates — a most interesting 
and remarkable mass of ruins — a castle of the Persians occupying the 
summit of a hill nearly opposite to it. A more open and cultivated 
country, studded with quadrangular mud forts and the villages of Mudan 
— agncultund Arabs— extend from Zelebeh, the Palmyrean ruin, to 
Dair, " the monastery"— a little town of some importance among the 
Arabs. Not far — some thirty miles — ^beyond, the river Khabur — the 
Habor of the Captivity — flows into the Euphrates at the nte of Car 
chemish of the Scriptures, afterwards Cercusium, the limitrophal town of 
the Romans. 

Beyond this, again, we have Zaita, " the olive grove," and Mayartfain, 
an Arab town, with the old castle of Rahabah in the background ; and 
a little further on, where some cliffs advance perpendicularly upon the 
right bank of the river, the ruins of the town and citadel of Salahu-d- 
.din, << the defender of the faith," as Yusuf, the son of Ayub the Kurd and 

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tke Saladin of the Crasaders, desigDAted htmsell The rinns of Werdi, 
once a great and opulent city on the Euphrates, and Al Kajhny die 
station at which the Damascus and Baghdad caraTans touch the rirer, 
lead the way to Annah, incomparably the most picturesque town on tbe 
river. Lastly, a low hilly country, oooe generally cultivated, and still psEi^ 
tially so, and diversified by villages of sedentary Arabs; and a river inter* 
sected by islands, once the seat of colonies of captive Jews, and now the 
home of well-disposed agricultural tribes, lead the way, past Hit or Isan- 
nesopc^s, celebrated for its bitumen fountains, to the great plains of 
Babylon and Baghdad. 

The traveller may be disappointed in the present aspect of a <3ty 
endeared to him by romance and history ; the mausoleum of Zobaide may 
not, although a very remarkable remnant of Arabian architectural skill, 
equal what he may have anticipated of the wealth and power of the 
Khalifs ; the schools and colleges, the coffee-houses and bazaars of modem 
Baghdad, and slill more so of Bussorah, once its rival in learning, in 
literature, and in commercial prosperity, may not come up to his pre- 
conceived ideas of the wealth and wondrous art of these cities so 
famed in story. Babylonia and Chaldea, once the seat of powerful 
empires, covered with great towns and cities — the centres of riches and eon- 
sequent corruption — with plains once clothed with vegetation, weH peopled, 
or dotted witn lowing herds, are now mere clay or sand, green sward or 
marsh, with here and there an Arab village, or a mound, from whence tke 
curious arehseologist extracts the sculptured renmants of olden times, or 
slabs engraven with the names of Babylon's ancient monarchs. Times 
have sadly changed from the days of terraced palaces in Babylon, of re- 
nowned schools of arts and sciences at Baghdad, or of sumptuous caravan- 
serais at Bussorah. The modem Sinbads of commerce are a degenerate 
race. But minarets and domes still glitter from among forests of date- 
trees, and a motley population from all quarters of the globe, ko^y 
engaged in commercial operationd^ soon satisfy the traveller that tlie 
ancient glory of Baghdad and of Bossorah is not entirely departed. 
Above aU, there remain those two great add-Jiioble rivers— the Tigris and 
the Euphrates — uniting into one grand calmNMid expansive Shat, or 
Firth, which must always offer the ready means olllresuscitating all tke 
populousness, the prosperity, and the glory of bygon^&ys* 

The Persian Gulf lies beyond this, land-locked Itltfi diversified by 
islands like another Adriatic — ^but an Oriental AdriaticVits sparidnigv 
translucent waters dbpktying shells and corals of such brhf^t <^ vivid 
colours as to rival those of the brilliant &h that dart past Ss^g ^ ^^^ 
depths. There can be no pains or penalties in such a journ^ ^ ^^ » 
the sun may be hot, but there is a sea breexe to cool the wayY^'*' 7^ 
not strong enough to lift the wave ; and the very sight of thdl? *>P8f^ 
green waters, their brilliancy enhanced by torrid sandy plains, or i^®^ 
Sy fringes of dark date groves, is always refreshing. \ 

We have been so carried away in depicting the pleasures of a trip < 
London to Kurrachee, that we have left little space to devote to the •. 
sideration of the Indo-European Electric Telegraph, a project not o2 
of the deepest import in itself, but one which derives a more imm^ 
diato interest from its not having to wait the time necessary !br laying 
down a line of rail, and establishing steam-boats on the river Euphrato^^ 
to be carried into execution. The formation of a company to carry oat 

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wmk an importe^t oUeet has been etteonniged, if not p o ski fglj necM* 
■toll 3, by the East Indui Con^waj haTing on the one hand eome to a 
neolntion to lay down a telegrapluo snbmarine cable from Korrachee to 
tta head of tfaie Persian Golf, and by the Anstrian gorernment having 
established a company, widi the reqoisite capital, goaranteed hj the 
staite^ fot kying down a sabmariQe telegraphy in connexion with its land 
Homy firon Cattaro or Ragusa, on the coast of the Adriatic, vid Corfo, 
Zante, and Candia, to Cyprus and Seleueia direct, or to Alexandria, and 
theaee by Jaffii and Beymt to Sdeucta.* When the sobmarine and 
Indian systems meet at Seleueia, the connexion between the East and 
te West will be complete, and England, the Continent, and India will 
be placed in hourly communication. Three modes hare presented them* 
selves of establishing the proposed conneottog link : one has been by the 
ordinaiy system of wires suspended in the air upon posts or standards of 
wood, iron, or stone^ and insulated by earthenware rings ; a second has 
been by means of a subtoranean cable, insulated by a gotta percha 
tnbinff, or by earthenware pipes, such as are used for drains ; and the 
third ^ a subAaviatile cable, or a cable carried along the bottom of the 
riyer Euphrates. It is obvions that the two last-mentioned systems 
p i e e on t the greatest secnrity, but the latter would be exposed to danger 
m a river navigated by steam-boats, and the subterranean telegraph is 
always exposed to the drawback of the difficulty attendant upon dis- 
eofering the seat of an accident and in remedying it There seems to 
be no valid reason why the connectiDg Hnk ^onld not be established by 
Ae ordinaiy t^egra^ic qrstem. As to physical difficulties, there are 
none whatsoever. Whatever difficulties do exist, are connected with the 
move or less lawless and semi-barbarous state of the country through 
wbidi the wires would have to be conveyed. But the Arab, ahbough 
is some instances by education and by profession a robber, does ne4 
appear to be wantmly destructive. No instances of die kind will be 
round in Ae books of traveUers. The untouched rtuns and monuments 
of difbrent kinds, met with along the banks oi the rivers Euphrates and 
Tigris, attest rather to a oonservative £Mling. There are castles on the 
Euphrates which date as hr back as the tioMof the Khalifs, the rooms of 
wfaieh are perfectly inhabitable. There are fi:esco paintings in the halls 
of Birijik Castle of the times of the Crusaders, and inscriptions at Rakka 
of the time of the first Suhans, that have never been injured save by 
time. The Arabs do not even appear to destroy aninaal life wantonly. 
They detest pork, yet tibey do not trouble themselves to destroy the ia* 
munerable boars that fatten in their hawis — tibe rich alluvial plains of 
the rivers. In h/d, horn all that can be gathered, they appear to rob 
but not to destroy. Were diey wantonly destructive, so as to fire en* 
eampments, cut date-trees, break down dykes, or ravage corn-lands, 
olive-groves, and gardens, the consequence in such countries would be 
Teiy disastrous. Providence seems not to have given to them such an 
evil propensity in addition to others. But, supposing even diat the con- 
trary were the case, and that the Arabs were wantomy destructive, those 
dwelling along the banks of the Euphrates are for the most part of 
sedentary habits, pastoral or agricultunil, and they would be among the 
least disposed to injure property the destruction of which would be of 

* A line of submarine telegraph wUl, it is expected, be also established shorty 
between Constantinoide and Selencia. 

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no adTantage to them, ^^lev might entertain some simentitious ideas 
in oonnezion with a system of wires carried across their lands, but theee 
would be easily dissipated by proper explanations made to them ai the 
meaning and purport of the wires ; and the most perfect security wonU 
be obtained for them, by its being in the power of the Company's agents 
to say that they were used not only by Europeans, but also to carry the 
messages of the Sublime Porte and of the Sultan himself — the actual 
Khali? and head of their religion. 

The British government and the Honourable the East India Company 
duly appreciate the power of supervision and control put into their handi 
by the telegraph, binding, as it does, the isolated and distant dependenoieB 
of the empire to the mother country, and they are understood to be pre- 
pared to extend their countenance and support. in a fiur and liberal 

The merchant and the shipowner are also well acquainted with the in- 
estimable value to them of tlie power of imparting and recmving prompt 
iuformation. But even this is not to be compared with the mterest 
attached to such a means of rapid intercommunication of ideas by re- 
latives and friends, more especially by members of families when at a 
distance from each other — parents and children, husbands and wives. 
The electric telegraph becomes in such instances a real boon to 

The Indo-European telegraph is undoubtedly one of the most valuaUe 
and important series of projects brought before the public by Mr* 
Andrew, and it is calculated, with the opening of the Euphrates and Indus 
to passengers and goods traffic, to most materiallv enhance the develop- 
ment of the resources of our vast Indian Empure. Nor can it for a 
moment be doubted but that a line of electric telegraphs between Europe 
and India must be a successful commercial enterprise, putting altogether 
out of sight the important moral effects which such means of rapid com- 
munication must of necessity bring about It may, on the contrary, be 
doubted whether any more efficient means could be adopted to develop 
the resources of India, and to consolidate British power and strengthen 
British rule in that country, than by the formation of the proposed 
system of railways in Central Asia, and the carrying out of the proposed 
telegraph communication with Europe. These are undertaldnffs whidi 
are not only eminendy calculated to promote the immediate <HJects in 
view, £Btcility and rapidity of intercommunication, as also of connecting 
India with Europe by a means of communication the most extraordinary 
in its character of the present age, but also to assist most materially in 
bringing more prominentia before public attention the very wide and 
lucrative field for enterprise of vaned forms which the valleys of the 
Euphrates and Tigris, as well as the Indian Empire, offer to British 
capitalists, merchants, colonists, and others. 

Were any person (it has been most pertinently remarked) asked to point out 
the greatest proof and grandest monnment of British power, genius, enterprise^ 
perseverance, and constructive skill, he would most probiJ)ly name oar Indian 
Empire. Imagination can hardly picture anything more wonderfiil than that 
splendid aggregate of rich and populous kingdoms, acquired, subjected, con- 
solidated, and biouffht by indomitable courage, oy consummate art, by profound 
policy, beneath the penignant sway of the constitutional sovereign of the British 

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Ufls. Wben one oontemplates that yast territorj, with its myriads of in- 
daafanoos inhabitants, its futile fields, its flourishing cities, its varioos prodoots, 
its countless treasures, and its inexhaustible sources of wealth, and recollects 
that all that is the fruit of fortunate commercial enterprise and well-directed 
practical ability, ciyil and militair, one is at a loss to fijid words to express the 
magnitude of such an achievement. History affords no precedent of an empire <^ 
such magnificence constructed by such means, and brought within the dominion 
of a monarch, the principal seat of whose government is distant tiiousands of 
miles. British India stands alone in its majesty, the glorious monument of 
British oommeroe. Arms have undoubtedl;^ done much, and diplomacy has done 
a great deal, but commerce has becai the origin and the great constructor of this 
mat^^kss dependency of the English crown. In reviewing the administration 
of the late Governor-General, Lord Dalhousie, his annexations, his acquisitions, 
and his policy, we recently had the opportunity of surveying, as a whole, the 
state ana condition of our Indian temtorj, and of markins^ the extraordinary 
advance made by our heterogeneous Asiatic subjects towaros civilisation. The 
President of the Board of Control, too, a few days ago, marshaUed in detail the 
results of our Oriental labours, and made plain to everv understanding that our 
policy had been triumphant, and our achievements, whether of peace or war, 
nad t>een unparalleled. Officially vouched facts and incontestable figures 
establish beyond controversy that the march of improvement throughout our 
Indian dommions has been extraordinary, and that the material and moral 
progress therein made has been so rapid as to outstrip all precedent example, 
but two things were wanted to complete the work we have carried on thus far, 
and to accomplish that triumph over mind and matter, over natural obstacles, 
k^norance ana prejudice, which it is our manifest destiny to secnre^ — the per- 
fection of a direct railway system between England and India, and the establish- 
ment of an unbroken chain of electric communication, going straiffht from the 
head-quarters of Queen Victoria's government to every extremity of her eastern 

It ought not to be omitted, in considering the auspicious circumstances 
under which these great and public and imperial works have been 
inaugorated, that the return of peace is not one of^the least. Indeed, 
the circamstances mider which the railway will be now constructed, 
steam navigation established, and telegraphic communication opened, are 
infinitely better than we could have found them to be if no Russian war 
had taken place. The relationships between the Forte and the Western 
Powers have assumed a totally new aspect since the Allies interposed to 
save the " sick man" from the designs of the Czar. The Turks have 
now abandoned their jealousy, and forgotten their bigoted contempt of 
Erankish visitors ; while we, on our part, as we became better acquainted 
with the government and inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire, have leamt 
to respect them more highly and value them more, whether as allies or 
as customers. What is of immediately practical consequence as regards 
the establishment of railway and telegraphic communication with India, 
and of reopening the navigation of the Euphrates, the counter-influence 
of Russia will be now unavailing; and we are now sure of obtaining all 
the ficusilities and co-operation which it may be in the power of the Porte 
to bestow. To use the words of the projector, Mr. Andrew, " Now 
tiiat the Temple of Janus is closed for a season, let us stamp in Asia 
the impress' of our genius and our power : let us render the invasion of 
Asia Minor by RiMsia for ever impossible, by throwing open to the 
world, by the irresistible power of steam, the rich and forgotten plains of 
the Ehiphrates and Tigris — the once famed granaries of the East— and 

Digitized by 


276 attoun's^botkwkll." 

subduing to indastiy their wild inhabitants. This wotdd be a greater 
triumph than ^e recapture of Kara, and at once* a colossal and enduring 
monument of our science and enlightenment, as well as of our eneigy 
and might as a people.** . 

When this is done^ then, indeed, will time be vanquished and distance 
be overcome. Then will the civilisation of the West be spread in hourly 
eaxrents over the East ; then will the dream of the poet be more than 
realised, and to ^waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole" will be the 
simplest of performances. Laying aside all commercial advantages and 
pohtical considerations, who has not a friend or relative in India to 
whom sending a message in a moment, at any hour of the day, would 
not be a most welcome privilege and advantage, which no money could 
adequately represoit ? Mr. 0'Shaughne8sy> the distbguished originator 
of the tet^rai^ic system in India^ tells us that the number of native 
oorrespoodents in ibit country is increasing daily. Not only do they use 
the lines for financial business, but on the most delicate and secret 
matters, afiecting fanaly arrangements, betrothals, marriages, and oihet 
domestic affairs, of which they treat witii an absence of all disguise whidi 
is almost beyond ^belief. Are the Turics, the Persians, the Arabs, or the 
Christian races, under Turkish or Persian rule, less, intelligent and less 
likely to avail themselves of the telegraph than the Hindoo? Con- 
templating the subject in all its bearings, without any misgiving thai 
imagination may be leading reason astray, we cannot but oonsimr the 
projects now b^g inaugurated as among those mighty changes whkdi 
are permitted at various epochs in the world's history to exercise a 
powerful influence over the aestinies of the human race. 


Apabt from other cbdms to distinction. Professor Aytoun's new poem 
is sure of a special welcome, as a " relief by contrast" to the mysticbm, 
spasmodics, and namby-pambyism which have lately been rife amongst us. 
*' Bothweir is of the Scott and « Marmion" school, with hardly a feature 
of resemblance to the *^ prevailmg poets" of a later generation. It b a 
baUad poem, rehearsed in lively, fluent ballad style—too Hvely and lithe- 
some, indeed, to suit the character and condition of the gloomy captive 
who is supposed to utter it line by line, in the dungeon of a sea-beaten 
fort There is no affectation, no mannerism, to mar the reader's enjoy- 
ment ; some monotony there may be, arising from the circumstance of 
BothweU being his own historian, and narrating from his own point of 
view, and in language tinged by his own feelings, whidi of course are 
bitter enough, the ups and downs, the successes and crosses, of his stormy 
career — a monotony which might have been avoided, if d>jectionable it 
really be, by the Edinbuxgh rrofessor conducting die narrative in his 

• BothweU : a Poem. In Six Parts. By W. E. Aytoun, D.C.L., Author of 
Lays ofthe Scottish Cavaliers, &c Blackwood and Sons. 1856. 

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I pmo% M 9Ba imfarlial yet nol imtyapaihisiDg miasirel, iafiead of 

eBB/tnsAag k to the am eulprit, the Dnke o£ Oriooey faiinsdi JNo4 duii 
ijbe dyke is permanently in ike dumps, or makes but dull company} tpatB 
die wmse. He is even tnconsistently spr^htly ia the matter and mao- 
ner of his souvenirSy and changes his metre with an ease most fiuile, if not 
always most felicitous : at times he runs on with an almost colloquial 
fireedom, injurious to the effect of his grare recitatiTe, and thereby en- 
hancing our respect for those passages of terse, graphic, picturesque 
reali^, instinct with Gfe and inspiration, which occasionally give such 
power to his record. Of the latter kind, and eminent in its kind, is 
BothwelPs account of his meetbg Elliott &ce to £ftce, within the Billhope 
den, when the sun was sinking in the west, and of the single-handed 
nght that followed, then and there ; and again, Ormiston's description of 
thier brawl between the Liddesdale lads and E^nbuigh citizens, and of the 
growing £saffection in that ** troublous town.** There is true dramatic 
energy m the story of Damley's fate, and Bothwell's part in bringing it 
about. And there is true pathetic beauty in more than one or two pas- 
sages in the life-stozy, old tale indeed and often told, of her whose bane 
and ruin this bold bad Bothwell was, Mary, Queen of Scots. Nor do we 
know whether more to admire the force oi sarcasm and stinging inyectiye 
which bums in some stanzas, or the melodious calm, soothing and dainty 
sweet, which steals oyer or exhales from others. There is a yery impres- 
fliye contrast sustuned in the opening of the first and second cantos re- 
spectiyely — ^between the howling winds, and driying sleet, and angry sea 
of the one, and sunny tranquiUity and clear blue skyey influences of the 
other—- each in its turn colouring and prefiguring tibe eyents we are to 
hear recorded. 

After the battle of Carberry, Bothwell fled nordiwards, seeking refuse 
in his own dukedom, Orkney, but spumed thence by his nominal yassw. 
Pursued hotly and closely, he bent nis course Ceurther^d farther north- 
yrards — casting his anchor at last in Bressay Sound. Forced to the open 
seas afi;ain, he was taken prisoner by a Danish man-of-war, apnarently on 
suspicion of pracy — a suspicion engendered or oonfirmed by his want of 
regular papers or passports, and his natural rdoctanoe to confess his 
name and office. In Denmark he remained for some months imder sur- 
veUlance^ though allowed to be at large, until the Regent Murray applied 
to the Sng (Fredecick IL) to haye Bothwell deliyered up^ as a cooyicied 
sMirderer. Frederick compromised matters by declining the ex t radition, 
bttt at the same time sending Bothwell to the fortress at Malmoe, there 
to be kept in eloee confinement, and, as it Uimed out, to die x»ring mad. 

O faithless were the wayes and wind ! 
Still the ayenger sped behind. 
No rock so rude, no isle so lone. 
Hist I might clum it as my own. 
A price was set upon my liead, 
Hunted from place to pli&ce I fled; 
TUl chased across the open seaa^ 

I met the sqAj Dane. 
These were his gifts and weloome^tiiese ! 

A dungeon and a diain! 

From this dungeon in the foctiessof Mahaoe it i% tfiat Bothwell sends 


Digitized by CjOOQIC 

879 attohn's 5 BoxHw^ax." 

fcHTth the wulings of remorse, and eft, V^e ^dignaiit protest, in the poem 
now before us. The poem is in theufomx of a monologue, and so con- 
trived as to introduce in one succinct narrative all the salient events in 
the career of Maiy, Queen of Scffts, from the daj when first upon the 
Scottish shore "^"^ 

She, like a radiant star, 
Descended, bringing hope and mirth 

From those bright realms afar; 
When all men's hearts were blithe and glad 

To greet their youthful Queen, 
And once again within the land 
A happy face was seen,— 

down to the day of her parting from Bothwell at Carberry Hill. In con- 
ducting this narrative, Professor Aytoun wishes it to be distinctly under- 
stood, that, except in minor and unmaterial matters, necessary for the 
construction of a poem of this length, he has not deviated from what he 
considers to be the historical truth. It may be questioned whether this 
course is likely to be applauded by genuine lovers of poetry, for poetry's 
own sake ; while dry and dogmatical students of history, on the other 
hand, will probably demur to the poet's presentment of his leading 
historical personages, as far more poetical than historical, more romantic 
than true. 

His idea of the character of Bothwell is professedly founded on the 
descriptions given by Herries and Throckmorton; of whom the one 
represents the '* fiery duke " as a man '* high in his own conceit, proud, 
vicious, and vainglorious above measure," — and the other as " glorious, 
boastful, rash, and hazardous." 

Men deem. Lord Bothwell, you were bom 

Beneath a rash and fiery star 
That ever prompted you to scorn 

All prudent counsel 

'' Oh many a deed that I have done,** the fevered captive ezdaims^ in 
the opening of these his Confessions, ** weighs heavy on my soul ; 

For I have been a sinful man. 
And never, since my life began. 
Have bowed me to controL" 

He owns to himself that whenever his name is heard in Scotland, from 
Orkney to silver-winding Tweed, men shudder at the sound. In ac- 
cusing himself he is made explicitly to excuse Mary. '* I myself,** he 
declares, when recording the chiarge brought against her of complicity in 
the death of Damley — " I myself. 

The devil's bondsman, though alive, 
Whom not for charity nor pelf 

The meanest priest that crawls would shrive— 
I would not, though she brought a crown. 

Have ta'en a murderess to my bed ; 
The Boreia won such wide renown 

As well might warn a pillowed head ! — 
But, fie on me, to mix the name 

Of one so tainted and so vile 
With hers, the pure and spotless Dame 

Who tarries m Lochleven's isle ! 

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ATTd^'® " ^ 9THWELL." 279 

Her noble 8oul,'^St*^^few no taint, 

Was fax too trostinfr, and sinoere ; 
She was, in noritj, the saint, 

With all that makes the woman dear. 
And when I pr S6 before the Throne, 

To reckon for my deeds on earth ; 
When eyery secret crime is known, 

And every thought that gave them birth ; 
m answer truly for my Queen, 

What she, in error, did for me ; 
And, though a gulf lie broad between, 

rU voudi her, as an angel, free !" 

Notwithstanding the warmth of Both well's voucher, we fear there are 
those who^ taking a cold ** tradesmanlike" view of the matter, may object, 
Hke Master Duoobleton the silk mercer, in the case of Bardolph's prof- 
fered assurance fer Sir John's short cloak and slops, that thej *^ like not 
the security." 

If Bothwell's character too frequently appears over refined, and well- 
nigh tenderiy susceptible, in the chances and changes of this poem — a 
result perhi^ inevitably due to the form in which it is cast — at least the 
poet takes care to exhibit him under that aspect which in tradition and 
popular recognition he most familiarly bears, — that of a rough-riding, 
rough-spoken, rough-dealing man of war. 

A rugged border lord. 

Unused to courtly ways. 
Whose tongue was never tutored yet 

To lisp in polished phrase ; 
One who would rather on the heath 

Confront a feudal foe. 
Than linger in a royal hall 

Where hickeys come and go. 

Telling the tale of Rizzio, and alluding to the feud between Rome and 
the Scottish Reformers, Bothwell avows : 

Bight little cared I for the creeds 

Of either Church, I trow ; 
I recked not which should win or bse. 

And more— I reck not now." 

And elsewhm, in a most characteristic passage, he deolaies : 

Now, were a reverend father here — 

For such there are, I know. 
Good men and true, who preach the word. 
Without invoking fire ana sword 

To lay the temoles low. . . . 
. Had I such ghostly counsellor. 

He'd tell me straight to throw 
All angry feelings from my breast 

To bl^ my deadliest foe— 

(Lethington for instance, or Murray, or Douglas— to pray for them, 
while they are yet aHve :) 

The older faith enjoined a mass, 

A requiem to be said 
Above tne bier, or for the sake 

Of any foeman dead. 

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280 attoun's^'bot yfVLLr 

Tliat maj be prie•tc^&^, icik Bcmnd, 

As modeni preachen say, 
A lie, that neither ^unt in hcav«B, 

Nor gwurd on hell, ober. 
Bat to fomve them, while they lire ; 

To brea^ a prayer for thein. 
The traitors who have robbed their Queen 

OC state and diadem- 
Have shut her in a lonely isle, 

To pine, and waste, and dkv— 
A prayer for TiUains sieh as these 

Were insult to the sk J ! 

Here, agUDy is a passage wifii Ae true nng in it, oonndeiiiig wiMit 
metd BotiiweH is made of: 

13iey prate of murder— 'tis a word 

Host odious to the ear. 
Condemned alike by God and man : 

But peer may meet with peer. 
If laggard laws delay redress 

Eor insult or for wrong. 
There is no arbiter like steel 

So steady and so strong. 
Then they contend on equal ground. 

And equal arms they wield; 
What does the knight or captain more 

Who strikes in tented fieklf 
And— by the sun that shines abore !— 

Had rate ordained it so. 
That I and Damley might have met 

In combat, foe to foe. 
One half my life, when life was prised. 

Were ransom all too poor, 
For one bare hour, Hwixt dawn and mizk. 

Of combat on the moor ! 

Damley, that *' weak and worthless boy," is one cf the most striking 
portraitures in the narrative — ** a fool in whose insensate hand, the fedrest 
lewel of the land, lay a neglected toy^ — ** with scarce the wit to be a 
knave if bom in low degree,** but made knave and traitor by loose com- 
rades of the baser sort^ who whispered lewdness in his ear, aod pandered 
to his pride, till the wretched perjured boy came at last to leave his 
queenly wife, despite her tears and prayer — 

Left her, with base, unmanly threat. 

Alone to wecn^ and pine ; 
That he might fie in harlots' laps. 

And hiccup o'er his wine^- 

becoming, ere the curtam dropped on the tragedy, a ^* wretched leper," 

Stricken, and sick, and ill at ease. 
Worn out with base debaucheries .... 
Broken in body and in mind — 
A wretch, who paradise resigned. 
To wallow in a sty ! 

The Regent Murray fares with Aytoon much as Marlborough &res with 

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Macaulay ; BothwelFs denoDciations are yirtaally endorsed by &b poet — 
and between the two James Murray is stigmatised as the *' fiaJsest Tillain** 
that ever Scotland bred — £»lse to his laith, false to the crown, false to 

False to his sister, whom he swore 
To guard and shield from harm ; 
The head of many a febn plot. 

But nerer once the arm ! 
What tie so holy that his hand 

Hath snapped it not in twain P 
What oath so sacred bat he broke 

For selfish end or gain ? 
A verier knaye ne'er stepped the earth 

Since this wide world b^gan ; 
And yet — he bandies texts with Knox, 
And walks a pious man ! 

Ab Pr o fo esor Aytonn's afllnity to Scott in the spmt and siiuctu ga of 
fais poem is patent enough, so has he followed Sir Walter in tke pUn of 
mpending to it a large eollectioD of notes, whidi, lK>wa?er interemig in 
WBiaelTei^ were on tine whole as well away. They ooly oome in at the 
dose to confirm what we feel at the announcement m the mhoe — some- 
thing more akin to regret than gratitude, for the poei'i adketence, as he 
beliersB and endeavours, to historical accuracy. 

A careless expression, due to slip (or perhaps slide) of pen, or error of 
press, is noticeaole here and there. 

When all, save I, aM free (p. 8), 

is most Hkely the oompositor's construction. Not so the objeetiTe case 
in the fine, 

There^B none so deep debased as tks$ / (p. 194). 

On the other hand the objective case is the one yranted in a following 

But vain it were for you amd /, &c. (p. 199). 

Ajs the poet is himself aware: witness the proper construction a few pages 
farther on — 

Look not aghast ! There's no retreat 

For you attne(p. 205). 

Might he not, too, advantageously eliminate those antiquated stmeri in 
the use of poetry, tihe fetmiTy of ^^did" and *< do,'' dear to Waller and 
his age, but now reckoned out of date, and mere incumbrances ? For 
' example-^ 

.... No anger did her look betray. 
Now, in the midst of mirth and song. 
Her loving nature did not yield, kc. (ff^ 85-6). 


And so, because in quietness 

Her secret soul she did possess (p. 110). 

We would not end with a pet^ cavil— but lo! aUer Printer's devil, 
and swears, as only he can swear (you don't know him, reader), that we 


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Jl sleepless KI6HT. 

Gage's reappearance at Monthermer Castle created an extra- 
ordinary sensation amongst the neighbouring ^entiy, and indeed 
throughout the whole county. No one expected to nnd him there 
again, — at all events, not in the quality of lord of the manuon, 
and such he was still, to all appearances. Tidings of his utter ruin 
had of course been received. Such news flies quickly. Moreover, 
it was rumoured that the whole of his estates had^ been seized by 
Fairlie ; and though this report wanted confirmation, it obtainea 
general credence, being quite consistent with the steward's known 
character for rapacity. 

Precisely at this juncture, when everybody supposed him shut 
up in the Fleet, or some other debtors' pnson. Gage suddenly 
returned, having travelled from town (it was said) in his usual 
magnificent style, and accompanied by his usual attendants. He 
did not ajypear to meditate any change in his extravagant mode of 
living. His first business on his arrival was to issue invitations 
to all his acquaintance, announcing his intention of keeping open 
house for a week ; the festivities to be concluded by a grand enter- 
tainment, to which the honour of their company was requested. 

The recipients of these invitations were naturally filled with 
astonishment. Not being in the secret of Game's arrangement 
with Fairlie, they knew not what to make of it. One said to 
another, " Have you heard that Monthermer has come back to the 
Castle, and has begun again at his old rattling pace ?" And the 
other replied that he had heard it, but could scarcely believe it, 
so he meant to ride over on the morrow and satisfy himself. 
Whereupon they both agreed to accept Gkige's invitation. 

Their example was generally followed. Many went from 
curiosity — many more because they felt certain of getting sur- 
passingly good dinners — and some few because they liked Ga^ 
SBreonally, and were really glad to welcome him home again, 
o great was the influx of guests, that on the third day every 
room in the immense mansion was occupied, except such as had 
been set apart for visitors expected from town. Those who looked 

^ {g^ The Autkor </ iki$ Taie re$ervei ike riffhi qf trmukium. 

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for good cheer were not disappointed. Heretofore^ the lord of the 
CasUe had been renowned for profuse hospitality ; but his present 
banquets surpassed all previously given, both m excellence and 
splendour. iHothing was wanting that the greatest epicure could de- 
sire ; while the hardest-drinking foxhunter got enough — and some* 
thing more than enough — burgundy and claret. 

As may be supposed, the best of Grace's neighbours held 
aloof, and would take no part in his festivities, but the boon 
companions who did rally round him persuaded him he was 
better without such high and mighty folks. Good fellowship 
and good wine would be thrown away upon them. He him- 
self was worth the whole set put together. He was the best 
and most hospitable fellow in tne world, and deserved a dozen 
fortunes. Let the reader picture to himself a score of old topers 
(some of them six-bottle men), a like number of gay and dissolute 
youths, former associates of our hero, together with a sprinkling 
of the miscellaneous class of gentry who throng a hunting-field, 
and he will have some idea of the class of company now assembled 
at the Castle. From morn to nighty and from night to morn, it 
\vas one continued round of revelry and enjoyment. 

On the fourth day the party was increased by the arrival of Sir 
Randal de Meschines, Mr. Freke, Lord Melton, Brice Bunbury, 
Nat Mist, and Jack Brassey, with their attendants ; and later 
on the same day came Mrs. Jenyns. The last visitor was a sur- 
prise to Gage — he had not expected her. 

** You won't find me in the way," she said to him, perceiving 
his embarrassment as he endeavoured to give her a smiling 
welcome ; " and I beg you not to stand on any ceremony with 
me, but to put me just where you please. Fairhe told me there 
would be no room for me, and that you didn't want me; but I 
knew better, so here I am. But, bless me, how ill you appear 1 
What's the matter? I declare you look ten years older than when 
I saw you last." 

This was said in jest, but it was not far wide of the' truth* Gttge 
had, indeed, entirely lost his youthful expression of countenance. 
He looked frightfully worn and haggard. Since his return to the 
Castle he had known little rest. He occupied a large bed-chamber, 
which had formerly been used by his father, and fancied he 
heard stranse sounds within it. On the night before Mrs. Jenyns's 
arrival he nad been more than usually restless* After tossing 
to and fro for hours upon his pillow, in the vain attempt to court 
sleep, and fancying he heard mysterious voices and footfalls in the 
room, he hastily attired himself and, full of superstitious terror, 
stepped forth into the long gallery, lined with full-length portraits 
of his ancestors. 

Pictures no longer, but fearful spectres. The moon shed its pale 
radiance through the opposite windows, and, thus illuminatedi the 

V0Im> XL. u 

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figures of lihe old Monthermers seemed to start firom their firames 
like ghosts* The first phantom tHat Gage encountered was the 
awful shade of Radulphus^ a mail(-clad baron of the time of Ed- 
ward I.^ and founder of the line.^ Then came Sir Lionel, who had 
been knighted by Edward IIL— then Kenric, the wise, Randal, the 
proud, and Redwald, the gigantic — and many more : Oswald, who 
flourished in the reign of Edward IV.; Egbert, a galliard page in 
the days of Hennr vIII., a crafty statesman in the time of Eliza- 
beth; Sigebert, who was knighted by James I. ; Arthur, the cava- 
lier ; Vernon, Gage's grandsire; and lastly, Warwick, his father. 

Close beside the shadowy form of Warwick floated the semblance 
of a young and beautiful woman. Gage knew that this was his 
mother. Her regards were fixed tenderly and sorrowfully upon 
him — so tenderly that his heart was melted. What agonising 
thoughts racked him at that moment — ^how bitterly did he re- 
proacn himself. He had never known the caresses of a mother, had 
never received counsel from her lips — ^but would it have profited 
him if he had? Could a mother have rescued him from destruction? 
No-— no. He deserved to perish. He had forfeited all claim to 
compassion. Overwhelmed by dark and despKairing thoughts, 
he glanced along the line of phantoms, and meeting their regards 
with looks stem as their own, gave utterance to a terrible resolution 
he had formed. But the spectres frowned, and seemed to mutter 
that even in the tomb he should have no place beside them. 

Suddenly he was roused from the state of stupefaction into which 
he had been thrown, by the sound of laughter and revelry arising 
from below. A large ^tutj of his guests were passing the night 
in carousing. In their society he might find forgetfulness, and 
without waiting a moment he hurried down to them. But, on 
gaining the room where the party was assembled, he was completely 
disgusted by the scene presented to his view. Prostrate forms were 
lying across the room — some so overcome with wine and punch as 
to be unable to rise — some fast asleep — their attire disordered, and 
their perukes scattered about. Some few were still able to maintain 
their seats at the table, and these valiant topers hailed Gage with 
tipsy shouts, and called upon him to join them ; but unable to 
conquer his repugnance, he hastily retreated, and rousing up a 
groom, proceeaea to the stable, and bidding the man saddle his 
favourite hunter. Hotspur, he mounted him, and rode forth into 
the park. The groom thought he must have taken leav^ of his 

He went forth alone, and into the most secluded part of the 
park — but black care was on his track. A troop of ghostly horse- 
men overtook him — and rode by his side. In vain he urged 
Hotspur to his utmost speed — still the ghostly company kept up 
with him. He knew them all — Redwald the gigantic, Kenric with 
his towering brow, Randal with his lo% port, ArUiur with his 

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flowing locks ; — and his father — ^yes, his father headed the troop. 
Go where he would, they wei*. with him. If he swept along a 
glade at Aill speed, the spectral horsemen were beside him — ^if he 
drew the rein on an eminence, they paused likewise. He closed 
his eyes, but when he opened them again theywere still there. 
^ What wouldye with me?** he exclaimed. " Why do you follow 
me thus ?" The figures made no reply, but seemed all to point 
to tho Castle. " I know what you mean," he continued. " You 
upbraid me with having lost it. But be at peace. Ere many days 
my faults shall be expiated." 

. As he uttered the exclamation the figures melted away into the 
mist, and he rode back slowly and without further disquietude to 
the Castle. 

As the groom took his horse to the stable, he wondered what 
the young squire had been at. He had never before seen Hotspur 
in such a condition — ^he hadn't a dry hair upon him — but looked 
as if he had been drenched wi' water from head to heel. 

The occurrences of this night had so changed Gage's appearance 
as to warrant Mrs. Jenyns's remark that he looked full ten years 



Sir RAin>AL and Beau Freke came down to Monthermer Castle 
in' the hope of winning back their money, but in this expectation 
it seemed Hkely they would be disappomted. Play — and pretty 
deep play, too— had been going on every night, but Gage had 
taken no part in it. The fact was, he had no funds, and was 
therefore compelled to be a mere spectator. It was an additional 
mortification to him to be reminded by his newly-arrived guests 
of his promise to ^ve them revenge. He made the best excuses 
he could, but he felt they looked upon him as a shufiier-— of all 
characters the most despicable in his esteem — and he writhed under 
the fancied imputation. 

** This Tised not to be the case when we were here last, Mon- 
thermer," Sir Randal said. " Then you could not resist a game at 
piquet or gleek, and were my constant antagonist at hazard. Why 
not sit down with us now ? What say you to a same at two-handed 
putt ?— or, if you prefer it, lanterloo ? — ^I am for anything — tick- 
tack — in-and-in — ^passage — or what you will Only sit down." 

<^ Excuse me. Sir Rwdal, I don't play to-night." 

^ Why, 'sdeath I man, have you made a second vow against cards 
and dice ? If so, I counsel you to break it like the first, I would 
fidn lose a few move thousands to you." 


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" And so would I,** Beau Freke added. ** We will absolve you 
from any new vow you may have made, Monthermer. And no- 
doubt you will have as good luck as you had a short time ago at 
the Groom Porter^s.*' 

Just then, Lord Melton, who was engaged with a party at five- 
cards, called out : ^^ I'll bet a hundred pounds, Monthermer, that 
I win all the cards.'* 

Gage felt desperately inclined to rejoin, "Done!" but he re- 
strained himself, and merely said, " I don't bet now." 

"Why, what the deuce prevents you?" his lordship cried. 
" See!" he added, displaying his cards, "if you had taken me, 
you would have won." 

Not liking to be further troubled. Gage soon afterwards quitted 
the card-room, and did not return to it that nidit 

On the following evening, however, Mrs. Jenyns managed to 
lure him to the hazard-table. He had been excusing himself as 
before, when she took him aside, and urged him to try his luck 
once more. 

" I must have money to play with. Peg," he said, with a forced 

" Why, so you shall," she replied. " Take my pocket-book. It 
is full of bank-notes. I want you to play for me, and don't be 
afraid to stake highly. We will divide the winnings as before." 

" Have you lucky dice with you ?" Gage rejoined, glancing at 
her significantly. 

" You broke those I most relied on," she replied ; "but I have 
another pair, and you may try them, if you like." 

" Let me have them," Gage rejoined. " To what extent must 
I go?" 

" That pocket-book contains almost all you won for me at the 
Groom Porter's — about 17,000/. I am willing to risk it all." 

" You had better not trust me." 

" Pooh 1 1 haven't the slightest uneasiness," she rejoined, slipping 
a pair of dice into his hands. "I know you will win. Come 
along 1" And leading him towards the table, she called out^ 
^^ Gentlemen, I am happy to inform you that I have induced Mr. 
Monthermer to play." 

The announcement was received with acclamations, and a place 
was instantly made for Grage at the table. Bol^ Sir Randal and 
Beau Freke asked how much he meant to stake. A thousand 

Sounds was the reply. The dice rattled, and Gage lost. Mrs. 
enyns, who stood at his elbow, looked surprised, but whispered 
him to double his stakes. He did so, and lost again. The actress 
bit her lips with vexation, but signed to him to go on. He obeyed, 
but without better luck. Tlie sti3:e was now eight thousand pounds^ 
and he paused before laying down the money, but Mrs. Jenyns 
would have no cessation. l£e run of luck was still against him. 

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The eight thousand pounds was swept off by his opponents. Alto- 
gether he had lost fitteen thousand poui^ds— within two thousand 
of the contents of the pocket-book. 

^ Stake what is lef^'' Mrs. Jenyns whispered ; ^^ and play with 
care/' she added, significantly. Ciage strove to comply with her 
imunctions — but he was beaten, and the pocket-book was empty ! 
Sus adversaries urged him to go on, but he shook his head, and 
left the table. 

'*I am sorry to have played so badly," he remarked to Mrs. 
Jenyns, who had followed him hastily. ^^ But I might perhaps 
have done better if I had used the dice you gave me." 

*^ What I didn't you use them ?" she cried, with an explosion of 
Tage. ^^This accounts for it! Fool that I was to trust you I 
You have ruined me.** 

^ But, Peg ^" 

^^ Don't talk to me. I am out of all patience, (jive me the 
"dice, and let me try. But no — ^no— I cannot play. All my money 
is gone. Have you none to lend me ? A hundred pounds will 

^^ I have not the hundredth part of that amount left," he an- 

Mrs. Jenjois looked as if she could annihilate him — ^bnt her 
anger seemed suddenly to abate. 

^^ Something must be done to repair this error," she said, in a 
tone of forced calmness. " We must confer together to-morrow 
about Fairlie." 

« About Fairlie !" Gage exclaimed. " What about him ?'* 

**Not so loud," she rejoined; " the servants are all his spies, and 
eome of them may overhear you. I fancied that man was listening," 
pointing to Pudsey, who was standing at a little distance from them. 
^^ To-morrow I will open my design to you. You owe me repara- 
tion for the mischief you have just done me — and I will show you 
how to make ample amends. JBut let us separate. I am quite sure 
that man is listening. To-morrow I " 

And she left the room, while Gage walked back to the hazard- 
table, and watched the play. 

" I did right not to use her dice," he thought. " Better lose, 
than win unfairly." 



Thb last day but one of his term had now arrived, and in a few 
more hours Gage must for ever cast aside his borrowed honours, 
«nd cease to be lord of Monthermer. 

Another day, and all would be over! Well, what matter! Had 

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988 Tfm srsKEmQQBrT* 

lie not esdbauated all ike enjoyments of Hie? had be not Saaeledfltid 
caroufled to satiety? had he not drained the cap of {deasvure to the 
dregs? — He could now throw it aside without regret. 

Without regret, perhaps, — but not without compunction— not 
without remorse. He dared not review his frenzied career — he 
dared not reflect upon the innumerable follies he had committed — 
such acts would not bear reflection — ^but he vainly sought to stifle 
the cries of conscience within his breast. These cries would be 
heard even in the midst of riotous indulgaice ; they chilled his 
blood, and banished sleep from his coudi; tney drove him at times 
almost to the verge of madness. 

But there would soon be an end, and till then he would know no 
restraint — no pause. If his career had been brief and brilliant as 
that of a meteor — ^its close should be like the meteor^s sudden 

Such thoughts agitated him as on the morning of the skcth 
day after his return he crossed the broad velvet lawns of the ffo^ 
den, and mounted the stone steps of the terrace leading to the 
ruins of the ancient Castle. He was unaccompanied, for not one 
of his numerous guests was yet astir. The hour was too early for 
them after their prolonged debauches overnight, and many of 
them would not rise before noon, and would then require fresh 
stimulants to set them going for the day. But as their hoQt 
could not sleep, he quitted his couch betimes, and sought to eool 
his throbbing brow and fevered limbs in the fresh morning air. 
Besides, he had another motive for his earlv walk. On retinng 
to his chamber on the pevious night he had found on his toilet* 
table a note, in a female nand, with which he thought he was fami- 
liar, though he could not assign a name to the wnter. The note 
bore no signature, and contained only a few words, b^ging him 
to come early in the morning to the Ivy Tow^, where a friend 
desired to see hinL Strictest secrecy was enjoined* Time was 
when such a billet would have piqued his curiosity, and flattered 
his vanity with the idea of a conquest, but no such idle feelings 
now excited him. Still he resolved to go; and it was to keep the 
appointment that he now shaped his course towards ^e ruins of 
the old Castle. 

He had not proceeded far along the terrace, when, raising his 
eyes, which, owing to his melancholy musing, had been hitherto 
fixed on the ground, he perceived a man advancing to meet him, 
and at once recognising Mark Rougham, halted till the latter came 
up, thinking him very much in the way at the moment, and con- 
sidering how he could get rid of him. 

" Go^d day to your honour," Mark cried, taking off his hat as 
he drew near — " you be well met I were oomin' ebwn to the HaU 
to try and get a word wi' you. But my errand's done, since you 
be on the way to the Ivy Tawer." 

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^Ahl joaknowl amgoingAeiel— Pearhapejonsieawife^t 
I got a note last night?" 

" Aware of it I why, I brought it myself sir — and got one o' th' 
"women serrants to place it i' yoor bed-chiunber^ where you would 
l>e sure to find it. Tou can gueae who it be firom^ I suppose? 
Xiord blesB her ! I couldn't ha' l^iered in such goodness and dero- 
tion, unless I'd seen it My heart has been like to burst wi' what 
I ha' witnessed since yesterday — so much conflideration for others, 
80 little care for self. Sure I am, if there be any one able to 
save a sinful soul &o* destruction, it be she. Th^:e ben't such 
another on earth." 

" Such another as whom, Mark ? Whom do you mean ?^ 

^^ Why, whom else can I mean but Miss Fairlie ! What I've 
said couldn't be true of any other of her sex — not that I mean to 
speak against the dear creaters — ^but she be a paragon." 

^^ You lead me to suppose she is here, Mark — but that is impos- 
sible, unless her health has greatly improved." 

^ She may he a trifle better than she has been," Mark leplied, 
^ but her life still hangs by a thread, which may be mapped at any 
minute. Howsomever, in spite of illness and fittigue, she ia here ; 
and a wonderful thing it be that she can have gone through so long 
a journey; but her brave and good heart supported her — and no 
doubt Heaven leant her aid." 

^ What has brought her here?" Gage cried. 

" Can you ask, sir? She be oome to see you— to speak w? you 
—to try and move your heart ; and I hope, by Heaven's ^raoe, she 
may suceeed in doing so. Your honour wrote to her, didn't you, 
afore you left Lunnon?" 

^ I sent her a few hasty lines, telling her I was going down to 
Monthermer Castle for a week. I scarcely knew what I wrote, 
I was so Inirried." 

** Whatever you did write, sir, your letter caused her to fidlow 
you. In ^te of all remonstrances, she set off on the same day 
as yourself with my daughter Lettice, and traveled by slow stages 
to Bixrj St. Edmund's. There she took rest ; but, while doing so, 
Ae sent on a messenger to Muster Gosnold, the head gardener, to 
prepare the rooms in the Ivy Tower for her reception." 

^^ I remember hearing she had taken a fai;icy to the old tower, 
and had had it furnished," Gage remarked. 

^^ Ay, that was after Muster Arthur Poynincs had tiie ill-luck 
to get wounded, and were removed there," Mark continued. *^ A 
sad affiiir that, sir, and might have turned out worse than it did. 
I thought the vounff gentfeman would have died, and Tm pretty 
sure he would nave done but for Miss Fairlie's care. She watdied 
by him the whole night, tendin' him like a sister, and never left 
hun till he was removed on a litter to Reedham. No doubt she 
took a liking to the old tower, because it gave shelter to Muster 

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Arthur on that occasion. But^ as I was sayin', while she rested 
at Bury, a messenger was sent over fro' Bury to Muster Gosnold 
to get the rooms ready for her — and at the same time Lettice 
despatched a man to me at Reedham to let me know they were 
comin'. Aa luck would have it, Sir Hugh and the family had 
just returned fro' Lunnon, so I could not help mentioning the 
circumstance to Muster Arthur,— and, as a matter of course, he 
tells Miss Lucy — and what does she do, but decide at once to come 
here and nurse her friend. A ^ood deal was said against it, as 
your honour may suppose, by Muster Arthur and my lady, but 
the long and the short of the matter is, she comes." 

" What ! is Miss Poynings here, too?" Gage exchdmed, in 

"Ay, in good truth is she, sir," Mark replied. "She and her 
brother joined Miss Fairlie at the cross-roads, half way betwixt 
this and Reedham, and Muster Arthur brought 'em here last night, 
and saw 'em comfortably settled afore he left — and that's all about 
it — ^no, it^s not quite all, for Miss Lucy wrote the note to you, 
which I myself conveyed, as I've already told you. And now, 
sir, shall I conduct you to her?" 

GtLge remained fisr a moment irresolute, and then, as if nerving, 
himself for the interview, he said, " Lead on, Mark." 

Not a word more passed between them. 

When they reached the tower, Mark went in, while Gage 
waited without till he received a summons to enter, and then fol* 
lowing his conductor up a short spiral staircase, was admitted 
into a lofty circular chamber, which had been fitted up with con- 
siderable taste, and with every needful attention to comfort. The 
furniture was cumbrous and old-fashioned, but in harmony with 
the room. A copper lamp was suspended from the groined roof, 
and a dim mirror, in an ebony frame, was placed over the ancient 
chimney-piece. The stone walls were hun^ with old tapestry, 
and the deep embrasures were shrouded by thick curtains. A wood 
fire was burning cheerily on the hearth, and its blaze illuminated 
the room. On a sofa near the fireplace, and covered by shawls, 
reclined Clare. In close attendance upon her were Lucy JPoynings 
and Lettice Rougham. Mark did not enter with Ga^e, but 
having ushered him to the door, shut it, and remained outside. 

For a few moments there was a profound silence, broken only 
by half-stifled sobs proceeding from Lettice. At length, a low 
voice was heard to say, " Draw near, I beg of you." And Gbige 
approached the sofa on which the sufferer rested. 

^^ Sit down beside me for a moment," Clare continued, in her 
soft feeble accent^ ^^ and let me tell you why I am here. I am 
come in the hope of serving you. I had thought never to see you 
acain, but compassion for you has overcome aU other feelings, and 
I nave resolved to persevere to the last. I will not reproaioh you 

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with haying broken your promise to me. For that I fireely forgive 
you, and pray Heaven to forgive you likewise.'' 

She then paused for a few moments, after which she resumed in 
a firmer tone: 

" And now let me ask you. a question— and I entreat you to 
answer it sincerely. Have you repaid my father the money he ad* 
vanced for your debts? Nay, do not hesitate — I must know the 
truth — I have a right to know it." 

^ Since you press me thus, I am compelled to admit that I have 
repaid him/' he rejoined. " By doing so, I hoped, in some degree, 
to atone for my conduct to you.'' 

^^ If you had listened to me, this new distress might have been 
spared me," Clare exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. And she 
sank back for a few moments on the sofa, while Lucy flew forward 
to support her. ^^ Oh, it is hard to bear," she exclaimed, after a 
while — " but it must be righted, if possible. Now tell me, Gage 
— and tell me truly — for what purpose have you come here?" 

*^To be lord of Monthermer for a week," he replied. 

^*But how came my father to consent to your return ?" 

" Oh ! I found means of persuading him — to be plain, I made it 
worth his while to let me have the pmce for a few aays. My term 
ends to-morrow at midnight." 

<< And then what do you propose to do?" Clare continued. 

Gage made no answer ; and. after a brief silence, arose and ssdd 
abruptly, "It is useless to prolong this interview. It can lead to 
nothing. I am past redemption. Do not concern yourself further 
about me, Clare. Farewell I" 

"Stayl" she cried, detaining him. "You must not go thus. 
You have formed some terrible resolution. I read it m jjrour 
glances. Do not add guilt to folly. Do not destroy your eternal 
weal. Oh, listen to me. Gage — listen to me !" 

"It is too late — my resolution is taken !" he exclaimed. 

^^ Oh ! say not so. You may yet be spared for many years of 
happiness. Join your prayers to mine, Lucy — speak to him— 

Lucy tried to obey her,^ but her voice was choked bjr emotion. 

" Au your prayers are in vain," Gage cried. "Nothmg can turn 
me from my purpose. Farewell, Clare — ^farewell, Lucy. Think 
the best you can of me I " And breaking from them he rushed out 
of the chamber. 

" Oh ! what will become of him !" Lucy exclaimed, felling on 
her knees beside Clare. 

" A last effort must be made to save him," Clare murmured—" a 
last effort." 

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Tms ^ Biattor-of-&ct romance" aa Mr. Charlee Reade designates it» 
atarti witit a group of no oommon chafacten. Thore are Geoige and 
William Fielding tilling '' The Grove/' as poor a Etde farm as any in 
Berkshire, needless to say, without success. There is Mr. Meadows^ a 
clever scheming villain, who wields men and money to his own egotistical 
purposes. There is Susanna Merton, a country lass, heautiful and good, 
beloved by the two brothers and by Mr. Meadows too. There is Isaac 
Levi, a Jew in all the senses of the word, with a touch of Orientalism in 
him, as a relief to European Judaism. There is Peter Crawley, a 
miserable attorney — ^Meadows's unscrupulous tool. There is Robinson, a 
convict— last from Califomia — ^but what would the shade of simple honest 
Isaac Walton say to the desecration ? — ^for the time being, a qmet angler 
in the village. Lastly, there is the Rev. Francis Eden, a man of infinite 
feeling and wisdom — a thorou^ practical Christian in every sense of die 

With this group of <^araoters to work 'upon, then, iduit is to be their 
£itribiition in life — ^what features of modem society are diey beat calcu- 
lated to illustrate ? Robinson, detected and conveyed off to a modal 
prison, is one great theme ; George and William Fielding quarrelling 
about Susan and the farm, and George ffoing off to Australia just before 
the time when gold-washing succeeded to wearisome and unprofitable 
grazing; and Meadows left behind to scheme agtunst all and everybody, 
with (me gresi object in view, the bearine away the village belle from her 
betrothed (xeorge, — such are the main features of tins li£^like and in- 
teresting story. 

The sources from whence the fearful and too true pictures of abuses of 
prison &cipline are derived are knovm to all. The humane but weak 
theorist, Captain O'Connor ; Mr. Williams, the ^' Shallow and Slender" 
justice ; the brutal Hawes, the efficient chaplain, are all real personages. 
It is much to be wished, for the honour of tne country we live in, and for 
the credit of Ae age^ that it were not so. When we consider how much 
has been said by some of these very persons of literature abetting orinM^ 
what must they (the administrators of the law) think of themselveB after 
having abetted murder? Robinson, on his arrival, is treated to the 
bkdcliole for venturing a whisper to a fellow-prisoner. Heie is a 
descr^tion of the place and of its effeqts on the human frame : 

The darimess in which Bobiaaon now lay was not like the darkness of oar 
bedrooms at night, in which the outlines of objects are more or less visible ; ft 
was the fri^tral darkness that chilled and crashed the E^gyptians, soul and 
body ^ it was darkness that might be fdt. 

Tms terrible and unnatural privation of all light is vei^ tryiag to all Qod*a 
creatures^ to none more so than to man, and amongst mra it is most daofferous 
and distressinj^ to those who have imagination and excitability. Now Rooinaon 
was a man of this dass, a man of rare cf4)acitj, fall of talent and the couraee 
and eneigy that vent themselves in action, bat not rich in the tough fortitooe 
which does little^ feels little, and bears much. 

• " It is Never Too Late to Mend." By Charles Beade. Tfarcie Yolumes. 
RBentley. 1S6S. 

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When ihej took Hm out of the blaek-liole, after six honn' confinemait, fa» 
as obsenred to be white as a sheet, and to tremble vblentiy all over, and in this 
state at the word of coBunand he crept back all the way to his c^ell ; his hand to 
Jm ^es, that were dassled by what seemed to him might daylight ; his body 
Bhiiking, while every now and then a kmd eonyulsive sob burst from his bosom. 

The goremor happened to be on the corridor, looking down over the rails as 
Xtobinson passed him. He said to him with a victorious sneer, '* You won't be 
refractory in chi^ again, in a hurry." 

*• No, said the thief, in a low, gentle voice, despairingly. 

Hie day after lBU)bin8on was put in the black -hole the surgeon came his 
Tounds : he fDund him in a comer of his cell, with his eyes fixed on the floor. 

The man took no notice of his entrance. The surgeon went up to him and 
.shook him rather roughly. Bobinson raised his heavy eyes, and looked stupidly 
at him. 

The surgeon laid hold of him, and placing a thumb on each side of his eye, in- 
spected that orffan fulljr. He then felt his pulse ; this done, he went out with 
tiie warder. Making ms report to the governor, he came in turn to Bx>binson. 

"No. 19 is sinking." 

**0h! is heP Fry^ (turning to a warder), "what has l^s treatment been?" 

"Been in his cell, sir, without kbour since he came. Black-hole yesterday, 
for oommnnicating in ohapeL" 

" What if the matter with him r 

"Doctor says he is sinking.'' 

" What the devil do you mean by his sinking." 

" WeD, sir," replied tne surgeon, with a sort of dry deference, " he is dying — 
that is what I mean." 

"Oh, he is dying, is he; d — ^n him, we'll stop that : here, Fry, take No. 19 
ovt into the gvden, and set him to work : and put him on the ootrkkMrs to- 

ThoB was only one form of torture adopted at a prison with which the 
inquifli^on is the only thing that will hear comparison. A second was the 

The next morning Fry the morose came into Robinson's cell with a more 
cheerful countenance than usual. Robinson noticed it." 

" Tou are put on the crank," said Fry. 

"Oh! amir 

''Of course you are. Tour sentence was hard labour, wasn't itP I dont 
knew why you weren't sent on a fortnight ago." 

Fry then took him out into the labour-yard, whidi he found perforated with 
cells about half the size of his hermitaffe in the corridor. In eacn of these little 
^piet grottos lurked a monster, called a crank. A crank is a machine of this 
sort : uiere springs out of a vertical post an iron handle, which the workman^ 
taking it by both bands, works round and round, as in some country places you 
may have seen the villagers draw a bucket up from a well. This iron handle 
ffoes at the shoulder into a small iron box at the top of the poet ; and inside 
tint box the resistance to the turner is regulated by the manufocturer, who states 
the value of tin resistance outside in cast-iron letters. Thus : 

51b. oranL 

7 lb. crank. 10, 12, &c., &c. 

"Eighteen hundred revolutions per hour," said Mr. Fry, in his voice of 
routine, and " you are to work two hours before dinner." So saying, he left 
him, and Robinson, with the fear of punishment before him, lost not a moment 
in getting to woric. He found the crank go easv enough at first, but the longer 
he was at it the stiffer it seemed to turn. And after about four hundred turns 
he was fain to breathe and rest himself. He took three minutes' rest, thai at it 
again. All this time there was no taskmaster, as in Eg^t, nor whipper up of 
ttclining sable energy, as in Old Kentucky. So that ir I am so fortunate as 
to have a reader aged ten, he is wondering why the fool did not confine his 

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exertions to saying he had made the turns. Mj dear, it would not do. Thongii. 
no mortal oversaw the thief at his task, the eve of soience was in that cell and 
watched every stroke, and her inexorable finger marked it down. In plain 
jibaglish, on the face of the machine was a thing like a chronometer with numbers 
set all round, and a hand which, somehow or other, always pointed to the exact 
number of turns the thief had made. The crank was an automater, or sdlf- 
measurer, and in that respect your superior and mine, my little drake. 

It is not our object here to detail how many extra-judicial murdeis 
were committed in this model prison, or how the chaplain succeeded in 
exposing the turpitude and horrors of the system. It is a long story, full 
of harrowing interest, and told in the bold and fearless language of a man 
who can feel for his fellow-creatures, even if they happen to be criminals. 

The scenes and events that attend upon Australian life are not only 
by their nature of a more lively and agreeable character, but they are 
also told with a degree of spirit and truthfulness which would lead one to 
believe that the author must write from practical experience. George 
Fielding, as a squatter with five hundred sheep, twenty cows, ten bullocks, 
two large sheep-dogs, and his futhful companion, Carlo^ was upheld by 
as keen an incentive as ever spurred a man — the hopes of vrinning 
1000/. and the hand of his. betrothed. He is seconded in his eflPorts by 
Abner, a white native, and by Jacky, a black one ; but his cattle are 
stolen or run away, the 8cid> breaks out among his sheep, he himself is 
laid, by over- work and anxiety, on a bed of sickness. Abner deserts 
him, when disease brings with it the threefold labour of shearing, wash* 
ing, and anointing ; and Jacky himself, terrified at the contact wi& deaths 
leaves his benefactor, as he thinks, in the last agonies. At such a crisis 
Bobinson makes his appearance, to nurse and bring the young man 
through his dangerous illness. This worthy had been living some time 
at Sydney, where, notwithstanding the lessons and advice of the chapUun, 
he had got into bap company, and was soon so far compromised in lus old 
tricks, that it was convenient for him to get away to the back settlements. 

Matters were in this stage, George as far from his 1000/. as the first 
day he sat down as a squatter, when Robinson came and declared, fiom his 
Calfomian experience, that there must be gold in the neighbourhood. 
The idea was treated at first as an illusion ; but accident throwing them 
a short time afterwards in contact with a small party of Aggers, that 
which was at first mere suggestion became a reality, (xeorge Robinson, 
with Jacky, who had returned, but rather to hang on their skirts than to 
be really one of them, were exploring a new run, when they came to a 
brook. Robinson took the lead, and giving himself the benent of a niQ» 
eleared it like a buck ; but as he was in the lur, his eye caught some 
object on this side the brook, and making a little curcle on the othw 
side, he came hack with ludicrous precipitancy, and jumping short, 
landed with one foot on shore and one in the stream. George burst 
out laughing. 

** Do you see this ?*' cried Robinson. 

" Yes ; somebody lias been digging a hole here," said George, very oooUy. • 
"Come higher up," said Robinson, all in a flutter; *'do you see this V* 
" Yes ; it IS another hole." 
"It is: do you see this wet too P" 
"I see there has been some water spilt by the brook side." 
"What kind of work has been done here P Have they been digging potatoes, 

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" Dwi't be foolish, Tom." 

** Is it any kind of work yoa know ? Here is another trench dug." 

** No ? it is nothing in my way, that is the tmth.'' 

"But it is work, the signs of which I know as well as you know a ploughed 
field from a turnpike-road." 

"Why, what wit then P" 

"It is gold washing." 

" You don't say so, Tom." 

" This is gold washing as be^pnners practise it in California, and Mexico, and 
Peru, and wherever gold-dust is found. They have been working with a pan, 
they haven't got such a thing as a cradle in this country. Gome lower down; 
this was yesterday's work, let us find to-dfty's." 

The two men now ran down the stream busy as dogs hunting an otter. A 
little lower down they found both banks of the stream pitted with holes about 
two feet deep, and the sides drenched with water from it. 

" Well, if it is so you need not look so pale : why, dear me, how pale you are, 
Tom I" 

" You would be pale," gasped Tom, "if you could see what a day this is for 
you and me, ay ! and for all the world. Old England especially. George, in a 
month there will be five thousand men workii^ round this little spot. Av ! 
eome," cried he, shoutine wildly at the top of his voice, "there is plenty for 
aU. Gold ! gold ! gold ! I have found it. I, Tom Robinson, I've found it, 
and I grudge it to no man. I, a thief that was, make a present of it to its 
rightfuTowner, and that is all the world. Here gold ! gold ! gold !" 

Though George hardly understood his companion's words, he was carried 
away by the torrent of his enthusiasm ; and even as Eobinson spoke, his cheeks 
in turn flushed, and his eyes flashed, and he grasped his friend's hands warmly, 
and cried, "Gold! gold! blessings on it if it takes me to Susan; gold I 

The poor fellow's triumph and friendly exultation lasted but a moment; the 
words were scarce out of Eobinson's mouth, when to his surprise George started 
from him, turned verv pale, but at the same time lifted his iron-shod stick hiffh 
in the air and denched his teeth with desperate resolution. Pour men wuh 
shaggy beards, and wild faces, and murderous eyes were literally upon them, 
each with a long glittering knife raised in the air. 

At that fearful moment George learned the value of a friend that had seen ad- 
venture and crime; rapid, and fierce, and unexpected as the attack was, Ro- 
binson was not cauffht off his guard. His hand went like lightning into his 
bosom, and the assauants, in the very act of striking, were met in the face by 
the long glistening barrels of a rifle-revolver, while the cool, wicked eye behind 
itshowedthem nothing was to be hoped in that quarter from flurry, or haste, or 

The two men nearest the revolver started back, the other two neither recofled 
nor advanced, but merely hung fire. George made a movement to throw him- 
self upon them ; but Robinson seized hhn fiercely by the arm—he said steadily 
but sternly, " Keep cool, young man, no running among their knives while they 
are four. Strike across me, and I shall guard you till we have thinned 'em." 

" WiU you P" said Black Will. " Here, pals !" 

The four assailants came together like a fan for a moment, and took a whisper 
from their leader. They then spread out like a fan and began to encircle their 
antactmists so as to attack on both sides at once. 

"Back to the water, George," cried Robinson, quickly; "to the broad part 

Robinson calculated that the stream would protect his rear, and that safe he 
was content to wait and profit by the slightest error of his numerous assailants; 
tiiis, however, was to a certain aegree a miscalculation, for the huge ruffian we 
have called Jem sfjrang boldly across the stream higher up, and prepared to 
attack the men behind the moment they should be engaged with his oomradea. 
The others no sooner saw him in position than they rushed desperately i^on 

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(George and Robinson in the form of a crescent, and as they came on, Jem came 
flying, knife in hand, to plunge it into Bx>binson's back. As the front assailants 
neared them, tme to his promise, Robinson fired across George, and the outside 
man received a bullet in his shoulder-blade, and turning round like a top fell 
upon his knees. Unluckily, George wasted a blow at this man, which simg id^ 
over him, he dropping his head and losing his knife and his powers at the yerj 
moment. By this means, Robinson, the moment he had firea his pistol, had no 
less than three assailants; one of these George stmck behind the nedc so 
fiaiously with a back-handed stroke of his iron-uiod stidc that he fell seoseless 
at Robinson's feet. The other, met in front by the reyolver, recoiled, but kept 
Robinson at bay, while Jem sprang on him from the rear. This attack was the 
most dangerous of all ; in fact, neithd' Robinson nor George had time to defend 
themselves against him even if they had seen him, whidi they did not. Now as 
Jem was in the very act of making his spring from the other side of the brook, 
a spear glanced like a streak of l^;ht past i& principal combatants and pierced 
Jem through and through the fleshy pjart of tiie tiugh, aad there stood Jaoky at 
forty yards' distance with the hand still raised from which the spear had flown, 
and his emu-like eye glitterine with the light of battle. 

Jem, instead of bounding clear over the stream, fell heavily into the middle 
of it, and lay writhing and floundering at George's mercy, who turning in alarm 
at the sound, stood over him with his hng deadly staff, whirling and swinging 
round his h^ in the air, while Robinson plaeed one foot flrmly on the stunned 
man's right arm, and tlureatened the leacter Black Will with his pistol; and at 
the same moment, with a wild and piercing yell, Jacky came down in leaps like 
a kai^aroo, his tomahawk flouiidioa over nis head, his features entirely cmmged, 
andtCe thirst of blood written upon every inch of him. Black Will was prepar- 
ing to run away and leave his wounded companions, bnt at sight of i£t fleet 
savage, he stood still and roared out for meroy. 

" Quarter ! quarter !'* cried Black Will 

*' Down on your knees !" cried Robinson, in a terrible voice. 

The man fell on his knees, and in that posture Jacky would oertainly have 
knocked out his brains, but that Rolnnson pointed the pistol at his head and 
forbade him ; and Carlo, who had arrived hastily at the sound of battle in great 
excitement, but not with dear ideas, seein£^ Jacky, whom he always looked on 
as a wild animal opposed in some way to Robinson, seized him directly by the 
leg from behind and held him howling in a vice. 

The scenes that inaugurated the discovery of that