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BLACKWOOD'S 

MAGAZINE. 

VOL. LXV. 
JANUARY^JUNE, 1849. 



WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH ; 

AMD 

37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. 
1849. 

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BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. 



iTo. CCCXCIX. 



JANUARY, 1849. 



Vol. LXV. 



THE TEAR OF REVOLUTIONS. 



<^ No great state," says Hamiibal, 
«( can long remain qoiet : if it ceases 
to have enemies abroad, it will find 
them at home — as powerful bodies 
redst all external attacks, but are 
wasted awaj^ their own iniernal 
strength."* What a commentary vn 
the words of the Carthaginian hero 
does the last year— The Year of 
RsTOLDTiOKS--afford I What enthu- 
siasm has it witnessed, what efforts 
engendered, what illusions dispelled, 
what misery produced I How bitterly 
have nations, as well as individuals, 
within its short bounds, learned wisdom 
by suffering— how many lessons has 
experience taught — how much agony 
has wickedness brought in its train. 
Among the foremost in all the periods 
of history, this memorable year will 
ever stand forth, a subject of undying 
interest to succeeding generations, a 
lasting beacon to mankind amidst the 
foUv or insanity of future times. To 
it the young and the ardent will for 
ever turn, for the most singular 
scenes of social strife, the most 
thrilling incidents of private suffering: 
to it the aged will point as the most 
striking warning of the desperate 
effects of general delusion, the most 
unanswerable demonstration of the 
moral government of the world. 

That €k>d will visit the sins of the 
fathers upon the children was pro- 



claimed to the Israelites amidst the 
thunders of Mount Sinai, and has been 
felt by every succeeding generation of 
men. But it is not now upon the third 
or the fourth generation that the pun- 
ishment oC transgression falls— it is 
felt im i{^ fa)) bitterness by the trans- 
gressors themselves. The extension 
of knowledge, the diffusion of educa- 
tion, the art of printing, the increased 
rapidity of travelling, the long dura- 
tion of peace in consequence of the 
exhaustion of former wars, have so 
accelerated the march of events, that 
what was slowly effected in former 
times, during several successive gene- 
rations, by the f^radual development 
of national passions, is now at once 
brought to maturity by the fervent 
spirit which is generally awakened, 
and the vehement passions which are 
eveiTwhere brought into action. 

Everything now goes on at the 
gallop. There is a railway speed in 
the stirring of the mind, not less than 
in the movement of the bodies of 
men. The social and political pas- 
sions have acquired such intensity, 
and been so widely diffused, that 
their inevitable results are almost 
immediately produced. The period 
of seed-time and harvest has become 
as short in political as it is in agricul- 
tural labour. A single year brings its 
appropriate fruits to maturity in the 



'' Nulla magna civitas diu qmeecere potest : ai foris hostem non habet, domi 
*' -ut pnevalida corpora ab oxtremis causis tuta videntur, sed suis ipsa viribus 
onenntar. Tantom, nimirum, ex publicis malis eentimus, quantum ad res privatas 
pertinet; ueo in ds qoioquam acrios, quam peounise damnum, stimulat" — Livr, 
XXX. 44. 



VOL. LXV.— NO. COOXCIX. 



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The Year ofRevobOums. 



[Jan. 



moral as in the physical world. 
Eighty years elapsed in Rome from 
the time when the political passions 
were first stirred by Tiberias Grac- 
chus, before its unruly citizens were 
finally subdued by the art, or deci- 
mated by the cruel^ of Octavina. 
England underwent six years of civil 
war and suffering, before the ambition 
and madness of Ihe Long FarUaioent 
were expeMed by the purge of Pride, 
or crushed by the sword of Cromwell : 
twelve years elapsed between the con- 
vocation of the States- general in 1789, 
and the extinction of the license 
of the French Revolution by the 
arm of Napoleon. But, on this occa- 
sion, in one year, all, in tbt mean- 
time at le,ast, has been accomplished. 
Ere the leaves, which unfolded la 
spring amidst the overthrow of 
thrones, and the transports of revoln^ 
tionists over the world, had fallen 
in autumn, the passions which had 
convulsed mankind were crushed for 
the time> and the triumphs of de- 
mocracy were arrested. A terrible 
reaction had set in; exparienoe of suf- 
fering had done its work ; and swift a« 
the ^ades of night befim the rays of 
the ascendmg aon, had disappeared 
the ferment of revolution before the 
aroused indignation of the uncormpted 
part of mankind. The same passions 
may again arise ; the same delusions 
again spread, as sin springs up afresh 
in successive generations of men ; but 
we know the result. They will, like 
the ways of the unrighteous, be again 
orushed. 

So rapid was the sncoession of re- 
volutions, when the tempest assaUed 
the world last spring, that no human 
power seemed capable of arresting it ; 
and the thoughtful looked on m monm- 
fol and impotent silence, as they wonld 
have done on the decay of nature or 
the ruin of the worid. The Pope 
began the career of innovation : de- 
crees of change issued from the Vati- 
can ; and men beheld with amasement 
the prodigy of the Supreme Pontiff— 
the head of the unchangeable Church 
— standing forth as the lead^ of po- 
litical reform. Naples quickly cau^^ht 
the flame : a Sicilian revolution 
threatened to sever one-half of their 
dominions from the Neapolitaa Boor- 
bon ; and internal revolt seemed to 
render his authority merely nominal 



in his own metropolis. Paris, the 
cradle in every age of new ideas, and 
the centre of revolutionary action, 
next felt the shock : a reform banquet 
was prepared as the signal for as- 
sembling the democratic forces; the 
national guard, as usual, failed at the 
decisive moment: the King of the 
Barricades quailed before the power 
whi(^ had created him ; the Orieans 
dynasty was overthrown, and France 
delivered over to the dreams of the 
Socialists and the ferocity of the Red 
Republicans. Prussia soon shared the 
madness : the population of Berlin, all 
trained to arms, according to the cus- 
tom of that country, rose against the 
government ; the king had not energy 
enough to permit his faithful troops ta 
aot with the vigour reqoisite to up- 
hold the throne against such assail- 
ants, and the monarchy of Frederick 
the Great was overthrown. Austria, 
even, could not withstand the con- 
tagion: neither its proud nobility, nor 
its light-hearted sensual people, nor 
its colossal army, nor its centuries of 
glory, oould maintain the throne in 
its moment of peril. The Emperor was 
weak, the citizens of Vienna were in- 
fatuated ; and fui Insurrection, headed 
by the boys at the university and the 
haberdashers' appren tices-in the street^ 
overturned the imperial government, 
and drove the Emperor to seek refago 
in the Tyrol. All Germany caught 
the flame : the dreams of a few hot- 
headed entiiusiasts and professors 
seemed to prevail alike over the dic- 
tates of wisdom and the lessons of 
experience; and, amidst the trans- 
ports of millions the chimera of 
German unity seemed about to be 
realised by the sacrifice of all its meana 
of independence. The balance of 
power in Europe appeared irrevo- 
cably destroyed by the breaking 
up of its central and most impor- 
tant powers, — and £ngland, in the 
midst of the general ruin, seemed 
rooking to its foundation. The Char- 
tists were in raptures, the Irish re- 
bels in ecstasy : threatening Ineetings 
were held in every town in Great 
Britain ; armed clubs were organised 
in the whole south and west of Ire- 
land ; revolution was openly talked of 
in both islands, and the close of harvest 
announced as the time when the Bri- 
tish empire was to be broken up, wbA 



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Goo 



T%e Y§ar pf IRmohtOonM. 



AngUsn and Hibeniiaxi republics i 
bli&ed, in doee allimnoe with the great 
parent democrat in Pranoe. Amidst 
aaefa extraordinary and anprecedented 
convnlaions, it was with difficolty that 
% few conrageons or far-seeing minds 
preserved their eqnilibriam ; and even 
those who were least disposed to 
despair of the fortunes of the species, 
ooold see do end to the soocession of 
disaaten with which the world was 
Menaced bat in a great exertion of 
tiie renoyating powers of nature, 
aiaailar to that predicted, in a similar 
catastrophe, for the material world, 
by the imagination of the poet 

•* Roll on, ye stars ! exult in yonthfiil prime, 
Mark wHii bri^ emres the printless steps 

ofTioM! 
Nmt and bmm sear jour beaming eais 



8 



And Iwening orbs on lessening orbs encroaob. 
Flowers of ue sky! ye, too, to Fate must 

yirid. 
Frail as jom silken liflten of tiie field ; 
Star after star, from beaTon's high arck shall 

rash. 
Sons sink on suns, and systems systems crush; 
Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall, 
And IWk, and Nigfat, and Chaos, mingle all; 
Itll, o*er tli» wraek, emerging from the 

■tana. 
Immortal Natofo lifts bar ohangeful form, 
Jioants from her funeral pym on wings oi 

flame. 
And soars and shines, another and tho^aame.^* 

Bnt the destiny of man, not less than 
tiuU of the material world, is balanced 
action and reaction, not restoration 
from rain. Order Is preserved in a 
way whidi the imagination of the 
poet conld not have conceived. Even 
m the brief space which has elapsed 
siiice the convnlsions began in Italy 
in Jannary last, the reality and cease- 
kes action of the preserving laws of 
nature have been demonstrated. The 
balaBoe is preserved in social life by 
con tending passions and interests, as in 
the physical world by opposite forces, 
nnder ciroamstances when, to all 
hnman aMearanoe, remedy is inpos- 
■ibia and hope extinguished. The 
orbii of nations is tra^ ont by the 
wisdom of Providence not less dearly 
thaa that of the planets ; there are 
oeaftripetal and centrifogaJ forces in 



the moral as irell as in the material 
world. As mnch as the vehement 
passions, the selfish desires, the in- 
experienced seal, the expanding 
^ergy, the rapacious indigence, th« 
mingled virtues and vices of man, 
lead at stated periods to the explosions 
of revolution, — do the desire of tran- 
quillity, the hdterests of property, 
the honror at cruelty, the lessons of 
experience, the force of religion, the 
bitterness of suffering, reindnce the 
desire of (nrder, and restore the influ- 
ence of its organ, government. If we 
contemplate the awful force of the 
expansive powers which, issuing from 
the great mass of central heat, find 
vent in the fiery channels of the vol- 
cano, and have so often rent asunder 
the solid crust of the earth, we may 
well tremble to think that we stand 
suspended, as it were, over such an 
abyss, and that at no great distance 
beneath our feet the elements of uni- 
versal conflagration are to be found.* 
But, strong as are the expansive 
powers of nature, the coercive are 
still stronger. The ocean exists^ to 
Imdle with its weight the fiery gulf; 
the arch of the earth has been solidly 
constructed by its Divine arehitect; 
and the only traces we now discover, 
in most parts of this globe, oi the yet 
raging war of the elements, are the 
twkt^ strata, which mari[, as it were, 
the former writhings of matter in the 
terrible grasp of its tormentors, or 
the splintered pinnacles of mountains, 
which add beauty to the landscape, 
or the smiling plains, which brmg 
happiness to the abodes of man. It is 
the same in the moral world. Action 
and reaction are the law of mind as 
well as matter, and the equilibrium of 
social life is preserved by the opposite 
tendency of the interests which are 
brought into collision, and the counter- 
acting force of the passions which are 
successively awakened by the very 
convulsions which seem to menace 
society with dissolution. 

A year has not elapsed since the 
revolutionary earthquake began to 
heave in Italy, since the volcano 
burst forth in Paris; and how marvel- 



• Danwnr, Bolamc Oardm. 

i- ** mr^^fiTe milra below the sorftne of the eartii, tbeeentnd hest is everywhere 
ao grMty that granite itwlf is held in fiinoiL''--HTTiiBouys,Cb#fii(M,i27f. 



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The Year of Revohtttani. 



[Jan. 



L^gsa 



loos is the change which already has 
taken place in the state of Europe ! 
The star of Austria, at first defeated, 
and apparently aboat to be extin- 
guished in Italy, is again in the 
ascendant. Refluent from the Mincio 
to the Ticino, her armies have again 
entered Milan, — the revolutionary 
usurpation of Charles Emanuel has 
been checked almost as soon as it 
commenced: and the revolutionary 
rabble of Jjombardy and Tuscany 
has fled, as it was wont, before 
the bayonets of Germany. Ra- 
detzky has extinguished revolution 
in northern Italy. If it still lingers 
in the south of the peninsula, it is 
only because the strange and tortuous 
policy of France and EngUnd has 
mterfered to arrest the victorious 
arms of Naples on the Sicilian shores. 
Paris has been the theatre of a dread- 
ful struggle, blood has flowed in tor- 
rents in itsstreets, slaughter unheard- 
of stained its pavements, but order 
has in the end prevailed over anarchy. 
A dynasty has been subverted, but 
the Red Republicans have been 
defeated, more generals have perished 
in a conflict of three days than 
at Waterloo; but the Faubourg 
St Antoine has been subdued, the 
socialists have been overthrown, 
the state of siege has been pro- 
claimed ; and, amidst universal suf- 
fering, anguish, and woe, with 
three hundred thousand persons out 
of employment in Paris, and a de- 
ficit of £20,000,000 in the income of 
the year, the dreams of equality have 
disappeaired in the reality of military 
despNotism. It is immaterial whether 
the head of the government is cidled 
a president, a dictator, or an emperor — 
whether the civic crown is worn by a 
Napoleon or a Cavaignac — in either 
case the ascendant of the army is 
established, and France, after a brief 
itrugglefor a constitutional monarchy, 
has terminated, like ancient Rome, in 
an elective military despotism. 

Frankfort has been disgraced by 
frightful atrocities. The chief seat 
of German unity and fireedom has 
been stained by cruelties which find a 
parallel only in the inhuman usages of 
the American savages; butthe terrible 
tason has not been read in vain. It 
a reaction over the world : 
the ejw of men to the real 



tendency and abominable iniquity of 
the votaries of revolution in Grermahy; 
and to the sufferings of the martyrs 
of revolutionary tortures on the banks 
of the Maine, the subsequent over- 
throw of anarchy in Vienna and 
Berlin is in a great degree to be 
ascribed. They roused the vacillat- 
ing cabinets of Austria and Prussia — 
they sharpened the swords of Wind- 
ischgratz and Jellachich — they nerved 
the souls and strengthened the arms 
of Brandenberg and Wrangel — they 
awakened anew the chord of honour 
and loyalty in the Fatherland. The 
national airs have been again heard 
in Berlin ; Vienna has been regained 
after a desperate conflict; the state 
of siege has been proclaimed in both 
capittJs ; and order re-established in 
both monarchies, amidst an amount 
of private suffering and general 
misery — the necessary result of revo- 
lutions — which absolutely sickens the 
heart to contemplate. England has 
emerged comparativelv unscathed 
from the strife; her time-honoured 
institutions have been preserved, her 
monarchy saved amidst the crash of 
nations. Queen Victoria is still upon 
the throne; our mixed constitution 
is intact ; the dreams of the Chartists 
have been dispelled ; the rebellion of 
the Irish rendered ridiculous; the 
loyalty of the great body of the people 
in Great Britain made manifest. 
The period of immediate danger is 
over ; for the attack of the populace 
is like the spring of a wild beast^if 
the flrst onset fails, the savage animal 
slinks away into its den. General 
suffering indeed prevails, indnstnr 
languishes, credit is all but destroyea, 
a wofiil deficiency of exports has 
taken pUcc— but that is the inevi- 
table result of popular commotions ; 
and we are suffering, in part at 
least, under the effects of the in- 
sanity of nations less free and more 
inexperienced than ourselves. Though 
last, not least in the political lessons 
of this marvellous year, the papal 
government has been subverted — a 
second Rlenzi has appeared in Rome ; 
and the Supreme Pontiff, who began 
the movement^ now a fugitive firom his 
dominions, has exhibited a memor- 
able warning to future ages, of the 
peril of commencing reforms in 
high places, and the impossibility of 



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1849.] 



The Year ofBenohOums, 



reconcHiog the Koman Catholic re- 
ligion with political innoyation. 

Bat let it not be imagined that, 
becaose the immediate danger is over, 
and because military power has, after 
a fierce struggle, prevailed in the 
principal capitals of Europe, that 
therefore the ultimate peril is past, 
and that men have only to sit down, 
imder the shadow of their fig-tree, to 
cultivate the arts and enjoy the 
blessings of peace. Such is not the 
destiny of man in any, least of all 
in a revolutionary age. We are rather 
on the verge of an era similar to that 
deplored by the poet : — 

** BellA p«r Emathios plusquftm civilia 

campos, 
Jiuqoe datiun sccleri canimui, populumqae 

poteotem 
la sua victriei eonvermm Tiscera deztri ; 
CognataiqiM acies ; et nipto foedera regni 
Certatom totis eoncoMi yiribui orbis. 
In commane neiiu.*^ 

Who can tell the immeasurable 
extent of misery and wretchedness, 
of destruction of property among the 
rich, and ruin of industry among the 
poor, that must take place before the 
fierce passions, now so generally 
awakened, are allayed — before the 
visions of a virtuous republic by 
Lamartine, or the dreams of commu- 
nism by Louis Blanc and Ledru- 
Rollin, or the insane ideas of the 
Frankfort enthusiasts have ceased to 
move mankind ? The fire they have 
let loose will bum fiercely for ceo turies; 
it will alter the destiny of nations for 
ages; it will neither be quenched, like 
ordinary flames, by water, nor sub- 
dued, like the Greek fire, by vine- 
gar : blood alone will extinguish 
its fury. The coming convulsions 
may well be prefigured from the past, 
as they have been recently drawn by 
the hand of a master : — ^' All around 
OS, the world is convulsed by the 
agonies of great nations; govern- 
ments which lately seemed likely to 
stand during ages, have been on a 
sudden shaken and overthrown. The 

Sroudest capitals of western Europe 
ave streamed with civil blood. All 
evil passions — the thirst of gain and 
the thirst of vengeance — the antipathy 
of class to class, of race to race — have 



broken loose firom the control of 
divine and human laws. Fear and 
anxiety have clouded the faces, and 
depressed the hearts of millions; 
trade has been suspended, and in- 
dustry paralysed; the rich have 
become poor, and the poor poorer. 
Doctrines hostile to all sdences, to 
all arts, to all industry, to all domestic 
charity — doctrines which, if carried 
into efiect, would in thirty years undo 
all that thirty centuries have done for 
mankind, and would make the fairest 
provinces of France or Grcrmany as 
savage as Guiana or Patagonia— have 
been avowed firom the tribune, and 
defended by the sword. Europe has 
been threatened with subjugation by 
barbarians, compared with whom the 
barbarians who marched under Attila 
or Alboin were enlightened and 
humane. The truest Mends of the 
people have with deep sorrow owned, 
that interests more precious than any 
political privileges were in jeopardy, 
and that it might be necessary to sacri- 
fice even liberty to save civilisation."t 
It is now just a year since Mr Cob- 
den announced, to an admiring and 
believing audience at Manchester, 
that the age of warfare had ceased ; 
that the contests of nations had 
passed, like the age of the mastodon 
and the mammoth ; that the steam- 
engine had caused the arms to drop 
from her hands, and the interests of 
free trade extinguished the rivalries 
of nations ; and that nothing now 
remained but to sell our ships of war, 
disband our troops, cut twenty mil- 
lions off our taxation, and set om*- 
selves unanimously to the great 
work of cheapening ever3rthing, and 
underselling foreign competitors in 
the market of the world. Scarcely 
were the words spoken, when con- 
flicts more dire, battles more bloody, 
dissensions more inextinguishable 
than had ever arisen from the rivaliy 
of kings, or the ambition of ministers, 
broke out in almost every country of 
Europe. The social supplanted the 
national passions. Within the bosom 
of society itself, the volcano had 
burst forth. It was no longer general 
that was matched against general, as 
in the wai-s« of Marlborough, nor 



♦ LucA9| i. 1—6. 



t Macaulay's History of England, vol. ii. p. 669. 



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6 



The Yeaar tf Bevohttume. 



[Jan. 



nation that rose ap against nation, as 
in those ctf Napoleon. The desire of 
robbeiy, tiie love of dominion, the 
last of conquest, the passion for pliuir 
der, were directed to domestic a!cqai- 
sitions. Human iniqnitj reappeami 
in worse, because less suspected and 
more delusive colours. Robbery as- 
sumed the guise of philanthropy; 
spoliation was attempted, under colour 
of law; plunder was systematically 
set about, by means of legislative 
enactments. Bevolution resumed its 
old policy— that of rousing the pas- 
sions by tiie language of virtue, and 
directing them to the purposes of rice. 
The original devil was expelled ; but 
straightway he returned with seven 
other devils, and the last state of the 
man was worse than the first. Society 
was armed against itself; the devas- 
tating passions burned in its own 
bosom; class rose against dass, 
race against race, interest agiunst 
interest Ci^ital fancied its interest 
was to be promoted by grinding down 
labour ; labour, that its rights extend- 
ed to the spoliation of capitaL A 
more attractive object than the rednc- 
tion of a city, or the conquest of a 
province, was presented to indigent 
cupidity. Easier conquests than over 
rival industry were anticipated by 
moneyed selfishness. The spoliation 
of the rich at t^eir own door— the 
division of the property of which they 
were jealous, became the dream of 
popular ambition ; the beating down 
of their own labourers by free-trade, 
the forcible reduction of prices by 
a contraction of the currency — ^the 
great object of the commercial aristo- 
cracy. War reassumed its pristine 
ferocity. In the nineteenth cen- 
tury, Uie ruthless maxim — Va victist 
became the war-cry on both sides in 
the terrible dvU war which burst 
forth in an age of general philan- 
tiiropy. It may be conceived what pas- 
sions must have been awakened, what 
terrors inspired, what indignation 
aroused by such projects. But though 
we have seen the commencement of 
the era of»ocial coT\flu:t$^ is there any 
man now alive who is likely to see 
its end? 
Expoience has now completely de- 



monstrated the wisdom of the AUIed 
powers, who placed the lawfbl mon* 
arohs of France on the throne in 1815, 
and the enormous error of the liberal 
party in France, which conspired with 
the republicans to overthrow the 
Bourbon dynasty in 1830. That fatal 
step has bequeathed a host of evils to 
Europe : it has loosened the authority 
of government in all countries ; it has 
put the very existence of freedom in 
peril by the enormity of the calamities 
which it has brought in its train. All 
parties in France are now agreed 
that the period of the Restoration 
was the happiest, and the least cor- 
rupted, that has been known since 
the first Revolution. The republicans 
of the present day tell us, with a 
sigh, that the average budgets of the 
three last years of Charles X. were 
900,000,000 francs, (£36,000,000;) 
that the expenditure was raised by 
Louis Philippe at once to 1500,000,000 
francs, (£60,000,000 ;) and that 
under the Republic it will exceed 
.1800,000,000 francs, (£72,000,000.) 
There can be no doubt of tbe fact ; 
and there can be as little, that if the 
Red Republicans had succeeded in the 
insurrection of June last, the annual 
expenditure would have increased to 
£100,000,000— or rather, a universal 
spoliation of property would have en- 
sued. Lonis Blanc has given the 
world, in his powerfnl historical work, 
a graphic picture of tbe nniversal cor- 
ruption, selfishness, and immorality, 
in pnblic and private life, which per- 
vaded France during the reign of 
Louis Philippe.* Though drawn by 
the hand of a partisan, there can be 
no doubt that the picture is too faith- 
ful in most of its details, and exhibits 
an awful proof of tbe effects of a sue- 
cessfhl revolution. But the misery 
which Lonis Blanc has so ably depict- 
ed, the corruptions he has brought to 
light, under the revolutionary monar- 
chy, have been multiplied fourfold by 
those which have prevailed during the 
last year in the republic established 
by Louis Blanc himself I 

Paris, ever since the suppression of 
the great insurrection in June last, 
has been in such a state, that it is the 
most utter mockery to call it freedom. 



* T^uis BLkJKC, HitUnirt de Dix An$ de Lcms Philippe, iii. 321, ei nq. 



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1849.] 



The Yemro/MevokUumi* 



In tniUi, U is nothing bat the most 
onmitigAted military despotism. A 
hage statue of liberty is placed in the 
National Assembly ; but at every six 
paces bayonets are to be seen, to re- 
mind the bystanders of the role of the 
sword. ''Iiberte,£gatit^ Fraternity,'' 
meet the eye at every torn in the 
streets ; but the Champs Elys^ the 
Place de Gr^ve, the Carroosel, and 
Place Yendome, are crowded with 
soldiers ; and the Champ de Mars is 
while with tents, to cover part of the 
40«000 regolar trocps which form the 
ordinary garrison of Paris. Universal 
freedom of discsssion has been pro- 
claimed by the constitution f but 
doaeos of journals have been suppress- 
ed by the authority of the dictator ; 
and imprisonment not<moa8ly hangs 
over the head of every one who in- 
dulges in the freedom of discussion, 
which in England and America is uni- 
versaL The state of siege has been 
raised, after havin^^ continued four 
months ; but the miktary preparations 
for cmoiker siege continue with una- 
bated vigour on both sides. The con- 
stitution has been adopted by a great 
majority in the Assembly; but the 
forts are all armed, and prepared to 
rain down the tempest of death on the 
devoted city. Universal suffrage is 
established ; but menacing crowcU are 
in the streets, threatening any one 
who votes against their favourite can- 
didates. The Faubourg St Antoine, 
during the late election, was in a 
frightful state of agitation ; infantry, 
cavalry, and artillery, were traver- 
sing the streets in all directions ; and 
coniiicts not less bloody than those of 
June last were anticipated in the 
sirug^ij for the presidency, and pre- 
vented only by the presence of nmety 
4kausamd soitHers in the capital : a force 
^eater than that which fought on either 
side at Austerlitz or Jena. It is evident 
that republican institutions, in such a 
state or society, are a mere name; and 
that supreme despotic power is really 
invested in France, as in ancient 
Bome under the emperors, in the no- 
minee of a victorious body of soldiery. 
The Pr»torian guards will dispose of 
the French as they did of the Roman 
diadem ; and ere long, gratuities to 
the troops will perhaps be the pass- 
port to power in Paris, as they were 
la the Etetnal City. 



Nor have the social evito, which in 
France have followed in the wake of 
successful revolution, been less de- 
plorable than the entire destruction of 
the rights of freemen and security of 
property which has ensued. To show 
that this statement is not overcharged, 
we extract from a noted liberal jour- 
nal of Paris, La Reforme^ of Novem- 
ber 17, 1848, the following state- 
ment : — 

"Property, manuf)Gu;turee, and com- 
merce are utteriy destroyed in Paris. 
Of the populatiou of that great city, the 
capital of France, there are 800,000 in- 
dividoals wanting the necessaries of life. 
One half at least of those earned firom 
3f. to 5f. a day previous to the rerolti- 
tion, and occupied a number of housee 
in the faubonigB. The proprietors of 
those houses receiring no rent, and hav« 
ing taxes and other chaiges to pay, are 
reduced to nearly as deep distress as 
their tenants. In the centre of Paris, 
the same distress exists imder another 
form. The large and sumptuous apart- 
ments of the fashionable quarters were 
occupied beforethe revolution by wealthy 
proprietors^ or by persons holding lucra* 
tire employments in the public offices, 
or by extensiye manufiusturers ; but nearly 
all those have disappeared, and the few 
who remain hare insisted upon such a 
reduction of rent that the proprietor 
does not receive one-half of the amount 
to which he is entitled. Should a pro- 
prietor of hoiise property endeavour to 
raise a sum of money by a first mortgage, 
to defray his most urgent expenses, he 
finds it impossible to do so, even at a most 
exorbitant rate of interest. Those who 
possess ready money refuse to port with 
ity either through fSMtr, oar because they 
expect to piut^hase honse property when 
it must be sold at 50 per cent kiss than 
the value.** — La Brforme, November 17, 
1848. 

It Is cerUdnly a most remarkable 
thing, in the history of the aberra- 
tions of the human mind, that a sys- 
tem of policy which has produced, 
and is prodndng, such disastrous re- 
sults — and, above all, which is inflicting 
such deadly and irreparable wounds 
on the interests of the poor, and the 
cause of freedom throughout the 
world— should have been, during th» 
lasteighteen years, the object of unceas* 
ing eulogy by the liberal party ob 
both sides of the Channel ; and that 
the present disastrous sUte of affairs, 
both ia this covntry and on the Con- 



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The Year of EevokUums. 



8 

tinent, is nothing more than the na- 
tural and inevitable result of the 
principles that party has everywhere 
laboured to establish. The revolution 
of 1830 was hsdled with enthusiasm 
in this country by the whole liberal 
party: the Irish are not more ena- 
moured now of the revolution of 1848, 
than the Whigs were, eighteen years 
ago, of that of 1830. The liberal 
government of England did all in 
their power to spread far and wide 
the glorious example. Flanders was 
attacked — an English fleet and French 
army besieged Antwerp ; and, by a 
coalition of the two powers, a revolu- 
tionary throne was established in 
Belgium, and the king of the Nether- 
lands prevented from re-establishing 
the kingdom guaranteed to him by 
all the powers of Europe. The Quad- 
ruple Alliance was formed to revolu- 
tionise Spain and Portugal; a san- 
guinary civil war was nourished for 
long in both kingdoms ; and at length, 
after years of frightful warfare, the 
legitimate monarch, and legal order 
of succession, were set aside in both 
countries; queens were put on the 
thrones of both instead of kings, and 
England enjoyed the satisfaction, for 
the diffusion of her revolutionary pro- 
pagandism, of destroying the securi- 
ties provided for the liberties of Europe 
by the treaty of Utrecht, and pre- 
paring a Spanish princess for the 
hand of a Bourbon prince. 

Not content with this memorable 
and politic step, and even after the 
recent disasters of France were actu- 
ally before their eyes, our rulers were 
so enamoured of revolutions, that they 
could not refrain from encouraging 
it in every small state within their 
reach. Lord Falmerston counseled 
the Pope, in a too celebrated letter, to 
plunge into the career which has ter- 
minated so fatally for himself and for 
Italy. Admiral Parker long prevented 
the Neapolitan force from embarking 
for Sicily, to do there what Lord 
Hardinge was nearly at the same time 
sent to do in Ireland. We beheld the 
Imperial standards with complacency 
4riven behind the Mincio; but no 
sooner did Radetzky disperse the re- 
volutionary army, and advance to 
Milan, than British and French di- 
plomacy interfered to arrest his march, 
and save their revolutionary prot^^, 



[Jan, 

the King of Piedmont, fVom the chas- 
tisement which his perfidious attack on 
Austria in the moqaent of her distress 
merited. The Ministerial journals are 
never weary of referring to the revo- 
lutions on the Continent as the cause 
of all the distress which has prevailed 
in England, since they broke out in 
last spring : they forget that it was 
England herself whi<£ first unfurled 
the standard of revolution, and that, 
if we are suffering under its effects, 
it is under the effects of our own 
measures and policy. 

Strange and unaccountable as this 
pervert^ and diseased state of opinion, 
in a large part of the people of this 
country, undoubtedly is, it is easily 
explained when the state of society, 
and the channel into which political' 
contests have run, are taken into con- 
sideration. In truth, our present 
errors are the direct consequence of 
our former wisdom ; our present weak- 
ness, of our former strength ; our pre- 
sent misery, of our former prosperity. 

In the feudal ages, and over the 
whole Asiatic world at the present 
time, the contests of parties are carried 
on for individuals. No change of na- 
tional policy, or of the system of in- 
ternal government, is contemplated on 
either side. It is for one prince or 
another prince, for one sultann or 
another sultann, that men draw their 
swords. " Under which King, Bezo- 
nian? — speak or diel^' is there the watch- . 
word of all civil conflict. It was the 
same in this country dming the feudal 
affes, and down to a very recent period* 
No man in the civil wars between 
Stephen and Henry n., or of the Plan- 
tagenet princes, or in the wars of the 
RoiBes, contemplated or desired any 
change of government or policy in 
the conflict in which they were en- 
^ed. The one party struck for the^ 
Ked, the other for the White Rose. 
Great civil and social interests were 
at issue in the conflict ; but the people 
cared little or nothing for these. The 
contest between the Yorkists and the 
Lancastrians was a great feud be- 
tween two clans which divided the 
state; and the attachment to their 
chiefs was the blind devotion of the- 
Highlanders to the Pretender. 

The Reformation, which first 
brought the dearest objects of thought 
and interest home to all classes, mad» 



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1849.] 



The Year o/RevobOwns. 



m great change in this respect, and 
sobetitot^ in large proportion general 
qoestions for the adherence to par- 
ticnlar men, or fidelity to particular 
funilles. Still, however, the old and 
natural instinct of the human race to 
mttadi themselves to men, not things, 
oontinned, in a great degree, to infln- 
enoe the minds of the people, and as 
many buckled on their armour for the 
man as tibe cause. The old Cavaliers, 
who periled life and lands in defence 
of Charies L, were as much influenced 
by attachment to the dignified mon- 
arch, who is immortalised in the can- 
vass of Vandyke, as by the feelings of 
hereditary loyalty ; and the iron bands 
which overthrew their ranks at Mar- 
ston Moor, were as devoted to Crom- 
well as the tenth legion to Ctesar, 
or the Old Guard to Napoleon. In 
tmth, such individual influences are 
80 strongly founded in human nature, 
that they will continue to the end of 
the world, from whatever cause a 
contest may have arisen, as soon as 
it has continued for a certain time, and 
will always stand forth in prominent 
importance when a social has turned 
into a military conflict, and the perils 
and animodties of war have endeared 
their leaders to the soldiers on either 
ride. The Vendeans soon became de- 
voted to Henri Larocbjaquelein, the 
Bepnblicans to Napoleon ; and in our 
own times, the great social conflict of 
the nineteenth century has been de- 
termined by the fidelity of the 
Austrian soldiers to Badetzky, of the 
French to Cavaignac, of the Grerman 
to Windischgrau. 

But in the British empire, for a cen- 
tury past, it has been thoroughly 
understood, by men of sense of all 
parties, that a change of dynasty is 
oat of the question, and that there is 
no reform worth contending for in the 
state, which is not to be effected by 
the means which the constitution 
itself has provided. This convic- 
tion, long impressed upon the nation, 
and interwoven as it were with the 
very framework of the British mind, 
having come to coincide with the 
passions incident to party divisions in 
m free state, has in process of time 
produced the strange and tortuous 
policy which, for above a quarter of a 
century, has now been followed in this 
country by the government, and lauded 



9 

to the skies by the whole liberal party 
on the Continent. Deprived of the 
watchwords of men, the parties have 
come to assume those of things. Or- 
ganic or social change have become 
the war- cry of faction, instead of change 
of dynasty. The nation is no longer 
drenched with blood by armies fight- 
ing for the Red or the White Rose, by 
parties striving for the mastery be- 
tween the Stuart and Hanover families, 
but it was not less thoroughly divided 
by the cry of "The bill, the whole 
bill, and nothing but the bill," at one 
time, and that of "Free-trade and 
cheap com" at another. Social change,^ 
alterations of policy, have thus come 
to be the great objects which divide 
the nation; and, as it is ever the 
policy of Opposition to represent the 
conduct of Government as erroneous, 
it follows, as a necessary consequence, 
that the main efforts of the party 
opposed to adminiatration always have 
been, since the suppression of the 
Rebellion in 1745, to effect, when in 
opposition, acbange in general opinion, 
and, when in power, to carry that 
change into effectbyachange of policy. 
The old law of nature is still in oper- 
ation. Action and reaction rule man- 
kind; and in the efforts of parties 
mutually to supplant each other in 
power, a foundation is laid for an 
entire change of policy at stated 
periods, and an alteration, as great as 
from night to day, in the opinions and 
policy of the ruling party in the same 
state at different times. 

The old policy of England— that 
policy under which, in the words of 
Macaulay, " The authority of law and 
the security of property were found ta 
be compatible with a liberty of dis- 
cussion and of individual action never 
known before ; under which form, the 
auspicious union of order and freedom^ 
sprang a prosperity of which the 
annals of human affairs had fhrnished 
no example; under which our country, 
from a state of ignominious vassalage, 
rapidly rose to the place of umpire 
among European powers; under which 
her opulence and martial glory grew 
together; under which, by wise and 
resolute fiK>od faith, was gradually 
established a public credit, fruitful of 
marvels which, to the statesmen of 
any former age, would have appeared 
incredible; under which a gigantic 



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Tht Year &f Bmaokaiom. 



10 

commeroe gave birih to a mritime 
power, ooinpared with wfakh ©very 
other maritime power, aocient or mo- 
dem, siDks into insignificance; under 
which Scotland, after ages of enmitj, 
was at length united to England, not 
merely by legal bonds, but by indis- 
solobie ties (S* interest and affectioo ; 
mider which, in Ameiica, the British 
colonies rapidly became far mightier 
and wealthier than the realms which 
Cortes and Pixarro added to the domi- 
nions of Charles V. ; under which, in 
Asia, British adventurers founded an 
empire not less splendid, and more 
dnrable, than that of Alexander,^** — 
was not the policy of any particular 
party or section of the commuaity, 
and thence its long duratkm aod un- 
exampled success. 

It was not introduced — it grew. 
Like the old constitution, of which it 
was the emanation, it arose from the 
wants and necessities of all classes of 
men during a long series of ages. It 
was first proclaimed in energetic terms 
by the vigour of Cromwell ; the cry 
of the national representatives for 
markets to native industry, of the 
merchants, for protection to their 
ships, produced the Navigation Laws, 
and laid the foundation of the colonial 
empire of England. Amidtit all his 
nuouciance and folly in the drawing- 
room of the Duchess of Portsmouth, 
and the boudoirs of the Duchess of 
Cleveland, it was steadily pursued by 
Charles U. James IL did not lose sight 
of this same system, amidst all his 
infatuation and cruelty ; when direct- 
ing the campaign of Jeffreys in the 
west, he was as steadily bent on 
upholding and extendmg the navy as 
when, amidst the thunders of war, be 
•combated de Ruyter and van Tromp 
on the coast of Holland. WiUiara IIL, 
Anne, and the Georges, pursued the 
same sjrstem. It directed the policy 
of Somers and Godolphin ; it ruled the 
diplomacy of Walpole and Chatham ; 
it guided the Measures of Bute and 
North ; it directed the genius of Pitt 
and Fox. It was for it that Marl- 
borough conquered, and Wolfe fell; 
that Blake combated, and Hawke 
destroyed; that Nelson launched the 
thunderbolt of war, and Wellingtcoi 



[Ja 



carried the British staadaid to Mad- 
rid and Paris. 

It was the pecnliar structure of the 
English constitution, during this cen- 
tury and a half of prosperity and glory, 
that produced so remariLable a unifor- 
mity in the objects of the national po- 
licy. These ol^ects were pursued alike 
by the Republicans and the Royalists; 
by the Roundheads and the Cavaliers; 
by the Whigs, during the seventy yearn 
of their rule that followed the Revo- 
lution, and the Tories, during the 
sixty yeara that succeeded the acces- 
sion oif George ILL The policy was 
that of protectitm to ail the natiomd 
mtereitiy whether kmdedy com$mercUdj 
colamaly or m t mu foctttrm^. Under this 
system they all grew and prospered, 
cuttle and abreast, in the marvelkms 
manner which the peneil of Macaulay 
has sketched in the opening of his 
History. It was bard to say whether 
agriculture, manufactures, colonies, or 
shipping throve and prospered most 
during that unique period. The 
worid had never seen anything like it 
before: it is doubtful if it will ever 
see anything like it again. Under its 
Shelter, the various interests of the em- 
pire were knit together in so close a 
manner, that theynot only all grew and 
prospered together, but it was univer- 
sally felt that their interests were 
entirely dependent on each other. The 
toast ^* The plough, the loom, and the 
sail,*' was drunk with as much en- 
thusiasm in the farmers' dub as in the 
merchant's saloon. As varied as the 
interests with whidi they were charg- 
ed, the policy of government was yet 
perfectly steady in following out one 
principle — ^the protection of the pro^ 
ductim ekueee^ whether by land or 
water, whether at home or abroad. 

The legislature represented and 
embodied all these interests, and car- 
ried out this policy. It gave them a 
stability and consistency which had 
never been seen in the world before. 
Nominally the representatives of cer- 
tain towns and counties in the British 
islands, the House of Conunoos gra- 
dually became really the representa- 
ttvee of the varied mterests of the 
whole British empire* The nomina- 
tkNi boroughs afforded an inlet alike 



• UAOAOULtE Bitter^ 1 1-2. 



Digitized by 



Goc 



1848.] 



Tk§ Ymt qf Beookaiom. 



11 



to iMtire talent and fbreiga intepeats. 
Cattop and Old Sanim, or aimilar 
«kMe borongha, afibided an entrance 
tothe legialj^afttfiiot only to the geBiBA 
of Pitt and Fo&r of Burke and Sheri- 
dan, bot to the wealth of Jamaica, 
the riMg energy of Canada, the aged 
ciyiliaation of Hindoetan. Experi- 
enced protection reconciled allinteresta 
to a government under which all pro- 
apered ; mntnal dependence made all 
aenaible of the neoeseity of common 
vnanimity. The statute-book and 
national tieatiee, fi»m the Bevolntion 
in 1688 to the dose of the war with 
Napoleon in L815, exhibit the most 
decisire pro<^ of the working of these 
▼aried, but not conflicting interests, in 
the national councils. If you con- 
template the freneral protection 
afforded to agriculture and Uie landed 
kiterest, yon would imagine the House 
of Coannons bad been entirely com- 
posed of squires. ^ If yon examine the 
innumerable enactments, fiscal and 
prohibitoiy, for the protection of 
maanfaetnres, yon would suppose it 
had been entirely under the govem- 
raent of manufacturers. If you con- 
template the steady protection inva^ 
liably giTeh to the mercantile navy, 
yon wmdd suppose it had been chiefly 
directed by shipowners. K yon cast 
your eyes on the protection constantly 
given by discriminating fiscal duties 
to colonial industry, and the vast 
efibrta made, both by sea and land, in 
the field and in the cabinet, to en- 
eonrage and extend our colonial de- 
pendencies, you would condnde, not 
«niy that they were represented, but 
that their representatives had a> ba- 
jority in the legislature. 

The reason of this prodigy was, that 
all interests had, in the course of ages, 
nnd the siloit efiects of time, worked 
their way into the legislature, and all 
enjoyed in fiur proportion a reasonable 
inflaence on government. Human 
wisdom coald no more ab anU have 
feamed such a system, than it could 
have framed the British constitution. 
By acddent, or rather the good pro- 
vidence of God, it grew up from the 
wanu of men dnring a series of gene- 
rations ; and its effeets appeared in 
this, that— except in the cases of the 
American war, where unfortunate 
circumstances prodaced a departure 
from the system ; of the Irish CeltSy 



whom it seems impractioable to amal« 
gamate with Saxon institutions ; and 
of the Scottish Highlanders, whom 
chivalrous honour for a short penod 
alienated from the established goyem- 
ment — unanimity unprecedented dur- 
ing the whole period pervaded the 
British empire. All foreign colonies 
were desirous to be admitted into the 
great protecting confederacy; the 
French and Dutch planters in secret 
prayed for the defeat of their defenders 
when the standard of St George ap« 
proaohed their shores. The Hindoos, 
with heroic constancy, alike in pro- 
sperous and adverse fortune, main- 
tained their fidelity: Canada stood 
firm during the most dangerous crisis 
of our h^ry; and the flame of 
loyalty burned as steadily on the 
banks of the St Lawrence, on the 
mountains of Jamaica, and on the 
shores of the Ganges, as in the crowded 
emporiums of London, or the smiling 
fields of Yorkshire. 

But there is a limit imposed by nature 
to all earthly things. The growth of 
empu-es is restrained, after they have 
reached a certain stature, by laws as 
certain as those which arrest that of in- 
dividuals. If a state does not find the 
causes of its ruin in foreign disaster, 
it will inevitably find it' in internal 
opinion. This arises so naturally and 
evidently from the constitution of the 
human mind, that it may be regarded 
as a fixed law of nature in all coun- 
tries where intellectual activity has 
been called forth, and as one of the 
most powerful agents in the govern- 
ment, by supreme Wisdom, of human 
afiairs. This principle is to be found 
in the tendency of original thought to 
difier firom the current opinion with 
which it is surrounded, and of party 
ambition to decry the system of those 
by whom it is exdnded from power. 

Universally it will be found that 
the greatest exertions of human intel- 
lect have been made in tinrect opposi* 
Han to the current of general opinion; 
and that public thou^^t in one age is 
in general but the echo of solitary 
meditation in that which has preceded 
it. Illustrations of this crowd on the 
reflecting mind from every period of 
bistoiy. The instances of Luther 
standing forth alone to shake down, 
Samson-like, the pillar of the corrupt- 
ed Bomlsh £uth ; of Bacon's opening. 



Digitized by VjOOQIC 



12 



The Year of Revolutions. 



[Jan. 



amid all the despotism of the Aristo- 
telian philosophy, his indactive philo- 
sophy; of Galileo maintaining the 
motion of the earth even when sur- 
rounded by the terrors of the Italian 
Inquisition ; of Copernicus asserting 
the true system of the heavens in op- 
position to the belief of two thousand 
years ; of Malthus bringing ^forward 
the paradox of the danger of human 
increase in opposition to the previous 
genend opinion of mankind ; of Vol- 
taire combating alone the giant power 
of the Roman Catholic hierarchy ; of 
Rousseau running a course against the 
whole ideas of his age — will imme- 
diately occur to every reader. Many 
of these great men adopted erroneous 
opinions, and, in consequence, did as 
much evil to their own or the next age 
as others did good ; but they were all 
characterised by one mark. Their 
opinions were original^ and directly 
adverse to public opinion around them. 
Theclose of the nineteenth century was 
no exception to the genertd principle. 
Following out those doctrines of free- 
dom from restraint of every kind, 
which in France had arisen from the 
natural resistance of men to the nu- 
merous fetters of the monarchy, and 
which had been brought forward by 
Turgot and the* Economists, in the 
boudoirs of Madame Pompadour 
and the coteries of Pans, — ^Adam 
Smith broached the principle of Free 
Trade, with the exceptions of grain 
and shipping. The first he excepted, 
because it was essential to national 
subsistence; the second, because it 
was the pillar of national defence. 
The new philosophy was ardently 
embraced by the liberal party, who, 
chagrined by long e:[ftlu8ion from 
office, were rejoiced to find a tangible 
and plausible CTonnd whereon to at- 
tack the whole existing system of 
government. From them it gradually 
AYtAfiHAri tck TiAftriv nil ftTiA ardent 

tger to 
J with 
lot yet 
to the 
t was 
ry and 
>n false 
rfgov- 
)mwell 
ics, in 
icy, in 



the colonies, in war, in peace, at home 
and abroad, we bad been running 
blindfold to destruction. True, we had 
become great, and glorious, and free 
under this abominable system; true, 
it had been accompanied by a growth 
of national strength, and an amount 
of national happiness, unparalleled in 
any former age or country; but that 
was all by accident. Philosophy had 
marked it with the sign of reproba- 
tion — prosperity had poured upon us 
by chance in the midst of universal 
misgovemment. By all the rules of 
calculation we should have been de- 
stroyed, though, strange to say, no 
symptoms of destruction had yet 
appeared amongst us. According to 
every principle of phUosophy, the 
patient should long ago have been 
dead of the mortal disease under which 
he laboured : the only provoking 
thing was, that he was still walking 
about in robust and florid health. 

Circumstances occurred at the same 
time, early in this centuiy, which had 
the most powerful effect m exasperat- 
ing the Opposition party thronghout 
the country, and inducing them to 
embrace, universally and ardently, the 
new philosophy, which condemned in 
such unmeasured terms the whole sys- 
tem of government pursued by their 
antagonists. For half a century, since 
the long dominion of the Whigs was 
terminated in 1761 by George III., 
the Tories had been, with the excep- 
tion of a few months, constantly in 
office. Though their system of gov- 
ernment in religion, in social affairs, 
in foreign relations, was nothing but 
a continuation of that which the Whigs 
had introduced, and according to which 
the government bad been conducted 
from 1688 to 1760, yet, in the ardour 
of their zeal for the overthrow of their 
adversaries, the liberal party embraced 
on eveiT point the opposite side. The 
descendants of Lord Russel became 
the advocates of Roman Catholio 
emancipation ; the followers of Marl- 
borough and Godolphin, the partisans 
of submission to France ; the succes- 
sors of Walpole and Chatham, the 
advocates of fte% trade and colonial 
neglect. These feelings, embraced 
from the influence of a determination 
to find fault with government in every 
particular, were worked up to the 
highest pitch by the glorious result ofi 



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1849.] 



The Year of BevokUians. 



tlie If ar with France, and the appar- 
ently interminable lease of power ac- 
qaiied by their adversaries from the 
ovwrthrow of Napoleon. That memo* 
rable event, so opposite to that which 
they had all so long in public predict- 
ed, so entirely the reverse of that 
whidi many had in secret wished, 
prodaced a profonnd impression on 
the Whig party. Their feelings were 
only the more acute, that, amidst the 
tumult of national exultation, they 
were forced to suppress them, and to 
wear the countenance of satisfaction, 
when the bitterness of disappointment 
was in their hearts. To the extreme 
asperity of these feelings, and the uni- 
versal twist which they gave to the 
minds of the whole libend party in 
Great Britain, the subsequent general 
change in their political principles 
is to be ascribed; and,inthe practical 
appUcation of these principles, the 
real cause of our present distressed 
condition is to be found. 

While one set of causes thus pre- 
pared, in the triumph of Conservative 
and protective principles, the strongest 
possible reaction against them, and 
prt^nosticated, at no distant period, 
their general banishment from popular 
thou^t, another, and a not less power- 
ful set, flowing from the same cause, 
gave these principles the means of 
acquiring a political supremacy, and 
nding the government of the state. 
The old policy of England, it has been 
already observed, for a hundred and 
fifty years, had been to take care of the 
producers, and let the consumers take 
care of themselves. Such had been 
the effects of this protective policy, 
that, before the dose of theRevolution- 
ary war, during which it received its 
full development, theproducingdasses, 
both in town and country, had become 
80 rich and powerful, that it was easy 
to see they would ere long give a 
peponderance to urban over rural 
industrv. The vast flood of agricul- 
tural riches poured for expenditure 
into towns; that of the manufacturers 
and merchants sddom left it. The 
great numufacturing and mercantile 
places, during a century, had advanced 
in population tenfold, in wealth thirty- 
fold. The result of this change was 
very curious, and in the highest degree 
Important. Under the shadow of pro- 
^ecHoH to industiy in all its branches, 



13 

riches, both in town and country, had 
increased so prodigiously, that the 
holders of it had acquired a prepon- 
derance over the dosses m Me state 
yet engaged in the toilsome and haz' 
ardous worh of production. The own- 
ers of realised capital had become so 
numerous and wdghty, from the bene- 
fldal effects of the protective system 
under which the country had so long 
flourished, that they formed an impor- 
tant class apart^ which began to look 
to its separate interests. The con- 
sumers had become so numerous and 
affluent, that they were enabled to 
bid defiance to the producers. The 
maxim became prevalent, *^ Take care 
of the consumer, and let the producer 
take care of himself." Thence the 
damour for free trade. Having passed 
the labour of production, during which 
they, or their fathers, had strenuously 
supported the protective prindples, by 
which they were making their money, 
the next thing was to support the 
opposite principles, by which the value 
of the made money might be augmented. 
This was to be done by free tirade and 
a contracted currency. Having made 
millions by protection, the object now 
was to add a half to every million 
by raising its value. The way to 
do this seemed to be by cheapening 
the price of every other article, ana 
raising the price of money : in other 
words, the system of cheapening 
everything without reference to its 
effect on uie interests of production. 

Parliamentary reform, for which 
the Whigs, disappointed by long 
exdusion from office, laboured strenu- 
ously, in conjunction with the com- 
mercUl and moneyed dasses, enriched 
by protection, gave them the means of 
carrying both objects into execution, 
because it made two-thirds of the 
House of Commons the representa- 
tives of burghs. The cry of cheap 
bread was seductive to all classes in 
towns : — to the employer, because it 
opened the prospect of reducing the 
price of labour, and to the operative, 
because it presents that of lowering that 
of provisions. To these two objects, 
accordingly, of raising the value of 
money and lowering the remunera- 
tion of industry, the Reform parlia- 
ment, the organ of the moneyed in- 
terest and consuming classes, has, 
through all the changes of party, been 



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14 



Tht x4Mr o^ UnointtoM* 



Urn 



perfectly steady. It is so wonder it 
hM been so, for it wm the first-bom 
of those Interests. Twenty yemrs be- 
fbre t^ cry for feform coniralsed tbe 
iwtion — in 1610 — the Ballion Com- 
mittee brought forward the prineiple of 
a metallic, and, consequently, a con- 
tracted cnrrency ; and they recommend- 
ed its adoption in the very crisis of the 
war, when Wellington lay at Torres 
Vedras, and when the monetary crisis 
to which it must ha^e led wonld have 
made ns a province of France. Re- 
form was the consequence of the 
change in the cnrrency, not its cause. 
The whole time from 1819 te 1831, 
with the exception of 18^ and 1825, 
was one uninterrupted period of suffer- 
ing. Such was the misery it produced 
that the minds of men were prepared 
Ibr any change. A chaos of una- 
nimity was produced by a chaos of 
suffering. 

Thus, by a shdgular and most inte- 
resting chain of causes and efiects, it 
was the triumph of Consenrattye and 
protective principles in the latter years 
of the war, and the entire demonstra- 
tion thus afforded of their justice and 
expedience, which was the imme- 
diate cause of their subsequent aban- 
donment, and all the misery which 
has thence arisen, and with which we 
are still everywhere surrounded. For 
it at once turned all the intellectual 
energies of the great liberal party to 
oppose, in every particular, the system 
by which their opponents had been 
glorified, and concentrated all the 
energies of the now powerful moneyed 
classes to swell, by a change of policy, 
the fortunes on which their conse- 
quence depended, and which had 
arisen from the long prevalence <^ the 
opposite system. For such is the ten- 
dency to action and reaction, in all 
vigorous and Intellectual communities, 
that truth itself is for long no security 
against their occurrence. On the con- 
trary, so vehement are the passions 
excited by a great and lasting triumph 
of one party, even though in the right, 
that the victory of truth, whether in 
politics or religion, is often the imme- 
diate cause of the subsequent triumph 
of error. The great Roman Catho- 
lic reaction a^tinst the Reforma- 
tion, which Ranke has so clearly 
elucidated, and Macaulay has so 
powerfully illustrated, has its exact 



counterpart in the great political re- 
action of the Whig party, of whidi 
Macauh^ is himself the brightest or- 
nament. 

That tills is 'Mm trm explanation 
ai the strange and tortnouspolicy , both 
in domestic and foreign Affairs, under 
which the nation has so long suffered, 
is apparent on the slightest survey of 
political affsirs in the last and present 
century. 

The old principle <rfthe English con- 
stitution, which had worked itself into 
existence, or grown up from the neces- 
sities of men, during a long course of 
years, was, that the whole interestfofthe 
state should berepresented,and that the 
House of Commons- was the assembly 
in which the representatives of all 
those varied interests were to be found. 
For tiie admission of these varied 
interesto, a varied system of electoral 
qualifications, admitting all interests, 
noUe, mercantile, industrial, popu- 
lar, landed, and colonial, was indis- 
pensable. In the old House of Com- 
mons, all these classes found a 
place for ihdr representatives, and 
thence the commerdal protection it 
afibrded to industry. According to 
the new ^tem, a vast minority of 
seats was to be allotted to one cAu» 
onfy^ the householders and shopkeep- 
ers of towns. That class was the 
moneyed and consuming dass; and 
thence the whc^Bubeequent course of 
British policy, which has been to 
sacrifice everything to Uieir inte- 
rests. 

The old maxim of government, alike 
with Whigs and Tories, was, that 
native industry of all sorts, and espe- 
cially agricultural industry, was to 
be protested, and that foreign com- 
petition was to be admitted only in 
so far as was not inconsistent with this 
primary object. The new philosophy 
taught, and the modem liberals carried 
into execution, a different principle* 
Tliey went on the maxim that the inte- 
rests of the consumers alone were to be 
considered : that to cheapen everything^ 
was the great object; and that it 
mattered not how severely the pro- 
ducers of articles suffered, provided 
those who purchased them were en- 
abled to do so at a reduced rate. This 
policy, long lauded in abstract writings 
and reviews, was at length carried 
into execution by Sir R. Peel, by the 



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1649.] 



Tke Ynr ^ Rmftfhiiiom. 



15 



tariff of 1842 and tiiefree-lnde BMa- 
•am of 1846. 

To Dfotoct and extmi mr eolonial 
dependendea was the great object of 
British poUej, alika with Whigs and 
Tories, firooi the time of Crsmweli to 
the fall of Napoleon. In them, it was 
thought oor mamdhctnrers would find 
a lasting and rapkUj increasing mar- 
ket for their prodnee, which woold, in 
the eDd, enable as eqnallj to defy the 
hostility, and withstand the rivalry 
of foreign states. The new school 
held that this was an antiquated pre-> 
Jndioe: that colonies were a barden 
rather than a blessing to the mother 
ooontry : that the independence of 
America was the greatest blessing 
that ever befell Great Britain ; and 
that, provided we could bnj colonial 
prodtnee a little cheaper, it signified 
Bothing though our colonies perish- 
ed by the want of remuneration for 
their industry, or were led to revolt 
from exasperation at the cruel and un« 
natural conduct of themother country. 

Tlie navy was regarded by all our 
statesmen, without excepticm, fit>m 
Cromwdl to Pitt, as the main security 
of the British empire ; its bulwark in 
war ; the bridge which united its far- 
distant provinces during peace. To 
feed it With skilled seamen, the Navi- 
ffation Laws w«re upheld even by 
Adam Smith and the fiorst free-traders, 
as the wisest enactmrats which were 
to be found in the British sUtute* 
book. But h^e, too, it was discovered 
that our ancestors had been in error ; 
the system uder which had flourished 
for two centuries the greatest naval 
power that ever existed, was found to 
have been an entire mistake ; and pro- 
vided freigfatscould be had ten per cent 
cheaper, it was of no consequence 
though the fleets of France and Russia 
blockaded the Thames and Mersey, 
and two-thirdsof our trade was carried 
on in foreign bottoms. 

To provide a ourrenot equal to 
the wants of the nation, and capable 
of growth in i»x)portion to the 
amount of their numbers and trans- 
actions, was one main object of the 
old policv of Great Britain. Thence 
the establishment of banks in such 
numbers in every part of the empire 
during the eighteenth century, and 
the introduction of the suspension of 
the obligation to pay in gold in 1797, 



when the necessities of war had 
drained neariy all that part of the 
currency out of the country, and it 
was evident that, unless a rabstitnte 
for it in sufficient quantities was pro- 
vided, the nation itself, and all the 
iadividQals in it, would speedily be- 
come bankrupt. The marvds of 
British fiaanee from that time till 
1815, which excited the deserved 
astonishment of the whole world, had 
no efkct in convincing the impas- 
sioned opponents of Mr Pitt, that this 
was the true system adapted for that 
or any similar crisis. On the con- 
trary, it left no doubt in their minds 
that it was entirely wrong. The 
whole philosophers and Mb^ral sdnxd 
of politicians discovered that the very 
opposite was the right principle ; 
that gold, the most vauriable in price 
and evanescent, because the most 
desired and portable of earthly 
things, was the only safe foundation 
for a currency ; that paper was worth- 
less and perilous, unless in so far as 
it could be instantly converted into 
that incomparable metal ; and that, 
consequently, the more the precious 
metals were withdrawn from the 
country, hj the necessities of war or 
the effects of adverse exchanges, the 
more the paper circulation should be 
contracted. If the last sovereign 
went out, they held it clear the last 
note should be drawn in. The new 
system was brought into practice 
by Sir R. Peel, by the acts of 1844 
and 1845, simultaneously with a vast 
importation of grain under the free- 
trade system — and we know the con- 
sequence. We were speedily near 
our last sovereign and last note also. 
To establish a sinking fund, which 
should secure to the nation during 
peace the means of discharging the 
debt contracted amidst the neces- 
sities of war, was one of the greatest 
objects of the old English policy, 
which was supported with equal 
earnestness by Mr Pitt and Mr Fox, 
by Mr Addington and Lord Henry 
Petty. So stetuiily was this admirable 
system adhered to through all the 
dangers and necessities of the war, 
that we had a clear sinking fond of 
£15,000,000 a-year, when the contest 
terminated in 1815, which, if kept up 
at that amount, from the indirect taxes 
from which it was levied during peace, 



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The Year of RevohOions. 



[Jan. 



would, beyond all qnestlon, as the 
loans had ceased, have discharged 
the whole debt by the year 1845. 
Bot the liberals soon discovered that 
this was the greatest of all errors : 
it was all a delusion ; the mathemati- 
cal demonstration, on which it was 
founded, was a fallacy ; and the only 
wisdom was to repeal the indirect 
taxes, from which the sinldng fund 
was maintained, and leave posterity 
to dispose of the debt as they best 
could, without any fund for its dis- 
charge. This system was gradually 
carried into effect by the successive 
repeal of the indirect taxes by dif- 
ferent administrations ; until at length, 
i^ter thirty-three years of peace, we 
have, instead of the surplus of fifteen 
millions bequeathed to us by the war, 
an average deficit of fifteen hundred 
thousand pounds ; and the debt, after 
the longest peace recorded in British 
history, has undergone scarcely any 
diminution. 

Indirect taxation was the main 
basis of the British finance in old 
times — equally when directed by the 
Whigs as the Tories. Direct taxes 
were a last and painful resource, to 
be reserved for a period during war, 
when it had become absolutely un- 
avoidable. So efficacious was this 
system proved to be by the event, 
when acting on a nation enjoying pro- 
tected industry, and an adequate and 
irremovable currency, that, before 
the end of the war, £72,000,000 was, 
amidst universal prosperity, with ease 
raised from eighteen millions of people 
in Great Britain and Ireland. This 
astonishing result, unparalleled in the 
previous history of the world, had no 
influence in convincing the modem 
liberals that the system which pro- 
duced it was right. On the contrary, 
it left no doubt in their minds that it 
was entirely wrong. They introduced 
the opposite system : in twenty-five 
years, they repealed £40,000,000 of 
indirect taxes ; and they reintroduced 
the income tax as a permanent bur- 
den during peace. We see the result. 
The sinkmg fund has disappeared; 
the income tax is fixed about our 
necks; a deficit of from a million and 
a half to two millions annually incur- 
red ; and it is now more difficult to 
extract fifty- two millions annually 
from twenty-nine millions of souls, 



than, at the close of the war, it was 
to raise seventy-two millions from 
eighteen milh'ons of inhabitants. 

To discourage revolution, both 
abroad and at home, and enable in- 
dustry, in peace and tranquillity, to 
reap the fruits of its toil, was the 
grand object of the great contest 
which Pitt*s wisdom l^ueathed to 
his successors, and Wellington's arm 
brought to a glorious termination. 
This, however, was erelong discovered 
to be the greatest error of alL Eng- 
land, it was found out, had a decided 
interest in promoting the canse of 
revolution all over the world. So 
enamoured did we soon become of the 
propagandist mania, that we pursued 
It in direct opposition to our planned 
national interests, and with the entire 
abrogation of our whole previous 
policy, for which we had engaged in 
the greatest and most costly wars, 
alike under Whig and Tory adminis- 
trations. We supported revolutions 
in the South American states, though 
thereby we reduced to a half of its 
former amount the supply of the pre- 
cious metals throughout the globe; 
and, in consequ^ence, increased im- 
mensely the embarrassment which a 
contracted psper currency had brought 
upon the nation : we supported revo- 
lution in Belgium, though thereby we 
brought the tricolor standard down to 
Antwerp, and surrendered to French 
influence the barrier fortresses won by 
the victories of Marlborough and 
Wellington : we supported it during 
four years of carnage and atrocity in 
Spain, though therebv we undid the 
work of our own hands, in the treaty 
of Utrecht, surrendered the whole 
objects gained by the War of the Suc- 
cession, and placed the female lineupon 
the throne, as if to invite the French 
princes to come and carry off the glit- 
tering prize : we supported revolutions 
in Sicily and Italy, though thereby 
we gave such a blow to our export 
trade, that it sank £1,400,000 in the 
single month of last May, and above 
£5,000,000 in the course of the year 
1848. 

To abolish the slave trade was one 
of the objects which Whigs and Tories 
had most at heart in the latter years 
of the old system ; and in that great 
and glorious contest Mr Pitt, Mr Fox, 
and Mr Wilberforce stood side by side. 



il 



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1849.] 



The Year of Revolutions. 



17 



Bat this object, so important in its 
resolts, so interesting to hamanity 
from its tendency to alleviate bnman 
snflbring, ere long yielded to the 
enlightened views of modem liberals. 
It was discovered that it was much 
more important to cheapen sugar for 
a iime^ than to rescue the African 
race from perdition. Free trade in 
sogar was introduced, although it 
was demonstrated, and, indeed, con- 
fessed, that the effect of it would be 
to min all the free-labour colonies, and 
throw the supply of the world into the 
hands of the slave states. Provided, 
for a few years, you succeeded in 
reducing the average retail price of 
sngar a penny a pound, it was deemed 
of no consequence though we extin- 
gnished the growth of free-labour 
sngar— destroyed colonies in which 
a hundred millions of British capital 
were invested, and doubled the 
slave trade in extent, and quadrupled 
it in horror, throughout the globe. 

It had been the constant policy of 
the British government, under all 
administrations, for above a century 
and a half, to endeavour to reclaim the 
Irish population by introducing among 
them colonies of English who might 
teach them industry, and Protestant 
missionaries who might reclaim them 
from barbarism. The Irish landlords 
and boroughs were the outposts of 
civilisation among a race of savages ; 
the Irish Church the station of Christi- 
ani^ amidst the darkness of Romish 
slavery. So effectual was this system, 
and so perfectly adapted to the cha- 
racter of the Celtic race— capable of 
great things when led by others, but 
utterly unfit for self-government, and 
incapable of improvement when left to 
itself, — that even in the ruthless hands 
of Cromwell, yet reeking, with the 
slaughter of stormed cities, it soon 



spread a degree of prosperity through 
the country then unknown, and rarely 
if ever since equalled in that ill-starred 
land.f But the experience of the 
utter futility of all attempts, during a 
century and a half, to leave the native 
Irish Celts to themselves or their own 
direction, had no effect whatever in 
convincing our modem liberals that 
they were incapable of self-direction, 
and would only be ruined by Saxon 
institutions. On the contrary, it left 
no doubt in their minds that the absence 
of self-government was the sole cause 
of the wretchedness of the country, 
and that nothing was wanting but an 
entire participation in the privileges 
of British subjects, to render them as 
industrious, prosperous, and loyal as 
the yeomen of Kent or Surrey. I n pur- 
suance of those principles. Catholic 
Emancipation was granted: the Whigs 
had effected one revolution in 1688, by 
coalescing with the whole Tories to 
exclude the Catholics from the govern- 
ment; they brought about another 
revolution, in 1829, by coalescing with 
a section of the Tories to bring them 
in. In furtherance of the new system, 
so plausible in theory, so dangerous in 
practice, of extending to all men, of 
all races, and in all stages of political 
advancement, the same privileges, the 
liberals successively gave the Irish 
the command of their boroughs, the 
abridgment of the Protestant Church, 
and the abolition of tithes as a burden 
on the tenant. They encouraged 
agitation, allowed treason to be openly 
spoken in every part of the country,, 
and winked at monster meetings, till 
the community was welinigh thrown 
into convulsions. Meanwhile, agri- 
culture was neglected — industry dis- 
appeared—capital was scared away. 
The land was run out, and became 
unfit for anything but lazy-beds of 



* Observe, /or a time I We shall see anon what the price of sugar will be when 
the KngliBh colonies are destroyed and the slave plantations have the monopoly of 
the mariiet in their hands. 

f ** Cromwell supplied the void made by his conquering sword, by pouring in 
numerous colonies of the Anglo-^axon blood and of the Calvinistic faith. Strange to 
nay, under that iron rule the conquered country began to wear an outward face of 
prosperity. Districts, which had recently been as wild as those where the first white 
settlers of Connecticut were contending with the Red Men, were in a few yean trofu- 
formed ijUo the likenesi of Kent and Norfolk, New buildings, roads, and plantations 
were everywhere begun. The rent of estates rose &8t : and some of the English 
landowners began to complain that they were met in every market by the products 
of Ireland, and to damour for protecting laws." — Maoaulat's Bittory, i., 180. 



VOL. IJCV. — ^NO. CCCXCIX. 



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TSe YtarofRfOfoluiiaiu. 



[JaiL 



potatoes. The people became agita- 
tors, not cnltiTators: thej were always 
ranning about to meetings — not fre- 
qnenting fairs. The potato-blight fell 
on a country thus prepared for min, 
and tiie nnparalieled misery of 1847, 
and the rebellion of 1848, were the 
consequence. 

It would be easy to carry these il- 
Instrations farther, and to trace the 
working of the principles we have 
mentioned throngb the whole modern 
system of government in Great Britain. 
Enough has been said to show that 
the system is neither founded on the 
principles contended for by the old 
Whigs, nor on any appreciation of, 
or attention to, the nati<Hial interests, 
or the dictates of experienoe in any 
respect. It has arisen entirely from 
a blind desire of change, and an opposi- 
tion to the old system of government, 
whether of Whig or Tory origin, and 
a selfish thirst for aggrandisement on 
the part of the moneyed and commerdai 
classes, whom that system had ele- 
vated to riches and power. Experi- 
ence was not disregarded by this 
school of politicians ; on the contrary, 
it was sedulously attended to, its 
lessons carefully marked. But It was 
considered as a beacon to be avoided, 
not a light to be fc^owed. Agunst 
its conclusions the whole wei^t of 
declamation and shafts of irony were 
directed. It had been the cri de 
fmerre of their enemies, the standard of 
Mr Pittas policy ; therefore the oppo- 
site system was to be inscribed on their 
banners. It was the ruling principle of 
their political opponents ; and, worst of 
all, it was the system which, though it 
had raised the country to power and 
greatness, had for twenty years ex-^ 
clndedthemselvesfTom power, llienoe 
the modem system, under whidi the 
nation has suffered, and is suffering, 
such incalculable misfortunes. It has 
been said, by an enlightened Whig of 
the old school, that *' this age appears 
to be one in which every concewable 
folly must be believed and reduced to 
practice before it is abandoned." It 
is really so ; and the reason is, it is an 
age in whidi the former system of 
government, founded on experience 
and brought about by necessity, has 
been supplanted by one based on a 
^stematic and invariable detennina- 
tion to change the oldaystem la eveiy 



particular. The liberals, whether 
^Mstious or moneyed, of the new 8cho<^ 
flattered themselves they were making 
great advances in poUtical science, 
when they were merely yidding to 
the same spirit which made the Cal- 
viniste stand up when they prayed, 
because all the world before them had 
knelt down, and sit still during psalms^ 
because the Boman Catholics had 
stood up. 

But trnth is great, and will prevail; 
experience is its test, and is perpetu- 
ally contradicting the theories of man. 
The year 1848 has been no exception 
to the maxims of Tacitas and Burke. 
Dreadful indeed in suffering, appall- 
ing in form, are the lessons whioh 
it has read to mankind I Ten months 
have not elapsed, since, by a well- con- 
certed urban tumult, seconded by the 
treachery of the national guard, the 
throne of the Barricades was over- 
turned in France — and what do we 
already see on the continent of 
Europe? Vienna petitioning for a 
continuation of the state of siege, as 
the only security against the tyranny 
of democracy: BerlUi hailing with rap- 
ture the dissolution of the Assembly, 
and reappearance of the king in the 
capital : Milan restored to the sway of 
the Austrians : France seeking, in the 
guati imperial crown of Prince Louis 
Napoleon, with 90,000 soldiers in its 
capital, a refuge from the insupport- 
able evils of a democratic republic. 
The year 1848 has added another to 
the numerous proofs which history 
affords, that popular convulsions, from 
whatever cause arising, can terminate 
onlyintherule of the sword ; but it has 
taught two other lessons of incalculable 
importance to the present and future 
tranquillity of mankind. These are, 
that soldiers who in civil convulsions 
fraternise with the insurgents, and 
violate their oaths, are the worst ene- 
mies of the people, for they inevitably 
induce a mUitary despotism, which 
extinguishes all hopes of freedom. 
The other is, that the institution of a 
national guutl is in troubled times of 
all others the most absurd ; and that> 
to put arms into the hands of the 
people, when warmed by revolutionaiy 
passions, is only to light the torch of 
civil discord with your own hand, and 
hand over the conntiy to anarchji 
minf and ilavery. 



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Id49.] TUY&arijf 

Nor has the year been less frait- 
fal of dyil premonitions or lessons 
of the last importance to the fatore 
tranqnillity and prosperity of Great 
Britaui. Nnmerons popular delnsiiHis 
have been diq;)eUed daring that period. 
The dreams of Irish independence 
have been broken ; English Chartism 
has been crushed. The revolution- 
iits 6ee that the people of Great Britain 
are not disposed to yield their property 
to the spoiler, theur throats to the mor- 
derer, their homes to the incendiary. 
Ymb trade and afettered currency have 
brosght forth their natural fruits — 
natJJMial embarrassment, general suf- 
^Biing, popular misery. One half of 
the wealth of our manufacturing towns 
has been destroyed since the new sys- 



19 

tern began. Two years of free trade 
and a contracted currency have un- 
done nearly all that twenty years of 
protection and a sufficient currency 
had done. The great mercantile class 
have suffered so dreadfolly under the 
^fect of their own measores, that their 
power for good or for evil has been 
essentially abridged. The colossus 
which, for a quarter of a century, has 
bestrode the nation, has been shaken 
by the earthquake which itself had 
I»«paied. Abroad and at home, in 
peace and in war, delusion has brought 
forth suffering. The year of revolu- 
tions has been the Ninth of Thbr- 

MIDOB, OF TJBERAL PRINCIPLSS, for 

it has brought them to the test of 
e^erienoe. 



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French Conquerors and Colonists, 



[Jan. 



FRENCH CONQUERORS AND COLONISTS. 



The extraordinary deficiency re- 
cently exhibited by a great Continen- 
tal nation In two qualities eminently 
prized by Englishmen — in common 
consistency, namely, and in common 
sense — ^has cast into the shade all pre- 
yioos shortcomings of the kind, mak- 
ing them appear remote and triviaL 
A people of serfs, ruled for centuries 
with an uron rod, pillaged for theur 
masters^ profit, and lashed at the 
slightest murmur, were excusable if, 
on sudden emancipation from such 
galling thraldom, their joyfal gambols 
exceeded the limits prescribed by pub- 
lic decorum, and by a due regaM to 
their own future prosperity. They 
might be forgiven for dancmg round 
maypoles, and dreaming of social per- 
fection. It would not be wonderful 
if they had difSculty in immediately 
replacing their expelled tyrants by a 
capable and stable government, and 
if their brief exhilaration were suc- 
ceeded by a period of disorganisation 
and weakness. Such allowances can- 
not be made for the mad capers of 
republican France. The deliverance 
is inadequate to account for the en- 
suing delirium. The grievances swept 
away by the February revolution, and 
which patience, prudence, and mode- 
ration, could not have failed ultimate- 
ly to remove — as thoroughly, if less . 
rapidly — were not so terrible as to jus- 
tify lunacy upon redress. Neverthe- 
less, since then, the absurdities com- 
mitted by France, or at least by Paris, 
are scarcely explicable save on the 
supposition of temporary aberration 
of intellect. Unimaginative persons 
have difSculty in reaUsing the panor- 
ama of events, alternately sanguin- 
ary and grotesque, lamentable and 
ludicrous, spread over the last ten 
months. Europe — the portion of 
it, that is to say, which has not been 
bitten by the same rabid and mis- 
chievous demon — has looked on, in 
utter astonishment, at the painful 
spectacle of a leader of its civilisation 

galloping, with Folly on its crupper, 



after mad theories and empty names, 
and riding down, in the furious chase, 
its own prosperity and respecta- 
bility. 

We repeat, then, that these great 
follies of to-day eclipse the minor ones 
of yesterday. When we see France 
destroying, in a few weeks, her com- 
merce and her credit, and doing her- 
self more harm than as many years 
will repair, we overlook the fact, that 
for upwards of fifteen years she has 
annually squandered from three to ^ve 
millions sterling upon an unproduc- 
tive colony in North Africa. France 
used not to be petty in her wars, or 
paltry in her enterprises. If she was 
sometimes quarrelsome and aggres- 
sive, she was wont at least to fksten 
on foes worthy of her power and re- 
sources. Since 1830 she has dero- 
gated in this particular. A complica- 
tion of causes — the most prominent 
being the vanity characteristic of 
the nation, the crooked policy of 
the sovereign, and the morbid love of 
fighting bequeathed by the warlike 
period of the Empure — has kept France 
engaged in a costly and discreditable 
contest, whose most triumphant re- 
sults could be but inglorious, and in 
which she has decimated her best 
troops, and deteriorated her ancient 
fame, whilst pursuing, with unworthy 
ferocity and ruthlessness, a feeble and 
inoffensive foe. This is no partial or 
malicious view of the character of the 
Algerine war. Deliberately, and after 
due reflection, we repeat, that France 
has gravely compromised in Africa 
her reputation as a chivalrous and 
clement nation, and that she no 
longer can claim — as once she was 
wont to do — to be as humane in vic- 
tory as she is valiant in the fight. 
For proof of this we need seek no 
further than in the speeches and 
despatches of French generals, of men 
who themselves ,have served and 
commanded in Africa. We will judge 
France by the voices of her own sons, 
of those she has selected as worthiest 



A Campaign »» the KahyUc By Dawson Borreb, F.R.G.S., &o. London, 1848. 

La Kahylie. Par un Colon. Paris, 1846. 

La CaptiviU du Trompette Mtcoffier. Par Erivkst Alby. 2 volf. BrusselB, 1848. 



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1849.] 



French Conqwrors and Colonists. 



to govern her half-conqaered colony, 
and to marshal her legions against a 
handfhl of Arabs. More than one of 
these officers testify, voluntarily or 
unwittingly, to the barbarity of the 
system porsned in Africa. What 
.said Greneral Castellane, in his well- 
known speech in the Chamber of 
Peers, on the 4th July 1845 ? " We 
have reduced the country by an 
arsenal of axes and phosphorus 
matches. The trees were cut down, 
the crops were burned, and soon the 
mastery was obtained of a population 
reduced to famine and despair." And 
elsewhere in the same speech : " Few 
soldiers perish by the hand of the 
enemy in this war — a sort of mcm-hunt 
on a large scale, in which the Arabs, 
ignorant of European tactics, having 
no cannon-balls to exchange against 
ours, do not fight with equal arms." 
Monsieur A. Desjobert, long a deputy 
for the department of the Lower Seine, 
is the author of a volume, and of seve- 
ral pamphlets, upon the Algerine ques- 
tion. In the most recent of these we 
find the following remarkable note : — 
*' In February 1^7, General Bngeaud 
said to the Arabs, 'Tou shall not 
plough, you shall not sow, nor lead 
your cattle to the pasture, without 
our permission.' Later, he gives the 
following definition of a razzia : ^ A 
sudden irruption, having for its object 
to surprise the tribes, in order to kill 
the men, and to carry off the women, 
children, and cattle.' In 1844, he 
completes this theory, by saying to 
the Kabyles, 'I will penetrate into 
your mountains, I will bum your 
villages and your crops, I will cut 
down your fruit- trees.' (Proclamation 
of the SOth March.) In 1846, ren- 
dering an account of his operations 
against Abd-el-Kader, he says to the 
authorities of Algiers, ^The power 
of Abd-el-Kader consists in the re- 
sources of the tribes ; hence, to ruin 
his- power, we must first ruin the 
Arabs; therefore have we burned 
much, destroyed much.' (From the 
AAhbarnewvpvper of February 1846.)" 
These are significant passages in the 
month of a general- in-chief. Pre- 
sently, when we come to details, we 
shall show they were not thrown 
away upon his suboi-dinates. The 
^extermination of the Arabs was al- 
ways the real aim of Marshal Bugeaud; 



21 

he took little pains to doak his system, 
and is too great a blunderer to have 
succeeded, had he taken more. A 
man of greater presumption than 
capacity, his audacity, obstinacy, and 
unscrupulousness knew no bounds. 
Before this African man-kunt, as M. 
Castellane calls it, he was unknown, 
except as the Duchess de Berry's 
jailer, as the slayer of poor Dnlong, 
and as a turbulent debater, whose 
noisy declamation, and occasional of- 
fences against the French language, 
were a standing joke with the news- 
papers. A few years elapse, and we 
find him opposing his stubborn will to 
thatof Sonlt, then minister at war, and 
successfully thwarting Napoleon's old 
lieutenant. This he was enabled tO' 
do mainly by the position he had 
made himself in Africa. He had 
ridden into power and importance on 
the shoulders of the persecuted Arabs, 
by a system of razzias and village- 
burning, of wholesale slaughter and 
relentless oppression. Brighter far 
were the laurels gathered by Uie lieute- 
nant of the Empire, than those plucked 
by Louis Philippe's marshal amidst 
the ashes of Bedouin donars and the 
corpses of miserable Mussulmans, slain 
in defence of their scanty birthright, 
of their tents, their flocks, and the 
free range of the desert. Poor was 
the defence thev could make against 
their skilfid ana disciplined invfuiers ; 
slight the loss they could inflict in 
requital of the heavy one they suf- 
fered. Again we are obliged to M. 
Desjobert for statistics, gathered from 
reports to the Commission of Credits, 
and from Marshal Bugeaud's own 
bulletins. From these we learn that 
the loss in battle of the French armies, 
during the first ten years of the occu- 
pation of Algeria, was an average of 
one hundred and forty men per 
annum. In the four following years, 
eight hundred and eighty-five men 
perished. The capture of Constantino 
cost one hundr^ men, the much- 
vaunted affair of the Sroala nine, the 
battle of Isly twenty-seven ! We 
well remember, for we chanced to be 
in Paris at the time, the stir produced 
in that excitable capital by the battle 
of Isly. No one, unacouainted with 
the facts, would have doubted that 
the victory was over a most valiant 
and formidable foe. People's mouths 



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22 



French Cmqueror$ and Cohnists, 



[Jan. 



were filled with this revival of the 
military glories of Gaol. Newspapers 
and picture-shops, poets and paktera, 
combined to cdebrate the exploit and 
sound the ytctors* praise. One en- 
graying de circonstcmee, we rememb^, 
represented a stnrdj French fool- 
soldier, trami^g, Uke Gnlliver, a 
host of LilliiHttian Moors, and car- 
rying a score of them over his shonkler, 
spitted on his bayonet. " Oat of my 
way!" was the inscription beneath 
the print — " Les Fran^m seront Urn- 
Jours Us Fran^aisy Horace Vemet, 
colonrist, by special appointment, to 
the African campaign, pictorial chro- 
nicler of the heroic feats of the honse 
militant of Orleans, prepared his beet 
brushes, and stretched his broadest 
canvass, to immortalise the marshal 
and his men. After a few days, two 
dingy tents and an enormons nmbrella 
were exhibited in the gardens of the 
Tnileries ; these were trophies of the 
light — ^the private property of Mo- 
hammed - Abderrhaman, the van- 
qnished prince of Morocco, the real 
merit of whose conqnerors was about 
as great as that of an active tiger 
who gloriously scatters a nnmerons 
flock of sheep. From one of several 
boohs relating to Algeria, now upon 
our table, we will take a French 
officer's acconni of the affair of Isly. 
The story of Escoffier, a tmmpeter 
who ^neronsly resigned his horse to 
his dismonnted captain, himself fall- 
ing into the hands of the Arabs, whose 
prisoner he remained for about eigh- 
teen months, is told by M. Alby, an 
officer of the African army. Althongh 
a little vivk) in the colouring, and 
comprising two or three very tough 
" yams," — due, we apprehend, to the 
imagination of trumpeter or author- 
its historical portion professes to be, 
and probably is, correct; and, at any 
rate, there can be no reason for sus- 
pecting the writer of depreciating his 
conntrymen*s achievements, and un- 
derstating their merits. The account 
of the battle, or rather of the chase, 
for fighting there was none, is given 
by a deserter fh>m the Spahis, who. 



after the defeat of the Moors, jdned 
Abd-el-Kader. Tlie Emir and his 
Arabs took no part in the affair. 

" I deserted, with several of my 
comrades, during the night-mavdi 
stolen by the French upon the Moors. 
We sought the emperor*s son in his 
camp, and informed him of the move- 
ment making by the French column. 
The emperor's son had our horses 
taken away, and gave orders not to 
lose sight cJ us. Then he said to us : — 

'^'Let them come, those cN>gs of 
Christians; they are but thirteen 
thousand strong, and we a hundred 
and sixty thousand : we will receive 
them wdl.' 

**The day was well advanced be- 
fbre the Moors perceived the French. 
Then the emperor's son ordered hi» 
horsemen to mount and advance. 
The French marched in a square. 
They unmasked their artillery, and 
the guns sent their deadly charge of 
grape into the ranks of the Moors^ 
who hnmediately took to ffight, and 
the French had nothing to do but 
to sabre them." 

*• The Moors," says M. Alby, ** had 
fine horses and good sabres ; but their 
muskets were bad; and the men, 
softened by centuries of peace and 
prosperity, smoking keef ♦ and eating^ 
copiously, might be expected to run,. 
as they did, at the first cannon- 
shot." 

It is hard to understand how the 
loss of the French should have a- 
mounted to even the twenty- seven me» 
at which it is stated in their general's 
bulletin. T>id M. Bugeaud, unwilKng 
to admit the facility of his triumph^ 
slay the score and seven with his 
goosequill? But if the victory was 
easily won, on the other hand, it was- 
largely rewarded. For having driven 
before him, by the very first voll^ 
firom his guns, a horde of overfed bar- 
barians, enervated by sloth and nar- 
cotics, and total strangers to the 
tactics of civilised warfare, the mar- 
shal was created a duke ! Shade of 
Napoleon I whether proudly lingeriag^ 
within the trophy-clad walls of the 



* The Moors smoke the leaves of hemp instead of tobacco. This Iteef, as it is 
called, easily intoxicates, and renders the head giddy. Ahd-el-Kadcr forbade the nse 
of it, and if one of his soldiers was canght smoking keef, he received the bastinado^ 
CoftimtS ttStcr^er, vol. i. p. 221. 



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1849.] 



Fremek Omqmeran tmd CoUmuti, 



23 



InraKdes, or piflBuig in spectnd re- 
▼iew the dead of Aisterlitz aid Boro- 
dino, snspend jonr lonely walk, eurb 
jo>nr abadowy charger, and contem- 
plate this pitiable spectacle ! Yon, 
too, gaTe dpkedoms, and lavished 
even crowns, bat yon gave them for 
aerrioM worth the naming. Ney and 
the Mofikwa, Masaena and fissliag, 
Lannes and Moatebello, are words 
that bear the coupling, and grace a 
eoroBet. The names of the places, 
nithoagb all three recall brilliant vie- 
tories, are far less g^orions in their 
UM)eiatioD8 than the names of th.e 
men. Bnt Bugeand and Isly! 
What can we say <^ them ? Tmly, 
tbna mnch — they, too, are worthy of 
each other. 

When reriewing, about two years 
ago. Captain Kennedy*s narrative of 
travel and advent ore in Algeria, 
we regr^ted he did not speak ont 
abont the mode of carrying on the 
war, and abont the prospects of Alge- 
fine colonisation; and we hinted a 
snapidon that the amenities of French 
Biilitary hospitality, largely extended 
to a British fellow-soldier, had in- 
dnoed him, if not exactly to cloak, at 
least to shnn laying bare, the errors 
and mishaps of his entertainers. We 
cannot make the same complaint of 
tke very pretty book, rich in vig- 
Dettes and cream-cotoar, entitled, 
A Campaign m the Kabplie. Mr 
Boffrer,whom the Cockneys, contemp- 
tnons of terminations, will assuredly 
eonfonnd with his great gipsy cotem- 
poraiy, €korge B<mtow of the Bible, 
has, like Captain Kennedy, dipped 
his spoon in French messes. He 
lias ridden with their regiments, and 
8»t at their board, and been quartered 
with their officers, and received kind- 
iieas and good treatment on all hands ; 
and therefore any thing that could 
be construed into malicious comment 
would oomowith an ill grace from his 
pen. Bat it were exaggerated deli- 
cacy to abstain from stating fiicts, 
and these he gives in all their naked- 
ness; generally, however, allowing 
them to speak fbr themselves, and 
adding little in the way of remark or 
opiniott. In porsnance of this system, 
1m relatea the most horrible instances 
of ontrage and crnelty with a matter- 
of-fact coolnesa, and an absence alike 
of blame and sympathy, that may 



give an imfavonrable notion of his 
heart, to those who do not accept our 
lenient interpretation of his cold- 
blooded style. The traits he sets down, 
and which are no more than will be 
found in many French narratives, 
despatches, and bulletins, show how 
well the Franco- African army carry 
out the merciful maxims ei Bugeand. 
Mr Borrer, a geography and anti- 
quary, passed seventeen months in 
Algeria ; and daring lus residence 
there, in May 1846, a column of eight 
thousand French troops, commanded 
by the Duke of Isly in person, marched 
against the Kabyles, ^^ that mysteri- 
ous, bare-headed, leathern • aproned 
race, whose chief accomplishment was 
said to be that of being ^ crack-shots,' 
their chief art that of neatly roasting 
their prisoners alive, and their chi^ 
virtue that of loving their homes." It 
may interest the reader to hear a ra- 
ther more explicit account of this singu- 
lar people, who dwell in the mountains 
that traverse Algeria from Tunis to 
Morocco— «n irregular domain, whose 
limits it is difficult exactly to define in 
words. The Kabyles are, in fact, the 
higblanders of North Africa, and they 
bold themselves aloof from the AralM 
and Europeans that surround them. 
Concerning them, we find some diver- 
sity in the statements of Mr Borrer, 
and of an anonymous Colonist, twelve 
years resident at Bougie, whose pam- 
phlet is before ns. Of the two, the 
Frenchman gives them the best char- 
acter, but both agree as to their 
industry and intelligence, their fru- 
gality and skill in agriculture. They 
are not nomadic like the Arabs, but 
live in villages, till the land, and tend 
fiocks. Dwelling in the mountains, 
they have few horses, and fight chiefly 
on foot. Divided into many tribes, 
they are constantly quarreling and 
fighting amongst themselves, bnt they 
forget their fends and quickly imite to 
repel a foreign foe. ^^ Predisposed by 
his character,'' sa3r8 the Colonist, "' to 
draw near to civilisation, the Kabyle 
attaches himself sincerely to the civi- 
lised man when circumstances estab- 
lish a friendly connexion between them. 
He is still inclined to certain vices 
inherent in the savage ; but of all the 
Africans, he is the best disposed to live 
in friendship and harmony with ns, 
which he will do when he shall find 



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French Conquerors and Cokmuts, 



24 

biraself in permanent contact with the 
European population.*' This is not 
the general opinion, and it differs 
widely from that expressed by Mr 
Borrer. But the Colonist had his own 
views, perhaps his own interests, to 
further. He wrote some months pre- 
Tions to the expedition which Mr 
Borrer accompanied, and which was 
then not likely to take place, and he 
strongly advocated its propriety — ad- 
roittiog, however, that public opinion 
in France was greatly opposed to a 
military incursion into Kabylia. Him- 
self established at Bougie, of course 
in some description of commerce, the 
necessity of roads connecting the coast 
and the interior was to him quite 
evident. A good many of his coun- 
trymen, whose personal benefit was 
not so likely to be promoted by cause- 
way-cutting in Algeria, strongly de- 
precated any sort of road-making that 
was likely to bring on war with the 
Kabyles. France began to think she 
was paying too dear for her whistle. 
She looked back to the early days of 
the Orleans dynasty, when Marr'hal 
Clausel promised to found a rich and 
powerful colony with only 10,000 
men. She glanced at the pages of 
the MonUeur of 1837, and there she 
found words uttered by the great 
Bugeand in the Chamber of Deputies. 
'* Forty-five thousand men and one 
good campaign," said the white-headed 
warrior, as the Arabs call him, '* and 
in six months the country is pacified, 
and you may reduce the army to 
twenty thousand men, to be paid by 
imposts levied on the colony, con- 
sequently costing France nothing" 
Words, and nothing more — mere wind ; 
the greatest bosh that ever was uttered, 
even by Bu^eaud, who is proverbial 
for dealing largely in that flatulent 
commodity. Nine years pa.<sed away, 
and the Commission of the Budget 
*^ deplored a situation which com- 
pelled France to maintain an army of 
more than 100,000 men upon that 
African territory." (Report of M. 
Bignon of the 15th April 1846, p. 
237.) Bugeand himself had mightily 
changed his tone, and declared that, to 
keep Algiers, as large an army would 
be essential as had been required to 
conquer it. Lamoricl^re, a great 
nvthority in such matters, confirmed 
Abe oplmon of his senior. Monsieur 



[Jan. 



Desjobert, and a variety of pamphlet- 
eers and newspaper writers, attacked, 
with argument, ridicule, and statistics, 
the party known as the Algerophilts^ 
who made light of difficulties, scoffed 
at expense, and predicted the pros- 
perity and splendour of French Africa. 
Algeria, according to them, was to 
beo[>me the brightest gem in the citi- 
zen-crown of France. These san- 
guine gentlemen were met with facts 
and figures. During 1846, said the 
anti-^gerines, yonr precious colony 
will have cost France 125,000,000 of 
francs. And they proved it in black 
and white. There was little chance 
of the expense being less in following 
years. Then came the loss of men. 
In 1840, said M. Desjobert, giving 
chapter and verse for his statements, 
9567 men perished in the African 
hospitals, out of an effective army of 
63,000. Add those invalids who died 
in French hospitals, or in their 
homes, from the results of African 
campaigning, and the total loss is 
moderately stated at 11,000 men, or 
more than one* sixth of the whole 
force employed. Out of these, only 
227 died in action. The thing seemed 
hopeless and endless. What do we 
get' for our money? was the cry. 
What is otir compensation for the 
decimation of our young men? 
France can better employ her sons, 
than in sending them to perish by 
African fevers. What do we gain by 
all this expenditure of gold and 
blood?— The unreasonable mortals! 
Had they not gained a Duke of Isly 
and a Moorish pavilion? M. Des* 
jobert surely forgets these inestimable 
acquisitions when he asks and an- 
swers the question — " What remains 
of all our victories ? A thousand bul- 
letins, and Horace Yemet's big pic- 
tures." 

^' How many times," says the same 
writer, ^' has not the subjection of the 
Arabs been proclaimed! In 1844, 
General Bugeand gains the battle of 
Isly. Are the Arabs subdued ? 

**When the Arabs appear before 
the judges who dispose of life and 
death, they confess their faith, and 
proclaim their hatred of us; and 
when we are simple enough to teU 
them that some of their race are de- 
voted to us, they reply, 'Those lie 
to you, through fear, or for their own 



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Id49.] 



French Conquerors and Colonists, 



interest; and as often as a scheriff 
shall come whom thej believe able to 
conquer yon, they will follow bim, 
even into the streets of Algiers.' 
(Examination of Bon Maza's brother, 
12Ch November 1845.) Thos spoke 
the chief. The common Arab had 
already said to the Christian, *'If 
my hcAd and thine were boiled in the 
same vessel, my broth would separate 
itself from thy broth." 

This was disconraging to those 
who had dreamed of the taming of the 
Arab; and the more sanguinary 
mooted ideas of extermination. Such 
a prqiect, dearly written down, and 
printed, and placed on Parisian 
txreakfast tables, might be startling ; in 
Algeria it had long been put in prac- 
tice. What said General Duvivier in 
his SoliUion de la Question dAlg^rie^ 

E. 285? "For eleven years they 
ave rased buildings, burned crops, 
destroyed trees, massacred men, 
women, and children, with a still- in- 
creasing fury." We have already 
shown that this work of extermina- 
tion was not carried on with perfect 
impunity. Here is fiirther continua- 
tion of the fact. *' Every Arab killed,'' 
says M. Leblanc de Pr^bois, another 
officer, who wrote on the Algerian 
war, and wrote from personal expe- 
rience, *^ costs us the death of thirty- 
three men, and 150,000 francs." Sup- 
posing a vast deal of exaggeration in 
this statement, the balance still re- 
mains ugly against the fVench, for 
whom there is evidently very little 
diflerenee between catching an Arab 
and catching a Tartar. Whilst upon 
the subject of extermination, Mr 
Borrer gives an opinion more decidedly 
unfavourable to his French friends 
than is expressed in any other part 
of his book. His estimate of Kabylo 
virtues differs considerably, it will be 
observed, from that of the Colonist, 
and of the two is much nearest the 
truth. 

*'The abominable vices and debauch- 
eries of the Kabyle race, the inhuman 
barbarities they are continually guilty 
of towards such as may be cast by 
tempest, or other misfortune, upon their 
rugged shores; the atrocious cruelties 
and refined tortures they, in common 
with the Arab, delight in exercising 
upon any such enemies as may be so 
finhappy as to fall alive into their 



25 

hands, must render the hearts of those 
acquainted with this people perfectly 
callous as to what misfortunes may 
befall them or their country; and 
many may think that, as far as the 
advancement of civilisation is con- 
cerned, the wiping off of the Kabyle 
and Arab races of Northern Africa 
frx>m the face of the earth, would be the 
greatest boon to humanity. Though, 
however, they may be fraught with 
all the vices of the Canaanitish tribes 
of old, yet the command, * Go ye after 
him through the city and smite ; let 
not your eye spare, neither have ye 
pity; slay utterly old and young, both 
maids, and little children, and women,* 
is not justifiably issued at the plea- 
sure of man ; and we can but lament 
to see a great and gallant nation en- 
gaged in a warfare exasperating both 
parties to indulge in sanguinary atro- 
cities, — atrocities to be attriboted on 
one side to the barbarous and savage 
state of those having recourse to them; 
but on the other, prodeeding only from 
a thirst for retaliation and bloody re- 
venge, unworthy of those enjoying a 
high position as a civilised people. 
War is, as we all know, ever produc- 
tive of horrors : but such horrors may 
be greatly restrained and diminishea 
by the exertions and example of those 
in command." 

The hoary-headed hero of Isly is 
not the man to make the exertion, «r 
set the example. At the beginning 
of 1847, rumours of a projected inroad 
amongst the Kabyles caused uneasi- 
ness and dissatisfaction in Algeria, 
when such a movement was highly 
unpopular, as likely to lead to a long 
and expensive war. The " Commis- 
sion of Credits," a board appointed by 
the French Chamber for the particular 
investigation and regulation of Alge- 
rine affairs, applied to the minister of 
war to know if the rumours were well 
founded. The minister confessed they 
were; adding, however, that the expe- 
dition would be quite peaceable ; but 
at the same time laying before the 
commission letters from Bugeaud, 
*^ expressing regret that force of arms 
was not to be resorted to more than 
was absolutely necessary, the submis- 
sion of the aborigines being never cer- 
tain tmtd powder had spoken^ The 
^ marshal evidently** felt Uke fighting." 
The Commission protested; the 



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26 

minister rebnked them, bidding them 
mind their credits, and not meddle with 
the royal prerogatire. Thus unjoBtly 
snubbed — for thej certainly were mind- 
ing their credits, by opposing increase 
of expenditure — the Commissioii were 
mnte, one of the members merely ob- 
serving, by way of a last shot, that it 
was easier to refuse to listen than to 
reply satisfactorily. In France, public 
opinion, the Chamber of Deputies, and 
Marshal Soult, had, on various occa- 
sions, declared against attacking the 
Kabyles. ^* Nevertheless, a proclama- 
tion was issued by Marshal Bageand 
to the inhabitants of the Kabylie, to 
warn them that the French army was 
upon the point of entering their terri- 
tory, ^ to cleanse it of those adventu- 
rers who there preached the war 
against France.' The proclamation 
then went on to state, that the marshal 
had no desire to fight with them, or to 
devastate their property; but that, if 
there were amongst them any who 
wished for war, they would find him 
ready to accept it.'' K a bard- 
favoored stranger, armed with a horse- 
whip, walked uninvited into M. 
Bugeaud's private residence, loodly 
proclaiming he would thrash nobody 
unless provoked, the marshal would 
be likely to resist the intrusion, ^e 
Kabyles, doubtless, thought his ad- 
vance into their territory an equs^y 
unjustifiable proceeding. As to the 
pretext of *^ the adventurers who 
preached war," it was ui^ounded and 
ridiculous. Such propagandists have 
never been listened to io Kabylia. 
*'Tbe voice of the Emir Abd-el-Kader 
himself," says the Colonist, '^ would 
not obtain a hearing. Did he not go 
in person, in 1839, when preparing to 
break his treaty of peace with us, and 
preach the holy war? Did he not 
traverse the valley of the Souman, from 
one end to the other, to recmit com- 
batants? And what did he obtain 
from the Kabyles ? Hospitality for a 
few days, coupled with the formal in- 
vitation to evacuate the country as 
floon as possible. Did he succeed 
better when he lately again tried to 
raise Kabylia against us?" MrBorrer 
confirms Uiis. Marshal Bugeand him- 
self had said in the Chamber of 
Deputies, *" The Kabyles are neither 
aggressive nor hostile; they defend 
themselvei vigorously when intruded 



Frtmeh Cwnqitantrt wki Cokmkta, 



[J« 



vpoQ, but they do not attack." The 
marshal^ whose whole public life has 
been full of eontradietions, was the 
first to intrude upon them, although 
but a very few years had eli4)sed smce 
he said in a pamphlet, ^^ The Kabyles 
are numerous and very warlike ; they 
have viliagee, and their agriculture ia 
sedentary ; ahready there is too little 
land to sq»ply their wants ; there is 
no room, therefore, for Europeans m 
the mountains of Kabylia, and they 
would cut a very poor figure there." 
This last prophetic sentence was rea- 
lised by M. Bugeaud himself, who 
certainly made no very brilliant ap- 
pearance when, forgetting his former 
theory, he hazarded hiwelf in May 
1847, at the head of eight thousand 
men, and with Mr Borrer in his train, 
amongst the hardy mountaineers of 
Kabylia: 

Hereabouts Mr Borrer quotes, in 
French, the statement of a member 
of the Commission already referred 
to. It is worth extracting, as fully 
confirming our conviction that the 
conduct of France in Algeria has been 
throughout characterised by an utter 
want of judgment and justice. ^^ The 
native towns have been invaded^ 
ruined, sacked, by our administration^ 
more even than by our arms. In 
time of peace, a great number of pri- 
vate estates have been ravaged and 
destroyed. A multitude of title-deeds 
delivered to us for verification have 
never been restored. Even in the 
environs of Algiers, fertile hinds have 
been taken from the Arabs and given 
to Europeans, who, UDal:»le or un- 
willing to cultivate their new posses- 
sions, have farmed them out to their 
former owners, who have thus b^ 
come the mere stewards of the inheri- 
tance of their fathers. Elsewherer 
tribes, or fractions of tribes, not 
hostile to us, but who, on the con- 
trary, had fought for us, have beea 
driven firom their territory. Condi- 
tions have been accepted from them^ 
and not kept — indemnities promised^ 
and never paid — until we have com- 
promised our honour even more thaa 
their interests." Such a statSBent, 
proceeding from a Frenchman — from 
one, too, delegated by his government, 
to examine the state of the colony — 
is quite conclusive as to administra- 
tive proceedings in Algeria. It would 



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1849.] 



Frmek Ou t fu e nrs mmd Cahmmtu. 



27 



Iw svperflnoos mid impertinent to add 
another lise of evideoee. A eommeat 
maj be apprepriate. '^Js it not 
MoBteeqnieii," aajs Mr Borrer, *^ in 
his E^frk de$ Lms, who obeerres — 
*The rigbt <^ eonqnest, though a ne^ 
eessarj and legitimate riglit, is an 
nnhappj oae, beqneathisf to the con- 
queror a hearj debt to hnmamty, Gn\y 
to be acquitted by repairing, as fur a« 
poflsitale, thoee erils of which he has 
be«i the canse*? — and Monteeqoiea 
was a wise man, and a Frendunan I" 
Dismissing this branch ci the sub- 
ject, let as see how the Dnke of Islj 
made ^^the powder speak*' inKabj- 
lia, and try our band at a rough 
sketch, taking the loan of Mr Borrer's 
eoloars. A strong body of French 
troops — the 8000 tuiye been increased, 
since departtre, by sererai battaHcms 
and some spahis — are encamped in a 
rich Talley, cnttfaig down the nnripe 
wheat for the nse of their horses, 
wtdlst, from the snrronnding heights, 
the Kabyles Roomily watch the mi- 
scrapslons foragers. ^Now *> soft- 
winged eTening,'" as Mr Dawson 
Bomr poetically expresses himself, 
** borers o'er the scene, chasing from 
woodlands and sand-rock heights the 
gilded tints <^ the setting sun." In 
other words, it gets dark — and shots 
are heard. The natives, vexed at the 
liberties taken with their crops, harass 
the ontposts. Their bad powder and 
orerloaded gnu have no chance 
against French mmskets. ^*In the 
name of the Prophet, bkaps !" Ba- 
geaod the Merciful pays for them ten 
franca a-picce. Fuur are presented 
to him before breakfast. The pre- 
mium is to make the soldiers alert 
against horse-stealers. Ten francs 
bring a Kttle fortnne to a French 
sold^, whose pay in hard cash is two 
or three farthings a- day, Mr Borrer 
sospeets the heads are sometimes 
taken from shonklers where they have 
a right to remain. An Arab is always 
«B Arab, whether a horse-stealer or a 
mere idler. But no matter — a few 
more or less. Day returns ; the co- 
lumn marches; the Kabyles show 
Jirttle of the intrepidity, in defence of 
their hearths and altars, attributed to 
them by M. Bageaud and others. 
Their horsemen fly before a platoon 
of French cavalry ; the in^Mtry limit 
ahdr offirasire operations to cowardly 



kmg shots at the rear-gnard. Four 
venerable elders bring two yoked oxen 
in token of subsussion. In general, 
the inhabitants have disappeared. 
Their deserted towns appear, in the 
dlstaacCt by no means inferior to many 
French and Italian villages. The 
marshal will not permit exploring 
parties, for fear of ambnscade. Niglii 
arrives, and passes without incident 
of note. At three in the morning, 
the camp is aroused by hideous 
yells. A sentmel has fired at a horse- 
thief and broken his leg, and now, 
mindful of the ten francs, tries to 
cut off the head of the wounded man, 
who objects and screams. A bayonet- 
thrust stops his mouth, and the biii om 
Bugeaud is duly severed. The next 
day is passed in skirmisbing with the 
Beni-Abbes, the most numerous tribe 
of the valley of the Souman, but not 
a very warlike one — so says the 
Colonist ; and, indeed, they offer but 
slieht resistance, although they, or 
some other trib^, make a firm and 
determined attack upen the French 
ontposts in the course of that night. 
There is more smoke than bloodshed ; 
but the Kabyles show considerable 
pluck, bum a prodigious number of 
cartridges, and make no doubt they 
have neariy "rubbed out" the Chris- 
tians; in which particular they are 
rather mistaken — the French, not 
choosing to leave their camp, having 
quietly lain down, and allowed the 
Berber lead to fly over them. At last 
the assailants' ammimition nms low, 
and they retire, leaving a sprinkHng^ 
of dead. Mr Borrer quotes the Koran. 
" ^ Those of %nr brothers who fall in 
defence of the true faith, are not dead, 
but live invisible, receiving theirnonr- 
riture from the band of the Most 
High,' says the Prophet." Naurrtture 
is not quite English, at least with that 
orthography; but no matter for Mr 
Borrer's Gallicisms, which are many. 
We rush with him into the Kabyle 
^re. Here he sits, halted amongst 
the olive-trees, philosophically light- 
ing his pipe, the bullets wbistling^ 
about his ears, whilst he admires the 
stmff /raid of a pretty vivtrndihe^ 
seatedf astride upon her horse, and 
jesting at the danger. The column 
advances — the Kabyles retreat, fight- 
ing, pursued by the French shells, 
which they hold hi particular horror. 



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28 

and call the howitzer the twice-flring 
cannon. The object of the adyaDce U 
to destroy the towns and villages of 
the Beoi-Abbez, the ntght-attack opon 
his bivouac affording the manshai a 
pretext. The villages are snrronnded 
with stiff walls of stones and mad, 
crowned with strong thornj fences, 
and having hedges of prickly pear 
growing at their base ; and the gannt 
bomoosed warriors malie good fight 
through loop-holes and from the ter- 
races of their houses. But resistance 
is soon overcome, and the narrow 
streets are crowded with Frenchmen, 
ravishing, massacring, plundering ; no 
regard to sex or age ; outrage for every 
woman— the edge of the sword for all. 
**Upon the floor of one of the 
chambers lay a little girl of twelve or 
fourteen years of age, weltering in 
gore, and in the agonies of death : an 
accursed ruffian thrust his bayonet 
into her. God will requite him. . . . 
When the soldiers had ransacked the 
dwellings, and smashed to atoms all 
they could not carry off, or did not 
think worth seizing as spoil, they 
heaped the remnants and the mat- 
tings together and fired them. As I 
was hastily traversing the streets to 
regain the outside of the village, dis- 

Susted with the horrors I witnessed, 
ames burst forth on all sides, and 
torrents of fire came swiftly gliding 
down the thoroughfares, for the flames 
had ffained the oil. An insUnt I 
turned—the fearful doom of the poor 
concealed child and the decrepid 
mother flashing on my mind. It was 
too late. . . . The unfortunate 
Kabyle child was doubUbss consumed 
with her aged parent. How many 
others may have shared her fate T* 

At noon, the atmosphere is laden 
with smoke arisingfh>m the numerous 
burning villages. From one spot nine 
may be counted, wrapped in flames. 
There is merry-making in the French 
camp. Innumerable goatskins, f\ill 
of milk, batter, figs, and flour, are 
produced and opened. Some are 
consumed ; more are squandered and 
strewn opon the ground. I^t the 
Kabyle tlogs starve I Have they 
not audaciously levelled their long 
guns at the white- headtnl warrior 
and hii Miowera, who asked nothlaf 
but submlMlou, fWe passa«ii through 
lheooantry,corD<llald«lbrih«ar horaos, 



[Jan. 



and the fat of the land for themselves? 
But stay — there is still a town to Uke, 
the last, t^e strongest, the refuge of 
the women and of the aged. Its defence 
is resolute, but at last it falls. *' Ra- 
vished, murdered, burnt, hardly a 
child escaped to tell the tale. A 
few of the women fled to the ravines 
around the village ; but troops swept 
the brushwood ; and the stripped and 
mangled bodies of females might there 
be seen. . . . One vast sheet of 
flame crowned the height, which an 
hour or two before was ornamented 
with an extensive and opulent villaget 
crowded with inhabitants. It seemed 
to have been the very emporium of 
commerce of the Beni-Abbez ; fabrics 
of gunpowder, of arms, of haiks, 
bumooses, and different stnfis, were 
there. The streets boasted of nume- 
rous shops of workers in silver, 
workers in cord, venders of silk, &c" 
All this the soldiers pillaged, or the 
fire devoured; then the insatiable 
flames gain^ the com and olive trees, 
and converted a smiling and prosper- 
ous district into a bUck and barren 
waste. Bugeand looked on and pro- 
nounced it good, and bis men declared 
the country " T^ell cleaned out,'' and 
vaunted their deeds of rapine and 
violence. **I heard two ruffians 
relating, with great gusto, how many 
vonng girls had been burned in one 
house, after being abused by their 
brutal comrades and themselves.** 
Out of consideration for his readers, 
Mr Borrer says, he writes down bat 
the least shocking of the crimes and 
atrocities he that day witnessed* 
We have no inclination to transcribe a 
tithe of the horrors he records, and 
at sight of which, he assures ns, the 
blood of many a gallant French officer 
boiled in his veins. He mentions no 
attempt on the part of these compas- 
sionate officers to curb the ferocity of 
theUr men, who had not the excuse of 
previous severe sufferings, of a long 
and obstinate reslstanoe, and of the 
loss of many of their comrades, to 
allege in extenuation of their savage 
violence. History teaches as that, in 
certain droumstanoes, as, ibr instance, 
after protracted sieges, great exposure, 
and a long and bloody fight, soldiers 
of all nations are liable to (brget dis- 
clplln^ and, maddened by twy, bj 
suAMng and exdlemenl> to despise 



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1849.] French Conquerors and Colonists, 

Ihe admonitioiis and reprimands of 

the chie6 — ^naj, even to turn their 

weapons against those whom for years 

ther have been aocnstomea to respect 
. and implicitly obey. But there is no 

such excuse in the instance before 

us. A pleasant military promenade 

through a rich country, fine weather, 

abnnaant rations, and just enough 

skirmishing to give zest to the whole 

affair, whose fighting part was ex- 
ceeding brief, as might be expected, 

when French bayonets and artillery 

were opposed to the clumsy guns and 

irr^^nlar tactics of the Beni-Abbez 

— we find nothing in this picture 

to extenuate the horrible cruelties 

enacted by the conquerors after their 

easily achieved victory. Their whole 

loss, according to thehr marshal's 

bulletin, amounted to fiftv-seven killed 

and wounded. This included the loss 

In the night-attack on the camp. In 

lact, it was mere child's play for 
the disciplmed French soldiery; and 

Mr Borrer virtually admits this, by ap- 
plying to the affur General Castellane's 

expression of a mon-Atm/. He then, with 

no good grace, endeavours to find an 

excuse for his campaigning comrades. 
*^The ranks of the French army in 

AMca are composed, in great mea- 
sure, of the very scum of France.*' 

They have condemned regiments in 

Africa, certainly ; the Foreign Legion 

are reckless and reprobate enough; 

we dare say the Zouaves, a mixed 

corps of wild Frenchmen and tamed 
Arabs, are neither tender nor scrupu- 
lous; but these form a very small por- 
tion of the hundred thousand French 
troops in Africa, and there is little 
picking and choosing amongst the line 
regiments, who take their turn of ser- 
vice pretty regularly, neither is there 
reason for considering the men who go 
to Algeria to be greater scamps than 
those who remain in France. So this 
will not do, Mr Borrer : try another 
tack. " The only sort of excuse for 
the horrors committed by the soldiery 
in Algeria, is their untamed passions, 
and the fire added to their natural 
ferocity by the atrocious cruelties so 
often committed by the Arabs upon 
their comrades in arms, who have 
been so nnhappy as to ftill into their 
power.** This is more plausible, al- 
though it is a query who began the 
aystem of murderous reprisals. Arab 



29 



treatment of prisoners is not mild. 
On the evening of the 1st June, some 
men straggled from the French 
bivouac, and were captured. *^ It 
was said that from one of the outposts 
the Kabyles were seen busily engaged 
in roasting their victims before a large 
fire upon a neighbouring slope; but 
whether this was a fact or not, I never 
learned.** It was possibly true. 
Escoffier tells us how one of his fellow- 
prisoners, a Jew named Wolf, who 
fell mto the hands of Moorish shep- 
herds, was thrown upon a blazing 
pile of faggots ; and although we sus- 
pect the brave trumpeter, or his histo- 
rian, of occasional exaggeration, there 
are grounds for crediting the authen- 
ticity of this statement. As to Mr 
Borrer, he guarantees nothing but 
what he sees with his own eyes, the 
camp being, he says, full of blagueurs^ 
or tellers of white lies. The inven- 
tions of these mendacious gentry are 
not always as innocent as he appears 
to think them. Imaginary cruelties, 
attributed to an enemy, are very apt 
to impose upon credulous soldiers, and 
to stimulate them to unnecessary 
bloodshed, and to acts of lawless 
revenge. Many a village has been 
burned, and many an inoffensive pea- 
sant sabred, on the strength of such 
lying fabrications. In Africa espe- 
cially, where the lex taUonis seems 
fully recognised, and its enforcement 
confided to the first straggler who 
chooses to fire a house or stick an 
Arab, the blcufueurs should be handed 
over, in our opinion, to summary 
punishment. On the advance of the 
French column, a soldier or two, 
straying from the bivouac to bathe or 
fish, hs3 here and there been shot by 
the lurking Kabyles. On its return, 
^^ I was somewhat surprised,** Mr 
Borrer remarks, " to observe, in the 
wake of the column, flames bursting 
forth from the gourbies (villages) left 
in our rear. It was well known that 
the tribe upon whose territory we 
were riding had submitted, and that 
their sheikh was even riding at the • 
head of the column.'* None could ex- 
plain the firing of the villages. The 
sheikh, indignant at the treachery of 
the French, set spurs to his mare, 
and was off like the wind. The con- 
fiagration was traced to soldiers of the 
rear-guard, desirous to revenge their 



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30 



Fremdk Canqueter$ umd Cokmkti. 



fj« 



comrades, picked off on the previous 
march. We are not told that the 
crime was brought home to the per- 
petrators, or visited upon them. If 
it was, Mr Borrer makes no mention 
of the fact, bnt passes on, as if the 
buming of a few villages were a trifle 
scarce wwth notice. How were the 
Kabjles to distinguish between the 
acts of the private soldier and of the 
epauleted chief? Their submission 
had just been accepted, and friendly 
words spoken to them: their sheikh 
rode beside the gray-haired leader of 
the Christians, and marked the appa- 
rent subordination of the white^faced 
soldiery. Suddenly a gross violation 
occurred of the amicable nnderstand- 
ing so recently come to. How per- 
suade them that the submissive and 
disciplined soldiers they saw around 
them would veuture such breach <A 
faith without the sanction or conni- 
vance of their commander? The 
offence is that of an insignificant sen- 
tinel, but the dirt falls upon the beard 
of Bugeaud; and confidence in the 
promises of the lying European is 
thoroughly and for ever destroyed. 

A colony, whose nM)de of acquisi- 
tion and of government, up to the 
present time, reflects so little credit 
upon French arms and administrators, 
ought certainly to yield pecuniary 
results or advantages of some kind, 
which, in a mercenary point of view, 
might balance the account France 
surely did not place her repntation 
for humanity and justice in the hands 
of Marshal Bugeaud and of others of 
his stamp, without anticipating some 
sort of compensation for its probable 
deterioration. Such expectations have 
hitherto been wholly unfulfilled ; and 
we really see little chance of their 
probable or speedy realisation. The 
colony is as unpromising, as the colo- 
nists are inapt to improve it. The 
fact is, the work of colonisation has 
not begun. The French are utterly 
at a loss how to set about it. All 
kinds of systems have been proposed. 
Bugeaud has had his— that of militair 
colonisation, which he maintdned. 



with characteristic atubbonmess, in tha 
teeth of public opinion, of the French 
government, of oommoa sense, and 
even of possibility. He proposed to 
take, during ten vears,ooefaundred and 
twenty thousand recruits firam the con- 
scription, and to settle them in Africa, 
with their wives. He estimated the 
expense of this scheme at twelve mil- 
lions sterling. His opponents stated 
its probable cost at four times that 
sum. Whichever estimate was cor- 
rect, it is not worth while examining 
the plan, which for a moment was 
entertained by a government com- 
mission, but has since been com- 
pletely abandoned. It presupposes 
an extraordinary and arbitrary stretch 
of power on the part of the govern- 
ment tiiat should adopt such a 
system of compulsory colonisation. 
We are surprised to find Mr Borr^ 
inclined to favoor ^ exploded plan. 
Gen^-al Lamorici^re (the terrible 
Bour-h-bai of the Arabs,*) proposed 
to give preminms to agriculturists 
settUng in Algeria, at the rate of 
twenty-five per cent of their expenses 
of clearing, irrigation, construction, 
and plantation. But M. Lamorici^re 
— a very practical man indeed, with 
his sabre in his fist, and at the head 
of his Zouaves — is a shallow theorist 
in matters of colonisation. The staff 
of surveyors, valuers, and referees 
essential to carry out his project, would 
alone have been a heavy additional 
charge on the unprofitable colony. 
" M. Lamorici^re, " says M. Des- 
jobert, *^ was one of the warmest ad- 
vocates of the occupation of Bougie,** 
(a seaport of Kabylie,) "and partly 
directed, in 1833, that fatal expedi- 
tion.** (Fatal, M. Desjob^ means, 
by reason of its subsequent cost in 
men and money. Tbe town was 
taken by a small force on the 29th 
September 1883.) "The soldiers 
were then toid that their mission was 
agricultural rather t^an military, that 
they would have to handle the pick 
and the spade more frequently than 
the musket. The nnfortnnates have 
certainly handled pick and spade; but 



* " General Lamorioidre habitually carries a stiok. This has prooured him, fr^m 
the Arabs, the name of the Pire-aurbdUm, (the finther with th« stiok :) Bimt^hoi, One 
of his orderly officers, my friend and comrade CM>tain Bentiman, gives ArcKmtJi as 
the proper orthography of Bour-^t-hid, We have feUowod Esoofflars pronunciation.'* 
^Cajpttvit^ cCEtcqfficr, voL i p. 80. 



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1649.] 



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81 



it was to dig in that iiaaense cemetery 
which, each day, AwallowB up their 
comrades. Ah-eady, in 1836, Creneral 
d*£rion, ex-goyemor of Algiers, de- 
manded the eyacuatioa of Bougie, 
which had devoiired, in three years, 
three dionMuid men and seven millions 
of francs.^' The demand was not 
complied with, and Bougie has con- 
tinned to consume more than its quota 
of the six thonsand men at which M. 
Desjobert estimates the average an- 
nual loss, by disease alone, of the 
African army. Bongie has not 
dooriBhed under the tricolor. In for- 
mer times a city of great riches and 
importaace, It still contained several 
thonsand inhabitants when taken hj 
the French. At the period of Mi 
Borrer's visit, it redumed a popula- 
tion of five hundred, exclusive of the 
garrison of twelve hundred men. To 
retnm, however, to the systems of 
colonisation. When the generals had 
bad their say, it was the turn of the 
cooKnissions ; the commission of 
Africa, that of the Chamber of 
Deputies, &c. There was no lack of 
projects ; but none of them answered. 
The colonial policy of the Orieans 
government was eminently short- 
sighted. This is strikingly shown in 
Mr Borrer's Uth chapter, ''A Word 
upon the Colony." Of the fertile plain 
of the Metidja, contaming about a 
million and a half acres of arable and 
pasture land, a very small portion is 
cultivated. The French found a gar- 
den ; they have made a desert. '^ Be- 
fore the French occupation, vast tracts 
which now lie waste, sacrificed to 
palmetta and squiUs, were cultivated 
by the Arabs, who grew far more com 
than was required for their own con- 
fnnnption ; whereas now, they grow 
barely sufficient : the oonseqnence of 
which is, that the price of com is enor- 
moos in Algeria at present.*' Land 
is cheap enough, but labour is dear, 
because the necessaries of life are so. 
Instead of making Algiers a free port, 
protection to French mannfactures is 
the order (Mf the day, and this has 
driven Arab commerce to Tunis and 
Moroooo. Rivalry with England — 
the feverish desire for colonies and for 
Ibe snpremftgr of the seas — ^mnst ns- 
qnestionably be ranked amongst the 
■Miives of tiie tenaoiaaB retei^on 
of such an expeBsive p osaeaai on as 



Algeria. And now the odious English 
cottons are an obstacle to the pro- 
sperity of the colony. To sell a few 
more bales of French calicoes and 
crates of French hardware, the wise 
men at Paris put an effectual check 
upon the progress of African agricul- 
ture. Here, if anywhere, free-trade 
plight be introduced with advantage ; 
in common necessaries, at any rate, 
and for a few years, till the country 
became peopled, and the colonists had 
overcome the first difficulties of their 
position. It would make very little 
difference to Rouen and Lyons, whilst 
to the settlers it would practically 
work more good than would have been 
done them by 3L Lamoriciere^s sub- 
vmtion^ supposing this to have been 
adopted, and that the heavily- taxed 
agriculturist of France — in many parts 
of which country land pays but two 
and a half or three per cent — had 
consented to pay additional imposts for 
the benefit of the agriculturist of Al- 
geria. In the beginning, the notion 
of the French government was, that 
its new conquest would colonise itself 
unassisted ; that there would be a 
natural and steady flow of emigrants 
from the mother country. In any 
case this expectation would probably 
have proved fallacious— at least it 
would never have been realised to the 
extent anticipated ; but the small en- 
couragement given to such emigration, 
rendered it utterly abortive. The 
" stream " of settlers proved a mere 
dribble. Security and justice, Mr 
Thiers said, were all that France owed 
her colony. £ven these two things 
were not obtained, in the full sense of 
the words. The centralisation system 
weighed upon Algeria. Everything 
was referred to Paris. Hence inter- 
minable correq>ondence, and delays 
innumerable. In the year 1846, Mr 
Borrer says, twenty-fonr thousand 
despatches were received by the civU 
administration from the chief bureau 
in the French capital, in exchange for 
twenty-eight thousand sent. Instead 
of imparting ail possible celerity to 
the administrative forms requisite to 
the establishment of emigrants, these 
must often wait a year or more before 
they are put in possession of the land 
granted. Meanwhile they expend 
their resowoes, and are enervatCKi by 
idlffl 'W s and disease. The dlmate of 



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French Conquerors and Cohmsts. 



[Jan. 



North Africa is ill-adapted to Frencli 
constitutions. M. Desjobert has al- 
ready told us the average loss of the 
army, and General Duvivier, in his 
Solution de la Question d'Algerie^ folly 
corroborated his statements. '* A 
man,'* said the general, *^ whose con- 
stitution is not in harmony with the 
climate of Africa, never adapts him- 
self to it ; he suffers, wastes away, 
and dies. The expression, that a 
mass of men who have been for some 
time in Africa have become inured to 
the climate, is inexact. They have 
not become inured to it ; they have 
been decimated by death. The climate 
is a great sieve, which aliows a rapid 
passage to everything that is not of a 
certain forceJ*^ Supposing 100,000 
men sent from France to Algeria for 
six years' service. At the end of 
that time, thehr loss by disease alone, 
at the rate of six per cent— proved 
by M. Desjobert to be the annual 
average — would amount to upwards of 
30,000, or to more than three- tenths of 
the whole. Theemigrantsfare no better. 
"They look for milk and honey," 
says Borrer : ** they find palmetta and 
disease. The villages scattered about 
the Sahcl or Massif of Algiers (a 
high ground at the back of the city, 
forming a rampart between the Me- 
tidja and the Mediterranean) are, 
with one or two exceptions, a type 
of desolation. Perched upon the 
most arid spots, distant from water, 
the poor tenants lie sweltering be- 
tween sun and sirocco." A Mississippi 
swampmustbe as eligible "squatting" 
ground as this — Arabs instead of alli- 
gators, and the Algerine fever in 
place of Yellow Jack. " At the gates 
of Algiers, in the villages of the 
Sahel," said the " Alg&ie^* newspaper 
of the 22d December 1845, " the colo- 
nists desert, driven away by hunger. 
If any remain, it is because they 
have no strength to move. In the 
plain of the Metidja, the misery and 
desolation are greater still. At Fon- 
douck, in the last five months, 120 
persons have died, out of a popula- 
tion of 280." The reporter to the 
Commission of the French budget of 
1837 (Monsieur Bignon) admitted that 
" the results of the colonisation are 
almost negative." He could not olv 
tain, he said, an estimate of the 
agricultural population. At the same 



period, an Alters newspaper (La 
France Algenenne) estimated the 
European agriculturists at 7000, two- 
thirds of whom were mere market- 
gardeners. 

It is unnecessary to multiply proofs ; 
and we will here conclude this imper- 
fect sketch of Franco- African coloni- 
sation, of its crimes, its errors, and 
its cost, by extracting a rather re- 
markable passage from a writer we 
have more than once referred to, and 
who, although perhaps disposed to 
view things in Algeria upon the 
black side, is yet deserving of credit, 
as well by his position as by reason 
of his painstaking research and, 
so far as we have verified them, accu- 
rate statistics. 

" The colonists cannot deny," says 
Monsieur Desjobert in his Algirie en 
1846," and they admit : 

" l^'. That Europe alone maintains 
the 200,000 Europeans in Algeria. In 
1846 we are compelled to repeat what 
General Bernard, minister of war, 
said in 1838 : * Algeria resembles a 
naked rock, which it is necessary to 
supply with everything, except air 
and water.' 

" 2**. That so long as we remain 
in this precarious situation, a naval 
war, by mterrupting the communica- 
tions, would compromise the safety of 
our army. In 1846 we repeat M. 
Thiers' words, uttered in 1837: *If 
war surprises you in the state of in- 
decision in which you are, I say that 
the disgraceful evacuation of AMca 
will be mevitable.' 

** M. Thiers did not speak the 
whole truth when he talked of eva- 
cuation. In such an extremity, eva- 
cuation would be impossible. Our 
army would perish of misery, and its 
remnant would fall into the hands of 
the enemy." 

Another enemy than the Arabs is 
here evidently pointed at ; that pos- 
sible foe is now a Mend to France, and 
we trust will long remain so. But on 
many accounts the sentences we havo 
just quoted are significant, as pro- 
ceeding fix>m the pen of a French de- 
puty. They need no comment, and 
we shall offer none. We wait with 
interest to see if France's African 
colony prospers better under the Re- 
public of 1848 than it did under 
the Monarchy of 1830. 



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1849.] 



l%e Caxtoni.-^Part IX. 



THB CAXTONS. 



PABT EL— €HAPTXB Txx^x. 



AHDmy&ther poshed asidehis books. 

O jomig reftder, whoever thoa art, — 
^nreadeTfat least, whohast been yoimg, 
—canst tiion not remember some time 
when, with thy wild troubles and 
flonrowB as yet borne in secret, thou 
hast come back from that hard, stem 
worid which opens on thee when thon 
pattest thy foot oat of the threshold 
of home— comeback to the four qoiet 
walls, wherein thine elders sit in 
peace and seen, with a sort of sad 
amase, how calm and nndistarbed 
all is there? That generation which 
has gone before thee in the path of 
the passions — ^the generation of thy 
parents— (not so many years, per- 
chance, remote from thine own>--how 
immovably fiur off, in its still repose, 
it seems from thy tnrbalent voaUi I It 
has in it a stillness as of a classic ase, 
■atiqne as the statues of the Greeks. 
That tranquil monotony of routine 
into which those lives that preceded 
thee have merged— the occupations 
tiiat they have found sufficing for their 
hapi^ess, by the fireside— in the arm- 
chair andcomeriq>propriatedtoeach— 
how strangely they contrast thine own 
foveriah excitement! And they make 
nxnn to thee, and bid thee welcome, 
and then resettle to their hushed pur- 
soits, as if nothing had happened I 
Nothing had happened! while in thy 
heart, perhi4)fB, the whole world seems 
to have shot from its axis, all the 
dements to be at war! And you sit 
down, crashed by that quiet happiness 
which you can share no more, and 
smile mechanically, and look into the 
fire ; and, ten to one, you say nothing 
till the time comes for bed, and you 
take up your candle, and creep miser- 
ably to your lonely room. 

Now, if in a stage coach in the depth 
of winter, when tiiree passengers are 
warm and snug» a fourth, all browed 
and frozen, descends from the outside 
and takes place amongst them, 
strai^tway m the three passengers 
shift their places, uneasily pull up 
their cloak coUan. re-arrange their 
*^ comforters,'* feel mdignantly a sen- 
sible loss of caloric— the intruder has 

VOL. LXV.— »0. OCCXCIX. 



at least made a sensation. But if 
you had all the snows of the Gram- 
pians in your heart, you might enter 
unnoticed : take care not to tread on 
the toes of your opposite neighbour, 
and not a soul is disturbed, not 
a " comforter *' stirs an inch I I had 
not slept « whk, I had not even 
laid down all that night— the night in 
which I had sidd farewell to Fanny 
Trevanion — and the next momiog, 
when the sun rose, I wandered out — 
where I know not I have a dim recol- 
lection of lonff, gray, solitary streets — 
of the river, that seemedflowingin dull 
silence, away, far away, into some in- 
visibleetermty— trees and turf, and the 
gay voices of children. I must have 
gone from one end of the great Babel to 
the other: butmymemory only became 
clear and distinct when I knocked, 
somewhere before noon, at the door 
of my father's house, and, passing 
heavily up the stairs, came into the 
drawinff-room, which was the rendez- 
vous of the little family ; for, since 
we had been in London, my father 
had ceased to have his study apart, and 
contented himself with what he called 
" a comer** — a comer wide enough 
to contain two tables and a dumb 
waiter, with chairs h discretion all 
littered with books. On the opposite 
side of this capacious comer sat my 
ilhde, now nearly convalescent, and 
he was jotting down, in his stiff mili- 
tary hand, certain figures in a little red 
account-book— for you know already 
that my unde Robmd was, in his ex- 
penses, the most methodical of men. 

My father's face was more benign 
than usual, for, before him lay a proof 
—the first proof of his first work— his 
oneworic— theGreatBook! Yes! ithad 
positively found a press. And the first 
proof of your first work — ask any 
author what that is I My mother was 
out, with the futhM Aus Primmins, 
shopping or marketing no doubt ; so, 
whUe the brothers were thus engaged, 
it was natural that my entrance should 
not make as much noise as if it had 
been a bemb, or a singer, or a dap of 
thunder, or the last '* great novel of 

c 



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anything dse that with it, and it was singing Instilj. 
Now, when the canary saw me stand 



84 

the season," or 

made a noise in those days. For what 
makes a noise now? Now, vrhea 
the most astonishing thing of all is 
in our easy familiarity with things 
astounding— when we say, listlessly, 
♦•Another revolution at Paris," or, 
'^ By the bye, there is the deooe to do 
at Vienna I" — ^whenDe Joinville is 
catching fish in the ponds al Olare- 
mont, aad you harmy turn baok to 
look at Mettemich on tiie pier at 
Brighton! 

My uncle nodded, and growM In- 
distinctly ; my father^ 

'•'' Put aside his books ,* yon have told 
ustiiat idreadj." 

Sir, you ure very much mistaken, 
he did not put aside his bookB^^ibr he 
was not engaged in theub— be was 
reading his proo£ And h% smiled, 
and pointed to it (the proof I mean) 

Eathetically, and with a kind of 
umour, as much as to say*-^^ What 
can yon expect, Pisistratns?— my new 
babyl in short dothes— or long primer, 
which is all the same thing 1" 

I took a chair between the two, and 
looked fijHBt at one, then at the other, 
and—- heaven forgive me I — I felt a 
rebellious, ungraiefhl spite against 
both. The bitterness of my soul must 
have been deep indeed to have 
overflowed in that direction, but it did. 
The grief of youth is an abominable 
egotist, and that b the tmth. I got 
up from the chair, and walked towards 
the window ; it was open, and outside 
the window was Mrs Primmins' cana^ 
ry, in its cage. London air had agreed 



ing (^posite to its cage, and regard- 
ing it seriously, and, I have no doubt, 
with a very sombre aepect, the crea- 
ture stopped short, and hung its head 
on one lude, lookWai me obiiqnely 
and Bospieiovaly. finding that I did 
it no hum, it began to hazard a few 
broken notes, timidly and intenoga- 
tively, as it were, pansiiu^ between 
each \ and at length, aa I made no 
reply, it evidently thought it had 
solved the doobt, and ascertained that 
I was more to be pitied than feared — 
for it stole gradually into so soft and 
^very a strain that, I verily betieve, 
it did it on purpose to comfort mei^ — 
me, its old friend, whom it had unjast- 
lysnspeoted. Never did any music 
touch me so home as did that long, 
plaintive cadence. And when the 
bird ceased, it perched itsdf dose 
to the bars of the cage, and looked at 
me steadily with its bright intelligent 
eyes. I feUi mine water, and I turned 
bade and stood in the centre of the 
room, irresolute what to do, where to 
go. My father had done with the 
proof, and was deep in his folios* 
Eoland had dasped his red acconnt 
book, restored it to his pocket, wiped 
his pen careftally, and now watched 
me mmi under his great beetle brows. 
Suddenly he rose, and, stamping on 
tiie hearth witii hisooricleg, exclaimed, 
^^ Look up from those cursed books, 
brother Austml What is there in 
thai lad's face? Construe (^ if yoa 
can I" 



CBAFTEB XL. 



And my fether pushed aside his 
books, and rose ha^y. He took off 
his spectacles, and rubbed them me- 
chanically, but he said nothii^ ; and 
my uncle, staring at him for a moment, 
in surprise at his silenoe, burst out, — 

^^ Oh t I see — he has been getting 
into some scrape, and yon are angry ! 
Fie ! young blood will have its way, 
Austin — it wHL I don't blame that — 
it is only when— come here, Sistyl 
Zounds I man, come here." 

My father gently brushed off the 
oaptun'shand, and, advancing towards 
me, opened his arms. The next mo- 
ment I was sobbmg <a his breast 

'' But what is the matter? " cried 



Captain Roland, ** will nobody say 
whatisthematter? Money, I suppose 
— ^money, you confounded extravagant 
young dog. Luckily yon have got an 
uncle who has more than he knows 
whattodowith. Howmuch?— fifty?— 
a hundred? two hundred? How can I 
write the cheque, if you'll not speak?" 
"Hush, brother I it is no money 

Su can give that will set this right, 
y poor boy I have I guessed trrty? 
Did I guess truly the other eventeg, 

"Yes, srr, yesi I hava been so 
wretched. But I am better now^I 
can tell you all." 

My undo moved slowly towaroa 



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1649.] 



ne CaxUmi.-^Part IX. 



S5 



tbe door: bis fine sense of delicacy 
made him tiunk that even he was out 
of place intheoonidence between s(m 
andfioher* 
**No, nncle," I said, heading out 

2r hand to him, ^^ staj; yon too can 
vise m»— strengthen me. I have 
kept my bonomr yet— help me to keep 
kstilL^' 

At the aooad of the word honomr 
CafAain Roland stood mntCi and 
raised his head qnickly* 

Soltoldali— incoherently enonghat 
first, bnt clearly and manfally as I 
went on. Now I know that it is not 
the custom of lowers to confide in 
fathers and nndes. Judging by those 
miiron of life, plays and novelis, they 
choose better;— yalets and chamber- 
maids, and Meods whom they have 
picked im in the street, as I had picked 
np poor Francis Viyian-— to these th^ 
make dean breasts of their troubles. 
But fathers and uade(»— to them they 
are dose, impregnable, "buttoned to 
the chin." Ihe Gaztons were an ec- 
centric fiunily, and never did anything 
like other people. When I had ended, 
I lifted my eyes, and said pleadingly, 
" Now, tell me, is there no hope — 
none?" 

''Why should there be none?" 
cried Captain Rdand hastily—*' the 
De Gaxtons are as good a family as the 
Trevanicms; and as for yoursdf, all I 
will say is, that the young lady might 
choose wone for her own hapmnees.'* 
I wrung my unde's hand, and turned 
to my father in anxious ibar— for I 
knew that, in spite of his seduded 
habits, few men ever formed a sounder 
judgment on worldly matters, when 
he was fairly drawn to look at them. 
A thing wonderful is that plain 
wisdom which scholars and poets 
often have for othscs, though they 
rardy deign to use it for themsdvee. 
And how on euth do they get at it ? 
I looked at my fother, and the vague 
hope Roland had exdted fell as 
Hooked. 

"Brother," said he dowly, and 
shaking his head, " tiie world, which 
gives <»des and laws to those who live 
in it, does not care much for a pedi- 
gree, unless it goes with a title-deed 
to estates." 

"Trevanion was not richer than 
Pisistratus when he married Lady 
Ellinor," said my unde. 



" lYue ; but Lady Ellinor was not 
then an heiress, and her father viewed 
these matters as no other peer in Eng- 
land perhaps would. AsforTrevanion 
himself, I dare say he has no prejudices 
about station, but he is strong in com- 
mon sense. He values himself on being 
a practical man. It would be folly to 
talk to him of love, and the affections 
of youth. He would see in the son of 
Austin Caxtcm, living on the interest 
of some fifteen or sixteen thousand 
pounds, such a match for his daii|h- 
ter as no prudent man in his position 
could aptnove. And as for Lady 
Ellinor'^— 

"She owes us much, Austml" ex- 
daimed Roland, his face daricening. 

" Lady Ellinor is now what, if wa 
had known her better, she promised 
always to be— the ambitious, brilliant, 
schemmg woman of the world. Is it 
not so, Pisistratus?" 

I said nothing. I folt too much. 

"And does the girl like yon?— but 
I think it is dear she does!" ex- 
claimed Roland. "Fate— fkte;ithaa 
been a fatal fomfly to us I Zounds, 
Austm, it was your fouh. Why did 
you let him co there?" 

" My son is now a man— at least in 
heart, if not in years — can man be shut 
firom danger and trial ? They found 
me in the dd parsonage, Inotherl" 
said my father mildly. 

My uncle walked, or rather stump- 
ed, three times up and down the room ; 
and he then stopped short, folded his 
arms, and came to a dedsion — 

" If tbe giri likes you, your duty is 
doubly clear— you can't take advan- 
tage of it. You have done right to 
leave the house, for the temptation 
might be too strong." 

^^ But what excuse shall I make to 
Mr Trevanion? " saidi feebly-.-" what 
stoiT can I invent? So cardess as be 
is while he trusts, so penetrating if he 
once suspects, he will see through all 
my subterfuges, and— and— " 

"It is as plain as a pike-staff,'' 
said my unde abruptiy — " and there- 
need be no subtcofbge in the matter. 
* I must leave you, Mr Trevanion.* 
*Why?' says he. *Dont ask me.' 
He insists. * Well then, sir, if you 
must know, I love your daughter. I 
have nothing— she is a great heiress. 
Ton will not approve of that love, and 
therefore I leave youl' That is the. 



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S6 



I%e Cazians.'^Part IX. 



[Jan. 



coarse that becomes an English gen- 
tleman— eh, Anstin?" 

" You are never wrong when your 
instincts speiJE, Roland," said my 
father. ^* Can you say this, Pisistra- 
tns, or shall I say it for yon?" 

^^Let him say it himself," said 
Roland ; '* and let him judge himself 
of the answer. He is young, he is 
clever, he may make a figure in the 
world, l^vanion may answer, * Win 
the lady after you have won the laurel, 
like the knights of old.* At all events, 
you will hear the worst." 

" I will go," said I, firmly; and I 
took my hat, and left the room. As 
I was passing the landing-place, a 
liffht step stole*down the upper flight 
of stairs, and a little hand seised my 
0Mm« I turned quickly, and met the 
ftdl, dark, seriously sweet eyes of my 
cousin Blanche. 

" Don't go away yet, Sisty," said 
she coaxingly. ** I have been wait- 
ing for you, for I heard your voice, 
and did not like to come in and dis- 
turb you." 

" And why did you wait for me, 
my little Blanche?" 

"Why! only to see you. But 
yonr eyes are red. Oh, cousui !" — and, 
before I was aware of her childish 
impulse, she had sprung to my neck 
and kissed me. Now Blanche was 
not like most children, and was very 
sparing of her caresses. So it was out 
of the deeps of a kind heart that that 
kiss came. I returned it without a 
word ; and, putting her down gently, 
ran down the stairs, and was in the 



streets. But I had not got far before 
I heard my father's voice; and he 
came up, and, hooking his arm into 
mine, said, " Are there not two of us 
that suffer?— let us be together 1" I 
pressed his arm, and we walked on in 
silence. But when we were near 
Trevanion's house, I sidd hesitatingly, 
'* Would it not be better, sir, that I 
went in alone. If there is to be an 
explanation between Mr Trevanion 
and myself, would it not seem as if 
your presence implied either a request 
to him that would lower us both, or a 
doubt of me that— " 

" You will go in alone, of course : 
I will wait for you—" 

" Not in the streets— oh no, father," 
cried I, touched inexpressibly. For 
all this was so unlike my father's 
habits, that I felt vemorse to have so 
communicated my young griefs to 
the calm dignity of Us serene life. 

" My son, you do not know how I 
love you. I have only known it my- 
self lately. Look you, I am living in 
you now, myfijrst-bom; not in my 
other son— the great book: I must 
have my way. Go in; that is the 
door, is it not?" 

I pressed my father's hand, and I felt 
then, that, while that hand could re- 
ply to mine, even the loss of Fanny 
Trevanion could not leave the world 
a blank. How much we have before 
ns in life, while we retain our parents t 
How much to strive and to hope for I 
What a motive in the conquest of our 
sorrow — that they may not sorrow 
with us ! 



CHAPTER XU. 



I entered Trevanion's study. It was 
an hour in which he was rarely at 
home, but I had not thought of that ; 
and I saw without surprise that, con- 
traiy to his custom, he was in his arm- 
chair, reading one of his favourite 
dassic authors, instead of being in 
some committee room of the House of 
Commons. 

"A pretty fellow you are," said 
he, looking up^ ^* to leave me all the 
morning, without rhyme or reason. 
And my committee is postponed — 
chairman ill — people who get ill 
should not go into the House of Com- 



mons. So here I am, looking into 
I^ropertins : Parr is right ; not so 
elegant a writer as Tibullus. But 
what the deuce are you about? — ^why 
don't you sit down? Humph I you 
look grave— you have something to 
say, — say it I " 

And, putting down Propertius, the 
acute,sharp fniSe of Trevanion instantly 
became earnest and attentive. 

"My dear Mr Trevanion," said L 
with as much steadiness as I coula 
assume, " you have been most kind to 
me ; and, out of my own family, there 
is no man I love and respect more." 



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1849.] 



The Caxtans.'-Part IX. 



87 



Trkyaniok.— Hnmphl What's all 
this! (In an Wider tone) — ^Am I going 
to be taken in? 

PisiBTBATUS. — ^Do not think me 
QDgratefiil, then, when I say I come to 
resign myofiSce — ^to leave the house 
irhere I have been so happy. 

Trevaniok. — ^Leaye the house! — 
Pooh! — ^I have overtasked you. I 
wfll be more mercifnl in future. Yon 
must forgiye a political economist — it 
is the fault of my sect to look upon 
men as machines. 

PisifiTBATUS^mitlm^ faintly,) — 
No, indeed — ^that is not it I I have 
nothing to complain of— nothing I 
oonld wish altered—could I stay. 

Tre YAinoN (examining me thought' 
fitUg.) — ^And does your father approve 
of voor leaving me thus ? 

PisisTRATUs. — Yes, fully. 

Trevanion (musing a moment,) — 
I aee, he would send vou to the iJni- 
veraity, make you a book- worm like 
himself : pooh I that will not do — ^you 
will never become wholly a man of 
bodu,— it is not in you. Young man, 
though I may seem careless, I read 
characters, when I please it, pretty 
qiDickly. You do wrong to leave me ; 
you are made for the great world— I 
can c^)en toyou a high career. I wish 
to do so ! Lady Ellinor wishes it — 
nay, insists on it— for your father^s 
aake as well as yours. I never ask 
m fiivonr from ministers, and I never 
wilL But (here Trevanion rose sud- 
denly, and, with an erect mien and a 
qnick gesture of his arm, he added) — 
bat a minister hunself can dispose as 
lie pleases of his patronage. Look 
yon, it is a secret yet, and I trust to 
your honour. But, before the year is 
out, I must be in the cabinet. Stay 
with me, I guarantee your fortunes — 
three months ago I would not have 
said that. By-and-by I will open 
parliamoit for you— you are not of age 
yet— work till then. And now sit down 
and write my letters— a sad arrear I '' 

"My dear, dear Mr Trevanion I " 
said I, so affected that I could scarcely 
speak, and seiaing his hand, which I 
pressed between both mine — " I dare 
not thank yon- I cannot I But you 
don^t know my heart — ^it is not ambi- 
tion. No 1 if I could but stay here on 
the same terms for ever— A«re— Hook- 
ing ruefully on that spot where Fannv 
had stood the night before,) but it is 



impossible ! If you knewall, yon would 
be the first to bid me go! " 

*^ You are in debt," said the man 
of the world, coldly. "Bad, very 
bad— stUl— " 

" No, sir ; no 1 worse — " 

"Hardly possible to be worse, 
young man — ^hardly I But, just as you 
will ; you leave me, and will not say 
why. 6ood-by. Why do you linger? 
shidce hands, and go 1 ** 

" I cannot leave you thus : I— I— 
sir, the truth shall out. I am rash 
and mad enough not to see Miss 
Trevanion without forgetting that I 
am poor, and — ^" 

" Ha 1 " interrupted Trevanion 
softly, and growing pale, " this ia 
a misfortune indeed! And I, who 
talked of reading characters ! Truly, 
truly, we would-be practical men are 
fools— fools) And vou have made 
love to my daughter I " 

" Sir I Mr Trevanion ! — no— never^ 
never so base ! Li your house, trusted 
by you, — ^how could you think it ? I 
dared, it maybe, to love— at allevents, 
to feel that I could not be insensible 
to a temptation too strong for me. 
But to say it to your daughter— to 
ask love in return— I would as sooq 
have broken open your desk I Frankly 
I tell you my folly : it is a folly, not 
a disgrace." 

Trevanion came up to me abruptly, as 
I leant against the book-case, and, 
grasping my hand with a cordial kind- 
ness, said, — " Pardon me I You have 
behaved as your father^s son should — 
I envy him such a son I Now, listen 
to me — I cannot give you my 
daughter — ^*' 

" Believe me, sir, I never—" 

"Tut, listen! I cannot give you 
my daughter. I say nothing of in- 
equality — all gentlemen are equal; 
and if not, all impertinent affectation 
of superiority, in such a case, would 
come ill from one who owes his own 
fortune to his wife I But, as it is, I 
have a stake in the world, won not 
by fortune only, but the labour of a 
me, the suppression of half my nature 
—the drudging, squaring, taming 
down— all that made the glory and 
joy of my youth— to be Uiat hard 
matter-of-fact thing which theEnielish 
world expect in a— «to<«« 
station has gradually opei 
natural result— power ! I 



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38 



shall Boon have hl^ office in tbe ad- 
ministration : I hope to render great 
services to England— for we English 
politicians, whatever the mob and the 
press say of ns, are not selfish plaoe- 
honters. I refiised office, as high as I 
look for now, ten years ago. We 
believe in our opinions, and we hail 
the power that may carnr them into 
effect In this cabinet 1 shall have 
enemies. Oh, don^t think we leave 

SloQsy behind us, at the doors of 
wning Street ! I shall be one of a 
minority. I know well what mnst 
happen : like all men in power, Imnst 
strengthen myself by o^er heads and 
hands than my own. My dangfater 
shonld bring to me the alliance of that 
honse In England which is most ne- 
cessary to me. My life falls to the 
gromid, like a house of cards, if I 
waste-^I do not say on yon, bat on 
men of ten times yoor fortone (what- 
ever that be,) — the means of strength 
which are at my disposal in the hand 
of Fanny Trevanion. To this end I 
have looked; bnt to this end her 
mother has schemed -*- for these 
household matters are within a man's 
hopes, bat bdong to a woman's policy* 
So mnch for as. Bat for yoo, my 
dear, and frank, and high-soaled 
yoong friend— for yon, if I were not 
Fanny's father— if 1 were yoor nearest 
relation, and Fanny conla be had for 
the asking, with all her princely 
dower, (for it is princely,)— for yon I 
shoald say, fly from a load opon the 
heart, on the genios, the energy, the 
pride, and the spirit, which not one 
man in ten thoasand can bear; fly 
from the curse of owing every thing 
to a wifel— it is a reversal of all 
aatand position, it is a blow to all 
the manhood within us. Ton know 
not what it is: I do! My wifo's for- 
tune came not till alter marriage — so 
flu-, 80 w^ ; it saved my rrootation 
from the charge of fortone-honting. 
But, I tdl you fairly, that if it had 
never come at all, I shoald be a 
prouder, and a greater, and a hi^pier 
man tlian I have ever been, or ever 
can be, witii all -its advantages ; it 
has been a millstone round my neck. 
And yet EQinor has never breathed a 
word that could wound my pride. 
Would her daughter be as forbearing ? 
Much as I love Fanny, I doobt tf ^ 



l%e OtBrftms.— J\»^ IX. [Jan. 

has the great heart of her mother. You 
look incredulous; — natural^. Oh, 
you think I shall sacrifice my child's 
happiness to a poEtician's amotion ! 
Folly of youth I Fanny would be 
wretched with yon. She might not 
think so now ; she would Ave yean 
hence 1 Fanny will make an admir- 
able duchess, countess, great lady; 
but wife to a man who owes all to 
herl — no, no, don't ^bneam it! I shall 
not sacrifice her happiness, d^>end 
on it. I speak plainfjr, as man to 
Bian— 4nan of the world to a man 



jtBt entering it— but still man to mani 
What say you?" 

*' I will think over all yoa tell me. 
I know ^at you are q»eakkig to 
me most generously — as a father 
would. Now let me go, and may 
God keep you and yours ! " 

(( Go— I return yoor blessing — go! 
I don't insult you now with ofibra 
of service ; but, remember, you have a 
right to command them — ^in allwm, 
in all times. Stcq»l — take uiis 
comfort away with yoa — a sorry 
comfort now, a great one hereafter. 
In a position that might have moved 
anger, sc(»n, pily, yoa have mads 
a barren-hearted man honour and 
admire you. You, a boy, have made 
me, with my gray hah^ think better 
of the whole worid: tell yoor father 
that." 

I closed the door, and stolo out 
sofUy — 8<^y. Bat when I got hito 
the hall, Fanny suddenly opened the 
door of 1^ breakfest parlour, and 
seemed, by her look, her gesture, to 
invite me in. Her face was very pale, 
and there weve traces of tears on the 
heavy lids. 

I stood still a moment, and my 
heart beat violently. I tiien mattered 
somethhig inarticulately, and, bowing 
low, hastened to "the door. 

I thought, but my ears might de- 
ceive me, that I heard mv name pro- 
nounced; but fortunately the tall porter 
started from his newspaper and his 
leather chair, imd the entrance stood 
•pen. I joined my fe^er. 

*^ It is all over," said I, wMi a reso- 
kitesmile. *'Aa»dnow,mydearftther, 
Ifoel how gratefol I shoald bote all 
that your lessons — yoor Slt$*^htpm 
taoght me ;— for, bei0iMM| i Ml Mt 



184fi.] 



The QaaOotUc-'^^mi /X 



flOArrsBXLii. 



We cime back to my fiUher's house, 
and OQ tiie gtdrs we met my mother, 
whom RoUnd*g grave looks, and her 
Aostiii's straoffe absence, had alarmed. 
My father <imetly led the way to a 
little room, which my mother had 
appfopriatod to Blanche and herself; 
imd then, pladng my hand in that 
which had ndped his own steps from 
the stony path, down the quiet vales 
of life, he siuld to me,-*^^ Natore gives 

S»n here the soother;" — and, so say- 
g, he left the room. 

And it was tme, O my mother! 
that in thy simple loving breast 
nature did place the deep weUs of 
comibrtl We come to men for philoso- 
phy — to women for consolation. And 
the thoQsand weaknesses and regrets ' 
— the sharp sands of the minntiie that 
make ap sorrow — all these, which 
I ooold have betrayed to no man^ 
not even to him, the dearest and ten- 
derest of all men— I showed without 
•bame to thee 1 And thy tears, that 
Ml on my cheek, had the balm of 
Araby; and my heart, at length, 
lay laDed and soothed mider thy moist 
gentle eyes. 

I made an effcni, and jobied the 
tittle drde at dinner; and I felt 
gratelBl that no violent attempt was 
made to raise my spirits— nothing but 
aibctioB, more snbdaed, and soft, and 
tranquil. Even little Blanche, as if 
by the hitnition of sympathy, ceased 
ber babble, and seemed to hash her 
footstep as she crept to my side. Bat 
aftor dinner, when we had reassem- 
bled in the drawing-room, and the 
lights shone bright, and the curtains 
were let down — and only the quick 
roll of some passing wheels reminded 
OS that there was a world without 
— my ftidier began to talk. He 
bad laid aside all his woric ; the 
yomger, but less perishable child was 
fol^teoy— and my father began to 
talk. 

'' It is," said he musingly, '' a 
well-known thing, that piirticuiar 
drags or herbs suit the body according 
to its particular diseases. When we 
are ill, we doa*t open our medidne- 
«hest at random, and take out any 



powder or phial that comes to hand. 
The ddlfnl doctor is he who adjusts 
the dose to the malady." 

^^ Of that there can be no doubt," 
quoth Captain BoUnd. '^ I remem- 
ber a notable instance of the justice of 
what you say. When I was in Spain, 
bolii my horse «nd I fell ill at the 
same time ; a dose was sent for each ; 
and, by some infemid mktake, I swal- 
lowed the horse's physic, and the 
horse, poor thing, swallowed mine 1" 

^^ And what was the result?" asked 
my father. 

«*Tfae horse died!" answered Bo- 
land moumfolly — ^* avaluaUlebeast — 
bright bay, with a star 1" 

"And you?" 

" Why, the doctor said it ought 
to have killed me; but it took a great 
deal more than a paltry bottle of phy- 
sic to kill a man in my regiment." 

" Nevertheless, we arrive at the 
same conclusion," pursued my fathw, 
— ** I with my theory, you with your 
experience,— that the physic we take 
must not be chosen hap-haaard ; and 
that a mistake in the bottle may kill a 
horse. But when we come to the 
medicine for the mind, how little do 
we think of the golden rule which 
common-sense applies to the body." 

"Anon," said the Captain, " what 
medicine is there for the mind ? Shak- 
speare has said something on that 
subject, which, if I recollect right, 
implies that there is no ministering to 
a mind diseased." 

" I thmk not, brother; he only said 
physic (meaning boluses and black 
draughts) would not do it. And 
Shakspetfe was the last man to find 
fiuUt with his own art ; for, verily, 
he has been a great phyddan to the 
mind." 

" Ah 1 Itakeyounow, brother,— books 
again! So you think that, when a man 
breaks his heart, or loses his fortune, 
or his daughter— ^Blanche, child, come 
here).-^that you have only to ckip a 
plaster of print on Uie sore place, and 
all is wdl. I wish you would find me 
such a cure." 

"WaiyoutiTit?" 

" If it is not Greek," said my unde. 



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40 



The Caxtani.^Part IX. 



[Jan. 



OHAfTEB XLIU* 
MY FATHBR^S CROTCHBT ON THE HTQSIBNIC CHXMI8TRT OP BOOKS. 



^' If," said my father— and here his 
hand was deep in his waistcoat — " if 
we accept the authority of Diodoms, 
as to the inscription on the great 
E^tian library — and I don't see why 
Diodoms should not be as near the 
mark as any one else?" added my 
father interrogatively, turning round. 

My mother thouffht herself the per- 
son addressed, and nodded her gra- 
cious assent to the authority of Dio- 
doms. His opinion thus fortified, my 
father continued, — " If, I say, we ac- 
cept the authority of Diodoms, the in- 
scription on the Egyptian library was 
— *TheMedidneoftheMind.' JNTow, 
that phrase has become notoriously 
trite and hackneyed, and people repeat 
vaguely that books are the medicine 
of the mind. Yes ; but to apply the 
medidne is the thing 1 " 

*'^ So you have told us at least twice 
before, brother," quoth the Captain, 
bluffly. " And what Diodoms has to 
do with it, I know no more than the 
man of the moon." 

*^ I shall never get on at this rate," 
said my fistther, in a tone between re- 
proach and entreatv. 

"Be ffood children, Roland and 
Blanche Both," said my mother, stop- 
ping from her work, and holding up 
ler needle threateningly— and indeed 
inflicting a slight puncture upon the 
Captain^ shoulder. 

" Bem acu tetigisti, my dear," siud 
my father, borrowing Cicero's pun 
on the occasion.* "And now we 
shall go upon velvet. I say, then, 
that books, taken indiscriminately, are 
no cure to the diseases and afflic- 
tions of the mind. There is a world 
of science necessary in the taking 
them. I have known some people 
in flpreat sorrow fly to a novel, or 
the last light book in fashion. One 
might as well take a rose-draught for 
the plague 1 Light reading does not 
do when the heart is reidly heavy. 
I am told that Goethe, when he lost 
his son, took to study a science that 
was new to him. Ah ! Goethe was a 
physician who knew what he was 



m 



about. In a great grief like that, you 
cannot tickle and divert the mind} 
you must wrench it away, abstract, 
absorb— bury it in an abvss, hurry it 
into a labyrinth. Therefore, for the 
irremediable sorrows of middle life and 
old age, I recommend a strict chronic 
course of science and hard reasoning— 
Counter-irritation. Bring the brain to 
act upon the heart I If Msience is too 
mueh against the min, (for we have 
not all got mauiematical heads,) 
something in the reach of tiie humblest 
understanding, but sufficiently search- 
ing to the highest — a new language- 
Greek, Arabic, Scandinavian, Chinese, 
or Welch ! For the loss of fortune, the 
dose should be applied less directly to 
the understanding. — I would ad- 
minister something elegant and cor- 
dial. For as the heart is crushed 
and .lacerated by a loss in the affec- 
tions, so it is rather the head that 
aches and suffers by the loss of mon^. 
Here we find ^e higher class of poeta 
a very valuable remedy. For observe 
that poets of the grander and more 
comprehensive kind of genius have in 
them two separate men, quite dis- 
thict from each other— the imaginative 
man, and the practical, circumstantial 
man ; and it is the happy mixture of 
these that suits diseases of the mind, 
half imaginative and half practicaL 
There is Homer, now lost with the 
gods, now at home with the homeliest, 
the very * poet of circumstance,* aa 
Gray has finelv called him ; and yel 
with imagmanon enough to seduce 
and coax the dullest imo forgetting,, 
for a while, that little spot on his desk 
which his banker's book can cover. 
There is Virgil, far below him, indeed 

' Viigil tli« wiif, 

WhoM ytim "ynllu highest, bat not flies.* 

as Cowley expresses it. But Virgil ' 
still has genius enough to be two 
men — to lead you into the fields, 
not only to listen to the pastoral 
reed, and to hear the bees hum, 
but to note how you can make tiie 
most of the glebe and the vineyard. 
There is Horace, charming man of the 



* Cioero's Joke on a senator who was the ton of a taUor— ^ Thou hast touched th* 
thing Bharplj," (or with a needle— oen.) 



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1849.] The Caxkm.^Part IX. 

world, who will condole with you 
feelin^j on the loss of your fortnnot 
and by no means nndervalne the 
good thmgs of this life ; but who will 
yet show you that a man may be 
happy with a vUe nuxUcum^ or parva 
rura. There is Shakspeare, who, 
above all poets, is the mysterious 
dual of hard sense and empyreal 
fancy — anda great many more, whom 
I need not name; but who, if you 
take to them gently and quietly, wi]l 
not, like your mere philosopher, your 
unreasonable stoic, tell you that you 
have lost nothing ; but who will in- 
sensibly steal you out of this world, 
with its losses and crosses, and slip 
Toa into another world, before you 
know where you are I — a woiid where 
you are just aa welcome, though you 
cany no more earth of your lost 
acres with you than covers the sole 
of your shoe. Then, for hypochondria 
and satiely, what is better than a 
brisk alteratiye course of travels— es- 
pecially early, out of the way, mar- 
vellous, legendaiy travels I How they 
freshen up the spirits 1 How they take 
you out of the humdrum yawning 
state you are in. See, with Herodotus, 
young Greece spring up into life ; or 
note with him now alieady ^e won- 
drous old Orient wcnrldis cnunbling 
Into giant decay ; or go with Caipini 
and Bubruquis to Tartarv, meet 
*the carts of Zagathai laden with 
houses, and think that a great city is 
travelling towardsyon.' * Gase on that 
vast wila empire of the Tartar, where 
the descendants (tf Jenghis * multiply 
and di^>er8e over the immense waste 
desert, which is as boundless as the 
ocean. * Sail with the early northern 
discoverers, and penetrate to the 
heart of winter, among sea-serpents 
and bears, and tusked morses, with 
the faces of men. Then, what think 
you of Ccdombus, and the stem soul 
of Cortes, and the kingdom of 
' Mexico, and the strange gold dtj of 
the Peruvuins, with that audacious 
Inrute Plaarro ? and the Polynesians, 
jost for all the world like the ancient 
Britons ? and the American Indians, 
and the South-Sea Ishuders? how 
petulant, and young, and adventur- 
ous, and frisky your hypochondriac 
must get upon a regimen like that ! 



41 

Then, for that vice of the mind which 
I caU sectarianism — ^notin the religious 
sense of the word, but little, narrow 
prejudices, that make you hate your 
next-door neighbour, because he haa 
his eggs roasted when you have 
jrours^iled ; and gossiping and pry- 
mg into people*s affairs, and badk- 
biting, and thinking heaven and 
earth are coming together, if some 
broom touch a cobweb that you have 
let grow over the window-sill of 
your brains— what like a lai^e and 
generous, mildly aperient (I beg 
your pardon, my dear) course of hls- 
toiy! How it clears away all the 
fumes of the head !— better than the 
hellebore with which the old leeches 
of the middle ages purged the cerebel- 
lum. There, amidst all that great 
wtirl and sturmbad (storm-bath), as 
the Germans say, of kingdoms and 
empires, and races and ages, how 
your mind enlar^ beyond that, little, 
feverish animosity to John Styles; 
or that unfortunate prepossession of 
vours, that all the world is interested 
in your grievances against Tom 
Stokes and his wife I 

^* lean only touch, you see, on a few 
ingredients in tbis magnificent phar- 
macy — ^its resources are boundless, 
but require the nicest discretion. I 
remember to have cored a disconso- 
late widower, who obstinately re- 
fused every other medicament, by a 
strict course of seology. I dioped 
him deep into gneiss and mica schist. 
Amidst the first strata, I suffered the 
watery action to expend itself upon 
coc^g crystallised masses ; and, by 
the time I had got him into the ter- 
tiary period, amongst the transition 
chalks of Maestrioht, and the conchi- 
ferous marls of Grosau, he was reader 
for a new wife. Kitty, my dear ! it is 
no laughing matter. I made no less 
notable a cure of a young scholar at 
Cambridge, who waa meant for the 
church, when he suddenly caught a 
cold fit of freethinking, with great 
shiverings, from wading oyer his 
depth in Spinosa. None of the 
divines, whom I first tried, did him the 
least good in that state ; so I turned 
over a new leaf, and doctored him 
gently upon the chapters of faith in 
Abraham Tucker's book, (you should 



* RuBBuqui8,Bect.z]i 



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42 



The Oaxtom8,'-'J\trt IX, 



[Jan. 



read it, Sisty ;) then I threw in strong 
doees of flcht^ ; after that I put him 
on the Scotch metaphysicians, with 
plimgebaths into certain German tran- 
soendentalists; and haying convinced 
him that faith is not an onphUoso- 
phical state of mind, and that he 
might believe without compromising 
his understanding — ^for he was mightily 
conceited on that score— I threw in 
my divines, whidi he was now fit to 
digest ; and his theological constitu- 
tion, since then, hasbe^meso robust, 
that he has eaten up two livings and a 
deanery 1 In fact, I have a plan for 
a library that, instead of heading its 
compartments, ^Pliilology, Natural 
Science, Foetiy,' &q,, one shall head 
them according to the diseases for 
which they are severally good, bod)ly 
and mental — up from a dire cala- 
mity, or the pangs of the gout, 
down to a fit of the m>leen, or a 
slight catarrh; ^r which last your 
light reading comes in with a whey 
posset and barley-water. But," con- 
tinued my father more gravely, " when 
some one sorrow, that is yet repar- 
able, gets hold of your mind like a 
monomania — when youthhik, because 
heaven has denied you this or that, 
on which you had set your heart, that 
all yourl&iB must be a blank — oh, 
then diet yourself well on biography 
— the biography of good and great 
men. See how little a space one sor- 
row really makes in life. See scarce 
a page, perhaps, given to some grief 
similar to your own ; and how tnnm- 
phantly the life sails on beyond iti 
You thought the wing was broken! — 
Tut— tut — it was butabndsed feather I 
See what life leaves behind it, when all 
is done! — ^a summary of positive facts 



far out of the region of sorrow and 
sufiforing, linking themsdves with 
the being of the world. Yes, biogra<^ 
phy is the medicine here ! Roland^ 
you said you would try my prescrip- 
tion — here it is,** — and my father 
took up a book, and reached it to tho 
Captain. 

My uncle looked over it — Life of 
the Reverend Robert HaU. ^* Brother, 
he was a Dissenter, and, thank heaven, 
I am a chureh-and-state num, back 
and bone ! " 

** Robert Hall was a brave man, 
and a true soldier under the ereat 
commander,'* said my father artralfy. 

The Captain meohlinically carried 
his forefinger to his forehead in mili- 
tary fashion, and saluted the book 
respectfully. 

" I have another copy lor you, 
Fisistratns — that \b mine which I have 
lent Roland. This, which I bought 
for you to-day, you will kefep.** 

" Thank you, sir,»' said I listlessly^ 
not seeing what great good the Lm 
of Robert Hall could do me, or why 
the same medicine should suit the old 
weatherbeaten undo, and the nephew 
yet in his teens. 

."I have sidd nothing," resumed 
my father, slightly bowing his broad 
temples, ^^ of the Book of Books, for 
that is the lignum vita^ tiie oardinid 
medicine for all. These are but the 
subsidiaries : for, as you may remem- 
ber, my dear Kitty, that I have said 
before— we can never keep the system 
quite right unless we place just in 
the centre of the great ganglionic 
system, whence the nerves carry its 
influence gently and smoothly through 
the whole frame — the Saffbon 
Bag!" 



CEAfTEBXLIV. 



After breakfast the next morning, 
I took my hat to go out, when my 
father, looking at me, and seeuig by 
my countenance that I had not dept, 
6aid gently — 

s, you have 

rt." 



'said I, smil- 



ey on go out; 
|oy your walk 



I confess that it was with some re- 
luctance I obeyed. I went back to 
my own room, and sate resolutely 
down to my task. Are there any ^ 
you, my readers, who have not read 
the Life of Robert HeUf If so, in 
the words of the great Captain Cuttle, 
^* When found, make a note of it.** 
Never mind what your theological 
opinion is — ^Episcopalian, Presbyte- 
rian, Baptist, Psedobaptist, Inde* 
pendent, Quid^er, Unitarian, Philo- 
sopher, Fi«ethinker— send for Ro- 
bert Hall I Yea, if there exist yet 



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1840.] 



The Cteifmf.— Porf IX. 



43 



OB eArth descendants of tke arch-here- 
sies, which made sneh a noise in their 
day — men who believe with Satnmi- 
nns that the world was made bf seven 
angels ; or with Basilides, that there 
are as many heayens as there are days 
in the year ; or witii the NIoolaitanes, 
that men onght to hare their wives in 
common, (meaty of that sect still, 
•espedally m the Red Bepnblic ;) or 
with thdr snecessocs, the Gnostics, 
who believed in Jiddaboath ; or with 
the Carpacratians, that the world was 
made by the devil ; or with the Cerin- 
thians, and Ebioidtes, and Naaarites, 
fwfaidi last discovered that the name 
of Noah*s wife was Ooria, and that 
she set the ark on fire ;) or with the 
Valentinians, who tao^t that there 
were thirty ifiones, ages, or worlds, 
bom ont of Profundity, (Bathos,) 
male, and Sflenoe, tooale ; or with the 
Mardtes, Colart>asii, and Heradeon- 
ites, (who stOl kept np that bother 
aboat.£ones, Mr Profhndity, and Mrs 
Silence ;) or with the Ophites, who 
are said to have worshipped the ser- 
pent; or the Cainites, who inge- 
niously fbnnd ont a reason for honour- 
ing Judas, because he foresaw what 
good would come to men by betraying 
our Saviour; or with the Sethites, 
who made Seth a j^art of the Divine 
substance; or with the Archonticks, 
AscotfayptA, Oerdonlans, Marclonites, 
the dlsdples of Apelles, and Sevems, 
(the last wasateetotaUer, and sidd wine 
was begot by Satan !) or of Tatian, 
who tiiought all the descendants of 
Adam were irretrievably damned ex- 
ospC themsdves, (some of those Ta- 
tiani are certidnly extant t) or the 
Oataphrygians, who were also cafled 
Tascodragitie, because tiiey thrust 
their fbrenneers up their nostrils to 
show their devotion ; or the Fepusi- 
ans, QuintQians, and Artotvrites ; or 
— but no matter. If I go throurii aU 
the fblHes of men in search of the 
truth, I shall never get to the end of 
ray chapter, or back to Kobert Hall : 
whatever, Aen, thou art, orthodox w 
lieterodox, send for theZf/« of Robert 
ffoB. It is the Hfo of a man that it 
does good to manhood itidf to con- 
temj^ite. 

I had finished the biography, whidi 
is not long, and was musing over it, 
when I heard the Captidn's cork-leg 
apoB the stafars. I opened the door 



for hhn, and he entered, book in hand, 
as I, also book in hand, stood ready 
to receive him. 

*' Well, sir," said Roland, seathig 
himself, '' has the prescription done 
you any good V* 

" Yes, undo— great." 

*^ And me too. By Jnpiter, Sisty, 
that same Hall was a fine fellow I I 
wonder if the medicine has gone 
through the same channels in both ? 
Tell me, first, how it has afiiacted yon." 

^ In^mmisy then, my dear unide, I 
Uaicv that a book like this must do 
good to all who live in the world in 
the ordinary manner, by admitting ua 
into a drde of life of which I suj^ect 
we think but little. Here is a man 
connecting himself directly with a 
heavenly purpose, and cultivating 
ooasideiable fiiculties to that one end ; 
seeking to accomplish his soul as fu 
as he can, that he may do most good 
on earth, and take a higher existaioe 
up to heaven ; a man intent upon a 
sublime and spkitual duty : in short, 
livhig as it were in it, and so filled 
with the consdonsness of immortality^ 
and so strong in the link between Grod 
and man, that, without any affected 
stoicism, without being insensible to 
pam — rather, perhaps, from a nervous 
temperament, acutdyfedfaigit— he yet 
has a happiness wholly independent 
of it. It is impossible not to be thrill- 
ed with an admiration that devates 
while it awes you, in reading that 
solemn * Dedication of himself to 
God.* This offering of * soul and 
body, time, health, reputation, ta- 
lents,* to the divine and faivisible 
Prindple of Good, calls*us suddenly to 
contemplate the selfishness of our own 
views and hopes, and awakens us from 
the cjgotism that exacts all and resigns 
nothing. 

**• But this book has mostly struck 
upon the chord in my own heart, in 
that characteristic whidi my father 
indicated asbdongfng to all biography. 
Here is a life of remaikable Jkiness^ 
ipreat stndy, great t^ouafat, and great 
action; and yel,".Mid I, oolouring, 
*« how small a place those feelings, 
which have tyrannised ovet me, and 
made all else seem blank and void, 
hold in that life. It is not as if the 
man were a cdd and hurd ascetic; 
it is easy to see in him not only 
ffemadcable tenderness and waim 



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44 



The CaxtoM.'-'Part IX. 



[Jan. 



affections, bnt strong self-will, and the 

?assion of all yigorons natures. Yes, 
understand better now what exist- 
ence in a true man should be." 

** All that is very well said," quoth 
the Captain, ^^ bnt it did not strike me. 
What I haye seen in this book is 
courage. Here is a poor creature 
rolling ^on the carpet with agony ; 
from childhood to death tortured by 
a mysterious incurable malady — a 
malady that is described as ^an inter- 
nal apparatus of torture;* and who 
does, by his heroism, more than hear 
it — he puts it out of power to 
affect him ; and though (here is the 
passage) ^his appointment b^ day 
and by night was mcessant pam, yet 
high enjoyment was, notwithstanding, 
the law of his existence.* Robert 
Hall reads me a lesson— me, an old 
soldier, who thought myself above 
taking lessons— in courage, at least. 
And, as I came to that passage when, 
in the sharp paroxysms before death, 
he says, ^I have not complamed, have 
I, sir? — and I won*t complain,* — ^when 
I came to that passage I started up, 



and cried, * Roland de Caxton, thon 
hast been a coward! and, an thou 
hadst had thv deserts, thou hadst 
been cashierea, broken, and drummed 
out of the regiment long ago l" 

^^ After all, then, my father was 
not so wrong— he placed his guns 
right, and fired a good shot." 

" He must have been from 6* to 9' 
above the crest of the parapet," said 
my uncle, thoughtfully — "wMch, I 
take it, is the best devation, both 
for shot and shells, in enfilading a 
work." 

^' What say you, then. Captain? up 
with our knapsacks, and on with the 
march I" 

^^Ri^t about— face I" cried my 
undo, as erect as a column. 

" No looking bade, if we can hdp 
it." 

«( Full in the front of the enemy. — 
* Up, guards, and at 'em V " 

*^ ^England expects every man to do 
his duty!'" 

"Cypress or laurd!" cried m^ 
unde, waving the book over his he 



CHAFTSBXLV. 



I went out— and to see Frauds 
Vivian; for, on leaving Mr Treva- 
nion, I was not without anxietyfor my 
new friend's future provision. But 
Vivian was from home, and I strolled 
from his lodgings, into the suburbs^on 
the other side of the river, and began 
to meditate seriously on the best 
course now to pursue. In quitting my 
present occupations, I resigned pros- 
pects far more brilliant, and fortunes 
far more rapid than I could ever 
hope to realise in any other entrance 
into life. Bnt I fdt the necessity, if 
I deshred to keep steadfost to that 
more healthful firame of mind I had 
obtained, of some manly and continu- 
ous labour— some eamestemployment. 
My thouefats flew back to the univer- 
si^ : and the quiet of its doisters — 
which, until I had been blinded by 
the glare of the London worid, and 
grief had somewhat dulled the edge of 
my quick desires and hopes, had 
seemed to me cheeriess and unalter- 
ing— took an inviting aspect. They 
presented what I needed most — a 
new scene, a new arena, a partial 



return into boyhood; repose for 
pasdons prematnrdy raised; acti- 
vity for the reasoning powers in fresh 
directions. I had not lost my time 
in London: I had kept up, if not 
studies purdy dasdcal, at least the 
habits^of application; I had sharpened 
my geoieral comprehension, and aug- 
mented my resources. Accordingly^ 
when I returned home. I resolved to 
speak to mv father. But J found he 
had forestaued me ; and, on entering, 
my mother drew me up staurs into her 
room, with a smile kindled by my 
snule, and told me that she and her 
Austin had been thinking that it was 
best that I should leave London as 
soon as possible; that my father 
found he could now dispense with 
the library of the Museum for some 
months; that the time for which they 
had taken their lodgings would be up 
in a few daysj that the summer was 
tzx advanced, town odious, the country 
beautiful— in a word, we were to go 
home. There I could prepare mysdf 
for Cambridge, till the long vacation 
was over; and, my mother added 



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1849.] 



Tke CaxUm.^Part IX. 



45 



hesitatingly, and with a prefatory 
cantion to spare my health, that my 
father, whose income coold ill affoid 
the requisite allowance to me, count- 
ed on my soon lightening his burden, 
by getting a scholarship. I felt how 
mudi provident kindness there was in 
all this— eren in that hint of a 
scholarship, which was meant to 
rouse my faculties, and spur me, by 
affectionate incentives, to a new am- 
bition. I was not less delighted than 
gratefhl. 

•' But poor Roland,'' said I, '^ and 
little Blanche — ^will they come with 
us?" 

"I fear not," said my mother, "for 
Boland is anxious to get back to his 
tower ; and, in a day or two, he will 
be well enough to move." 

" Do vou not think, my dear 
mother, that, somehow or other, this 
lost son of his had something to do 
with his iUness,— that the illness was 
as much mental as physical?" 

"I have no doubt of it, Slsty. What 
a sad, bad heart that young man must 
have!" 

"My uncle seems to have aban- 
doned all hope of finding him in 
London ; otherwise, ill as he has been, 
I am sure we could not have kept 
him at homo. So he goes back to the 
old tower. Poor man, he must be dull 
enough there I— we must contrive to 
pay him a visit. Does Blanche ever 
speak of her brother ? " 

" No, for it seems they were not 
brought up much together-— at all 
evrats, she does not remember him. 
How lovely she is 1 Her mother must 
surely h%ve been very handsome." 

" Sie is a pretty child, certainly, 
thoufffa in a strange style of beauty^ 
such mimense eyes!— and aflfectionate, 
and loves Roland as she ought." 

And here the conversation dropped. 

Our plans being thus decided, it 
was necessary that I should lose no 
time in seeing^ Vivian, and making 
some arrangement for the future. His 
manner had lost so much of its abrupt- 
ness, that I thought I could venture 
to recommend him personally to 
Trevanion; and I knew, after what 
had passed, that Trevanion would 
make a point to oblige me. I re- 
solved to consult my father about it. 
As yet I had cither never forced, or 
never made the opportunity to talk to 



my father on the subject, he had been 
so occupied ; and, if he had proposed 
to see my new friend, what answer 
could I have made, in the teeth of 
Vivian's cynic objections? However, 
as we were now going away, that last 
consideration ceased to be of import 
tance ; and, for the first, the student 
had not yet entirely settled back to 
his books. I therefore watched the 
time when my father walked down 
to the Museum, and, slipping my arm 
in his, I told him, briefly and n^idly, 
as we went along, how I had formed 
this strange acqudntance, and how 
I was now situated. The story did 
not interest my father quite as much 
as I expected, and he did not under- 
stand all the complexities of Vivian's 
character — how could he?— for he 
answered briefly, "I should think 
that, for a young man, apparently 
without a sixpence, and whose edu- 
cation seems so Imperfect, any resource 
in lYevanion must be most temporary 
and uncertain. Speak to your uncle 
Jack— he can find him some place, I 
have no doubt— perhaps a readership 
in a printer's office, or a reporter's 
place on some journal, if he is fit for 
it. But if you want to steady him, let 
it be something regular." 

Therewith my father dismissed the 
matter, and vanished through the 
gates of the Museum. — ^Readership to 
a printer, reportership on a journal, 
for a young gentleman with the 
high notions and arrogant vanity of 
Fnmcis Vivian — ^hls ambition already 
soaring for beybnd kid gloves and a 
cabriolet! The idea was hopeless; 
and, perplexed and doubtful, I took 
my way to Vivian's lod^gs. I found 
him at home, and unemployed, stand- 
ing by his window, with folded arms, 
and in a state of such reverie that he 
was not aware of my entrance till I 
had touched him on the shoulder. 

"Ha!" siud he then, with one of 
his short, quick, impatient sighs, " I 
thought you had given me up, and 
forgotten me — ^but you look pale and 
harassed. I could almost think you 
had grown thhmer within the last few 
days." 

"Oh! never mind me, Vivian : I 
have come to speak of yourself. I 
have left Trevamon ; it is settled that 
I should go to the university— and 
we all quit town in a few days." 



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46 



The Caxton$.^Pmrt IX. 



[JaiL 



** In » few days!— rU! — wiio sre 

^Mj fiimily'-fiiUier, mother, micle, 
consul, and mysdt Bat, my dear 
feUovr, now let ns think seriooslT 
what is best to be done for yon ? I 
can present yon to TroTanion." 

"Ha !" 

^^ Bnt Treranion is a hard, though 
an excdient man ; and, moreover, as 
he is always dianging the subjects 
that engross hhn^ in a montii or so, 
he may have nothing to glre you. 
Yon siud you would work— will yon 
consent not to complain if the work 
cannot be done in kid ^yes ? Tonnff 
men who have risen h^ in the world 
have begun, it Is well known, as re- 
porters to the press. It is a situatioa 
of respectability, and in request, and 
not easy to obtain, I &ncy ; but 
still—" 

Vivian interrupted me hastily — 

** Thank you a thousand times I 
bnt what you say confirms a resolu- 
tion I had taken before you came. I 
dudl make it up with my fomily, and 
return home." 

" OhI I am so really g^ How 
wise in you !" 

Vivian turned awi^ his head ab- 
ruptly— 

" Tour i^tnres of £unHy Ufo and 
domestic peace, you see," he said, 
*^ seduced me more than you thought. 
When do you leave town ?*' 

" Why, I believe, early next week." 

^ So soon!" said Vivian, thought- 
fully. **^ Well, perhaps I may ask you 
yet to introduce me to Mr Trevanion ; 
for— idio knows? — mv £amily and I 
may fall out again. But I will con- 
sider. I think I have heard yon say 
that this Trevanion is a very old 
fHend of your father's, or nucleus? 

^^ He, or rather Lady EUinor, is an 
old friend of both." 

^^ And therefore would listen to 
your recommendations of me. Bat 
perhaps I may not need them. So 
you have left — left of your own acccMrd 
— a situation that seemed more enjoy- 
able, I should think, than rooms in a 
college; — ^left— whydid you leave?" 

And Vivian fixed his bright eyes, 
fhll and piercingly, on mine. 

^^It was only for a time, for a trials 
that I was there," said I, evasively : 
** out at nurse, as it were, till the 
Alma Mater opened her arms—oiiMa 



indeed she ought to be to my fiUher's 
son." 

Vivian looked unsatisfied with my 
explanation, but did not cpiestion me 
farther. He himaelf was the first to 
turn the converration, and he did tlus 
with more affoctiottate oordiality than 
was common to him. He inquired 
into our general plans, into the proba- 
bilitiea of our return to town, and ^w 
from me a description of our rural 
Tusculnm. He was quitt and sub- 
dued; and once or twice I thought 
there was a moisture in those lumi- 
nous eyes. We narted with mon of 
the unreserve and fondness of youth- 
ful friendship— at least on my part, 
and seemin^y on his— than haa yet 
endeared our singular intimapv; for 
the cement of c(Mrdial attachment 
had been wantuig to an intercourse in 
which one party refused all confidenoe, 
and the other mm^ed distrust and 
foar with keen interest and compas- 
sionate adnuratlon. 

That evening, before lights were 
brought in, my father, tumhig to me, 
abruptly asked if I had seen my 
friend, and what he was about to do? 

'^ He thinks of returning to his 
fomity,"saidL 

Bohiiid, wlio had seemed dosing, 
winced uneasily. 

""Who returns to his fkmily?" 
asked the Csptain. 

" Why, you must know," said my 
father, " that Sisty has fished t|p a 
friend of whom he can give no ac- 
count that would satisfy a policeman, 
and whose fortunes he thinks himself 
under the necessity of protecting. 
You are veiy lucky that he has not 

Sicked your pockets, Sisty; but I 
aresayhehas? What's his name?" 

" Vivian," smd I—" Francis Vi- 
vian." 

" A good name, and a Comlsb," 
said my father. *^ Some derive it 
from the Bomans — ^Vivianus ; others 
from a Celtic word, which means" — 

" Vivian 1" interrupted Boland— 
" Vivian !— I wonder if it be the son 
of Colonel Vivian?" 

^^ He is certainly a gentleman's 
son," said I ; *^ bnt he never told me 
what his fomUy and connexions were." 

" Vivian," repeated my uncle — 
*' poor Colonel Vivian. So the young 
man is going to his fath^. I have no 
doubt it is the same. Ahl"— 



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^»«.3 



Ihi WkHeNtk. 



47 



*« WhAi do foa know of Cokmel 
TlviaOfOrhissoa?'' said L '* Pray, 
teH nOt I am 80 interested in tliia 



L know notliing of eitkar, ezoept 
kj msip,** said mr nnde, moodily. 
*^ I did kear that Cokmel Yiyian^ an 
•xceUent offloer, and konoorable man, 
kad been in— in— {BoUnd's yoiee M' 
tered)— in great grief about bis son, 
wbom, a mere boy, he liad prevented 
from some imprc^ mamage, and 
wko kad nm away and left bim— it 
was SQMMsed for America. Thestoiy 
afiectea me at the time,** added my 
nncte, tiying to speak caln^y. 
We were all silent, fbr we felt wky 



Boland was so distmbed, and why 
Colond Viyian's grief should have 
tonched him home. Similarity in 
affliction makes ns brothers even to 
the unknown* 

^^ You say ke is gofaig kome to his 
£unOy--I am heartily giiul of iti *' said 
the enyying old solmer, gallantly. 

The lights came in then, and, two 
minutes after, undo Roland and I 
were nestled dose to eadi other, side 
by side; and I was reading over his 
shoulder, and his finger was silently 
resting on that passage that had so 
struck him — ^^ I have not complained 
—have I, sir? — uid I won't com- 
plain 1'* 



THE WHITB MILB. 



Forr vears since, the book before 
us would kave earned for its antkor 
tlie sneers of critics and the reputa- 
tion of a Mondiauaen: atthe present 
OM>re tolerant and more enlightened 
day, ii not onlv obtains credit, but 
exdtes well-mented admhration of the 
writer's enterpdse, energy, and petse- 
verance. " Xhe rich contents and 
great originali^ of the following 
WGffk," says Profes8(ar Cail Bitter, in 
kis preface to Mr Weme's narrative, 
*^ will esc^M no one who bestows a 
tlance, however hasty, upon its pages. 
It gives vivid and lUe*like pictures 
of tribes and territories previously un- 
visited, and is wdcome as a most ac- 
ceptable addition to our literature of 
travel, often so monotonous." We 
quite coincide witb the learned pro- 
wssor, whose laudatory and long- 
winded sentences we have thus freely 
rendered. His friend, Mr Ferdinand 
Weme, has made good use of his 
opportunities, and has produced a veiy 
intereating and praiseworthy book. 

It is, perhaps, hardly necessanr to 
remind the reader, that the river Nile 
is formed of two oonfluent streams, 
the Blue and the White, iHiose junc- 
tion is in South Nubia, between 
16° and 16' of North Latitude. The 
source of the Blue Nile was ascer- 
tained by Bmce, and by subsequent 



travellers, to be in ^e mountains 
of AbyssMa ; but the course of the 
other branch, which is by farthe longest, 
had beenfoUowed,until very latdy,only 
asforsoirthaslO^orir N. L. Even 
now the river has not been traced to 
its origfai, although Mr Weme and his 
companions penetrated to 4" N. L. 
Further thev could not go, owing to the 
rapid subsidence of the waters. The 
expedition had been delayed six weeks 
by the culpable dilatoriness of one of 
its members ; and this was fotal to the 
realisation of its object. 

We can concdvefew things more 
exdting than such a voyage as Mr 
Weme has accomplished and recorded. 
Starting frt>m the outposts of civflisa- 
tion, he sailed into the very heart of 
Africa, up a stream whose upper 
waters were then for the first time 
finrrowed by vessels larger than a 
savage's canoe — a stream of such 
gigantic proportions, that its width, at 
a thousand miles from the sea, gave 
it the aspect of a lake rather than of 
a river. The brate creation were in 
proportion with the magnitude of the 
water-course. The hippopotamus 
reared his huge snout above the sur- 
face, and wallowed in the gullies that 
on dther hand run down to the stream; 
enormous crocodiles gaped along the 
shore ; dephants played in herds upon 



Ftpwdmm Mr EMttMmng der Q«^^ des Weinen NU, (1840.1841,) Ton Fbr- 
mnkMD Wnott. Hit dMm Yorwort Ton Carl Bitter. Berlin, 1848. 



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48 



The White NOe. 



[Jan. 



the pastures ; the tall giraffe stalked 
amongst the lofty palms; snakes thick 
as trees lay coiled in the slimy swamps ; 
and ant-hills, ten feet high, towered 
above the rashes. Along the thickly- 

themselves, gaidng in wonder at the 
strange ships, and making ambignons 
gestures, varionsly constnied by the 
adventurers as signs of Mendship or 
hostility. Alternately stuling and 
towing, as the wind served or not ; 
constantly in sight of natives, bnt 
rarely communicating with them ; often 
cut off for days from land by inter- 
minable fields of tangled we^,~the 
expedition pursued its course through 
innumerable perils, guaranteed from 
most of them by the liquid rampart 
on which it floated. Lions looked 
hungry, and savages shook their 
spears, but neither showed a disposi- 
tion to swim off and board the flotilla. 
The cause of science has countless 
obligations « to the cupidi^ of poten- 
tates and adventurers. May it not 
be part of the scheme of Providence, 
that sold is placed in the most remote 
and barbarous regions, as a magnet 
to draw thither the children of civili- 
sation ? The expedition shared in by 
Mr Weme is an argument in favour 
of the hypothesis. It originated in 
appetite for lucre, not in thirst for 
knowledge. Mehemet All, viceroy of 
Egypt, finding the lands within his 
control unable to meet his lavish ex- 
penditure and constant cry for gold, 
projected working mines supposed to 
exist in the distncts of Eordovan and 
Fazogl. At heavy cost he procured 
Austrianminers from Trieste, a portion 
of whom proceeded in 1886 to the 
land of promise, to open those veins 
of gold whence it was reported the old 
Venetian ducats had been extracted. 
Already, in imagination, the viceroy 
beheld an ingot-laden fleet safling 
merrily down the Nile. Ho was dis- 
appointed in his glowing expectations. 
Russegger, the German chief of the 
expediuon, pocketed the pay of a Bey, 
ate and drank in conformity with his 
rank, rambled about the country, and 
wrote a book for the amusement and 
information of his countrymen. Then 
he demanded thirty thousand dollars 
to begin the works. An Italian, who 
had accompanied him, offered to do 
it for loss ; mistrust and disputes arose. 



and at last their employer would rely 
on neither of them, but resolved to go 
and see for himself. This was in the 
autumn of 1888; and it might well be 
that the old fox was not sorry to get 
out of the way of certain diplomatic 
personages at Alexandria, ana thus to 
postpone for a while his reply to 
troublesome inquiries and demands. 

«* It was on the 15th October 1838," 
Mr Weme says, " that I— for some 
time past an anchorite in the wilder- 
ness by Tura, and just returned from a 
hunt in the ruins of Memphis — saw, 
from the left shore of the Nile, the 
Abu Dagn, (Father of the Beard,) as 
Mohammed All was designated to me 
by a Fellah standing by, steam past 
in his yacht, in the direction of those 
regions to which I would then so 
S^adly have proceeded. Already in 
Alexandria X had gathered, over a 
glass of wine, from frigate-cap- 
tain Achmet, (a Swiss, named Baum- 
spirtner,) the secret plan of the expe* 
dition to the White Stream, (Bach'r 
el Abiat,) and I had made every effort 
to obtain leave to join it, but in vdn, 
because, as a Christian, my discretion 
was not to be depended upon." 

The Swiss, whom some odd caprice 
of fate, here unexplained, had con- 
verted into an Egyptian naval cap- 
tdn, and to whom the scientific duties 
of the expedition were confided, died 
in the following spring, and his place 
was taken by Captm Selim. Mr 
Weme and his brother, who had long 
ardently desired to accompanv one of 
these expeditions up the Nile, were 
greatly discouraged at this change, 
which they look^ upon as destrac- 
tive to thcSr hopes. At the town of 
Ghartum, at the confluence of the 
White and Blue streams, they wit- 
nessed, in the month of November 
1889, the departure of the flrst 
flotilla ; and, although sick and weak, 
from the effects of the climate, their 
hearts were wrung with regret at 
being left behind. This expedition 
got no further than 6' 85' N. L. ; al- 
though, either from mistakes in their 
astronomical reckoning or wishing to 
give themselves more importance, and 
not anticipating that others would 
soon follow to check their statements, 
they pretended to have gone three 
decrees ftirther south. But Mehemet 
An, not satisfied with the result of 



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1849.] 



The White Nik. 



411 



thdr voyage, immediatdy ordered a 
second expedition to be fitted out. 
Mr Weme, who is a most adventn- 
rons person, had been for several 
months in the Taka country, in a 
district previously untrodden by 
Europeans, with an army commanded 
by Achmet Bascha, governor-general 
of Sudan, who was operating against 
some rebellious trib^. Here news 
reached him of the projected expedi- 
tion; and, to his great joy, he ob- 
tained from Achmet permission to 
accompany it in the quality of pas- 
senger. His brother, then body- 
physician to the Bascha, could not be 
spared, by reason of the great mor- 
tality in the camp. 

At Chartum the waters were high, 
the wind was favourable, and all was 
readv for a start early in October, but 
for the non-iq)pearance of two French 
engineers, who lingered six weeks in 
Korusko, under one pretext or other, 
but in reality, Mr Weme a£Snns, 
because one of them, Amaud by 
name, who has since written an ac- 
count of the expedition, was desirous 
to prolong the receipt of his pay as 
bimbasM^ or mirior, which rank he 
temp<muily held m the Egyptian ser- 
vice. At last he and his companion, 
Sabatier, arrived : on the 23d Novem- 
ber 1840 a start was made ; and, on 
that day Mr Weme began a journal, 
regularly kept, and most minute in its 
details, which he continued till the22d 
April 1841, the date of his return to 
Chartum. He commences by stating 
the composition of the expedition. 
*'It consists of four dahabies from 
Kahira, (vessels with two masts and 
with cabins, about a hundred feet long, 
and twelve to fifteen broad,) eadi 
with two cannon ; three dahabies from 
Chartum, one of which has also two 
guns: then two kaias, one-masted 
vessels, to carry goods, and a simdal, 
or skifi; for intercommunication ; the 
crews are composed of two hundred 
and fifty solmers, (Negroes, Egyp- 
tians, and Surians,) and a hunc&ed 
and twenty sailors and boatmen from 
Alexandria, Nubia, and the land of 
Sudim." SoUman fiLaschef (a Circas- 
sian of oonsiden^le energy and cou- 
rage, who, like Mr Weme himself, 
was i»rotected by Achmet Bascha) 
commanded the troops. Captain 
Selim had charge of the ships, and a 

VOL. UCV. — NO. COCXCIX. 



sort of general direction of the ex- 
pedition, of which, however, Soliman 
was the virtual chief ; the second 
captain was Feizulla Effendi of Con- 
stantinople; the other officers were 
two Kurds, a Russian, an Albanian, 
and a Persian. Of Europeans, there 
were the two Frenchmen, already 
mentioned, as engineers ; a third, 
named Tliibaut, as collector; and 
Mr Weme, as an independent pas- 
senger at his own charges. The 
ships were to follow each other in 
two lines, one led by Soliman, the 
other by Selim ; but this order of 
sailing was abandoned the veiy first 
day ; and so, indeed, was nearly all 
order of every kind. Each man sailed 
his bark as he pleased, without nauti- 
cal skill or unity of movement ; and, 
as to one general and energetic super- 
vision of the whole flotilla and its 
progress, no one dreamed of such a 
thing. Mr Weme indulged in gloomy 
reflections as to the probable results 
of an enterprise, at whose very outset 
such want of zeal and dlsciptine was 
dif^layed. It does not appear to 
have strack him that not the least 
of his dangers upon the strange voy^-^ 
age he had so eagerly undertaken, 
was [from his shipmates, many of 
them bigoted Mahometans and reck- 
less, ferocious fellows, ready with the 
Imifo, and who would have thought 
little of burthening their conscience 
with so small a matter as a Chris- 
tian's blood. He is evidently a cool, 
courageous man, prompt in action; 
and ms knowledge of the slavish, 
treacherous character of the people 
he had to deal with, doubtless taught 
him the best line of conduct to pursue 
with thran. This, as appears from 
various passases of his joumal, was 
the rough and ready style — a blow 
for the slightest impertinence, and his 
arms, which he well knew how to use, 
always at hand. He did not scrapie 
to interfere when he saw craelty or 
oppression practised, and soon he 
made himself respected, if not feared, 
b^ all on board; so much so, that 
Feizulla, the captain of the vessel in 
which he sailed, a dranken old Turk, 
who passed his time in drinking spirits 
and mending his own dotJ^es, ap- 
pointed him his iocum tenens during 
his occasional absences on shore. 
During his five months* voyage, Mv 

D 



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50 



The WhiUNOe. 



[J«L 



Werne had a fine opporttmitj of 
stadjing the pecnliarities of tbe dif- 
ferent nations with individnalfl of 
whidi he sailed ; and, althongh his 
long residence in AMca and the East 
had made him regard such matters 
with comparative indifferenoe, the 
occasional glimpses he gives of Turk- 
ish and Egyptian habits are aotongst 
the most interesting passages in his 
book. Already, on the third day of 
the voyage, the expiration of the 
Rhamadan, or fasting month, and the 
setting in of the little feast of Bairam, 
gave rise to a singnlar scene. The 
flotilla was passing through the coon- 
try governed by Achmet Bascha, in 
whidi Soliman was a man of great 
importance. By his desure, a heird of 
oxen and a large flock of i^e^ were 
driven down to tha diore, for the nse 
of the expedition. The preference 
was for the matt<m, the beef in those 
r^ions being usually toni^ and coarse, 
and consequently despised by the 
Turks. ^^ This qualitv of the meat is 
owing to the nature of the fodder, the 
tender grass and herbs of our marsh- 
lands and pastures being here un- 
known — and to the climate, which 
hardens the animal texture, a fact 
perceived by the surgeon when opera- 
ting upon the human body. Our 
Arabs, who, like the Greeks and Jews, 
bom butchers and flayers, know no 
mercy with beasts or mea, fell upon 
the unfortunate animals, hamstrung 
them in all haste, to obviate any 
chance of resumption of the gift, a»d 
the hecatomb simk upon the ground, 
pitiful to behold. During the flay- 
ing and quartering, every man tried 
to secrete a sippet of meat, cot- 
^g it off by stealth, or stealing it 
from the back of the bearers. These 
coveted morsehi were stuck upon 
skewers, broiled at the nearest watch- 
fire, and ravenouslv devoured, to pre- 
pare the stomach for the approaching 
banquet. Although they know how 
to cook the liver exceilently well, upon 
this occasion they preferred eating it 
raw, eirt up in a wooden dish, aad 
with the gall of the slan^tered beast 
poured over it Thus prepared, and 
eaten with salt and pq)Der, it hae 
much ^e flavour of a good raw beef- 
steak.'' The celebration of the Bairam 
was a scene of gluttony and gross 
levelry. Arrack was served oil in- 



stead of tiie customary ration of coffoe; 
and many a Mussulman drank more 
than did him good, or than the Pro- 
phet's law aUows. In the night. Cap- 
tain Feiaolla tumbled out of bed ; 
and, having spoiled his snbordinatea 
by over-indulgenoe* not one of ttom 
stirred to his assistance. Mr Werne 
]Mcked him up, found him in an eiH- 
leptic fit, and learned, with no great 
ideasnre, Feiaolla being his cabin- 
mate, that the thursty skipper was 
subject to such attacks. He foresaw 
a comfortless voyage on board the 
narrow bark, and with such queer 
oompanions ; bat the daily increasing 
interest of the scenery and surround- 
ing objects again distracted his 
thoughts firom consideratLons of per-^ 
sonal ease. He had greater difficult 
in reconciling himsdf to the negli- 
gence and indolence of his associates. 
So long as food was abundant and 
work scanty, all went well enough ; 
but when liquor ran low, and the 
flesh-pots of Egypt were empty, 
grumbling began, and the thoughts of 
the miyority were fixed upon a speedy 
return. Their chiefs set them a poor 
exan^^. Soliman Eascbef lav in 
bed till an hour after sunrise, and the 
signal to sail could not be given till 
he awoke ; and Feianlia, when his 
and Mr Weme's stock of brandy was 
out, passed one half his time in dis- 
tilling spints firom stale dates, and the 
other moiety m getting intoxicated on 
the turbid extract Uius obtained. 
Thai the offieers had female slaves on 
board ; and there was a Hcensed 
jester, Abu Hasdiis, who supplied 
the expedition with buffoonery and 
ribaldry ; and the most odtons prac- 
tices prevailed amongst the crews; 
for fmther details ooneeming aU which 
matteis we refer the cnzious to Mr 
Werne himself. A more singularly 
oompoeed esqpedition was perhaps 
never fitted 01^ JUfxt one less adapted 
effidctnally to perform the services re- 
qmredofit Cleanlinees and sobriety, 
so incnmbent upon men co<9ed up in 
small craft, in a climate teraing with 
pestilence and vermin, were lictie re- 
garded -, and snbordinaftMn and visi- 
hnce, essential to safety amidst Uie 
perils of an unknown navigatlen, and 
in the dose vidaity of bostue savages, 
were ntteriy neg^ectedt— at first to tiie 
great laeasinessofMrWeiBe. Bat 



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TkB WkiieNOt. 



51 



after a whiles flMm^ bo cbaace of 
aaesdaeDi, and hayiog no power to 
rd^nka or connect deficiencies, he re- 
peated tbe eternal ^^AiA^erwi/ (God 
ia meroif al) of his lutaliafe ahipm^^s, 
aad alept aoundly, wken the mosqaitoa 
penMtted, under the good gnard of 
Pnmdence. 

On tha 29th Horemher, tdie ezpe* 
diti<Hi pasaed the limit of Torco- 
Egyptian domination. The land ii 
had now reached piud no triboie. 
*' All flUret," was the reply of Torks 
and Arabs to Mr Werners inquiry who 
the inhabitants were. ^^ I conld not 
help laaghing, and proving to them, 
to their great vexation, that these 
men were free, aad mach less slaves 
.than themselves ; that before making 
alaves of them, they most first make 
them prisonem, a process for which 
thay had no particnLur fancy, — ad^ 
mittfaig, with much ruOveU, that the 
^slaves' hereaboot were both name- 
rons and brave. This contemptoonaly 
apokeniCidb Abit, (All slaves,) is aboot 
oqoivalent to tha ^ barbarian* of the 
anciaita-~the same classical word the 
modem Greeks have learned out of 
foreign sdiool-books." 

^ The trees and branches preventing 
oar vessels from lying alongside the 
bank, I had myself caiiied through the 
water, to examine the coontry and get 
some shooting. Bat I ooold not m&e 
op my mind to use my gon, the only 
animals to aim at being large, long- 
tailed, silv^-gray apes. I hstd shot 
one on a former occasion, and the 
brote had greatly excited my com- 
pasaion by his resemblance to a hmnan 
bemg, and by his piteous gestures. 
M. Amand, on the oontnury, took 
particular pleasnre in making the 
rq>eated observation that, on the ap- 
proach of death, the gams of these 
beasts torn white, like those of a dying 
man. They live in families of several 
bnndreds together, and their territory 
is very oircumscribed, even in the 
forest, as I myself sabseqaently aso^ - 
tained. AUhon^ fearful of water, and 
ewimming unwillin^y, they always 
fled to the branches overtianging the 
river, and not unfireqaently fell in. 
When this occnrred, their first care 
on emerging was to wq>e the water 
from thek fruses and ears. However 
immtmant ^eir danger, onl^ when this 
iifieratiiMi was completed did thej 



agiia climb the trees. Such a nKmkey 
republic is really a droll enough sight ; 
its members alternately fighting and 
caressing eadi other, combing and 
vennin-hunting, stealing and boxing 
each other's ears, and, in the mid^ of 
ail these important oecnpalions, ran- 
nmg down every moment to drink, 
bat contenting themselves with a 
sin^^ draught, for foar of becoming a 
mou^ol for the watchful crocodile. 
The tame monkeys on board our 
vessels turned restless at sight of the 
joyous vagabond life of their brethren 
in the bush. First-lieutenant Hussein 
Aga, of Kurdistan, lay alongside us, 
and was in raptures with his monkey, 
shouting over to me : ^Scbuf! el naiiii 
uabr (Seel the clever sailor I) — 
meaning his pet ape, whidi ran about 
the rigging like mad, banging on by 
the ropes, and looking over the bnl* 
warics into the water; until at last he 
jumped on the back <^ a sailor who 
was wading on shore with dirty linen 
to wash, and thence made a spring 
upon land to visit his relations, com- 
pared to whom, however, he was a 
mere dwarf. Overboard went the 
long Kurd, with his gun, to shoot the 
deserter; but doubtless the little 
seaman, in his capaoity of Turidsh 
slave, and on account of his diminu- 
tive figure, met a bad reception, for 
Hussein wss no sooner under ^e trees 
than his monkey drc^ped upon his 
head. He came to visit me after- 
wards, brought his * na^ti taib* with 
him, and told me, what I had often 
heard before, how apes were formerly 
men, whom God had cursed. It 
really is written in the Koran that 
God and the prophet David had 
turned into monkeys the Jews who 
did not keep the Sabbath holy. There- 
fore a good Moslem will sddom kiU 
or injure a monkey, fimin Bey of 
Fasogl was an exception to this rule. 
Bitting at table with an Italian, and 
about to thrust into his mouth a frag- 
ment of roast meat, his monkey 
snatched it from between his thumb 
and fingers. Whereupon the Bey 
quietly ordered the robber's hand to 
be cut ofl^ which was instantly done. 
The pow monkey came to his cruel 
master and showed him, with his 
peculiariy doleful whme, the stomp of 
his fore-paw. The Bey gave orders 
to kill him, but the Italian begged him 



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62 



The WkUeNHe. 



[Jair. 



as a gift. Soon afterwards the foolish 
bmte came into my possession, and, 
on my jonmey back to Egypt, contri* 
bnted almost as much to cheer me, as 
did the filial attentions of my freed man 
Hagar, whom my brother had received 
as a present, and had bequeathed to 
me. My servants would not beUeve 
but that the monkey was a trans- 
formed gobir^ or caravan golde, since 
even in the desert he was always in 
front and upon the right road, avail- 
ing himself of every rock and hUlock 
to look about him, until the birds of 
prey again drove him under the camels, 
to complain to me with his ^ Oehm- 
oehm;* which was also his custom 
when he had been beaten in my ab- 
sence by the servants, whose merissa 
Ta sort of spirit) he would steal and 
orink till he could neither go nor 
stand.'' 

During this halt, and whilst ram- 
bling along the bank, picking up river • 
oysters and tracing the monstrous 
footsteps of hippopotami, Mr Weme 
nearly walked mto the jaws of the 
largest crocodile he had ever seen. 
His Turkish servant, Sale, who at- 
tended him on such occasions and 
carried his rifle, was not at hand, and 
he was glad to beat a rotreat, dls- 
ehardng one of his barrels, both of 
whi<m wero laden with shot only, in 
the monster's face. On being scolded 
for his absence. Sale very coolly ro- 
plied, that it was not safe so near 
shoro ; for that several times it had 
occurred to him, whilst gazing up in 
the trees at the bhrds and monkeys, 
to find himself, on a sudden, face to 
face with a crocodUe, which stared at 
him like a ghost, (Scheltan, Satan,) 
and which he dared not shoot, lest he 
should slay his own father. Amongst 
the numerous Mahommedan supersti- 
tions, there is a common belief in the 
transformation, by witches and sor- 
cerers, of men into beasts, especially 
kto crocodiles and hippopotami. 

*^ Towards evening, cartridffes were 
served out and muskets loaded, for we 
wero now in a hostile county. The 
powder-magazine stood open, and 
lighted pipes passed to and fit> over 
the hatchway. AUah Keriml I do 
my best to rouse mv captain frt>m his 
indolence, bv drawing constant com- 
parisons with the English sea-service; 
then I M aaleep myself ^Hiilst the 



powder is being distributed, and, wak- 
mg early in the morning, find the 
magazine stUl open, and the sentry, 
whose duty it is to give an alarm 
should the water in the hold increase 
overmuch, fast asleep, with his to- 
bacco-pipe in his hand and his musket 
in his lap. Feizulla Capitan beged 
me not to report the poor devil." ^lis 
being a fair specimen of the prudence 
and discipline observed during the 
whole voyage, it is really surprising 
that Mr Werne ever returned to write 
its history, and that his corpse^ 
drowned, blown up, or with a kniie 
between the ribs — has not long since 
been resolved into the elements through 
the medium of a Nile crocodile. l£e 
next day the meroifhl Feizulla, whose 
kindness must have sprung from a 
fellow-feeling, got mad-drunk at a 
merry-making on an island, and had 
to be brought by force on board his 
ship. He seemed disposed to "run 
amuck;" msped at sabre and pistols, 
and put his people in fear of their 
lives, until Mr Werne seized him neck 
and heels, threw him on his bed, and 
held him there whilst he struggled 
himself weary and fell asleep. The 
ship's company were loud in praise 
and admiration of Mr Werne, who, 
however, was not quite eai^ as to the 
possible results of his bold interfe- 
rence. " Only yesterday, I incurred 
the hatred of the roughest of our 
Effyptian sailors, as he sat with an- 
other at the hand-mill, and repeatedly 
applied to his companion the word 
Nasrani^ (Christian,) usinff it as a 
term of insult, until the whole crew 
came and looked down into the cabin 
where I sat, and laughed— the captain 
not being on board at the time. At 
last I lost my patience, jumped up, 
and dealt the fellow a severe blow 
with my fist. In his £uiatical horror 
at being struck by a Christian, he 
tried to throw himself overboard, and 
vowed revenge, which my servants 
told me. Now, whilst Feizulla Oapi- 
tan lies senseless, I see from my 1^ 
this tall sailor leave the fore-part of 
the ship and iq)proach our cabin, his 
oomraaes Mowing him with their 
eves. From a frmatic, who might put 
his own construction upon my recent 
fiiendlv constraint of Cq>tainFeizulla, 
and miight convert it into a pretext, I 
had everything to iqtprehend. But 



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The White NiU. 



53 



be paused at the door, apologised, and 
thanked me for not having reported 
him to his commander. He then 
kissed my right hand, whilst in my 
left I held a pistol concealed under 
the blanket." 

Dangers, annoyances, and squabbles 
did not prevent Mr Weme firom writ- 
ing np his log, and making minnte 
obeeirations of the sniroandlng 
scenery. This was of ever-yarying 
character. Thickly -wooded banks 
were snoceeded by a sea of grass, its 
monotony nnvaried by a single bosh. 
Thra came a crowd of islands, com-^ 
oosed of water-planta, knit together 
by creepers and parasites, and alter- 
nately anchored to the shore, or float- 
ing flJbwly down the stream, whose 
sluggish current was often impercep- 
tible. The extraordinary freshness 
and luxuriance of the yegetable crea- 
tion in that i^on of combined heat 
and mdsture, excited Mr Werners 
enthusiastic admiration. At times he 
saw himself surrounded by a vast 
tapestry of flowers, waving for miles 
in eyery direction, and of countless 
Tarieties of tint and form. Upon land 
were bowers and hills of blossom, 
groves of dark mimosa and gold- 
gleaming tamarind ; upon the water 
and swamps, interminable carpets of 
lilac convolvulus, water-lilies, flower- 
ing-reeds, and red, blue, and white 
lotas. The ambak tree, with its large 
yellow flowers and acacia-like leu, 
rose fifteen feet and more aboye the 
surface of the water out of which it 
grew. This singular plant, a sort of 
link between the forest-tree and the 
leed of the marshes, has its root in 
the bed of the NQe, with which it each 
year rises, surpassing it in swiftness 
of growth. Its stem is of a soft 
i^ungy nature, more like the pith of 
«tree than like wood, but having, 
seyertheless, a pith of its own. The 
lotus was one of the most striking 
features in these scenes of floral mag- 
<iiific6nce ; its brilliant white flower, 
whkh opens as the sun rises, and 
idoees when it sets, beaming, like a 
double lily, in the shade it prefers. 
Mr Weme made the interesting ob- 
servadon, that this beautiful flower, 
where it had not some kind of shelter, 
dosed when the sun approached the 
senith, as though unable to endure 
Ae too ardent rays of the luminary 



that called it into life. Details of this 
kind, and fragments of eloquent de- 
scription of the goi^geous scenery of 
the Nile banks, occur frequently in the 
earlier part of the *^ Expedition," 
during which there was little inter- 
course with the natives, who were 
dther hostile, uninteresting, or con- 
cealed. Amongst other reasons for 
not remaining long near shore, and 
especially for not anchoring there at 
night, was the torture the voyagers 
experienced from gnats, camd-mes, 
and small wasps, which not only for- 
bade deep, but rendered it dmost im- 
posdble to eat and drink. To escape 
this worse than Egyptian plague, 
the yessels lay in the middle of the 
river, which, for some time after their 
departure, was often three or four 
miles across. When the breeze was 
fresh, there was some relief frx)m in- 
sect persecution, but a lull made the 
attacks insupportable. Doubtless a 
European complexion encouraged 
these. Our Gmnan lifts up his 
yoice in agony and mdediction. 

**The 10th December.— A dead 
calm all nisht. Gnats ! ! I No use 
creeping under the bed-dothes, at risk 
of stifling with heat, compelled as one 
is by their penetrating sting to go to 
bed dressed. Leave only a little hole to 
breathe at, and in they pour, attack- 
ing lips, nose, and ears, and forcing 
themselves into the throat — thus 
provoking a cough which is torture, 
since, at each inspiration, a fresh 
swarm finds its way into the gullet. 
They penetrate to the most sensitive 
parts of the body, creeping in, like 
ants, at the smallest aperture. In 
the morning my bed contained thou- 
sands of the small demons which I had 
crushed and smothered by the per- 
petual rolling about of my martyred 
body. As I had forgotten to bring a 
musquito net from Chartum, there 
was nothing for it but submisdon. 
Ndther had I thought of providing 
myself with leather gloves, unbearable 
in that hot dimate, but which here, 
upon the Nile, would have been by 
far the lesser evil, since I was com- 
pelled to have a servant oppodte to 
me at supper-time, waving a huge fan 
so dose under mv nose, that it was 
necessary to watdi my opportunity to 
get the K>od to my mouUi. One could 
not smoke one's pipe in peace, even 



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54 



TkeWhUeNtU. 



[Js 



though keei^g one's hands wrapped 
in a wooUen bnmons, for the Termin 
stnng throngfa this, and crept np under 
it fr^ the gnmnd. The black and 
coloured men on board were equallj 
iU*treated; and all night long the w<»d 
^ Bauda ' resounded uirouffh the ship, 
with an accompaniment or curses and 
flapping of doths. The banuia re- 
semble onr long-legged gnats, but 
have a longer proboscis, with which 
they bore through a triple fold of 
strong linen. Their head ia Uue, thehr 
back tawny, aind their legs are covered 
with white specks like smi^ pearls, * 
Another sort has short, strong legs, a 
thick brown body, a red head, and 
posteriors of varying hues/' These 
parti- coloured and persevering blood- 
suckers caused boils by the severity of 
their sting, and so exhausted the 
sailors by depriving them of sleep, 
that the ships cotAd hardly be worked. 
Bitterly and frequently does Mr 
Weme recur to hie sufferings from 
theirrutbless attacks. Atlast a strange 
auxiliary came to his relief, (hi 
Christmas-day he writes : — " For the 
last two nights we have been greatly 
disturbed by the gnats, but a small 
cat, which I have not yet seen by day- 
light, seems to find particular pleasure 
in lickmg my face, pulfing my beard, 
and purring continually, thus keeping 
off the insects. Generally the cats in 
Bellet-Sudan are of a very wild and 
fierce nature, which seems the result 
of their indMFerent treatment by the 
inhabitants. They walk into the 
poultry-houses and cany off the 
strongest fowls, but care little for ratB 
and mice. The Barabras, especially 
those of Dongola, often eat them; not 
so the Arabs, who spare them perse- 
cution — the cat havlngbeen one of Ma- 
homet's favourite animals— but who, 
at the same time, hold them unclean." 
There is assuredly no river in the 
world whose banks, for so great a dis- 
tance, are so thickly peopled as those 
of the Nile. Day after day the ex- 
pedition passed an unbroken succes- 
sion of populous villages, until Mr 
Wcme wondered whence the inhabit- 
ants drew their nourishment, and a 
sapient oflScer from Kurdistan opined 
the Schillnks to be a greater nation 
than the French. But what people, 
and what habitations! The former 
scarce a degree above the brute, the 



ktter resembling dog-kennels, or more 
frequently thatched bee-hives, with a 
round hole in the side, through which 
the inmates creep. Stark-naked, these 
savages lay in the high grass, whose 
seed forms part of their f<^, and gib- 
bered and beckoned to the passing 
Turks, who, for the most part, disre- 
garded their gestures of amity and 
invitation, shrewdly suspecting that 
their intentions were treacherous and 
their lances hidden hi the herbage. 
Wild rice, finits, and seeds, are eaten 
by these tribes, (the Sdiilluks, Dinkas, 
'and others,) who have also herds of 
cattle— oxen, sheep, and goats, and 
who do not despise a hippopotiunns 
diop or a <»t)codile cutlet. Where 
the land Is unproductive, fish is 
the chief article of food. They have 
no horses or camels, and when they 
steal one of these animals from the 
Turks, they do not kill it, probaWy 
not liking its flesh, but they put out 
its eyes as a punishment for having 
brought the enemy into their country. 
In one hour Mr Weme counted seven- 
teen villages, large or small; and 
Soliman Kaschef assured him the 
Schilluks numbered two millions of 
souls, although it is hard to say how 
he obtained the census. The Bando 
or king, although dwdling only two 
or three leagues from the river, did 
not show himself. He mistrusted the 
Tuits, and all night the great war- 
drum was heard to beat. His savage 
majesty was quite right to be on his 
guard. " I am well persuaded," says 
Mr Weme, '* that if Soliman Kaschef 
had once got the dreaded Bando of 
the Schilluks on board, be would have 
sailed away with him. I read that in 
his face when he was told the Banda 
would not appear. And gladly as I 
would have seen this negro sovereign, 
I rejoiced that his caution frustrated 
the projected shameful treachery. He 
had no particular grounds for welcom- 
ing the Mnsselmans, those sworn foes 
of his people. Shortly before our 
departure, he had sent three ambassa- 
dors to Chartum, to put him on a 
friendly footing with the Turks, and 
so to check the marauding expeditions 
of his Arab neighbours, of Soliman 
Kaschef amongst the rest. The three 
Schillnks, who could not speak Arabic, 
were treated in the Divan with cus- 
tomary contempt as Abit, (slave?*) and 



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1849.] 



STke WkiUNiU. 



^ 



urere handed orer like coBunon men 
to the care of Sheikh el Bdlet of 
Chartiim. The l^eikh^ who receires 
■o pi^, and peribrms the duties of 
his office out of fear rather tham for 
the sake of the honour, showed them 
mdi excellent hoepitalitj, that they 
came to vs Fraaks and begged a few 
I^astres to bay bread ana spirits." 
On Mr Weme's representations to 
tiie Effeadi, or diief man at Chartvm, 
dreos e s of honour (the cnstomaiy 
inreseDts) were prepared for them, bat 
they denoted stealthily by night ; and 
their master, the Bando, was rery 
indignant on learning the treatment 
they hadreoeived. 

A vast green meadow^ a sort of ele- 
phant pastore, separates the SchUlaks 
from their neighboars the Jengiihs, 
eoBcemini whom Mr Weme obtained 
some partocolars from a Tschaoss or 
sergeant, named Marian of Monnt 
Habila, the son of the Mak or King 
(tfthemoontainsof Nuba. His father 
had been vanquished and murdered 
by the Turka|, and he had been made 
a slave. This sergeant-prince was of 
middle height, with a black tatooed 
eoontenance, and with ten holes in 
each ear, oat of which his captors bad 
taken the g^ rings. He was a sen- 
sible, well-behaved man, and had been 
tidrteen years in the service, but was 
hopeless of promotion, having none to 
recommend him. Besides this man, 
there were two Dinkas and a Jengah 
on board ; bat from them it was im- 
possible to extract inf(mnatlon with 
TCq)ect to the manners and usages of 
thcdr coontiymen. They hcSd it 
treachery to divulge such particulars. 
Many of the soldiers and sailors com- 
poeing the expedition being natives of 
tiie countries through whidi it sailed, 
^^)rdiensions of desertion were en- 
tertained, and partially realised. On 
the 80th December, whilst passing 
through the friendly land of the Keks, 
everybody slept on shore, and in the 
Bight sixteen men on guard deserted. 
They were from the distant country 
of Nuba, (a district of Nubia,) which 
it seemed scarcely possible they should 
ever reach, with their scanty store of 
ammunition, and exposed to the 
assaults of hunger, thirst, and hostile 
tribes. Hussein Aga went after them 
with fifty ferocious Egyptians, likely 
to show little mercy to the runaways. 



with whom, however, they could not 
come up. And suddenly the drums 
beat to call all hands on board, for 
there was a report that all the negroes 
were pluming escape. During this 
halt Mr Weme made ornithological 
observations, ascertaining, amongst 
other things, the species of certain 
white birds, which he had observed 
sitting impudently upon the badis <^ 
the elephants, picking the vermin from 
their thick hides, as crows do in Europe 
from the backs of pigs. The ele- 
phants evidently disapproved the ope- 
ration, and lashed with their trunks 
at their tormentors, who then flew 
away, but instantly returned to re- 
commence what Mr Weme calls their 
"dry fishing." These birds proved 
to be small herons. Shortly before this, 
a large pelican had been shot, and its 
crop was found to contain twenty-four 
fresh fish, the size of herrings. Its 
gluttony had caused its death, the 
weight it carried impeding its flight. 
Prodigious swarms of birds and water- 
fowl find their nourishment in the 
White Stream, and upon its swampy 
banks. In s(Mne places the trees were 
white with their excrements, whose 
accumulation destroyed vegetable life. 
There is no lack of nourishment for 
the feathered tribes — water and earth 
are prolific of vermin. Millions of 
^w-worms glimmer in the mshes, 
the air resounds with the shrill cry of 
myriads of grasshoppers, and with the 
croaking of countless frogs. But for 
the birc&, which act as scavengers and 
vermin-destroyers, those shores would 
be uninhabitable. Tbe scorching sun 
fecundates the sluggish waters and 
rank fat marsh, causing a never-ceas- 
ing birth of reptiles and insects. 
Monstrous fish and snakes of all sizes 
abound. Concerning the latter, tbe 
Arabs have strange superstitions. 
They consider them in some sort su- 

geraatund beings, having a king, 
hach Maran by name, who is sup- 
posed to dwell in Turkish Kurdidtan, 
not far from Adana, where two villages 
are exempted from tribute on condi- 
tion of supplying the snakes with 
milk. Abdul-EUlab, a Kurd officer of 
the expedition, had himself offered the 
milk-sacrifice to the snakes ; and be 
swore that he had seen their king, or 
at any rate one of his WohiU, or vice- 
gerents, of whom his serpentine nia- 



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^6 



The White NOe. 



[Jan. 



jesty has many. He had no sooner 
ponred his milky offering into one of 
the marble basins nature has there hol- 
lowed ont, than a great snake, with 
long hair npon its head, stepped ont of 
a hole in the rocks and drank. It 
then retired, without, as in some 
other instances, speaking to the sacri- 
ficer, a taciturnity contritely attributed 
by the latter to his not having yet 
entirely abjured strong drinks. Two 
other Kurds vouched for the truth of 
this statement, addmg, that the M<tr<m 
had a human face, for that otherwise 
he could not speak, and that he never 
showed himsedf except to a sultan or 
to a very holy man. To the latter 
character the said Abdnl-EUiab had 
great pretensions, and his bigotry, 
hypocrisy* and constant quotations 
firom the Koran procured him from 
his irreverent shipmates, from Mr 
Weme amongst the number, the nick- 
name of the Paradise- Stormer^ it being 
manifest that he reckoned on taking 
by assault the blessed abode promised 
by Mahomet to the faithful. Pending 
his admission to the society of the 
houris, he solaced himself with that of 
a young female slave, who often ex- 
perienced cruel treatment at the hands 
of her saintly master. Having one 
day committed the heinous offence of 
preparing merissc^ a strong drink made 
from com, for part of the crew, the 
Kurd, formerly, according to his own 
admission, a stanch toper, beat her 
with a thong as she knelt half-naked 
npon the deck. " As he did not attend 
to my calls from the cabin,** says Mr 
Weme, "but continued striking her 
80 furiously as to cut the skin and 
draw streams of blood, I jumped out, 
and pulled hun backwards, so that his 
lep flew up in the air. He sprang to 
his feet, retreated to the bulwark of 
the ship, drew his sabre, and shouted, 
with a menacing countenance, 
'Effendil' instead of calling me 
Kawagi, which sipifies a merdiant, 
and is the usual title for a Frank. I 
had no sooner retnmed to the cabin 
than he seized his slave to throw her 
overboard, whereupon I caught up my 
double-barrel and levelled at him, 
calling out, ^ Ana oedrup!^ (I fire.^ 
Thereupon he let the girl go, and witn 
a pallid countenance protested she was 
his property, and he could do as he 
Jikea with her. Subsequently he 



complained of me to the commandant, 
who, knowing his malicious and hypo- 
critical character, sent him on board 
the skiff, to the great delight of the 
whole flotilla. On our retum to 
Chartum, he was cringing enough to 
ask my pardon, and to want to kiss 
my hand, (although he was then a 
captain) bcK^use he saw that the 
Bascha distinguished me. A few days 
previously to this squabble, I had 
gained tiie affection and confidence of 
our black soldiers, one of whom, a 
Tokrari or pilgrim from Darfur, had 
quarrelled with an Arab, and wounded 
him with his knife. He jumped over- 
board to drown himself, and, being un- 
able to swim, had nearly accomplished 
his object, when he drifted to our ship 
and was lifted on board. They wanted 
to make him stand on his head, but I 
had him laid horizontally npon his side, 
and began to rub him with a woollen 
cloth, but at first could get no one to 
help me because he was an Abit^ a 
slave, until I threatened the captain 
he should be made to pay the Bascha 
for the loss of his soldier. After 
long-continued rubbing, the Tokruri 
gave signs of life, and the^ raised him 
into a sitting posture, whilst his head 
stUl hung down. One of the soldiers, 
who, as a Faki, pretended to be a sort 
of awaker of the dead, seized him from 
behind under the arms, lifted him, 
and let him fall thrice violently upon 
his hinder end, shouting in his ear at 
the same time passages from the 
Koran, to which the Tokruri at last 
replied by similar quotations. The 
superstition of these people is so gross, 
that they believe such a pilgrim may 
be completely and thoroughly drowned, 
and yet retain power to float to any 
part of the shore he pleases, and, once 
on dry land, to resume his vitality." 

A credulous traveller would have 
been misled by some of the Strang 
fables put forward, with mat plausi- 
bility, by these Arabs andf other semi- 
savages, who have, moreover, a strong 
tendency to exaggerate, and who, 
perceiving the avidity with which Mr 
Weme investigated the animal and 
vegetable world around him, and his 
desire for rare and curious specimens, 
occasionally got up a lie for his benefit. 
Although kept awake many nights by 
the merciless midges, his zeal for 
science would not suffer him to sleep 



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ThtWhiUNUe. 



67 



in the day, because be bad no one he 
. conldtnut to note the windings of the 
river. One sultry noon, however, 
when the Arab rowers were lazily 
impelling the craft against nnfovonr- 
able breezes, and the stream was 
fi^-aight for a long distance ahead, he 
indn^;ed in a siesta, daring which 
visions of a happy Grerman home 
hovered above his pillow. On awak- 
ing, bathed in perspuration, to the dis- 
mal realities of the pestilential Badi*r 
el Abiat, of inoessant gnats and bar- 
barian society, his Arab companions 
had a yam cnt and dried for him. 
Daring my sleep they had seen a 
swimiodng-bird as large as a young 
camel, with a straight beak like a 
pelican, but without a crop ; they had 
not ^ot it for fear of awaking me, 
and because they had no doubt of 
meeting with scnne more of these un- 
known birds. No others appeared, 
andMrWeme noted the camel-bird 
as an Egyptian lie, not as a natural 
curiosity. 

A month^s sail carried the expedi- 
tion into the land of the Keks, a 
numerous, but not a very prosperous 
tribe. Thehr tokuh or huts were en- 
tirely of straw, walls as well as roof. 
The men were quite naked, and of a 
bluish-gray colour, from the slune of 
the Nile, with whic^ they smear them- 
selves as a protection against the gnats. 
"There was something melancholy 
in the way in which those poor crea- 
tures raised their hands above their 
heads, and let them slowlv fall, by 
manner of greeting. They had ivory 
rings upon their arms, and one of 
tbcsm turned towards his hut, as if in- 
viting us in. Anotiier stood apart, 
lifted his arms, and danced round in 
a circle. A Dinka on board, who is 
acquainted with their language, said 
they wanted us to give them durra, (a 
sort of com,) and that their cows were 
far away and would not retum till 
evoilng. This Dinka positively as- 
«eiled, as did also Marian, that the 
Keks kill no animal, but live entirely 
<m grain and milk. I could not as- 
certain, with certainty, whether this 
respect for brate life extended itself 
to game and fish, but it is universally 
aflkmed that theyeat cattle that die 
a natural death. This is done to some 
•extent in the land of Sudan, although 
not by the genuine Arabs : it is against 



th0 Koran to eat a beast even that 
has been slain by a ballet, unless its 
throat has been cut whilst it yet lived, 
to let the prohibited blood escape. 
At Chartum I saw, one morning eariy, 
two dead camels lying on a pabUc 
square; men cut on great pieces to 
roast, and the dogs looked on long- 
ingly. I myself, with Dr Fischer and 
Prnner, helped to consume, in Kahira, 
a roasted fragment of Clot Bey's 
beautiful giraf^, which had eaten too 
much white clover. The meat was 
ver^ tender, and of tolerably fine 
gram. The tongue was quite a deli- 
cacy. On the other hand, I never 
could stomach the coarse-grained flesh 
of camels, even of the young ones." 
Africa is the land of strong stomachs. 
The Arabs, when on short rations, 
eat locusts; and some of the negro 
tribes devour the fruit of the elephant- 
tree, an abominable species of pump- 
kin, coveted by elephants, bat rejected 
even by Arabs, and which Mr Werae 
found wholly impracticable, although 
his general rule was to try idl the 
productions of the countiy. His gas- 
tronomical experiments are often con- 
nected with curious details of the ani- 
mals upon which he tried his teeth. 
On the 12th January, whilst suffering 
from an attack of Nile-fever, which 
left him scarcely strength enough to 
post up his journal, he heard a shot, 
and was informed that Soliman Kaschof 
had killed with a single bullet a laree 
crocodile, as it lay biu^g on a sandy 
promontory of the bank. The Cir- 
cassian made a present of the 
skin to M. Arnaud, an excellent ex- 
cuse for an hour's pause, that the 
Frenchman might get possession of 
the scaly trophy. Upon such trifling 
pretexts was the valuable time of the 
expedition frittered away. '* Having 
enough of other meat at that moment, 
the people neglected cutting off the 
tail for food. My servants, however, 
who knew that I had ahready tasted 
that sort of meat at Chartum, and that 
at Taka I had eaten part of a snake, 
prepared for me by a dervish, brought 
me a slice of the crocodile. Even had 
I been in health, I could not have 
touched it, on account of the strong 
smell of musk it exhaled ; but, ill as I 
was, they were obliged to throw it 
overboard immediately. When first 
I was in oxKodile countries, it was 



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58 



The WkiteNik. 



[J« 



ineoiajn^enBible to me bow the boat- 
nen scented from afar the presence of 
these creatures ; bnt on my jovmej 
from Ejihira to Sennaar, when they 
offered me in Komsko a yonng one 
lor sale, I found my own ol£»ctories 
had become vm^ sensitive to the peca- 
liar odour. When we entered the 
Blue Stream, I could smell the croco- 
diles six hundred paces off, before I 
had seen them. The glands, contain- 
ing a secretion resembUng musk, are 
situated in the hinder part of the ani- 
mal, as in the civet cats of Bellet 
Sudan, which are kept in cages for the 
collection of the peiiume." 

As the travellers asc^ded the 
river, their intercourse with the natives 
became much more frequent, inas- 
much as these, more remote from 
£g3rptian aggression, had less ground 
for mistrustnil and hostile feelings. 
Captain Selim had a stock of colourod 
shirts, and an immense bale of beads, 
with which he might have purchased 
the cattle, villages, goods and chattels, 
and even the bodies, of an entire tribe, 
had he been so disposed. The value 
attached by the savages of the White 
Stream to the most worthless objects 
of European manufacture, enabled 
Mr Weme to obtain, in exchange 
for a few glass beads, a large col- 
lection of their arms, ornaments, 
household utensils, &c., now to be 
seen in the Royal Museum at Berlin. 
The stolid simplicity of the natives of 
those regions exceeds belief. One 
can hardly make up one's mind to 
consider them as men. Even as the 
ambah seems the link between useful 
timber and worthless rushes, so does 
the Kek appear to partake as mudi of 
brute as of human nature. He has 
at least as much affloiity with the big 
gray ape, whose dying agonies ex- 
cited Mr Weme's compassion at the 
commencement of his voyage, as with 
the civilised and intellectuaU man who 
describes their strange appearance and 
manners. A Kek, who had been 
sleepmg in the ashes of a fire, a com- 
mon practice with that tribe, was 
found standing upon the shore by some 
of the crew, who brought him on 
board Selim's vessel. ^^ Bending his 
body forward in an awkward ape-like 
manner, intended perhaps to express 
submission, be approached the cabin, 
and, oil finding himself near it, dropped 



«poB his knees and crept forward upoa 
tiiem, uttering, in his gibberish, re- . 
peated exclamations of greeting and 
wonderment. He had numerous holes 
through the rims of his ears, whkh 
contained, however, no other orna- 
ment than (me little bar. Tbey threw 
strings of beads over his nedE, and 
there was no end to his joy ; he jmnped 
and rolled upon the dedk, kissed Um 
planks, doubled himself up, extended 
his hands over all our heads, as if 
bleasing us, and then began to sing. 
He was an angular, high-shouldered 
figure, about thirty years of age. Hi» 
attitude and gestures were very con- 
strained, whidi arose, perhaps, frt>na 
the novelty of his situation ; his back 
was bent, his head hung forward, his 
long legs, almost calf-less, were as if 
broken at the knees; in his whole 
person, in short, he resembled an 
orang-outang. He was perfectly 
naked, and his sole <»naments con- 
sisted of leathern rings upon the right 
arm. How low a grade of humanity 
is this ! The poor natural touches one 
with his childish joy, in which he is 
assuredly happier than any of us. By 
the help of the Dinka interpreter, he is 
instructed to tell his countr3rmen they 
have no reason to retreat before such 
honest people as those who man the 
flotilla. Kneeling, jumping, creeping^ 
Idssing the ground, he is then led away^ 
by the hand like a child, and would 
assuredly take all he has seen for % 
dream, but for the beads he bears 
with him." Many of these tribes are 
comi>osed of men of gigantic stature. 
On the 7th January, Mr Weme being 
on shore, would have measured some 
of the taller savages, but they ob- 
jected. He then gave his servants 
long reeds and bade them stand beside 
the natives, thus ascertaining their 
average height to be from six to seven 
Bhenish feet. The Egyptians and 
Europeans looked like pigmies beside 
them. The women were in propor- 
tion with the men. Mr Weme tells 
of one lady who looked dear away 
over his head, although he describes 
himself as above the middle height. 

At this date, (7th January) the flo- 
tilla reached a large lake, or inlet of 
the river, near to whidi a host of 
elephants grazed, and a multitude of 
light-brown antelopes stood still and 
stared at the introders. The sight of 



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TU Tn^NSe, 



59 



the anlelopei, wlikh w«re of a spedes 
called miel^ wboee flesh is pertiealarly 
well-flaTomd, was too mwA tor SoU- 
masKaschef to resist. Therewaeno 
wiad ; he ga^e orders to eease towiog, 
aad went on shore to shoot his supper. 
The aatdopes retreated when the ships 
grated against the bank ; and as the 
rash'jm^ was Ifr no means safe, 
beaats of prey benig wont to hide 
theve to cateh the antelopes as they 
go to waier at snnset, a few sokHera 
were sent forward to dear the way. 
Nerertheiess, *^on oarretnm fron the 
ehase, doriag which not a sfaigle shot 
was fir^ we lost two bdltascki^ (car- 
peaten or sappers,) and all onr signals 
were inanfident to bring them back. 
They were Egyptians, steady Mows^ 
and Most nnlUidy to desert ; but their 
comrades did not tronlde themseires 
to look for them, shmgged their shovi- 
dera, and sopposed uiey had been 
devonred by the a$9ad or thenmir— -the 
lion or tiger. The word nimr is here 
improperly iq)plied, there being no 
tigers ID Africa, bat it is the general 
term for panthers and leopards." Here, 
at fomr-and-twenty degrees of latitude 
soaCh of Alexandria, this extraordi- 
nary river was nearly four hundred 
paces wide. Mr Weme specolates on 
the erigia of this astonishing water- 
coarse, and donbts the possibility 
that the spirngs of the White Stream 
sopply the iminmerable lakes and 
creeks, and the immense tracts of 
manh contignons to it; that, too, un- 
der an African sun, which acts as a 
powarfol and constant pump upon the 
immense Uqnid snrfoce. When he 
started on his Toyage, the annual 
rains had long terminated. What 
treoMndoua springs thoee must be, 
that coidd keep this vaet watery terri- 
tory full and OTcrflowing I Then the 
slnggishnMB of the current is another 
mixale. Were the Nile one stream, 
Mr Weme observes — referring, of 
coorse, to the White NUe — it must 
flow ftteCer than it does. And he con- 
dodee it to have tributaries, which, 
owing to the level nature of the 
ground, and to the resistance of the 
main stream, stagnate to a certain 
extent, rising and falling with the 
titer, and contributing powerfully to 
its nourishment. But the notion of 
exploriBg all these watery intricacies 
with a flotilla of heavy-sailing barges, 



manned by las^ Turks and Arabs, and 
commanded by men who care more 
for getting dnmk on arrack and going 
a-birding, than for the great results 
activity and intelligence might obtain, 
is essentially aben^. The proper 
squadron to explore the BacnV el 
Abiat, through tbeeontinuedwim&^is, 
and up the numerous inlets depicted 
in Mr Mahlmann's miq), is one con- 
sisting of three small steamers, draw- 
ing very little water, with steady 
well-disdplinedEng^h crews, accus- 
tomed to hot dimates, and commanded 
by exp^i^iced and sdentific officers. 
With the strongest interest should we 
watch the departure and antidpate 
the letum of such an expedition ae 
this. **Mnch might be done by a 
steam-boat," says Mr Weme ; who 
then entmierates the obstacles to ita 
employment. To brmg it over the 
cataracts of the Nile, (below the junc- 
tion of the Blue and White Streams,) 
it would be necessary to take the pad- 
dles entirely out, that it might be 
dragged up with ropes, like a sailing 
vessd. Or else it might be built at 
Chartum, but for the want of proper 
wood ; the sunt-tree timber, although 
very strong, being exceedingly brittle 
and ill-adfq>ted for ship-building» 
The greatest difficulty would be tl^B 
fuel — the establishment and guard of 
coal stores ; and as to burning char- 
coal, although the lower portion of the 
White Stream has forests enough, they 
are wanting on its middle and upper 
banks ; to say nothing of the loss of 
time in felling and preparing the wood,, 
of the danger of attadu from natives, 
&c, &c. If some of these difficultiea 
are really formidable, others, on the 
contrary, might easily be overcome, 
and none are insuperable. Mr Weme 
hardly makes snffident allowanoe for 
the difference between Soliman Kas- 
chef and a European naval officer, 
who would turn to profit the houra 
and days the gallant Circassian spent 
in antelope-shooting, in laughing at 
Abu Hascbis the jester, and in a sort 
of travelling seraglio he had arranged 
in his inner cabin, a dark nook with 
closely-shut jalousies, that served as 
prison to an unfortunate slave-girl, 
who lay all day upon a carpet, with 
scarcely space to turn herself, guarded 
by a ennach. Not a glimpse of the 
country did the poor thing obtain 



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60 



ne White Nik. 



[Jan. 



daring the whole of the voyage ; and, 
even veiled, she was forbidden to go 
on deck. Besides these oriental re- 
laxations, an occasional practical joke 
beguiled for the commodore the 
tedium of the voyage. Feiznlla, 
the tailor - captain, whose strange 
passion for thimble and thread 
made him frequently neglect his nau- 
tical duties, chanced one day to bring 
to before his superior gave iJie signal. 
*^ Soliman Easchef had no sooner ob- 
served this than he fired a couple of 
shots at Feizulla Capitan, so that I 
myself, standing before the cabin door, 
heard the bullets whistle. Feizulla 
did not stir, although both he and the 
sailors in the riggmg afterwards af- 
firmed that the balls went within a 
hand's-breadth of his head: he mere- 
ly said, ^ Maksch'-hue biUah^' O^t is 
nothing— he jests ;) and he shot twice 
in return, pointing the gun in the op- 
posite direction, Siat l^liman mi^ 
understand he took the friendly greet- 
ing as a Turkish ioke, and that he, as 
a bad shot, dared not level at him." 
Soliman, on the other hand, was far 
too good a shot for such a sharp jest 
to be pleasant. The Turks account 
themselves the best marksmen and 
horsemen in the world, and are never 
weary of vaunting their prowess. Mr 
Weme says he saw an Amaut of Soli- 
man*s shoot a running hare with a 
single ball, which entered in the ani- 
mal's rear, and came out in firont. And 
it was a common practice^ during the 
voyage, to bring oown the fruit fifom 
lofty trees bv cutting the twigs with 
bullets. All these pastunes, however, 
retarded the progress of the expedi- 
tion. The wind was frequently light 
or unfavourable, and the lazy Africans 
made little way with the towing rope. 
Then a convenient place would often 
tempt to a premature halt ; and, not- 
withstanding Soliman's shaip practice 
with poor Feizulla, if a leadmg mem- 
ber of the party felt lazily disposed, 
inclined for a hunting-party, or for a 
visit to a negro village, he seldom had 
much difficulty in bnnginff the flotilla 
to an anchor. In a strai^t line from 
north to south, the exj^tion tra- 
versed, between its departure from 
€hartum and its return thither, about 
sixteen hundred miles. It is difficult 
to calculate the distance gone over ; 
and probably Mr Weme himself 



would be puzzled exactly to estimate 
it ; but adding 20 per cent for wind- 
ings, obliquities, and digressions, (a 
very liberal allowance,) we get a total 
of nearly two thousand miles, accom- 
plished in five months, including stop- 
pages, being at the very m<^erate 
rate of about 13 mUes a day. And 
this, we must remember, was on no 
rapid stream, but up a river, whose 
current, rarely faster than one mile 
in an hour, was more frequently only 
half a mile, and sometimes was so 
feeble that it could not be ascertained. 
The result is not surprising, bearing 
in mmd the quality of ships, crews, 
and commanders: but write "British** 
for " £g3rptians," and the tale would 
be rather different. 

The upshot of this ill-conducted 
expedition was its arrival in the king- 
dom of Bari, whose capital city, Pel- 
enja, is situated in 4" N. L., and which 
is inhabited by an exceedingly nume- 
rous nation of tall and powerful build ; 
the men six and a-half to seven French 
feet in height — equal to seven and 
seven and a-half English feet— athletic, 
well-proportioned,and, although black, 
with nothing of the usual negro char- 
acter in the& features. The men go 
naked, with the exception of sandals 
and ornaments ; the woman wear 
leathern aprons. They cultivate to- 
bacco and difiiorent kinds of gnun: 
from the iron found in their moun- 
tains they manufiusture weapons and 
other implements, and barter them 
with other tribes. They breed cattle 
and poultry, and are addicted to the 
chase. About fifteen hundred of these 
bhicks came down to the shore, armed 
to the teeth— a sight that inspired the 
TnskA with some uneashiess, although 
they had several of their chiefs on 
board the fiotilla, besides which, the 
fi-ank cordiality and good-humoured 
intelligent countenances of the men of 
Bari forbade the idea of hostile ag- 
gression. " It had been a fine op- 
portunity for a painter or sculptor 
to delineate these colossal figures, 
admirably proportioned, no fat, all 
musde, and magnificentiy limbed. 
None of them have beards, and it 
would seem they use a cosmetic to 
extirpate them. Captain Selim, whose 
chin was smooth -shaven^ pleased 
them far better than the long-bearded 
Soliman ELaschef; and when the 



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7%e WkUeNiU. 



61 



Utter showed them his breast, covered 
with a fell of hair, they exhibited a 
sort of disgust, as at something more 
appropriate to a beast than to a man." 
lake most of the tribes on the banks 
of the White Nile, thej extract the 
foor lower incisors, a cnstom for which 
Mr Weme is greatly pnasled to 
aocoont, and concenung which he 
hazards many ingenioos conjectores. 
Amongst the ape-like Eeks and 
Dinkas, he fancied it to originate in a 
desire to distingnish themselyes from 
the beasts of the field— to which they 
in so many respects assimilate ; bnt 
he was shaken in this opinion, on 
finding the practice to prevail amongst 
the intelligent Bari, who need no 
such mariL to establish their diffe- 
rence from the bmte creation. The 
Dinkas on board confirmed his first 
hypothesis, saying that the teeth are 
taken oat that they may not resemble 
the jacksfls which in many other 
respects they certainly do. The 
Torks takeitto be a rite equivalent to 
Mahomedan circumcision, or to Chris- 
tian baptism. The Arabs have a much 
more extravagant supposition, which 
we refrain from stating, the more so 
as Mr Weme discredits it. He sug- 
gests the possibility of its being an 
act of incoqxffaticm in a great Ethio- 
pian nation, divided into many tribes. 
xbe operation is performed at the age 
of piwerty: it is unaccompanied by 
any particular ceremonies, and wo- 
men as well as men undergo it. Its 
motive still renudns a matter of doubt 
to Mr Weme. 

Bef((»e Lakono, sultan of the Bari, 
and his favourite sultana iBchok, an 
ordinary - looking lady with two 
leathern aprons and a shaven head, 
came <m l)oard Sdto's vessel, the 
TuriLS made repeated attempts to 
obtain information from some of the 
Sheiks concerning the gold mines, 
whose discovery was the main object 
of the expedition. A sensible sort of 
negro, (me Lomb^ replied to their 
questions, and extinguished their 
hopes. There was not even copper, 
he said, in the land of the Bari, 
althou^ it was brought thither from 
a remoter country, and Lakono had 
several specimens of it in his treasunr* 
On a gold bar being shown tohhoii, he 
took it for copper, whence it was in- 
ferred that tne two metals were 



blended in the specimens possessed 
by the sultan, and that the mountains 
of the copper country also yielded the 
more precious ore. This country, 
however, lay many days* loumey 
distant from the Nile, and, had it even 
bordered on the river, there would 
have been no possibility of reaching 
it. At a very short distance above 
Palenja, the expedition encountered 
a bar of rocks thrown across the 
stream. And although Mr Weme 
hints the possibility of having tried 
the passage, the Tuj^ were sick of 
the voyage and were heartily glad to 
tumback. At the period of the floods 
the river rises eighteen feet; and 
there then could be no dlfScolty in 
surmounting the barrier. Now the 
waters were falling fast. The six 
weeks lost by Amaud*s fault were 
again bitterly deplored by the ad- 
venturous German — ^the only one of 
the pargr who really desired to pro- 
ceed. Twenty days sooner, and the 
rocks could neither have hindered an 
advance nor afforded pretext for a 
retreat. To Mr Weme's proposal, 
that they should wait two months 
where they were, when the setting 
in of the rains would obviate the 
difficulty, a deaf ear was tumed — an 
insufficient stock of provisions was 
objected; and although the flotilla 
had been stored for a ten months* 
▼oyage, and had then been little more 
than two months absent from Char- 
tum, the wastefulness that had pre- 
vailed gave some validity to the objec- 
tion. One-and-twenty guns were fired, 
as a farewell salute to the beautiful 
country Mr Weme would so gladly 
have explored, and which, he is fully 
convinced, contains so much of inter- 
est ; and the sluggish Egyptian barks 
retraced their course down stream. 

It is proper here to note a shrewd 
conjecture of Mr Weme's, that above 
the point reached bv himself and his 
compimions, the difficulties of ascend- 
ing tne river would greatly and rapidly 
increase. The bed becomes rocky, 
and the BadiV el Abiat, assuming in 
some measure the character of a 
mountain stream, augments the rapi- 
dity of its current : so much so, that 
Mr Weme insists on the necessity of 
a strong north wmd, believing that 
towing, however willingly and vigor- 
ously attempted, would be found un- 



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availmg. TkLs is another strong 
argument in favour of employing 
steamboats. 

Although the narrative of t^ home- 
ward voyage is by no means nninter- 
esting, and contains details of the 
riv«r's oourse valoable to the geogra- 
pher and to the fatore explore*, it has 
not the attraction of the up-stream 
narrative. The freshness is worn off ; 
the waters sink^ and the writer^s spirits 
seem disposed to follow theur example ; 
there is all the difference between 
attacl^ and retreat— between acheerful 
and hopeful advance, and a retrograde 
movement befbre the work is half done. 
But, vexed as an entiiusiastic and 
intrepid man might naturally feel at 
seeing his hopes frustrated by the 
indolent indifforenoe of hisoompanionB, 
Mr Weme could hardly deem his five 
months thrown away. We are quite 
sure those who read his book will 
be of opinion that the time was 
most industriously and profitably em- 
ployed. 

A sorrowful welcome awaited our 
traveller, after his painful and fatiguing 
voyage. There dwelt at Chartum a 
renegade physician, a Palermitan 
named Pasquali, whose Turkish name 
was SoUman Effendi, and who was 
notorious as a poisoner, and for the 
unscrupulous promptness with which 
he removed persons in the slightest 



degree unpleasing to himself or to hia 
patron Achmet Baaeha. In Arabia, 
it was cnrrently believed, he had onoe 
poisoned thirty-liiree soldim, with 
the sole view of bringing odinm upon 
the physician and ^Mtheeary, tw:o 
Frenchmen, who attended tiiem. In 
Chartum he was well known to have 
committed various mvden. 

^Although this man," says Mr 
Weme, ^* was most friendly and soci- 
able with me, I had ev^ything to 
fear from him on account of my 
Inrother^ by whom the Bascha had 
declared his intention of replacing him 
in the posted medical inspector of 
Bellet-Sudim. It was therefore in the 
most solemn earnest that I tiireatened 
him with death, if upon my return I 
found my brother dead, and learned 
that they had oome at all in contact. 
^Dio guardcj che csffrxnOoP was his 
reply ; and he quietly drank off his 
glass of rum, the same affiont having 
already been offered him in the 
Bascha's divan; the reference being 
natmidly to ^b» poisonings laid to his 
charge in Arabia and here." 

At Chartum Mr Weme found his 
brother alive, but on the eleventh day 
after his return he died in his arms. 
The renegade had had no occasion to 
employ hiB venomous drags; the work 
had been done as surely by the fatal 
influence of the noxious climate. 



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ABT ASD ABTISTB IN BPAIN. 



Ths aooompliahments brought back 
¥y our gr«iid£ikUieri from tae Con- 
tineot to ^praoe the drawing-rooniB 
of May Fair, ox enliven the eolitiides 
of Yorkshire^ were a iavoarite sub- 
ject for satiriBta, some *^ sixty years 
since/' Admitting the descriptions 
to be correct, it most be remem- 
bered that the grand tonr had become 
at OBoe moootOQons and deleterions, 
— from Calais to Paris, from Paris 
to Genera, frt»n GenoFa to Milan, 
from Milan to Florence, thence to 
Borne, and thence to Naples, the Eng- 
lish ^^ my lord," with his bear- 
leader, was conducted with regu- 
larity, if not with q^eed; and the 
same com»e of sights and society was 
prescribed for, and taken by, genera- 
tion after generatioa of Oxonians and 
Cantabs. Then, again, the Middle 
Ages, with their countless gracefrd 
restiges, their magnificent architec- 
ture, which even archaic Evelyn 
tbouigbt and called *^ barbarous,** 
their chivahxras customs, religious 
observances, rude yet picturesque 
arts, and fiindful literature, were lite- 
raUy blotted out frtun the note-book 
of the English tourist. Whatever was 
clasaicai or modem, that was worthy 
of regard ; but whatever belonged to 
'« Enrope's middle night,'' ikai the 
^toscendants of Saxon thanes or Nor- 
Ban knights disdained even to look 
at. Even had there been no Pyrenees 
to OKws, or no Bay of Biscay to en- 
«ouiter, so Gothic a country as Spain 
was not likely to attract to its dusky 
fliertaa, frequent monasteries, and 
medisBval towns, the fine gentlemen 
and Mohawks of those enlightened 
days ; nor need we be snrpruwd that 
the natural beanties of that romantic 
land— its wekd mountams, primeval 
feests, and fertile plains, firagrant 
with orange groves, and bright with 
flowers of every hue, unknown to Eng- 
Urii gardens — remained unexplored 
1^ the countiTmen of Gray and Gold- 
smith, who have put on record their 
mariked dis^Hurobadon of Nature in 
her wildest and moat sublime mood. 
Huts, then, it was that, with rare 



exceptions, the pleasant land of Spain 
was a sealed book to Englishmen, un- 
til the Great Captain rivalled and 
eclipsed the feats and triumphs of the 
Black Prince in every province of the 
Peninsula, and enabled guardsmen 
and hussars to admire the treasures of 
Spanish art in many a church and 
convent unspoiled by French rapa- 
city. Nor may we deny our obliga- 
tions to Gallic plunderers. Many a 
noble picture that now delights the 
eyes of thousands, exalts and purifies 
the taste of youthful painters, and 
sends, on the purple wings of European 
frmie, the name of its CasUlian, or 
Yaloician, or Andalusian creator 
down the stream of time, but for 
Soult or Sebastiani, might still have 
continued to waste its sweetness on 
desert air. Thenc^orward, in spite 
of brigands and captain-generals, 
rival constitutions and contending 
princes, have adventurous English- 
men been found to delight in rambling, 
like Inglis, in the footsteps of Don 
Qaixote,^^mulating the deeds of 
Peterborough, like Ranelagh and 
Henningsen, or throwing themselves 
into the actual life, and studying the 
historic manners of Spain, like Car- 
narvon and Ford. Still, though sol- 
dier and statesman, philosopher and 
litt^teur, had put forth their best 
powers in writing of the country that 
so worthily interested them, a void 
was ever left for some new comer to 
fill ; and right well, in his three hand- 
some, elaborate, and most agreeable 
volumes, has Mr Stirling filled that 
void. Not one of the goodly band of 
Spanish painters now lacks a *^ sacred 
poet" to inscribe his name in the 
tomple of fame. With indefatigable 
rese^xih, most discriminating taste, 
uid happiest success, has Mr Stirling 
pursued and completed his pleasant 
labour of love, and presented to the 
worid ^^ Annals of the Artists of 
Spain" worthy— can we say more? 
—of recording the trinomhis of El 
Mudo and El Greco, Mjirillo and 
Yelasquee. 
At least a century and a half 






By WiLLiAX SiiBLiKG, HJL 8 vols. London : 



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before Holbein was limning the 
barly frame and eorgeons dress of 
bluff King Hal^ and creating at once 
a school and an appreciation of art 
in England, were tne early painters 
of Spain enriching their magnificent 
cathedrals, and religioos honses, with 
pictures displaying as correct a 
knowledge of art, and as rich a tone 
of colour, as the works of that great 
master. There is something singular 
and mysterious in the contrast afforded 
by the early history of painting in the 
two countries. While in poetry, in 
paintmg on glass, in science, in manu- 
factures, in architecture, England 
appears to have kept pace with other 
countries, in painting and in sculpture 
she appears always to have lagged 
far behind. Gower, Chaucer, Fnar 
Bacon, William of Wyckham, Wayn- 
fleete, the unknown builders of ten 
thousand churches and convents, the 
manufacturers of the glass that still 
charms our eyes, and baffles the 
rivalry of our Willements and Wailes, 
at York and elsewhere — ^the illumi- 
nators of the missals and religious 
books, whose delicate fancy and 
lustrous tints are even now teaching 
our highborn ladies that long-forgot- 
ten art— yielded the palm to none of 
their brethren in Europe ; but where 
and who were our contemporaneous 
painters and sculptors ? In the luxu- 
rious and graceful court of Edward 
rv., who represented that art which 
Dello and Juan de Castro, under 
royal and ecclesiastical patronage, 
had carried to such perfection in 
Spain? That no English painters of 
an^ note flourished at that time, is 
evident from the silence of all histori- 
cal documents ; nor does it appear 
that foreign artists were induced, by 
the hope of gain or fame, to instruct 
our countrymen in the art to whidi 
the discoveries of the Van Eycks had 
imparted such a lustre. It is true 
that the desolating Wars of the Roses 
left scant time and means to the 
sovereigns and nobility of Englamd 
for fostering the arts of peace ; but 
still great progress was being made in 
nearly all those arts, save those of 
which we speak ; and, if we remember 
rightly, Mr Pngln assigns the tri- 
umph of English architecture to this 
troublous epoch. Nor, although Juan 
I., Pedro the Cruel, and Juan U., 



were admirers and patrons of paint- 
ing, was it to royal or noble favour 
that Spanish art owed its chiefest 
obligations. The church — which, af- 
ter the great iconoclastic struggle of 
the eighti) century, had steadUy acted 
on the Horatian maxim, 

** S«gniafl irritant aaimofl demissa per anres, 
Qnam qua aunt ocalis lobjeeta fidelibas ** — 

in Spain embraced the young and 
diffident art with an ardour and a 
munificence which, in its palmiest and 
most prosperous days, that art never 
forgot, and was never wearied of 
requiting. Was it so in England? 
and do we owe our lack of ancient 
English picture to the reforming zeal 
of our iconoclastic reformers? Did 
the religious pictures of our Rmcons, 
our Nufiez, and our Borgofias, share 
the fate of the libraries that were 
ruthlessly destroyed by the ignorant 
myrmidons of royal rapadty ? If so, 
it is almost certain that the records 
which bewail and denounce the fate 
of books and manuscripts, would not 
pass over the destruction of pictures ; 
while it is still more certain that the 
monarch and his courtiers would have 
appropriated to themselves the pic- 
tured saints, no less than the holy 
vessels, of monastery and convent. 
It cannot, therefore, be said that the 
English Beformation deprived our 
national sdiool of painting of its most 
munificent patrons, and most ennob- 
lingand purestsubjects, in the destruc- 
tion of the monasteries, and the 
spoliation of churches. That the 
Church of England, had she remained 
unreformed, might, in the sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries, have emu- 
lated her Spanish or Italian sister in 
her patronage of, and beneficial influ- 
ence npon, the arts of painting . and 
scnlpture, it is needless either to 
deny or assert ; we fear there is no 
room for cont^iding that, since the 
Beformation, she has in any way 
fostered, guided, or exalted either of 
those religious arts. 

In Spam, on the contrary, as Mr 
Stirling well points out, it was under 
the august shadow of the church that 

gainting first raised her head, gidned 
er fijBt triumphs, executed her most 
glorious works, and is even now pro- 
longing her miserable existence. 

The venerable cathedral of Toledo 
was, in effect, the cradle of Spanish 



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Minting. Founded in 1226 by St 
F^inand, it remained, to quote Mr 
Stiiiing^s words, ^^for four hundred 
years a nucleus and gathering-place 
for genins, where artists swarmed and 
laboured like bees, and where splen- 
did prelates — ^the popes of the Penin- 
sula—lavished their princely revenues 
to make fair and glorious the temple 
of God intrusted to their care." Here 
Dolfin introduced, in 1418, painting on 
glass; here the brothers Rodrigues 
displayed their forceful skill as sculp- 
tors, in figures which still surmount the 
great poital of that magnificent cathe- 
dral ; and hereRincon, the first Spanish 
painter who quitted the stiff medisBval 
style, loved best to execute his graceful 
works. Nor when, with the house of 
Austria, the genius of Spanish art 
ouitted the Bourbon- governed land, 
did the custodians of this august 
temple forget to stimulate and reward 
the detestable conceits, and burlesque 
sublimities, of such artists as the de- 
praved taste of the eighteenth century 
delighted to honour. Thus, in 1721, 
Nardso Tome erected at the back of 
the choir an immense marble altar- 
piece, called the Trasparente, by order 
of Archbishop Diego de Astorgo, for 
which he received two hundred thous- 
and ducats ; and thus, fifty years later, 
Bayeu and Maella were employed to 
paint in firesco the cloisters that had 
once ^ried in the venerable paintings 
of JuandeBorgofia. At Toledo, then, 
under the aus^^es of the great Cas- 
tilian queen, Isabella, may be said to 
have risen the Castilian sdiool of art. 
The other great schools of Spanish 
painting were those of Andalusia, of 
Yalendk, and that of Arragon and 
Catalonia ; but, for the mass of Ens;- 
Ush readers, the main interest lies In 
tlw two first, the schools that pro- 
ANid or acquired £1 Mudo ana £1 
Qtmns Velasquez and Murillo. The 
HMfca of the two last- mentioned 
IMM* are now so well known, and so 
ft%Hf Appreciated in Engird, that 
Hi. are tempted to postpone for the 
any notice of that most de- 
part of Mr Stirling's book 
(tats of them, and invite our 
^ trace the course of ^art in 
II old city to which we have 
refcrred, Toledo. 
I llie grave had dosed upon 
nvains of Rincon, Juan de 

aCT.— KO. OCCXCTXI 



Borgofia had proved himself worthy 
of wielding the Castilian pencil, and, 
under the patronage of the great 
Toledan archbishop, Ximenes de Cis- 
neros, produced works which still 
adorn the winter chapter-room of that 
cathedral. These are interesting not 
only as specimens of art, but as mani- 
festations of the religious rfios of 
Spain at the commencement of the 
sixteenth century: let Mr Stirling 
describe one of the most remarkable 
of these early paintings: — *' The lower 
end of the finely-proportioned, but 
badly-lighted room, is occupied by the 
^ Last Judgments' a large and re- 
markable composition. Immediately 
beneath the figure of our Lord, a 
hideous fiend, in the shape of a boar, 
roots a fair and reluctant woman out 
of her grave with his snout, as if she 
were a trufle, twining his tusks in her 
long amber locks. To the left are 
drawn up in a line a party of the 
wicked, each figure being the incarna- 
tion of a sin, of which the name is 
written on a label above in Gothic 
letters, as * SkohvAU,' and the like. 
On their shoulders sit little malicious 
imps, in the likeness of monkeys, and 
round their lower limbs, fiames dimb 
and curl. The forms of the good and 
faithful, on the right, display far less 
vigour of fancy." So the good char- 
acters in modem works of fiction are 
more feebly drawn, and excite less 
interest, than the Rob Roys and 
Durk Hattericks, the Conrads and 
the Manfreds. Nor was Toledo at 
this time wanting in the sister art of 
sculpture: while the Rincons, and 
Berruguete, and Borgolia, were en- 
riching the cathedral with their pic- 
tures and their firescoes, Yigamy was 
daborating the famous high altar of 
marble, and the stalls on the epistle 
side. In conduding his notice of 
Yigamy, '^the first great Castilian 
sculptor," Mr Stirling gives a sketch 
of the s^le of sculpture popular in 
Spain. Like nearly all the ** Cosas 
d' Espana," it is peculiar, and owes 
its peculiarity to the same cause that 
has impressed so marked a character 
on Spanish painting and Spanish 
pharmacopeia—religion. 

Let not the English loyer of the 
fine arts, invited to view the master- 
pieces of Spanish sculpture, imagine- 
that his eyes are to be feasted on the 



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Aft €md AriitU m JS^xdm, 



lJ§a. 



ftnde, though Hftrdlyindeoenl Ibms of 
YeBoseB aiid ApoUos, Grm jmedes and 
Andromedas. 

Beaatifiil, and breatiiing, and fiill 
of imaginstion, indeed, those Spaniiii 
statues are — *^ idols,'* as otir anthor 
genenUlj teniis them ; bat the idola- 
tiy they represent or ev<^e a hea- 
venly, not earthly — spiritnial, not sen- 
snooB. Chiselled out of a blockof oedar 
or lime- wood, with the most remential 
care, the image of the Qneen of HeaToa 
enjoyed the most exquisite and deli- 
cate senrices of the rival sister arts, 
and, *^ copiedfrom the loveliest models, 
was presented to her adorers sweetly 
amiHng, and gloriously afmarelled in 
clothing of wrought gold. But We 
doubt whether any EngUshman i«1io 
has not seen can understand the 
marvellous beauty of tiiese painted 
wooden images. Thus Bernignete, 
who combing both arts in perfection, 
executed in 1539 the arehbish(^*s 
throne at Toledo, ** over which hovers 
an airy and graceful figure, carved in 
dark walnut, representing our Lord 
on the Mount of Transfiguration, and 
remarkable for its fiae and floating 
drapery." 

Continuing our list of Tdedan 
artists, '^ whose whole lives and la- 
bours lay widiin the shadow of that 
great Toledan church, whose genius 
was spent in its service, and whose 
names were hardly known beyond its 
walls," (vol. i. p. 150,) we come to 
T. Comontes, who, among other works 
ft>r that munificent Alma Mato", exe- 
cuted from the dengns of Yigamy the 
retabk) (reredos) for the chapel *' de 
los Reyes Nuevos," in 1538. It was 
at Toledo that £1 Mudo, the Danish 
Titian, died, and at Toledo tiiat Bias 
del Prado was bom. When hi 1593 
the Emperor of Morocco asked tiiat 
the best painter of SMin might be sent 
to his court, Philip II. i^apointed Bias 
del Prado to Mfil the Mussulman's 
artistic desires : previous to this, the 
chapter of Tolc^ had named him 
their second painter, and he had 
painted a large ahar-pieoe, and other 
pictures, for thdr cathedral But 
perhaps the Toledan annals of art 
contain no loftier name than that of 
ElGreoo. Domemi8Theotoo(^mli,who, 
bom, it is surmised, at Venice in 1546, 
is found in 1577 painting at Toledo, Ibr 
the cathedral, his fhrnous picture of 



The Parting of onr Lord*s GsnMBt, 
on which he bestowed the labour of m 
decade, and of which we |^ Mr 
Stiiling*8 inetnresque description. 

^ The august figmre of tiie Saviour, 
airayed in a red robe, occupies the 
eentre of the canvass; ^h^d, with 
its kmg dark locks, is superb ; and tihe 
Boble and beantiful eountenanoe seeraa 
to mourn for the madness of them who 
'knew BOt what tiray did;* his right 
arm is folded on his bosom, seeming^ 
unconscious of the rope wfaidi eodr- 
des his wrist, and is violently dragged 
downwards by two executionov in 
fromL Around and behind him ap- 
pears a throng of priests and warrioffs, 
amongst whom the Gre^ himself 
figures as the centurion, in black ar- 
mour. In drawing and oompositicm, 
this picture h truly admnrable, and 
the colouring is, on the wh(^ rich 
and efiectiven-although it is here and 
tiiere laid on in that spotted streal^ 
maimer, whidi afterwards became tiie 
mat and prominent defect <^ £1 
Greco's style." 

Summoned finom the cathedral to the 
court, £1 Greco painted, by royal com- 
mand, a large altar-piece,for1lie church 
at the Escnnal, om the martyrdom of St 
Maurice; '* little less extravagant and 
atrocious,"8ayBOurlivelyauti[iOT,^* than 
the massacre it recorded." Neither 
kin| nor court painters could praise this 
performance, and the effect of his failure 
at the Escuriid appears to have been 
his return to Toledo. Here, in 1584, 
he painted, by order of the Archfoidiop 
Quiroga, " The Burial of the Count of 
Orgae," a picture then and now es- 
teemed as his master-piece, and still 
to be seen in the church of S«ito 
Tom^. Warm is the encomium, and 
eloquently expressed, whidi Mr Stir- 
ling bestows upon this gem of Toledan 
art. " Tlie artist, or lover of art, who 
has once beheld it, will never, as he 
rambles among the windhig streets of 
the ancient city, pass the pretty brick 
b^fiy of «that church — full <tf horse- 
shoe niches and Moorish reticulations, 
•—wiUKNit turning aside to gase upon its 
superb picture once more. It hangs 
to yomr left, on the wall oiq[K>8ite to 
the high altar. Gensalo Ruic, Count 
of Orgaz, head of a house fionous in 
romance, rebuilt the Mric of the 
church, and was in aU respects so re- 
ligious and gradons a gnndee, that, 



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be WB8 borfed in 1828^ wttUa 
t wery walla, fit Steftoi and St 
AagMtinecainedownfimn heayeii, aod 
laid Mb bodyin tke tomb with thdrown 
bolj bandB — aa incident which fonus 
tiMasbfectoftbepictve. St Stephen, 
« daik-baived jovth of noble coonte- 
■■Bcn, and St Aogaatine, a hoary eld 
aun w ea rin g a sitie, both of them 
arrajed ia rick pontifical Testments 
«f goUen tiMBe, support the dead 
Cemtin tbeir arau, and genilj lower 
Mm into the gra^e, ahnraded ltl» a 
imnm «f Roeiin ^in liis iron panopJjJ 
Keibing can be finer than the execa- 
tioB and the contrast of these three 
beads ; never was the image of the 
peaceM death of ^ the just man' 
BMm bi4>ptl7 conveyed, than ia the 
yboid £aoe and powdrless lurm of the 
warrior: sordid Giorgione or Utiaa 
ever OKcel the splendid ooloaring of 
bis black ansoar, rich' with gold 
damasoeufi^. To tbe right of the 
nietnre, behmd St St^hen, kneels a 
nir begr ia a daric dress, perhaps the 
son of Ibe Count ; beyond rises the 
atately fixat of a gray friar ; to the 
left, near St Angnstme, stand two 
priests ingorgeoas Teetments, holding, 
tbe one a bo(^, and the other a taper. 
Behind this principal groop appear 
tbe noble company of moamers, hi- 
dalgos and old Christians all, with 
dive iaoes and beards of formal cot, 
looking cm with tme Castilian gravity 
and phlegm, as if the transaction were 
an erery-day occnrrenoe. As they 
an mostly portraits, periuips some of 
tbe originals did actually stand, a few 
years later, with the like awe in tbeir 
hearts and calm on their dieeks, in 
tbe royal presenoe-diamber, when the 
news came to court that theprood 
Armada of Spain bad been van- 
foi^ed by tbe galleys of Howard, 
and cast away on the rocks of the 
Hebrides." We make no apology for 
tbns fireely qnotini from Mr Stirling's 
pa^BS his description of this picture ; 
tbe extract brings vividly before our 
i-eaders at once the merits (^ the old 
Toledan painter, and his acooflq)lished 
iMOgraphcr and critic. After embel- 
Uabang his adopted city, not only with 
pictures such as this, but with works 
of acnljftaDe and architecture, and 
vindicating his graceful profession 
firom the unsparing exactions of the 
tax-gatbefeBB— « daas who i^ipear to 



bave waged an nnrelenting though 
intermittent war against tbe fine arts 
in Spaim— be died tbeee at a green 
old age in 1625, and was b«r^ in 
tbe cbnreb of St Bartoleaid. Even 
tbe paintefB moat einpleyed at the 
mmi^oent and artrlovingoonrt 4^ the 
seoond and tbbd Fbil^w, fbond time to 
paint for the venenble caihedraL 
Tbas, m 1615, Vinoencio Caidadio, 
the Florentine, painted, with Erogenio 
Caxes, a series of frescoes in the 
chapel of the Sagrario; and thus £a- 
genio Caxes, lea^g the worios at the 
Pardo and Madrid, painted for tbe ca- 
thedral of Toledo tbe Adoration of the 
Magi, and other independent pictores. 
Meanwhile the school of £1 Greoo 
was producing worthy fiait ; finom it, 
in the ]n£uu^<tf tbe seventeaith cen- 
tury, came forth Lds Tristan, an artist 
even now almost unknown in London 
and Edinbuigh, but whose st^le Ye- 
iasqnea did not disdain to imitate, 
and whose praises he vras never tired 
of sounding. *^Bom, bred, and 
sped^' in Totedo, or its neighbonrhood, 
MB Morales was emphatically the 
painter of Bad^oa, so may Tristan 
be termed the painter <^ Toledo. 
No foreign graces, no classical models, 
adorned or vitiated his stem Spanish 
style ; yet, in his portrait xd Ardi- 
btthop Sandoval, he is said by Mr 
Stirling to haye united the daborato 
execntMm of Sanchea Coello with 
mocbef tiko spirit of Titian. And of 
him is the pleasant story veeorded, 
that having, while yet a stripling, 
painted for the Jeronymito convent at 
Toledo a Last Supper, ibr which be 
a^ed two hundred ducats, and being 
denied payment by the frugal friars, be 
mpealed with them to the arbitration 
of his old master, El Greco, who, having 
viewed the incture, called the young 
painter a rogne and a novice, for 
asking only two for a painting worth 
fbre hundred dncats. In. the same 
Toledan cbnrdi thatcontaias tbe ashes 
of bis great master, Ues tbe Mnrcian 
Pedro Orrente, called by oar author 
''the Bassano, or tbe fioos^tbe 
great sheep and cattle master of 
SfMidn :^' be too was employed l^ the 
art-encoaraging chapter, and the ca- 
thedral poseessed several of his finest 
pictures. But with Tristan and Or- 
rente the glories of Toledan art paled 
and waned; mad^ trusting that our 



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Art and Artisti in Spabu 



[Jan. 



readers have not been nniuterested in 
following our brief sketch of the re- 
markable men who for four hundred 
years rendered this quaint old Gothic 
city famous for its artistic splendours, 
we retrace our steps, halting and per- 
plexed among so many pleasant ways, 
blooming flowers, and brilliant bowers, 
to the magnificent, albeit gloomy 
Escurial, where Philip II. lavished 
the wealth of his mighty empire in 
calling forth the most vigorous ener- 
gies of Spanish and of foreign art. 

For more than thirty years did the 
astonished shepherds of the Guada- 
ramas watch the mysterious pile 
growing under scaffolding alive with 
armies of workmen ; and often, while 
the cares of the Old World and the 
New — to say nothing of that other 
Worid, which was seldom out of 
Philip^s thou^ts, and to which his 
cruel fanaticism hurried so many 
wretches before their time — ^might 
be supposed to demand his attention 
at Madrid, were they privileged to 
see their mighty monarch perched 
on a lofty l^ge of rock, for hours, 
intently gazing upon the rising walls 
and towers which were to redeem his 
vow to St Laurence at the battle of 
Saint Quentin, and to hand down, 
through all Spanish time, the name 
and fame of the royal and religious 
founder. On the 23d of April 1568, 
the first stone of this Cyclopean 
palace was laid, under the airection 
of Bantiste di Toledo, at whose death, 
in 1567, the work was continued by 
Juan de Herrera, and finally perfected 
by I^oni (as to the interior decora- 
tions) in 1597. Built in the quaint 
unshapely form of St Laurence^s 
gridiron, the Escurial is doubtless 
open to much severe criticism ; but 
the marvellous grandeur, the stem 
beauty, and the characteristic effect 
of the gigantic pile, must for ever 
enchant the eyes of all beholders, 
who are not doomed by perverse fate 
to look through the green spectacles 
of gentle dulness. But it is not our 
purpose to describe the Escurial ; we 
only wish to bring before our readers 
the names and merits of a few of the 
Spanish artists, who found among its 
gloomy corridors or sumptuous halls 



niches in the temple of fame, and in. 
its saturnine founder the most gra- 
cious and munificent of patrons. 
Suffice it, then, to say of the palaces- 
convent, in Mr Stirling's graceful 
words, that " Italy was ransacked for 
pictures and statues, models and 
designs ; the mountains of Sicily and 
Sardinia for jaspers and agates ; and 
every sierra of Spain furnished its 
contribution of marble. Madrid, 
Florence, and Milan supplied the 
sculptures of the altars ; Guadalajara 
and Cuenca, gratings and balconies ; 
Saragossa the gates of brass ; Toledo 
and the Low Countries, lamps, can- 
delabra, and bells ; the New Worid, 
the finer woods ; and the Indies, both 
East and West, the gold and gems of 
the custodia, and the five hundred 
reliquaries. The tapestries were 
wrought in Flemish looms ; and, for 
the sacerdotal vestments, there was 
scarce a nunnery in the empire, from 
the rich and noble orders of Brabant 
and Lombardy to the poor sisterhoods 
of the Apulian highlands, but sent 
an offering of n^lework to the 
honoured fathers of the Escurial." 

We could wish to exclude from our 
paper all notice of the foreign artists^ 
whose genius assisted in decorating 
the new wonder of the world ; but 
how omit from any Escurialian or 
Philippian catalogue the names of 
Titian and Cell&ii, Cambiasb and 
Tibaldi? For seven long years did 
the great Venetian labour at his 
famous Last Supper, painted for, 
and placed in the rectory ; and count- 
less portraits by his fame-dealing 
pencil graced the halls and galleries 
of the Palatian convents. In addition 
to these, the Pardo boasted eleven of 
his portraits ; among them, one of the 
hero Duke Emmanuel Philibert of 
Savoy, who has received a second 
grant of renown — let us hope a more 
lasting one* — firom the poetic chisel 
of Marochetti, and stands now in the 
great square of Turin, the very im- 
personation of chivalry, horse and 
hero alike— -itvdfi yoMoy. 

The magnificent Florentine con- 
tributed ** the matchless marble cruci- 
fix behind the prior's seat in the 
choir," of which Mr Sthrling says- 



All these portraits were destroyed by fire in the reign of Philip III. 



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Art and ArtisU in Spain, 



69 



** Never was marble shaped into a 
sublimer Image of the great sacrifice 
for man's atonement." Lnca Cam- 
biaao, the Genoese, painted the. 
Martyrdom of St Laurence for the 
high altar of the chnrch — a pictare 
thiU must have been regarded, from 
its subject and position, as the first of 
all the £scarial*s religions pictures, 
— besides the vault of the choir, and 
two great frescoes for the grand stair- 
case. 

Pellegrino Tibaldi, a native of the 
Milanese, came at Philip's request to 
the Escurial in 1586. He, too, 
pamted a Martyrdom of Saint Lau- 
rence for the high altar, but apparently 
with no better success than his im- 
mediate predecessor, Zuccaro, whose 
work his was to replace. But the 
ceiling of the library was Tibaldi's 
field of fame ; on it he painted a fi-esco 
194 feet long by 30 wide, which still 
speaks to his skill in composition and 
brilliancy in colouring. Philip re- 
warded him with a Milanese mar- 
qnisate and one hundred thousand 
crowns. 

Morales, the first great devotional 
painter of Castile, on whom his ad- 
miring countrymen bestowed the sou- 
Kriquet of " divine" — with more pro- 
priety. It must be confessed, than their 
descendants have shown in conferring 
it upon Arguelles— contributed but one 
mctnre to the court, and none to the 
Eacnrial; but in Alonzo Sanchez 
Coello, born at Benifayrd, in Valen- 
cia, we find a famous native artist 
decorating the superb walls of the new 
palace. While at Madrid he was 
lodged in the Treasury, a building 
whk^ communicated with the palace 
by a door, of which the King kept a 
key ; and often would the royal Ma- 
cenas slip thus, unobserved by the 
artist, into his studio. Emperors and 
popes, kings and queens, princes and 
princesses, were alike his friends and 
subjects ; but we are now only con- 
cerned to relate that, in 1582, he 
painted *^ five altar-pieces for the Es- 
curial, each containing a pair of 
saints." Far more of interest, how- 
ever, attaches itself to the name and 
memory of Juan Fernandez Nava- 
rete, *^ whose genius was no less re- 
markable -than his infirmities, and 
whose name — El Mudo, the dumb 
painter — Is as familiar to Europe as 



his works are unknown," (vol. i. p. 
250.) Born at Logrollo in 1526, he 
went in his youth to Italy. Here he 
attracted the notice of Don Luis 
Manrique, grand-almoner to Philip, 
who procured him an invitation to 
Madrid. He was immediately set to 
work for the Escurial ; and in 1571 
four pictures, the Assumption of the 
Virgin, the Martyrdom of St James 
the Great, St Philip, and a Re- 
penting St Jerome, were hung in the 
sacristy of the convent, and brought 
him five hundred ducats. Li 1576 he 
painted, for the reception-hall of the 
convent, a large picture representing 
Abraham receiving the three An- 
gels. " This picture," says Father 
Andres Ximenes, quoted by Mr Stir- 
ling, (vol. i. p. 255,) *^ so appropriate 
to the place it fills, though the first of 
the master*s works that usually meets 
the eye, might, for its excellence, be 
view^ the last, and is well worth 
coming many a league to see." An 
agreement, bearing date the same 
year, between the painter and the 
prior, by which the former cove- 
nanted to paint thirty-two large pic- 
tures for the side altars, is preserved 
by Cean Bermudez ; but £1 Mudo 
unfortunately died when only eight of 
the series had been painted. On the 
28th of March 1579 this excellent and 
remarkable painter died in the 53d 
year of his age. A few years later, 
Juan Gomez painted from a design of 
Tibaldi a large picture of St Ursula, 
which repla^ one of Cambiaso's 
least satisfactory Escurialian per- 
formances. 

While acres of wall and ceiling were 
being thus painted in fresco, or cover- 
ed by large and fine pictures, the Es- 
curial gave a ready home to the most 
minute of the fine arts: illuminators of 
missals, and painters of miniatures, 
embroiderers of vestments, and de- 
signers of altar-cloths, found theur 
labours appreciated, and their genius 
called forth, no less than their more 
aspiring compeers. Fray Andrez de 
Leon, and Fray Martin de Palenda, 
enriched the Escurial with exquisite 
specimens of their skill in the arts of 
miniature- paintipg and illuminating ; 
and under the direction of Fray Lo- 
renzo di Monserrate, and Diego Ruti- 
ner, the conventual school of embroi- 
dery produced froutals and dalmatics, 



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70 



Art 



oopes, chftsnbles, and altar-doCln, €f 
rsresi beaotj and happiest desigsa. 
The goldsmitha and i#fWsmith8, loo^ 
lacked not enocmragenent in thia great- 
est of temples. CMow was tieskillf 
and conning tiie haod^ which ih- 
shioned the tewer of gold and jasper 
tocontainthe Escniial's hoMestreiiqiie, 
— a nrasde, shiged and charred, of St 
Lanrence — and no devbt that akin 
was noblj r ewarded. 

In 1599, clasping' to his hreast the 
Te9 of Oir Lady cf M oosenrat, in s 
Httle alcore h«rd hy the dinrch of the 
Escnrial, died Its grim, nnignHleeBt 
founder. He had iHtnessed the com- 
pletion of his gigantic derigns: pateee 
and conrent, there H steed— a monv- 
ment alike of his pietj and his pride, 
and a proof of the grandeur and re- 
sources of the mighty empire OYet 
which he rnled. fist he appears to 
have tiionfght with the poet ' 

*« Wogiwd lA tha balMM, hexo-diut 
la Tile M iBortal day '^^ 

for be bnilt m» stately MHHolenm, 
merely m common Taulty to receive the 
imperial dead. This omisaioD, in liU7, 
FMl^ni. nnderteok to sappty; nod 
Giovanni Battista Creaoenai, an Ita* 
lian, was selected as the aiebitect. 
Forthkty-foor years did he and his 
sQCcesBors hihov at this royal necro- 
polis, wliich when finlriMd ^ brramci, 
under the name of the Pantheon, the 
most splendid chnaiher of the £scu- 
rial."— (Vol. i. p. 412. i 

Mr Sthrlingl^ seeenct Tohmie opev 
with a graphic aoeonot of the deci|f of 
Spanish power under Philip IV., and 
an eqaaUy gnnihie description of this, 
tin chief arehitectnral triumph of hia 
long higloriou reign. ThePaatheoo 
was "^an octagonal chaanber 113 feet 
in diouniBrence, and 38 feet in 
height, ftom the pnTemeat t» the 
centre of the deined vank. Each of 
its eight sides, exoepthig the two 
which an ocevpied hy km entrance, 
and the altar, oontaia fear niches and 
fbur marhle nms; the walla, Co- 
rinthian pilasters, oomiees and dome, 
are fcrmed of the finest marbles of 
Toledo and Biscay, Tortoea and Ge- 
noa; and the hnsea, capitals, scrolls, 
and other omameats, areof gilt hrsoae. 
Placed beneath the prtabytery of the 
church, and approached by the long 
descent of s stately marble stahrcase, 



[Jan. 

tfiia hall of royal 
' with gold and polished jmi^v, i 
a creation of Eastern romance, * . . . 
Hither Philip IV. wnnld eeme, when 
melancholy— the fatal taint of his 
blood was strong iqpon him— to hear 
mass, and meditate on deati^ sitting 
hi the niche which was shortly to 
receiye his bones.** Yet this was tfao 
monarch whose qoidc ^e delected 
the early yenlas of Yelasqnes, and 
who bore the palm as a patron iren» 
aU the prfamea of his hons^ and aU 
the sovereigns of Europe* Wdl did 
the great painter repay the discrimi- 
nating friendship of the king, and so 
long as Spanish art endures, will tho 
features of PhU^ IV. be known in 
ereryEor^wanconntiy; andhisfrur^ 
hair, melaacholj mien, iaipaasim 
counteasnce and coid eyes, rcTcai to 
all thne the he r edit ary characteristics 
of the phlegm a tic house of Austria. 

Diego SodrigBea de Silva y Yelas- 
quez was bom at Seville in 1599* 
Here be entered the sdiool of Herrem 
the Elder, a dashing pamtcr, and n 
violent man, who was for ever losing 
a^ke his temper and his scholars. 
Yelasqaea soon left ids turbnle^ ndo 
for the gentler instmction of Frandson 
Pucheco. In his stodio the yonn^ 
artist worked ^ilgmtly, while he took 
lessons at the same time of a yet 
more finished artist — natnre; the 
nature of bright, sanny, graeefai 
Andalusia. Thus, while Velasquen 
canno t bocaHed a self-taugfe^ painter, 
he retained to the last that freedooa 
finom mannerism, and that gay fideii^ 
to nature, which so oflen— not in hte 
case — compensate for » departam 
flroM the highest rules and requnre- 
ments of art. 

While he was thus stndyhig and 
painrhig the lowers and the fruits^ 
the damsels and the beggars, of sunny 
Seville, there arrived is that beastifnl 
city a collection of Italian and Span- 
ish pictures. These exercised no smsU 
influence on the taste and style of rho 
young artist; but, true to his country, 
and with the happy inspiration of ge- 
nius, it was to Lais Tristan of Toledo, 
rather than to any foreign master, that 
he dtrecled his chief attention; and 
hence the future chief of the Castihan 
school was enabled to combine wiib 
its UMfits the excellencies of both tho 
other great divisions of Spanish art. 



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AHmtdArtiMMimJ^fmm. 



ouHEried PaelK 



lPaeheoo*ftclfti«li- 
i aU his krty jMit' 
(•Ad raeoetsesy sad dosed kis 
Mag mt. At the age of twentj- 
Imey YelMqiMB^ aaxioio to eniarge 
Ui aoqitetttaMe wkh the mMter- 
pieees of other school^ west to Ma- 
drid; b«t after spendng a iswMOttths 
ttera, aMi at theEecamlyheietanMd 
to SofiUe— MOD* howvyer, to he ra- 
eailod at the biddhig of the great 
ariairter aad Macrae, (Mivavea. 
Noir, in 1623, set in the tide of Airoar 
and of ftmer which heneeforward 
was not to flag or ebb till the great 
painter lay stretched, ont of its reach, 
on the cold bank of death. Daring 
Wa snaimer he {MUDted the noble 
portrait of the kinc on horsebadc, 
which was exhibited 1^ rojal order 
infinottt of thechvcfa of San Felipe, 
and which canied the aU-powerfid 
Connt-dBke to esetainh that nntil 
now las B Nye sty had never been 
pninUd, Charmed and ddi^^hted 
with the ptctore and the painter, 
Philip declared no other artist ahoald 
in Ihtare paint his ro^ral fiu»; andMr 
StirUDg maUdoofiiy adds that "" this 
resolntion he kept far More religioaslj 
than his Barriage Yows, for he appears 
to have departed finom it during the 
Ife-tine of his dioeen artist, in 
flmNv onljr of Rabens and CraTer.** 
(Vol. M. p. 692.) On the Slst of 
Oetober 1G29, Yelasqaea was formally 
appointed painter in ordinary to the 
klag, and in 1626 was pnyvided with 
apttrtmentsfai the Treasory. To this 
period Mr Stiriing assigns his beat 
n heaf es of the eqnes tiiaa monarch, of 
which he says — ^^ Far more pleasing 
any other representation oi the 
, it is also one of the finest por- 
in the worU. The king is in 
the glow of yonth and health, aad in 
the fhU enjoyment of his fine horse, 
and the breeae blowing fi-eshly firam 
the distant hUls ; he wears dark ar- 
■oar, orerwhidi flatters a crimson 
scarf; a hat with black phunes covers 
his head, and his right hand graq» a 
tmncheon."— (P. 696.) 

In 1628, Vehwqnes bad the pleasure 
of showing Rubens, who had come to 
Madrid as envoy from the Low Coon« 
tries, the galleries of that dty, and 
the wonders of the Escnrial; and, fol- 
lowing the advice of that mighty 



71 

r, he visited Italy the next year. 
On that painier-prododng soil, his 
steps were first toraed to the dty of 
Titian ; bat the son ei art was going 
down over the ^luaysaad palaoesof 
once i^oriona Yenicev and, harrying 
throngh Ferram aad Bologna, the 
ea^ pilgrim soon reached Rome. In 
this BMtirQpolia of reUgloa, learnings 
and art, the yoong Spaniard spent 
numy a pleasant and profitable month : 
nor, whUe feasting his eyes and stor- 
ing Ins meaaovy with ^its thoosaad 
forma of beauty and deligbt,'' did he 
allow his peadl a perfect holiday. 
The Forge of Yokan and Jo- 
seph's Coat were painted in the 
Eternal City. After a tew weeks at 
Kaplesy he returned to Madrid in the 
spring of 16S1. Portrait-paintiiig for 
his r^ral patron, who woakl visit his 
stndio every day, and sit there long 
homrs, seeaia to have been now his 
maittoccapation; and now was he able 
to reqnite the friendly aid be had re- 
odved from the Count-dake of Oli- 
varea, whose image remains reflected 
on the stream of time, not after the 
hideous caricatare of Le Sage, bat as 
limned by the trathfnl — albeit grac^ 
oonforring— pencil of Yelasqaez. 

In 16S9, leaving king aad coortiers, 
lords and ladies, and soaring above 
the earth on which he had made his 
st^ so sare, Ydasqaea aspired to the 
grandest theme of poet, moralist, or 
painter, and wMj did his genias jus- 
tify the flight. His Crucifixion is 
one of the snblimest representaUona 
concdved by the intdleet, aad por- 
trayed by the hand of man, of that 
stnpendons event '^ Unrelieved by 
the vsaal dim landscape, or lowering 
ckmds, the cross in this picture has 
no fooUng upon earth, but is placed 
on a plain dark ground, like an ivory 
carving on its vdvet pall. Never was 
that great agony more powerfaUy de- 
picted. The bead of our Lord drops 
on his right siionlder, over which faUs 
a mass of dark hair, while drops (tf 
blood trickle from his thom-pterced 
brows. The anatomy of the naked 
body and limbs is executed with as 
mudi precidon as in Cellini's marble, 
which may have served Yelasquea as 
amodd; and the linen doth wrapped 
about the loins, and even the fir- wood 
of the cross, display his accurate at- 
tention to the smallest details of a 



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Art and Artists m Spttm, 



[Jan. 



great subject." — (Vol. il. p. 619.) 
This masterpiece now haogs in the 
Royal Galleiy of Spain at Madrid. 

The all-powerful Olivarez under- 
went, in 1643, the fate of most favour- 
ites, and experienced the doom de- 
nounced by the great English satirist 
on ^^ power too great to keep, or to 
resign." He had declared his inten- 
tion of making one Julianillo, an ille- 
gitimate child of no one exactly knew 
who, his heir ; had married him to the 
daughter of the Constable of Castile, 
decked him with titles and honours, 
and proposed to make him governor of 
the heir- apparent. The pencil of 
Velasquez was employed to hand 
down to posterity the features of this 
low-bom cause of his great patron^s 
downfall, and the portrait of the ex- 
ballad singer in the streets of Madrid 
now graces the collection of Bridge- 
water House. The disgrace of Oli- 
varez served to test the fine character 
of Velasquez, who not only sorrowed 
over his patron*s misfortunes, but had 
the courage to visit the disgraced 
statesman in his retirement. 

The triumphal entrance of Philip 
IV. into Lerida, the surrender of 
Breda, and portraits of the royal 
family, exercised the invention and 
pencil of Velasquez till the year 1648, 
when he was sent by the king on a 
roving mission into Italy— not to teach 
the puzzled sovereigns the mysterious 
privileges of self-government, but to 
collect such works of art as his fine 
taste might think worthy of transpor- 
tation to Madrid. Landing at Grenoa, 
he found himself in presence of a troop 
of Vandyck*s gallant nobles : hence he 
went to Milan, Padua, and Venice. 
At the latter city he purchased for his 
royal master two or three pictures of 
Tintoret's, and the Venus and Adonis 
of Paul Veronese. But Rome, as in 
his previous visit, was the chief object 
of his pilgrimage. Innocent X. wel- 
comed him gladly, and commanded 
him to paint, not only his own coarse 
features, but the more delicate ones of 
Donna Olympla, his " sister-in-law 
•ftnd mistress." So, at least, says our 
author ; for the sake of religion and 
buman nature, we hope he is mis- 
taken. For more than a yeai* did 
Velasquez sojourn in Rome, pur- 
chasing works of art, and enjoying the 
society of Bernini and Nicolas Poussin , 



Pietro da Cortona and AlgardL ^^ It 
would be pleasing, were it possible, to 
draw aside the dark curtain of cen- 
turies, and follow him into the palaces 
and studios — to see him standing by 
while Claude painted, or Algardi 
modelled, (enjoying the hospitalities of 
Bentivoglio, perhaps in that foir hall 
glorious with Guido's recent fresco of 
Aurora)~or minglingin the group that 
accompanied Poussin in his evening 
walks on the terrace of Trinitk de 
Monte."— (Vol. ii. p. 643.) Mean- 
while the king was impatiently wait- 
ing his return, and at last insisted 
upon its being no further delayed ; so 
in 1651 the soil of Spain was once 
more trod by her greatest painter. 
Five years later, Velasquez produced 
his extraordinary picture, Las Me- 
ni&as — the Maids of Honour, ex- 
traordinary alike in the composition, 
and in the skill displayed by the 
painter in overcoming its many difil- 
culties. D warfs and maids of honour, 
hounds and children, lords and ladies, 
pictures and furniture, are all intro- 
duced into this remarkable picture, 
with such success as to make many 
judges pronounce it to be Velasqnez^s 
masterpiece, and Luca Giordano to 
christen it " the theology of painting." 
The Escnrial, from whose galleries 
and cloisters we have been thus lured 
by the greater glory of Velasquez, in 
1656 demanded his presence to arrange 
a large collection of pictures, forty-one 
of which came from the dispersed and 
abused collection of the only real lover 
of the fine arts who has sat on Eng- 
land's throne — that martyr-monarch 
whom the pencil of Vandyck, and the 
pens of Lovelace, Montrose, and Ola- 
rendon have immortalised, though 
their swords and counsels failed to 
preserve his life and crown. In 1659, 
the cross of Santiago was formally 
conferred on this " king of painters, 
and painter of kings ;" and on St Pros- 
per*s day, in the Church of the Car- 
bonera, he was installed knight of that 
illustrious order, the noblest grandees 
of Spain assisting at the solemn cere- 
monial. The famous meeting on the 
Isle of Pheasants, so full of historic 
interest, between the crowns and 
courts of Spain and France, to cele- 
brate the nuptials of Louis XIV. and 
Maria Theresa, was destined to ac- 
quire an additional though melancholy 



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Art and Artists in Spain. 



fame, as the last appearance of the 
^reat painter in public, and the pos- 
sible proximate cause of his death. 
To him, as aposentador-mayor^ were 
confided all the decorations and ar- 
rangements of this costly and fatiffu- 
ing pageant : he was also to find lodg- 
ing on the road for the king and the 
eourt ; and some idea of the magni- 
tude of his official cares may be derived 
from the fact, that three thousand fiye 
hundred mules, eighty-two horses, 
aeyenty coaches, and seventy baggage- 
waggons, formed the train that fol- 
lowed the monarch out of Madrid. 
On the 28th of June the court re- 
turned to Madrid, and on the 6th of 
August its inimitable painter expired. 
The merits of Velasquez are now 
guierally appreciated in England; 
and the popular voice would, we think, 
ratify the enthusiastic yet sober dic- 
tum of Wilkie, ** In painting an intelli- 
gent portrait be isneariy unrivalled.^* 
Yet we have seen how he could rise 
to the highest subject of mortal ima- 
gination in the Crucifixion ; and 
the one solitary naked Venus, which 
Spanish art in four hundred years 

Eroduced, is his. Mr Stirling, though 
e mentions this picture in the body 
of his book, assigns it no place in 
his valuable and laboriously-compiled 
catalogue, probably because he was 
unable to trace its later adventures. 
Brought to England in 1814, and sold 
Ibr £500 to Mr Morritt, it still re- 
mains the gem of the library at Boke- 
by. Long may the Spanish queen of 
love preside over the beautiful bowers 
cf that now classic retreat I We sum 
up our notice of Velasquez in Mr Stir- 
ling's words: — "No artist ever fol- 
lowed nature with more catholic fide- 
lity; his cavaliers are as natural as 
^ boors ; he neither refined the vul- 
gar, nor vulgarised the refined. . . . 
We know the persons of Philip IV. 
and Olivarez as familiarly as if we 
hMd paced the avenues of the Pardo 
with Digby and Howell, and perhaps 
we think more favourably of their 
characters. In the portraits of the 
monarch and the minister, 

'The bonoding iteodi they pompouslj be- 
stride, 
Bhsn with their lords the pleMure and the 
pride,' 

and enable us to judge of the Cordo- 
▼eeo horse of that day, as accurately 



73 

as if we had lived with the horse- 
breeding Carthusians of the Betls. 
And this painter of kings and horses 
has been compared, as a painter of 
landscapes, to Claude ; as a painter of 
low life, to Teniers : his fruit-pieces 
equal those of Sanchez Cotan or Van 
Kessel ; his poultry might contest the 
prize with the fowls of Hondekooter 
on their own dunghill ; and his dogs 
might do battle with the dogs of 
Sneyders."— (Vol. U. p. 686.} 

While Velasquez, at the height of 
his glory, was painting his magnificent 
Crucifixion, a young lad was display- 
ing hasty sketches and immature 
daubs to the venders of old clothes, 
pots, and vegetables, the gipsies and 
mendicant friars that fi*eqnented the 
Feria, or weekly fair held in the 
market-place of All Saints, in the 
beautiful and religious city of Seville. 
This was Bartolem^ Estevan Murillo, 
who, having studied for some time 
under Juan del Castillo, on that 
master's removal to Cadiz in 1640, 
betook himself to this popular re- 
source of all needy Sevillian painters. 
Struck, however, by the m^eat im- 
provement which travel had wrought 
in the style of Pedro de Moya, who 
revisited Seville in 1642, the yonng 
painter scraped up money sufficient to 
carry him to Madrid, and, as he hoped, 
to Rome. But the kindness of Velas- 
quez provided him a lodging in his 
own house, and opened the gallenes of 
the Alcazar and the Escurial to his 
view. Here he pursued his studies 
unremittingly, and, as he thought, with 
a success that excused the trouble and 
expense of an Italian pilgrimage. 
Returning, therefore, in 1645 to Se- 
ville, he commenced that career which 
led him, among the painters of Spain, 
to European renown, second only to 
that of Velasquez. The Franciscans 
of his native city have the credit of 
first employing his yonng genius, and 
the eleven large pictures with which 
he adorned their convent-walls at 
once established his reputation and 
success. These were pamted in what 
is technically called his first or cold 
style ; this was changed before 1660 
into his second, or warm style, 
which m its turn yielded to his last, 
or vapoury style. So warm, indeed, 
had his colouring become, that a 
Span'ish critic, in the nervous phrase- 



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74 



Jaft WMlAfnttt M SpwMm 



[J«. 



ology of Spain, dedared bis flerii-tliiti 
were now painted witk blood aad 
milk. In this style did lie paint 
fiM* the chapter The Katiritj of the 
Blessed Virgin, in which the ladies 
eC Seville admired ttud envied the 
loondnesa of a iniaistering maiden's 
nalced ann ; and a large picture of 
8t AnthoBj of Padoa, which stiU 
adorns the walls of the cathedral 
baptistery. Of this famoas gem some 
carious stories are told: Don Fer- 
nando Farlan, for iastaaeey relates 
that birds had been seen attempting 
to perch open some lilies in a vase by 
the side of the kneding saint; and 
Monsienr V iardot {Mm&g d'Espagme^ 
p, 146) informs ns that a reverend 
canon, who showed htm the pietnre, 
lecoimted how that, in 1813, the Dnke 
ef Wellington offered to pnrchase it 
ibr as many gold onzas as woold 
cover its sorfaoe; while, in 1843^ Ca{^ 
tain Widdriogtott was assmred that a 
lord had expressed Ids readiDess to 
give £40,000 for the bord-delading 
pictmv. The beUef in the gnlUbility 
of travelers is traly remai^able and 
wide-spread ; thM, at Genoa, in 1839, 
onr excellent dceroae gratified as 
with the iniormation, that, sixteen 
years before, the English Dnke Bal- 
Ibar had in vain offered £1600 for 
Canova's beantlfol basso-relievo of the 
Virgin Clasping the Corpse of oar 
Saviour, which graces the ngly chnreh 
ef the poor-hotse in that superb city. 
In 1658, Morillo laboored to establish 
a pnblic academy of art ; and, in spite 
<rf the jealonsies and contentions of 
rival artists, on the Ist of Janaary 
1660, he witnessed its inangoratioo. 
The rules were few and simple ; bat 
the declaration to be signed by each 
member on adausskm wonld rather 
astonish the directors of the Royal 
Academy in London. We woold re- 
commend it to the consideration of 
those Protestant divines who are so 
anxious to devise a new test of heresy 
in the Church of England: thus it 
ran — '^ Praised be the most holy sacra- 
ment, and the pore conception of Onr 
Lady." Nothing, perhaps, can show 
more strongly tl^ immense inflnence 
rdigion exercised on art in Spain than 
the second danse of this declaration. 
It was the favourite dogma of Seville : 
for hundreds of years sermons were 
preached^ books were written, pictnrea 



painted, legeods recorded in hono«r 
of Onr Lsidy's spotless concepticm ; 
and round many a pictopa by Canoy or 
Vargas, or Joaaes, is yet to be read 
the magic wnrds thai had power to 
deetrMy a popidaoe,— "* Sfai Pecado 
Ooncdiida.'* The histitntion tlvu 
cemaenced flowisbed fbr many jrearsy. 
and answered the generons expecta- 
tiooa of its illnskrions fonnder. 

The attentioo of the picas Do» 
Mignel Maliarade Leca, the '^benevo- 
leni Howard " of SevOlOr was attract* 
ed abont 1661 to the pidable state of 
the brotherhood of the hobr charity, 
and its hospital of San Jorge: he 
resolved to restore it to its pristine 
glory and nselhlness ; and, perseverini^ 
against all disoonragemeDts and diffi- 
cnlties, in leas than twenty years, 9t 
an expense of half-a-miffioB of ducats^ 
he accomplxriied his pkras design* 
For the restored dinrchMnrfflo paint* 
ed eleven pictnres, of which eighty 
acoOTdhig to Mr StbUne, are the 
fiaestworfcsof themaster. Fiveof these 
were carried off by phmdering Soalt> 
but ^* the two colossal compositioBa 
of Moses, and the Loaves and ilshes, 
•till hang beneath the cornices whence 
springs the dome of Hxe chnreh, ^^ like 
ripe oranges on the bongh where tb^ 
originally bndded.** Long may they 
cover thefar native ^ walls, and enrich^ 
as well as adorn, Ae institation of 
Mafiara! In the pictvre of the great 
mhrade of the Jtmisk dispensation, 
the Hebrew prophet stands beside the 
rock in Horeb, with hands pressed 
together, and uplifted ^es, thankmg 
the Almighty for the stream which 
has jnst gashed forth at ^e stroke of 

Iris myst^rioas rod As a. 

composition, this w o n de rful picture 
can hardly be sorpassed. The rod^ 
» huge, isolated, brown crag, much 
resembles in form, siae, and colonr, 
that wfakh is still pofaited out as the 
rock of Moses, l^ the Greek monks of 
the oonfent of St Catherine, in the 
real wildeness of Horeb. It forms 
the central obfect, rising to the top of 
the canvass, and dividlog it into two 
unequal portions. In nront of the 
rock, the eye at once sin^^ out the 
erect figure of the prophet standing 
forward firom the throng; and the lofty 
emotion of that great leader, looking^ 
whh gratitude to heaven, is finely 
contrasted with the downward regard 



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Girer in th* maMiptKlkm or tks 
•>io y—rt of ti»gift> Each ha>i 
and figwe is aa ahriMrafet ttody ; aadi 
eoaatsMaeehaa a dittinclive <teroe- 
t«r; aadtrai of tba sixleai fiwili 
Iragiii la tba miag, ao two na 
alike n fws.**— (YoL fi. ^ 86».> Bol 
Oaa I k f a d i i , i^a eaiimcl tha 
pririkga af aeaiiif aO Iheaa cigkt 
■Mtaiph cui kangiag tagatlwr ia tfcetr 
own saoai hm^ wn§und Tha 
FrodSgaTa Ra«WB, aniSt SMaahetk 
af Hangarf— with wlwaa tiathiag 
liialary tha afe^MBl pcM a#tiia Coam 
MoBlataibart aiMl Mr A. nmpfm 
hafe BNMto « fiuailhuh- ta aB the 



mS^mm. 



7* 



apal- 



Tha IVandaeaB ooaTcirt, wMaal 
the city walls, was jat iMre iHrtBBata 
than tlie hospitia af Maflan, §n il 



p oo sessad apwarcia of ftweatj of tiiia Caan 
leligioaa paMer^ warha. Now, sal "" AI 



la digaiff Aa 

deawtad doblan of thai 



teen of thtsa pietarca are pr 

iBa oerMe JsassaHi • aai* 



lOag Ibeoi 
M ariHo^s awn finroarile— tkat which 
ha ased to caB "« his own pictore"— 
the charity of St Thoaus of VHla- 
naeva. la lg7($,MiiriUo painted thiaa 
pictBTCS ft>rthe Hoapkal do loa Yne- 
lablea, two af which, the Mjrstery 
of the Imnacalate ConcaptioB, and 
St Peter Weeping, were placed in 
thechapeL "^ The thhrd adorned the 
refectory, aad p i cs e n t t d la the gaae 
of tha YeaersMss, dariag their repasts, 
thehieased Vifgin en th roned on cicada, 
with her dirine Babe, who, from a 
hasket borne by aagefe, hcstowad 
on three aged priests.** These 
nearly his last works ; for tha 
art he so loTcd was now aboat to 
destroy lier ftiToarite son: he waa 
Bonntiag a scallblding ta paint tlM 
higher parts of a great altar-piece Isr 
tiw Capacbia charcb at Cadis, repre- 
acnting the espoasals of St Catlierine, 
when lie BtanDied, and rapCircd hhn- 
sdf soserersty, as to die ef the injory. 
On the Sd of ApHI 1M2, he expired 
in the arms of Iris oM and faithAil 
Meed, Bon Jaslrno Keve, and was 
bnried in the parish church of St Cnn, 
a stone slab with his aaaie, a skHeton 
and ^ Vive moritnras,** narking the 



the ""Yaadal" Frendi 
the hurt resting-place of 
that great painter, whoaa works they 
so naacrmalon^ app e op r iai ed. Was 
tiie hurt Lofd of Petworth awaie of 
this short epitaph, when be ceased to 
ha iMcribed on the l^ntifkl semarial 
to hia aaceetoffs imdi adorna St 
Thomas's Chapd ia Petwortii Chon^ 
the pr^dietic* sdema woids— "^Mor- 
Msmeritaras?*' 

We hare ranked MariOa neact U> 
Ydasqnea : doabtless there aia mai^ 
in England who would demnr to this 
classification; and we own there are 
charms in the style of tiw great reli- 
gions painter, whidt it wonh) be vain 
to look for in any other master. In 
taadataess of devodon, anda certain 
soft sohUmity, his rriigioas pwtnraa 
are nnasat^ed; whfle ia oohwring,. 
Caaa Bemndea moat jnstly si^s — 
tha peeoliar beastiea of the 
aehoolof Andalosia itshappynse of 
red and brown tints, the local ec^oora 
of the region, its skUl ia the manage- 
■ent of d iap e i^, ita distant p rospecta 
of bare sierraa aad smiling Tales, its 
dondot light and diaphanous as ia 
nature, its flowers and transparent 
waters, aad its h ar mo ni o us depth aad 
richness of tone— are to be found in 
fall perfection hi ike works of Mn- 
riBo."— (Yol. iL p. 90^y Mr Stirling 
draws a distinctk)n, and we think with 
laasan, between the faroorite Yirgin 
of the Immaculate Conception and tlie 
other Yirgms of MuriUo: the ^^of the 
fbrmer is far more derated and sphi- 
taaKsed that that of any of the Utter 
dass ; bat, even in his most ordinary 
and nrandaae ddioeation of the sin- 
less Mary, how sweet, and pure, and 
holy, as wdi as beaatiftd, doea onr 
Lard^s mother appear! Bat perhapa 
it is as a painter of children that 
Murilio ia most appreciated ia Eng- 
land; nor can we wonder that sacb 
should be the case, when we remem- 
ber what the pictarea are which hare 
thus impressed MuriUo on the English 
Bund. The St John Bmtist with yie 
.I^Amb, in the National Galleiy ; Lord 
Westminster's picture of the same 
sabfect ; the Baroness do Rothschild^s 
gem at Gnnnersbory, Our Lord, the 
Good Shepherd, as a CbiM; Lord 
Wemyss's hardly inferior repetition of 



* Bm^UikmymtfcOmmag, 



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Art and ArtiiU m Spam. [Jan. 

Chiirch ; and on tbe ground are kneel- 
ing the Emperor Charles V., with the 
founder of the college, Archbbhop 
Diego de Deza, and a train of eccle- 
siastics. Mr Stirling says of this sin- 
gular pictore, *^The colouring through- 



76 

it ; the picture of our Lord as a child, 
holding in his hands the crown of 
thorns, in the College at Glasgow; 
with the other pictures, in private col- 
lections, of our Lord and St John as 
diildren, have naturally made Murillo „ . 

to be regarded in England as empha- out is rich and effective, and worthy 
tically the painfer of children: and the school of Roelas; the heads are 
how exquisite is his conception of the 
Divine Babe and His saintly pre- 
cursor ! what a sublime consciousness 
of power, what an expression of bound- 
less love, are seen in the fac6 of Him 
who was yet 

<* ft litUe child. 



Taught bj degTMS to pray ; 
By father dear, and mother mild, 
Instructed day by day." 



all of them admirable studies; the 
.draperies of the doctors and eccle- 
siastics are magnificent in breadth and 
amplitude of fold ; the imperial mantle 
is painted with Venetian splendour ; 
and the street view, receding in the 
centre of the canvass, is admirable for 
its atmospheric depth and distance.** 
—(Vol. ii. p. 770.) In 1650, PhUip IV. 
invited him to Madrid, and com- 



The religious school of Spanish , manded him to paint ten pictures, re- 

•«*.. 1-^^ J* z !_ -Kr-^u^. 'presenting the labours of Hercules, 

for a room at Buen-retiro. Almost 
numberless were the productions of 
his facile pencil, which, however, 
chiefly dcdighted to represent the le- 
gends of the Carthusian cloister, and 
portray the gloomy features and som- 
bre vestments of monks and friars; yet 
those who have seen his picture of the 
Vimn with the Infant Saviour and 
St John, at Stafford House, will agree 
with Mr Stirling that, ** unrivalled in 
such subjects of dark fanaticism, Zur- 
baran could also do ample justice to 
the purest and most lovely of sacred 
themes.**— (Vol u. p. 775.) 

Alonzo Cano, bom at Grenada in 
1601, was, like Mrs Malaprop's Cer- 
berus, ** three gentlemen in one ;** that 
is, he was a great painter, a great 
sculptor, and a great architect. As a 
painter, his powers are shown in his 
fall-length picture of the Blessed 
Virdn, with the infant Saviour asleep 
on her knees, now in the Queen of 
Spain*8 gallery; in six lar^e works, 
representing passages in the life of 
Mary Magdalene, which still adorn 
the great brick church of Getafe, a 
small viUage near Madrid ; and in his 
famous picture of Our Lady ofBelom, 
in the cathedral of Seville. Mr Stir- 
ling ffives a beautifully-executed print 
of this last Madonna, which, *'in 
serene, celestial beauty, is excelled by 
DO image of the Blessed Virgin ever 
devised in Spain.**— (P. 803.) 

Cano was, perhaps, even greater in 
sculpture than in painting; and so 
fond of the former art, that, when 
wearied of pencil and brush, he would 



painting reached its acmd in Murillo ; 
and, at the risk of being accounted 
heterodox, we must, in summing up 
his merits, express our difference from 
Mr Stirling in one respect, and decline 
to rank the great Sevillian after any 
of the Italian masters. Few of Mu- 
rillo*s drawings are known to be in 
existence. Mr Sturling gives a list 
of such as he has been able to dis- 
cover, nearly all of which are at the 
Louvre. We believe, in addition to 
those possessed by the British Mu- 
seum and Mr Ford, there are two in 
the collection at Belvoir Castle : one, 
a Virgin and Child ; the other, an old 
man — possibly St Francis— receiving 
a flower from a naked child. 

After Velasquez and Murillo, it 
may seem almost impertment to talk of 
the merits, of other Spanish painters ; 
yet Zurbaran and Cano, Bibera and 
Coello, demand at least a passing 
notice. Francisco de Zurbaran, often 
called the Caravaggio of Spain, was 
bom in Estremadura in 1598. His 
father, observing his turn for painting, 
sent him to the school of Boelas, at 
Seville. Here, for nearly a quarter 
of a century, he continued painting 
for the magnificent cathedral, and the 
churches and religious houses of that 
fair city. About 1625, he painted, for 
the college of St Thomas Aquinas, an 
altar-piece, regarded by all judges as 
the finest of all his works, it repre- 
sents the angelic doctor ascending 
into the heavens, where, on clouds of 
fflory, the blessed Trinity and the 
virgin wait to receive him; below, 
in mid ahr, sit the four doctors of the 



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1849.] 



Art and Artists in i^xtin. 



call for his chisel, and work at a statue 
by way of rest to his hands. On 
one of these occasions, a papil ventnr- 
ing to remark, that to sabstitnte a 
mallet for a pencil was an odd sort 
of repose, was silenced by Canons 
philosophical reply, — " Blockhead, 
don't yon perceive that to create 
form and relief on a flat surface Is a 
greater labour than to fashion one 
shape into another ?** An image of the 
Blessed Virgin in the parish church 
at Lebrija, and another in the sacristy 
of the Grenada cathedral, are said 
to be triumphs of Spanish painted 
statnary.— (Vol. lii., p. 806.) After a 
life of strange yicissitudes, in the 
course of which, on suspicion of hav- 
ing murdered his wife, he underwent, 
the examination by torture, he died, 
honoured and beloved for his mag- 
nificent charities, and religious hatred 
of the Jews, in bis native city, on the 
3d of October 1667. 

The old Valencian town of Xativa 
claims the honour of producing Jos^ 
dc RIbera, el Spagnoletto ; but though 
Spain gave him birth, Italy gave him 
instruction, wealth, fame; and al- 
though in style he is thoroughly 
Spanish, we feel some difficulty in 
writing of him as belonging wholly to 
the Spanish school of art, so com- 
pletely Italian was he by nurture, 
long residence, and in his death. 

Bred up in squalid penury, he ap- 
pears to have looked upon the world 
as not his friend, and in his subse- 
quent good fortunes to have revelled 
in describing with ghastly minute- 
ness, and repulsive force, all *Uhe 
worst ills that flesh is heir to.** We 
well recollect the horror with which 
we gazed spell-bound on a series of 
his horrors in the Louvre — fkughl 
At Grosford House are a series of 
Franciscan monks, such as only a 
Spanish cloister could contain, painted 
with an evident fidelity to nature, and 
the minutest details of dress that is 
almost oflbnsive — even the black dirt 
under the unwashed thumb nail is 
carefhlly represented by his odiously- 
accurate and powerful pencil. 

** N<m ragioniam di lor 
MagQArdaei 



Had the bold buccaneers of the 
seventeen^ century required the ser- 
vices of k painter to perpetuate the 
memory of their inventive brutality. 



77 

and inconceivable atrocities, they 
would have found in £1 Spagnoletto 
an artist capable of delineating the 
agonies of their victims, and by taste 
and disposition not indisposed to their 
way of life. Yet in his own peculiar 
line he was unequalled, and his merits 
as a painter will always be recognised 
by every judge of art. He died at 
Naples, the scene of his triumphs, in 
1666. 

The name of Claudio Coello is as- 
sociated with the Escnrial, and Aonld 
have been introduced into the sketch 
we were giving of its artists, when 
*the mighty reputation of Velasqaes 
and Mnrillo broke in upon our onier. 
He was bom at Madrid about the 
middle of the seventeenth century, 
and studied in the school of the 
youneer Rigi. In 1686 he succeed- 
ed Herrera as painter in ordinary 
to Charles 11. This monarch had 
erected an altar in the great sacristy 
of the Escurial, to the miraculous 
bleeding wafter known as the Santa 
Forma ; and on the death of its de- 
signer, Rigi, Coello was called upon 
to paint a picture that should serve as 
a veil for the host. On a canvass six 
yards high, by three wide, he executed 
an excdlent work, representing the 
king and his court adoring the mi- 
raculous wafer, which is held aloft by 
the prior. This picture established 
his reputation, and in 1691 the chap- 
ter of Toledo, still the great patrons of 
art, appointed him painter to their 
cathedral. Coello was a most care- 
ful and painstaking painter, and his 
pictures, says our author, (vol. iil., p. 
1018,) " with much of Cano's grace 
of drawing, have also somewhat of 
the rich tones of Murillo, and the 
magical effect of Velasquez.*' He 
died, it is said, of disappointment at 
the success of his foreign rival, Luca 
Giordano, in 1693. 

With Charles II. passed away the 
Spanish sceptre from the house of 
Austria, nor, according to Mr Stir- 
ling, would the Grenius of Fainting 
remain to welcome the intrusive 
Bourbons: — 

Old times were changed, old maimen gone, 
A stranger filled the Philips* throne ; 
And art, negleeted and oppressed. 
Wished to be with them, and at rest. 

But we must say that Mr Stirling, 
in his honest indignation against 



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78 



AiiwtdAFiktBimSlpaim. 



[Ja 



France iad Frenchmen, kas exag- 
gerated tlie demerits of t]ie Bourbon 
kings. SfMuufh art had been ateadiiy 
denning for fears heBon they, wm 
iH-omened foot, crossed the Pyiiteees. 
It was no Bonrbon priace that 
brought Lnca da Presto nrom Naples 
to teach the patnters of Spain ^ how 
to be content with their faults, and 
get rid of tiieir scruples ; " and if the 
schools of Castile and Andalnsia had 
ceased to produce such artists as tiiose 
whose praises Mr Stu&g has so 
wortiiilf recorded, it appears scant 
justice to lay the blame on the new 
rojal family. Pidor aofdhcr, iimi* 
,/Et-HM, Bot even by the winders of 
the Spanish sceptre. In a desire te 
patroaise art, and in mmificeBee 
towards its possessm^, Philip Y., 
Ferdinand YL, and Chaiies IIL, M 
li^ile shortof their Hapeboig predeces- 
sors, b«t they had no loogw tiie same 
material to work upon. The post 
whidi Titian had fiUed could find no 
worthier hcdder under Charles IIL, 
than Rafael Mengs, whom not only 
ignorant Bourbons, but the conasoemti 
of Enrope regarded as the mighty 
Venetian's equal; and Philip Y. 
not only invited Hovasse, Vaaloo, 
Procaodni, and otiier foreign artists 
to his conrt, but added the famous 
collection of marUes belcmgiag to 
Christina of Sweden to those acquired 
by Velasquez, at an expense of 
twelve tiionsand doubloons. To him, 
also, IS due the completion of ihe 

Eilace of Arai^z, and the design of 
a Granja ; nor, when fire destroyed 
the Alcaaar, did Philip V. spare his 
diminished treasures, in raising up on 
Its thne-hallowed site a palace which, 
in Mr Stirling's own words, ** in spite 
of its narrowed proportions, b stili 
one of the largest and most imporing 
in Europe."— (VoL in., p. 1163.) 

Ferdinand VI. built, at the enor- 
mous expense of nineteen milfions of 
reals, the convent of nuns of the 
order of St Vincent de Sales, and 
employed in its decoration all the 
artistic talent that Spain then could 
boast of. Nor can he be blamed if 
that was but little ; for if royal patro- 
nage can produce painters of merit, 
this monarch, by endowing the Aca- 
demy of St Ferdinand witii large 
revenues, and housing it in a palace, 
would have revived the gtories of 
Spani^art 



BOs aoeoessor, Ohatles IIL, an ar- 
tist of flOflie repute himself, sincerely 
loved and ^enoxMMly fostered tiie arts. 
While Kag of the Two Sicilies, he had 
dragged into the light of day the long- 
kat wonders of Herculanenm and 
Pompdi; and when called to the throne 
of Spain aad the Indies, he mani- 
fested his sense of the obligations due 
torn royalty to art, by confimrring 
fresh privileges on the Academy of 
St Ferdinand, aad founding two new 
academies, one in Valencia, the other 
hi Mexico. If Mengs and Tiepolo, 
and other mediocrities, were the best 
living painters his patronage could dis- 
oover, it is evident firom his ultra-pro- 
teetionist decree against the exporta- 
tion of MnriUo's pictares, that he fully 
appreciated tte works of the mighty 
dead; and, had his spirit animated 
Spanish oflEUatis, many a mast^pieoe 
that now mournfali^^, and without 
meaning, graces the Hermitage at St 
Petersburg, or the Louvre at Paris, 
would still be hanging over the altar, 
or adoraing the rddotory for which it 
waspainted, at Seville or Toledo. Even 
Charles IV., ''the drivelling tool of 
Grodov," was a collector of pictures, 
and mnder of an academy. In his 
disasteous reign flourished Frandsco 
Goya y Ludentes, the last Spanish 
painter who has obtained a niche in 
the Temple of Fame. Though por- 
traits and caricatures were his forte, 
in that veneraUe museum of all that 
is beautiful in Spanif^ Art — ^the ca- 
thedral at Toledo— is to be seen a fine 
religious production of his pencil, re- 
miesenting ^le Betrayal of our Lord. 
But he loved painting at, better than 
fyr the drardi ; and those who have 
examined and wondered at the gro- 
tesque satirical carvings oi the stalls 
in Uie oathedral at Manchester, will 
be aUe to form some idea of Groya's 
anti-monkish caricatures. Not Lord 
Mark Kerr, when givmg the rein 
to his exuberant foncy, ever devised 
more ludicrous or repulsive ^^ mon- 
sters " than this strange successor to 
the religions painters of orthodox 
Spain. But when the vice, and in- 
trigues, and imbecility of the royal 
knaves andfoo1s,whomnisready graver 
had exposed to popular ridicule, had 
yidded to the msnpportable tyfnimy 
of Fivnch invaders, tiie ape indig- 
nant apirk that hwried Ke water- 
canten of Madrid mto nnavailiDg ccft* 



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79 



flict with the tro<^ of Morst, gvidM 
his eaiurtic ktnd against the terae 
«pprenors of his eomitrj ; md, while 
Gitrajr was %xdtijoM the angiy oon- 
tempt of an true John Bolls at tiie 
ifl^podeaee of Ae little Coraicaii op- 
start, Gojra was appeding to his 
ouiuiUjia en*8 bitter experience of the 
tender meraies of the French iavaders. 
He died at Bordeaux hi 182S. Mr 
Stiiiing deoes his laboars with a 
giacefiii trihnte to tiiose of Cean 
Befmades, ''^le able and iadefiiti- 
gable historian of Spanish art, to 
wliofle ridi harvest of valuable mate- 
rials I haTO Tontnred to add the fiidt 
of Bijr own humble gleanings — ^ a 
d ew tVo d tribate, and most handsomely 
rendered. But, before we dismiss thn 
pleasant theme of Spanish art, we 
would add one arti^ more to the cata- 
logne of Spanish painters— albeit, that 
artist is a Bonrbonl 

Kear the little town of Aspeitia, in 
Biscay, stands the magnificent college 
of the Jesaits, bidlt cm the birth-plMe 
of Ignatius Loyola. Here, in a low 
room at the top of the bnilding, are 
shown a piece of the bed in whi& he 
di^ and his autograph ; and here 
among its cool corridors and eyer- 
playing foontidns, in 1839, was living 
the royal painter— 4he Infante Don 
Sebastbm. A strange spectade, truly, 
did that religious house rraeat in the 
aammo' of 1889 : wild Biscayan sol- 
diers and defected Jesuits, led boy- 
nas and blaok coids, muskets and 
crucifixes, oaths and benedictions, 
crossed and mingied with each other 
in pictvesque, though profane dis- 
Ofder ; and here, released from the 
cares of his military command, and 
free to follow the bent of his disposi- 
tion, the ex-oommander-in-chief of the 
Cariist forces was quietly painting 
altar-pieces, and dadiing off carica- 
tures. In the dreular church which, 
of exquisito proportions, forms the 
centre of the vast pQe, and is beauti- 
ful with fawn-coloured marble and 
gold, hnne a large and well-painted 
picture of his production ; and those 
who are carioas in such matters may 
see a worse apectmen of his royal 
highneas's skill in Pietro di €k>rtona's 
ChnidiofStLnkeatBome. On one 
side of the altar hi Ganora's beanti- 
fol statne of Religioa preaching ; on 
the other the Spanish prince's large 
picture of the Crucifixion; but, alas I it 



must be owned tiiat the inspfaration 
which guided Vdasquea to his con- 
ception of that sublime suliject was 
deaied to tiie royal amateur. In the 
academy of St Luke, adjoining the 
diurch, is a wdl-executed bust of 
Canova, by tiie Spanish sculptor 
Alvares. We suspect that, like Goya, 
the Infaato would do better to stick to 
caricature, in which branch of ait 
many a pleasant story is told of his 
proficiency. Seated on a rocky plateau, 
iriiich, if commanding a view of Bil- 
bao and its defenders, was also ex- 
posed to their fire, *tis said the royal 
artist would amuse himself and his 
staff with drawiog the uneasy move- 
ments, and disturbed conntonances, of 
some unfortunato London reportors, 
whd, attached to the Cariist head- 
quarters, were invitod by the com- 
mander-in-chief to attend his person, 
and enjoy the perilous honour of his 
company. Be this, however, as it may, 
we think we have vindicated the claim 
ni one living Bourbon prince to be 
admitted into the roll of Spanish 
painters in the next edition of the 
Atmah, 
In these tumultuous days, when 

" Rojal heads aro haunted like a maukin,'* 

over half the Continent, and even in 
steady England grave merchants and 
wealthy tradesmen are counselling 
together on how littie their sovereign 
can be dothed and fed, and aU things 
are being brought to the vulgar test 
of X. «. <i., it is pleasant to turn to the 
artistic annals of a once mighty em- 
pire like Spain, and see how uni- 
nnrmly, for more than five hundred 
years, its monarchs have been the 
patrons, always munificent, generally 
discriminating, of the fine arts — how, 
from the days of Isabella the Catholic, 
to those of Isabella the Innocent, the 
Spanish sceptre has courted, not dis 
dained, the companionship of the 

gendl and the chisd. Mr Stiiiing 
as enriched his pages with many an 
amusing anecdoto illustrative of this 
royal love of art, and suggestive, alas! 
of tiie painful reflection, that the 
future annalist of the artists of Eng- 
land will find great difficulty in scrap- 
ing together half-a-doaen stories of a 
similar kind. With the one strikhig 
exception of Charles L, we know not 
who among our sovereigns can be 
compared, as a patron of art, to any of 



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Art and Artists in Spam, 



[Jan. 



the Spaoish sovereigns^ from Charles 
y. of the Austrian to Charles lU. of the 
Bonrbon race. Lord Hervey has 
made notoriooa Georee 11 *s ignorance 
and disUlce of art. Among the many 
noble and kinglyqoalities of his grand- 
son, we fear a love and appreciation of 
art may not be reckoned; and althongh, 
in his intercourse with men of genius, 
George IV. was gracious and gene- 
' rous, what can be said in favour of 
his taste and discernment? The 
previous life of William IV., the ma- 
ture age at which he ascended the 
throne, and the troublous character of 
his reign, explain why art received 
but slight countenance from the court 
of the frank and noble-hearted Sailor 
Prince ; but we turn with hope to the 
future. The recent proceedings in 
the Court of Chancery have made 
public a fact, already known to many, 
that her Majesty wields with skilful 
hand a graceful graver, and the 
Christmas plays acted at Windsor are 
a satisfactory proof that English art 
and genius are not exiled from Eng- 
land's palaces. The professors, then, 
of that art which Velasquez and 
Rubens, Mnrillo and Vandyck prac- 
tised, shall yet see that the Crown of 
England is not only in ancient legal 
phrase, " the Fountain of Honour," 
but that it loves to direct its grateful 
streams in their honoured direction. 
Free was the intercourse, unfettered 
the conversation, independent the rela- 
tions, between Titian and Charles V., 
Velasquez and Philip IV. ; let us hope 
that Buckingham Palace and Windsor 
Castle, will yet witness a revival of 
those palmy days of English art, 
when Inigo Jones, and Vandyck, and 
Cowley, Waller, and Ben Jonson,shed 
a lustre on the art-loving court of Eng- 
land! 

The extracts we have given firom 
Mr Stirling's work will have suffi- 
ciently shown the scope of the 
Anruusy and the spirit and style in 
which they are written. There is no 
tedious, inflexible, though often un- 
manageable leading idea, or theory of 
art, running through these lively 
volumes. In the introduction, what- 
ever is to be said on the philosophy of 
Spanish art is carefully collected, and 
the reader is thenceforward left at 
liberty to carry on the conclusions of 
the introduction with him in his per- 



usal of the Atmalsy or to drop them at 
the threshold. We would, however, 
strongly recommend all who desire ta 
appreciate Spanish art, never to for- 
get that she owes all her beauty and 
inspiration to Spanish nature and 
Spanish religion. Eemember this, O 
holyday tourist along the Andalusian 
coast, or more adventurous explorer 
of Castile and Estremadura, and you 
will not be disappointed with her 
productions. Mr Stirling has not 
contented himself with doing ample 
justice to the great painters, and 
slurring over the comparatively un- 
known artists, whose merits are la 
advance of theur fame, but has em- 
braced in his careful view the long 
line of Spanish artists who have 
flourished or faded in the course of 
nearly eight hundred years ; and he 
has accomplished this difficult task, 
not in the plodding spirit of a Dryas- 
dust, or with the curt dulness of a 
catalogue-monger, but with the dis- 
criminating good taste of an accom- 
plished English gentleman, and in a 
style at once racy and rhetorical. 
There are whole pages in the Ati" 
nals as full of picturesque beauty as 
the scenes or events they describe, 
and of melody, as an Andalusian 
summer's eve; indeed, the vigorous 
fancy and genial humour of the 
author have, on some few occasions, 
led him to stray from those strict 
rules of dtdcl)^, which we are old-fa- 
shioned enough to wish always ob- 
served. But where the charms and 
merits are so great, and so many, and 
the defects so few and so small, we 
may safely leave the discovery of the 
latter to the critical reader, and 
satisfy our conscience by expressing 
a hope that, when Mr Stirline next 
appears in the character of author — a 
period not remote, we sincer^y trust 
— he Mrill have discarded those few 
scentless flowers from his literary gar- 
den, and present us with a bouquet — 

** Fall of BWMt buds and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie.^ 

But if he never again put pen to paper, 
in these annals of the artists of Spain 
he has given to the reading public a 
work which, for ntili^ of design, pa- 
tience of research, and grace of lan- 
guage, merits and has won the highest 
honours of authorship. 



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ITie Dodo and Us Kindred, 



81 



THE DODO AKD ITS KINDRED. 



What was the Dodo? When was 
the Dodo? Where is the Dodo? are 
an questions, the first more especially, 
which it is folly more easy to ask 
than answer. Whoever has looked 
throngh books on natural history^for 
example, that noted bat now scarce 
instmctor of om* early youth, the 
Three Hundred Animals — ^must have 
obeenred a somewhat ungainly crea« 
tnre, with a huge curved bill, a short- 
ish neck, scarc^y any wings, a plumy 
tuft upon the back—considerably on 
the off-side, though pretending to be 
a tail,— and a very shapeless body, 
extraordinarily large and round about 
the hinder end. ^Hus anomalous ani- 
mal being covered with feathers, and 
having, in addition to the other attri- 
butes above referred to, only two 
legs, has been, we think justiy, re- 
gvded as a bird, and has accorcungly 
been named the Dodo. But why 
it should be so named is another of 
the many mysterious questions, which 
require to be consider^ in the histoir 
of this unaccountable creatare. ifo 
one alleges, nor can we conceive it 
possible, that it claims kindred with 
either of the only two human beings 
we ever heard of who bore the name : 
*^And after him (Adino the Eznite) 
was Eleazar the son of Dodo, the 
Ahohite, one of the three mighty men 
with David, when they defied the 
Philistines that were there gathered 
together to battle, and the men of 
Israel were gone away." Our only 
other human Dodo belonged to the 
ftir sex, and was the mother of the 
famous Zoroaster, who flourished in 
the daji^ of Darius Hystaspes, and 
brought back the Persians to their 
ancient fire-worship, from the adora- 
tion of the twinkling stars. The 
name appears to have been dropped 
by both families, as if they were some- 
what ashamed of it.; and we feel 



assured that of such of our readers as 
admit that Zoroaster must have had a 
mother of some sort, very few really 
remember now-a-days that her name 
was Dodo. There were no baptismal 
registers in those times ; or, if such ex- 
isted, they were doubtless consumed in 
the "great fire" — asort of periodical, it 
may beprovidential, mode of shortening 
the record, which seems to occur from 
time to time in all civilised countries. 
But while the creature in question, 
— ^we mean the feathered biped — has 
been continuously presented to view 
in those " vain repetitions " which 
unfortunately form the mass of our 
information in all would-be popular 
works on natural history, we had 
actually long been at a stand-still in 
relation to its essential attributes— the 
few competent authorities who had 
given out their opinion upon this, as 
many thought, stereotyped absurdity, 
being so disa^^-eed among themselves 
as to make confusion worse con- 
founded. The case, indeed, seemed 
desperate ; and had it not been that 
we always entertained a particular 
regard for old Clusius, (of whom by- 
and-by,) and could not get over the 
fact that a Dodoes head existed in the 
Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, and a 
Dodo's foot in the British Museum, 
London, we would willingly have in- 
dulged the thought that the entire 
Dodo was itself a dream. But, shak- 
ing off the cowardly indolence which 
would seek to shirk the investigation 
of so great a-question, let us now in- 
quire mto a piece of ornithological 
biography, which seemed so singularly 
to combine the familiar with the fabu- 
lous. Thanks to an accomplished 
and persevering naturalist of our own 
day— one of the most successful and 
assiduous inquirers of the vounger 
generation— we have now all the facts, 
and most of the fancies, laid before us 



The Dodo and iU Kindred ; or, the Hietory, Afinitiet, and Osteology of the Dodo, 
Solitaire, and other Extinct Bird* of the I$landi Mauritius, Bodriguez, and Bourbon, 
By R K Strickland, BIA. F.G.a, F.R.G.a, President of the Ashmolean Society, 
Ac., and A O. Mklvillk, M.D., Edinbuigh, M.R.C.a One vol., royal quarto : Lon- 
don, 1848. 



VOL, LXV.— NO. CCCXCIX. 



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in a splendid royal qnarto volume, 
jnst pnblished, with nnmerons plates, 
devoted to the history and illostration 
of the "Dodo and its Kindred.** It 
was, in truth, the latter term that 
dieeured oxn heart, and led vb again 
towards a Babjeci which had pre- 
viously produced the greatest despon- 
dency ; for we had always, thongh 
most erroneomly, fancied that the 
mat misformed lont of onr Three 
Hundred Ammah was aU alone in the 
inde world, anable to provide for 
himstf , (and so, fintimatety, widioat 
a fiunily,) and had never, in tnUli, 
had either predecessors or posterilr* 
Mr S^kfciand, however, has brought 
together tiie di^ecita membra of a fa- 
mily group, showing not only fiMhers 
and mothers, sisters and brotMn, bit 
cousins, and kindred of aU degrees. 
Their sedate and somewhat sedwtary 
mode of life \& probably to be acconnted 
for, not so much by their early habits 
as theh- latter end. Their le^s are 
short, their wings scarody existant, 
but the^ are prodigiously large and 
heavy m the hinder-quarters; and 
organs of flight would have been but 
a vain thing fm* safoty, as they couhl 
not, in such wooded countries as these 
creatures inhabited, have been made 
commensurate witii the uj^tting of 
such solid bulk, placed so fhr behuid 
that centre of gravity where other 
wings are woited. we can now sit 
down in Mr Strickland's company, to 
discuss the sutject, not only tran- 
quilly, but with a degree of oheerfol- 
ness which we have not felt for many 
a day : thanks to his kindly considera- 
tion of the Dodo and " its kindred." 

The geographical reador will re- 
member that to the eastward of the 
f^reat, and to ourselvesneariy unknown, 
island of Madagascar, there lies a 
small group of islands of volcanic 
origin, whidi, thon^ not exactly con- 
tiguous among themselves, are yet 
nearer to each other than tothe greater 
island just named, and which is inter- 
posed between them and the coast of 
Southern Africa. They are named 
Rodriguez, Bourbon, and Mauritius, 
or the Isle of Prance. There is proof 
that not fewer than four distinct 
species of large-bodied, short-winged 
birds, of the Dodo type, were their 
inhabitants in comparatively recent 
times, and have now become utterly 



extinct. We say utterly, because 
neither proof nor vestige of their ex- 
istence elsewhere has been at any 
time afforded ; and the comparatively 
small extent, and now peopled state 
of the islands in qne^ion, (where 
they are no longer known,) make the 
continnoQS and unobserved ezistmioe 
(^ these birds, so conspicuous in sine 
and slow of foot, inqK>ssibie. 

Now, it is this recent and total 
extinction wliich renders tiie subject 
one of more than ordinanr interest. 
Death is an admitted law of nature, in 
raq)ect to tlie tRd!wMfticib of all specieB. 
Ge^ogy, "draggfaiff at each remove a 
lengt^iened chain," has shown itow, at 
different and distant eras, innmierable 
tribes have perished and been sup- 
planted, or at least replaced, by other 
ffroups of spedes, entire raoes, better 
fitted ibr the great climatic and other 
l^ysieal changes, whidi onr earth's 
surftce has undergone foran time to 
time. How thoe chMges were 
brought abovty many, wtth more or 
less success, (generallyless,) havetried 
to say. Organic remits— that is, tiie 
fosdikradremnants of ancient ^Mcies — 
sometimes indicate a long oontinnanoe 
of existence, generatioii after genera- 
tion living in tranquillity, and finally 
sinking in a quiet grave ; while other 
examples show a sudden and vident 
death, in tortuous and excited action, 
as if they had been almost instantane- 
ously overwhdmed and destroyed by 
some great catastrophe. 

Several local extinctions of else- 
where existing species are known 
to naturalists— such as those of the 
beaver, the bear, and the wolf, which 
no longer occur in Great Britain, 
though historically known, as well as 
organically proved by recent remams, 
to have lived and died among us. 
Their extinction was slow upd gra- 
dual, and resulted entirely fimn the 
inroads which the human race — ^that 
is, the hkcrease of population, and 
the progress of agriculture and com- 
merce — necessarily made upon their 
numbers, which thus became ^^f^ 
by degrees, and beautifully less." 
The beaver might have carried on 
business well enough, in his own quiet 
way, although frequentiy incommoded 
by the love of peltry on the i»rt of a 
hat-wearing people ; but it is clear 
that no man with a small family, and 



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m few respeeteble faim-seiTaDts, 
ooold «itber peimit a large aod hmigiT 
wolf to be eoBtiiraalljpeepiag at ndd- 
ngfat ikroigh tfae ker-hole of the 
Bvmry, or allow a wmwnj brain 
to araff too freqnently lader the 
kitchen door, (after baring hogged 
the watoh-dojg to dea|h^) when the 
serring-maidB were at sapper. The 
extirpaHofl, then, of at least two of 
thoae qnondam British anedee beonne 
a work of necessity and nMrcj, and 
might haye been tolerated eren on a 
Sunday between sermons — espechUly 
as natnralists have it still in their 
power to study the habits of similar 
wild beasts, by no means yak extinct, 
in the nelghbonrmg oonntries of 
IViace and totnany. 

BqI the death of the Dodo and its 
kindred is a more affecting fiict, as 
inrohing the extinction of an entire 
race, root imd branch, and proving 
that death is a law of the 9pecus^ as 
well as of the indiridaals whldi com- 
pose it, — although the life of tiie one 
is so nuK^ more prolonged than that 
of the other tliat we can sddom ob- 
tain any positire proof of its extinc- 
tion, except by the observance of 
geological eras. Certain other still 
existing species, well known to natn- 
rafists, may be said to be, as it were, 
jnst hove^ig on the brink of destruc- 
tion. One of the largest and most 
remarkable of herbivorous animals — a 
species of wild cattle, the aurochs or 
European bison (J5. /TruatfWexlsts 
now only in the forest of Bialowicksa, 
from whence the Emperor of Russia 
has recently transmitted a Hviog pair 
to the Zoological Society of Lonaon. 
Several kln(& of birds are also evi- 
dently on their last legs. For example, 
a singular species of parrot, (Nestor 
productus,) with the termination of 
the npper mandibte mnd^ attennated, 
pecoliar to Phipp6*s Island, near Nor- 
folk Island, has recently ceased to ex- 
ist there in tiie wild state, and is now 
known as a living species only from 
a few surviving specimens kept in 
cages, and which refuse to breed. The 
burrowing parrot from New Zealand is 
already on the road to min ; and more 
than one ^)ecies of that singular and 
win^eas bird, called Aptar%^^ also 
from tiie last-named island, may be 
placed in the same category. Even 
in our own country, if the landed pro- 



prieters were to yield to tfae damonr 
of the Anti-Game-Law Leagne, the 
red groose or moor -game might ceaee 
to be, as they occur nowhere else on 
the ^own earth save in Britain and 
the Emerald Isle. 

The geographical distribution of 
animals, in general, has been made 
Gontomable to laws which WB cannot 
fiithom. A mysterioQs relationship 
exists between certain organic stnic- 
tnres and those districts of the 
earths snrihce whidi they inhabit 
Certahi exteiudve groiros, in both the 
animal and vegetu)le Kingdom, are 
found to be restricted to particular 
continents, and their neighbouring 
islands. Of some the distribution 
is very extensive, while others are 
totally unknown except within a limit- 
ed spaoe, snch aa some solitary isle, 
^ Ftaoed fkr amid the melancholy main." 



"< la tfae prsMiii state of edeaee," stye 
MrStriekkody'^we mast be coatent to 
admit the exiiteiiee of thie Uw, withoat 
betag able to eanaeiate its preamble. It 
does not imply that otgaaio distrihutioa 
depends en soil aad elimate; for we 
often find a perfect identity of these 
conditions in opposite hemispheres^ and 
in remote continents, whose fkuns and 
florm are ahnost wfaoUy direne. It does 
not imply that allied bat diMhwt oigaa- 
isBB have been adduced^ by generatioa or 
spontaaeoas develepneat, from the same 
original stock ; fn (to pan over other 
obs^otions) we find detached tokanie 
iBlete, which have been ^ected ttom be- 
neath the ooetn, (snch as the Galapagos, 
ibr instance^) inhabited by terrestrial 
forms allied to those of the nearest con- 
tinent, though hundreds of miles distant, 
and evidently never connected with them. 
Bottbis fkct may indicate that the Creator, 
in forming new organisms to dieeharge 
the fonotions required from tune to time 
by the ever vacillating balanoe of natore, 
has tiiOQgfat fit to preierre the regularity 
ef the system by modifying the types of 
Btractnie already established in the a4ja* 
cent locaUtie^ rather than to proceed 
per foUum by introdacing forms of more 
foreign aspect." 

In conformity with this relation 
between geographical distribution aod 
organic structure, it has been ascer- 
tained that a small portion of the in- 
digenous animals and plants of the 
islands of Rodriguee, Bourbon, and 
the Isle of France, are either allied to 
or identical with the produc^ns of 



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64 



The Dodo and its Kindred. 



[Jan* 



continental Atiica, a larger portion 
with those of Madagascar, while cer- 
tain species are altogether peculiar to 
the insular group al^ve named. 

" And as these three islands form a de> 
tached clo8ter,as compared to other lands, 
80 do we find in them a peculiar group of 
birds, specifically different in each island, 
yet allied together in their general cha- 
racters, and remarkably isolated from any 
known forms in other parts of the 
world. These birds were of large size and 
grotesque proportions, the wings too short 
and feeble for flight, the plumage loose 
and decomposed, and the generU aspect 
suggestire of gigantic immaturity. Their 
history is as remarkable as their origin. 
About two centuries ago, their natife isles 
were first colonised by man, by whom 
these strange creatures were speedily ex- 
terminated. So rapid and so complete 
was their extinction, that the Tagne de- 
scriptions given of them by early naviga- 
tors were loug regarded as fabulous or 
exaggerated ; and these birds, almost con- 
temporaries of our great-grandfathers, 
became associated in the minds of many 
persons with the griffin and the phcenix 
of mythological antiquity." 

The aim and object of ^ir Strick- 
land^s work is to vindicate the honesty 
of the rude voyagers of the seven- 
teenth century ; to collect together the 
scattered evidence regarding the Dodo 
and its kindred ; to aescribe and de- 
pict the few anatomical fragments 
which are still extant of those lost 
species ; to invite scientific travellers 
to farther and more minute research ; 
and to infer, from the authentic data 
now in hand, the probable rank and 
position of these creatures in the scale 
of nature. We think he has achieved 
his object very admirably, and has 
produced one of the best and most 
interesting monographs with which it 
is our fortune to be acquainted. 

So far as we can see, the extension 
of man*s more immediate influence and 
agency is the sole cause of the dis- 
appearance of species in modem times 
— at least we have no proof that any 
of these species have perished by what 
can be called a catastrophe: this is 
well exemplified by what we now 
know of the Dodo and its kindred. 

The islands of Maoritina and Bour- 
bon were discovered in the sixteenth 
century, (authorities difier as to the 
precise period, which they vary firom 
1602 to 16415,) by Pedro Mascarcgnas, 



a Portuguese, who named the latter 
after himself; while he called the for- 
mer Ceme, a term applied by Pliny 
to an island in another quarter. Of 
this Ceme nothing definite was ascer- 
tained till the year 1598, when the 
Dutch, under Jacob Comelius Neck, 
finding it unin^bited, took possession, 
and changed ift name to Mauritius. 
In the narrative of the voyage, of 
which there are several accounts in 
difierent tongues, we find the follow- 
ing notice : — 

'^ This island, besides being very fertile 
in terrestrial products, feeds vast numbers 
of birds, such as turtle-doves, which occur 
in such plenty that three of our men 
sometimes captured one hundred and fifty 
in half a day, and might easily have 
taken more, by hand, or killed them with 
sticks, if we had not been overloaded with 
the burden of them. Grey parrots arc 
also common there, and other birds, be- 
sides a large kind bigger than our swans, 
with large heads, half of which is covered 
with skin like a hood. These birds want 
wings, in place of which are three or four 
thickish feathers. The tail consi^ of a 
few slender curved feathers of a gray 
colour. We called them Walektogel, 
for this reason, that, the longer they were 
boiled, the tougher and more uneatable 
they became. Their stomachs, howevei*, 
and breasts, were easy to masticate. An- 
other reason for the name was that we 
had an abundance of turtle-doves, of a 
much sweeter and more agreeable fla- 
Your.''— De Bry's/iMltaOrttfji<a/t»,(1601,) 
pars V. p. 7. 

These walckvogel were the birds soon 
afterwards called Dodos. The descrip- 
tion given by Clusius, in his Exotica^ 
(1605,) is chiefly taken from one of 
the published accounts of Van Neck's 
voyage; but he adds the following 
notice, as fr^m personal observa- 
tion: — 

*^ After I had written down the history 
of this bird as vrell as I could, I happened 
to see in the house of Peter Pauwlus, 
Professor of Medicine in the University 
of Leyden, a leg cut off at the knee, and 
recently brought from the Mauritius. It 
was not very long, but rather exceeded 
four inches from the knee to the bend of 
the foot. Its thickness, however, was 
great, being nearly four inches in circum- 
ference; and it was covered with nume- 
rous scales, which in front were wider and 
yellow, but smaller and dusky behind. 
The upper part of the toes was also frur- 
nished with single broad scales, while the 



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The Dodo and its Kindreds 



85 



lower pari was wholly callous. Tho toes 
were rather short for so thick a leg : the 
claws were all thick, hard, black, less 
than aa inch long ; but the claw of the 
hind toe was longer than the rest, and 
exceeded an inch." 

A Datch navigator, Heemskerk, re- 
mained nearly three months in the 
MaaritioB, on his homeward voyage 
in 1602 ; and in a published journal 
kept by Reyer Comelisz, we read of 
WalUchvogeisy and a variety of other 
game. One of Heemskerk's captains, 
Willem van West-Zanen by name, 
also left a journal — apparently not 
published until 1648 — at which time 
it was edited in an enlarged form by 
H. Soeteboom. We there find re- 
petted mention of Dod-aarsen or 
Dodos; and the sailors seem to have 
actually revelled in these birds, with- 
out so&ering from surfeit or nausea 
like Van Neck*8 crew. As this tract 
is veij rare, and has never appeared 
in an English form, we shall avail 
ourselves of Sir Strickland^s transla- 
tion of a few passages bearing on the 
subject in question : — 

^Tbe sailors went out every day to 
kvat fbr birds and other game, snoh as 
they eonld And on land, while they be- 
eame less aetive with their nets, hooks, 
and other fishing-tackle. No qnadmpeds 
•oeor there exoept oats, though our 
eoontrynen have subsequently introduced 
goats and swine. The herons were less 
tame than the other birds, and were diffi- 
iult to procure, owing to their flying 
aaongst the thick branches of the trees. 
They also caught birds which some name 
Docf-iiarMii, others Dnmfeii. When Jacob 
Vaa Neck wasbere,these birds were called 
IFoilioft-eo^i^ because even a long boil- 
ing would scarcely make them tender, 
but they remained tough and hard, with 
the exception of the breast andbelly,which 
were verv good ; and also because, from 
the abunoanee of turtle-doves which the 
men procured, they became disgusted 
with dodos. The figure of these birds is 
given in the accompanying plate : they 
have great heads, with hoods thereon ; 
they are without wings or tail, and have 
only little whiglets on their sides, and four 
or five feathers behind, more elevated 
than the rest ; they have beaks and feet, 
and commonly, in the stomach, a stone the 
sixeofafist. .... 

** The dodos, with their round stems, 
(fbr they were well fkttened,) were also 
obliged to turn tail ; everything that 
eonld move was in a bustle; and the fish, 
which had lived in peace for many a year. 



were pursued into the deepest water- 
pools 

** Ou the 25th July, William and his 
sailors brought some dodos, which were 
very fat ; the whole crew made an ample 
meal iVom three or four of them, and a 
portion remained over. . . . They 
sent on board smoked fish, salted dodos, 
land-tortoises, and other game, which 
supply was very acceptable. They were 
busy for some days bringing proTisions to 
the ship. On the 4th of August, WiUuun's 
men brought fifty laige birds on board the 
BrujfH'Vu; among them were twenty- 
four or twenty-fire dodos, so large and 
heavy, that they could not eat any two of 
them for dinner, and all that remained 
over was salted. 

'' Another day, Uoogeven (William's 
supercargo) set out from the tent with 
four seamen, provided with sticks, nets, 
muskets, and other necessaries for hunting. 
They climbed op mountain and hiU^ 
roamed through forest and valley, and, 
during the three days that they were oo^ 
they captured another half-hundred of 
birds, including a matter of twenty dodos» 
all which they brought on boud and 
salted. Thus were they, and the other 
crews in the fieet, occupied in fowling and 
fishing.*' 

In regard to the appellations of these 
birds, it is not altogether ea^ to de- 
termine the precise date at which the 
synon3rmous term Dodoars^ from which 
our name of Dodo is by some derived, 
was introduced. It seems first to 
occur in the journal of Willem van 
West-Zanen ; but that journal, though 
written in 1603, appears to have 
remained unpublished till 1648, and 
the name may have been an inter- 

elation by his editor, Soeteboom. 
atdiefs Journal, also, which make» 
mention of Dodaersen, otherwise 
Dronten^ was written in 1606, and 
Van der Hagen's in 1607; but Mr 
Strickland has been unable to find aa 
edition of either work of eariier date 
than 1646, and so the occurrence of 
these words may be likewise due to 
the ofilciousness of editors. Pertiape 
the eariiest use of the word Dodar» 
may date from the publication of 
Verhufien's voyage, (1613,) where» 
however, it occurs under the corrupt 
form of Totersten. There seems little 
doubt that the name of Dodo is de- 
rived from the Dutch root, Dodoor^ 
which signifies shggardf and is ap- 

gropriate to the leisurely gait and 
eavy aspect of the creatures in ques- 



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2U Dodo amiit8 KmdrecL 



[Jan. 



Hon. BodttTB is probably a home- 
ly or familiar phrase among Dutch 
sSUlors, asd may be regarded as more 
expressive than elegant. Oar own 
Sir Thomas Herbert was the first to 
Qse the name of Dodo in its modem 
form, and he tells us that it is a Por- 
tngaese word. Daudo, in that lan- 
guage, cartainty signifies *^ foolish," 
or ^'simple,'' and might have been 
well applied to the uiwary habits 
and defencdess oonditicm of these 
abnost wingless and totally inexpe- 
rienced species ; bat, as none of the 
Portagaese voyagers seem to have 
mentioned the Dodo by any name 
whatever, nor even to have visited 
the Manritias, after their first dis- 
covery of the island by Pedro Mas- 
oaregnas aLreadv named, it appears 
far more probable that Dodars is a 
genoine Dutch term, altered, aad it 
may be amended, by Sir Thomas 
Herbert, to suit his own phik^gical 
fancies. 

The Datch, indeed, seem to have 
been inspired with a genuine love of 
Dodos, and never allowed even the 
cooing of the delicately tender turtle- 
doves to prevent their laying in an 
ample store of the more solid, if less 
sentimental species. Thus, Van der 
Hagen, who commanded two ships 
which remained for some we^s at the 
Manritias in 1607, not only feasted 
his crews on great abondanoe of ^^tor> 
toiies, <Mbr(, gray parroqvets, and 
other game,** but salted large quan- 
tities, for consumption during the voy- 
ase. VerhufliBn toadied at the same 
iuand in 1611, and it is in his nar^ 
rative (published at Frankfort in 
1618^ that Dodos are called Totmtm. 
He describes them as having — 

"A skin like a monk's cowl on tha 
heady and no wings; bat, in place of them, 
about five or aiz yellow fathers : like- 
wise, IB phMe of a tail, are Ibv or i?e 
erested ftathers. In eeloBr thev are 
grmj ; men call them Tottntm or WaUk-^ 
^figd ; they oeosr there ia grea4 plemiyy 
lasomnoh thai the Dateh daily ca«|^ 
and ate many of them. For not oaly 
theae, hot in general all the birdi there, 
are so Ume tLu they killed the tortle- 
doTes, ae well ae the other wild pigeons 
and oarrots, with atioks, and caoght them 
by the hand. They also captured the 
totersten or walokrBgel with their hands; 
bat were obliged to take good care that 
these birds did aoi bite them on the anas 



er leg! with their beaks, idiioh are very 
strong, thick, and hooked ; fnr they are 
woat to bite desperately hard.** 

We are glad to be informed, by the 
above, of this attempt at indepen- 
dence, or something at least ap- 
proaching to the defensive system. 
It forms an additional title, on the 
part of the Dodo, to be regiurded, at 
all events by the Dutch cuisiniers^ as 
•* une pihx de resistance^ 

Sir Thomas Herbert, already named, 
visited the Manritias in 1627, and 
found it still uninhabited by man. In 
his Relation of some yeares^ TravaHe^ 
which, for the amusement of his later 
years, he seems to have repeatedly re- 
written for various editions, extend- 
ing from 1634 to 1677, he both figures 
and describes our fat friend. His 
narration is as follows : — 

^ The dodo, a bird the Dateh eal! 
walckfogel or dod-eezsen : her body is 
round and £&t, which eccasiens the slow 
pace, or that her corpulencie ; and ao 
great as few of them weigh leas than fifty 
pound ; meat it is with some, but better 
to the eye than stomach, such as only a 
strong appetite ean vanquish ; but other- 
wise, through its oyliness, it cannot chnee 
but quickly cloy and nauseate tho 
stoauMh, Uing indeed mete pleasurable 
to leek than fbed upon. It is ef a mel- 
ancholy visage, as sensible ef nature's 
injury in framing so maseie a hedy to ba 
directed by compUmental wiags, such in- 
deed as are nnable to heise her from the 
acronad, serring only to rank her amongst 
bMs. Her head is varioasly dreet; te 
OM half is headed with down ef a dark 
eelewr, the ether half nahad» and of a white 
hne, as if lawn were dnwn ever it ; hsr 
biU hoeks and bends dewnwardi ; the 
thrill er breathing-place is in the midiAy 
freoi which part te the end the colour is 
9i a li|^t gieea, mixt with pale yellow ; 
her eyes are round and bright, and in- 
stead of feathers has a most fine down ; 
her train (like te a China beard) is no 
more than three er fear short feathers ; 
her leggs are thkk and blaek ; her taloas 
great ; her atemach fiery, so that as she 
can easily digest steoee ; in that and shape 
net a little resembling the estridi.**— 
(P. 183.) 

Francois Cauche, an account of 
whose voyage, made in 1698, is pub- 
lished in the Rdations Vdritabks et 
Curieuses de VIslo de Madagascar^ 
(Paris, 1651) sUtea that he saw in 
the Manritias birds called Oiseanx da 
Nasaiei, krger than a awaot eovtred 



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The Dodo andiU EindrmL 



87 



with Mack down, with crested feathen 
OB tfatt mrap, ^^ as nanj in number as 
the bird is years old." In place of 
winffs there are some lAMk conred 
leathers, without webs. Hiecrjis 
like that of a gosling. 

' They only lay one egg, wfaieh is white, 
iha MM </a kaljpemmy roU ; by the aide 
of whioh they place & white stone, of the 
dimensions of a hen's egg. They lay on 
grmss, whioh they collect, and mske their 
nests in the forests ; if one kills the yonng 
«ae, a gray stone is fonad in the ginard. 
We eaU them (Mseanz de Naaret. The 
^ is exeeUeat togiTeease to the mnseles 
a&dnevTts.'* 

Here let ns pause a moment, to con- 
sider what was the probable size of a 
halfpenny nm in the year 1638. 
How many vast and varioiis elements 
mast be taken to account in calcolat- 
ing the dimensions of that **/Kun cTun 
soi!^ MaccnOoch, Cobden, Joseph 
Home, come over and help us in this 
our hour of kneadi Was com high 
or low? were wages up or down? 
were bakers honest or dishonest? 
was there a fixed measure of quan- 
tity for these our matutinal baps ? 
Did town - councils regulate their 
wel^^t and quality, or was conscience 
left controller, from the quartern loaf 
downwards to the smallest form as- 
aumed by yeast and lour ? 

"TeU Bsvheie was &aey bnU ? '' 

Does no one know preeisely what was 
the size of a hal^Mmiy rdl in the year 
1688? In that case, we diall not 
neationthe diaieuioas of the Dodo's 



TTie 



here is no doubt that the bird re- 
corded by Cauche was the true Dodo, 
attlK>Bgfa it is probable that he either 
described it from neiaoiy, or con- 
fused it with the descriptioos then 
current of the cassowary. Thus he 
«dds tiiat the lega wero oi eoosider- 
aUe length, that it bad only three toes, 
and no tongue— charactecB (with the 
exception of the last, inapplicable, of 
course, to either kind) which truly in^ 
dicate the latter species. This name of 
^* bad of Naaareth '^ has> moreover, 
given rise to a ialse or phantom 
qMeieSy called Didus NoMmremm m 
ayttenatio works, and is aoi^wsed to 
have been derived from the small 
ishuid or saadbank of Naaareth, to 
the north-east of Madagascar. Now 



Dr Hamel has recently rendered it 
probable that no such island or sand- 
bank is in exist^ce, and so we need 
not seek for its inhabitaats : at all 
events, there is no such bird as the 
Nazareae Dodo — DidmM Nazartmu. 

The next piece of evidence regard- 
ing the Dodo is highly interesting and 
important, as it shows that, at least in 
one instance, this extraordinary iHrd 
was transported alive to Europe, and 
exhibited m our own country. In a 
manuscript preserved in the British 
Museum, Sir Hamon Lestrange, the 
father of the more cdebrated Sir 
Boffer, in a comm^tary on Brewn*a 
Vwgwr Errors^ and apropos of the 
ostrich, records as follows : — 

*'Abont 16S8, as I walked London 
streets, I saw tiie pictnre of a strange 
fbwle hoBg ont apon a eloth, and myselfe, 
with one or two more then in oempaoy, 
west hi to see it. It was kept in a cham- 
ber, and was a great fowle somewhat 
bigger than the largest toikey-cod:, and 
so legged and footed, but stouter and 
^cker, and of a more erect diape ; ce- 
lonred before like the breast of a young 
cock fesan, and, on the back, of dunn or 
deare coulonr. The keeper called it a 
Dodo ; and in the end of a chimney in the 
diamber there lay a heape of large pebble 
stones, whereof bee gave it many in onr 
sight, some as bigg as nutmegs, and tha 
keeper told us she eats them, (conducing 
to digestion) ; and though I remember 
not how farr the keeper was questioned 
therein,yet I am confident that forwards 
shee cast them all againe.'' 

It is curious that no confimatioa 
caa be obtaiaad of this exhibition 
fh>m contemporary anthorities. The 
period was pn^c in pamphlets 
and broadsides, but political excite- 
ment probably engrossed the minds of 
the majority, and rendered them care- 
less of the wonders of nature. Yet 
the individual in question may in idl 
likelihood be traced down to the pre- 
sent day, and portions of it seen aad 
handled by the existing generatioa. 
In Tradescant's catalogue of his ^^ Col* 
lection of Rarities preserved at South 
Lambeth^ near London,'' 1656, we find 
an entry— ^' Dodar from the island 
Mauritius ; it is not able to file, being 
so big." It is eaamerated uder the 
head of '' Whole birds;'' and Wil- 
loghby, who^e Ondlhohgia appeared 
in 1676, says of the Dodo, '' Exuviae 
hnjusce avis vidimus in museo Tra- 



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88 

descantiano." The same specimen is 
alluded to by Llhwyd in 1684, and by 
Hyde in 1700, — ^having passed, mean- 
while, into the AshmoleanMoseam, at 
Oxford, with the rest of the Trades- 
cantian collection. AsTradescantwas 
the most noted collector of things na- 
tural in his day, and there were few, 
if any, to enter into competition with 
him, it may be well supposed that 
such a rara avis as a living Dodo would 
attract his close attention, and that it 
would, in all probability, find its w^ 
into his cabinet on its decease. It 
may, therefore, be inferred that the 
same individual which was exhibited 
in London, and described by Lestrange 
in 1638, is that recorded as a stnffed 
specimen in the catalogue of Trades- 
cant's Museum, (1656,) and be- 
queathed b^ ]^m, with his other curio- 
sities, to Elias Ashmole, the munificent 
founder of the still existing museum 
at Oxford. 

The considerate reader will not un- 
naturally ask, Where is now that last 
of Dodos ? and echo answers, Where ? 
Alas ! it was destroyed, ^* by order of 
the Visitors," in 1766. The following 
is the evidence of that destruction, as 
given by Mr J. S. Duncan in the 
8d volume of the Zoological Journal^ 
p. 669 :— 

"In the Ashmolean Catalogue, made 
by Ed. Llhwydy nmsei procustof, 1684, 
(Plott being then keeper,) the entry of 
the bird is ' No. 29, GalluB gallinaoenfl 
peregrinos CHasii,' &c In a catalogue 
made snbseqnently to 1755, it is stated, 
' The nnmbers from 5 to 46, being decayed, 
were ordered to be removed at a meeting 
of the minority of the Visitors, Jan. 8, 
1755.' Among these, of course, was in- 
cluded the Dodo, its number being 29. 
This is fbrther shown by a new catalogue, 
completed in 1756, in which the order of 
the Visitors is recorded as follows : — 
' IHa quibus nuUus in margine assignatnr 
nnmerus, a Musseo subducta sunt cimelia, 
annuentibus Vioe-Cancellario aliisque Oq- 
ratoribus ad ea lustranda convocatis, die 



The Dodo and its Kindred, 



[Jan. 

Januarii Svo, a. d.' 1755.' The Dodo is one 
of those which are here without the num-> 
ber." 

By some lucky accident, however, 
a small portion of ** this last descen- 
dant of an ancient race," as Mr 
Strickland terms it, escaped the 
clutches of the destroyers. "The 
head and one of the feet were saved 
from the flames, and are still pre- 
sei-ved in the Ashmolean Museum.'** 

Let us now retrace our steps, for 
the sake of taking up, very briefly^ 
the history of the other known rem- 
nants of this now extinct species. 
Among the printed books of the Ash^ 
molean Museum, there is a small 
tract, of which the second edition (the 
first is without date) is entitled, " A 
Catalogue of many natural rarities, 
with great industry, cost, and thirty 
years' travel in foreign countries, col- 
lected by Robert Hubert, alias Forges, 
gent, and sworn servant to his ma- 
jesty; and daily to be seen at the 
place formerly called the Music House, 
near the west end of StPaul's Church,*' 
12mo, London, 1665. At page 11 is 
the following entry : — " A legge of a 
Dodo, a great heavy bird that cannot 
fly: it Is a bird of the MaurcioH 
island." This specimen is supposed 
to be that which afterwards passed 
into the possession of the Royal So- 
ciety, is recorded in their catalogue of 
Natural and Artificial Curiosities^ pub- 
lished by Grew in 1681, and is now 
in the British Museum. It is Bome«> 
what larger than the Ashmolean foot^ 
and, fix>m its excellent state of pre* 
servation, finely exhibits the ex* 
temal characters of the toes and 
tarsus. 

In 01earas*s catalogue of the mu- 
seum at Grottorf, (the seat of the 
Dukes of Schleswig, and recently m 
less easy one than we have known it,) 
of which the first edition was pnblishea 
in 1666, there is the follow&g notica 
of a Dodo's bead: — ^ 



* The scientific value of these remnants, Mr Strickland informs us, has been lately 
much increased by skiHU dissection. Dr Aoland, the lecturer in anatomy, has 
divided the skin of the cranium down the mesial line, and, by removing it from the 
left side, the entire osteological structure of this extraordmary skull is exposed to 
view, while on the other side the external covering remains undisturbed. The soli- 
tary fbot was formerly covered by decomposed integuments, and presented few ex- 
ternal characters. These have been removed by Dr Kidd, the professor of medicine^ 
whf has made an interesting preparation of both the osseous and tendinous structures^ 
•'^Sie Tks Dodo and Us Kindred, p. S3. 



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The Dodo and its Kindred. 



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^ No. 5 ifl the head of & foreign bird, 
whieh ClouoB names GaUut peregrinu§, 
Mirenbeig Cygnm eucuUatus, and the 
Dutch walghTogel, from the disgust which 
they are said to have taken to its hard 
flesh. The Dutch seem to haye first dis- 
coTered this bird in the island of Mauri- 
tins ; and it is stated to have no wings, 
but in place of them two winglets, like 
tlie emeu and the penguins."—^. 25.) 

This spedmen, after haying been 
disregarded, if not forgotten, for nearly 
two centuries, was lately re-discoyered, 
hy Professor C. Reinhardt, amongst 
a mass of ancient rubbish, and is now 
in the public museum of Copenhagen, 
where it was examined by Mr Strick- 
land two years ago.* The integu- 
mentary piortions haye been all re- 
moyed, but it exhibits the same 
oetedogicia characters as the Oxford 
head, though less perfect, the base of 
the occiput being absent. It is of 
somewhat smaller size. 

The remnants now noticed— three 
heads and two feet— are the only 
ascertained existing portions of the 
fiunous Dodo : a bird which, as we 
have seen in the preceding extracts, 
might haye been well enough known 
to 8«ch of our great great-grandfathers 
as were in the sea-fkring line. 

But when did the last Dodo die ? 
We cannot answer that question ar-^ 
tkolatdy, as to theyery year, still less 
as to the season, or tfane of day— and 
we belieye that no intfanations of the 
eyoit were sent to the kindred ; but 
we do not hesitate to state our belief 
that that affecting occurrrace or be- 
reayement took place some time sub- 
iaqient to the summer of 1681, and 
prior to 1693. The latest eyidence of 
the existence of Dodos in the Mauri- 
tiis 18 contained in a manuscript of 
the British Museum, entitled ''A 
eoppej of Mr Benj. Harry*s Joumall 
when he was chief mate of the Shippe 
Berkley Castle, Captn. Wm. Talbot 
eommander, on yoyage to the Coste 
and Bay, 1679, which yoyage they 
winto^ at the Maurrisshes.'* On 
tiie return from India, being unable 
to weather the Cape of Good Hope, 
they determined to make for ^^ the 
Mtfn8he8,*'the4th June 1681. They 



saw the land on the Sd July, and on 
the 11th they began to build huts, 
and with mnch labour spread out their 
cargo to dry : — 

" Now, haying a little respitt, I will 
make a little description of the island, 
first of its producks, then of its parts ; 
ffirst, of winged and feathered ffowle, the 
less passant are Dodos, whoteffleth if very 
hard, a small sort of Gees, reasonably 
good Teele^ Cuckoes, Pasca filemingos. 
Turtle DoTes, large Batts, many small 
birds which are good. . . . Heer are 
many wild hoggs and land-turtle which 
are Tery good, other small creators on the 
Land, as Scorpions and Musketoes, these 
in small numbers, Batts and ffleys a mul- 
titude, Munkeys of yarious sorts." 

After this all historical eyidence of 
the existence of the Dodo ceases, al- 
though we cannot doubt that they con- 
tinue for jret a few years. The Dutch 
first colonised the Mauritius in 1644. 
The island is not aboye forty miles in 
length ; and although, when first dis- 
coyered, it was found clothed with 
dense forests of pabns, and yarious 
other trees — among whose columnar 
stems and leafy umbrage the. natiye 
creatures might find a safe abode, 
with food and shelter—how speedily 
would not the improyident rapacity 
of hungry colonists, or of reckless 
fresh-flesh-bereayed mariners, dimi- 
nish the numbers of a large and 
heayy-bodied bird, of powerless wing 
and slow of foot, and useful, more- 
oyer, in the way of culinary consump- 
tion. Mr S^ckland is of opinion that 
thehr destruction would be further 
hastened, or might be mainly caused, 
by the dogs, cats, and swme which 
accompany man in his migrations, 
and become themselyes emancipated 
in the forests. All these creatures are 
more or less camiyorous, and are fond 
of eggs and young birds ; and as the 
Dodo is said to haye hatched only one 
egg at a time, a single sayage mouth- 
ful* might sufi^ce to destroy the hope 
of a family for many a day. 

That the destruction of Dodos was 
completed by 1698, Mr Strickland 
thinks m^ be inferred from the nar- 
rative of Leguat, who, in that year, 
remained seyend months in the Mau- 
ritius, and, while enumerating its ani- 



^ The collection of the Dukes of Schleswig was remoyed about the year 1720, by 
Virederic IV., ft^m Qottorf to Copenhagen, where it is now inoorporated with the 
Boyal ^ Knnstkammer" of that northern capital. 



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The Dodo wuiitiEmdreeL 



[Jan. 



malprodnctioDSfti Gonsiderable length, 
makes no mention whatever c^ the 
bird in question. He adds, — ^^ L^isle 
«tait autrefois toute remplie d'ojes et 
de canards sanvages ; de poolee d^eau, 
de gelinottes, de tortues de mer et de 
terre, mats taut ceh eat deoenue Jbri 
rare.^ And, while referring to the 
'' hogs of the China kind," he states 
that these beasts do a great deal of 
damage, by devonring all the young 
anim^ they can catch. It is thus suffi- 
ciently evident that civilisation was 
making aggressive inroads on the natu- 
ral state of the Maaritius even in 1693. 
The Dntch evacuated the island ia 
1712, and were succeeded by the 
French, who ccdonised it mider the 
name of Isle de France ; and this 
change in the population no doubt 
accounts for the almost ^tire abseaee 
of any ^'aditionary knowledge of this 
remarkable bird among the later in- 
halutants. Baron Giant lived in the 
Mauritius for twenty years from 
1740 ; and his son, who compiled his 
lM4>ers into a history of the island, 
states that no trace of sn^ a bird 
was to be found at that time. In the 
ObserwMtions mr la Phytique for the 
year 1778, there is a negative notice, 
by M. Morel, of the Dodo and its 
kindred. *^ Ces oiseanx, si bien d^- 
crits dans le tome 2 de THistoh-e des 
Oiseanx de M. le Comte de Bnffon, 
n'ont jamais ^ vob anx Isles.de 
Fraaoe, &c., depuis i^ns de 60 ana 
qoe ces parages sent habits et visits 
par des colonies Francoises. Les pins 
anciens habitans assnrent tens que 
ces oiseanx monstmeux leur ont 
toBjours Mi inconnus." M. Bory St 
Vincent, who visited the Mauritius 
and Bourbon in 1801, and has given 
US an account of the physical featnrea 
of those islands in his *^ Voyage," as- 
sures us (vol. ii. p. 306) ^lat be insti- 
tuted all possible inquiries regarding 
the Dodo (or Dronte) and its klndsed, 
without being able to pidL op the 
atighteat iaformatioo on the snbfect ; 
and altiiougk he advertised ^'nne 
made recompense a qni pourndt Ini 
imaer la raoindre indiee de randenne 
existence de oet oisean, nn silenoe 
wiversel a pixmv^ que le souvenir 
arfoe du Dronte ^tait perdu parmi les 
WMm:' De Blainville informs us, 
gfew .^liiii. Mu$. iv. SI,) that the 
was discussed at a publie 



f 



dinner at the Mauritius in 1816, where 
were i»«sent several persons from 
seventy to ninety years of age, none 
of whom had any knowledge of any 
Dodo, either from recollection or tra- 
dition. Finally, Mr J. V. Thompson, 
who resided for some years in Mau- 
ritius prior to 1816, states, {Mag, of 
Nat, Hist,, ii. 443,) that no more 
traces could then be found of the 
Dodo tium of the trsth of the tale of 
Paul and Virginia. 

But the historical evidence ahready 
addnced, as to the former existence of 
this bird, is confirmed in a very inte- 
resting mannor l»y iHiat may be called 
the pictorial proof. BesideB the rude 
delineations given by the earlier 
voyagers, there are several old oil- 
paintings of the Dodo still extant, by 
BkUfhl artists, who had no other objetit 
in viewthan to represent with accuracy 
^e forms before them. Tbese paint- 
ings are five in number, whereof one 
is anonymous ; three bear tlie name of 
Roland Savo^, an eminent Dutch 
animal-painter of the early portion of 
the seventeenth century, and one is by 
John Savery, Ridand's nephew. 

The first of tbese is the best known, 
and is that from which the flgvre of 
the Dodo, in all modem oonpUations 
of ornithology, has been copied. It 
once belonged to Gecarge Edwards, 
who, in his work on bird^ (vL ^tH,) 
tells us, that " the original picture 
was drawn in Holland y^m the Iwmff 
bird, brought firom St Maurice^ island 
in the East Indies, in the eariy times 
of the discovery of the Indies by the 
way of the CiqM of Good Hope. It 
was the property of the late Sir H. 
Sioane to the time of his death, and 
afterwards becondng my preporty, I 
depeeited it in the Briti^ Museum as 
a great curiosity. The above history 
of the pictmv Ihad from Sir H. Sioane, 
and the late Dr Mortimer, secretary 
to the Royal Society." It is still pre- 
served in the pfawe to whidi Edwards 
had consigned it, and nMy be seen in 
the bird gaUery, along with the actual 
foot alrMdy mentioned. Altbough 
without name or date, ^e similarity 
both of design and executioB, leads to 
the condnsion that it was by one or 
other of the Saverys. It may be seen 
engraved in the Au^f Cjfciopmdia, in 
illustration of Mr Broderip'b article 
l>Mfe in that work. 



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1849.] 



Hke Dodo amd iU Kindred. 



91 



The second patnting, one of Boluid 
SaTerj'Sf is in the royiil ooUectkm mt 
the Hagoe, and maj be regarded as 
m dkef'dawore. It represents Or* 
pbens dianning the creation, and we 
there behold the Dodo spdl-bonnd 
with his other mnte companions. All ' 
the ordinary creatures tiiere shown 
are depicted with the greatest tmth- 
Ihiness ; and why should the artist, 
deKghting, as he seems to have d<me, 
in tracing the most delicate features 
of fiunUiar natare, have maned the 
beaatiM consistency of his design by 
introducing a feigned, or eren an 
exaggerated representation ? We 
nuiy here adduce the inrahiable eri- 
deBce of Professor Oweo. 

** Whilt at the Hacae> in the gammer 
of 1838»I wis macL stnick with th« 
minoteness and acouraoy with which the 
exotic species of anhnals had been 
painted by Sayery and Breughel, in snch 
subjects as Orpheos charming the Beasts, 
Ae., in whioh seope was allowed for 
groopiag together a great Tariety «f 
animals. Uaderttanding that the eele. 
hrated menagerie of Prinee Maarioe had 
affuded the Ufii^ models to these artiste, 
I sat down one day before Savery's 
Orphens and theBeast^ to make a list of 
the species, which the piotore sufficiently 
eTinced that the artist had had the oppor- 
tunity to study alive. Judge of my sur- 
prise and pleasure in detectings in a dark 
eoraer of the picture, (which is badly 
hong between two windows,) tiie IWo, 
beautifkilly fnished, showing for example, 
though but thieo iaehee lmig,the avri- 
tnlar eirele of foathen, the sentatian of 
the tara^aad tha loose stroctare of ths 
eandil plumes. In tho aamher and pee- 



that the miniature must have been copied 
ftx>m the study of a Hying bird, which, it 
ii most probable, formed part of the 
Mauritian menagerie. The bird is stand- 
ing in preile witii a lixard at its foef — 
Fmrnji Cfclapmdkif xxiii. p. 148. 

Mr Strickland, in 1845, made a 
aearch through the Royal Gallery of 
Berlin, whioh was known to contain 
aereral of Saveiy's pictures. Anicmg 
them, we are happy to sav that be 
Iband one rapresentmg the Dodo» 
with Bomerevs other aninuds, ^^in 
Paradise !*' It was very cenformabla 
with the figure last mentioned ; bnt 
what readers tUa, our third portrait, 



of pecular interest, is, that it affords a 
date^the words ^* Boelandt Savery 
fe. 16^6,'' being inscribed on one 
comer. As the artist was bom in 
1576, he must have been twenty-three 
years old when Van Neck's expedi- 
tion returned to Holland ; and as we 
are told by De Bry, in reference to 
the Mauritius, that ^^allse ibidem 
aves visaa sunt, quas walkyogel 
Batavi nominarunt, et ihmuh secum m 
Holkmdiam importanmi^^* it is quite 
possible that the portrait of this indi- 
vidual may have been taken at the 
time, and afterwards reoopied, both by 
himself and his nephew, in their later 
pictures. Professor Owen leans to 
the belief that Prince Maurice's col- 
lection afforded the living prototype, 
— an opinion so far strengthened by 
Edwards's tradition, that the painting 
in the British Museum was drawn in 
Holland from a "living bird." Either 
view is preferable to I>r Hamel's sug- 
gestion, that Savery*s repesentation 
was taken from the Dodo exhibited 
in London, as that individual was 
seen alive by Sir Hamon Lestrange 
in 1088, and must therefore (by no 
means a likely occurrence) have lived, 
in the event supposed, at least twelve 
years in captivity. 

Very recently Dr J. J. de Ttohudi, 
the well-known Peravian traveller, 
transmitted to Mr Strickland an ex.* 
act copy of another figure of the Dodo« 
which forms part of a pictare in the 
fanperial collection of the Bdvedere 
at Vienna — by no means a safe loca- 
tion, m these tempestuous times, for 
the treasures of either art or nature. 
But we trust that Prince Windisch- 
gratx and the hanging committee will 
now see that all is right, and that 
General Bem has not been allowed to 
carry off this drawing of the Dodo in 
his carpet-bag. It is dated 1628. 

''There are two cirenmetanees," says 
Mr Stzicklaad, ^ wbieh gife an especial 
interest to this painting. First, the 
noTelty of attitude in the Dodo, exhibit- 
ing an activity of character which corro- 
borates the supposition that the artist had 
a living model before him, and contrast- 
ing strongly nith the aspect of passim 
stolidity in the otfier pictiree. And, 
secondly, the Dode is lepveeented as 
watdiing, apparmrtly with hongry h>ok% 
the meny wrign^ings of an eel in the 
water 1 Are we heaee te iafor that the 



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92 



TJie Dodo and its Kindred. 



[Jan. 



Dodo fed upon eels ! The adrocates of 
the Raptorial affinities of the Dodo, of 
whom we shall soon speak, will doabtless 
reply in the affirmatiTe ; but, as I hope 
shortly to demonstrate that it belongs to 
a family of birds all the other members 
of which are frugivorous, I can only re- 
gard the introduction of the eel as a pic- 
torial license. In this, as in all his other 
paintings, SaTery brought into juxta- 
position animals fVom all countries, 
without regarding geographical distri- 
bution. His delineations of birds and 
beasts were wonderfblly exact, but his 
knowledge of natural hbtory probably 
went no further ; and although the Dodo 
is certainly looking at the eel, yet we hare 
no proof that he is going to eat it. The 
mere collocation of animals in an artistic 
composition, cannot be accepted as cTi- 
dence against the positire truths reTealed 
by oomparatire anatomy." — (P. 30.) 

The fifth and last old painting of 
the Dodo, is that now in the Ash- 
molean Moseom at Oxford, and pre- 
sented to it by Mr Darby in 1813. 
Nothing is known of its previous his- 
tory. It is the workof John Savery, 
the nephew of Roland, and is dated 
1651. Its most peculiar character is 
the colossal scale on which it has been 
designed, — ^the Dodo of this canvass 
standing about three feet and a hidf 
in height. 

'^ It is difficnlt," observes our author, 
** to assign a motive to the artist for thus 
magnifying an object already sufficiently 
nnoonth in appearance. Were it not for 
the discrepancy of dates, I should have 
conjectured that this was the identical 
** picture of a strange fowle hong out upon 
a cloth," which attracted the notice of 
Sir Hamon Lestrange and his ftriends, as 
they ^walked London streets" in 1638 ; 
the delineations nsed by showmen being 
in general more remarkable for attractive- 
ness than veracity."— (P. 81.) 

We have now'exhibited the leading 
facts which establish both the exist- 
ence and extinction of this extraor- 
dinaiy bird: the existence, proved 
by the recorded testimony of the 
earlier navigators, the few but pecu- 
liar portions of structure which still 
remain among us, and the [vera 
effigies handed down by artists coeval 
with the period in which the Dodo 
lived : the non-existence, deduced 
(torn the general progress of events, 
and the absence of tSi knowledge of 
thA RnAries sincB the close of the 



seventeenth century, although the 
natural productions of the Mauritius 
are, in other respects, much better 
known to us now than then. Why 
any particular creature should have 
been so formed as to be unable to 
resist the progress of humanity^ and 
should in consequence have died, it is 
not for us to say. " There are more 
things in heaven and earth than are . 
dreamt of in our philosophy ; " and of 
this we may feel assured, that if, as 
we doubt not, the Dodo is extmct, 
then it has served its end, whatever 
that might be. 

There is nothing imperfect in the 
productions of nature, although there 
are many organisms in which certain 
forms and faculties are less developed 
than in others. There are certainly, 
in particular groups, such things as 
rudimentary organs, which belong, as 
it were, not so much to the individual 
species, as to the general system 
which prevails in the larger and mora 
comprehensive class to which such 
species belong ; and in the majority of 
which these organs fulfil a frequent 
and obvious function, and so are very 
properly regarded as indispensable to 
the weUbeing of such as use them. 
But there are many examples in 
animal life which indicate that parti- 
cular parts of structure remain, in cer- 
tain species, for ever in an undeveloi>ed 
state. In respect to teeth, for in- 
stance, the Greenland whale may be 
regarded as a permanent suckling ; for 
that huge creature having no occasion 
for these organs, they never pierce 
the gums, although in early life they 
are distinctly traceable in the dental 
groove of the jaws. So the Dodo was 
a kind of permanent nestUng^ covered 
with down instead of feathers, and 
with wings and tail (the oars and 
rudder of all aerial voyagers) so short 
and feeble as to be altogether inef- 
ficient for the purposes of flight. 
Why should such things be? We can- 
not say. Can any one say why they 
should not be ? The question is both 
wide and deep, and they are most 
likely to plunge into it who can 
neither dive nor swim. We agree 
with Mr Strickland, that these i^par« 
ently anomalous facts are, in reality, 
indications of laws which the great 
Creator has been pleased to form and 
follow in the construcUon of organised 



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1849.] 

beings, — inscriptioDS in an onknown 
hieroglyphic, which we may rest 
assured must have a meaning, but of 
which we have as yet scarcely learned 
the alphabet. " There appear, how- 
ever, reasonable grounds for belieying 
that the Oeator has assigped to each 
class of animals a definite type or 
Btmctnre, from which He has never 
departed, even in the most excep- 
tional or eccentric modifications of 
form." 

As to the true position of the Dodo 
in systematic ornithology, various 
opinions have been emitted by vari- 
ous men. The majority seem to have 
placed it in the great Rasorial or 
Gallinaceous order, as a component 
part of tiie family StruthionuUe, or 
ostrich tribe. 

^ The bird in qaestion," says Mr Vig- 
ors, "from erery aoooant which we hare of 
its oeonomy, and from the appearance of 
ita head and foot, is decidedly gallina- 
ceooe; and, from the insufflciency of its 
wings for the purposes of flight, it may 
with eqoal certainty be pronounced to 
be of the tStrutkiau$ structure. But the 
foot has a strong hind-toe> and, with the 
exception of its being more robust, in 
which character it still adheres to the 
Struthionidie, it corresponds to the Lin- 
nsan genus Crax, that commences the 
succeeding funUy. The bird thus be- 
comes osculant, and forms a strong point 
of junction between those two contiguous 
groups." — Linn, Trans. xiT. 484. 

M. de BlainvUle (in Nauv, Ann. du 
Mm. iv. 24,) contests this opinion by 
various arguments, which we cannot 
here report, and conclndes that the 
Dodo is a raptorial bird, allied to the 
vultures. Mr Broderip, in his article 
before referred to, sums up the dis- 
cussion as follows :— 

" If the picture in the British Museum, 
and the cut in Bontius, be faithful repre- 
sentations of a creature then Hying, to 
make such a bird of prey— a Tulture, in 
the ordinary acceptation of the term — 
would be to set all the usual laws of 
adj^tation at defiance. A vulture with- 
out wings! How was it to be fed! 
And not only without wings, but neces- 
sarily slow and heavy in progression on 
its clumsy feet The Vmur\d<t are, as 
we know, among the most actire agents 
for remoTing the deoomposing animal re- 
mains in tropical and inter-tropical cli- 
mates, and they are provided with a pro- 
digal deyelopment of wing, to waft them 



The Dodo and its Kindred. 



93 



speedily to the spot tainted by the corrupt 
incumbrance. But no such powers of 
wing would be required by a bird ap- 
pointed to clear away the decaying and 
decomposing masses of a luxuriant tropi- 
cal yegetation — a kind of yultnre for 
vegetable impurities, so to speak — and 
such an office would nOt be by any means 
inconsistent with comparative slowness of 
pedestrian motion." 

Professor Owen, doubtless one of 
our greatest authorities, inclines to- 
ward an afllnity with the vultures, 
and considers the Dodo as an extremely 
modified form of the raptorial order. 

*^ Devoid of the power of flight, it could 
have had small chance of obtaining food 
by preying upon the members of its own 
class; and, if it did not exclusively subsist 
on dead and decaying organised matter, 
it most probably restricted its attacks to 
the class of reptiles, and to the littoral 
flshes, Crustacea, &c., which its well-deve- 
loped back-toe and claw would enable it 
to seize, and hold with a flrm gripe." — 
TransactioM of the Zoological Society, iii. 
p. 331. 

We confess that, setting aside vari- 
ous other unconformable features in 
the structure of the Dodo, the fact, 
testified by various authorities, of its 
swallowing stones, and having stones 
in its gizzard, for the mechanical tri- 
turition of its food, (a peculiarity un- 
known among the raptorial order,) is 
sufficient to bar the above view, sup- 
ported thoughit be by the opinion of our 
most distinguished living anatomist. 

In a recent memoir by Professor J. 
F. Brandt (of which an abstract is 
given in the Bxdletin de la Class. Phys. 
de VAcad. Imp. de St Petersburg^ vol. 
viii. No. 3) we have the following 
statement : — 

** The Dodo, a bird provided with di- 
vided toes and cursorial feet, is best 
classed in the order oMe Waders, among 
which it appears, from its many peculi- 
arities, (most of which, however, are quite 
referable to forms in this order,) to be 
an anomalous link connecting several 
groups, — a link which, for the reasons 
above given, inclines towards the ostriches, 
and especially also towards the pigeons." 

We doubt the direct affinity to any 
species of the grallatorial order, an 
order which contains the cursorial or 
swift- running birds, veiy dissimilar in 
their prevailing habits to anything we 
know of the sluggish and sedentary 



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Dodo. ProfeflBor Brandt may be re« 
garded as haying mistaken analogy 
for affinity; and, in Mr Strickiand^B 
opinion, he has in this instance wan- 
do^ from the tnie method of hrres- 
tigation, in his anxiety to discover a 
link connecting dissevered gronps. 

What then is, or rather was, the 
Dodo ? The majority of inqoirers 
have no doubt been infiaenced, though 
nnconsdonsly, by its colossal sice, and 
have consequently sought its actual 
analogies only amongsuch huge species 
as the ostrich, the vulture, and the 
albatross. Bctt the range in each 
order is often enormous, as, for ex- 
ample, between the Fai4»cmiil^om$j 
or finch fialcon of Bengal, an aoctpitrine 
Inrd not bigger than a sparrow, and an 
eagle of the largest siae ; or between 
the swallow-like stormy petrel and 
the gigantic pelican of the wilderness. 
It appears that Professor J. T. Rbcdn- 
hardt of .Copenhagen, who redis- 
covered the cranium oi the Gottorf 
Museum, was the first to indicate the 
direct relationship of the Dodo to the 
pigeons. He has recently been en- 
gaged in a voyage round the world, 
but it is known that, before he left 
Copenhagen in 1845, he had ^ed 
the attention of his correspondents, 
both in Sweden and Denmark, to ^ the 
striking affinity which exists between 
this extinct bird and the pigeons, 
especially the Trerons." The Colum- 
bine view is that taken up, and so 
admirably illustrated, by Mr Strick- 
land, the most recent as wdl as the 
best biographer of the Dodo. He re- 
fers to the great strength and curva- 
ture of JbiU exhibited by several 
groups pf the tropical fruit-eating 
pigeons, and adds : 

^ If we now regard the Dodo as an 
extreme modification, not of the mltaree, 
bat of those TfUnre-like frogiToroos 
pigeone, we shall, I think, class it in » 
group whose oharaoters are fu* more 
consisteni with what we know of its 
Btmctore and habits. There is no a 
priori reason why a pigeon dionld not be 
so modified, in oonformity with external 
cironmstanoes, as to be incapable of fiight, 
just as we see agrallatorial bird modified 
into an ostrich, and a difer into a pengnin. 



Tke Dodo ami iu Kmdrtd. 



[Jan. 



Now IPS an told thai Ifanrittne, tm 
island forty miles in length, and ahoai 
one hondred miles from the nearest land, 
was, when disooTored, clothed with dense 
forests of palms and varioos other trees. 
A bird adapted to feed on the fraits pro- 
duced by these forests would, in that 
equable climate, have no occasion to 
migrate to distant lands ; it woold revel 
in the perpetnallmxuries of tropical yege- 
taftioa, and would hays b«t htUe need of 
looomotioiL Why than abonld it haye 
the means of fiying t Sach a bird might 
wander from tree to tree, teaiuig with its 
powerfol beak the fruits which strewed 
the gronnd, and digesting their stony 
kernels with its powenhl giaard,einoying 
tranqoinity and abnndance, nnta the 
arrival of man destroyed the balance of 
animal lifo, and put a term to its exis- 
tence. Sad), in my opinion, was thn 
Dodo, — a colossal, breripennale, fragi- 
YOioas pigeon." — (P. 40.) 

F<ff the various osteological and 
other details by which the Columbine 
character of the Dodo is maintained, 
and as we think established, we must 
refer our readers to h& Strickland's 
volume,* where those parte of the 
subject are venr skiUuOy woAed out 
by his able coadjutor, Dr Melville. 

We shall now proceed to notice 
certun other extinct species which 
form the dead relations of the Dodo, 
just as the iHgeons continue to repre- 
sent the tribe from which they have 
departed. The island Bodrigues, 
placed about three hundred miles 
eastward of the Mauritius, tiiough not 
more than fifteen miles long by six 
broad, possessed in modem times a 
peculiar bird, also without eflbctive 
wings, and in several other respects 
resembling the Dodo. It was named 
Solitaire by the early voya^rs, and 
forms the species Dtdus sohtarius of 
systematic writers. The small island 
in question seems to have remained 
in a desert and unpeopkBd state until 
1691, when a party of French Protes- 
tant refhsees settled upon it, and re- 
mained for a couple of years. The 
Solitaire is thus described by their 
commander, Francois Leguat, who 
(in his Voyage et Avantures, 1708) has 
given us an interesting account both 



* In regard to the figares by which it is illostrated, we beg to call attention very 
specially to Plates VIII. and IX., as the most beantifhl examples of the lithographic 
art, applied to natoral history, which we hare yet seen executed in this country. 



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1849.] JJke DodQ wid in KiMdrtd. 

of bis owB dotogs in genertlf and of 
thk species in paiticalar. 

''Of all 41ie liiidt in ibe iilttid, ttw 
nmailaiUe ii tluit which gMt hy 

of tin Solitary, becMM it if 
leM ia oompaay, tfaoagfa 
thm an ahandinot of tiioa. The 
lealhen of tiit malo are of a hrowa-gny 
oolov, the feet and beak are like a 
torkej'sy but a little more crooked. 
Hiey haye eearee any tail, bot their hind 
part, eoTered with lathers, is ronndish 
Ke tiie empper ef a horse : they are 
taller than tmeys; their ne^ is straight^ 
and a little loager ia proportion than a 
tavkey's, wImi it Ufti ap ili bead. Ue eye 
fa black and Ureiy, aad its head wHboat 
oonb er cap. They nefer iy ; their wisfs 
are too little to support the weight of 
their bodies; they serre only to beat 
theAsdvee, and to flutter when they call 
MM another. They will iHuzl about for 
tveaty er thirty times tagether on the 
side, daring the spaee of ft>ar or 
Hie laetioa ef tteir wings 

i amise rery ainoh like that of 
a rattle, and one Bay hear it two hundred 
paces off. Tbe bone ef their wing grows 
greater towwds the eztrsniity, and forais 
a little reaad mass uader thefeatiiers, aa 
big as a musket-ball. That and its beak 
are the chief defisaee of this bird. Tis 
very hard to catch it in the wood% but 
easier in open places, beoanse we ma 
fiuter than they, and sometimes we ap- 
proach them without much trouble. From 
Mardh to September they are extremely 
Htf and taste admirably well, especially 
while they are young ; some of the males 
weigh fbrty-fire pounds. 

''The ftmales'* continues oar ena- 
soared anther, ^are wonderfhUy beauti* 
ftil, seme fkir, some brow% — I <Mdl them 
fair, b o ea—B they are of the colour of fiur 
hair. They hare a sort of peak like a 
widow's upon their beak, which is of a 
dun colour. No one ftather is straggling 
ftom the other all OTor their bodies, they 
being Tery carefbl to adjust themselyes, 
and make them all eren with their beaks. 
The feathers on their thighs are round 
like shells at the end, and, being there 
Tery thick, haye an agreeable eil^t. 
They haye two risings on their crope, and 
the feathers are whiter there than the 
rest, which lively rapreseats the fur neck 
of a beantilnl woman. They walk with 
BO much Btateliness and good grace, 
that one cannot help admiriag and ioving 
them ; by nHnoh means their fine mien 
often sareB their Uyes. Though these 
birds will sonetimes yery fiamiliwly come 
np near eaeagh to one, when we do net 
ran after theai, yet they will neyer grow 
tame. As soon ae they are caught, they 



95 

shed teaiB wifhani crying, and lefhae all 
manner of meat till they die."— (P- 71.) 
Their natural food is tiie fimit of s 
q)ecies of plantain. When these 
iMrds are about to baiM, tfaey select a 
dean place, and then gather togettier 
a qaanthy of pahn-leaTes, which they 
heap np aboat a foot and a half high, 
and theie they sit. They never lay 
bat one egg, which greatly exceeds 
that of a goose. Some days after the 
yonng one has left the nest, a com- 
pany of thirty or forty grown-np birds 
brings anotiier yonng one to it ; and 
the new-fledged l^rd, with its ftither 
and mother, Joining with the band, 
tfaey all march away to some by- 
place. 

** We frequently followed them," says 
Leguat, " and found that afterwards the 
old ones went each their way alone, or in 
couples, and left the two young ones to- 
gether, and this yre called a marriaye. 
This partSculaiity has sometluBg in it 
aluch lodes a little fiedbnlens; aeyertheless 
^at I say is sincere trath, and what I 
haye more than once obseryed with care 
and pkasare." 

Legnat gives a flgnre of this singu- 
lar bird, which in hte plate has some- 
what of the air and aspect of a 
Christmas goose, althongfa, of conrse, 
it wants the web-feet. Its nedc and 
legs are proportionally longer than 
those parts of the Dodo, and give it 
more of a siruthww appearance ; bat 
the existing osteological evidence is 
sufficient to show that it was closely 
allied to that bird, and shared with 
it in some peculiar affinities to the 
pigeon tribe. It is curious that, 
altiiougfa Rodriguea fa a Britfah settle- 
roent, we have scarcely any inlbrma- 
tion regarding it beyond what is to be 
found in the work last quoted, and dl 
that we have since learned of the 
Solitary fa that it has become extinct. 
Of late vears Mr Telfair made in- 
quiries of one of the colonists, who 
assm^ him that no such bird now 
exfated on the faland; and the same 
negative result was obtained by Mr 
HIggins, a Liverpool gentleman, who, 
after sufTering shipwreck on Rodri- 
guez, resided there for a couple of 
months. As far back as 1789, some 
bones incrusted by a stalagmite, and 
erroneously supposed to belong to the 
Dodo, were found in a cave in Rodri- 
guez by a M. Labistour. They after- 



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96 The Dodo and its Kindred, 

wards found their way to Paris, where 
they may still be seen. We are in- 
formed {Proceedings of the Zoological 
Society, Part I. p. 81) that Col. 
Dawkins recently visited these ca- 
verns, and dag withoat finding ai\y 
thing but a small bone. But M. 
Endes sncceeded in disinterring vari- 
ous bones, among others those of a 
large spedes of bird no longer fonnd 
alive npon the island. He adds that 
the Dutch, who first landed at Rodri- 
guez, left cats there to destroy the 
rats, which annoyed them. These 
cats are now so numerous as to prove 
very destructive to the poultry, and 
ho thinks it probable that these feline 
wanderers may have extirpated the 
bird in question, by devouring the 
young ones as soon as they were 
hatched, — a destruction which may 
have been effected even before the 
island became inhabited by the human 
race. Be that as it may, Mr Telfair 
sent collections of the bones to this 
country, one of which may be seen in 
the museum of the Andersonian In- 
stitution, Glasgow. Mr Strickland 
mourns over the loss or disappearance 
of those transmitted to the Zoological 
Society of London. We have been 
informed within these few days that, 
like the head of the Danish Dodo, 
they have been rediscovered, lying in 
a stable or other outhouse, in the 
vicinity of the museum of that Society. 
Both the Glasgow specimens, and 
those in Paris, have been carefully 
examined and compared by mi 
Strickland, and their Columbine char- 
acters are minutely described by his 
skilful and accurate coadjutor, Dr 
Melville, in the second ][)ortion of his 
work. Mr S. very properly regards 
certain pecoliarities, aUnded to by 
Leguat, such as the feeding on dates 
or plantains, as confirmatory of his 
view of the natural affinities already 
mentioned. 



[Jan. 

So much for the Solitaire of Ro- 
driguez and its affinities.* A singular 
fact, however, remains to be yet 
attended to in this insidar group. 
The volcanic island of Bourbon seems 
also to have contained brevi-pennate 
birds, whose inability to fly has like- 
wise led to their extinction. This 
island, which lies about a hundred 
miles south-west of Mauritius, was 
discovered contemporaneously by Pe- 
dro de Mascaregnas, in the sixteenth 
century. The earliest notice which 
concerns our present inquiry, is by 
Captain Castleton^ who visited Bour- 
bon in 1613. In the narrative, as 
given by Purchas, we read as fol- 
lows : — 

^ There is store of land^owl, both 
small and great, plentie of dojea, great 
parrats, and suchlike, and a great fowl 
of the bignesse of a turkie, very fat, and 
so short-winged that they cannot file, 
beeing white, and in a manner tame; and 
so are all other fowles, as haying not 
been troubled nor feared with shot. Our 
men did beat them down with sticks and 
stones."— (Ed. 1625, vol. i. p. 331.) 



Bontekoe van Hoom, a Dutch 
voyager, spent twenty-one days in 
Bourbon in 1618, and found the island 
to abound in pigeons, parrots, and 
other species, among which "there 
were also Dod-eersen, which have 
small wings ; and so far from being 
able to fiy, they were so fat that they 
could scarcely walk^ and when they 
tried to run, they dragged their under 
side along the ground." There is no 
reason to suppose that these birds 
were actual Dodos, of the existence of 
which in Bourbon there is not the 
slightest proof. That Bontekoe's ac- 
count was compiled from recollectiAi 
rather than from any journal written 
at the time, is almost certain from this 
tra^cal fact, that his ship was after- 
wards blown up, and he himself was 



* The companions of Yasco de Gama had, at an earlier period, applied the name 
of SolUaires to certain birds found in an island near the Cape of Good Hope; but 
these must not be confounded with those of the Didine group above referred to. They 
were, in fact, penguins, and their wings were somewhat vaguely compared to those of 
bats, by reason of the peculiar scaly or undeveloped state of the feathers in these 
birds. Dr Hamel has shown that the term SolUaires, as employed by the Portuguese 
sailors, was a corruption of 9<4ilieairo$, an alleged Hottentot word, of which we do 
not profess to know the meaning, being rather rusted in that tonffue. We know, how- 
erer, that penguins are particiUarly gregarious, and, therefore, by no means solitary^ 
although they may be extremely soHlioairioui for anything we can say to the con- 
trary. 



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The Dodo and its Kindred. 



97 



the sole survivor. There is oo likeli- 
hood that he preserved his papers any 
more than his portmantean, and he no 
itoobt wrote horn remembrance of a 
large hreoipennate bird, whose indo- 
lent and nnfearing tameness rendered 
it an easy prey. Knowing that a bird 
of a somewhat similar nature inha- 
bited the neighbouring island, he took 
it for the same, and (^ed it Dodo, by 
m corresponding term. 

A Frenchman of the name of Carr^ 
visited Bourbon in 1668, and in his 
Voyages dcs Indes Orientales^ he states 
as follows : — 

^ I have seen a kind of bird which I 
hare not foaiid elsewhere ; it is that 
which the inhabitants call the oiseau ioH- 
taire, fbr in fact it loTes solitude, and 
only flreqnents- the most secladed places. 
One never sees two or more of them to- 
gether, they are always alone. It is not 
nnlike a turkey, were it not that its legs 
are longer. The beauty of its plumage is 
delightful to behold. Th% flesh is ex- 
quisite ; it forms one of the best dishes in 
this country, and might form a dainty at 
our tables. We wished to keep two of 
these birds to send to France and present 
them to his Mf^'esty, but, as soon as they 
were on board ship, they died of melan- 
choly, having refused to eat or drink." — 
(Vol. I. p. 12.) 

Almost immediately after M. Carr^*s 
visit, a French colony was sent from 
Madagascar to Bourbon, under the 
superintendence of M. de la Haye. 
A certain Sieur D. B. (for this is all 
that is known of his name or desig- 
nation) was one of the party, and has 
left a narrative of the expedition in 
an unpublished journal, acquired by 
Mr Telfair, and presented by him to 
the Zoological Society of London. 
Besides confinning the accounts given 
by preceding writers, this unknown 
author affordts a conclusive proof that 
a second species of the same group 
inhabited the Island of Bourbon. We 
are indebted to Mr Strickland for the 
original passages and the following 
translation : — 

I. " SoiUairts. — These birds are so called 
because they always go alone. They are 
the sixe of a large goose, and are white, 
with the tips of the wings and the tail 
black. The tail-feathers resemble those 
of an ostrich ; the neck is long, and the 
beak is like that of a woodcock, but lar- 
ger; the legs and feet like those of 
turkeys.** 

VOL. LXV.— NO. CCOXCIX. 



2. ^ Oiuaux bleus, the sixe of SolUaires, 
have the plumage wholly blue, the bei^ 
aud feet red, resembling the feet of 
a hen. They do not fly, but th(*y run 
extremely fast, so that a dog can hardly 
overtake them ; they are very good 
eating." 

There is proof that one or other of 
these singular and now unknown 
birds existed in Bourbon, at least 
till toward the middle of the last 
century. M. Billiard, who resided 
there between 1817 and 1820, states 
(in his Voyages aux Colonies Orien- 
tales) that, at the time of the first 
colonisation of the bland, ^^ the woods 
were filled with birds which were not 
alarmed at the approach of man. 
Among them was the Dotio or Solitaire^ 
which was pursued on foot: they were . 
still to be seen in the time of M. de la 
Bourdonnaye, who sent a specimen, as 
a curiosity, to one of the directors of 
the company.'' As the gentleman 
last named was governor of the Isles of 
France and Bourbon from 1735 to 
1746, these birds, Mr Strickland ob- 
serves, must have survived to the for- 
mer, and may have continued to the 
latter date at least. But when M. 
Bory St Vincent made a careful sur- 
vey of the island in 1801, no such 
species were to be found. The de- 
scription of the bill and plumago 
shows that they were not genuine 
Dodos, but merely entitled to be 
classed among their kindred. Not a 
vestige of their remains is in the 
hands of naturalists, either in this or 
anyother conntiy. 

'We have now finished, under Mr 
Strickland's guidance, our exposition 
of this curious group. The restric- 
tion, at any time, of such large birds 
to islands of so small a size, is cer- 
tainly singular. We cannot, how- 
ever, say what peculiar and unknown 
geological changes these islands may 
have undergone, by which their ex- 
tent has been diminished, or their 
inter-connexion destroyed. Volcanic 
groups, such as those in question, are 
no doubt generally of less ancient 
origin than^most others ; but it is by no 
means unlikely that these islands of 
Rodriguez, Bourbon, and Mauritius, 
may once have formed a united group, 
or much more expanded mass of terra 
Anna than they now exhibit; and 
that, by their partial submergence 
a 



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98 



Tk^D0d^am4it$KMdr€d, 



[J« 



snd sepftfatiov, the drnninkms of the 
Dodo and Its kiitdrpd hare, like thotse 
of many other heavj chieftams of b!gh 
degree, been greatly diminished and 
kid low. But into this question of 
ancient bonndaiies we cannot now 
enter. 

How pleasant, on some resplendent 
summer evening, in snch a delicious 
clime as that of the Manrltins, the 
sun slowly sinking amid a gorgeons 
blaze of light, and gilding in green 
and gold the spreading summits of the 
towering palms, — the ronrmuring sea 
sending its refireshing vesper-breath- 
ings through alt the '* pillared shades^ 
which stretch along that glittering 
shore, — how pleasant, we say, for 
wearied man to sit in leafy nmbrage, 
and sup on Dodos and their klndr^I 
Alas I we shall nerer see snch days 
again. 

Dr Hamel, as native of a northern 
country, is fond of animal food, and 
has his senses, naturally sharp enongh, 
so whetted thereby, that he becomes 
" sagacions of his quarry from afiur." 
He judiciously observes, in his recent 
memoir, (Der Dodo^ &c. ,) that In Leg- 
nat's map the place is accurately 
indicated where the common kitchen of 



the eet^ers stood, and where M 
great tree grew onder which they nted 
to sit, OB a bench, to take tiidr meals* 
Both tree sod bench are marked npoa 
the map. ** At these two spotSy" 
says Dr Hamei, ''it is probable tini 
the bovee of a complete skeleton of 
Legnafs solitaire night be eoUected; 
those ef the head a»d fSset on the sit* 
of the kitchen, and the atenmin 
and other bones on that of the tree." 

" I feel oonideBi,'* says Mr StriekUad, 
'' thai if acttTe naionli^ woald make a 
series of excavations in the aUorial de- 
posits, in the beds of streams, and amid 
the raios ef old institnttons in MaarilioSy 
Boorbon^and Bodrigiicx,be would speedily 
diaeover the remains of the dodo, the two 
* solitairety' or the ' oisean bleu.' But 
I woald especially direct attention to the 
eaves with which these volcanic islands 
abound. The chief agents in the destmo^ 
tion of the brevipennate birds were pro- 
bably the ranaway negroes, who for 
many years ialeeted the primeval feieeia 
of these islaadi^ and inhabited the 
eavems, where they would doubtldbi 
leave the scattered bones of the animals 
en which they fed. Here, then, may ws 
BM>re especially hope to fled the osseona 
remains of these remarkable animals.** 
—{P. 61.) 



THE aWORD OF HONOtm. 



Any old directory of the latter half 
of the last century will still show, to 
the curious In such matters, the ad- 
dress of Messrs. Hope and Bullion, 
merchants and general dealers at 
No. 4, in a certain high and narrow 
street in the ciry of London. Not 
that this, in Itself, is a very valnable 
part of history; bnt to those who 
look np at the dirty windows of the 
house as it now stands, and compare 
the narrow pavement and cit-like ap- 
pearance of the whole locaKty with 
the splendom^ of Oxford Square or 
Stanhope Place, where the bnshiess 
occnpant of the premises has now his 
residlence, it wilt be a subiect of donbt, 
if not of nnbeGef, that Mr Bollion— 
who dwelt In the npper portions of 
the building — was as happy, and 
nearly as proud, as his successor at 
the present time. Yet so it is ; and, 
without making invidioos oompari- 
S09^ llstingnlshed-lookifig 



OP 1787. 
lady who does the hononrs of the 
mansion in Oxford Square — her father 
was a sugar baker, and lived in a 
magniiicent country boose at Mussel 
hill. I will venture to state, that 
Mr Bullion had great reason to be 
satisfied with the manners and ap* 
pearance of the young person wh« 
presided at his festive board. Snch 
a rich laugh, and such a sweet voioCf 
were heard in no other house in Uie 
town. And as to her face and figurcL 
the only dispute among painters and 
scolptors was, whether the ever- vary- 
ing expression of her features did not 
constitute her the true proper^ of 
the Reynoldses and Romneys, — or 
the ever-exquisite moulding of her 
shape did not bring her within tha 
province of the severer art. At tlM 
same tioM it must be confessed, that 
the snbjeet of these diipotes took M 
interest either in bm^ or chlseL A 
bright, happy, clever creatore— IM 



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iwf.] 



The Sword of Hmwwr: m TokafVlfff. 



99 



flo jndgv of 8ci6i)068 ftnd ftrts— WAS 
Looise fiallfoii. Books sbe had read 
% few, and mnstc she had stadfed a 
littte; yet, with her slender know- 
ledge of the circalatiog library, she 
talked more pleasaiitl/ than Madame 
de 8u^, and saog so sweetly, so 
naturally, and so tmly, that Mrs 
BilTiogton was a fool to her. She 
was a parlom' Jenny Ltnd. Bnt Mrs 
Bilfhigron was not the only person 
who was a fool to her. Oh no ! — that 
0Ort of insanfty was epidemic, and 
•eised on all that came near her. Even 
IAt Cocker the book-keeper— a little 
nan of upwards of ftfty, who was so 
simple, and knew so little of anything 
bat arithmetic, that be always con* 
cidered himself, and was considered bj 
the people, a boy j!xst getting on fn hts 
teens — even Mr Cocker was a fbo! to 
fier too. For when he was Invited to 
taa, and had his cnps sweetened by 
Irt hand, and his whole heart tnmed, 
by some of her pathetic ballads, into 
«omethiogso soft and oily that it nrast 
iMve been jnst like one of the mnflftns 
ghe laid on his plate, he nsed to go 
away with a very confused idea of 
cal>e roots, and get into the most ex- 
traordinary pnzzles in the role t^ 
three. Miss Louise, ho said, would 
never go out of his head ; whereas she 
had never once got hito it, having es- 
tablished her quarters very comfort- 
id>Iy in another place a little lower 
^own, Just inside of the brass btittons 
on his left breast ; and yet the poor 
old fellow went down to his grave 
without the remotest suspicion that 
he had ever been in love. The people 
leed to say that his perplexitiies, on 
those occasions, were principally re- 
markable after supper— fbr an invita- 
tion to tea, in those hospitable times, 
ftiduded an afterpiece in the shape of 
aome roaring hot dishes, and vaolons 
bowls of a stout and jovial beverage^ 
whose place, I beg to say, is poorly 
sippfied by any conceivable quantity 
<ir negus and jellies! Yes, the people 
«ed to say that Cocker^ dHRcuHies 
in calculation arose firom other causes 
than his admhradon of Miss Louise 
and her songs; but thn was a calumny 
—and, in (kct, any fbw extra glasses 
be toot were fbr tiie exnress purpose 
«r dearioff fria head, after it had ^ 
b e w il dere d by her soflea and music ; 
md tberelbre how could thej possibly 



be the cause of his bewlldemeiitt I 
repeat that Mr Cocker was afflicted 
by the wnversal disease, and would 
have died with the greatest happiness 
to give her a n»onient*s satisfaction. 
And so woeid all the clerks, except 
one, who was very short-sighted ansd 
remarkably deaf, and who was after- 
wards tried on snspickm ef having 
poisoned bis wife ; and so wonkt her 
anntt Miss Lucretia Smith, though 
her kindness was so wonderfally 
disguised that the whole world would 
have been jnstiAed In eimsidering it 
harsbness and ill-nature. It was only 
her way ofbestowing ii — as If yon were 
to pour out sn^ar from a vinegar craet; 
and agood o4d, fussy, scolding, gpmmbl- 
ing, advising, tormenting, and very lov- 
ingladywasMissLucretiaSmkb — very 
lovhfg, I say, not only of her niece, 
and her brotbei-^hi'law, bat of any- 
body that would agree to be lovi^. 
Traditions existed that, in her youth, 
she had been a tremendous creature* 
for enthusiasms and romances ; that 
she had flirted with all the ofUc&n of 
the city militia, from the colonel down- 
wards, and with all the Lord Mayors* 
(teplaine for an infiDite series of years ; 
and that, though nothing came of all 
her praiseworthy efforts, tame had had 
a strengthening instead of a weaken- 
ing eff^t on all theM passages— till 
now, in her ftfty-third year, she actu- 
ally believed she had been in love wHh 
them all, and on the point of marriage 
with more than half. 

And this eonstituted the whole of 
Mr Bullion's establishment— at least 
all his establishment which was regn- 
lariy on the books ; bnt there was a 
young man so constantly in the house 
— so much at home there— so welcome 
when he came, so wondered at when 
be staid away— in short, so mncb one 
of the family, that I will only say, if 
he was not considered a meaarber of it, 
he ought to have been. For what, I 
pray yon, constitutes membership. If 
mtlmaey, kindness, perpetual presence, 
and filial and fraternal affection— ilitfl 
to the old man, fraternal to the young 
lady— do not constitute it 7 Yen 
might have sworn till doen w day, bnt 
Mr Cecil Hops would never have 
beTieved that his hone was anywhere 
bnt at No. 4. Kay, when, hy aeme 
aeddent, he fomd htmeelf for a day hi 
» very piet^, veiy tMtsfol, nad Tcrj 



Digitized b^VjOOQlC 



100 

spacions house be had in Hertford- 
shire, with a ring-fence of fourteen 
hundred acres round it, he felt quite dis- 
consolate, and as if he were in a strange 
place. The estate had been bought, 
the house had been built— as the money 
had been acquired, by his father, who 
was no less a person than the senior 
partner in the firm of Hope and 
Bullion, but had withdrawn his capi- 
tal from the trade, laid it out in land, 
superintended the erection of his 
mansion, pined for his mercantile 
activities, and died in three years of 
having nothing to do. So Cecil was 
rich and unencumbered ; he was also 
as handsome as the Apollo, who, they 
say, would be a very vulgar-looking 
fellow if he dressed like a Christian ; 
and he (not the Apollo, but Cecil 
Hope) was four- and- twenty years of 
age, five feet eleven in heignt, and 
as pleasant a fellow as it is possible 
to conceive. So you may guess 
♦whether or not he was in love with 
Louise. Of course he was, — haven't 
I said he was a young man of some 
sense, and for whom 1 have a regard? 
He adored her. And now you will, 
perhaps, be asking if the admiration 
was returned— and that is one of the 
occasions on which an impertinent 
reader has a great advantage over 
the best and cunningest of authors. 
They can ask such impudent ques- 
tions, — ^which they would not dare 
to do unless under the protection 
and in the sanctuary, as it were, 
of print, and look so amazingly 
knowing while pausing for a reply, 
that I have no patience with the fel- 
lows at all ; and, in answer to their 
demand whether Louise returned the 
love of Cecil Hope, I will only say 
this — I will see them hanged first, be- 
fore I gratify their curiosity. Indeed, 
how could I hold up my head in any 
decent society again, if I were to com- 
mit such a breach of confidence as 
that ? Imagine me confessing that 
she looked always fifty times happier 
in his presence than when he was 
away — imagine me confessing that 
her heart beat many thumps quicker 
when anybody mentioned his name — 
imagine me, I say, confessing all this, 
and fifty things more, and then call- 
ing myself a man of honour and dis- 
cretion I No : I say again I will see 
tf" '^ged first, before I will 



The Sward of Honour: a Tale of 17S7. 



[Jan. 



answer his insolent question ; so let 
that be an nnder8tOQ>d thing between 
us, that I will never i*eveal any secret 
with which a younglady is kind enough 
to intrust me. 

And this, I think, is a catalogue of 
all the household above the good old 
warehouse. Ah I no, — there is the 
excellent Mr Bullion himself. He is 
now sixty; he has white hair, a noble, 
even a distmgui figure : look into any 
page of any fashionable novel of any 
year, for an explanation of what that 
means. On the present occasion, 
you would perhaps conclude that the 
long -backed, wide- tailed blue coat, 
the low-flapped waistcoat, tight-fitting: 
knee-br — ch — s, white cotton stock- 
ings in-doors, long gaiters out, with 
bright-buckled square-toed shoes, may 
be a little inconsistent with the epi- 
thet distmgud. But this is a vulgar 
error, and would argue that nobody 
could look distingue without lace and 
brocade. Now, only imagine Mr 
Bullion in a court- dress, with a silk 
bag fioating over his shoulder, to tie 
up long tresses which have disappeared 
from bis head for many years; a 
diamond-bilted rapier that probably 
has no blade, and all the other por- 
tions of that graceful and easy style of 
habiliment,— dress him in this way, 
and look at him bowing gracefully by 
means of his three-cornered hat, and 
you will surely grant he would be a 
distingui figure then, — and why not 
in bis blue coat and smalls ? 

But disHnguiAoolsiixg men, even in 
court-dresses, may be great rascals, 
and even considerable fools. Then 
was Mr Bullion a rascal? — no. A fool? 
— no. In short, he was one of the best 
of men, and could have been recog- 
nised during his life, if any one ba^ 
described him in the words of his 
epitaph. 

Well,— we must get on. Day after 
day, for several months before the 
date we have got to, a sort of mystery 
seemed to grow deeper and deeper on 
the benevolent features of the father 
of Louise. Something — ^nobody could 
tell what— had lifted him out of his 
ordinary self. He dropt dark hinta 
of some great change that was shortly 
to take place in the position of the 
family: he even took many oppor- 
tunities of lecturmg Cecil Hope on 
the miseries of ill-assorted marriages^ 



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The Sword of Htmour : aTakof 17S7. 



101 



particolarly wliere the lady was of a 
family immeasurably superior to the 
man^s. Miss Smith thought he was 

foiDg to be made Lord Mayor ; Cecil 
lope supposed he was about to be ap- 
pointed Chaucellor of the Excheqaer ; 
and Louise thought he was growing 
silly, and took no notice of all the 
mirs he put on, and the depreciatory 
observations he made on the rank of 
m country squire. As to Mr Cocker, 
he was already fully persuaded that 
Ilia master was the greatest man in 
the world, and, if he had started for 
king, would have voted him to the 
throne without a moment's hesitation. 
At last the origin of all these pro- 
ceedings on the part of Mr Bullion 
began to be suspected. A little dark 
man, with the brightest possible eyes, 
shrouded in a great cloak, with a 
txroad-brimmed bat carefolly drawn 
over his brows, and just showing to 
the aflfngfated maid who opened the 
door the aforesaid eyes, fixed on her 
with such an expression of inquiry 
that the^ fully sopplied the difficolty 
he experienced in asking for Mr Bullion 
in words, — for he was a foreigner, not 
much gifted with the graces of English 
pronunciation. This little dark 
mnd inquisitive man came to the 
house two or three times a^week, and 
^nt several hours in close consulta- 
tion with Mr Bullion. On emerging 
from these councils, it was easy to 
flee, by that gentleman's countenance, 
whether the affair, whatever it was, 
was in a prosperous condition or not. 
Sometimes he came into the supper- 
room gloomy and silent, sometimes 
tripping in like a sexagenarian 
Tagiioni, and humming a French 
«ong, — for his knowledge of that lan- 
guage was extraordinary, — and his 
whole idea of a daughter's education 
fleemed to oe, to make her acquire the 
true Parisian accent, . and to read 
Mollere and Comeille. So Louise, to 
gratify the whim of her father, had 
made herself perfect in the language, 
and could have entered into a corre- 
spondence with Madame d« Sevign^ 
without a single false concord, or a 
misuke in spelling. Who could this 
little man be, who had such infloence 
on her father's spirits ? They watched 
him, but could see nothing but the 
dark cloak and slouched hat, which 
disappeared down some side street, 



and would have puzzled one of the 
detective police to keep them in view. 
Her thoughts rested almost constantly 
on this subject. Even at church — 
for they were regular church-goers, 
and very decided Protestants, as far 
as their religious feelings could be 
shown in hating the devil and the 
Pope — she used to watch her father's 
face, but could read nothing there but 
a quiet devotion during the prayers, 
and an amiable condescension while 
listening to the sermon. Rustlings of 
papers as the little visitor slipt along 
the passage, revealed the fact that 
there were various documents required 
in their consultatious ; and on one 
particular occasion, after an interview 
of unusual duration, Mr Bullion ac- 
companied his mysterious guest to the 
door, and was overheard, by the con- 
clave who were assembled in the little 
parlour for supper, very warm in his 
protestations of obligation for the 
trouble he had taken, aud concluding 
with these remarkable words — *' As*- 
sure his Excellency of my highest 
consideration, and that I shall not 
lose a moment in throwing myself at 
the feet of the King." Louise looked 
at Cecil on hearing these words ; and 
as Cedl would probably have been 
looking at Louise, whether he had 
heard these words or not, their eyes 
met with an expression of great be- 
wilderment and surprise, — the said 
bewilderment being by no means 
diminished when his visitor replied — 
'^ His Excellency kisses your hands, 
and I leave your Lordship in the holy 
keeping of the saints.'* 

" Papa is rather flighty— don't you 
think so, Cecil?" said Louise. 

*^ Both mad,'* answered that gen- 
tleman with a shake of the head. 

^' Mr Bullion is going to be Lord 
Mayor," said Miss Lucretia, with a 
vivid remembrance of the flirtations 
and grandeurs of the Mansion-house. 

Mr Cocker said nothing aloud, and 
was sorely puzzled for a long time, 
but ended with a confused notion, de- 
rived principally from the protection 
of the saints, that his patron was 
likely to be Pope. All, however, 
sank into a gaping silence of antici- 
pation, when Mr Bullion, after shut- 
ting the door, as soon as his visitor 
had departed, began to whistle Mal- 
brook, and came into the supper-room. 



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lOS 



n$Sw0rdofBmgmr; 9JkU$4ttVn7. 



Vm. 



" Enjoy yoerielren^ mm tmfamt^^ 
said iba old gesdeaiaii ; ^* I bftve Bot 
lLeptjroairaitiDg;lhope; MissSmiib.I 
kiss jour ha«d—iiia>SiE2flL eM^roMewot." 

*' Wbat't the nuuter with yoo, 
ptpft?*' replied the jcNing Jedy, and 
not eonpljriof wiUi tbe leqneat; 
^ 70« epcMik at if joa were a foveifaer. 
Have joft tegoccea joar aM^tlMr- 
tongne?" 

Aad oertainljr it waa not difiiealt to 
perceive tbet tiiere was ao on usual 
toae assmned by Mr BaliiOD« with 
the slightest posaibie broken £nglisb 
admitted into bis laof oaiQe. • 

''My oiotbertoagae?*' aaid the 
aenior. ^ Bah 1 *tis not tlie time yet 
—I have not forgot it^BOt quite— bat 
kias me, Loaiae." 

''Well, siaee joa speak liiie a 
Cbristtian, I won*t refuse ; bat do be 
% good, kifid, oomnHinieative old nuui, 
and tell os wliat has kept yoa so long. 
Do ti>ll as who that hideous man is." 

" Hideous, my dear! — 'tis pLtio yon 
never saw htm." 

*' He's like the bravo of Venice," 
aaid Loauie ; ''isn't he, Cecil?" 

" He's more like Guy Faax," said 
the prentleman appealed to. 

" He's like a fipf^ fortoae- teller," 
continued Mias Smith. 

" Uncommon like a 'onaebneaker," 
ehimed in Mr C(»cker : *' I never see 
each a rascally - look ini^comitensBoe." 

'' Are yon aware, ail this lime, that 
you are giving these descriptions of a 
friend of mine. — a most learned, lofiy, 
reverend — but, pahawl what n<mf>ense 
it is, getting sniny with (ulks like yon. 
Eagles should fight with eagles." 

But the kifiy asftnmptivas of Mr 
Bnilion made no impression on his 
audience. One word, however, had 
Btuck in the tympanum ofMiss Smith's 
ear, and ws4 tieating a tremendous 
tattoo in her heart — 

" Reverend, did yon say, brother- 
in-law. If that little man is reve- 
send, mark my words. I know very 
well what he's after. If we're not all 
apiriiod off to the Diaquisition in Spain, 
I wish I may never be Wurr— I mean 
— aaved " 

^' Nonsense, annt," »atd Loniae. 
** Tou'm not going to turn Dissenter, 
lather r 



^ Better tiraithanba aPapiat^anjr- 
how," snlked/Nit Loeneda. 

"Miss SiUtb," said Mr BuUmm, 
'^ bare the klndnesa; madam, to raak* 
DO obaenration on what I do, or what 
friends I viait or receive in this house. 
If tbe gentleman wbo has now left me 
were a Mabommedaa, be sboold be 
aaered froai your impertinent remarks. 
Give me another potato, aad bold 
your tongue." 

" To yon, Mr Hope," oontinned the 
aenior, " and to yoa, Mr Cocker, and 
toyott. Miss Lucretia, wbo are unmixed 
plebeians from yoor remotest km»wD 
ancestry. It may appear surprising 
that a man ao willingly vndertakea 
the oaeroos duties entailed on bim by 
his lofty extraction, as to smreader tbe 
peace and contentment which he ieel» 
to be tbe fitter aooompaniments of 
yonr humble yet comforuUe potUtioa. 
For ray daughter and me far other 
thinga are ia store — we sit on tbe 
mountain -top exixMied to tlie tempest^ 
though gioritied by the sunshine, and 
look without regret to tbe contemp- 
tible salety and uiglorioos eat>e of tbe 
inhabitants of tbe vale. Take a glaa» 
of wine, Mr Cocker. I shall always 
look on yon with favour." 

Mr Cocker took tlie glass aa order- 
ed, and aupposed his patron was re- 
peating a pussage out of Eufield's^ 
Speaker. " Fine language, sir, xtry 
fine language, indeed ! particuUr that 
about sunshine on tbe moanuios. A 
remarkable clever man, Mr Eiifieid ; 
and I can ^y Ossian's Addre&» to the 
Sun myself.'* 

But in the mean time LAaii>a walked 
round the table, and laid bold of her 
father's hand, and putting her finger 
on his pulse, kM*kcd with a face fuil of 
wisdom, while sbe counted the t>eata ; 
and giving a satii$fied shakd of the 
bead, resinned hei scat. 

" A day 01 two's qaiet will do, 
without a strait waistcoat," she ssid ; 
*' but I will certainly tell the porter 
never to admit thf t nlouch- faced muf- 
fled -up im|>astor, who poU euob nou- 
aenf>e into hia head." 

But at this nviment a violent pull 
at the bell aUrtled tliem all. When 
the door wss opened a voiie was 
heard in tbe hall which aaid, " Four no 



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] 



TUSmrd^Hammr: « T«29^17a7. 



Dt, MomeigBear;" wberenpott Mr 
BaUkmstartecl ap,a»d repiymf , ^ Out, 
■Mm p^** hsrried oot of the room, 
wmi left liU party ta more bUok 
amajsemeBt thin b^ora. 

The annnises, the exdaotttioM, the 
wlUapera mod soapicioaa tliat passed 
from ooe to the oth^t it is needkoB to 
it wilsofioe to aay that, after 



108 

an animated eoBTeraatioa with the 
ayateriom visitor, Mr Ballloo onoe 
aiore joined the cinole and aald, ^' Yoa 
will l>e ready, all of yoo, to atart for 
Fkaaee to-morrow. I bare bosineas 
of onportaaoe that caUs for my pre- 
aeooe in ToaiB. fiay not a word, bi^ 
obey." 



CBAPTBB m. 



So, in a week, they were ailoom- 
iartably settled in a hotel at Tonrs. 

Mr Ballion waa aittiag in the par- 
lonr, apparently in deep and pleasant 
contemplation ; for the comers of his 
Boath were inirolantarily tnraed up, 
and he inspected the calf of his le|^ 
with self-aatisfied admiiatioD. Mr 
Cocker was on a chair in the coraer, 
probably nralttplying the aquares in 
tlM table-cover by the flowers in the 
P^?er. 

**^ How do yon fike Firancc, Mr 
Cocicer?''8aidMrBailion. 

^ Not at all, shr ; the Mk% haa no 
sense; aad no wonder we always 
wallop them by sea or land.*' 
" •* Hem ! Must I remind yoa, sir, 
that this is my country; that the 
French are my coaatrymen ; and that 
▼on by no means wallop them either 
mj sea or land.** 

^Yom French! fom Frenchman!'* 
replied Mr Cocker ; '*• that m a joke I 
Bollion aln*t altogether a French 
same, I think? No, no ; it sroeUs of 
the bank ; «r does. Yoa ain*t one of 
the pari&oom—fou ain% that's cer- 
tain." 

*• How often have I to order yon, 
irfr, not to doubt my word?'* said 
Mr BnUion; and erophacised his 
speech wi^ a form of exprestiion that 
Is generally considered a clencher. 

"There! there!** cried Cocker, 
trinmphant; ^I told yoa so. Is 
^lere ever a Frenchman coald swear 
fike that ? They ain*t Christians 
anoagh to give soch a jolly hearty 
cnrse as yonm ; so you see, sir, it^ 
ao go to pass yomself off for a 
Mounseer,^ 

^I^eave tho room, sir, and send 
Mr Hope to roe at once I *' 

Cocker obeyed, pazsled more and 
BM>re at the fancy his mastrr was 
possessed with to deny his coimtry. 
^ It would, perhaps, have been wi:>er,** 



thought Mr Bullion, ^ to have left the 
plabeian fools at home till everything 
was formally completed ; but still, 
nothing, I suppose, would have satis- 
fled ttoa bat the evidence of their 
own ejres.** 

*' Mr Hope,** he said, as that young 
gentleoMn entered the room, " sit 
down hecMde me ; nay, no ceremony, 
I ahall always treat yoa with conde- 
scension and regard.** 

** You are very good, sir." 

"I am, sir; and I trust your con- 
duct will continue such as to justify 
me in remaining so. Yon may have 
<>bsenred, Mr Hope, a chaage in my 
manner for some time past. Yon can't 
have been fool enough, like Miss Smith 
and Mr Cocker, to doubt the reality 
of the Caet I stared, namely, that I 
am French by birth,--Klid you doubt 
It, sir?" 

"Why,sir,— infact^tinceyoninsist 
on an answer—" 

'' I see yoa did. Well, sir, I pity 
and pardon yoa. I will tell you the 
whole tale, and then yon will see that 
some alteration must take place in our 
respective positions. In the neigh- 
bonrh<K)d of this good city of Tours I 
was bom. My fat^r was chief of the 
younp^r br^inch of one of the not>le6t 
houses in France,— the Dc Bouillons 
p( Chnteau d*Or. He was wild, gay, 
't!iottghtte«, and fell into disgrace at 
court. He was imprisoned in the 
Bastilks ; his estates confiscated ; his 
name expunged from tlie book of 
nobility ; and he died poor, forgotten, 
and biMckened in name and fame. I 
was fifk4*en at the time. I took my 
fHther*8 sword into the Town Hall ; 
I giive it in solemn charge to the au- 
th4»rities, and vowed that when I had 
succeeded in wiping off the blot from 
my fHther*s name, and getting it re- 
stored to its former rank, I would 
reclaim it at thehr haads, and assnme 



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104 The Sword of Honour 

the state and dignity to which my 
birth entitled me. I went to Eng- 
land; your father, my good Cecil, 
took me by the hand : porter, clerk, 
partner, friend, — I rose through all the 
gradations of the office; and when he 
aied, he left me the highest trust he 
could repose in any one, — the guar- 
dianship of his son." 

** I know sir, — and if I have never 
sufficiently thanked you for your 
care — '* 

" Not tbat—no, no— I'm satisfied, 
my dear boy — and Louise — the Lady 
Louise T must now call her — change 
of rank — duties of lofty sphere — for- 
mer friends— ill arranged eni^agements 
— " continued the new-fonned magnate 
in confusion, blurting out unc(»nnected 
words, that showed the train of his 
thoughts without expressing them dis- 
tincrly ; while Mr Hope sat in amaze- 
ment at what he had heard, but no 
longer doubting the reality of what 
was said. 

'* Well, sir?" he inquired. 

" I changed my name with my 
country, though retainiog as mnch of 
the sound of it tis 1 could ; and I^uis 
Bullion was a complete disguise for 
the expatriated Marquis de Bouillon 
de Chateau d'Or. 1 married Miss 
Smith, and lost her shortly after 
Louise's birth. For years I have been 
in treaty with the French ambassador 
through his almoner, the Abb^, whose 
Tisits you thought so my.-terious. At 
last I succeeded, and to- morrow I 
claim my father's sword, resume the 
hereditar}* titles of my house, and take 
my honoured place among the peers 
and paladins of France.'* 

"And have you informed Louise?" 
— inquired Cecil. 

*' Lady Louise," interrupted Mr 
Bullion. 

" Of this change in her position?'' 

*• Why, my dear Cecil, to tell you 
the truth — it's not an easy matter to 
f^et her to understand my meaning. 
Yesterday I attempted to explain the 
thing, exactly as I have done to you; 
but instead of taking it seriously, she 
began with one of her provoking 
chuckles, and chucked me under the 
«hin, and called me Marqny-darky. 
In fact, I wi8h the explanation to 
come from you." 

*' I feel myself very unfit for the 
iask," said the young man, who 



: a Tale of \7S7. [Jan; 

foresaw that this altered situation 
might interfere with certain plans of 
his own. " I hope you will excuse 
me ; you can tell her the whole affair 
yourself, for here she comes." 

And the young lady accordingly 
made her appearance. After looking 
at them for some time — 

^* What are yon all so doleful 
about?" she began. *' Has papa 
bitten you too, Cecil? Pray don't be 
a duke — it makes people so very 
ridiculous." 

^' Miss Louise — mademoiselle, I 
ought to say," said Mr Bullion, *^ I 
have communicated certain facts to 
Cecil Hope." 

" Which he doesn't believe — do you, 
CecU ?" interposed the daughter. 

*^ He does believe them, and I beg 
you will believe them too. They are 
simply, that I am a nobleman of the 
highest rank, and you are my right 
honourable daughter." 

'^ Oh, indeed I and how was our 
cousin Spain when yon heard from 
Madrid? — our uncle Austria, was he 
quite well? — was George of England 
recovered of the gout ? — and above 
all, how was uncle Smith, the ship- 
owner of Wapping? " 

"Girl! you will drive me mad," 
replied the Marquis, " with your 
Smiths and W^appings. I tell yon, 
what I have said is really the case, 
and to-morrow you will see the in- 
auguration with your own eyes. Mean- 
time, I must dress, to receive a depu- 
tation of the nobility of the province, 
who come to congratulate me on my 
arrival." 

*' Oh, what's this I hear," exclaimed 
Miss Smith, rnshing into the room, 
"are you a real marquis, Mr Bullion?** 

"Yes, madam, I have that honour.** 

" And does the marriage with my 
sister stand good ?" 

" To be sure, madam." 

" Then, I'm very glad of it. Oh 
how delightful!— to be my Lord this, 
my Lady that. I am always de- 
voted to the aristockicy; and now, 
only to think I am one of them 
myself." 

" How can you be so foolish, aunt? 
— I'm ashamed of you," said Louise ; 
" what terrible things you were tell- 
ing me, an hour ago, of the wickedness 
of thenobilitjr?" 

" Miss Simth, thongb she does not 



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The Sword of Honour: a Tale of 17S7. 



J8I9.] 

«x|res8 herself in venr correct lan- 
goaee, has more sensible ideas on this 
siib^t than yon,** said the marqnis, 
iooking severely at his daughter, irho 
was looking, from time to time, with 
i^ malicious smile at the woe-begone 
countenance of Cecil Hope. '^ Re- 
member, madam, who it is yon are," 
continued the senior. 

** L41, papa 1 don't talk such non- 
fiense,** replied the irreverent daugh- 
ter. " Do you think I am eighteen 
years of age, and don*t know perfectly 
well ^o and what I am ? " 

*^ Three of vour ancestors, madam, 
were Constables of France." 

*' That's nothing to boast of," re- 
tamed Louise ; ^* no, not if they had 
been inspectors of police." 

*^ You are incorrigible, girl, and 
hmve not sense enough to have a pro- 
per feeling of family pride." 

" Haven't I ? Am I not proud of 
all the stories uncle David tells us of 
his courage, when he was mate of an 
lodlaman? and aunt Jenkison — don't 
you remember, sir, how she dined with 
OB at Christmas, and had to walk in 
pattens through the snow, and tum- 
bled in Cheapside ? " 

A laugh began to form itself round 
the eyes of the French magnate, which 
made his countenance uncommonly 
fike what it used to be when it was 
that of an English merchant. Louise 
saw her success, and proceeded. 



105 

" And how you said, when the poor 
old lady was brought home in a chair, 
that it was the punch that did it? " 

** He, he I and so it was. Didn't I 
caution her, all the time, that it was old 
Jamaica rum ? " broke out the father ; 
but checked himself, as if he were 
guilty of some indecorum. 

" And don't you remember how we 
all attended the launch of unde Peter's 
ship, the Hope's Return ? Ah, they were 
happy days, father ! weren't they ? " 

*^ No, madam ; no — vulgar, miser- 
able days: forget them as quick as 
you can. I tell you, when you resume 
your proper sphere, every eye will be 
turned to your beauty : nobles will be 
dying at your feet." 

** 1 trust not, sir," hurriedly burst 
in Mr Hope. *^ I don't see what right 
any nobles will have to be dying at 
Louise's feet." 

"Don't you, sir?" said Louise^ 
" Indeed 1 I beg to tell you, that as 
many as choose shall die at my feet. 
I'll trouble you, Mr Hope, not to in- 
terfere with the taste of any nobleman 
who has a fancy to so queer a place 
for his death- bed." But while she 
said this, she tapped him so playfully 
with her little white hand, and lucked 
at him so kindly with her beautiful 
blue eyes, that the young gentleman 
seemed greatly reassured ; aud iu a few 
minutes, as if tired of the conversation, 
betook himself to the other room. 



CHAPTER IT. 



Suddenly a great noise was heard 
in the street, and interrupted the lec- 
tures of father and aunt on the dignity 
of position and the pride of birth. 
Miss Lucretia and Louise ran to 
the window, and saw a cavalcade of 
carriages, with outriders, and footmen 
<m the rumble, and all the stately ac- 
companiments of the old-fashioned 
family coach, which, after a slow pro- 
gress along the causeway, stopped at 
the hotel door. 

"My friends ! my noble friends!" 
exclaimed the marquis ; " and I in 
this miserable dress !" 

'^ The noble men ! the salts of the 
earth !" equally exclaimed Miss Smith ; 
^* and I in my morning gownd 1" 

Saying this, she hastily fled into her 
l>ed-room, which, according to the 
fiiehion of French houses, opened on 



the sitting-room, and left the father 
and Louise alone. 

The father certainly was in no 
fitting costume for the dignity of his 
new character. He was dressed ac- 
cording to the fashion of the res«pect- 
able London grader of his time — a 
very fitting figure for 'Change, but 
not appropriate to the Marquis de 
Bouillon de Chateau d'Or. Nor, in 
fact, was his disposition much more 
fitt^ for his exalted position than his 
clothes. To all intents and purposes, 
he was a true John Bull: proud of 
his efibrts to attain wealth — proud of 
his success — proud of the freedom of 
his adopted land — and, in his secret 
heart, thinking an English merchant 
several hundred degrees superior in 
usefulness and worth to all the mar- 
quises that ever lived on the smiles of 



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TheBmofrdpfHi 



106 

tlM Gnvd Monafttne. Tbe stragigle, 
therefore, thai went oa witbta him 
wfts the moBt iiidicnKis potable. To 
liiB family Aod frieiMb he presented 
that phase of bia indiTidnaUty that set 
his Dobiiity ia froot; to the French 
nobles, on the other hand, he was in- 
clined to show only so nuiich of bim- 
aeif as presented the man of bills and 
inroioes; and in both conditioiis, by 
a wondcxfol process of reasoning, ia 
which we ara all adepts, considered 
himself raised above the iadividttals 
he addressed. 

^' Did they see yoa At the window ? " 
he said, in some trepidation, wliile the 
visitors were desoeudiog from tbeur 
coaches. 

"To be snre," replied Loaise; 
*^ and impodent - looking men they 
were." 

" Ah I tbafs a pity. Do, for 
heaven's sake, my dear, jnst slip in 
beside your auot. They ai*e a very gay 
polite people, the nobles of France — ^'* 

"Well; and what then?** 

"And they might take ways of 
showing it, we are not used to in 
England. Do hide yourself, my dear 
— there, that's a good girl.*" And 
Jnst as be had socoueded in paahtng 
her into the bedroom, and begged her 
to lock herself in, the landlord of the 
hotel ushered four or fis^ nobleinett 
into the apartment, as visitors to the 
Marqnis de Bouillon. The eldest of 
the strangers — about forty 3'ears old 
— bespangled with jewels, and orna- 
mented with two or three stara and 
ribbons, looked with some sarprise on 
the plainly drest and citisen- mannered 
man, who came forward to welcome 
them. 

*^ We came to pay onr eompitments 
to my lord the Marquis de Bouillon 
de Chateau d'Or." 

" And very glad he is to see yon, 



.•a7klr^l767. fJ«L 

^ Sitdown,gent1emen— Ibeg,'*8aid 
De Bouilkni, after bowing to ttie per- 
sonajres named. " A charmiug plant 
this Tours, and I*m very glad to sea 
you—fine weather, gentlemen.'* 

"I trust yon have come with the 
intention of residing among os. Your 
estates, I oonclade, are restored aloug 
with your titles." 

" No, gentWtneii, they^re not Bnt 
we Buy manage tp buy some of theni 
back again. HowVi land hero ?*" 

"Laud?" inquired the duke^ 
rather bewildered with tlie question. 

" Yes— how is it, as to rent ? How 
much an acre ?" 

"Ton my word, I don't know. 
When I want money I tell the stewardt 
and the people — the— serfs, I suppose^ 
they are— who hold the plough and 
manage the land — give him some, and 
he brings it to me." 

"Oh! but you don*t know how 
many years' purehase it's worth ?" 

To this there was no answer— sta* 
tistacs, at that time, not being a fa* 
Tourite study in France. 

" But, marquis," inquired another^ 
" hasn't the King restored you jour 
manorial rights — ^yonr droiU 4e jsi- 
gmaurf* 

"No, sir." 

"Then what's the use of land with* 
out them ?" was the very pertinent 
rejoinder. 

" What are they, sir?" inquired tha 
marquis. 

" Why, if a tenant of yours has a 
pretty daughter," said one. 

" Or a wife," said snother. 

" Or even a niece," sakl a third. 

" Well, sir, what then? I dou'ttake.** 

"Oh, you're a wag, marqnisl** 
replied the duke. " Didn't I see, as we 
stopt bef4ire your window, a counte- 
nance radiant with beauty ?" 

"Eyes like stars," chuned uk 
her. 

Cheeks like roses. Aha! Moa- 
• le Marquis— who was it?— 
1!" 

Why, that,— oh, that,— that's a 
ig lady under my protection^ 
lemen ; and I must beg you IK> 
ifi:e the conversation.'* 
Indeed! you're a lucky fellow! 

old fool mustn't be allowed to 
) such beauty to himself." 

Certainly not," returned the 
mte, also in a whisper. 



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1M9.] 



The Sward cfUnmrnr: alUaf 1787. 



^ LMkj r Mid De BoaUkNi— '«7M. 
gndenai, I an laekj. If joa knew 
all, JOB woaid thiDk ao, I'n sura." 

'' She loves job, thea, old aimplfr- 

^ I think tbe doct— I koov ahe 



^ May we not aak tke hoK^nr of 
bemepraMBtod?** 

*' Some other time, ytlewwa wot 
BOW— ab«*fl sot bere--ahe'8 goM oat 
for a walk." 

*' Impossible, mj dearlori; wemaal 
karo met her aa wecaiae ap atairs/* 

^ 8be has a headache oho'e fone 
ta lie dowB for a few miautea," aaid 
tha Bunpiis, gettiog SMMa and more 
aaaiooa to keq) Loaiso froia the in- 
trasaoQ.of has Tiakori. 

^I have aaexoeUeaienre for head- 
aches of all kinds," exdaiaied the 
baron, and proceeded towards the 
bed-rooai door. The Marqots de 
Booittoo, however, pat hiasself be- 
tweea; hat the doke and vieomte 
polled hioi aside, aad the banw be- 
gan to rat-tat oa the door. 

^ Come forth, atadam 1'* he began, 
^ we an dying iat a raght of yoar 
angelic channa. De Booilloa begs 
Toa to houoor as with joor preaeoce. 
Hark, ahe's eomiagl** he added, aad 
drew back as he heard the bolt wath- 
drawa oa the other side. 

^ Stay where yoa are I doo^t come 
eat r' afaoated De BoaiUon, atUi hi the 



107 

ofhbfrieoda. *« I diaiige 700, 
don't Biore a stepl" Bat his ifl>|nae- 
tions were vaia ; the door opened, and, 
sailiag mafesticailj into the room, 
drert oat in hoop and fhrbelow, aad 
wavmg her fan afiectedlj beA)re hor 
£M)e, appeared Miss Laeretia South — 

^ Did yoa visit to see ne, geotJa- 
BMn? Fan always delighted to see 
anjr one as is cini eaou^ to give aa 
a forenooa caU." 

The Fk«ach noblea, howerer, felt 
their ardoar daa^ied to aa extraordi- 
narj degree, aad replied by a aeriea 
of the Bwst respectful salaams. 

^ Profonnd veneration,*' "* deepert 
reverence," aad other expressioas of 
the same kind, were mattered by each 
of the visiters; and in a short tima 
they SQceeeded, in spite of Miss La- 
cretia's reiterated invitations, in bow- 
ing themselves oat of the room. They 
were aceompanied by the marquis to- 
their carriagea, whik Miss Smith waa 
gaxiag after them, astonL»hed, mora 
than pleased, at the wonderful polite- 
aeas of their manner. Lonise slipt 
oat of tiie bed-room, and slapt her 
astontsfaed aaot upon the shoulder— 

" YoaVe done it, aaot! — yoa've 
done it now I A word from yon recalla 
these foreigners to their seBi«s." 

*' It gives me a high opiniria,** re- 
plied hOss Smith, **of them French. 
They stand ua perfect awa of dignity- 
and virtae." 



CHAPTBR V. 



Great were the discafsioas, aU that 
day, amoag the Eoglidi party in the 
hotel — tl>e fiaiher concealiBg his dis- 
appointment at the behaviiiur of his 
fellow nobles, nader an exaggerated 
admiration of rank, aad all its attri- 
hates ; Louise profesaiag to chiaie in 
with her father's ideas, for the piea- 
aant purpose of vexing Cecil Hope ; 
Mr Cocker still per^asdiag himself 
the Frenchmaaship of his old master 
was a little bitof acting, that woold end 
aa soon as the curtain fell ; and Miss 
Lucretia devisiog means of making 
ap for her fdhires with so maay 
curates, by catching a veritable doke. 
Wicli the next morning new occnpa- 
tioos began. The marquia, dressed 
ia the fantastic apparel of a French 
courtier, exchau«;ed comptiments with 
his daughter, who was also 



cently attired, to do hoaoor to the 
occasion. Mr Hope tried in vara to 
get her to sink from the lofty -style 
she assumed, and had strong thoughts 
ef setting oif for Hertfordtihiri*, aad 
nfarrying a farmer's daughter out of 
revenge. The father was so earned 
away by family pride, aad the daugh- 
ter enjoyed the change in her rank ae 
heartily, that there seemed no room 
In the heart of either fur so prosaic a 
being as a plain English pquire. And 
jet, every now and then, there gleamed 
from the comer of Louises eye, or 
stole ont in a merry tone of her voice, 
the old familiar feeling, so that lie 
could not altogether give way to 
despair, bat waited ta patience what 
the chapter of acctdeBts might bring. 
At ooe o*ciock the marquis set o^ 
for the town-hall, where he was to go 



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The Sword of Honour: a Tale of 17S7. 



108 

through the ceremony of reclaiming 
his fatber*8 sword, and have the blot 
on the scntcheon formally removed ; 
after which he was to entertain tlie 
town anthorities, and the neighbour- 
ing nobility, at dinner ; the evening 
to conclude with a ball, in the pre- 
paration for which the ladies were to 
be left at home. Mr Hope accom- 
panied him to the door of the town- 
hall, — but there he professed to find 
his feelings overpowered, and declined 
to witness the ceremony that, he said, 
broke the connexion which had exist- 
ed so long between the names of 
Hope and Bullion; but, ere he could 
return to the hotel, several things 
had occurred that had a material in- 
fluence on his prospects, and these we 
must now proceed to relate. Miss 
Lucretia Smith continued her oratory 
in the ears of her devoted niece after 
the gentlemen had gone, the burden 
thereof consisting, principally, in a 
<x)mparison between the nobles of 
France and the shopocracy of Lon- 
don, — till- that young lady betook 
herself to the bedroom window already 
mentioned, to watch for Cecil's return. 
She had not been long at her watch- 
post, when a carriage, with the blinds 
drawn up, and escorted by seven or 
eight armed men, with masks on 
their faces, pulled up at the door. Of 
^his she took no particular notice, but 
kept looking attentively down the 
street. But, a minute or two after 
the closed carriage drove under the 
porte cochhre^ a young gentleman 
^as ushered into the presence of Miss 
Smith, and was, by tnat young lady, 
received with the highest empresse- 
tnent possible. She had only had 
time to improve her toilette by put- 
ting on Louise's shawl and bonnet, 
which happened to be lying on ^ 
chair ; and, in spite of- the shortness 
of the view she had had of him the 
day before, she immediately recog- 
nised him as one of her brother's 
visiters, the Baron Beauvilliers. 

«^ Permit me, madam," he said, in 
very good English, •* to apologise for 
my intrusion, but I have the authority 
of my friend De Bouillon to consider 
myself here at home." 

"Oh, sir, you are certainly the 
politest nation on the face of the earth, 
you French— that I must say; but I 
may trust, I hope, to the honour of a 



[Jan. 



gent like you ? You won't be rude to 
an unoffended female? for there ain't 
a soul in the 'ouse that could give me 
the least assistance." 

The baron bowed in a very assuring 
manner, and, taking a seat beside her, 
*^ May I make bold, madam, to ask 
who the tawdry silly-looking young 
person is who resides under De Bouil- 
lon's protection ?" 

"Su- — under Mr Bull— I mean, 
under the marquee's protection? I 
don't understand you." 

"Exactly as I suspected. I guessed, 
from the dignity of your appearance, 
that such an infamous proceeding was 
enturely unknown to you. Command 
my services, madam, in any way you 
can make them available. Let me 
deliver you from the scandal of being 
in the same house with a person ci 
that description." 

" Oh, sir !" repUed Miss Smith, 
" yon are certainly most obliging. 
When we are a little better acquaint^ 
perhaps — ^in a few days, or even in 
one — I shall be happy to accept your 
offer; but, la! what will my brother- 
in-law say if I accept a gentleman's 
offer at minute's notice ?" 

Miss Smith accompanied this speech 
with various blushes and pauses, be- 
tokening the extent of her modest 
reluctance ; but the baron either did 
not perceive the mistake she had made, 
or did not thmk it worth while to 
notice it. 

"I will convey the destroyer of 
your peace away from your sight. 
Show me only the room she is in. 
And consider, madam, that you will 
make me the proiidestof men by allow- 
ing me to be your knight and cham- 
pion on this occasion." 

" Really, sir, I can't say at present 
where the gipsy can be. Brother- 
in-law has been very sly ; but if I can 
possibly ferret her out, won't I send 
her on her travels? Wait but a 
minute, sir: I'll come to yon the 
moment she can be found." 

But the baron determined to accom- 
pany her in her search, and together 
they left the room, two active mem- 
bers of the Society for the Suppression 
of Vice. Louise had heard the noise 
of voices, without distinguishing or 
attending to what was said, but a low 
and hurried tap at the door now at- 
tracted her notice. 



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1849.] 



The Sward o/Hofumr : a Tale of 1787. 



A* Miss Lonise — ^m&'aui — for heaven's 
sake, come oat I'* said the voice of Mr 
Cocker through the key-hole; "for 
bere*8 a whole regiment of them 
French, and thej wants to ran away 
with YOU." 

** With me. Cocker ! " exclaimed 
Lonise, coming into the parloar. 
" What is it yoa mean ?" 

" What I say, miss — and yonr 
aunt is as bad as any on 'em. 
She's searching the hoase, at this 
moment, to give yon np into their 
hands. She can't refnse nothing to 
them noblesse, as she calls 'em. The 
gentleman has gone down to the conrt- 
Yard to see that nobody escapes, and 
here we are, like mice in a trap." 

** Go for Cecil, Cocker ; leave me 
to myself," said Lonise — ^her features 
dilating into tiger-like beanty, with 
rage and self-confidence. " Cfo, I tell 
yon — ^yon'll find him retaming firom 
the town-hall — and bid him lose not 
a moment in coming to my help." 
She waved Mr Cocker impatiently 
from her, and retomed for a moment 
into the bed-room. 

*^ Madam, hist I I beg yoa will be 
quick!" exclaimed the baron, entering 
the parlour, **I can't wait mach longer. 
What a detestable old fool it is ! " he 
went on, in a lower voice; " she might 
have found the girl long ere this. 
Well, well, have you found her ? " he 
continued, addressing Loaise, who 
issued from the bed-room in some of 
the apparel ofher aunt, and assuming as 
nearly as she could the airs and graces 
of that individual. " Tell me, madam, 
where she is." 

^' La ! sir, how is one to find out 
these things in a moment — ^besides, 
they ain't quite proper subjects for a 
young lady to be concerned with," 
replid Louise, keeping her bashful 
cheek from the sight of the baron with 
her enormous fan. 

" Then, madam, point with that 
lovely finger of yours, and I shall make 
the dfiscovery myself." 

Louise pointed, as required, to the 
gallery, along which, at that moment, 
her quick eye caught the step of Miss 
Lucretia; and the baron, going to the 
door, gave directions to his attendants 
to seize the lady, and carry her with- 
out loss of time to the Pare d' Amour, 
a hotel on the outskirts of Tours. He 
then closed the door, and listened— no 



109- 

less than did Louise— to the execution 
of his commands. 

" There, madam," he said, as the 
scuffle of seizure and a very faint 
scream were heard, "they've got her I 
Your pure presence shall never more 
be polluted by her society. A naughty 
man old De Bouillon, and unaccus- 
tomed to the strict morality of France. 
Adieu ! " 

*^Adieu, sir!" said Louise ; but there 
was a tone in her voice, or something 
in her manner, that called the atten- 
tion of her visitor. He went up ta 
her, laid his hand upon the fan, and 
revealed before him, beautiful from 
alarm and indignation, was the face 
of Louise de Bouillon !" So, madam 1 
this was an excellent device, but I 
have more assistance at hand. Ho ! 
Pierre ! Francois ! " he began to call. 
" I have another carriage in the yard 
— ^you sha'nt escape me so." 

^* Stop, sir I " exclaimed Louise^ 
and placed herself between him and 
the door. " These are not the arts of 
wooing we are used to in England. I 
expected more softness and persua- 
sion." 

" Alas, madam, 'tis only the short- 
ness of the opportunity that prevents 
me from making a thousand protes- 
tations. But, after all, what is the use 
of them? Ho! Fran<?ois!" 

As he said this, he approached nearer 
to Louise, and even laid his hand upon 
her arm. But with the quickness of 
lightning, she made a dart at the 
diamond-covered hilt of her assailant's 
sword, and pulling it from the sheath, 
stood with the glittering point within 
an inch of the Frenchman's eyes. 

" Back, back ! " she cried, ** or you 
are a dead man — or frog — or monkey 
— or whatever you are I " 

Each of these names was accom- 
panied with a step in advance ; and 
there was too savage a lustre in her 
look to allow the unfortunate baron 
to doubt for a moment that his life 
was in the highest peril. 

*' Madam," he expostulated, " do be 
careful— 'tis sharp as a needle." 

" Back, back ! " she continued, ad- 
vancing with each word upon his re- 
treating steps — ** you thread- paper — 
you doU-at-a- fair— yon stuflfed cock- 
atoo — back, back ! '' And on arriv- 
ing at the bed-room door, she gave 
a prodigiously powerful lunge in 



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.110 Thi Sword of Ho\ 

adraoce, «ad dn>¥6 fcer victim fairly 
into the room, and, with ta exdama* 
tion of pride and triampb, loclced brim 
in. But, exliaoste^ witli tlie ex- 
dtement» rite liad 011I7 time to laj 



a7Wfeoft797. [Jan. 

tlie avrord on tlw tabie, ware tlie key 
tiiree times nwnd tier liead in Mgn of 
▼ietorj, ami fali faintia^ into the 
arme of Cecii Hope, who at ^at mo- 
meat raahed iato tke room. 



OHAFTEBTL 



The oercmony in tlie fawn-hall 
passed off with the greatest 6cl&i\ 
and the dinner was probably tbonght 
the finest part of the day^s entertain- 
ment by all but the newly re-estab- 
lished noble himself. Flashed witli 
the glories of the proceeding, and also 
with the wine he had swallowed to 
bis own liealth and happiness, he 
sallied forth with his friends of the 
preceding^ day — except, of coarse, tiie 
Baron BeaoTilliers— and, as he him- 
self expressed it, was awake for aay- 
thing, np to any larlc. 

** A lark, says my lord?** inqnired 
the Dnke de Vienxchatean. 

**Ay,*' replied the marqnis, "if 
ifs as big as a tarkey, all the better. 
That champaign is excellent tipple, 
and would be cheap at eighty-four 
shillings per dozen.*' 

The French nobles did not quite 
miderstand their companion's phra- 
seology, bnt were qnite willing to jdfn 
him in any extraragance. 

" What shall we do 7 " cried one ; 
*• shall we break open the jail? ** 

•* Ko," said De Bonillon : " hang it 1 
that's a seriooe matter. But 111 tell 
yon what, IVe no objection to knodc 
down a charley." 

" No, no I let's go to Rouge et Nofr^* 

** Boys, boys I •* at last exclaimed 
the Vicomte de Lanoy, "III tell 
you what we shall do, — Beaoyilliers 
told me that, while we were all en- 
gaged at the dinner, he was going to 
seize a l)eautifal creature, and carry 
her off to the Pare d* Amour.** 

** Wrong, decidedly wrong ! ** said 
pe_Bouilk>n jtt this propotrition. 

innder- 
ool, who 
bc«aty. 
Is name, 
rrgeome^ 
to do as 

Red De 
of that. 



" Why, sir, we shall play as good 
a trick OB Beaarillipn as he designed 
for the ancient gentleman. Let's get 
there before him, and cany her firora 
bim!" 

" Agreed, agreed ! *• 

•' No, no, I most declare off,** said 
the marqais. '"Tis a bad bvsiness 
altogether, and thto would make it 
worse." 

" Bot who is to carry the lady ? " 
inqvired the dnke, without attending 
to the scniples of bis fnend. 

"Toss for it,** snggestcd the ▼!- 
comte. A loais was thrown into tho 
air. '* Heads! heads!'* erred the 
nobleman. *' Tails I ** said De Bonillon. 

"'Tb tails!" exclaimed the ri- 
oomte. "Marqnis, the chance la 
yours— you've won." 

"Oh! have I?" replied the un- 
willing favonrite of fortune; "I've 
won, have I?" 

" Yon don't seem overpleased with 
yonrgood luck," said the dnke ; " give 
me your chance,' and I shall knovr 
how to make better use of it" 

" No, gentleuMn, 111 manage this 
affair myself." 

" Come on, then ! — wre lajoie I "— - 
and with great joviality they pursned 
their way to the Pare d'Amour. 

But they had been preceded in their 
jonmey to that hostelry by Lonise, 
attended by Cecil Hope and Mr 
Cocker. By the administration of a 
dooceur to the waiter, they obtained 
an entree to the apartment designed 
for the baron and his prey, and had 
scarcely time to ensconce themselves 
behind the window-cortaii, when 
Miss Lncretia was escorted into the 
room. There were no symptoms cC 
any violent resistance to her captors 
having been offered, and she took her 
seat en the sofh withoat any per* 
ceptible alann. 

" WeB, them> cnrion s p eople, them 
French ! " she solfloqiiiBed when tiio 
men had left her. "^If that 'ere baros 
fell hi love with a body, cortgnl ie 
say so ffithotft aO tliat rigmaieio 



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iai9.] 



The^S^ford of Hi 



aTiOgofllSr. 



Ill 



abont Mr Ba11ioD*8 behavioar, and 
pnlliDg a body nearly to piecea? 
rm sure if he had axed me in a civil 
way, I woskte^ luiTe laid m>. Bit, 
lawkins ! here lie cones.** 

So saying, she enveloped herse^ la 
LoQiee** shawl, and palled Looise** 
loaael Cirther on her face, and pre- 
pared to eaact the part of aa oflTeaded, 
yes aotaltogelher aDforpTieg beaaty. 
Bot the door, oa beiag slowty opened, 
presented, not the cooateaanoe of the 
aaieii, bat the aaxloas face of Mr 
BaUioa hianelf. The three Frea^ 
aeblea pashed hia forward. *«Go 
OB,** Ihey said; '' mike the best nse of 
yeor eloqaeoee. We will watch here, 
aad guard the deer against Beaa- 
irOfiers himeir/* 

Hie marquis, aew thoroeghly 
a a b e r ed, slowly adiraaced : "" If I 
eaa save this poor creatnre from the 
faeoleaee of those nm^, it wUI be 
weH worth the sofferiag it bas oosl. 
Trast to me, madam,** he said, ia a 
▼ery gentle Toice, to the lady: **I 
wffl aoi^soilR' yea to be imnlted while 
I live. Come with me, amdam, aad 
yoa sban not be ioterrapted by ever 
a FVeach profligate alive." On look- 
lig chMsly at the still silent lady on 
timaofa, he was starUed at reeog- 
•islag a dress with which he was well 
aeqaainted. 

^ In the aame of heaven!** besaid, 
**I adjare yon to tell aie who yoa are. 
▲re yoa— is it possible can yoa be 
sayLoaise!** 

"^ No, Mr Bamon," replied Miss 
Uacrecia, lifting op the veii,.and tmm- 
iog round to the trembling old maa« 
^^Aad I BMHt say I'm considerably 
s f p i i se d to ind yea in a sitaation 
Ike this.** 

** And yoa, madam juai'ielf bow 
aaasa yoa here?** 

** A voang gentismaa— nobleman, 
I ahoald sa^— ran off with me hers, 
aad I expected hia 



"And Lonise ?" inquired tbe father, 
in an agitated voice — " when did yoa 
leave her ? Ob ! my folly to let her 
a moment oot of my sight ! — to reject 
Cecil Hope t — to bedtsen myself in 
this ridicokms fashion I Where, oh 
where is I^ionise?** 

'' Here, sir,** exclaimed that bidy, 
coming forward from b^nd the win- 
dow-certain. 

** Aad safe? Ah ! but I need not 
a^. I see two honest Boglishmeo 
by your side." 

^ And one of tiiem, sir, says he 11 
never leave it,** said Louise. 

*^ Stop a moment,** replied tbe mar- 
quis. *' Ho t gentlemen, oome in.** 

At his request his companions en- 
tered the room. 

^Gentlemen,** said the marquis, 
^^ wheif I determined to reclaim my 
ihther*s sword, I expected to find it 
bright as Bayard*8, and unstained with 
infamy or dishonour. When I wished 
to resume my title, I hoped to find it 
a sign of the heroic virtues of my 
ancestors, bat not a doak for false- 
hood and vice. I warn yon, sira, 
yoor proceedings will be fatal to your 
order, and to your country. For my- 
self, I care not for this sword,**— he 
threw it on the ground — ^Hhis filagree 
I despise,**— he took off his star and 
ribboB— ^* aad I advise you to leave 
this chamber as fast as yoa can find 
it convenient.** 

The French nobles obeyed. 

" Here, Cocker 1 off with aU this 
silk and satin ; get me my gaiters 
and fiaxen wig ; and, please Heaven, 
one week will see us hi the little room 
above the warehouse.** 

** Preparing, sir, to move into Hert- 
fordshire ? ** inquired Louise, leaning 
oa Cecilys arm. 

**Ay, my child; aad, in remem- 
brance of this adveature, we shall 
hang up among the pictures in the 



Tna SiPOBD <w Hohoub.** 



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112 



Memoirs o/Kirkaldy of Grange. 



[Jan. 



MEMOIRS OF KIRKALDT OF ORANGE. 



It must be allowed that a perusal 
of Scottish history betrays more ano- 
malies than are to be fonnd in the 
character of almost any other people. 
It is not without reason that onr 
southern neighbours complain of the 
difficulty of thoroughly understanding 
onr national idiosyncrasy. At one 
time we appear to be the most peace- 
able race upon the surface of the 
earth— quiet, patient, and enduring; 
stubborn, perhaps, if interfered with, 
but, if let alone, in no way anxious 
to pick a quarrel. Take us in another 
mood, and gunpowder is not more 
inflammable. We are ready to go 
to the death, for a cause about which 
an Englishman would not trouble 
himself; and amongst ourselves, we 
divide into factions, debate, squabble, 
and fight with an inveteracy far more 
than commensurate with the impor- 
tance of the quarrel. Sometimes we 
seem to have no romance ; at other 
times we are perfect Quixotes. The 
amalgamated blood of the Saxon 
and the Celt seems, even in its union, 
to display the characteristics of either 
race. We rush into extremes : one 
day we appear over-cautions, and on 
the next, the perfervidum ingeniwn 
Scotorum prevails. 

If these remarks be true as applied 
to the present times, they become 
still more conspicuous when we 
regard the troublous days of our 
ancestors. At one era, as in the reign 
of David I., we find the Scottish 
nation engaged, heart and soul, in 
one peculiar phase of religions excite- 
ment. Cathedrals and abbeys are 
starting up in every town. All that 
infant art can do— and yet, why call 
it infant, since, in architecture at least, 
it has never reached a higher matu- 
rity ? — is lavished upon the structure 
of our fanes. Melrose, and Jedburgh, 
and Ilolyrood, and a hundred more 
magnificent edifices, rise up like ex- 
halations throughout a poor and 
barren country ; the people are proud 
in their faith, and perhaps even 
prouder in the actual splendour of 
their altars. A few centuries roll by. 



and we find the same nation deliber- 
ately undoing and demolishing the 
works of their forefathers. Hewn 
stone and carved cornices, tracery, 
mnllions, and buttresses, have now 
become abominations in their sight. 
Not only must the relics of the saints 
be scattered to the winds of heaven, 
and their images ground into dust, 
but every church in which these were 
deposited or displayed, must be dis- 
mantled as the receptacle of pollntion. 
The hammer swings again, but not 
with the same pious purpose as of 
yore. Once it was used to build; 
now it is heaved io destroy. Aisle 
and archway echo to the thnnder of 
its strokes, and, amidst a roar of icono« 
clastic wrath, the venerable edifice 
goes down. Another short lapse of 
time, and we are lamenting the vio- 
lence of the past, and saving to prop, 
patch up, and rebuild what little rem- 
nant has been spared of the older 
works of devotion. 

The same anomalies will be fonnd 
if we turn from the ecclesiastical to 
the political picture. Sometimes 
there is a spurit of loyalty manifested, 
for which it would be difficult to find 
a parallel. The whole nation gathers 
round the person of James IV. ; and 
earl and yeoman, lord and peasant, 
chief and vassal, lay down their lives 
at Flodden for their king. His suc- 
cessor James V., in no respect un- 
worthy of his crown, dies of a broken 
heart, deserted by his peers and their 
retainers. The unfortunate Mary, 
welcomed to her country with ac- 
clamation, is made the victim of the 
basest intrigues, and forced to seek 
shelter, and find death in the domi- 
nions of her treacherous enemy. 
The divine right, in its widest mean- 
ing and acceptation, is formally recog- 
nised by the Scottish estates as th» 
attribute of James VII. ; three years 
afterwards, a new convention is 
prompt to recognise an alien. Half 
a century fiirther on, we are found 
offering the gage of battle to England 
in support of the exiled family. 

This singular variety of mood, of 



Memoira and Adventures of Sir Wm. Kvrhdldy of Orange, Knight, <frc. <tc. Wm. 
Blackwood & Sovs, Edinbui^h and London. 



Digitized by VjOOQIC 



1649.] 



Memoirs ofKirkahfy of Orange. 



which the foregoing are a few in- 
stances, is no doubt partly attribut- 
able to the peculiar relationship which 
existed between the crown and the 
principal nobilitj. The latter were 
not cousins by courtesy only — thffy 
were intimately connected with the 
royal family, and some of them were 
near the succession. Hence arose 
jealousy amongst themselves, a sys- 
tem of feud and intrigue, which was 
perpetuated for centuries, and a con- 
stant eflbrt, on the part of one or other 
of the conflicting magnates, to gain 
possession and keep custody of the 
royal person, whenever minority or 
weakness appeared to favour the 
attempt. But we cannot help think- 
ing, that the disposition of the people 
o^t also to be taken into account. 
Fierce when thwarted, and with a 
m^nory keenly retentive of injury, 
the Scotsman is in reality a much 
more impulsive being than his south- 
em neighbour. His sense of justice 
and ord^ is not so strongl^r developed, 
but his passion glows with a fire all 
the more intense because to outward 
appearance it is smothered. His 
ioeas of social duty are different from 
those of the Englishman. Kindred 
is a closer tie — ^Identit^ of name and 
funily is a bond of smgular union. 
Clanship, in the broad acceptation of 
the word, has died out for all practical 
purposes; chieftainship is still are- 
cognised and a living principle. The 
feudal times, though gone, have left 
their traces on the national character. 
Little as baronial sway, too often 
tantamount to sheer oppression, can 
have contributed towards the happi- 
ness of the people, we still recur to 
the history of these troublous days 
with a relish and fondness which can 
hardly be explained, save through 
some undefined and subtle sympathy of 
mheritance. Though the objects for 
which they contended are now mere 
phantoms of speculation we vet con- 
tinue to fytl and to speak as if we were 
partisans of the cause of our ancestors, 
and to contest old points with as much 
ardour as though they were new ones 
of living interest to ourselves. 

We have been led into this strain of 
thought by the perusal of a work, 
strictly auUientic as a history, and yet 
as absorbing in interest as the most 
coloured and glowing romance. Sir 

VOL. LXV. — ^NO. CCCXCIX. 



113 

William Kirkaldy of Grange, the 
subject of these Memoirs, played a 
most conspicuous part iu the long and 
intricate struggles which convulsed 
Scotland, from the death of James Y. 
until the latter part of the reign of 
Queen Mary. Foremost in battle 
and in councU, we find his name pro- 
minently connected with everv leading 
event of the period, and his influence 
and example held in higher estimation 
than those of noblemen who were 
greatly his superiors in rank, following, 
and fortune. In fact, Kirkaldy 
achieved, by his own talent and in- 
domitable valour, a higher reputation, 
and exercised, for a time, a greater in- 
fluence over the destinies of the nation, 
than was ever before possessed by a 
private Scottish gentleman, with the 
glorious exception of Wallace. In an 
age when the sword was the sole 
arbiter of public contest and of private 
quarrel, it was a proud distinction to 
be reputed, not only at home but 
abroad — ^not only by the voice of Scot- 
land, but by that of England and 
France — the best and bravest soldier, 
and the most accomplished cavalier 
of his time. Mixed up in the pages 
of general history, too often turbidly 
and incoherently written, the Knight 
of Grange may not be estimated, in 
the scale of importance, at the level 
of such personages as the subtle Moray, 
or the vindictive and treacherous 
Morton : viewed as an individual, 
through the medium of these truthful 
and most fascinating memoirs, he will 
be found at least their equal as a 
leader and a politician, and far their 
superior as a generous and heroic man. 
His father, Sir James Kirkaldy, 
was a person of no mean family or 
reputation. He occupied, for a consi- 
derable time, the office of Lord High 
Treasurer of Scotland, and, according 
to our author — 

^ Eigoyed, in a very high degree, the 
fkToor and confidence of King James V.; 
and though innumerable efforts were 
made by his mortal foe Cardinal Beatonn, 
and others, to bring him into disgrace as 
a promoter of the Reformation, they all 
proved ineffectual, and the wary old baron 
maintained his influence to the last."* 

Old Sir James seems to have been 
one of those individuals with whom it 
is neither safe nor pleasant to differ 
in opinion. According to his brother- 



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114 



ofKiriaU^ifQnm^ 



[Jav. 



in-law, Sir James Mdville of HalhOI, 
he was ** a stoute roan^ who always 
offered, bj single com bate, and al point 
of the sword, to maiDtain whatever he 
said;'* a te8tiaK>aia& whieli, we ob- 
serve, bas been isost fitlj selected as 
tbe motto of ibis book, the sod having 
been quite as moch addicted to the 
wager of battle as the father; nor, 
though a strenooas supporter of the 
BeformatioD, does he appear to have 
imbibed much of that meekness which 
is inccdcated bj holj writ. He was 
not the sort of man whom John Bright 
would have selected to second a motkm 
at a Peace Congress; indeed, the 
mere sight of him would have caused 
the voice of EUhn Burritt to subside 
into a quaver of dismaj. Cardinal 
Beatonn, that proud and Ucemtions 
prelate, to whoee tragical end we shall 
presently have occasion to advert, 
was the personal and bitter enemy 
of the Treasurer, as he was of every 
other independent Scotsman who would 
not truckle to his power. But James 
v., though at times too facile, would 
not allow himself to be persuaded 
into so daugerons an act as coun- 
tenancing prosecutions for heresy 
against any of his martial subjects ; 
and, so long as he lived, the over- 
weening bigotiy and arrogance of the 
priesthood were held in check. But 
other troubles brought the good king 
to an untimely end. James had 
mortally offended some of his tur- 
bulent nobles, bj causing the au- 
thority of the law to be vindicated 
without respect to rank or person. 
He had deservedly won for him- 
self the title of King of the Com- 
mons ; and was, in fact, even in that 
early age, bent upon a thorough re- 
form of the abuses of the feudal sys- 
tem. But be had proud, jealous, and 
stubborn men to deal with. They 
saw, not without apprehension for 
their own fate, that title and birth 
were no longer accepted as palliatives 
of sedition and crime; that the in- 
roads, disturbances, and harryings 
which they and their fathers had 
practised, were now regarded with 
detestation by the crown, and threat- 
ened with merited punishment. Some 
strong but necessary examples made 
them quail for their fbture supre- 
macy, and discontent soon ripe * 
into something like absolute trea 
Add to this, that for a long time 



nobilitj of Scotland had fixed a co- 
vetous eye vpoo the great pos- 
sessions of thecbmneh. In no conn- 
try of Europe, oonsidering its ex- 
tent and comparative wealth, was 
the diurch better endowed than in 
Scotland ; and the endeavours of the 
monks, who, with all their faults, 
were not blind to the advantages de- 
rivable from the arts of peace, had 
greatly raised theur property in point 
of value. The confiscations which 
had taken place in Protestantised 
England, whereof Wobnm Abbey 
may be dted as a notable ex- 
ample, had aitmsed to the fallest ex- 
tent the cupidity of the rapaeioos 
nobles. They longed to see the day 
when, unsupported by the regal 
power, the church lands in Scotland 
could be annexed by each iron-handed 
baron to his own domain ; when, at 
the head of their armed and dissolute 
jackmen, they could oust the feeble 
possessors of the soil fhmi the heri- 
tages they had so long enjoyed as a 
corporation, and enrich themselves by 
plundering the consecrated stores of 
the abbeys. These were the feelings 
and desires which led most of them 
to lend a willing ear to the preaching 
of the fathers of the Reformation. 
They were desirous, not only of less- 
ening the royal authority, but of 
transferring the whole property of the 
clergy to themselves ; and this double 
object led to a combination which 
resulted in the passive defeat of the 
Scottish array at Solway Moss. 

Poor King James could not bear 
up against the shock of this shameful 
desertion. Mr Tytler thus describes 
his latter moments : — 

'' When in this state, intelligeDce was 
brought him that his queen had given 
bh-th to a daughter. At another time 
it would have been happy news; but 
DOW, it seemed to the poor monarch 
the last drop of bitterness which was 
reserred for him. Both his sons were 
dead. Had this child been a boy, a ray 
of hope, he seemed to feel, might yethave 
visited his heart; he reeeiTed the messen- 
ger and was informed of the event with- 
out welcome or almost recognition; but 
wandering back in his thoughts to the 
time when the daughter pf Bruce brought 
to his ancestor the dowry of the king- 
dom, observed with melancholy emphasis. 



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M&ttdtn Of SxHnUbf of ChrwtffBm 



iiM MMurck itretdied ovt »• 
kMid fMT Ikem to kiat; and fcgsrdiag 
tliMB f<Mr tMM BOB«iiU witk a look of 
great aweetntaa aod placidity, tiumtd 
Eimaelf apon the pillow and expired. Ho 
died 13th December 1542, in the thirty- 
frat year of his age, and the twenty-ninth 
of his reign; leaving an only daaghter, 
Hary, an infant of six days old, who 
Moeeeded to the crown." 

Amongst those who stood aronnd 
tlutt memomble deathbed were the 
Lord High Treasurer, joang William 
Kirkaldj his son, and Cardinal Bea- 
toon. There was peace for a moment 
over the bodj of the anointed dead \ 

Bat even the death of a king makes 
ft light impression on this basj and 
iDtrigning world. The straggle for 
masteiT now commenced in right ear- 
nest — fer the only wall which had 
bhherto separated the contending fac- 
tions of the nobilitj and the clergy 
had given way. Beatonn and Arran 
were both candidates for the regency, 
which the latter succeeded in gaining; 
ftnd, after a temporary alienation, these 
two combined against an inflncnce 
which began to show itself in a threat- 
enin|r form. Henry VIII. of England 
considered this an excellent opporta- 
nity for carrying oat those designs 
against the independence of the north- 
em eonntry, which had been entertain- 
ed by several of his predecessors ; and 
for that purpose he proposed to nego- 
tiate a marriage between his son 
Edward and the Princess Mary. Snch 
an alliance was of course decidedly 
opposed to the views of the Catholic 
party in Scotland, and, moreover, was 
calculated to excite the utmost jealousy 
of the Scottish people, who well under- 
stood the true but recondite motive of 
the proposal. So long as Beatoun, 
whose mterest was identified with 
that of France, existed, Henry was 
fnlty aware that his scheme never could 
be carried into execution ; and ac- 
cordingly, with that entire want of 
principle which he exhibited on every 
occasion, he took advantage of their 
position to tamper with the Scottish 
barons who had been made prisoners 
It Solway Moss. In this he so far 
ancceeded, that a regular conspiracy 
was entered into for the destruction of 
the cardinal, and only defeated by his 
extreme sagacity and caution. It 
will be seen hereafter that the cardi- 
Bal did not fall a dctira to this das- 



116 

tftittty English plot, hoi to private 
revenge, do doubt augmented and !■• 
flamed by the eonsideratioD of hie 
arrogance and cruelty. 

Beatoun, one of the most able and 
also dissolute men of his day, was a 
younger son of the Laird of Balfour — 
yet had, notwithstanding every disad* 
vantage, contrived very early to attam 
his high positioa. He was hated, not 
only by the nobility, hot by the lesser 
borons, from whose own ranks be had 
risen, on account of his intolerabto 
pride, his rapacity, and the vnscmpu- 
loos manner in which he chose to exer- 
cise hia power. Among the barons of 
Fife, always a disnntt^ and wrang- 
ling county, he had few adherents : 
and with the Kirkaldys, and their re* 
latives, the Melvilles, he had an espe- ^ 
eial quarrel Shortly after the death ' 
of James, the Treasurer was dismissed 
from hia office, an affront which the 
**8toiit6 man" waa notlikdy to forget; 
sod hia son, then a mere youth, seems 
to have participated in bis foelings. 
Bat the croelty of Beatonn was at 
least the nominal cause which led to 
his destruction. Wisbart, the famoos 
Reforming preadier, had fallen into 
the hands of the cardinal, and was 
confined in his castle of St Andrews, 
of which our author gives ns the fol- 
lowing faithful sketch : — 

^ On the rocky shore, to tho northward 
of the venerable city of St Andrewi, 
stand the ruins of the ancient Episcopal 
palace, in other years the residence of the 
primates of Scotland. Those weather- 
beaten remains, now pointed ont to risit- 
ors by the ciceroni of the plaoe, present 
only the fhigments of an edifice erected 
by Archbishop Hamilton, the snceesaor of 
Cardinal Beatonn, and are ooBewhat io 
the style of an antique Scottish BSBor- 
hoQse; hot very different was the aspect 
of that Tast bat^tille which had the prood 
cardinal for lord, and contained within 
its massive walls all the apportensneea 
requisite for ecclesiastical tyranny, epicu- 
rean luxury, lordly grandeur, and military 
defence — at once a fortress, a monastery, 
an inquisition, and a palace. 

*Tbe sea-mews and corraoranta scream- 
ing among the wave-beaten rocks and 
luu« walls BOW cmBUing on that bleak 
promoatoryy and echoing only to drench- 
iag sarfy as it rolla «p tho rough shelviag 
shore, impoii a pectiliarly desolate effeot 
to the grassy ruins, worn with the blaata 
of the German Ocean, gray with tha 
storms of winter, and the damp mistr of 



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116 



Memoirs ofKhrkaUty of Grange, 



[Jan. 



Ifarch and April—an effect that is greatly 
increased by the Tenerable aspect of the 
dark and old ecclesiastical city to the 
sonthwardy decaying, deserted, isolated, 
and forgotten, with its magnificent cathe- 
dral, once one of the finest gothio stmc- 
tures in the world, bnt now, shattered by 
the hands of man and time, passing rapid- 
ly away. Of the grand spire which arose 
fVom Uie cross, and of its five lofty towers, 
little more than the foundations can now 
be traced, while a wilderness of ruins on 
every hand attest the departed splendours 
of St Andrews." 

George Wishart, the nnhappj 
preacher, was burned before the Castle 
on the 28th March 1545, under cir- 
cumstances of pecnliar barbarity. We 
refer to the book for a proper descrip- 
tion of the death-scene of the Martyr, 
^ whose sufferings were calmly wit- 
^nessed by the ruthless and impla- 
cable Cardinal. Bnt the avenger 
of blood was at hand, in the per- 
son of Norman Leslie, Master of 
Rothes. This young man, who was 
of a most fiery and intractable spi- 
rit, had some personal dispute with 
the cardinal, whom he accused of 
having attempted to defraud him of 
an estate. High words followed, and 
Norman rode off in wrath to the house 
of his uncle, John Leslie of Parkhill, 
a moody and determined Reformer, 
who had already vowed bloody ven- 
geance for the execution of the unfor- 
tunate Wishart. Finding him apt for 
any enterprise, Norman instantly 
despatched messengers to the Kirk- 
aldvs of Grange, the Melvilles of Raith 
and Cambee, and to Carmichael of 
Kilmadie, desiring them to meet for 
an enterprise of ffreat weight and im- 
portance; and the summons having 
been responded to, these few men 
determined to rid the country of one 
whom they considered a murderer and 
an oppressor. 

The manner in which this act of 
terrible retribution was executed Is 
too well known to the student of his- 
tory to require repetition. Sufilce it to 
say that, by a coup-de-main^ sixteen 
armed men made themselves masters 
of the castle of St Andrews, over- 
powered and dispersed the retainers 
of the cardinal, and quenched the 
existence of that haughty prelate in 
his blood. William Kbkaldy was not 
the slayer, but, as an accomplice, he 
most l>ear whatever load of odium is 



cast upon the perpetrators of the deed. 
We cannot help thinking that our 
author exhibits an unnecessary degree 
of horror in this instance. Far be it 
from us to palliate bloodshed, in any 
age or under any nrovocation : neither 
do we agree with John Knox, that 
the extermination of Beatoun was a 
^* godly fact.** But we doubt whether 
it can be called a murder. In the 
first place, old Kirkaldy knew, on the 
authority of James Y., that a list of 
three hundred and sixty names, in- 
cluding his own and those of his most 
immediate Mends, had been made out 
by the cardinal, as a catalogue of 
victims who were to be burned for 
heresy. This contemplated atrocity, 
far worse than the massacre of St 
Bartholomew, might not, indeed, have 
been carried into effect, even on ac- 
count of its magnitude ; but the mere 
knowledge that it had been planned, 
was enough to justify the Khiuddys, 
and those marked out for impeach- 
ment, in considering Beatoun as their 
mortal foe. That the cardinal never 
departed from his bloody design, is 
apparent from the fact, that, afl^r his 
death, a paper was found in his reposi- 
tories, oraaining that *^ Norman Leslie, 
sheriff of Fife, John Leslie, father^s 
brother to Norman, the Lairds of 
Grange, eider and younger^ Sir James 
Learmonth of Dairsie, and the Laird 
of Raith, should either have been slain 
or else taken.** The law at that period 
could afford no security against such 
a design, so that Beatoun*s assassina- 
tion may have been an act of neces- 
sary self-defence, which it would be 
extremely difficult to blame. As to 
the sacrilege, we cannot regard that 
as an aggravation. If a prelate of the 
Roman Church, like Beatoun, chose 
to make himself notorious to the world 
by the number and scandal of his pro- 
fligacies ; if, with a carnality and dis- 
regard of appearances not often exhi- 
bited by laymen, he turned his palace 
into a seraglio; and if his mistress 
was actually suiprised, at the time of 
the attack, in the act of escaping frx>m 
his bedchamber, — great allowance 
must be made for the obtuseness of 
the men who could not understand 
the relevancy of the plea of priesthood 
which ho offered, in order that his 
holy calling might shield him from 
secular consequences. But further, is 



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Memoirs qfKirkdIdy of Grange, 



the hie of Wishart to go for nothing? 
Setting the natnral inflaences of 
bigotiy aside, and with every consi- 
deration for the zeal which conld^ 
hnrry even so good a man as Sir 
Thomas More to express, in words 
at least, a desire to see the faggot 
and the stake in fall operation — 
what shall we say to the indi- 
Tidaal who coald calmly issue hia 
infernal orders, and, in the full pomp 
of ecclesiastical vanity, become a 
pleased spectator of the sufferings of 
ft human being, undergoing •the roost 
hideous of all imaginable deaths ? 
Tknl^ this, that the brute deserved to 
die in return; and that we, at all 
events, shall not stigmatise those who 
killed him as guilty of murder. Poor 
old Sharpe was murdered, if ever man 
was, in a hideous and atrocious man- 
ner ; but as for Beatoun, he deserved 
to die, and his death was invested 
with a sort of judicial sanction, hav- 
ing been perpetrated in presence of 
the sheriff of the bounds. 

The tidings of this act of vengeance 
spread, not only through Scotland,^ 
but through Europe, like wildfire. 
According as men differed in religious 
faith, they spoke of it either with 
horror or exultation. Even the most 
moderate of the reforming party were 
alow to blame the deed which freed 
them from a bloody persecutor ; and 
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, the 
witty and satirical scholar, did not 
characterise it more severely than as 
expressed in the following verses : — 

** Am for Ui« eardinftl, I grant 

He iPM the man we well might want ; 

Qod will foigive it soon. 
Bat of a troth, the tooth to say. 
Although the loon he well away, 

The deed WM/ouUy done.'' 

Meanwhile the conspirators had con- 
ceived the daring scheme of holding 
the castle of St Andrews against all 
comers, and of setting the authority 
of the regent at defiance. They cal- 
culated upon receiving support from 
England, in case France thought fit 
to mterfere ; and perhaps they ima- 
gined that a steady resistance on theur 
part might excite a general insur- 
rection in Scotland. Besides this, 
they had retained in custody the son 
and heir of the Regent Arran, whom 
they had found in the castle, and who 
was a valuable hostage in their hands. 



117 

The force they could command was 
not great. Amongst others, John 
Knox joined them with his three 
pupils ; several Fife barons espoused 
their cause ; and altogether they mus- 
tered about one hundred and fifty 
armed men. This was a small body, 
but the defences of the place were 
more than usually complete, and they 
were well mnnimented with artillery. 
Accordingly, though formally sum- 
moned, they peremptorily renised to 
surrender. 

John Knox, when he entered the 
castle» was probably under the im- 
pression that he was joining a com- 
pany of men, serious in their deport- 
ment, rigid in their conversation, and 
self-denying in their habits. If so, 
he must very soon have discovered 
his mistake. The young Reforming 
gentry were not one whit more scrupu- 
lous than theur Catholic coevals: 
Norman Leslie, though brave as steel, 
was a thorough- paced desperado; and, 
from the account given by our author 
of the doings at St Andrews, it may 
easily be understood how uncongenifd 
such quarters must have been to the 
stem and ascetic Reformer. 

Arran had probably no intention of 
pushing matters to extremity, though 
compelled, for appearance* sake, to 
invest the fortress. After a siege of 
three weeks it remained unreduced ; 
and a pestilence which broke out in 
the town of St Andrews, afforded the 
regent a pretext for agreeing to an 
armistice. Hitherto the conspirators 
had received the countenance and sup- 
port of Henry VIII., who remitted 
them large sums from time to time, 
and promised even more active assis- 
tance. But this never arrived. Death 
at last put a stop to the bereavements 
of this unconscionable widower ; and 
thereupon the French court de- 
spatched a fleet of one- and- twenty 
vessels of war, under the command of 
Leon Strozsio— a famous Florentine 
noble, who had risen in the Order of 
the Hospital to the rank of Prior of 
Capua — for the purpose of reducing 
the stubborn stronghold of heresy. 
Strozzio^s name was so well known as 
that of a most skilful commander and 
tactician, and the weight of the ord- 
nance he brought with him was so 
great, that the besieged had no hope 
of escaping this time ; yet, on being 



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118 

flommoned, Uiej replied, with Um most 
VBdaatitad braverj, that they would 
defend Ihe castie against the united 
powera of Scotland, Eegland, and 
France. With such resoKite ebarae- 
tere as these, it was no use to parley 
fortlier; and the Prior aceordin^^x 
set about his task with a dexterit/ 
which pnt to ahanie the feeble tactics 
of Arran. 



Mtmain ^JBkMd^ qfOrtmge. 



[Jam 



'' Bjr sea and land the aiego w 
with great fury. From the ramparts of 
the Abbey Church, from the college, and 
other places in the adjoining streets, the 
French and Scottish cannoneers main- 
tained a perpetual cannonade upon the 
castle. Thc«e eoldiefB who manned the 
steeples and 8t Sstrador's tower occupied 
such an elevation, that» by depresang 
tiieir cannon, they i^ot down into the 
inner quadrangle of the castle, the pave- 
ment of which oould be seen dabbled 
with the blood of the garrison ; and, to 
aggravate the increasing distress of the 
latter, the pestilence found its way among 
them — many died, and all were dismayed. 
Walter Melville, one of their bravest 
leaders, fell deadly sick ; while watching, 
warding, and scanty fere, were rapidly 
wearing out ttie rest; sikI John Knox 
dinned coutimiaUy in theirears, that their 
present perils were the just reward of 
their former oomipt lives and lioentious- 
ness, and ndianoe on England nther than 
Heaven. 

'' ' For the first twenty days of this siege,* 
ssdd he, 'ye prospered bravely: but 
when ye triumphed at your victory, I 
lamented, and ever said that ye saw not 
what I saw. When ye boasted of the 
^ckneae of yonr walls, I said they would 
be but as egg-shells : when ye vaunted, 
England will rescue us — I said, ye shall 
not see it; but ye iftiall be ddivered into 
your enemies* hands, aad esined afer off 
Into a stmoge oountiy.' 

" This gloou^ prophe^ing was but cold 
oomfort for those whom his precepts and 
exhortations had uigod to rebellion, to 
outlawry, and to bloodshed; but their 
affiiirs were fest approaching a crisis." 

If John Knox showed little jodg- 
uent in adopting this tone of vatict* 
nation, he is, at all events, entitled to 
flome credit for his courage — since 
Norman Leslie poeeessed a temper 
which it was rather dangerons to 
aggravate^ and sMwt sometimes have 
been sorely tempted to toss theiiQeni- 
ious Refiinner into the aea. 

'^"*''i ffairieoa Anally aorrmdered te 
^krouio, bat aoi until battla- 



ment and wall had been breached, 
and an escalade rendered practicable. 

The prisoners, iacluding Williaa 
^irkaldy, were conveyed feo France^ 
and there subjected to treatment 
which varied according to their sta- 
tion. Those of knightly rank weso 
incarcerated in separate fortresses; 
the remainder were chained to oars 
in the galleys on the Loire. John 
Elnox was one of those who wereforoed 
to undergo this ignominious punish- 
ment ; and we quite agree with oar 
author in holding that, '* it is not pro- 
bable, that the lash of the tax-master 
increased his goodwill towards 
popery." 

William KIrkaldy was shut up in 
the great castle of Mont Saint Michel, 
alon^ with Norman Leslie, his uncle 
of Parkhill, and Peter Carmichael of 
Kilmadie. But, however strong the 
fortress, it was imprudent in their 
gaolers to lodge four such fiery spirita 
together. Tl^y resolved to break 
prison ; and did so, having, by an in- 
genious mse, succeeded in overpower- 
ing the garrison, and, after some vicis- 
situdes and wanderings, made good 
their escape to England. 

After this event there is a blank of 
some years, during which we hear 
little of Kirkaldy. It is, however, an 
important period in northern histoiy, 
for it includes the battle of Pinkie^ 
the removal of the child, Qne^ Maiy, 
to France, and ker betrothment to tht 
Daupliin. Kirkaldy seems not te 
have arrived in England until the 
death of Edward VI, when the Bo- 
maoi{$t party attained a temporary 
ascendency. We next find bim in 
the service of Henry II. of France, 
engaged* in the wars between that 
monarch and the Emperor Charles Y. 
In tliette campaigns, says our author, 
by his bravery and coodoct, he eoon 
attained that eminent distinction and 
reputation, as a skilfnl and gallant 
soldier, which ceased only with his lifb. 

Kirkaldy was not the only member 
of the stout garrison of St Andrews 
who fbnnd employment in the French 
service. Singularly enough, Norman 
Leslie, the h^d of the conspiratom, 
had also a comniuid, and was in high 
fiivonr with the famons ConstaUe 
Anne de Montmorencie. His death, 
which occonvd the day before the 
battle of Eeuti, is thus graphicaUr 



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Mtm^in ofKiHtakfy^Gnm^t. 



119 



reeo«Bled hi thi Memoirs, and it a 
piotnrs warUi pretenring: — 

** The dmy beibre the b&ttle, the eon- 
•tftble, percetriog hy the rnm n ep u r rcs ef 
the SpMtth tro«ps that Qwries meMt to 
takepoMBWin ajmruin heighU, mhkk 
«l«pe4 kbrapdy 4ewm to th& eaaf or 
bivoaae of the FroMh, eent vp Leelie's 
Soettish laaoee and ether horseaieB te 
ekirmisb with these Imperialiste, aod 
drive them hack. XelTille, his fellow- 
floldier, thas deserihes hin : — In view of 
the whole French army, the Master of 
Rothes, ' with thirty Scotsmen, rode np 
the hill vpen a fair gray gelding. He 
bad, above his coat of black velTet, his 
«oat of ansoor, with two broad white 
creases, oae before aad the ether behiad, 
with sieeves ef Baii« aad a red bonaet 
ii|Ma his bead, whereby he was seen aad 
knows afar off by the ooiMtable, the Duke 
d'Eugliietty and the Prince of Cond^' 
Hiis party was diminished to seven by the 
iiine he came within lance-length o( the 
Imperialists, who were sixty lu number ; 
Irat he burst upon them with the force of 
a thnnderboU, escaping the fire of their 
hand-eaUerins, whkh they discharged 
iaaessantly against bha. He etrack five 
fivm their saddles with his long lauee, 
befun it brake iata eplinterd ; tliea, draw- 
ing bis sword, he nisbed again aad agata 
aaoag them, with the heedless bravery 
Cur which he had ever been distinguished. 
At the critical moment of this unequal 
eoute»t, of seveu Scottish kuighu against 
sixty Spaniards, a troop of Imperial spear- 
sen were hastily riding alung the hill to 
Join in the encounter. By this time 
Leirfte had reeeived several bullets In hts 
perewa ; and, finding himself auable le 
«Mitiaae the oonfiiet Wager, be dashed 
ep«n into bis berse, galluped back U the 
«MslaMe,aad fell, faint aad exbansted* 
frees his saddle, with the bloed pouring 
tlirvugh his butaiidied armour on the 
inrC 

" By Che king's desire he was im- 
snediately borne to the royal tent, where 
the Duke d*Enghien and Prince Luuis of 
Cmd^ remarked to Henry, that * Hector 
oTTroy had not behaved more valiantly 
ibaa Norman Leelie.' 

"^ fle highly did that brave prinoe valne 
Weriann Leslie, and no greaUy <fid hede- 
ptiNW his death, that all the eurvivets«f his 
Soottiidi troop ef iauoes were» «i»4er 
Crichtea of Brun«tane, eetit back to their 
own country, laden irith rewards and 
hoiionrs ; and, by his influeuce, such as 
were ezflas were restored by the regent 
to their estates and possessions, as a re- 
cempen s e for their valour en the frontiers 
•r PlaMders." 

Kirkaldj seems to lisve reinalDed 



ia Fraoee until the mrfoitttmite deaA 
of Henry IL, who wm aecklMCalljr 
killed in a towDafneat. llie estima- 
tion in wbieb he was held, after his 
aobievomenta in the wars of Fieardy, 
maj be learned from the following 
oontemporarj testimony: — 

"I beard Henry 11.,- Melrille 
states, ^potat nato him and say — 
* Yoader is <me ol the most Taliant 
men of oar age.' " And the same 
writer meatioas "^that the proud old 
Moutmorencie, the great constable of 
Fi*auce, treated the exiled Kirkaldy 
with such defereace that be never 
addressed him with his head covered." 
This was high tribute* when paid to 
a soldier then under thirty years of 
age. 

Ten years after he had been con- 
Teyed a prisoner from St Andrews 
on board tb« Frendi galley, Kn-kaldy 
retnrned tu Scotland, but not to repose 
nuder the laurels be had already won. 
Suou after this we find him married, 
in possetisiun, through tlie death of 
his lather, ol' bis aucestral estates, 
the iMtimata friend of Maitland of 
Lethhigton and td' Lord James, afterw 
wards the Regent Moray, and a 
stat^ supporter of the lyirds of the 
Congregation. This period fhniishcs 
to OS oue of the most melancholy 
chapters of ScoUish history. Mary 
ot Guise, the queen-regent, oa the one 
baud, was resolute to put down 
the growing here:*y ; on the other, 
the landed nobility were determined to 
overthrow the Catholic church. Knox, 
who had by this time returned from 
France, aud other Reformed preachers, 
did their ntmost to fan the flame; 
and the result was that mdsDcholr 
work of inccudiarism and ruin, whioi 
men of all parties must bitterly de- 
plore. Then came the French auxi- 
liaries under ITOtsel, wasting the 
land, raragtng the states of the 
Protestants, aud burning their houses 
and TilUges-, a savsj^ mode of war- 
fare, from which Kirttsldy sutfered 
much— Fife baring been pillaged 
from one end to the other— but for 
which he exacted an ample rengesnce. 
The details of ^his partisan warfare 
are given with much mtnutene-t^, but 
great j*pirit, by the chronicler ; and it 
did not cease nntil the death of Mary 

of Gnbje. 

A new Tictks was now to be oflerea 



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120 

to the distempered spirit of the age : 
on the 19th August 1561, the young 
Queen Mary arrived at Leitb. She 
was then in the nineteenth year of 
her age, and endowed with all that 
surpassing loveliness which was at 
once her dower and her misfortune. 
Her arrival was dreaded by the 
preachers, who detested the school in 
which she had been educated, and the 
influence she might be enabled to ex- 
ercise ; but the great mass of the peo- 
ple hailed her coming with acclama- 
tions of unfeigned delight : — 

"Despite the efforts of these dark- 
browed Reformers, agitated by the 
memory of her good and gallant &ther, 
— the king of the poor— by that of her 
thirteen years* absence from them, and 
stirred by that inborn spirit of loyalty 
which the Scots possessed in so intense 
a degree, the people received their beau- 
tiful queen with the utmost enthusiasm, 
and outvied each other in her praise. 

" Her mothei^s dying advice to secure 
the support of the IVotestants, and to 
cultivate the friendship of their leaders, 
particularly 'Maitland of Lethington and 
'Kirkaldy of Orange, whom the Con- 
stable de Montmorencie had named the 
first soldier in Europe/ had been fiuth- 
fiilly conveyed to Mary in France by the 
handsome young Count de Mardguea, the 
Sieur de la Brosse, the Biehop of Amiens, 
and others, who had witnessed the last 
moments of that dearly-loved mother in 
the castle of Ekiinburgh ; and Mary 
treasured that advice in her heart — but 
it availed Her not"* 

Hurried on by her evil destiny, and 
persecuted by intrigues which had 
their origin in the fertile brain of 
Elizabeth, Mary determined to be- 
stow her hand upon Damley, a weak, 
dissolute, and foolish boy, whose only 
recommendations were his birth and 
his personal beauty. Such a mar- 
riage never could, under any circum- 
stances, have proved a happy one. 
At that juncture it was peculiarly 
unfortunate, as it roused the jealousy 
of the house of Hamilton against that 
of Lennox ; and was further bitterly 
opposed by Moray, a cold, calculating, 
selfish man, who concealed, under an 
appearance of zeal for the Protestant 
faith, the most restless, unnatural, 
and insatiable ambition. Talents he 
did possess, and of no ordinary kind : 
above all, he was gifted with the 
faculty of imposing upon men more 



Memoirs ofKitkaUty of Grange. 



[Jan. 



open and honourable than himself. 
l6iox was a mere tool in his hands : 
Kirkaldy of Grange regarded him as 
a pattern of wisdom. For years, this 
straightforward soldier surrendered 
his judgment to the hvpocrite, and, 
unfortunately, did not detect his mis- 
take until the Queen was involved in 
a mesh from which extrication was 
impossible. Moray's first attempt at 
rebellion proved an arrant failure: 
the people refused to join his standard, 
and he, with the other leading insur- 
gents, was compelled to seek refuge 
in England. 

All might have gone well but fof 
the folly of the idiot Damley. No 
long period of domestic intercourse 
was requisite to convince the unfortu- 
nate Queen that she had thrown 
away her affections, and bestowed her 
hand upon an individual totally inca- 
pable of appreciating the one, and 
utterly unworthy of the other. Dam- 
ley was a low-minded, fickle, and 
imperious fool-^ vicious as a colt, ca* 
pricious as a monkey, and stubborn 
as an Andalusian mide. Instead of 
showing the slightest gratitude to his 
wife and mistress, for the preference 
which had raised him firom obscurity 
to a position for which kings were 
suitors, he repaid the vast boon by a 
series of petty and unmanly persecu- 
tions. He aimed to l>e not only 
prince-consort, but master ; and be- 
cause this was denied him, he threw 
himself precipitately into the counsels 
of the enemies of Mary. It was not 
diflicult to sow the seeds of jealousy 
in a mind so well prepared to receive 
them; and Riocio, the Italian secre- 
tary, was marked out by Ruthven 
and Morton, the secret adherents of 
Moray, as the victim. Even this 
scheme, though backed byDaraley^ 
might have miscarried, had not Manr 
been driven into an act which roused, 
while it almost justified, the worst 
fears of the Protestant party in Scot- 
land. This was her adhesion to the 
celebrated Roman Catholic League^ 
arising from a coalition which bad 
been concluded between France, 
Spain, and the Emperor, for the de- 
straction of the Protestant cause in 
Europe. " It was," says Tytler, ** a 
design worthy of the dark and unscru- 
pulous politicians by whom it had 
' been planned— Catherine of Medicii^ 



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Memoirs o/Kirkakfy of Orange. 



md the Duke of Ahra. In the sum- 
mer of the preoedhig year, the qneen- 
dowager of France and Alva had met 
at Bayonne, dnring a progress in 
which she condncted her youthful son 
and soyereign, Charles K., through 
the sonthem proyinces of his king- 
dom; and there, whilst the court was 
dissolved in pleasure, those secret 
conferences were held which issued in 
the resolution that toleration must be 
at an end, and that the only safety 
for the Roman Catholic faith was the 
extermination of its enemies." To 
this document, Mary, at the instiga- 
tion of Ricdo, who was in the interest 
of Rome, and who really possessed 
eonriderable influence with his mis- 
tress, affixed her siffnature. The bond 
was abortive for its ostensible pur- 
poses, but it was the death-warrant 
of the Italian secretary, and ultimately 
of the Queen. 

It is not our province to usurp the 
Ihnctions of the historian, and there- 
fore we pass willingly over that intri- 
cate portion of history which ends with 
the murder of Damley. It was noto- 
riously the work of Bothwell, but not 
his alone, for Lethington, Huntly, 
and Argyle, were also deeply implicat- 
ed. Bi^well now stands forward as a 
prominent character of the age. He 
was a bold, reckless, desperate adven- 
turer, with little to recommend him 
save personal daring, and a fidelity to 
his mistress which hitherto had re- 
mained unshaken. Lethington, in all 
probability, merely regarded him as 
an instilment, but Bothwell had a 
higher aim. With daring ambition, 
he aimed at the possession of the per- 
son of Mary, and actually achieved 
his purpose. 

This unhappy and most unequal 
union roused the ire of the Scottish 
nobles. Even such of them as, hi- 
timidated by the reckless character of 
Bothwell, had sworn to defend him if 
impeached for the slaughter, and had 
recommended him as a fitting match 
lor Mary, now took up arms, under the 
pretext that he had violently abducted 
their sovereign . We fear it cannot be 
asserted with truth that much violence 
was used. . Poor Queen Mary had 
found, by bitter experience, that she 
could hajdly depend upon one of her 
principal subjects. Damley^ Moray, 
Morton, Lethington, and Airan, each 



121 

had betrayed her in turn; every- 
where her steps were surrounded by a 
net of the blackest treachery : not one 
true heart seemed left to beat with 
loyalty for its Queen. Elizabeth, with 
fiendish malice, was goading on her 
subjects to rebellion. The Queen of 
England had determined to ruin the 
power of her sister monarch ; the 
elderly withered spinster detested the 
young and blooming mother. Why, 
tden, should it be matter of great 
marvel to those who know the acnte- 
ness of female sensibility, if, in the 
hour of desertion and desolation, Mary 
should have allowed the weakness ot 
the woman to overcome the pride of 
the sovereign, and should have opposed 
but feeble resistance to the advances 
of the only man who hitherto had 
remained stanch to her cause, and 
whose arm seemed strong enough to 
insure her personal protection ? It is 
not the first time that a daring villain 
has been taken for a hero by a dis- 
tressed and persecuted woman. 

But Bothwell had no fiiends. The 
whole of the nobles were against him ; 
and the Commons, studiously taught 
to believe that Mary was a consenting 
party to Damley's death, were hostile 
to their Queen. Kirkaldy, at the in- 
stance of Moray, came over from his 
patrimonial estates to join the confe- 
derates, and bis first feat in arms was 
an attack on Borthwick Castle, from 
which Bothwell and the Queen escaped 
with the utmost difficulty. Then 
came the action, if such it can be 
called, of Carbeny Hill, when Both- 
well challenged his accusers to single 
combat — a defiance which was accept- 
ed by Lord Undesay of the Byres, but 
prevented from being brought to the 
test of combat by the voluntary 
submission of the Queen. Seeing that 
her forces were utterly inadequate to 
oppose those of the assembled nobles, 
she sent for Sir William Kirkaldy of 
Grange, as a knight in whose honour 
she could thoroughly confide, and, 
after a long interview, agreed to pass 
over to the troops of the confederates, 
provided they wonld again acknow- 
ledge and obey her as their sovereign. 
This being promised, she took her last 
leave of Bothwell, and her first step 
on the road which ultimately brought 
her to Lochleven. 

We must refer our readers to the 



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123 



Mmmmn 0/ KmUUty ef Qrm^. 



[J« 



volame for the spirited eeooant e^ 
these events, and of the expedi- 
tioa UDdertakem bj Kirkaldj in 
imrsait of Bothwell, his narrow es- 
capes, and sea-fights amonf the 
shores of Shetland, and the eaptore 
of the fogicive's vessel on the coast of 
Norway. Neither wiU onr space per- 
mit ns to dwell npoa the particnian 
of the battle of Langside, that last 
aotioB haaarded and lost by the adhe- 
rents of Qneen Marjt jnst after her 
escape from Lochleven, and before 
she quitted the SeoUish soil for ever. 
Bat for the tacti^ of Kirkaldy, the 
iasae<^that fight imght have been dif- 
ferent ; and deeply is it to be regretted 
that, before that time, the eyes of the 
Knight of Grange had not been opened 
to the perfidy of Moray, whom he 
loved loo trustingly, and served far too 
welL It was only after Mary was in 
the power of Elisabeth that he knev 
how mnch she had been betrayed. 

Under the regency of Moray, Kir- 
kaldy held the post of governor of the 
castle of Edinburgh, and retained it 
ontii the fortress went down before the 
battery of the English cannon. 

He was also elected Lord Provost 
of Edinburgh— a dignity which, be- 
fore chat time, had been held by the 
highest nobles of the land, bat whicK 
has since deteriorated under the in- 
flaence of the Union, and bungled acts 
of corporation. He was in this posi- 
tion when he seems first to have per- 
ceived that the queen had been made 
the victim of a deep-laid plot of 
treachery — that Moray was the areh- 
conspirator— and that he, along with 
other men, who wished well both to 
their conntry and their sovereign, had 
been nsed as instruments for his owu 
advancement by the &lse and nnscru- 
polons statesman. The arrest* of 
Chatelheranlt and of Lord Uerries, 
both of them declared partisans of 
Mary, and their commiital to the 
castle of Ediabargh, a measure against 
which Kirkaidy remonstrated, was the 
oariiett act which aroaned ids aaspi- 
cions: — 

" Upon tfaii, Mr John Wood, a pious 
fiooid of the ngwit'4^ ohaenred to JUdb- 
aldy, in the trua spirit of his psrtj; — 

" ' I marvd, tu; thai you aro offended 
at those two being committed to ward; for 
how shall we, who are the defenders of 
my lord regent, get rewards bat by the 
ruin of sabh menl* 



^'Hal' rejoined Eakaidy sternly, 'is 
that your hdEiaesB ? I see nat^t among 

Chut envy, greed, and ambition, whers- 
^ ye will wreck agood regent and ruin 
the realm ! ' — a retort wluch made him 
many enemies among the train of 
Moray.* 

But another event, which occurred 
soon afterwards, left no doubt in the 
mind of Kirkaidy as to the natm% of 
Moray*s policy* Maitlaad of Lethiog- 
ton, unquestionably the ablest Scottish 
diplomatist of his time, but unstable 
and shifting, as diplomatists ofU*n are, 
had aeoi cause to adopt very different 
Wews from those which he formeriy 
pt ofe ased - WhilstMary was in power, 
he had too often thrown the weight of 
his influenoe and councfl against her: 
no sooner was she a fugitive and 
prisoner, than his loyalty appeared to 
revive, it is impossible now to say 
whether he was touched with remorse; 
whether, on refiectiou, he became con- 
vinced that he had not acted the part 
of a patriotic Scotsman ; or whether 
he was merely led^ through excite- 
ment, to launch himself into anew sea 
of polttica] intrigue This, at It^ast, is 
certain, that he applied himself, heart 
and aont to baffle the machinatiotta 
of Etiaatieth, and to deliver tho 
unhappy Mary from the toils ia 
wfaidi ohe was involved. It was 
Lethmgton who conceived the prqjeot 
of reatoring Mary to liberty, *iy bring* 
ing about a msiriage between her and 
the Duke of Norfolk : and the know- 
ledge of his seal on that oceanion in- 
censed Eliiabech to the utmost. That 
vindictive queen, who bad always 
found Moray nMMt ready to obey hor 
wishes, op^ed a negotiation with hint 
for the destruction of his former friend; 
md the regent, mot daring to thwart 
her^ took meaaures to have Maitland 
charged, through a third party, ef 
direct pafticipatiou hi the death of 
Damley, whereupon ^his arrest fol- 
lowed. 

Kirkaidy, whe leved Maitlaad, would 
set allow dus nanannrre to pans mi- 
Dotaoed. He rem e ust rated with the 
regent for taking such a step; bat 
l£ray coldly informed bim, that it was 
out of hte power to save Lethington 
tfrora prises. The biuiit siddi^, ott 
receiving this rpply, sent hack a %ma^ 
sage, demaudinf that the same charge 
shauhi be prafomd agalaat the £afi 



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1S49.] 



Memok^ ^ KitkMy of QroMgt. 



#f Morton and ArcliiMd Dooglas; 
and be did more — for, Maitlmod having 
been detained a prisoner in the town 
of Edtnhnrgh, nnder coBtodj of Lord 
Home, Kirialdj despatched at night 
a party of the garrison, and, by means 
of a connterfe^ed order, got posses- 
aion of the statesman's penon, and 
broQght him to the castle, where 
Cha^herault and Herriee were al- 
ready residing as guests. Next roora- 
ing, to the consternation of Moray, a 
tminpeter appeared at the croM, de- 
manding, in name of Kiriutldy, that 
process for regicide should insuintly 
be commenced against Morton and 
l>ongla8'; and, says onr author, — 

" Remembering the precepts of the stout 
old knight his Either, who always offisred 
' the wngle oombfttft * in m^ iir> t ^nftn< ^ of 
bis aaMTtioD^ he o&red himflelf, body 
iar body, to fi^^ DougUs on fbot or 
bonehsck ; whflie his prisoner, the Lord 
Uerries, sent, as s peer of the realm, a 
aimilsr cartel to the Eari of Morton. 
The challenges bore^ ' that they were in 
the council, and consequently art and 
part in the king's murder.' 

In Tain did Moray try to wheedle 
Kirkaldy from his stronghold — In Yaia 
did the revengeful Morton lay plots 
and bribe assassins. The castle of 
Edinburgh bad become the rallying 
point for those who loved their queeo. 
An attempt was made to ous»t Kirk- 
kaldy from the provostship ; but the 
•tout bmigbers, proud of their martial 
bead, tarucd a deaf ear to the insidi- 
ous sugieestions of the regent. Yet 
atHl the banner of King James floated 
•pon the walls of the castle, nor was the 
authority of Mary again prodaimtfd by 
aouod of trumpet until afttir the shot 
4)f the injnred Bothwellhangh struck, 
down the false and dangerous Mi>ray 
la the street of Linlithgow. Thes 
the whole £Ktiou of Chatelherault, 
the whole race of Uaaulton, rose in 
anns, and prepared to place thein^ 
•elvee under the gnidaace of Sir Wil- 
liam Kirkaldy. The followiog ia, w« 
think, a noWe trait in tba duuaoterof 
4beaiaa:— 

" The latter mourned deeply the un- 
limdy fiite of Moray : they had been old 
comrades ia the field, stanch friends in 
many a rongh pobtiohl broil ; and though 
they had quarrelled of late, be bad loo 
amoh of the franknaw of his pi ufwiion 
«• maintain bostili^ to tbs dead, and no 



xn 

came to aae him laid in his lant rfisliiig, 
pbee. Bi^ lords bore the body up St 
Anthony's loAy aisle, in the great cathe- 
dral of StOUes; Kirkaldy preceded i<^ 
bearing the paternal bamwr of Moray 
with the royal arms; the Laird of Cleish, 
who bore the coat of armour, walked 
beside him. Knox prayed solemnly and 
earnestly as the body was lowered into 
the dust; a splendid tomb was erected 
over hie remains, and long marked the 
spot where they lay." 

Lennox succeeded Moray as regent 
of Scotland, but no salute from the 
guns of the grim old fortress of £din« 
burgh greyed his inanguratioiL 
Henceforward Kirkaldy had no com- 
mon cause with the confederates. 
Maitland had revealed to him the 
whole hidden machinery of treason, 
the scandalous complexity of intrigues, 
by which he had been made a dupe. 
He now saw that neither religion nor 
patriotism, but simply selfishness and 
ambition, had actuated the nobles in 
rebelling Hgainst their lawful sove- 
reign, aud that those very acts whicb 
they fixed upon as apologies for their 
treason, were in fact the direct con- 
sequences of their own deliberate 
guilt. If any further corroboration 
of their baseness had been required ia 
order to satisfy the mind of Kirkaldjr, 
it wan afforded by Morton, who, not- 
withstanding tlie detiauce so latelv' 
hurled at him from the castle, solictted, 
with a roeanneas and audacity almost 
incredible, the assistance of the gover- 
nor to drive Lennox out of the king- 
donu aud procure hia own acknow- 
ledgement as regeut instead. It Is 
ne^less to say that his application 
was re(ui*ed with scorn. Kirkaldy 
now began to doubt the sincerity of 
Knox, who, although with no selfish 
motive, had been deeply implicated in 
the cruel plots of the time ; some 
sharp correspondeuce took place, aud 
the veteran Reformer was pleased to 
denounce his farmer pupil from the 
pulpit. 

Edinburgh now was made to aoffer 
the lucouveniencea to which every ctU" 
threatened with a ai«*ge is ex|)Ose<L 
The bui'ghen began to grumble 
against tbelr provost, who, on one 
oooaaioa, sent a psrty to ret«cne a 
pri^on4'r from the Tuibooth, and who 
always preferred the character of 
uilitagr i^vemor to that of dvlo 



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124 

magistrate. Knox thnndered at him 
every Sabbath, and doubtless contri- 
buted largely to iucrease the differ- 
ences between him and the uneasy 
citizens. The later might well be 
pardoned for their apprehensions. 
Not only were they commanded by 
the castle guns, but Kirkaldy, as if 
to show them what they might expect 
in case of difference of political senti- 
ment, — 

" Hoisted cannon to the summit of St 
Qiles's loftv spire, which rises in the 
middle of the central hill on which the 
city stands, and commands a view of it 
in every direction. He placed the artil- 
leiy on the stone bartizan beneath the 
flying arches of the imperial crown that 
surmounts the tower, and thus turned 
the cathedral into a garrison, to the 
great annoyance of Knox and the citizens. 
The latter wore also compelled, at their 
own expense, to maintain the hundred 
harquebussiers of Captain Melville, who 
were billeted in the CasUehill Street, for 
the queen's service; and thus, amid 
preparations for war, closed the year 
1670." 

We may fedrly suppose, that the 
cannon of the governor were more 
obnoxious than a modem annuity-tax 
can possibly be ; yet no citizen seemed 
desirous of coming forward as a can- 
didate for the crown of martyrdom. 
The bailies very quietly and very 
properly succumbed to the provost. 

It must be acknowledged that 
Edinburgh was, in those days, no 
pleasant place of residence. 

Next, to the alarm of the citizens, 
came a mock fight and the roar of 
cannon, intended to accustom the 
garrison to siege and war, which 
latter calamity speedily commenced 
in earnest. No possible precau- 
tion was omitted by Kirkaldy, 
whose situation was eminently criti- 
cal; and he had received a terrible 

' truce, 
on was 
' under 
1. Lord 
igh to 
I, areh- 
ide pri- 
ced by 
. An 
brtable 

drew 
^inlith- 



Memoira of KirhaJidy of Grange. 



[Jan. 



gow, and the latter from Dalkeith, 
advanced against the city, then occu- 
pied by the Hamiltons : skirmishes 
went on under the walls and on the 
Boroughmuir, and the unfortunate 
citizens were nearly driven to dis- 
traction. The following dispositions 
of Provost Kirkaldy were by no means 
calculated to restore a feeling of con- 
fidence, or to better the prospects of 
trade : — 

" Ho loop-holed the spacious vaults of 
the great cathedral, for the purpose of 
sweeping with musketry its steep church- 
yard to the south, the broad Lawnmarket - 
to the west, and High Street to the east- 
ward ; while his cannon from the spire 
commanded the long line of street called 
the Canongate — even to the battlements 
of the palace porch. He seized the ports 
of the city, placed guards of his soldiers 
upon them, and retained the keys in his 
own hands. He ordered a rampart and 
ditch to be formed at the Butter Tron, 
for the additional defence of the castle ; 
and another for the same purpose at the 
head of the West Bow, a steep and wind- 
ing street of most picturesque aspect 
His soldiers pillaged the house of the 
regent, whose movables and valuables 
they carried off; he broke into the Tol- 
boo^ and ooxmcU-chamber, drove forth 
the scribes and councillors, and finally 
deposed the whole bench of magistrates^ 
installing in the civic chair the daring 
chief of Femihirst, (who had now become 
the husband of his daughter Janet, a 
young girl barely sixteen ;) while a coun- 
cil composed of his mosstrooping vassals, 
clad in their iron jacks, steel caps, call* 
vers, and two-handed whingers, officiated 
as bailies, in lieu of the douce, paunchy, 
and well-fed buigeeses of the Craims and 
Luckenbooths." 

The Blue Blanket of Edinburgh-* 
that banner which, according to tradi- 
tion, waved victoriously on the ram- 
parts of Acre — had faUen into singular 
custody ! John Knox again fled, for 
in truth his life was in danger. Kirk- 
aldy, notwithstanding their diffe- 
rences, exerted his authority to the 
utmost to protect him, but the Hamil- 
tons detested his very name ; and one 
night a ballet fired throngh his win- 
dow, was taken as a significant hint 
that his absence from the metropolis 
would be convenient. Scandal, even 
in those times, was rife in Edinburgh ; 
for we arcvtold that — 

"John Low, a carrier of letters to Si 
Andrews, being in the ' Castell of Edin- 



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1849.] 



Memoirs ofKirkaidy of Grange. 



burgh, the Lftdie Home would neids 
threip in his fiice, thai Johne Knox was 
banist the toune^ because in his yard he 
had raisit some ianctit, amang^ whome 
their came up the devill with homes, 
which when his servant Richart saw he 
ran wud, and so deid/ " 

It is htrdlj credible, bnt it is a 
hci^ that a meeting of the Estates of 
Scotland, called bj Lennox, was held 
in Edinburgh at this very jnnctore. 
Eiitaldj occupied the upper part of 
the town, whilst the lower was in the 
, hands of the regent, protected, or 
rather covered, bj a batteiy which 
Morton had erected upon the " Doo 
Craig,** that bluff black precipice to 
the south of the Calton Hill. The 
meeting, however, was a short one. 
**Mons Meg " and her marrows 
belched forth fire and shot upon the 
town, and the scared representatives 
fled, in terror of the falling ruins. A 
sortie from the castle was made, and 
the place of assembly burned. 

Kirkaldy now summoned and actu- 
ally held a parliament, in name of 
Queen Mary, in Edinburgh. The 
possession of the Regalia gave this 
assembly a show of legality at least 
equivalent to that pertaining to its 
rival, the Black Parliament^ which 
was then sitting at Stirling. 

We must refer to the work itself 
for the details of the martial exploits 
which followed. So very vividly and 
picturesquely are the scenes described, 
that, in reacung of them, the images 
arise to our mind with that distinct- 
ness which constitutes the principal 
charm of the splendid romances of 
Scott. We accompany, with the 
deepest personal interest, the gallant 
Captain Melville and his l^rqne- 
bnssiers, on his expedition to dis- 
lodge grim Morton from his Lion*s 
Den at Dalkeith — we follow fiery 
Claud Hamilton in his attack upon 
the Black Parliament at Stirling, 
when Lennox met his death, and 
Morton, driven by the flames firom 
his burning mansion, surrendered his 
sword to Buccleugh — and, amidst the 
din and uproar of the Douglas wars, 
we hear the cannon on the bastion of 
Edinburgh castle battering to mln 
the gray towers of Merchbton. 

The career of Kirkaldy was rapidly 
drawing towards its close. During 
the life of Mar, who succeeded Len- 



125 

nox in the regency, the brave governor 
succeeded in maintaining possession 
not only of the castle, but of the city 
of EdLaburgh, in spite of all op- 
position. But Morton, the next 
regent, was a still more formidable 
foe. The hatred between this man 
and Kirkaldy was mutual, and it was 
of the most deadly kind. And no 
wonder. Morton, as profligate as 
cruel, had seduced the fair and false 
Helen Leslie, wife of Sir James 
Kirkaldy, the gallant brother of the 
governor, and thereby inflicted the 
worst wound on the honour of an 
ancient family. A more awful story 
than the betrayal of her husband, and 
the seizure of his castle of Blackness, 
through the treai^ery of this wretched 
woman, is not to be found in modem 
history. Tarpela alone is her rival 
in infamy, and the end of both was 
the same. The virulence of heredi- 
tary feud is a marked feature in our 
Scottish annals ; but no sentiment of 
the kind could have kindled such a 
flame of enmity as burned between 
Morten and Kirkaldy. From the 
hour when the former obtained the 
regency, the war became one of ex- 
termination. 

Morton, it must be owned, showed 
much diplomatic skill in bis arrange- 
ments. His flrst step was to nego- 
tiate separately with the country party 
of the loyalists, so as to detach them 
from Kirkaldy; and in this he per- 
fectly succeeded. The leading nobles, 
Huntley and Argyle, were wearied with 
the war; -Chatelherault, whom we 
have already known as Arran, was 
broken down by age and infirmities ; 
and even those who had been the 
keenest partisans of the queen, Herries 
and Seton, were not disinclined to 
transfer their allegiance to her son. 
The treaty of Perth left Kh-kaldy with 
no other adherents save Lord Home, 
the Melvilles, Maitland> and his gar- 
rison. The city had revolted, and 
was now under the provostship of 
fierce old Lord Lindesay of the Byres, 
who was determined to humble his 
predecessor. Save the castle rock of 
Edinburgh, and the hardy band that 
held it, all Scotland had submitted to 
Morton. 

Killlgrew, the English ambassador, 
advised him to yield. " No !" replied 
Kirkaldy. «' Though my friends have 



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126 



Mmmn^ESrUUfytfCkmf^ 



[J« 



Ibnaken ne, and tiie dtj of Edin* 
borgh hath done so too, yet I will 
defend this castle to the listr The 
man whom Moray thought a tod^ had 
expanded to the balk of a hero. 

Meantime, English engineers were 
ooenpied in estimating the capabilities 
of the castle as a place of defence. 
lliey reported that, with sufficient 
artillefy, it might be redaoed in twenty 
days; and, accordingly, Morton de- 
termined to besiege it so soon . as 
the period of tmce agreed on by 
the treaty of Perth should expire. 
Ejrkaldy was not less resolute to 
maintain it. 

At six o'dodc, on the momini^ of 
1st January 1573, a wamug gun from 
the castle annonneflj^ that the treaty 
had expired, and the standard of the 
Queen was nnforied on the highest 
tower, amidst the acclamations c? the 
garrison . Four- and-twen ty hours pre- 
Tiously, Eariuildy had issued a pro- 
clamation, warning all loyal subjects 
of the Queen to d^>art forthwith from 
the city ; and terrible indeed was the 
sitnatioa of those who neglected that 
seasonable warning. Morton began 
the attack ; and it was answered by 
an incessant discharge from the bat- 
teries upon the town. 

Civil war had assumed its worst 
form. By day the cannon thundered ; 
at night the garrison made sorties, 
and fired the city : all was wrack and 
min. Morton, bursting with fury, 
found that, nnassisted, he could not 
conquer Grange. 

English aid was asked from, and 
given by, the nnscmpulons Eliaabeth. 
Dmry, who had helped Morton in his 
dishonourable treason at Restalrig, 
mardied into Scotland with the Eng- 
lish standard displayed, bringing with 
him fifteen hundred harquebwsiers, 
one hundred and fifty pikemen, and a 
numerous troop of gentlemen volun- 
teers ; while the train of cannon and 
l^^g^^ cs^^ round by sea to Leith, 
where a fleet of English ships cruised, 
to cut off all sncconr firom the Con- 
tinent. 

The English summons to surrender 
was treated by Kirkaldy with scorn. 
Up went a scarlet banner, significant 
of death and defiance, on the great 
tower of King David. Indomitable, 
as in the days of his early youth, 
when the oonfedcnitea of St Andiews 



d^ed the miverse in arms, tiie Scot^ 
tish champion looked calmly from his 
rock on the preparations for the terrible 
assault. 

Five batteries were erected around 
the castle, but not with impunity. 
The cannon of Kirkaldy mowed down 
the pioneers when engaged in their 
trenching operations; and it was not 
nntO Trinity Snnday, the 17th of May, 
that the beeiegers opened thebr fire. 

** At two o^do^ in the afternoon, tiio 
five batteries opened a sinniltaneoiis die- 
diaige upon the walls of the eastla. 
Brsvdy and bri^y ita cmnooeerB re- 
plied to them, and deep-mouthed Mona 
If e§^ with her vast bullets of bkick whiiv 
the thundering carthouna, basilisks, seiv 
pents, and culverins, amid fire and smok% 
belched Uieir missiles firom the old gray 
towers, showering balls of iron, lead, and 
stone at the batteries ; while the inces- 
sant ringing of several thousand harque- 
busses, caKvera, and wheel-lock petronels^ 
added to the din of the doable cannonade. 
From the caGbre of the great Mons Meg> 
which yet frowns cm- haihe over the ram- 
partSy one may easily imagine the disniay 
her enormoui bullets must have caused 
in the ti^enchea so fkr below her. 

" For ten days tiie furious cannonade 
continued, on both sideB, without a mo- 
ment's cessation. On the 19th, three 
towers were demolished, and enormoiis 
gaps appeared in the curtain waUs; many 
of the castle guns were dismounted, and 
destroyed by the falling of the ancient 
masonry : a shot struck one of the largest 
colverins&iriy on the nrazxle, shattering 
it to pieoes^ and scattering the splinters 
aronnd those who stood near. A very 
heavy battery wasdischaigedagainst King 
David's Tower, a great square battel- 
house, the walls of which were dark with 
the lapse of four centuri^. On the 23d, 
a great gap had been beaten in its north- 
em side, revealing the arched hall within ; 
and aa the vast old tower, with its cannon, 
its steel-dad defenders, and the red ffag 
of defiance still waving above its machico- 
latod bartinm, sank with a mighty crash 
to shapelosB ruin, the wild shriek raised 
by the females in the castle^ and the roar 
of the masonry ndliag like thunder down 
the perpendicular rodu^ were distinctly 
heard at the distant English camp^" 

One hundred and fifty men const!- 
tited the whole force which Khkaldy 
could muster when he commenced his 
desperate defence. Ten times that 
number would searedy have sufficed to 
maintain an adeqaate resistance ; but 
high heroic iralour in the foce of death 



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1M9.} 



qfSBfhanbfof€hntK§§k 



is imeniftts W utj oddik After % 
Tigoffovs reaiBtMeet the beaegen rao- 
OMded in gtining poesessm of Ike 
8par or bloekkowe— an onter work 
wUch was cuu mucic d betwen the 
fortroBS mad the to WB ; bat an attoBpl 
to scale the rod^ en the weet side 
vtterfy failed. 

The bloclnde had for some time 
been so Btriet^tbaft the garrisoa began 
tosofierfrom waatof provisioM; boi 
their sorest priradon was the loss of 
water. Atthoogh there are laige and 
deep wdia in the Castle of Ediobergh, 
a remarkable peculiaritj renders them 
asdess in the time of siege. To this 
daj, w h ea c r e r the canaoa are fired^ 
the water deserts tlM welle, oosaig 
oot of sooie fissnres at the bottom of 
the rode. There is, however, a lower 
spring oa the north side, 'called 81 
Mar|^u^*s WeU, and from this the 
garriBOB for a tnae obtained a scanty 
Bapply. Under dond of niglit a sol- 
dier was let down bj a rope from the 
fortificatioBS, and in this manner the 
wliolesome element was drawn. This 
drcnmstance beeeme known to tlie 
besiegers; and they, with diabolical 
cmeltj, had recourse to the expedient 
of poiiwning the well, and permitted 
the noctamal visitor to draw the 
deadlj liquid without molestation. 
The conBequeuees, of course, were 
fMrfnl. Many expired in great agoBj; 
and those whose strength enabled 
them to throw off the more active 
efiecte of the poison, were so enfeebled 
that they coald hardly work the heavy 
cannon, or support the fatigue of 
watching day and night upoo the bat- 
tiements. 

" Maddened by the miaerieB they un- 
derwent, and rendered desperate by all 
hopes of escape from torture and death 
being utterly cut oS^ a frenzy seized the 
soldiers; they broke into a dangerous 
mutiny, and threatened to hang Lething- 
ton over the walk, as beinr the primary 
cause of all these danger^ from the greet 
influence he exercised over Kirkaldy, 
their governor. But even now, when 
amid Uie sick, the dying, and the dead, 
and the mutinous — aurrounded by crum- 
bling ramparts and dismounted cannon, 
among which the shot of the beaegers 
were rebounding every instant — with the 
lives, honour, and safety of his wife, his 
brother, and numerous brave and faith- 
ful friends depending on his efforU and 
example, the heart of the brave governor 



117 



At length, as fhrther resistance was 
useless, and as certain movements on 
the part of the enemy indicated their 
intention of proceeding to storm the 
castle by the breach which had been 
effected on the eastern side, Kirkaldy 
requested an interview with his old 
fellow-Boldier Drory, the Marshal of 
Berwick. This being acceded to, the 
governor and his node, *^ Sir Robert 
If elviDeof Murdocaimie, were lowered 
over the ruhis by cords, as there was 
no other mode of egress, the flight of 
forty steps being completely buried in 
the same ruin which bad choked up 
the ardiways, and hidden both gatea 
and portcullis. The CasUehill, at 
that time, says Melville of Kilrenny, 
in his Diary, was covered with stones, 
* rioning like a sandie bray ;* but be- 
hind the breaches were the men -at- 
arms drawn up in firm array, with 
their pikes and helmets gleaming in 
the setting sun. " 

Kirkaldy's requests were not un- 
reasonable. He asked to have 
security for the lives and property of 
those in the garrison, to have leave 
for Lord Home and Maitland of 
Lethington to retire to England, and, 
for himself, permission to live unmo- 
lested at the estate in Fife. Drury 
might have consented, but Morton 
was obdurate. The thought of hav- 
ing his enemy unconditionally in his 
hands, and the prospect of a revengo 
delicious to his savage and unrelenting 
nature, made him deaf to all applica- 
tions ; and the only terms he would 
grant were these, — 

" That if the aoldJerB marabed forth 
witiKNit tibeir armowr, and submitted to 
his demency, he would grant them their 
lives ; but there were te» persona who 
must yield nnctndUumaJly to him* and 
whose fate he would leave to the decision 
of their unfpire, Elizabeth. The unfor- 
timate exceptions were — the governor. 
Sir James Kirkaldy, Lethington, Alexan- 
der Lord Home, the Bishop of Dunkeld, 
Sir Etobert Melville of Murdocaimie, 
Logan of Restalrig, Alexander Qrichton 
of Drylaw, Fitarrow the oonatabto, and 
Patrick WiBhart 

Kirkaldy returned to the castle, re- 
solved to die in the breach, but by 
this time the mutiny had begun. 
The soldiers insisted upon a surrend r 



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128 

even more clamorously than before, 
and several of them took the oppor- 
tnnityiof clambering over the ruins and 
deserting. It would have been mad- 
ness under such circumstances to hold 
out; yet still Kirkaldy, jealous of his 
country's honour, could not brook the 
idea of handing over the citadel of 
Scotland's metropolis to the English. 

" Therefore, when compelled to adopt 
the expedient (which is supposed to have 
originated in Lethington*s tortile brain) 
of admitting a party of the besiegers 
within the outworks, or at least close to 
the walls, he sent privately in the night 
a message to Himie and Jordanhill, to 
march their Scottish companies between 
the English batteries and the fortress, 
lest the old bands of Drury should have 
the honour of entering first" 

Next morning he came forth, and 
surrendered his sword to Drury, who 
gave him the most solemn assurances 
that he should be restored to his 
estates and liberty at the intercession 
of the Queen of England, and that all 
his adherents should be pardoned. 

Drury, probably, was in earnest, 
but he had either overstepped his com- 
mission, or misinterpreted the mind 
of his mistress. Morton had most 
basely handed over to Elizabeth the 
person of the fugitive Eari of Nor- 
thumberland, whom she hurried to 
the block, nor could she well refuse 
to the Scottish regent a similar favour 
in return. Morton asked for the dis- 
posal of the prisoners, and the gift 
was readily granted. 

Three of them were to die: for these 
there was no mercy. One, William 
Maitland of Lethington, disappointed 
the executioner by swallowing poison, 
a draught more potent than that 
drawn from the well of St Margaret. 
The vengeance of Morton long kept 
his body from the decencies of the 
grave. Of the two Kirkaldys, one 
was the rival of the regent, who had 
foully wronged the other, and, there- 
fore, their doom was sealed. 

One hundred barons and gentlemen 
of rank and fortune, kinsmen to the 
ffallant Kirkaldy, offered, in exchange 
for his life, to bind themselves by 
bond of manrent, as vassals to the 
house of Morton for ever: money, 



Memoirs ofEarkaXdy of Grange. 



[Jan. 1849. 



jewels, lands, were tendered to the 
regent; but all in vain. Nothing 
could induce him to depart from his 
revenge. Nor were odiers wanting 
to urge on the execution. The Re- 
form^ preachers, remembering the 
dying message of Knox, were da- 
morons for the realisation of the pro- 
phecy through his death ; the burghers, 
who had suffered so much from his 
obstinate defence, shouted for his exe- 
cution ; only stout old Lord Lindesay, 
fierce as he was, had the magnanimity 
to plead on behalf of the unfortunate 
soldier. 

Then came the scaffold and the 
doom. Those who are conversant 
with Scottish history cannot but be 
impressed with the remarkable re- 
semblance between the last closing 
scene of Khrkaldy, as related in this 
work, and that of Montrose, which 
was exhibited on the same spot, in 
another and a later age/ 

So died this remarkable man, the 
last of Queen Mary's adherents. If, 
in the course of his career, we caa 
trace out some inconsistencies, it is 
but fair to his memory to reflect how 
early he was thrown upon the troubled 
ocean of politics, and how difficult it 
must have been, in such an age of 
conflicting opinions and desperate in- 
triffue, to maintain a tangible prin- 
ciple. Kirkaldy seems to have 
selected Moray as his guide—not pene- 
trating certainly, at the time, the 
selfish disposition of the man. But 
the instant he perceived that his own 
aggrandisement, and not the w^are 
of Scotland, was the object of the de- 
signing Earl, Grange drew off from 
his side, and valorouslv upheld the 
cause of his injured and exiled sove- 
reign. 

We now take leave of a work 
which, we are convinced, will prove of 
deep and thrilling interest to every 
Scotsman. It is sddom indeed that we 
find history so written — in a style 
at once vigorous, perspicuous, and 
picturesque. The author's heart is 
thoroughly with his subject : and he 
exhibits, ever and anon, flashes of 
the old Scottish spirit, which we are 
glad to believe has not decio^ed from 
the land. 



Prmttd by WiUiam Biackueood and Sans, Edinlmiyk, 

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BLACKWOOD^S 
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. 



No. CCCC. 



FEBRUARY, 1849. 



Vol. LXV. 



CAUCASUS AND THE CO8SACKSI. 



A HANDFUL of men, frugal, hardy, 
and valiant, snccessMly defending 
their barren monntains and dearly- 
won independence against the reite- 
rated assaults of a nOghty neighbour, 
offer, apart from political considera- 
tions, a deeply interesting spectacle. 
When, upon a map of the world's 
eastern hemisphere, we behold, not 
far from its centre, on the confines of 
barbarism and civilisation, a spot, 
black with mountains, and marked 
'^Chrcassia;'* when we contrast this 
petty nook with the vast territory 
stretching from the Black Sea to the 
Northern Ocean, from the Baltic to 
Behring's Straits, we admire and won- 
der at the inflexible resolution -and 
determined gallantry that have so 
long borne up against the aggressive 
ambition, iron will, and immense re- 
sources of a czar. Sixty millions 
against six hundred thousand — a hun- 
dred to one, a whole squadron against 
a single cavalier, a colossus opposed 
to a pifmy— these are the odds at 
issue. It seems impossible that such 
a contest can long endure. Tet it 
has lasted twenty years, and still the 
dwarf resists subjugation, and con- 
trives, at intervals, to inflict severe 
punishment upon his gigantic adver- 
sary. There is something strangely 
excitUig in the contemplation of so 
brave a struggle. Its interest is far 
superior to tfiit of any of the " little 



wars '* in which Europe, since 1815, 
has evaporated her superabundant 
pugnacity. African ndds and Spanish 
skirmishes are pale affairs contrasted 
with the dashmg onslaughts of the 
intrepid Circassians. And, in other 
respects than its heroism, this contest 
merits attention. As an important 
section of the huge mountain-dyke, 
opposed by nature to the south-eastern 
extension of the Russian empire, Cir- 
cassia is not to be overlooked. On 
the rugged peaks and in the deep val- 
leys of the Caucasus, her fearless war- 
riors stand, the vedettes of southern 
Asia, a living barrier to the forward 
flight of the double ea^le. 

Matters of pressing mterest, nearer 
home, have diverted public attention 
from the warlike Circassians, whose 
independent spirit and unflkching 
bravery deserves better than even 
temporary oblivion. Not in our day 
only have they distinguished them- 
selves in freedom's fight. Surrounded 
by powerful and encroaching poten- 
tates, thefr history, for the last five 
hundred years, records constant 
strugs^es against oppression. Often 
conauered, they never were fully sub- 
dued. Their obscure chronicles are 
illumined by flashes of patriotism and 
heroic courage. Eariy in the fifteenth 
century, they conquered their freedom 
from the Georgian yoke. Then came 
long wars with the Tartars, who could 



Der Kauhomu und da$ Land d^r Ko$aktn in dm Jakren 1843 bi$ 184^. 
Moam Waohbb. 2 vols. Dreodea und Leipng, 1848. 

VOL. LXV.— KO. COCC. I 



Von 



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180 



Caucasus and the Cossacks, 



[Feb. 



hardly, perhaps, be considered the 
aggressors, the Circassians having 
overstepped their mountain limits, 
and spread over the plains adjacent 
to the Sea of Azov. In 1555, the 
Bnssian grand-duke, Ivan Yasilivitch, 
pressed forward to Tarki npon the 
Caspian, where he plteedt a gpxmon^ 
A (Jircassian tribe submitted to him ; 
he married the daughter of one of 
their princes, anch assisted them 
against the Tartars. But after a 
Tniile the Russians withdrew their 
succour ; and the Circassians, driven 
back to the river Kuban, their natural 
boundary to the north-west, paid 
tribute to the Tartars, till the com- 
mencement of the eighteenth century, 
when a decisive victory liberated them. 
Meanwhile Russia strode steadily 
southwards, reached the Kuban in the 
west, whilst, in the east, Tarki aad 
Derbent fall, in. 1722, into the haods 
of Peter the Great. The tot of 
Swiatoi-Krest, built by the conqnemr, 
was soon afterwards retaken, l^ a 
swarm of faoadeal moaBtaineers finom 
the eastern Caucasus^ It is now 
about seventy years since Rnssian 
and Circasaan first croflaed swards in 
serious war£ara« A &naiac dervlae, 
who called himoelf Sheikh. Mansour, 
preached a religions wair against the 
Mnacovites; but, althou^ fbllowed' 
with enthusiasm, his snceesfr was not 
great, and at last he was captnred 
and sent prisoner into the interior of 
Russia. With his M the furious 
aeal of the Cancasiaas subsided for a 
while. But the Tusks, who viewed 
Ghxsassia as thebr main bulwark 
affainst tiie nH)idly incraasing power 
ef their dangerous northern nei^di- 
bom*, made mends of the monntun- 



eers, and stirred them up against 
Russia. The fortified town of Anapa, 
on the north-west coast of Circassia, 
became the focus of the intercourse 
between the Porte and its new allies. 
The creed of Mahomet was actively 
propagated amongst the Circassians, 
whose relations with Turkey grew 
more and more intimate, and in the 
year 1824 several tribes took oath of 
allegtance to the soltani In 1829, 
during the war between Russia and 
Turkey, Anapa, which had more than 
once changed hands in the course of 
previous contests, was taken by the 
former power, to whom, by the treaty 
of Adrianople, its possession, and that 
of the other Turkish posts on the same 
coast, was finally conceded Hence 
the chief claim of Russia upon Cir- 
casaift^althongh Ciroassia had never 
belonged to the Turksy nor been occu- 
pied by them ; and firam that period 
dates the war that has elicited from 
Russia so great a display of force 
against an apparently feeble, but in 
reality fbrmidEible antagonist — an 
antagonist who has hitherto baffled 
her best generals, and jMdud troopi, 
and most skilful strategists. 

The tribes of the Caui^sus may be- 
oomprehended. Hat the sake of sim- 
plicity, under two denominations : 
the Tchericeeses or Circasdans, In 
the west, and the Tshet^ens ia the 
east. In loose newspiH[>erstatementB, 
and in the garbled reports of the 
war which remote potttion, Rus- 
sian jealousy, and the pecidiariy in^ 
accessible character of this Cancasiaii8». 
suffer to reach us, even this broad 
distinction is ftequently disregarded. **" 
It is nevertheless importent, at least 
in a physiological pmnt of view ; 



* " Amon^Bt the CtxxouasaEi tribes, the interest. of Europe has attached itself 
specially to the CiraaniiBB, because they are regarded (in Urquhart*s word^ 'as 
the only people^ from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean, ever ready to revenge an 
injury and natort a menace proceeding firom the Czar of the Muaoovites/ Urqu- 
hieVs opinion, which is abared by the great majority of the European ptUilic, is not 
^uite correct, the CircasBiana not being the only combatants against Russia. Indeed 
it so happens that, for Uie last four years, they have kept tolerably quiet in their 
mountains, contenting themselves with small forays into the Cossack coimtxy on the 
Kuban ; whilst the warlike Tshetshens in the eastern Caucasus, their chief, Chamyl, 
at dieir head, have given ihe Rossian army much more to do. But, in the abaence of 
Offficial intelligenee, and of regular newq[>aper information concerning the events of 
the war, people in Europe have got aoeustomed to admiro and praise the Circas- 
sians as the only defenders of Caucasian fi'eedom against Russian agsression ; and 
even in St Petersbuxg the intelligent public hold the famous Chamy[ to be chief 
of the Carmwiins, with wfaetn he has nothmg Tdiatcver to do," — JDm^ Jl^tukemu, 
Ac, vol. il p. 22-3. 



Digitized bj^ 



and^even as regiyniB the resutuGe 
offered to Riif«% there are diffe- 
reaces between the Eastern aed the 
Western Caucasians. TW miUtacy 
tactics of both are miich.alike, but the 
character of the war varies^ On the 
banks of the Eaban, and on the Eox- 
ine shores, the strife has never betti 
so desperate^ and so dangerous for the 
Bnaaians, as in Daghestan^ Lesghis- 
tan, and the land of the Tshetshens^ 
The Abclasiaos, Mingreliaiis, and 
ottor Cireassian tribes^ dwelling^ on 
the sovthem slopes of Caucasus, and 
OH the margin of tiie Black Sea, are 
of more peaceable and passire charac- 
ter than their brethren to the North 
and East The Tshetshens, by far 
the nKMt warUke and enterprising of 
the Caucasians, have had the ablest 
leaders, and have at all tunes been 
stimidated bj fieioe religious aeaL As 
ihr bade as 1745, Bnssian misrionaries 
were sent to the tribe of the Oseeti, 
"whQ had relapsed from Christianity 
to the heathen creed of their fbre« 
flrthers. Eyeiy Osset who presented 
hims^ at the baptismal font receiyed 
a silyer cross and a new shirt. The 
bait brought thousands of the moun- 
taineers to the Bnssian priests, who 
contented themselves with the outward 
and Tisible sign of conversion. These 

MMBeSntriJbesY and then it was that 
th^ thronged aromidSfaeikhMansour; 
as tliey have done in our day (in 1880) 
around that strange fanatic Chasi- 
Mbllah, when in his turn he preached a 
holy war against the Russian. In the 
livtter year, General Faskewitch had 
list been called away to Poland, and 
his successor, Baron Boeen, found all 
Da^ieiAan in an uproar. He imme- 
diately opened the campaign^ but met 
a strenuous resistancOt and sn£fored 
heai^loss. Thed^aiceof the village 
of Hennentacfank, held against him> 
in the year 1832, by 9000 Tshetshens, 
was an extraordinary example of he- 
it^n. When l^e Russian Infantry 
forced thehr way into the place with 
the bayonet, a portion of the garrison 



131 

shot Aemselwea up in afiirtiied heuaet 
and made it good against ovesw^ehn- 
ing nuBsbersii smging paogages from 
tiie Eocanamidst astom of beoibs and 
grapediot. At kst the buildmg took 
nre, and its undtumted de(fende»8, the 
sacred verses still upon their lips, 
found death la the flames. In an 
equity desperate defence of ths fbrti- 
fied village of mmri^ Chasi-MoUab 
met his deaths fUling la the very 
breach, bleeding' from many wonnda. 
The chief who succeeded him was leaa 
venecated nd less energetfc,. and for 
a fbw years the Tshetdms remained 
tolerably <|BiatT but witiiout atiioo^ 
of submission. Nevertheless the Bos*- 
siansflatteredthemaelvestiiat the worst 
was past ; that the death of the mad 
dervisb was an ineparable-loss to the 
moontanieeES. They wtm mistaken* 
Outofhismost ardent adherentsChasi* 
MoUah had finned a sort of sacred 
band, whom he called Murides, f^oamj 
fanatics, half warriors, half priests. 
They conq)eBed his bec^-gnard, were 
unwearied ia pveaching up the fight 
fbr the Prophet's faith, and in battle 
devoted themsdves to death witii a 
heroism tiiat has never been surpassed. 
From these, within a short time of 
their first leader's death, Chamyl, t^ 
present renowned chief ef the Tshet- 
shens, soea stood fbrtii pre-emiaeBt, 
and the Morides Mtowed him to the 



fidd with the same entlinsiaam and 
valour they had shown under his pre- 
decessor. He did not poove leas wor» 
thy oi gniding^them; and theBas- 
sians were oompdled to oeafess, Ifluit 
it was eerier fi»^ the Triketahens to 
find an aUe laader than fhr them to 
find a general aUe to beat him. And 
victcnies over the reetlesa and enter- 
prising Caucasians were of little pro- 
fit, even whtti obtained. For the 
mort part,, they <mly served to fill the 
RnsnaD hospitahH and to procure the 
officers fftose ribbons and disthielieiH 
they so greedily covet, and which, in 
that service, are so liberally bestow- 
ed.* Thus, in 1845, Count Woron- 
zoff made a most daring expedition 



' **B must be admitted that lUiBsianoffiemv are second to Aoseirf no otiier nation 
in ^dret fbr distinetion, and in hononrable ambition^ to awaken and Btisralate whieby 
imnmLerable means are employed. In no ottier army are the rewards fbr those oA- 
oers who distingnish themselves in the field of so many kinds, and so lavishly dealt 
out. There are all manner of medals and marks fbr good eerrioe— crosses and stars of 
Saints George, Stanislaus, Vladimir, Andrew, Anna, and other holy personages ; some 



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132 



Caucastis and the Cossacks. 



[Feb. 



into the heart of Daghestan. He found 
the villages empty and in flames, lost 
three thousand men, amongst them 
many brave and valuable officers, and 
marched back again, strewing the path 
with wounded, for whom the means 
of transport (the horses of the Cossack 
cavalry) were quite insufficient. With 
great diifficulty, and protected by a 
column that went out to meet them, 
the Russians regained their lines, ha- 
rassed to the last by the fierce Cauca- 
sians. This affaur was called a vic- 
tory, and Count Woronzoff was made 
a prince. Two more such victories 
would have reduced his expeditionanr 
column to a single battalion. Chamyl, 
who had cannonaded the Russians 
with their own artillery, captured in 
former actions, possibly considered 
himself equally entitled to triumph, 
as he slowly retreated, after followmg 
up the foe nearly to the gates of their 
fortresses, into the recesses of his na- 
tive valleys. 

The interior of Circassia is still an 
unknown land. The investigations of 
Messrs Bell, Longworth, Stewart, and 
others, who of late years have visited 
and writCen about the country, were 
confined to small districts, and cramped 
by the jealousy of the natives. Mr 
Bell, who made the longest residence, 
was treated more like a prisoner than 
a guest. Other foreigners find a worse 
reception stUl. Even the Poles, who 
desert from the Russian army, are 
made slaves of by the Circassians, and 
so severely treated that they are often 
glad to return to their colours, and 
endure the flogging that there awaits 
them. The only European who, 
having penetrated into the interior, 
has again seen his own country, is the 



Russian Baron Tnmau, an aide-de- 
camp of General Gurko ; but the cir- 
cumstances of his abode in Circassia 
were too painful and peculiar to allow 
opportunity for observation. They 
are well told by Dr Wagner. 

^ By the Emperor's commajidy Russian 
officers acquainted with the language are 
sent, from time to time, as spies into Cir- 
cassia,* — ^partly to make topographical 
surreys of districts preriously unknovm ; 
partly to ascertain the numbers, mode 
of life, and disposition of those tribes 
with whom no intercourse is kept up. 
These missions are extremely danger- 
ous, and seldom succeed. Shortly be- 
fore my arriyal at Terek, four Russian 
staff-officers were sent as ^spies to va- 
rious parts of Lesghistan. They as- 
sumed the Caucasian garb, and were at- 
tended by natiyes in Russian pay. Only 
one of them erer returned; the three 
others were recognised and murdered. 
Baron Tumau prepared himself long 
beforehand for his dangerous mission. He 
gave his complexion a brownish tint, and 
to his beard the form affected by the abo- 
rigines. He also tried to learn the lan- 
guage of the Ubiches, but, finding the 
harsh pronunciationof certain words quite 
unattainable, he agreed with his guide to 
pass for deaf and dumb during his stay 
in the country. In this guise he set out 
upon his perilous journey, and for several 
days wandered undetected from tribe to 
tribe. But one of the wtrkt (nobles) un- 
der whose roof he parsed a night, con- 
ceived suspicions, and threatened the 
guide, who betray edhis employer's secret. 
The baron was kept prisoner, and the 
Ubiches demanded a cap-fiill of silver for 
his ransom from the Russian command- 
ant of Fort Ardler. When this officer 
declared himself ready to pay, they 
increased their demand to a bushel of 
silver rubles. The commandant referred 
the matter to Baron Rosen, then com- 



with crowns, some with diamonds, peculiar distinctions on the epaulets and uniforms^ 
&c. &c. I was once in a distinguished society, composed almost entirely of officers 
of the army of the Caucasus. Not finding very much amusement, I had the patience to 
count idl the orders and decorations in the room, and found that upon the breasts of 
the thirty-five military guests^ there glittered more than two hundred stars, crosses, 
and medals ; on some of the generals' coats were more orders than buttons. As it 
usually happens, the desire for these distinctions increases with their possession. 
The Russian who has obtained a medal leaves no stone unturned to get a knight's 
cross, and when the cross is at his button-hole, he is ravenous for the glittering star, 
and ready to make any sacrifice to obtain \V*—I>er Kaukaeut, &c., vol. ii. p. 98. 

* The reference in this instance is more particularly to the land of the Ubiches 
and Tchigetes, two tribes that abide south of Circassia Proper, and whose lan- 
guaM diifbrs ftrom those of the Circassians and Abchasians, their neighbours to the 
north and south. The general medium of conversation amongst the various Caucasian 
tribes is the Turkish-Tartar dialect, current amongst most of the dwellers on the 
^res of the Bhick and Caspian Sea;*. 



Digitized by VjOOQ IC 



1849.] 



Caucasus and tlie Cossacks, 



mander-in-chief of the army of the Cau- 
casus; the baron reported it to St Peters- 
burg, and the Emperor consented to pay 
the heayy ransom. Bat Rosen repre- 
sented it to him as more for the Russian 
interest to leave Tornau for a while in 
the hands of the Ubiches; for, in the first 
place, the payment of so large a sum was 
a bad precedent, likely to encourage the 
mountaineers to renew the extortion, in- 
stead of contenting themseWes, as they 
previously had done, with a few hundred 
rubles ; and, secondly, as a prisoner^ 
Baron Tumau would perhaps have oppor- 
tunities of gathering valuable information 
concerning a country and people of whom 
little or nothing was known. The unfor- 
tunate young officer was cruelly sacrificed 
to these considerations, and passed a long 
winter in terrible captivity, tortured by 
frost and hunger, compelled, as a slave, 
to the severest labour, and often jpreatly 
ill-treated. Several attempts at flight 
fkiled ; and at last the chief, in whose 
hands he was, confined him in a cage 
half-buried in the ground, and withal so 
narrow that its inmate could neither 
stand upright nor lie at length." 

Thus immared, a prey to painful 
maladies, his clothes rotting on his 
emaciated limbs, the unhappy man 
moaned through his long and sleep - 
Jess nights, and gave np hope of rescue. 
No tender-hearted Circassian maiden 
l»t>nght to him, as to the hero of 
Pasbkin*8 well-known Caucasian 
poem, deliverance and love. Such 
hick had been that of more than one 
Russian captive ; but poor Tumau, in 
his state of filth and simalor, was no 
very seductive object. He mighthave 
pined away his life in his case, before 
baron Rosen, or his patemd majeshr 
the Czar, had recalled his fate to mind, 
but for an injury done by his merci- 
less master to one of his domestics, 
who vowed revenge. Watching his 
opportunity, this servant, one day that 
the rest of the household were absent, 
murdered his lord, released the pri- 
soner, tied him with thongs upon his 
saddle, upon which the baron, covered 
with sores and exhausted by illness, 
was unable to support himself, and 
groped with him towards the fron- 
tier. In one day they rode eighty 
verstSy (about fifty-four English miles,) 
outstripped pursuers, and reached 
Fort ij^er. The accounts given by 
Baron Tumau of the land of bis cap- 
tivity could be but slight: he had 
seen little beyond his place of confine- 



133 



ment. What he did relate was not 
very encouraging to Russian invasion. 
He depicted the country as one mass 
of rock and precipice, partially clothed 
with vast tracts of aboriginal forest, 
broken by deep ravines and mountain 
torrents, and surmounted by the huge 
ice-dad pinnacles of the loftiest Cau- 
casian ndge. The villages, some of 
which nestle in the deep recesses of 
the woods, whilst others are perched 
upon steep crags and on the brink of 
giddy precipices, are universally of 
most difiScult access. 

Dr Wagner, whose extremely 
amusing book forms the text of this 
article, has never been in Circassia, 
although he gives us more informa- 
tion about it, of the sort we want, 
than any traveller in that singular 
land whose writings have come under 
our notice. His wanderings were 
under Russian guidance and escort. 
During them, he skirted the hostile 
territory on more than one sidej 
occasionally setting a foot across the 
border, to the alarm of his Cossacks, 
whose dread by day and dreams 
by night were of Circassian ambus- 
cades; he has lingered at the base 
of Caucasus, and has traversed its 
ranges — without, however, deeming it 
necessary to penetrate into those 
remote valleys, where fordgners find 
dubious welcome, and whence they are 
not always sure of exit. He has 
mixed much with Circassians, if he 
has not actually dwelt in their vil- 
lages. It were tedious and unneces- 
sary to detail his exact itinerary. 
He has not printed his entire joumal 
— according to the lazy and egotis- 
tical practice of many travellers — ^but 
has taken the trouble to condense it. 
The essence is full of variety, anec- 
dote and adventure, and gives a dear 
insiffht into the nature of the war. 
Professedly a man of sdence, an anti- 
quary and a naturalist, Dr Wagner 
has evidently a secret hankering after 
matters military. He loves the sound 
of the dram, and willingly directs his 
scientific researches to countries where 
he is likely to smell powder. We 
had heard of him in the Atlas moun- 
tains, and at the siege of Constantina, 
before we met him risking his neck 
along the banks of the Kuban, and 
across the wild steppes of the Cauca- 
sus. He has travelled much in the 



Digitized by 



Goos 



134 



tmd^ OMHidg. 



[Feb. 



East, and firq>ared himself for iufi 
Caocawm trq) by a leng vta^ m 
TmiLef and in Soaltiern Kossia. 
Wen mtFodaoed, lie dermd frcMn 
dJatingiHBiied fiassian generab, kitel- 
figeot Gwiliaiis, and CircassiaQ cbiefiB, 
partioolarB ef the war more aotiieotic 
tiuui ate te be obtained eitiier from 
St Pelerd^org boUetins, or from the 
ordinaiy trans^Oaocanaa correq>on- 
deoto of German and other news- 
papers, many of whom are in the paf 
of Rnaeia. His African reminisoences 
proved of great valoe. The officere 
of the army of Caocasas take the 
strongest interest in the oontest be- 
tween French and Arabs, findmg in 
it, doubtless, points (^sindUtnde with 
the war in which they themselres ape 
engaged. Amongst these ofilcers he 
met, besides Russians and Germans, 
several satoralised Poles and French- 
men, Flemings and Spaniards, who 
gave in exchange for his tales of 
razdas and fiedonins, details of Cir- 
cassian warfare which he bi^y 
prized, as likely to be more impartial 
than the accounts afforded by the 
native Russians. He own Journey to 
the Caucasus took place in 1843 ; but 
a subsequent «orreq)ondeace with 
well-informed friends, on both sides 
the Caucasian range, enabled him to 
faring down Itis sketch of the struggle 
to the year 1846. 

Many English writers on Oircassia 
have been accused of an undue pre- 
ference fertile monntatneers, of exag- 
gerating their good qualities, and of 
elevating them by invidious contrasts 
with the Russians. There is no 
ground for suq>ecting a German of 
wch partiality; and Dr Wagner, 
whilst lauding the bermc valour and 
independent spirit of the Circassians 
— qualities which Russian authors 
have themselves admitted and extol- 
led—does net forget io do jnstioe to 
Ids Jioscovite and Cossack frieacto, 
to whom he devotee a consideri^le 
portion of his book, many of ins 
detais concenng them being ex- 
tremely novel and carious. He care- 
folly studied both Cossacks and Cfr- 
cassians, liviog amongst the former 
and flNeting thonsaads of tbe brtter, 
who go and come fredy upon Bunian 
territory. At Ekaterinodar, the capi- 
tal of the Tcheiaaiaortsy Cossacks, 
tbe Fridty^g aari^ swamai wHk 



Circassians. In Turkey, and else- 
where, Dr Wagnw had met many 
indtvidnals of that nation, but thm 
was the first time he beheld them in 
crowds. He describes them as very 
handsome men, wltk black beards;, 
aquiline noses, and flashing black 
eyes. He was struck with their lofl^ 
mien, and attiibntes it to their mental 
energy, and to a oooaciousness of 
physical strong^ and beaoty. 

"This superiority of the pure CHrcaa- 
sian blood does not belie itself under 
Russian discipline, any more than it does 
in Mahometan lands, where, as Mame- 
lukes in Cairo, and as pashas in Stam- 
boul, the sons of Caucasus hare ever 
played a prominent and distinguished 
part The Turk, who by cert^n impos- 
ing qualities awes all other Orientals, 
tiicitly recognises the superiority of the 
Circassian mud^n, or noble. The Empe- 
ror Nicholas, who preserves so rigid a 
discipline in the various corps of his 
vast army, shows himself extraordinarily 
considerate towards the Circassian squa- 
drons of his guard. Persons well versed 
in the military chronicles of St Peters- 
burg relate many a characteristic traif^ 
proving the bold stubborn spirit of these 
Caucasian men to be still unbroken, and 
showing how it more than once has so im- 
posed upon the emperor, and even upon 
the grand-duke Michael, reputed the strict- 
est disciplinarian in Huasia, that they have 
shut their eyes even to open mutiny. 
At a review, where the Caucasian cavaby 
formally refused obedience, the emperer 
contented himself with sending a cour- 
teous repro€xf by •General Bei^LendoiC 
Beside the ooarse oonaiion BuaeianSy the 
Circassian lo<^ like an eagle amidst a 
flock of bustards. Even capital crimes 
are not visited upon Circassians with the 
same severity as upon the other subjects 
of the emperor. A Circassian who had 
struck his dagger into the heart of a 
hackney-coachman at St Petersburg, in 
requital of an insolent overchaajge, was 
merely sent back to the CauoasuB. For 
a like oflenoe, a RusBian might reckon 
aq)on the knout, and upon hanifibment 
for life to the Siberian mines. 

" Amongst the Circaaaians at Ekateci- 
nodor, a work, or noble, of the Shan- 
sookiau tribe, was particularly remm- 
able for his beauty and dignity. None 
of the picturesque figures of Arabs and 
Moors furnished me by my A&ioan recol- 
lections, could bear comparison witii this 
Caucasiaa eagle. I afterwards saw, in 
Mingrelia, a more ideal mmld of feature^ 
rwembling the asKaqae Apalk ^rpe: 
but there the espramoa -was too afiunir 



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18«9.3 



GmimmiB and^ Comaeks. 



181 



nttte ; "the fasreic liead of the dweller on 
the Kilban pleased me better, i stood 
m good -while <beftire the Shi^Mookiaii, as 
if £ettered to-the ground, so extraordinary 
was the effect of his striking beauty. 
What a «tudy, I thought, for a German 
jMunter, who would in vain seek such 
models in Borne; or for a Yemet^ whose 
Arabian groups prove the great power of 
bis pencil ! The Arabs, rather priestly 
than knightly in their aspect, produce 
far less effect upon the large Algerine 
pictures at VerBullee than the OivoBSBian 
-wsrrior would do in a battle-pieoe by 
sooh maetars as Vemet or Peter Hess. 
The Shapaook chief at Ekaterinodar 
seemed oonsoions of his magnificent ap- 
pearanoe. With proud mien, and that 
light half-gliding gait observable in 
most Caucasians, he sauntered amongst 
tbe groups of Cossacks upon the market- 
place, casting glances of profonndest 
scorn upon thek clumsy sheepskin- 
"wrapped figures. His slender form and 
EmaU foot, the grace and elegance of his 
person and carriage, the richness of his 
eoBtmne amd beatnty of his weapons, con- 
trasted most advantageously with the 
antscnlar but somewhiict thidkset figures, 
and with the ugly woolly winter dress of 
the Tohemamortsies. By help of a Cos- 
sack I made his acquaintance, and got 
into conversation. His name was Chora- 
Beg, and he dwelt at a hamlet thirty 
ver8tB south of Ekaterinodar." 

Clioim-6eg wondered greatly that 
fats new acqnatntanoe was neither 
RBBSian nor English. He had beard 
vaguely that Idiere was a third Chris^ 
tiaa natioB, which, under Soltan 
Bnnapait, had made war npon the 
Padisha of the Russians, but he had 
iM notM» of ancfa a people as the 
Geraau. fle greatly admired Dr 
Wagner's xiAe, bat rather donbted its 
canying liirlber than a smooth i>ore, 
«Dd aflewed free inspection of bis^wn 
arms, ooBsislBig of pistols and dagger^ 
and <tf the ftnens ^AoAba— a tong 
iiearr cavalry sabre, aligbtly carved, 
with mlt of ntvo' and iveiy. At the 
dodor^ request he drew this weapon 
#om the soabtMwd, aad cot twioe or 
tknce at tiie •evmty air, his dark ^^es 
ilasfaiag as be aid so. *^How many 
Ssaeiaas Ins Ibat sabre sent to their 
aoooMtt " aaioed the laqmsitive Doc- 
tor. The Civoasrian's intdKgeBft 
cawtuuaautj assumed an expression 
hard to interpret, but in which his 
interlocQtor thonglfat he dlstingoished 
a gleam of scorn, and a ^hade of sas- 



pidon. ^It was long," he replied, 
** shice his tribe had taken the field 
against the Russians. Shice the deaf 
general (Sass) had left the land of the 
Oossacks, peace had reigned between 
Muscovite and Sh]^>80okian. Indivi- 
duals of his tribe Itad certainly been 
known to join bonds from the moun- 
tains, and to cross the Kuban with 
arms in hand.*^ And as Chora-Beg 
spoke, tlie expression of his proud eye 
belied his pacific pretensions. 

The general Sass above-named 
icommanded for several years on the 
Une of the Kuban, and is the only 
Russian general who has understood 
the mountain warfare, and proved 
himself a match for the Circassians at 
their own game of ambuscades and 
smprises. His tactics were those of 
tlie Spanish gneriUa leaders. Lavish 
in his pigment <^ spies, he was al- 
ways aoomately informed of the mus- 
ters and projects of the Circassians ; 
whilst he kept his own plans so secret, 
that his personid staff often knew no* 
tiling of an intended expedition until 
the call to *^ boot and saddle" sounded. 
His raids were accomplished, under 
guidance of his well-paid scouts, wit^ 
sucb rapidity and local knowledge that 
the mountaineerB rarely bad thne ta 
assemble in foitce, pursue t^e retbing 
column, and revenge their burnt vil- 
ages and ravished cattle. But ona 
day the veport spread on the lines of 
the Kuban that the general was dan- 
gerously ill; shortty afterwards it 
became known thaft the physicians 
had given him up; and finally Ids 
death was amiomMed, and bewaOed 
by the whole army of the Caucasus. 
Tbe oonstemotion of tbe Cossacks, 
accustomed, under bis command, to 
victory and ndti. booty, was as (^reat 
as the exaltation of the movntaineers. 
Hundreds of these v^ted the Russian 
territory, to witness the interment of 
their dreaded ^oe. A magnificenit 
coffin, with the general's codrod hat 
and decoratioas laid upon it, was de* 
posited fai theeorth amidst the monm- 
ftd soBods of minote guns and muffled 
drans. With }oyM hearts the Cir^ 
<}assian8 retmved to their mountains, 
to t^ wbat tbey bod seen, and to con- 
gratulale eodh other »t the pro^iect of 
tranquillity for themselves, and safety 
to their flocks and berds. But upon 
tlie second aigbt after Sass's funeral, 



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136 



Caucasus and the Cossacks, 



[Feb. 



a strong Bosaian column crossed the 
Kuban, and the dead general suddenly 
appeared at the hea^ of his trusty 
lancers, who greeted with wild hurrahs 
their leader's resurrection. Several 
large auls (villages) whose inhabitants 
were sound adeep, unsuspicious of 
surprise, were destroyed, vast droves 
of cattle were carried off, and a host 
of prisoners made. This ingenious 
and successful stratagem is still cited 
with admiration on the banks of the 
Kuban. Notwithstanding his able 
generalship, Sass was removed from 
his command when in full career of 
success. All his military services 
could not shield him from the conse- 
quences of St Petersburg intrigues and 
trumped-up accusations. None of his 
successors have equalled him. Gene- 
ral Willaminoff was a man of big 
words rather than of great deeds. In 
his bombastic and blasphemous pro- 
clamation of the 28th May 1837, he 
informed the Circassians that ^^ If the 
heavens should fall, Russia could prop 
them with her bayonets ; " following 
up this startling assertion with the 
declaration that " there are but two 
powers in existence — God in heaven, 
and the emperor upon earth !" * The 
Cu*cassians laughed at this rhodomon- 
tade, and returned a firm and becom- 
ing answer. There were but few of 
them, they said— but, with God's bless- 
ing, they would hold their own, and 
fi^t to the very last man: and to 
prove themselves as good as their 
word, they soon afterwards made 
fierce assaults upon the line of forts 
built by the Russians upon the shores 
of the Black Sea. In 1840 four of 
these were taken, but the triumph cost 
the victors so much blood as to dis- 
gust them for some time with attack- 
ing stone walls, behind which the Rus- 
sians, perhaps the best defensive com- 
batants in the world, fight like lions. 
Indeed, the Circassians would hardly 
have proved victorious, had not the 
garrisons been enfeebled by disease. 
During the five winter months, the ra- 
tions of the troop employed upon this 
service are usually salt, and the con- 
sequences are scurvy and fever. In- 
formed by Polish deserters of the bad 
condition of the garrisons, the Cir- 



cassians held a great council in the 
mountains, and it was decided to take 
the forts with the sabre, without firing 
a shot It is an old Caucasian cus- 
tom, that, upon suchlike perilous un- 
dertakings, a chosen band of enthu- 
siastic warrors devote themselves to 
death, binding themselves by a solemn ' 
oath not to turn then: backs upon the 
enemy. Ever in the van, their ex- 
ample gives courage to the timid; and 
their fnends are bound in honour to 
revenge their death. With these 
fanatics have the Circassian and 
Tshetshen chiefe achieved their great- 
est victories over the Russians. 

When it was decided to attack the 
forts, several hundred Shapsookians, 
including gray-haired old men and 
youths of tender age, swore to con- 
quer or to die. They kept their word. 
At the fort of Michailoff, which made 
the most obstinate defence, the ditch 
was filled with their corpses. The 
conduct of the garrison was truly 
heroic. Of five hundred men, only 
one third were fit for duty ; the others 
were in hospital, or on the sick-list. 
But no sooner did the Circassian war- 
cry rend the air than the sufferers 
forgot their pains ; the fever-stricken 
left their beds, and crawled to the 
walls. Their commandant called upon 
them to shed their last drop of blood 
for their emperor ; their old p<wa ex- 
horted them, as Christians, to fight to 
the death against the unbelieving 
horde. But numbers prevailed : after 
a valiant defence, the Russians re- 
treated, fighting, to the innermost 
enclosures of the fortress. Their chief 
demanded a volunteer to blow up the 
fort when farther resistance should 
become impossible. A soldier stepped 
forward, took a lighted match, and 
entered the powder magazine. The 
last defences were stormed, the Cir- 
cassians shouted victory. Then came 
the explosion. Most of the buildings 
were overthrown, and hundreds of 
maimed carcases scattered in all di- 
rections. Eleven Russians escaped 
with life, were dragged off to the 
mountains, and subs^uently ransom- 
ed, and from them the details of this 
bloody fight were obtained. 

The capture of these forts spread 



• Longworth*8 Cfircastia, voL L p. 1689. 



/Google 



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Caucasus and the Cossacks, 



137 



discouragement and consternation in 
the ranks of the Russian army. Tlie 
emperor was furious, and General 
Rajewski, then commander- in- chief on 
the Circassian frontier, was super- 
seded. This officer, who at the ten- 
der age of twelve was present with 
his father at the battle of Borodino, 
and who has since distinguished him- 
self in the Turkish and Persian wars, 
was reputed an able general, but was 
reproached with sleeping too much, 
and with being too fond of botany. 
His enemies went so far as to accuse 
him of making military expeditions 
into the mountains, with the sole view 
of adding rare Caucasian plants to his 
herbarium, and of procuring seeds for 
his garden. General Aurep, who suc- 
ceeded him, undertook little beyond 
reconnoissances, always attended with 
very heavy loss ; and the Circassians 
remained upon the defensive until the 

?ear 1843, when the example of the 
'shetshens, who about that time 
obtained signal advantages over the 
Russians, roused the martial ardour 
of the chivalrous Circassians, and 

Surred them to fresh hostilities. But 
e war at the western extremity of 
Caucasus never assumed the impor- 
tance of that in Daghestan and the 
country of the Tshetshens. 

From the straits of Zabache to the 
frontier of Guria, the Russians possess 
seventeen iGr<;po«ts, or fortified posts, 
only a few of which deserve the name 
of regular fbrtresses, or could resist a 
regular army provided with artillery. 
To mountameers, however, whose sole 
weapons are shaska and musket, even 
earthen parapets and shallow ditches 
are serious obstacles when well man- 
ned and resolutely defended. The 
object of erecting Uiis line of forts was 
to cut off the communication by sea 
between Turkey and the Caucasian 
tribes. It was thought that, when the 
import of arms and munitions of war 
firom Turkey was thus checked, the 
independent mountain tribes would 
soon be subjugated. The hope was 
not realised, and the expensive main- 
tenance of 15,000 to 20,000 men in 
the fortresses of the Black Sea has but 
little improved the position of the 
Russians in the Caucasus. The Cau- 
casians have never lacked arms, and 
with money they can always get pow- 
der, even from the Cossacks of the 



Kuban. In another respect, however, 
these forts have done them much 
harm, and thence it arises that, since 
theii* erection, and the cession of 
Anapa to Russia, the war has assumed 
so bitter a character. So long as 
Anapa was Turkish, the export of 
slaves, and the import of powder, 
found no hindrance. The ne^y Cir- 
cassian noble, whose rude mountains 
supply him but spaiingly with daily 
bread, obtained, by the sale of slaves, 
means of satisfying his warlike and 
ostentatious twtes— of procuring rich 
clothes, costly weapons, and ammuni- 
tion for war and for the chase. In a 
moral point of view, all slave traffic is 
of course odious and reprehensible, but 
that of Circassia differed from other 
conmierce of the kind, in so far that 
all parties were benefited by, and 
consenting to, the contract. The 
Turks obtained from Caucasus hand- 
somer and healthier wives than those 
bom in the harem ; and the Circassian 
beauties were delighted to exchange 
the poverty and toil of then* father's 
mountain huts for the luxurious ^or- 
niente of the seraglio, of whose won- 
ders and delights their ears were re- 
galed, from childhood upwards, with 
the most glowing descriptions. The 
trade, although greatly impeded and 
very hazardous, still goes on. Small 
Turkish craft creep up to the coast, 
cautiously evading the Russian cruis- 
ers, enter creeks and inlets, and are 
dragged by the Circassians high and 
drv upon the beach, there to remain 
till the negotiation for their live cargo 
is completed, an operation that gener- 
ally takes a few weeks. The women 
sold are the daughters of serfs and 
freedmen : rarely does a unn-k consent 
to dispose of his sister or daughter, 
although the case does sometimes 
occur. But, whilst the sale goes on, 
the slave- ships are anjrthing but secure. 
It is a small matter to have escaped 
the Russian frigates and steamers. 
Each of the Kreposts possesses a little 
squadron of row-boats, manned with 
Cossacks, who pull along the coast in 
search of Turkish vessels. If they 
detect one, they land in the niirht, and 
endeavour to set fire to it, before the 
mountaineers can come to the assis- 
tance of the crew. The Turks, who 
live in profound terror of these Cos- 
sack coast-guards, resort to every 



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U8 

possible ffiLpodient to escape their 
obsenration ; often ooveringl^irves- 
Mis with dry leaves and bon^^ and 
tying fir branches to the masts, that 
the sooniB may tske them for trees. 
If they are captared at sea by the 
cmiserB, the crew are sent to hard 
labour in Siberia, and the Circassian 
gbls are married to Cossacks, or 
divided as handmaidens amongst the 
Bossian staff officers. From thirty 
to forty slaves compose the nsnal 
caiigo of each of these vessels, which 
are so small that the poor creatm^ 
are packed almost like herrings in a 
barrel. But they patiently endm'e the 
miseiy of the voyage, m anticipation 
of the honeyed existence of the harem. 
It is caloaiated that one vessel out of 
six is taken or lost. In the winta: 
of 1843-4, eight-and-twenty ships left 
tkit coast of Asia Minor for liiat of 
Caucasia. Twenty-three safely re- 
tmned, three were burned by the 
BiHwians, and two swallowed by the 
waves. 

A Toi^h captain at Sinope told 
Dr Wagner the following interesting 
anecdote, illustratingCircassian hatrod 
of the Russians : — ^^ A ^em years ago 
a fliave-i^p sprang a leak out at sea, 
just as a Russian steamer passed in 
tbB distance. The Tmidsh slave- 
^eider, who preferred even the cfafll 
blasts of Siberia to a grave in deep 
water, made signals of dista-ess, and the 
flieamer came up in time to rescue tiie 
Mp aod its living cargo from destmc- 
taosL But so deeply is hatx«d of 
Russia implanted in every Circasaan 
lieart, that the sphit of the giris re- 
volted at the thou^t of beconnag tiie 
iielpmates of gray-coated solders, in- 
stead of sharing the somptuons conch 
of a Turkish pasha. They had bid 
adieu to their native mountains with 
Mttle emotaon, but as the Russian ship 
approached they set vp terrible and 
^BspairiAg screams. Seme sprang 
headioi^i^ into the sea; ot^ieis drove 
tbdr knives into their hearts :— to these 
berohiee death was preferable to the 
bridal-bed of a detested Masoovite. 
Tk» survivors wein taken to Am^ia, 
and manried to Cossacks, or given to 
cfiloers as servants." Nearly every 
Aostriaa or Turkish steamboat tiMt 
jnakes, in the winter months, the ^Foy. 
«ge from Trdnzond to Contantiaople, 
iias a aomher of OifcassiaB giiia an 



[FA. 

board. DrWagaermade^ie passage 
in an i^istriaa atoamer with several 
doaens of ^Aese inllrag slaves, chiefly 
mere ohildren,<twelve or thhteen years 
old, with interesting coantenances and 
daik wild eyes, but very pale and thin — 
with the -exception of two, who were 
some years older, far better dressed, 
and carefully vdled. To this favoured 
pan: the slave-deaier paid particular 
attention, and^«qnently brought them 
jcoffBO. Dr Wagner got into conver- 
sation with this man, who was richly 
dressed in furs and silks, and who, 
deiq)ito his vile profession, had the 
manners of a gentleaian. The two 
ooflfee- drinkers were daughters of 
noblemen, he said, with fine rosy 
cheeks, and in better condition than 
the others, consequently worth more 
money at Constantiaople. For the 
handsomest he hoped to obtain 80,000 
piastres, and for the other 20,000— 
about £250 and £170. The herd of 
young creatures he spc^e of with con- 
tempt, and should think himself lucky 
to get 2000 piastres for them all round. 
He further informed the doctor that, 
although 1^ slave-trade was more 
dangerous and difficult since the Rus- 
sian occupation of the Caucasian coast, 
it was also far more profitable. For- 
merly, whea Greek and Armenian 
women were brought in <srowds to 
the •Constantinople mariiet, the most 
beaotifiil Oircassians were not worth 
more than 10,000 piastres ; but now 
a raey, well^ed, fifteen-year-old slave 
is hardly to be bad under 40,000 
piastres. 

The Tshetdien successes, already 
referred to as having at the close of 
1642 staired into fiame and action, by 
Ibe force of example, the smouldering 
but atiM ardent embers of Circassian 
hatred to Russia, are described with 
venarkable spirit by Br Wagner, in the 
obapter entitled ^Caucasian War- 
Soenes,^*-^ep^estakeD down by him 
^m the fips of ef^-witnesses, and 
of riiarecs m the saaguinary conflicts 
described. This graphic dbapter at 
•oaoe finniliaiises m reader with tbe 
CaucasJaa wnr, with which he thence- 
inward iesls as weH aoqwunted as 
whh our wan in India, the Frencb 
oonleat In Africa, «r with any other 
4mies of oeaibats, of whose native 
andpragrsss lainiils sflforaation has 
been xenftariy wot&vmL The fint 



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Cmumam-audliieCoaadu. 



189 



e^ent described is the Btonning ef 
AoiAdio, in tbe Bummer €f 1889. It 
Is always a great point with gaeiilla 
gienerak, and with leaders of meon- 
tatn w«if are, to hmt a centre of c^ra- 
tioDs — ^a strong post, whither tiiey can 
retreat after a reverse, with the confi- 
dence that the enemy will hesitate 1>e- 
fore sttackinff them there. In Spain, 
Catotra had Morelia, tlie CooBt 
•d^Bspagne had Berga, the Kwnureae 
Tiewed Esteila as thdr citadel. la 
the eastern Cancasns, Ohafli-M<dlah 
had Himn, and preferred falUBg in its 
defence to abandoning bis stronghold ; 
Ihb SQOcessor, Chamyl, who snrpasses 
bim in talent for war and organisa- 
tioo, established Iris headquarters at 
Aculdho, a sort ef eagle's nest on the 
riyer Keisa, whither lus escorts 
^ron^ him intelligence of each move- 
nient of Russian troops, and whence 
he swooped, like the bird whose eyrie 
he occupied, upon the ood7<^ tra- 
Tersmg the steppe of the Terek. 
Here he jiAanned expeditions and 
surprises, and kept a store of arms 
and ammunition ; and ttisfort General 
GnMbbe, who commanded in 1889 the 
Russian forces in eastern Caucasus, 
and w%o was always a strong advo- 
cate -of the offensive system, obtained 
penmssioa from St Petersburg to 
attadL General Grolowin, com- 
mander-in-chief of the whole Mmy of 
the Caucasus, and then resident at 
Teffis, approved the enterprise, whose 
idtimate results cost both genends 
tiieir command. The ta^ng of 
Acalcho itself was of little moment ; 
tiiere was vo intention of placng a 
Rusman garrison there; but the 
doirt)Ie end to be obtained was to 
capture Chamyl, and to intinddate 
lAie Tshetsfaens, l^ proving to them 
that no part of their mountains, how- 
erer Aflcnlt of access and biravely 
deluded, was beyond the reach of 
Russi an valour and resources. Their 
uUbMBuion, at least nominal and 
temporary, was the reeidt hoped for. 

Nature has done much for the forti- 
ftcatien of Aculoho. Imagine a hill 
cf sand-stone, nearly surrounded by 
a loop cf the river Koisu — a msaia- 
tm peninsula, in short, connected 
with tiie continent by a narrow neck 
«f land-^pfovided with three natnnd 
twnoes, aocessiUe only by a email 
WKJky pafli, whose entrance is forti- 



fied and defended by 500 resolute 
Triietshen warriors. A fierw artifioial 
parapets and introichments, some 
stone huts, and several excavations in 
the sand rook, where the besieged 
found sh^ter from shot and shell, 
complete the picture of tiie plaoe 
before which Grabbe and his column 
sat down. At first they hoped to 
reduce it by artillery, and bombs and 
congreve rockets were poured upon 
the fortress, destroying hots and 
parapets, but doing litlde harm to the 
Tshetshens, who lay dose as conies 
in their burrows, and watched their 
opportunity to send well-aimed buBets 
into the Russian camp. From time 
to time, one of the fanatical Mnridea, 
of whom the garrison was chiefly 
composed, impatient that the foe 
delayed an assault, rushed headlong 
down from the rock, his shaska in lus 
right hand, his pistol in Ins left, his 
dagger between his teeth ; causing a 
momentary panic among the Cossadm, 
who were prepared for the whistling 
of bullets, but not for l^e sudden 
appearance of a foaming demon armed 
cap-h-pie^ who general^^, before th^ 
could use their bayonets, avenged in 
advance his own oertam death by the 
slaughter of several of his foes, whilst 
his comrades on t^ rook applauded 
and rejoiced at the heroic self-sacri- 
fice. The first attempt to storm was 
costly to the besiegers. Of fifteen 
hundred men who ascended the nar- 
row path, only a hundred and fifty 
survived. Tiie Tshetshens mamtained 
such a well-directed platoon fire, that 
not a Russian set foot on the seoond 
terrace. The foremost men, mown 
down by the bullets of the besieged, 
foil ba^L upon then- comrades, and 
predpitated them from the rock. 
General Grabbe, undismayed by his 
heavy loss, ordered a seoond and a 
third assault; the three cost two 
thousand men, but the lower and 
middle terraces were taken. The 
defence of the upper •one was despe- 
rate, and the Russians might have 
been compiled to turn the si^e into 
a bloduMie, but for the impmdenoe 
of eome of the garrison, who, anxious 
to ascertain the prooeedings ^ the 
enemyls «nginee» — then hard at 
work at a mine mder the hill — ven- 
tured too far from their defmoee, and 
were attacked ty a : 



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140 



Caucasus and the Cossacks. 



[Feb. 



The Tshetshens fled; bat, swift of foot 
though they were, the most active of 
the Russians attained the topmost 
terrace with them. A hand-to-hand 
fight ensued, more battalions came 
up, and Aculcho was taken. The 
victors, furious at their losses, and at 
the long resistance opposed to them, 
(this was the 22d August,) raged like 
tigers amongst the unfortunate little 
band of mountaineers ; some Tshet- 
shen women, who took up arms at 
this last extremity, were fQaughtered 
with their husbands. At last the 
bloody work was apparently at an 
end, and search ensued amonmst the 
dead for the body of Chamyl. It was 
nowhere to be found. At last the 
discovery was made that a few of the 
garrison had taken refuge in holes in 
the side of the rock, looking over the 
river. No path led to these cavities ; 
the only way to get at them was to 
lower men by ropes from the crag 
above. In this manner the surviving 
Tshetshens were attacked; quarter 
was neither asked nor given. The 
hole in which Chamyl himself was 
hidden held out the longest. Escape 
seemed, however, impossible; the 
rock was surrounded; the banks of 
the river were lined with soldiers; 
Grabbers main object was the capture 
of Chamyl. At this critical moment 
the handful of Tshetshens still alive 
gave an example of heroic devotion. 
They knew that their leader's death 
would be a heavy loss to their country, 
and they resolved to sacrifice them- 
selves to save him. With a few 
beams and planks, that chanced to be 
in the cave, they constructed a sort 
of raft. This they launched upon the 
Koisn, and floated with it down the 
stream, amidst a storm of Russian 
lead. The Russian general doubted 
not that Chamyl was on the raft, and 
ordered every exertion to kill or take 
him. Whilst the Cossacks spuired 
thehr horses into the river, and the 
infantry hurried along the bank, fol- 
lowing the raft, a man sprang out of 
the hole into the Koisu, swam vigor- 
ously acix)ss the stream, landed at an 
unguarded spot, and gained the 
mountains unhurt. This man was 
Chamyl, who alone escaped with life 
from the bloody rock of Aculcho. 
His deliverance passed for miraculous 
amongst the enthusiastic mountaineers. 



with whom his influence, from that 
day forward, increased tenfold. 
Grabbe was ftirious ; Chamyl's head 
was worth more than the heads 
of all the garrison : three thousand 
Russians had been sacrificed for the 
possession of a crag not worth the 
keeping. 

After the fall of Aculcho, Chamyl's 
head-quarters were at the village of 
Dargo, in the mountain region south 
of the Russian fort of Girsdaul, and 
thence he carried on the war with 
great vigour, surprising fortified posts, 
cutting off* convoys, and sweeping the 
plain with his horsemen. Generals 
Grabbe and Golowin could not 
agree about the mode of operations, 
lie former was for taking the of- 
fensive; the latter advocated the 
defensive and blockade systenu 
Grabbe went to St Petersburg to 
plead in person for his plan, obtained 
a favourable hearing, and the emperor 
sent Prince Tchemicheff', the minis- 
ter at war, to visit both flanks of the 
Caucasus. Before the prince reached 
the left wing of the line of operations, 
Grabbe resolved to surprise him with 
a brilliant achievement ; and on the 
29th May 1842, he marched from 
Girselaul with thirteen battalions, a 
small escort of mounted Cossacks, and 
a train of mountain artillery, to attack 
Dargo. The route was through forests, 
and along paths tangled with wild 
flowers and creeping plants, through 
which the heavy Russian infantiy, 
encumbered with eight days' rations 
and sixty rotinds of ball-cartridge, 
made but slow and punful progress. 
The first day's march was accom- 
plished without fighting; only here 
and there the slender active form of a 
mountaineer was descried, as he peered 
between the trees at the long column 
of bayonets, and vanished as soon 
as he was observed. After mid- 
night the dance began. The troops had 
eaten their rations, and were comfort- 
ably bivouacked, when they were 
assailed by a sharp fire frt)m an in- 
visible foe, to which they replied in 
the durection of the flashes. This 
skirmishing lasted all night ; few were 
killed on either side, but the whole 
Russian division were deprived of 
sleep, and wearied for the next day's 
march. At daybreak the enemy re- 
tired; but at noon, when passing 



|GoogIe 



1849.] 



Caucasus and the Cossacks, 



141 



through a forest defile, the column 
was again assailed, and soon the 
horses, and a few light carts [accom- 
panying it, were insufficient to convey 
the wounded. The staff urged the 
general to retrace his step, but 
Grabbe was bent on welcoming 
Tchemicheff with a triumphant bul- 
letin. Another sleepless biyouac 
— another flagging day, more skir- 
mishing. At last, when within sight 
of the fortified village of Dargo, 
the loss of the column was so heavy, 
and its situation so critical, that 
a retreat was ordered. The daring 
and fury of the Tdhetshens now 
knew no bounds; they assailed the 
troops sabre in hand, captured bag- 
gage and wounded, ana at night 
prowled round the camp, like wolves 
round a dying soldier. On the 1st 
June, the fight recommenced. The 
valour displayed by the mountaineers 
was admitted by the Russians to be 
extraordinary, as was also theur skill 
in wielding the terrible shaska. They 
made a fierce attack on the centre of 
the column— cut down the artillery- 
men and captured six guns. The 
Russians, who throughout the whole 
of this trying exp^ition did their 
duty as good and brave soldiers, were 
furious at the loss of their artillery, 
and by a desperate charge retook five 
pieces, the sixth being relinquished 
only because its carriage was broken. 
Upon the last day of the retreat, 
Chamyl came up with his horsemen. 
Had he been able to get these together 
two days sooner, it is doubtful whether 
any portion of the column would have 
esci^ed. As it was, the Russians 
lost nearly two thousand men ; the 
weary and dispirited survivors re- 
entering Girselaul wtih downcast 
mien. Preparations had been made 
to celebrate their triumph, and, to 
add to their general's mortification, 
Tchemicheff was awaiting theur arri- 
val. On the prince's return to St 
Petersburg, both Grabbe and Golowin 
were removed fipom their commands. 

Agahist this same Tshetshen for- 
tress of Dargo, Count Woronzoff's 
expedition (uready referred to) was 
made, in July 1845. A c^>ital ac- 
count of the affair is g^ven in a letter 
firom a Russian officer engaged, printed 
in Dr Waffner's book. Darao had 
become an important place. Chamyl 



had established large stores there, 
and had built a mosque, to which 
came pilgrims from the remotest vil- 
lages of Daghestan and Lesghistan, 
partly to pray, partly to see the 
dreaded cWef— -equally renowned as 
warrior and priest — and to give him 
information concerning the state of 
the country, and the movements of the 
Russians. Less vigorously opposed 
than Grabbe, and his measures better 
taken, Woronzoff reached Dargo with 
moderate loss. ^^The village," says 
the Russian officer : ^^ was situated 
on the slope of a mountain, at the 
brink of a ravine, and consisted of sixty 
to seventy small stone-houses, and of a 
few larger buildings, where the stones 
were joined with mortar, instead of be- 
ing merely superimposed, as is usually 
the case in Caucasian dwellings. One 
of these buildings had several irregu- 
lar towers, of some apparent antiquity. 
When we approached, a thick smoke 
burst from them. Chamyl had or- 
dered everything to be set on fire 
that could not be carried away. One 
must confess that, v^ this fierce detei*- 
mination of the enemy to refuse sub- 
mission—to defend, foot by foot, the 
territory of his forefathers, and to 
leave to the Russians no other tro- 
phies than ashes and smoking ruins — 
there is a certain wild grandeur which 
extorts admiration, even though the 
hostile chief be no better than a fan- 
atical barbarian.** This reminds us 
of the words of the Circassian chief 
Mansour : — "When Turkey and Eng- 
land abandon us," he said, to Bell of 
the * Vixen,' — " when all our powers 
of resistance are exhausted, we will 
bum our houses and our goods, 
strangle our wives and our children, 
and retreat to our highest rocks, there 
to die, fighting to the very last man." 
" The greatest difficulty/* said Gen- 
eral Neidhardt to Dr Wagner, who 
was a frequent visitor at the house of 
that distinguished officer, "with which 
we have to contend, is the unappeas- 
able, deep-rooted, ineradicable hatred 
cherished by all the mountaineers 
against the Russians. For this we 
know no cure ; every form of severity 
and of kindness has been tried in turn, 
with equal ill-snccess.** Valour and 
patriotism are neariy the only good 
qualities the Caucasians can boast. 
They are cruel, and for the most part 



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142 



Caueamu amd ^ Cmmckt 



[Felr. 



faithless^ eipeciflily tiie TahetsheiUK 
said Dr Wagnor ivarns as againat 
crediting tiie asfiaggerated accomitB 
fireqnenSj given of their many vir- 
tues. The Circaasiana are said to< 
respect their plighted word, bat tiiere 
are mai^ exceptioaa^ CraieralNeid* 
hardt toid Dr Wagner an anecdote of 
a CireaBsoBi, who pres^ted Mma^ 
before the commaodant of one of the 
Black Sea fortresses, and offered to 
cofranonieate most important intelli- 
gence, on condition of a certain re^ 
ward. The reward was promised. 
Then said the Circassian,—*^ To-mor- 
row after sanset, vonr fort will be 
assailed by thoosands of my country- 
men." The informer was retained, 
whilst Cossacks and riflemen were sent 
ont, and it proved that he had spoken 
the tmth. The enemy, finding the 
garrison on their gnard, retired after 
a short skirmish. The Circassian re- 
ceived his recompense, whieh he took 
withont a word of thanks, and left die 
fortress. Without the walls, he met 
an nnarmed soldier; ha^d of the 
Russians, and Uiirst of blood, again 
got the ascendency: he shot the sol- 
diar dead, and scampered off to the 
moontains. 

Chamyl did not loD^ remain in- 
debted to the Bnsnans ror their visit 
to Dargo. His repotadon of sanctity 
and valonr enabled him to nnite nnder 
his orders many tribes habitoally hos- 
tile to each other, and which previously 
had foni^t each ** on its own hook.*' 
Of these tribes he formed a powerful 
league; and in May 1846 he burst 
into Cabardia at the head of twenty 
thousand mountaineers, four thouaand 
of whom were horsemen. Formidable 
though this force was, the venture waa 
one of extreme temerity. He left be- 
hind him a double line of Bnssian 
camps and forts, and two rivans, tiien 
at the flood, and difficult to pass. 
With an und^plined and heteroge- 
neous army, without artillery or re- 
gular commissariat, this daring chief 
threw hhnself into a flat country, un- 
favourable to guerilla warfore ; slipphig 
through the Russian posts, marching 
more than four hundred miles, and 
utterly disregarding the danger be was 
in from a well-equipped army of up- 
wards of seventy thousand men, to 
say nothing of the numerous mUitaiy 
population of the Cossack setdements 



on the Terek andSundsoha, andof the 
foet that the Cabardians, kmg sob- 
misaiira to Roano, ware mexe likely 
to arm in* defenee-ef their rulers than 
to fEUFOor the mountaineenk 8h^^ 
herds and dwellera in the plain, and 
far less warlike than the other Cir- 
cassian, tribes, they never wa» able 
to make head against the Russians ; 
and had remained mdiffiu^ent to all 
the moentives of Tshetdien iiuntica 
and iNTopagandists. For years past^ 
Chamyl had threatened them with a 
visifc; but nevertheless^ his sudden 
appearance greatly suiprised and eon- 
founded both t^em and the Rais«an 
general, who had just conoentrated all 
his movable columns, with a view te 
an expedition, relying overmuch upon 
his lines of forts and blockho o e e s. 
The Tshetrilen raid was more darinff^ 
and at least aa successful, asAbd-d- 
Kader's celebrated foray in the Me- 
tii^ay in the year 1839. Chamyl ad- 
dressed to the Cabardian» a thundering 
proclamation, full of quotations fieom 
the Koran, and denouncing vengeance 
on themtif they did not floek to the 
banner of the Prophet. The unludcy 
Iraepers of sheep found themselvea be^ 
tween the devil and the deep sea 
From terror rather than sympathy, 
a large number of villages dedared for 
Chamyl, whose wild honies bnmed 
and plundered the property of allwhe 
adhered to the Russians ; leaving, like 
a swarm of locusts, desolati<ML in their 
track. When the Coaaadm begaa to- 
gathar, and the Russian generals tor 
manoBUvre, Chaonrl, who knew he 
could not contend in the plaia with 
disciplined and superior forceS) and 
whose retreat by the road he cane 
was aheady cut ofl; traversed Ghreat 
and Little Cabardia, burning and de- 
stroying as he went ; dadied throof^ 
the Cossack oolomea to the south of 
Ekatsrinograd, and regainedhis moun- 
tains in safety— dragging with him 
booty, prisoners, and Cabaadian re- 
cruits. These latter, who had joined 
through fear of Chamyl^ ranatned 
with him through fear of the Rwwians. 
By this foray, whose apparent great 
rashness was justified by its oomplete 
success, Cham^rl enriched his pe^et 
stiengthraed his army, and greatly 
weakened the confidence of the tribes 
of the plain in the efficacy of Russian 
protection. As usual, in cases of dia- 



Digitized by VjOOQIC 



astor, th« BaaiAiiw kept Ham afiair a& 
qoiet as- thay orald;. bnt the trotfi 
oooM not be qnnontlod ftx»i- thom 
most concsBiiedv. and ■mnMrs- of ftis- 
maj ran akng the-ttqMsadiline'finiig^ 
mg the MnaciMnteraiMi GveaBuaa tw* 
riloriesw 

The Boaaan anagrof tlie Camaauft 
reckanad, ia I846> iteat ei^ity thoa- 
sand man^ exdnaiTe o£ tbict^F-five 
thofuand wha had littla W do with 
the war, bat wepe mena- aapeoially 
employed la watohlny the- extenrnvo 
line of Tndush and Panwn fronftier, 
aad in endaam)iiriBg: to exdnde eouK 
tnband goods andAaiaUo epSikmica. 
Bot the aevere fig^itiag that oeawred 
in 1842 and 1843) showed the nea8a«> 
aty of an iuGraase of foroa. Sobae- 
qoeai events hai^ not admitted o£ % 
reduction lathe Gancaaian aatabiSsh- 
meat ; and we are psobably very near 
tlie mark, in eaiimattng tiia troepa 
oocnpying the variona forts and campa 
on the Black Sea, and the lines of the 
rivers^ (Tarak, Knbant Koisnv &c.,) 
ai aboni one hnndfid ^onaand men. 
— notataUtoomaaytognaid80>eXf-< 
tensive a line, agaktat so aottve and 
enterpriainf afoe. The Bttsai«k ranks 
are conataatfy thinned by destniotiJFe 
fevers, whidi, iabadyeais, httfe bean 
known to cany off as mndi aa a sixth 
of the Caflcaaian awnnft. AttLnview 
at yiadikawkaa.1. Db Wagner was 
stRifik by the* pawoEfol bniid q€ the 
Bnaaian foat-aoidiers — broadi-du»l*- 
deredt broad-fiMad ^awonianat witit 
enonnoia nmataehaa» drflled to ante«> 
matical perfection, in point of bona 
and limbf. every man of them waa a 
grenadier In a bayonet diargaf snch 
in£uitry are formidBhle> opponents^ 
S^gor mendoBft that,, on the battle- 
field of Bon^ftae^ the nation of the 
stripped bodiea was eadly knownf— 
the maade and siaat of tiie Btuaiana 
oontnating with tiie slighter framea of 
Franeh and Gennaoa^ '^Ton mi^ 
kill the Bosianai but yon will hardly 
make them non^" was a storing of 
VndBBtk the Gnat; and oertiMidy 
SeidlitE, Ytha soattttiad the French so 
briskly at Tftoasbaeht had to sweat 
Idoed bafinre he overcame theRnasianfr 
atZonutof. Those anrvlvgara of Na*- 
poleon's fitnumsGnard who fosght in 
the drawn battle of E^lao, will bear 
witneeato the atabbam^reaatanflD and 
ball-dog qnalitiea of tiie Mosoovite. 



aadO^Ct 



143 

Bbt^ the grenadier statnxe^ and the im- 
mobility utder fire — admhnble ^pmli- 
tiaa on^ at plain^ and against regular 
k«opB— a^rail little in. the Caocasas. 
The bnily Bnssian pants and perspires 
np Aehiiis, which the ligfat-foetedchifr' 
mois-like Circassians and Tahetshena 
aacandat a ran. The momitaineera 
miderstand their advantages, and de<- 
dine standing still in the plain to be 
diarged by a line of bayonets. They 
dance ronnd the heavy Bnssian, whoy 
with his well-stnfifed knapsack ani 
long greatcoat, can baoety tnni on 
his heel fiist enough to fiu» titem. 
They catch him ont skirmishing, and 
daughter him in detail. '* One mi^ 
suppose," said a foreigner in the Bia- 
sian service to Dr Wagner, " that the 
musket and bayonet of tiie Bussiaa 
soldier would be too much, in single 
combat, for the sabre and dagger of 
the Tshetshen. The contraiy is the 
caae; AmongBt the dead,^ slain in 
hand-to-hand encounter, there ana 
usually a third more Rnsaians than 
Caucasiana. Strange to say, toa, the 
Ruauan soldier^ who in the seined 
ranks^ of his battalion meets dbatii 
witii wondidrftd firmness^ and who haa 
shown the utmost valour in contests 
with European, Turkish, and Persiaa 
armiisa, of&n betrava timidity in the 
Caucasian war, and retreata from the 
outposts to the column^ m spite of the 
he»7y punishment he thereby incurs. 
I m^Mlf waa exposed, during the mur^ 
derous fight nearlBchtoi(I>argo,) in 
184^, to o(msiderab]e dangw, because, 
having gone to the assistance of a 
skirmisher, who was sharply engaged 
with a Tshetahen, the skirmish^ ranv 
leainng me to fi(i^ it ont akme." 
This diynesB of Russian soldiers in 
sin^e fight and uregular warfore, is 
not inexplicable. They have no 
chance of promotion, no honourable 
stimulus : rood and brandy, disdpline 
and dread of the lash, convat tiiem 
finom serfo into soldiers. As bits of a 
machine, they are admirable when 
united, but asunder they^ are mere 
screws and bolts. Fanatic zeal, bit- 
ter haired, and thirst of bloody ani- 
mate the Cancaaian, who, trained to 
arms from his boyhood, and ignorant 
of diiUf relies only upon his keen 
shaska, and upon the Prophet's pro- 
tection. 
Freanmhig Dr Wagner^ statement 



* Digitized by VjOOQIC 



144 



Caucasus and iJte Cossacks, 



[Feb. 



of Russian rations to be correct, it is 
a puzzle how the soldier preserves the 
condition of his thews and sinews. 
The dailj allowance consists of three 
pounds of bread, black as a coal ; a 
water-soup, in which three pounds of 
bacon are cut up for every two hun- 
dred and fifty men ; a ration of wodka^ 
or bad brandy, and once a- week a 
small piece of meat. The pay is nine 
rubles a-year, (about one-third of a 
penny per diem,) out of which the un- 
fortunate private has to purchase his 
stock, cap, soap, blacking, salt, <&c. , &c. 
Any surplus he is allowed to expend 
upon his Amusement. ^'Our soldiers 
are obliged to steal a little," said a 
German officer in the Bussian service 
to Dr Wagner ; " theu- pay will not 
purchase soap and blacking ; and if 
their shirts are not clean, and their 
shoes polished, the stick is their por- 
tion." ^^ Stealing a little," in one 
way or other, is no uncommon practice 
in Russia, even amongst more highly 
placed personages than the soldiers. 
Officials of all kinds, both civil and mili- 
tary, particularly those of the middle 
and lower ranks, are prone to pecula- 
tion. Dr Wagner was deafened with 
the complaints that from aU sides met 
his ear. ^^ Ah ! if the emperor knew 
it!" was the usual cry. The subjects 
of Nicholas have strong faith in his 
justice. It is well remembered in the 
Caucasus, especially by the army, 
how one day, at Teflis, the emperor, 
upon parade, in full view of mob and 
soldiers, tore, with his own hand, the 
golden insignia of a general's rank 
u-om the coat of Prince Dadian, de- 
nounced to him as enriching himself 
at his men's expense. For sevconEd 
years afterwards, the prince carried the 
musket, and wore the coarse gray coat 
of a private sentinel. The officers 
j>itied him, although his condemna- 
tion was just. " Ilfaut prqfiter dune 
bonne place,^^ is their current maxim. 
The soldiers rejoiced ; but in secret ; 
for such rejoicings are not always safe. 
A sentence often recoils unpleasantly 
upon the accuser. Dr Warner gives 
sundry examples. A major m Sewas- 
topol fell in love with a seraeanfs 
wife ; and as she disregarded his ad- 
dresses, he persecuted her and her 
husband at every opportunity. In 
despair, the sergeant at last com- 
plamed to the general commanding. 



lie was listened to ; an investigation 
ensued ; the major was superseded ; 
and from his successor the sergeant 
received five hundred lashes, under 
pretence of his having left his regi- 
ment without permission when he 
went to lodge his charge. Corporal 
punishment, of frequent application, 
at the mere caprice of their superiors, 
to Russian serfs and soldiers, is in- 
flicted with sticks or rods, the knout 
being reserved for very grave offences, 
such as murder, rebellion, &c., and 
preceding banishment to Siberia, 
should the sufferer survive. Dr 
Wafer's description of this dreadful 
punishment is horribly vivid. Few 
criminals are sentenced to more than 
twenty-five lashes, and less than 
twenty often kill. Running the gaunt- 
let through three thousand men is the 
usual punishment of deserters ; and 
this would usually be a sentence of 
death but for the compassion of the 
officers, who hmt to their companies 
to strike lightly. If the sufferer 
faints, and is declared by the surgeon 
unable to receive all his punishment, 
he gets the remainder at some future 
time. ^' Take him down" is a phrase 
unknown in the Russian service, until 
the offender has received the last lash 
of his sentence. 

Severity is doubtless necessary in 
an army composed like that of Russia. 
Two-thirds of the soldiers are serfs, 
whose masters, being allowed to send 
what men they please — so long as 
they make up their quota— naturally 
contribute the greatest scamps and 
idlers upon then: estates. The army 
in Russia is what the galleys are in 
France, and the hulks in England—a 
punishment for an infinity of offences. 
An official embezzles funds— to the 
army with him; a Jew is caught 
smuggling — off with him to the ranks ; 
a Tartar cattle-stealer, a vagrant 
gipsy, an Armenian trader convicted 
of fraud, a Petersburg coachman who 
has run over a pedestrian — all food 
for powder— gray coats and bayonets 
for them all. Jews abound in the 
Russian arm3r, being subjected to a 
severe conscription in Pohind and 
southern Russia. They submit with 
exemplary patience to the hardships 
of the service, and to the taunts of 
then: Russian comrades. Poles ai^ of 
course numerous in Uie ranks, but 



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GooqIc 



1849.] 



Caucasui and the Casaeks. 



145 



they are less endniiog than the Israel- 
ite, and often desert to the Circassians, 
who make them work as servants, or 
sell them as slaves to the Turks. No 
race are too nnmUitary in their natnre 
to be ground into soldiers by the mUl 
of Russian discipline. Besides Jews, 
gipsies and Armenians iigare on the 
muster-roll. It must have been a 
queer day for the ragged Zingaro, 
when the Russian sergeant first step- 
ped into his smoky tent, bade him 
dip his elf locks, wash his grimy 
countenance, and follow to the field. 
For him the pomp of war had no 
seductions; he would far rather have 
stuck to his den and vermin, and to 
his meal of roast rats and hedgehogs. 
But military discipline works miracles. 
The slouching filthy vagabond of yes- 
terday now stands erect as if he had 
swallowed his ramrod, his shoes a 
brilliant jet, his buttons sparkling in 
the sun— a soldier from toe to top- 
knot. " 

The right bank of the Kuban, firom 
the Sea of Azov to the month of the 
Laba, (a tributary of the former 
stream,) is peopled with Tchema- 
mortsy Cossacks, who furnish ten 
regiments, each of a thousand horse- 
men, for the defence of their lands 
and fomiUes. These cavalry carry a 
musket, slung on the back, and a long 
red lance : thehr dress is a sheepskin 
jacket, except on state occasions, when 
they sport uniform. They are much 
less fewed by the Circassians than 
are the Cossacks of the Line, who 
wear the Circassian dress, carr}' sabres 
instead of lances, and are more va- 
liant, active and skilful, than their 
Tchemamortsy neighbours. The Cos- 
sacks of the Caucasian Line dwell on 
the banks of the Kuban and Terek, 
form a military colony of about fifty 
thousand souls, and keep six thousand 
horsemen ready for the field. There 
is a mixture of Circassian blood in 
their veins, and they are first-rate 
fighting men. Their villages are ex- 
posed to fiiBquent attacks fVom the 
mountaineers; but when these are not 
exceedingly rapid in collecting their 
booty, and effecting their retreat, the 
Ck)ssacks assemble, and a desperate 
fight ensues. When the combatants 
are numerically matched, the equality 
of arms, horses, and skill renders the 
issue very doubtfW. The Tchema- 

VOL. LXV. — NO. COCC. 



mortsies and Don Cossacks are less 
able to cope with the Circassians. In 
a tnel^ their lances are inferior to the 
shaska. The rival daims of lance 
and sabre have often been discussed ; 
many trials of their respective merits 
have been made in English, French, 
and German riding-schools ; and much 
ink has been shed on the subject. 
Unouestionably the lance has done 
good service, and in certain circum- 
stances is a terrible arm. *' At the 
battle of Dresden," Marshal Marmont 
tells us, '^ the Austrian infantir were 
repeatedly assailed by the French 
cuirassiers, whom they as often beat 
back, although the rain prevented 
their firing, and the bayonet was their 
sole defence. But fifty lancers of 
Latonr-Manbourg*s escort at once 
broke their ranks." Had the cuiras- 
siers had lances, their first charge, 
Marmont plausibly enough asserts, 
would have sufficed. This leads Uy 
another question, often mooted — 
whether the lance be properly a light 
or a heavy cavalry weapon. When 
used to break infantry, weight of man 
and horse might be an {^vantage ; 
but in pursuit, where — espedally in 
rugged and mountainous countries — 
the lance is found particularly useful, 
the preference is obviously for the 
swift steed and light cavalier. In the 
irregular cavalry combats on the Cau- 
casian line, the sabre carries the day. 
Unless the Don Cossack's first lance- 
thrust setties his adversary, (which is 
rarely the case,) the next instant the 
adroit Circassian is within his guard, 
and then the betting is ten to one on 
Caucasus. Moreover, the Don Cos- 
sacks, brought from afar to wage a 
perilous and profitless war, are unwil- 
ling combatants. They find blows 
more plentiful than booty, and approve 
themsdves arrant thieves and shy 
fighters. Relieved eveir two or three 
years, they have scarcely time to get 
broken in to the peculiar mode of 
warfare. The Cossacks of the Line 
are the fiower of the hundred thou- 
sand wild warriors scattered over 
the steppes of Southern Russia, and 
ready, at one man's word, to vault 
into the saddle. Thehr gallant feats 
are numerous. In 1843, during Dr 
Wagner's visit, three thousand Cir- 
cassians dashed across the Kuban, 
near the fortified village of Ustlaba. 

K 



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146 



Caucasus and the Cossacks, 



[Feb. 



A dense fog hid them from the Bus- 
sian vedettes. Suddenlj fifhr Cos- 
sacks of the Line, the escort of a guii 
foond tiiemselvQs fiace to fiice with the 
moontalneers. The mist was so thick 
that the hocses' heads almost touched 
beforeeitherpartyperceived the other. 
Flight was impossible, bat the Cos- 
sadb fought like fiends. Fortj-seven 
met a soldier's death ; only three were 
captured, and accompanied the can- 
non across the river, by which road 
the Circassians at once retreated, 
having taken the brave detachment 
fbr the advanced guard of a strong 
force. 

The word Kasak, Kosak, or Kossack, 
variously interpreted by Klaproth and 
other etymologists as robber, volun- 
teer, daredevil, &c., conveys to civi- 
lised ears rude and inelegant associa- 
tions. Paris has not yet forgotten 
the uncouth hordes, wrapped in sheep- 
skins and overrun with vermin, who, 
in the hour of her humiliation, startled 
her streets, and made her dandies 
shriek for their smelling-bottleB. Not 
that Paris saw the worst of them. 
Some of the Uralian bears, centaurs of 
the steppes, Calibans on horseback, 
were never allowed to pass the Russian 
frontier. Their emperor appreciated 
their good qualities, but left them at 
home. Since then, a change has occur- 
ed. Civilisation has made huge strides 
north-eastward. Near Fanagoria, Dr 
Wagner passed a pleasant evening 
with a Cossack officer, a prime fellow, 
with an unquaichable thirst for toddy, 
and an inexhaustible store of informa- 
tion. He had made the campaigns 
against the French; had evidently 
been bred a savajie, or little better; 
but had acquired, onring his long mili- 
tary career, knowledge of the worid and 
a certain degree of polish. Amongst 



other interesting matters, he gave a 
sketch of his grandfather, a blood- 
thirsty old warrior and image-wor- 
shipper, the scourge of his Nogay 
neighbours, and a great slayer of the 
Turk; who in 1812, at the mature age 
of ninety, had responded to Czar 
Alexander's summons to fight ibr 
'' faith and fatherland," and had 
taken the field under Platofi^ at 
the head of thirteen sons and three- 
score grandsons. Whilst the Cossack 
mi^or told the history of the " Demon 
of the Steppes," as his ferodons 
ancestor was called, his son, a gay 
lieutenantintheCossacksof the Guttd, 
entered the apartment. This young 
gentleman, slender, handsome, with 
well-cut uniform, graceful manners, 
and well-waxed mustaches, declined 
the punch, *^ havjng sot used at St 
Petersburg to tea and chan^>agne.V 
He brought intelligence of promotions 
and decorations, of hifh play at Tcher- 
kask, (the capital of the Don-Cos- 
sacks* country,) and of the establish- 
ment at Toganrog of a French res- 
tauraietir, who retuled Veuve CUcquofs 
genuine champagne at four silver 
rubles a bottle. He was fascinated 
by the French actresses at St Peters- 
burg, and enthusiastic in praise of 
Ta^ni, then displaying her legs and 
naces hi the Russian metropolis. Dr 
Wagner left the ^mposium with a 
vivid impression of the contrast be- 
tween the bearded barbarian of 1812 
and the dapper guardsman of thirty 
years later ; and with the ftdl convic- 
tion that the next Russian emperor 
who makes an inroad into civilised 
Europe, will have no occasion to be 
ashamed of his Cossacks, even though 
his route should lead him to the polita 
capital of the French republic 



Digitized by VjOOQIC 



IM9.] 



The Cartom Pi»rt X. 



147 



TflUB CAXTONS» — PASX X« 



obaher xlyi. 



Mt uadfi'a oonjeotore as to tte 
pwemlagft <^ Frandfi Viviaa aeanedr 
Id ae a pMkive discovery, liotiiiiig 
Boro liiuQly tiuuL that tMs wilful bc^ 
hadfiBrmed some l&eadatroBg atlaak- 
neni wbieh no father would saactkni, 
and Mt thwaorted and irritated^ thrown 
hiMMlf Oft the world. Soeh an expla- 
aatioa was the more agreeable to ne^ 
aa U cleared np all that had appearel 
Bore discreditable in the mystery that 
fiorroanded Vivian. I oonld lever 
bear to think that he had done any- 
Ibiag mean and criminal, however I 
miAi bdieve he had been raah and 
iuks. It was Btttural that the no- 
frJMiand. wandarer should haxre bees 
ttrowftittto asodetyt the eqnivocal 
cbaaactar of whidi had Med to revolt 
thfl afldaoity o£ an in^iisitive mind 
and adventnaoBa ten^^; but U 
waa natn^lt aiaot that the haluita 
of geoda buth^ and that silent edao^ 
tkft which EiMjtfsh geatlem^ eomr 
monly recaiya from thmr very ciadle, 
fihonld h«ra pseserved hiahwoor, at 
least, intact throBgh aU. Gtftakily 
tha pida» the nolions> tiue verv imXia 
of thaw^lbom had remainaaia fall 
fnwa why not tha belter qaaUtias, 
hawever smothered to the tima? lielt 
thaakfid to tiM& thoagbA that Viviaa 
waa letaBiag to aftekraMayt inwhichha 
midii raping hia miad«— refit him« 
aalF to that q^iare to whiah ha bd<mg- 
ed^-thaakM that ;we mi|^i yet 
■Mit and enr piasaat half iatknaqr 
maioret perimpc, into haaithM fidaad- 

tt was with siMii tho«|^ that I 
taak im my hat the next mominf to 
aaek Vivian^ aad jodge if wa had 
faiMd tha ngbt dm^ whan wa ware 
ataitlad bj what was a rare aoood at 
aaa doer-iha jpaaftmaa'B k»ock. My 
fiahea waa at tfie linaeam ; my mothat 
imUgh flifmfeinnf <i»og ctoeaprepaeation 
teaarappcaachiagd^MurtmMYWitbMni 
FiimmiBa; Bcteod, I, and Bhmcha 
had tha roam to onrsdvea. 

^ Tha kttar ia aat to ma,'' said 



"" Ite toHMy I am mc^i' said the 
Gantala, wha tha servant eateaal 
ami caaMad Uok-^-to thakMr waa 



to him. He took it ap wonderinglv 
and soopicionsly, as Glnmdalclitca 
took up Grolli ver, or as (if natnralists) 
we take iq^ an unknown creature, that 
waaca not quite sure will not bite and 
sthig usL Ah I it has stung or bit you^ 
CiqSain Bolandl for yon start ana 
ehimg&coh>ar— yon suppress a cnr as 
yon biaak tha seal— you breatiie hard 
as yoa read— and tha latter seema 
shartH-but it takes tone in die read- 
ing, to yon |0 over it again and again. 
Then yon mhi it up— crumple it— 
thraat it into your breast pocket— and 
h>ak round like a man waking from 
adreaoL Is it a dream of pain^ or of 
pleasure ? Venly , I cannot guess, to 
lothing is on that eag^ iace either of 
pain or pleaanre, but rather of fear, 
agitati(m, bewilderment. Yettheeorea 
aie M^t, too, and there is a smile on 
that iaea Uph. 

My uade locoed round, I say, and 
called hastily to his cane and hia 
hat, aod then boffan buttoning his coat 
acrau his bread breast, though the 
d^waahaiaaongh tohave unbuttoned 
every laeast in the tropics. 

^^ xQu are not g<^g oat, uncle?'' 

*^Y^yesJ' 

^ Bat are yau stooag enough yet? 
Let ma go wuh yon?" 

^^Novttffno- Blanehs, come here." 
He took the diUd hi his arms, snr- 
vej^ her wiatfhlly, and kissed her. 
'^ Xon have naver dven ma pain, 
Blanche: say, ^ Gad bless and pro^;>er 
you, father 1^** 

^* God bleas and prosper my dear, 
dear papal" aald &am^ putting 
her littte hands toiethar»aB if hi prayer. 

^^Thera that should briagme luck, 
Bla^«h^" said tha Captain, gaily, ana 
sata&M^ bar down. AflR seising hia 
caaa from tlM servant, and pattinig on 
hia hat with a detarmiaed air. ha 
walked stoutly teth; and I saw him, 
fram tha radow, march along tha 
atraals as ehaerfhlly aa if iM had been 
beelMdM Badi^oz. 

''8aCp«»p6r thee, tool" aald I, 
lavalwitanljr. 

Aad BlMcha teak hdU «f aiy hand, 
aadaa&dki hirpietttiatway, u»dhar 
p riHyw af Bwegemaa(y),**Iwiahyot 



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The Caxtons.-'Part X. 



[Feb. 



i^onld come with ns, consin Sisty, and 
help me to love papa. Poor papa ! he 
wants as both — he wants all the love 
wecan^ve him!" 

^^ That he does, my dear Blanche ; 
and I think it a great mistake that we 
don^t all live together. Tonr papa 
ought not to go to that tower of his, at 
the world^s end, but come to onr 
snug, prettj house, with a garden full 
of flowers, for jou to be Queen of the 
May — fipom May to November; — to 
say nothing of a duck that is more 
sagacious than any creature in the 
Fables I gave you the other day." 

Blanche laughed and clapped her 
hands— *^ Oh, that would be so nice I 
but," — and she stopped gravely, and 
added, " but then, yon see, there would 
not be the tower to love papa ; and I 
am sure that the tower must love him 
very much, for he loves it dearly." 

It was my turn to laugh now. " I 
see how it is, you little witch," said I : 
" you would coax us to come and 
live with you and the owls ! With all 
my heart, so far as I am concerned." 

'^Sisty," said Blanche, with an 
appalling solemnity on her fiice, ^^ do 
you know what I've been thinking?" 

" Not I, miss— what?— something 
very deep, I can see — ^very horrible, 
indeed, I fear, you look so serious." 

"Why, Tve been thinking," con- 
iinued Blanche, not relaxing a muscle, 
and without the least bit of a blush — 
" Fve been thinking that HI be your 
little wife ; and then, of course, we 
shall all live together." 

Blanche did not blush, but I did. 
" Ask me that ten years hence, if you 
dare, you impudent little thing ; and 
now, run away to Mrs Primmins, and 
tell her to keep you out of mischief, for 
I must say good-morning." 

But Blanche did not run away, and 
her dignity seemed exceedingly hurt 
at my mode of taking her alarming 
proposition, fbr she retired into a cor- 
ner pouting, and sate down with great 
majesty. So there I left her, and 
went my way to Vivian. He was out : 
but, seeing books on his table, and 
having nothing to do, I resolved to 
wait tor his return. I had enough of 
my father in me to turn at once to the 
books for company ; and, by the aide of 
some graver works which I had recom- 
mended, I ibmid certain novels in 
French, that Vivian had got firom a 



circulating library. I had a curiosity 
to read these— for, except the old classic 
novels of France, this mighty branch 
of its popular literature was then 
new to me. I soon got interested, but 
what an interest ! — the interest Uiat a 
nightmare might excite, if one caught 
it out of one's sleep, and set to work 
to examine it. By the side of what 
dazEling shrewdness, what deep know- 
ledge of those holes and comers in 
the human system, of which Goethe 
must have spoken when he said some- 
where — (if I recollect right, and don't 
misquote him, which I'll not answer 
for)—" There is something in every 
man's heart which, if we could know, 
would make us hate him," — ^by the 
side of all this, and of much more that 
showed prodigious boldnessand energy 
of intellect, what strange exaggera- 
tion — ^what mock nobility of sentiment 
— ^what inconceivable perversion of 
reasomng — ^what damnable demoral- 
isation 1 I hate the cant of charging 
worioB of fiction with the accusation — 
often unjust and shallow — that they 
interest us in vice, or palliate crime, 
because the author truly shows what 
virtues may entangle themselves with 
vices ; or commands our compassion, 
and awes our pride, by teaching us 
how men deceive and bewitch them- 
selves into guilt Such painting be- 
longs to the dark truth of all tragedy, 
from Sophocles to Shakspeare. No ; 
this is not what shocked me in those 
books — ^it was not the interesting me in 
vice, for I felt no interest in it at all ; it 
was the insistingthat vice is something 
uncommonly noble — ^it was theportrait 
of some coldblooded adultress, whom 
the author or authoress chooses to call 
pauvre Angel Q>oor angel !); — it was 
some scoundrcuf who dupes, cheats, 
and murders under cover of a duel, 
in which he is a second St George ; who 
does not instruct usbyshowingthrough 
what metaphysical process he became 
a scoundrel, but who is continually 
forced upon us as a very favourable 
spechnen of mankind;— itwas the view 
of society altogether, painted in cdours 
so hideous that, if true, instead of 
a revolution, it would draw down 
a deluge ;-^t was the hatred, care- 
fully instilled, of the poor amhist the 
rich— it was the war breathed between 
ciass and class— it was that envy of all 
superiorities, which loves to show itself 



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1819.] 

by allowing yirtne only to a blouse, and 
asserting tnat a man must be a rogne if 
he belong to that rank of society in 
which, from the very gifts of eda- 
cation, from the necessary associa- 
tions of drcomstances, rogaenr is 
the last thing probable or naturaL It 
was all Uiis, and things a thousand 
times worse, that set my head in a whirl, 
as hour after hour slipped on, and I 
still gased, spell-boand, on these Chi- 
meras and TTphons— these symbols 
of the Destroying Principle. ^^ Poor 
Viyian!" said I, as I rose at last, 
*^ if thon readest these books with 
pleasure, or frt>m habit, no wonder that 
thon seemest to me so obtnse about 
right and wrong, and to have a great 
cavity where thy bndn should have 
the bump of ^ conscientiousness' in 
fUl salience 1" 

Nevertheless, to do those demoniacs 
justice, I had got through time im- 
perceptibly by their pestilent help ; 
and I was startled to see, by my watdi, 
how late it was. I had just resolved to 
leave a line, fixing an appointment for 
the morrow, and so depart, when I 
heard Vivian's knock — a knock that 
had great character in it-^ianghty, 
impatient, irregular ; not a neat, sym- 
metrical, harmonious, unpretending 
knock, but a knock that seemed to 
set the whole house and 9treet at de- 
fiance: it was a knock bullying— a 
knock ostentatious — a knock imtat- 
ing and offensive — ^^impiger" and 
*^ iracnndus." 

But the step that came up the stairs 
did not suit the knock : it was a step 
light, yet firm— slow, yet elastic. 

The maid-servant who had opened 
the door had, no doubt, informed 
Vivian of 4ny visit, for he did not seem 
surprised to see me ; but he cast that 
hurried, suspicious look round the 
room which a man is apt to cast 
when he has left his papers about, and 
finds some idler, on whose trustwor- 
thiness he by no means depends, seated 
in the midst of the nngniurded secrets. 
The look was not flaUering ; but my 
^nsdence was so unreproachM that 
I laid all the blame upon the ge- 
neral suspiciousness of Vivian's cha- 
racter. 

*' Three hours, at least, have I been 
here I'' said I, maliciously. 

'* Three hours 1"— again the look. 

«» And this is the worst secret I have 



The Caxtans.—Part X. 



U9 



discovered," — and I pointed to those 
literarv Manicheans. 

^^ Oh!" said he carelessly, ^* French 
novels !— Idon't wonder you stayed so 
long. I can't read your English 
novels— flat and insipid: there are 
truth and life here." 

"Truth and Ufe!" cried I, every 
hair on my head erect with astonish- 
ment—" then hurrah for falsehood and 
deatiil" 

"They don't please you; no ac- 
counting for tastes." 

" I b^ your pardon — ^I account for 
yours, if you really take for truth and 
life monsters so nefast and flagitious. 
For heaven's sake, my dear fdlow, 
don't suppose that any man could get 
on in England— get anywhere but to 
the Old Bailey or Norfolk Island, if 
he squared his conduct to such topsy- 
turvy notions of the world as I find 
here." 

"How manv years are you my 
senior," asked Vivian sneeringly, 
" that you should play the mentor, 
and correct my ignorance of the 
world?" 

" Vivian, it is not affe and experi- 
ence that speak here, it is sometning 
far wiser than they — the instinct of 
a man's heart, and a gentieman's 
honour." 

" Well, well," said Vivian, rather 
discomposed, "let the poor books 
alone ; you know my creed— that books 
infiuence us littie one way or the 
other." 

"By the great Egyptian library, 
and the soul of Diodorus, I wish vou 
could hear my father upon that point! 
Come," added I, with sublime com- 

Sassion — " come, it is not too late — 
let me introduce you to my fa- 
ther. I will consent to read French 
novels all my life, if a single chat with 
Austin Caxton does not send yon 
home with a happier face and a lighter 
heart. Come, let me take you back 
to dine with us to-day." 

"I cannot," said Vivian with some 
confusion — " I cannot, for this day I 
leave London. Some other time per- 
haps—for," he added, but not hearti- 
ly, " we may meet iwBkin." 

" I hope so," said I, wringmg his 

hand, " and that is likely, — since, in 

spite of yourself, I have guessed your 

secret— your birth and parentage." 

" How !" cried Vivian, turning pale. 



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7ie< h M4om t 4 i\ut X. 



TEA. 



aod gnawteg ks lip— ^wlnt do yon 
mean? — speak." 

*^ Well, tkoi, «pe jpcm Bot ibe lost, 
nmawaj son «if Colonel Vmaa? 
OoBie, saj lihe tmth ; let is be oob- 
fidantB.** 

Yivian threw off a Bnoeesmm of faiB 
abniptBigiis; andihes, seating him- 
sdf, leant bmi fiwe on tire tiArfe, em- 
fbsed, no deobt, to ^nd himsdf dis- 
covered. 

^^ Yon are near tiie nMHrk,** said he 
at last, ** but do not ask me lurther 
yet. Some day," he cried impetn- 
OBslj, and springing suddenly to kis 
leet— " soflw day y^Mi shall know all : 
yes ; sone di^, if I live, when tiiat 
nameshaUbeldghintbewnild; y«s, 
when tiie world is at my Iset !" He 
stretched hiBiii^handaB If to graspl^ 
spaee, and his wMe faee was lighted 
with a fierce enthusiasm. The 0ow 
died away, and with a slight retom of 
bis sGomftd sn^, he said— '^ Dreams 
yet ; dreamsl And now, look at this 
paper." And he drew ont a memo- 
randmn, scrawled over wlt^ fignres. 

"This, I think, is my pecvniuy 
debt to yon^ in « few days, I sh^ 
disobavge it. Give me yov ad- 
dress.^ 

"Ohr said I, pained, "can yo» 
speak to me of money, Vivian ?" 

"It is Mie of those instincts of 
bononr ye« dte so often/, answered 
be, coloQring. " Pardon me." 

"Jhat Is my address," said I, 
stooping to write, to conceal mv 
womded feeliii«s. "Yo« wHl avail 
yonrs^f of k, I hope, often, and tell 
me that yoa are well and hmppyJ 

"When I am happy, you 
know," 



*^ Ycm do net roqiibo vny fartrodoD- 
tion to Trevimion?*' 

Vivlaa hesitated: «'No, imak not 
If evo- 1 do, I wiH write for it." 

I took iq»niy hat, and was abotttto 
K0'-4(x I was still dulled and morti- 
fied— when, as if by an izresistible im- 
mdse, Vivian came to me bastOyt 
mag his «ms remand my neck, and 
kined me as a boy kisses his bro^KT. 

"Bear with me!" he cried la a 
iaitering voice: " I didnotth^L to 
love any one as yoa havv made me 
love yon, though sadly agdast the 
grain. Ji yon are not my good an- 
gel, itistiiatnatvreandbabitaretoo 
strong for yon. Certainly, someday 
we sbaH meet again. I sbaM have 
time, in the meanwhile, to see if the 
world can be indeed * mine oysler, 
which I with sword can fSfpenJ* I 
would be ma Ctssmr amt fimttmf Very 
little other Latin know I to qnote 
fit>ml IfC«Bsar, men wiUforgmme 
all the means to the «nd ; if nuUmSy 
Limdon has a river, and in every 
street one nay bay a cord t" 

"Vivian! Vivian l" 

"Now go, my dear liiend, while 
my beart is softened — go, biofore I 
flAkOdL yoa with some retmrn of the 
native Adam. Go— go!" 

And takotf me gently by the arm, 
Francis Vivian drew me from ^e 
room, and, re-entering, locked his 
door. 

Ahl if leonld have left him Robot 
Hall, instead of those execrable Ty- 
piions! Bat would that medicine luive 
smted his case, or must grfan fiaperi- 
ence write stemer recipes with her 
iron hand? 



CHAPTER KXrVII. 



When I got bade, jnst in time for 
dinner, Bofimd had not returned, nor 
did he return till late in tiie evoniDg. 
All our eyes were directed towards 
bim, as we rose with one accord to 
ffive him wdcome; but hisfiieewas 
like a mask— It was locked, and rigid, 
and unreadable. 

Shutting the do or c arefu lly idler him, 
be came to the hearth, stood on it, 
i^)right and calm, for a few moments, 
and then asked— 

" Has Bianche gone to bed?" 

» Yes," said my motiier, '' but not 



to sleep, I am sure; she made me 
promise to tell her when yen came 

fidaad's brow relaxed. 

"To-morrow,8iseer,"saidhedowly, 
" will you see that she has the proper 
mourning made for her? My son is 
dead." 

" Dead I" we orkd with one voieCf 
and surrounding him with one im- 
pulse. 

" Dead ! impossible— yon coidd not 
say it so calmly. Dead f— how do 
yon know? Yon may be deodved. 



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1M90 

Who told yon ?— wliy do yon think 

BO?" 

**I haye seen his remains,** said 
my nnde, with the same i^oomy 
calm. *^ We will all monrn for fahn. 
Plostratas, ycm are heir to my name 
BOW, aa to your father'a. Good- 
night ; exoaae me, aU— all yon dear 
and kind ones; lam worn ont." 

BolaDd lighted his candle and went 
sway, learing as thnnderstnu^; bnt 
he came back again— looked xonnd— 
took np his boc^ open in the &- 
Tonrite passaoe— nodded andn, and 
again Tanished. We looked at each 
other, as if we had seen a fi^ost Thra 
my father rose and went out of the 
room, and remained in Boland's till 
the night was welfadgfa gone. We 
aat op— 1^ mother and I— tiU here- 
tamed, ms benign face hx^Led pro- 
loan^ sad. 

*^ How is it, sir ? Can yon tell as 
more?" 

My fliither shook his head. 



ne CaxUm8.^Part X. 



151 



**Boland prays that yon may pre- 
serve the same forbearance yon haye 
shown hitherto, and never mention his 
son's name to him. Peace be to the 
liyhig, as to the dead. Kitty, this 
changes onr plans ; we mast all go 
to Comberland— we cannot leave Bo- 
land thns!" 

^^Poor, poor Bdandt" s<dd my 
mother, through her tears. ^* And to 
thhuk that fother and son were not 
reconciled. Bnt Roland for^^ves him 
now — crfi, yes ! now ! " 

*^ It is not Roland we can censare," 
said myfkther, ahnost fiercely; *Mt 
is— bnt enongfa. We most hnrry ont 
of town as soon as we can : Roland 
will recover in the native air of his 
old mins." 

We went up to bed monmfolly. 
"And so," thonght I, "ends one 
grand object of my life 1— I had hoped 
to have Dron^ht those two together. 
Bnt, alas! what peacemaker like the 
grave !" 



CHAPTEB XLTllI. 



My imde did not leave his room for 
tiunee days, bnt he was much closeted 
with alawyer ; and my fiither dropped 
acme words whidi seemed toimply that 
the deceased had incnrred debts, and 
that the poor Captain was making 
some charge on his small property. 
As Roland had said that he had sera 
the remains of his son, I took it at 
first for eranted thatwe should attend 
a ftinenu, but no word of this was 
aaid. On the Iburth day, R<^and, in 
deq> monminff, entered a hackney 
ooach with the lawyer, and was absent 
about two hours. I did not doubt 
that be had thus quietlv fulfilled the 
last mournful offices. On his return, 
he shut Mmself up affain for the rest 
of the day, and womd not see even 
my fiither. But the next morahig he 
made his appearance as usual, and I 
even thougiu that he seemed more 
dieerfhlthan I had yet known him — 
vHietiier he played a part, or whether 
the worst was now over, and the 
grave was less crael than uncertainty. 
On the following day, we all set out 
for Cumberland. 

In the interval. Uncle Jack had 
been almost constantly at the house, 
and, to do him justice, he had seemed 



unaffectedly shocked at the calamity 
that had bdaUen Roland. There was, 
Indeed, no want of heart in Unde 
JadE, whenever you went straight at 
it ; but it was hard to find if you took 
a circuitous route towards it through 
the podcets. The worthy speculator 
had Indeed mndi business to transact 
with my father before we left town* 
The Anti'PttbUsher Society had been 
set up, and it was through the obste- 
tric 9k& of that firstenmy that the 
Great Book was to be ushered into 
tiie worid. The new Journal, the Xt- 
terary Times, was also fiir advanced — 
not yet out, but my fkther was fairly 
in for it. There were preparations 
for its debut on a vast scale, and 
two or three gentlemen in blade- 
one of whom looked like a lawyer, and 
another like a printer, and a third 
uncommonly like a Jew— called twice, 
with papers of a very formidable 
aspect. All these iHTdiminaries settled, 
the last thing I heard Uncle Jack say, 
with a slap on my father's back, was, 
" Fame and fortune both made now 1 
—yon may go to sleep in safety, fbr 
you leave me wide awake. Jack Tib- 
bets never sleeps!" 
I had thought it strange that, since 



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152 



The CaxUm.^Part X, 



[Feb. 



xnj abrupt exodoB from Trevanion's 
hoQBe, no notice had been taken of 
any of ns by himself or Ladr EUinor. 
But on the very eve of onr departure, 
came a kind note from Trevanion to 
me, dated finom his favourite country 
seat, (accompanied by a present m 
some rare books to my mther,) in 
wliich he said briefly that there had 
been illness in his family, which had 
obliged him to leave town for a change 
of air, but that Lady EUinor expected 
to call on my mother the next week. 
He had found amongst his books some 
curious works of the Middle Ages, 
amongst others a complete set of 
Cardan, whidi he knew my fother 
would like to have, and so sent them. 
There was no allusion to what had 
passed between ns. 

In reply to this note, after due 
thanks on my father's part, who seized 
upon the Cardan (Lyons edition, 
1663, ten volumes folio) as a silk- 
worm does upjon a mulbeny leaf, I ex- 
pressed our joint regrets that there was 
no hope of our seeing Lady EUinor, 
as we were just leaving town. I 
should have added something on the 
loss my uncle had sustained, but my 
father thought that, since Roland 
shrank from any mention of his 
son, even by his nearest kindred, it 
would be his obvious wish not to 
parade his affliction beyond that circle. 

And there had been illness in Tre- 
vanion's famUy! On whom had it 
faUen V I could not rest satisfied with 
that general expression, and I took my 
answer myself to Trevanion's house, 
instead of sending it by the post, la 
reply to my inqmries, the porter said 
that aU the famUy were expected at 
the end of the week; that he had 
^eard both Lady EUinor and Miss 
Trevanion had been rather poorly, but 
that they were now better. I left my 
note, with orders to forward it ; and 
my wounds bled afresh as I came 
away. 

We had the whole coach to ourselves 
in our journey, and a sUent journey 
it was, tUl we arrived at a Uttle town 
about eight miles from my uncle's re- 
sidence, to which we coiidd only get 
through a cross-road. My uncle m- 
sisted on preceding ns that night, and, 
though henad written,before we started, 
to announce our coming, he was fidgety 
Jest the poor tower should not make 



the best figure it could ;— so he went 
alone, and we took onr ease at onr 
inn. 

Betimes the next day we hired a 
fiy- coach — for a chaise could never 
have held us and my father's books — 
and jogged through a Ubvrinth of vil- 
lanous lanes, which no Marshal Wade 
had ever reformed from their primal 
chaos. But poor Mrs Primmins and 
the canary-bird alone seemed sensible 
of the jolts ; the former, who sate op- 
posite to ns, wedged amidst a medley 
of packages, aU marked *' care, to be 
kept top uppermost," (why I know 
not, for they were but books, and 
whether they lay top or bottom it 
could not materiaUy affect their valne,) 
— the^ormer,Isay, contrived to extend 
her arms over those digfeOa membra^ 
and, griping a window-siU with the 
right hand, and a window-siU with the 
Im, kept her seat rampant, like the 
spUt ea^le of the Austrian Empire — 
in fact It would be well, now-a-days, 
if the split eagle were as firm as Mrs 
Primmins! As for the canary, it never 
faUed to respond, by an astonished 
chirp, to every "Gracious me!" and 
" Lord save us ! " which the delve 
into a rut, or the bump out of it, sent 
forth from Mrs Primmins's lips, with 
all the emphatic dolor of the "At, 
ot/ " in a Greek chorus. 

But my father, with his broad bat 
over his brows, was in deep thought. 
The scenes of his yonth were rising 
before him, and his memory went, 
smooth as a spirit's wing, over delve 
and bump. And my mother, who 
sat next him, had her arm on his 
shoulder, and was watching his face 
jealously. Did she think that, in that 
thoughtful face, there was regret for 
the old love ? Blanche, who had been 
very sad, and had wept mnch and 
quietly since they put on her the 
mourning, and told her that she had 
no brother, rthough she had no re- 
membrance of the lost), began now to 
evince infantine curiosity and eager- 
ness to catch the first peep of her 
father's beloved tower. And Blanche 
sat on my knee, and I shared her im- 
patience. At last there came in view 
a church spfre — a church — a plain 
square buUaing near it, the parson- 
age, (my father's old home) — a long 
straggling street of cottages and m& 
shops, with a better kind of house here 



1849.] 



The CaxUms.'-Part X, 



153 



aad there— and in the hinder gronnd, 
a gray deformed mass of wall and 
ruin, placed on one of those eminences 
on which the Danes loved to pitch 
camp or build fort, with one high, 
rode, Anglo-Nonnan tower rismg 
from the midst. Few trees were 
ronnd it, and those either poplars or 
firs, save, as we approached, one 
mi|^7 oak— integral uid unscathed. 
The road now wound behind the par- 
sonage, and up a steep ascent. Such a 
roadT— the whole parish ought to have 
beenfloffgedforitl If I haid sent up 
a road lue that> even on a map, to Dr 
Herman, I should not have sat down 
in comfort for a week to come ! 

The flj-coach came to a full stop. 

" Let us get out,*' cried I, opemng 
the door and springing to the ground 
to set the example. 

Blanche followed, and my respected 
parents came next. But when Mrs 
jPrimmins was about to heave herself 
into movement, 

"Pi9i«/" said my father. "I think, 
Mrs Primmins, you must remain in, to 
keep the books steady." 

" Lord love you 1" cried Mrs Prim- 
mins, aghast. 

^^ The Subtraction of such a mass, or 
ino^Sm— supple and elastic as all flesh 
is, and fitting into the hard comers of 
the inert matter— such a subtraction, 
Mrs Primmins, would leave a vacuum 
which no natural system, certainly no 
artificial organisation, could sustain. 
There would be a regular dance of 
atoms, Mrs Primmins ; my books 
would fiy here, there, on the floor, out 
of the window I 

** Ccfjwrii qffiemm ett qwmiam omnia 

The business of a body like yours, Mrs 
Primmins, is to press all things down — 
to keep them tight, as you will know 
one of these days — tibat is, if you will 
do me the favour to read Lucretius, 
and master that material philosophy, 
of which I may say, without flattery, 
my dear Mrs Primmins, that you are 
a living illustration.'* 

These, the first words mv father 
had spoken since we set out nrom the 
inn, seemed to assure mv mother that 
she need have no apprehension as to 



the character of his thoughts, for her 
brow cleared, and she said, laughing, 

** Only look at poor Primmins, and 
then at that hiU 1" 

^^You may subtract Primmins, if 
you will be answerable for the rem- 
nant, Kitty. Only, I warn you that 
it is against all the laws of physics." 

So sayiog, he sprang lightly for- 
ward, and, taking hold of my arm, 
paused and looked round, and drew 
the loud firee breath with which we 
draw native air. 

*^And yet," said my father, after 
that grat€M and affectionate inspira- 
tion — *^and yet, it must be owned, 
that a more ugly country one cannot 
see out of Cambridgeshire."* 

" Nay," said I, " it is bold and large, 
it has^a beauty of its own. Those im- 
mense, undulating, uncultivated, tree- 
less trades have surely their charm of 
wildness and solitude ! And how they 
suit the character of the ruin ! All 
is feudal there : I understand Roland 
better now," 

^* I hope in heaven Cardan will 
come to no harm ! " cried my father ; 
*' he is very handsomely bound; 
and he fitted beautifully just into the 
fleshiest part of that fldgety Primmins." 

Blanche, meanwhile, had run far 
before us, and I followed fast. There 
were still the remains of that deep 
trench (surrounding the nuns on three 
sides, leaving a ra^^ hill-top at the 
fourth) which made the favourite forti- 
fication of all the Teutonic tribes. A 
causeway, raised on brick arches, now, 
however, supplied the place of the 
drawbridge, and the outer gate was 
but a mass of picturesque ruin. Enter- 
inginto the courtyard or bailey, theold 
castle mound, from which justice had 
been dispensed, was in full view, ris- 
ing higher than the broken walls 
around it, and partially overgrown 
with brambles. And there stood, 
comparatively whole, the tower or 
keep, and from its portals emerged 
the veteran owner. 

Hisancestorsmighthave received us 
in more state, but certahily they could 
not have given us a warmer greeting. 
Li fact, in his own domain, Roland 
appeared another man. His stiffness, 
which was a little repulsive to those 



* This certainly cannot be said of Cumberland generaUy, one of the most beautify 
eonnties in Great Britain. Bat the immediate district to which Mr Cazton's exda- 
mation refen, if not ugly, ia at least saTage, bare, and rode. 



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154 



7^ CaxtonB-^P^art X. 



[Feb. 



I 



wbo £d not nndonBtand H, was all 
gone. He seemed less {Hroad, pre- 
dselj because be aad his pride, on 
that ground, were on good terms with 
each other. How gallantly he ex- 
t^cled— not his arm, in onr modem 
Jack-and-jni sort of fashicm— but 
his right hand, to my mother; how 
carefuly he led her ovot " brake, 
bnsh, and scaur," through the low 
yanlted door, where a tall serrant, 
who, it was easy to see, had been a 
soldier — in the precise livery, no doubt, 
warranted by the heraldic colours, 
(his stockings were red I) — stood up- 
right as a sentry. And, coming into 
the haU, it loi^ed absolutely cheerful 
— ^it took us by suiprise. There was 
a great fire-place, and, though it was 
stUl summer, a great fire I It did not 
seem a bit too much, for Hie walls 
were stone, tiie lofkjr roof op«i to the 
rafters, while the wmdows wwe small 
and narrow, and so high and so deep 
sunk that one seemed in a yault. 
Nevertheless, I say the room looked 
sodable and cheerM— thanks prin- 
dpallr to the fire, and partly to a 
very mgenious medley of old tapestiy 
at one end, and mattmg at the other, 
fastened to the lower put of the walls, 
seconded by an arrangement of furni- 
ture which did credit to my unde^s 
taste for the Picturesque. After we 
had looked about and admired to onr 
hearts* content, Roland took us — not 
np one of those noble stidrcases yon 
see in the later manorial residences — 
but a little winding stone stair, into 
the rooms he had apprqfnriated to his 
guests. Hiere was first a smaU cham- 
ber, which he called my father's study 
— in truth, it would have done for any 
philosopher or saint who wished to 
shut out the world— and might have 

Ced for the interior of such a oo- 
[i as Stylites inhabited; for you 
must have climbed a ladder to have 
looked out of the window, and then 
the vision of no short-sighted man 
could have got over the interval in the 
wan made by the narrow easement, 
which, after all, gave no other prospect 
than a Cnmberiand sky, with an occa- 
sional rook in it. But my father, I 
think I have said before, did not much 
care for scenery, and he looked round 
with great satidaction up(m the retreat 
assigned him. 
" '^e can knock up shelves for your 



books in no time,** said my m^le, 
nibbuig his hands. 

** It wonM be a diarify,^ qaoCh my 
fJAtJier, ** foe they have been veiy long 
in a recumbent podtion, and would 
like to stretdi themselves, poor thhigs. 
My dear Rohmd, this room is made 
finr books— so round and so deep. 1 
shall sit here like Truth in a well.** 

^ And there is a room fin* you, sis* 
ter, just outof it," said my uncle, open- 
ing a little low prbon-like door into a 
channing room, for its window was 
low, and it had an htm balcony ; ^^ and 
out of that is the bed-room. For you, 
Pisistratus, my boy, I am afiraid that 
it is soldtor*s quarters, indeed, with 
whidi yon will have to put up. But 
nevermind ; in a day or two we shall 
make all worthy a general of your 
illustrious name — ^for he was a great 
general, PLnstratns the First— was he 
not, brother?" 

*^ All tyrants are," said my hJ&i&t : 
'* the knack of soldiering is indispen- 
sable to them." 

^^ Oh, you may say what you please 
here I" said Rohmd, in high good 
humour, as he drew me down stairs, 
still apologisiog for my quarters, and 
190 earnestly that I made up my mind 
that I was to be put into an cnbHette, 
N(H' were my suspicions mu<^ dis- 
pelled on seemg that we had to leave 
the keep, and pick our way into what 
seemed to me a mere heap of rubbishy 
on 1^ dexter side of the court But 
I was agreeably smprised to find^ 
amidst these wrecks, a room with a 
noble casement commanding tiie iHK>le 
country, and placed immediately over 
a plot of ground cultivated as a garden. 
The furniture was ample, though 
homely; the floors and walls well 
matted ; and, altog^th^, desi^te tiie 
inconvenience of having to cross the 
courtyard to get to the rest of the 
house, and being wholly without the 
modem luxury of a bell, I thought 
that I could not be better lodged. 

*^ But this is a perfect bower, my 
dear unde f Depend on it, it was the 
bower-chamber of the Dames de Cax- 
ton — ^heaven rest them ! " 

" No," said my unde, gravely ; " I 
suspect it must have been the chap- 
lain's room^ for the chapel was to the 
right of you. An earlier du^l^ in- 
deed, formerly existed in the keep 
tower— ^or, indeed, it is scarcely a 



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T!m€ \uek m Ditrt X. 



155 



iim kvep wMKnt dkMptiLy mM, mad 
halL I can show 70tt part oftto roof 
«ftfae first, «Ml the tw»ku8l an eolire ; 
tiie wdl if ¥07 «iiiio«i, fonned IB tbe 
BobstaBM of tttt wallet oieaBglB«r 
tiielttU. iMCfaflrieiAellntNitiM, 
ear anoestor lowo^ U^Joidjflcmdiyfni 
in a bncket, and k^ iim tfaec« six 
hours, while a Malignant mob was 
stonning the tower. I need not say 
that onr ancestor himself scorned to 
hide from snch a rabble, for he was a 
grown man. The boy lived to be a 
Bad speadthrUt, and wmd the «ett lor 
cooliog his wine. He drank iq> a 
great waay good acrak" 

'« I shaoM scraAdi him ont of the 
pedigree, if I were yoa. Bat, pray, 
liaTe yen not diBoevaiied the proper 
dian^MT 0[ tiiat gnat Shr WiUifna, 
aboai wboas aiy h,th&r is so akaoie- 
Mlyeoeplicair^ 

**Td teU yea a secret,*' aaawend 
the Captaia, giviag me a sly poke in 
tiieiibs, ** I hav« pat yoar father IntQ 
it! There are tbe initial letleiaWX. 
lof hito ^le Gospof the Yoik roee, aad 
<«lw date, three years betee tiie batOe 
of Boeworth, «vier ^m ihiuiHtijjjieoeL" 

I couM not help jeiniag aiy aaele^s 
grmi low tangfa at this eharacteristfe 
pjoacaatry ; Mid after I had eoaipli- 
siented him on ao jacBciOQS a aeode of 
pnmsg hie point, I asked him bow he 
oonld possibly have ooatrived to fit ap 
the ndn so weD, e^eoiaUy as he had 
ecaroeiy -visited it emoe hie poroliaae. 

'' Why,'' said be, '' aboot twehFo 
years ago, that poor ^bOow yon new 
eee as my serraiit, and who is gar- 
dener, bailiff; seneaohal, batler, a»d 
anytUng^lae yoneaa pat him to, was 
Beat oat of the amy on the faivalid 
list. 6oI placed him here; aad as in 
ie a oapital carpeater, aad has had a 
Tory fair edacatioa, I told Imn what I 
wanted , aad pat by a small aaai every 
year for repaka and tenishiag. It is 
astonishing hew little it eost me, for 
BoH, poor fellow, (that is his aane,) 
eaaght the right spirit of ^e tfamg, 
and most of the fandtore, (which 
yoQ see is OMlent and snitable,) he 
picked up at dUTereat cottages and 
rarmbousee in tiie neighbonihood. As 
it is, howe v er , we have plenty awie 
rooms here and there— oaly, of late,'* 
coatinaed my aade, ili^iitiy ehaag- 
Sag coloar, " I had no aiMiey to 
Bpare. Bat oone," he reeamed, with 



an evident effort— ^' come and see my 
barrack: itisontheotiier sideof ^e 
ball, and made oat of what so donbt 
ware tlie butteries." 

We reached the yard, and firani 
the fly-ooach had jnet crawled to the 
door. Myfitther^s head waabwied deep 
in tiie vwde, — ^t^aras gathering upl& 
packages, and seodiBg ont, orade-like,. 
various mattered objargations and 
anathemas upon Mrs Primmins and 
her vacaam; which Mrs Primmins, 
standing by, and making a lap with 
her apron to reoeiv« the pacfaigeB and 
anathemas aknoltaneoauv, bore with 
tiie mildneea of an angel, tifiang op 
her eyea to heaven and marmaring 
soneUiittg about ^* poor old bones." 
Thoarii, as &r Mrs Primmins^ bones, 
they nad been myths tiieee twenty 
years, and yon might as soon have 
lo«md a Plesiosannis in the fat laads 
of BiQaui^ Marrii as a bcme aauntet 
thnse layers of flesh in which my poor 
iatiter thoaglrt he had so car^iily 
cottoned op his Cardan. 

Leaviag these partieB to tOjfmt 
aMtters hetwaen than, we atepped 
nnder the hiw doorway, aad catend 
Rowland's room. Oh, certainly BoH 
Jbocf caught the spirit of tiie tMagl-- 
certainly he had p enetr ate d dowa «ven 
to tiie very patiuw that lay within tiie 
deeps of Bdand^ character. Bnfficm 
says ^ the atyle is the man;" there^ 
the roem was the man. That name- 
less, neacpvoBfliUe, soldier-like, me- 
thodical aeataess which belonged to 
Roland— that was the first thmc that 
Btrack 0BO-4hat was the geaeru cha- 
racter of the whole. Thea, in details, 
there, in stent oak shelves, were the 
books oa whidi mr father loved to 
jeat his more haagmative brother,— 
tiiere tiMy wve, Froissart, Baraate, 
Jomville, the Mori d^Arikwr^ Amadis 
of OcmUy Spenser's Fauj Quemj a 
a<Me 00]^ of 8tratfs Hcrtk, Mallet's 
Nm^mm Amtiqmiimy Percy's ReUgrngj 
Pope^ Horner^ books oa gunaeiT, 
archery, hawkbg, ibrtifioation— <^ 
chivalry and modem war together 
che e k by jowl. 

Old chivahy aad modem warl— 
look to that lilting helmet with the 
taU Oaxton erest, aad look to that 
trophy near it, a Frendi cairass— aad 
that old isaaar (a knightNi pennon) 
Bormoanting those crossed bayonete. 
And o>ver tiie chiameypieoe there 



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156 



The CaxUms.'-Part X. 



— briffht, clean, and, I warrant yon, 
dusted daily. — are Roland^s own 
sword, his holsters and pistols, yea, 
the saddle, pierced and lacerated, 
from which he had reeled when that 

leg 1 gasped — I felt it all at 

■a glance, and I stole softly to the 
spot, and, had Roland not been there, 
I could have kissed that sword as 



[Feb. 

reverently as if it had been a Bayard^s 
or a Sidney's. 

My unde was too modest to guess 
my emotion ; he rather thought I had 
turned my face to conceal a smile at 
his vanity, and said, in a deprecating 
tone of apology—^* It was all Bolt's 
doing, foolish fellow/' 



CHAPTBA XUX. 



Our host regaled us with a hospi- 
tality that notably contrasted his 
economical thrifty habits in Lon- 
don. To be sure, Bolt had caught 
the great pike which headed the feast ; 
and Bolt, no doubt, had helped to 
rear those fine chickens ab avo; Bolt, 
I have no doubt, made that excellent 
Spanish omelette ; and for the rest, 
the products of the sheepwalk and the 
garden came in as volunteer auxilia- 
ries—very dififerent from the merce- 
naiy recruits by which those metro- 
politan CandoUieri^ the butcher and 
green-grocer, hasten the ruin of that 
melancholy commonwealth called 
•* genteel poverty." 

Our evening passed cheerfully ; and 
Roland, contrary to his custom, was 
talker in chief. It was eleven o'clock 
before Bolt appeared with a lantern 
to conduct me through the court-yard 
to my dormitory, among the ruins — a 
ceremony which, every night, shine or 
dark, he insisted upon punctiliously 
performing. 

It was long before I could sleep- 
before I could believe that but so few 
4ays had elapsed since Roland heard 
^f his son's death— that son whose 
fate had so long tortured him ; and 
yet, never had .Roland appeared so 
free from sorrow I Was it natural- 
was it eflfort? Several days passed 
before I could answer that question, 
and then not wholly to my satisfac- 
tion. Effort there was, or rather re- 
solute systematic determination. At 
inoments Roland's head drooped, his 
brows met, and the whole man seemed 
to sink. Tet these were only mo- 
ments; he would rouse himself up 
like a dojshig charger at the sound of 
a trumpet, and shake off the creep- 
ing weight. But, whether from the 
vigour of his determination, or from 
4Bome aid in other trains of reflection, 



I could not but perceive that Roland's 
sadness really was less grave and 
bitter than it had been, or than it was 
natural to suppose. He seemed to 
transfer, daily more and more, his 
affections from the dead to those 
around him, espedally to Blanche and 
myself. He let it be seen that he 
looked on me now as his lawful suc- 
cessor—as the future supporter of his 
name — ^he was fond of confiding to 
me idl his little plans, and consulting 
me on them. He would walk with me 
around his domains, (of which I shall 
say more hereafter,)— point out, from 
every eminence we climbed, where the 
broald lands which hisforefathersowned 
stretched away to the horizon ; unfold 
with tender hand the mouldering pedi- 
gree, and rest lingeringly on those of his 
ancestors who had held martial post, 
or had died on the field. There was 
a crusader who had followed Richard 
to Ascalon ; there was a knight who 
had fought at Agincourt ; there was a 
cavalier Twhose picture was still ex- 
tant, witn fair lovelocks) who had 
fallen at Worcester-^io doubt the 
same who had cooled his son in that 
well which the son devoted to more 
agreeable associations. But of all these 
worthies there was none whom my 
nnde, perhaps from the spirit of con- 
tradiction, valued like that apocry- 
phal Sir William: and why?— be- 
cause, when the i^KMtate Stanley 
turned the fortunes of the field at 
Bosworth, and when that crv of des- 
pair — "Treason, treason I" burst 
from the lips of the last Plan- 
tagenet, " amongst the faithless," 
this true soldier "foithftd found 1" 
had fallen in that lion-rush which 
Richard made at his foe. " Your 
father tells me that Richanl was a 
murderer and usurper," quoth my 
lUide. " Sir, that might be true or not; 



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The Caxtons^^Part X. 



157 



bat it was not on the field of battle 
that his followers were to reason on 
the character of the master who 
tmsted them, especiallj when a lesion 
of foreign hirelings stood opposed to 
them. I would not have descended 
from that tnmcoat Stanley to be lord of 
aQ the lands the Earls of Derby can 
boast of. Sir, in loyalty, men fight 
and die for a grand principle, and a 
lofty passion ; and this brave Sir 
IVlDiam was paying back to the last 
Plantagenet Uie benefits he had re- 
ceived from the first!" 

** And yet it may be doubted," said 
Imalicioiisly, " whether WilUamCax- 
ton the printer did not — " 

'* Plague, pestilence, and fire seize 
William Caxton the printer, and his 
invention too!" died my uncle bar- 
btfously. " When there were only a 
few books, at least they were good 
ones ; and now tiiey are so plentiful, 
all they do is to confound we judg- 
ment, unsettle the reason, drive the 
ffood books out of cultivation, and 
draw a ploughshare of innovation 
over eveiy ancient landmark ; seduce 
the women, womanize the men, upset 
states, thrones, and churches; rear a 
race of chattering, conceited, cox- 
combs, who can always find books in 
plenty to excuse them from doing 
their duty; make the poor discon- 
tented, the rich crotchety and whim- 
sical, refine away the stout old 
virtues into quibbles and sentiments ! 
All imagination formerly was ex- 
pended in noble action, adventure, 
enterprise, high deeds and aspira- 
tions ; now a man can but be imagi- 
native by feeding on the false ex- 
citement of passions he never felt, 
dangers he never shared ; and he iHt- 
ters away all there is of life to spare in 
him upon the fictitious love-sorrows of 
Bond Street and St James's. ^, 
chivahy ceased when the press rose! 
And to fasten upon me, as a forefother, 
out of all men who have ever lived < 
and sinned, the very man who has 
most destroy^ what 1 most valued — 
who, by the Lord 1 with his cursed in- 
vention has wellnlgh got rid of respect 
for forctfiAthei8 altogether— is a cruelty 
of which my brother had never been 
capable, if that printer's devil bad not 
got hold of him!" 

That a man in this blessed nhoe- 
teenth century should be such a 



Vandal! and that my undo Roland 
should talk in a strain that Totila 
would have been ashamed of, within 
so short >a time after my father's 
scientific and erudite oration on the 
Hygeiana of Books, was enough to 
make one despair of the progress of 
intellect and the perfectibility of our 
species. And I have no manner of 
doubt that, all the while, my uncle 
had a brace of books in his pockets, 
Robert Hall one of them ! In truth, 
he had talked himself into a pas- 
sion, and did not know what non- 
sense he was saying, poor man. But 
this explosion of Captdn Roland's 
has shattered the thread of my mat- 
ter. Pouff ! I must take breath anci 
bedn again! 

Yes, in spite of my sauciness, the 
old soldier evidently took to me moro 
and more. And, besides our cri- 
tical examination of the property 
and the pedigree, he carried me 
with him on long excursions to dis- 
tant villages, where some memorial of 
a defunct Caxton, a coat of arms, or 
an epitaph on a tombstone, might be 
still seen. And he made me pore 
over topographical wwks and copnty 
histories, (fi>rgetfhl, Goth that he 
was, that for those very authorities 
he was indebted to the repudiated 
printer!) to find some anecdote 
of his beloved dead ! In truth, 
the coun^ for miles round bore 
the veatiffuz of those old Caxtons; 
their handwriting was on many a 
broken wall. And, obscure as they 
all were, compared to that great 
operative of the Sanctuary at West- 
minster, whom my father clung to — 
still, that the yesterdays that had 
lighted them the way to dusty deiath 
had cast no glare on dishonoured 
scutcheons seemed clear, fit>m tho 
popular respect and traditional afi^ec- 
tion in which I found that the name 
was still held in hamlet and home- 
stead. It was pleasant to see the 
veneration witb which this small 
hidalgo of some three hundred a- 
year was held,' and the patriarchal 
affection with which he returned it. 
Roland was a man who would walk 
into a cottage, rest his cork le^ on 
the hearth, and talk for the hour 
togetiier upon all that lay nearest to 
the hearts of the owners. There is a 
peculiar spirit of aristocracy amongst 



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158 



The CaxUmt.'^art X 



[Fd>. 



agrienlftiural peaatnte : they like M 
names aad fiOBttlies; the^^ ideiiUfy 
tbanBelyies wilh tike honoim of a 
houae^ as if of iia dan. Thejdo-noi 
eaie ao modi for wealth aa townafioik 
and tha middle class'do ; they haire a 
p^, bat a roapeet&l one, for ««U- 
bornporerty. And thai this Sotend, 
too-^who would 90 and dine in a 
eook sh(4>,aad reeeive ehange £or & 
shiMing, ajid shna the nanoos loxaiy 
of a haak eabriolei--e(m}d be poai- 
tively extraTagaat in Ida lH>eKaMtieB 
to those aroniMi him. He waa alto- 
gether aiMthar bekskg in his natesnaL 
aores. The ahabby-gealeaU aalf-aay 
cq>tamt lost in tiie whirl ef Loadflin, 
here hixariatad into a dignified ease 
of manner that Chestedl^ isight 
hare admked. Aid, if to please is 
the trae sign of polUbeaeBS^ I wish yon 
coidd have seen the £aces thai smiled 
upon Gaptam Boland, aa he walked 
down the yillage, nodding &om eide 
to side. 

One day a frank, hearty, old 
womaiv who had known Baland aa a 
boy, seeing him lean on my arm, 
etopged us, as she aaid bUufly, to 
tirice a '' gead kik '* at me. 

Fortnnatdiy I was stalwart enoagh 
to pass master,, even in the eyos of 
a Gnmberiaad mation; aad, i^ra 
eomptiment at whieh Boland seemed 
mndh pleased, she said to me^ b«4 
pointing to the Captaiii— 

^^Hegb, sir, now you ha the bra 
time befoie yoa; yoa maim een tnr 
and be as geod aa ke. And if Urn 
last, ye wnll too—- #ar theie nev^ 



waar a bad ane of tiiat stodL Wi' 
heads tindbr atnp'd to the least, and 
lifted maafo^ ooj^ to the heighest— that 
j^ all war' sin ye eame frsm the Aik. 
Biessina on the oidd Bamer-yMMigi& 
little pelf geea with it— it sounds <m 
the pear man's ear like a bit o* 
j^dr 

^^ Do yon notsee now," aaid Roland, 
as we toned away, ^' what we owe to a 
name, and wfanttooarfoce&thers^- 
da yon not aaa why the lemotast an- 
cestiHr has a right to onr mapeet and 
consideration— for he was a parent I 
^Honour ycmr paiento' — the law 
does net say, ' Honour year ehiidren f 
If a diild disgrace na, and the dead« 
and the sanotity of this great heritage 
of their virtoas— 1^ soaM; — if he 
does—" Boland stopped short, and 
added &r¥entlyt ^< Bat yon are my 
hek now-^ have no fi^l What 
mnMeca one iaolish old man's- ser- 
rew? — the name, that pixmei^ 
of generati<ma, ia sared, Ihank 
Heavenr— the name !" 

Now the riddle was solved, and 
I understood why, aoaldst all his nata< 
ral grief iot a son'a loss, that prond 
ieith^ was oonsoled. For he waa 
less himself a fother than a. son— eon 
to the leng dead* From every graveL 
wheie a progenitor alM^t, he had 
heard a parent's voioe. Heeaiddbeav 
to be bereaved, if the ior^atibers were 
not dishonoureid. Bdand was more 
than half a Beman— the son might 
still ding to his honsehidd i^bctioaSi 
bat the hru were a part of hia 
retigion. 



OHAFTEB L. 



Bat I o^hi to be herd a4 work, 
prflpacngn^paeiffarGambridgek The 
deooal-^iow can I? The point in 
on whtdilie- 



qahe most prepandin k Ghreekcem- 
pedtmn. I cqbm to my father, wha, 
one mi^ thi^ waa at home nnaagh 
in this. Bat rare indeed ia it to ted 
a mal aoinlar wke is a good taaoher. 
Bl^ dear ittiber t if one ia eonicnt to 
tahayonhiyoarown way, there Mfar 
was a more ^dmi fW<^ inatractorte 
the heart, te head, the pthKiplm, 
or tito taalai in yov own war, whan 
yon haee disoevwad that than k aoaa 
one swe to be haded one diftet to 



be lepaiaad; and yon hnve niUi)ed 
your speetaekBt and got year hand 
fidriy htto that leceaa between your 
frill and your waktooaL But to go 
to yon, cut and dry, menetonoudy, 
regolariy^— book mid ezecdse in hand 
-—to aee the meumM patience with 
which yon tear yawadf fam that 
gneat velnme of Cardan ki the very 
honagpmoon of joiMnikn wid thai 
to neto thQaemi£ievebro«B ffradaaU/ 
mitopeii^exeddia- 
I £dae qnand^ or 
some barbarous colloeatieD— tQl there 
steal tBrth that hwriUe *' Papttl" 
whkk means mam on your lipa than 



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I%e CaxUMU.'-P^Brt X. 



159 



I am stixe it e?er did when Latm was 
alive laiigiiage« aad^PafMsl" a na- 
tural aad anpedantic dacalationl^noY 
I woold aooner bhmder tkiovgh the 
dark Xxj mjmM a thovsasd times, than 
li^t mj rnsh-llj^ at the lamp oi that 
Fhlegethonian''Pa{MDr' 

And then my £ither would wisely 
and khidiy, bat wondrous ^wiy, 
erase three-fourths of one's pet Terses, 
and intercalate others that one saw 
were ezqniaite, bat eonld not exactly 
see why. And then one asked why ; 
and my U&m shook his head in de- 
spair, aad said— ^^Bot yon ought to 
/«/whTr 

In short, scholarship to him was 
like poetry : he conld no more teach 
it yon tluui Pindar conld have tangfat 
yon how to make an ode. xon 
tNreathed the aroma, but yon could 
BO more seise and analyse it, than, 
with the opening ci roar naked hand, 
yon could cany off the scent of a rose. 
I soon left my father in peace to Car- 
dan, and to the Great Book, which 
last, by the way, advanced but slowly. 
For Unde JacK had now insisted on 
its being published in qaarto, with 
illustrative plates; and those plates 
took an immense time, and were to 
cost an immense sum— 4rat that cost 
was the affiiir of the Anti-Publisher 
Society. But how oani settle to w<tfk 
l>y myself? No sooner have I got 
into my room— p^niitttf o^ orhe dmiits^ 
as I rashly think— than there is a tap 
at the door. Now, it la my mother, 
who is benevolently engaged upon 
makfaiff curtains to ail the windows, 
(% triflmg snperflui^ that Bolt had 
forgo tte n or disdaineo,) and who wants 
to know how the draperies are fa- 
shioned at Mr Trevanion*s: a pre- 
tence to hvre.me near her, and see 
witii her own ^es that I am not 
fretting;— the m<«i€nt she hears I 
have shui myself iq> in my room, she 
is sure that it is for sorrow. Now 
it is Bolt, who is making book- 
shelves for my fother, and desires to 
consult me at every turn, eq>edaUy 
aa I have f^en him a Gothic design, 
which pleases him hugely. Now it is 
Blanche, whom, in an evil hoar, I 
undertook to teach to draw, and who 
comes in en tiptoe, vowing shell not 
disturb me, and sits so quiet thai she 
fidflets me out of ail paaence. Now, 
and much more often, it is the Cap- 



tain, who wants me to walk, to ride, 
to fish. And. by St Hubert 1 (saint 
of the chase,) lurigfat August comes 
—and there is moor-game on those 
barren wolds— and my uncle lias 
given me the gun he shot with at 
my age — sini^barreUed, flint lock — 
but yon would not have laughed at it 
if you had seen the strange feats it 
did InBoland's hands— while in mine, 
I could always lay the blame on the 
flint lodL 1 Time, in short, Mssed 
rapidly; and if Bxdand and I had 
our dark hours, we chased them 
away before tfatey comld settle— shot 
Uiem <m the wing as they 'got up. 

Then, too, though the immediate 
scenery around my uncle*s was so 
bleak and desolate, the coun^ within 
a few miles was so fhll of objects of 
interest— of landscapes so poetically 
grand or lovely; ana occasionally we 
coaxed my fisther firom the Cardan, 
and spent whole days by the margin 
of some glorious lake. 

Amongst these excursions, I made 
one by myself to that house in which 
my father had known the bliss and 
the pangs of that stem first love that 
still left its scars fresh on my own 
memory. The house, lar^ and im- 
poshig, was ^ut up— 4he Trevanions 
had not been there for years— the 
pleasure-grounds had been contracted 
mto the smallest possible ^[Miee. There 
was no positive decay or ruin— that 
Trevanion would never have allowed ; 
but there was the dreary look of ab- 
senteeship everywhere. I penetrated 
into the house with the help of my 
card and half-a-crown. I saw that 
memcMraMe boudoir— I couM fsncy the 
very spot in whidi my fiftther had 
heard the sentence that had dianged 
the current of his life. And when I 
returned home, I looked with new 
toidemess on my father^s placid brow 
—and blessed anew that tender help- 
mate, who, hi her patient love, had 
chiaed from it eveiy shadow. 

I had received one letter from Vi- 
vian a few days after our arrivaL It 
had been reduected from my fother'a 
house, at whkh I had given hkn my 
address. It was short, but seemed 
cbeeiftiL He said, that he believed 
he had at last hit on the ri^ waj. 
aad shoold keep to it-that he and 
the world were better fiiends thaft 
they had been— and that the only way 



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The CaxUms.^Part X. 



[Feb. 



to keep friends with the world was to 
treat it as a tamed tiger, and have 
one hand on a crow-bar while one 
fondled the beast with the other. He 
enclosed me a bank-note which some- 
what more than covered his debt to 
me, and bade me pay him the snrplas 
when he should claim it as a million- 
naire. He gave me no address in his 
letter, but it bore the post-mark of 
Godalming. I had the impertinent 
cariosity to look into an old topogra- 
phical work upon Snrrey, and in a 
supplemental itinerary I found this 
passage, '^ To the left of the beech- 
wood, three miles from Godalming, 
you catch a glimpse of the elegant 
seat of Francis Vivian, Esq." To 
Judge by the date of the work, the 
said Francis Vivian might bo the 
grandfother of mv friend, his name- 
sake. There could no longer be any 
doubt as to the parentage of this pro- 
digal son. 



The long vacation was now nearly 
over, and all his guests were to leave 
the poor Captain. In fact, we had 
made a long trespass on his hospi- 
tality. It was settled that I was to 
accompany my father and mother to 
their long-neglected penates, and start 
thence for Cambridge. 

Our parting was sorrowful— even 
Mrs Primmins wept as she shook 
hands with Bolt But Bolt, an old 
soldier, was of course a lady's man. 
The brothers did not shake hands 
only — thev fondly embraced, as 
brothers of that time of life rarely do 
now-a-days, except on the stage. And 
Blanche, with one arm round my 
mother's neck, and one round mine, 
sobbed in my ear, — ** But I will be 
your little wife, I will." Finally, the 
fly-coach once more received us all — 
all but poor Blanche, and we looked 
round and missed her. 



CHAPTER LI. 



Alma Mater I Alma Mater! New- 
fashioned folks, with their large 
theories of education, may find fault 
with thee. But a true Spartan 
mother thou art—hard and stem as 
the old matron who bricked up her 
son Pausanias, bringing the first 
stone to immure him ; hard and 
stern, I say, to the worthless, but 
full of majestic tenderness to the 
worthy. 

For a young man to go up to Cam- 
bridge (I say nothing of Oxford, 
knowing nothing thereoO merely as 
routine work, to lounge through three 
vears to a degree among the <k YroXXoi— 
for such an one, Oxford Street herself, 
whom the immortal Opium-eater hath 
so direly apostrophised, is not a more 
careless and stony-hearted mother. 
But for him who will read, who will 
work, who will seize the rare advan- 
tages profftered, who will select his 
friends iudiciously— yea, out of that 
vast fbrment of young idea in its lusty 
vigour, choose the good and reject 
the bad— there is plenty to make those 
three years rich with fruit imperish- 
able — ^thrce years nobly spent, even 
though one must pass over the Ass's 
Bridge to get into the Temple of 
Honour. 



Important changes in the Academi- 
cal system have been recently an- 
nounced, and honours are henceforth 
to be accorded to the successM dis- 
ciples in moral and natural sciences. 
By the side of the old throne of 
Matheds, they have placed two very 
useftil fauteuHs h h VoUaire, I 
have no objection ; but, in those three 
years of life, it is not so much the thing 
learned, as the steady perseverance in 
learning something that is excellent. 

It was fortunate, in one respect, for 
me that I had seen a little of the real 
world — the metropolitan, before I 
came to that mimic one— the cloistral. 
For what were called pleasures in the 
last, and which might have allured 
me, had I come fiesh from school, 
had no charm for me now. Hard 
drinking and high play, a certain 
mixture of coarseness and extrava- 
gance, made the fashion among the 
idle when I was at the universi^ tub 
comule Planco — when Wordsworth 
was master of Trinity : it may be 
altered now. 

But I had already outlived such 
temptations, and so, naturally, I was 
thrown out of the society of the idle, 
and somewhat into that of the labo- 
rious. 



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The Caxtons.-^Part X. 



161 



Still, to spieak fhoikly, I had no 
longer the old pleasure in books. If 
mj acqaaintance with the great world 
had destroyed the temptation to pu- 
erile excesses, it had also increased my 
constitntional tendency to practical 
action. And, alas ! in spite of all the 
benefit I had derived from Robert 
Hall, there were times when memory 
was so poignant that I had no choice 
but to rush from the lonely room, 
hannted by tempting phantoms too 
dangerously fair, and sober down the 
fevOT of the heart by some violent 
bodily fatigue. The ardour which 
belongs to early youth, and which it 
best dedicates to knowledge, had 
been charmed prematurely to shrines 
less severely sacred. Therefore, 
though I laboured, it was with that 
full sense of labour which (as I found 
at a much later period of life) the 
truly triumphant student never knows. 
Leajning— that marble image — ^warms 
into life, not at the toil of the chisel, 
but the worship of the sculptor. The 
mechanical workman finds but the 
voiceless stone. 

At my unde^s, such a thing as a 
newspaper rarely made its appear- 
ance. At Cambridge, even among 
reading men, the newspapers haa 
their due importance. Politics ran 
high ; and I had not been three days 
at Cambridge before I heard Tre- 
vanion^s name. Newspapers, there- 
fore, had their charms for me. Tre- 
vanion's prophecy about himself 
seemed about to be fulfilled. Tliere 
were rumours of changes in the 
cabinet. Trevanion^s name was 
bandied to and fro. struck frt>m praise 
to bhune, high and low, as a shuttle- 
cock. Still the changes were not 
made, and the cabinet held firm. 
Not a word in the Morning Post^ 
under the head of fashionable inteUi- 
gence^ as to rumours that would have 
agitated me more than the rise and 
fsdl of governments — ^no hint of ^^ the 
speedy nuptials of the daughter and 
sole heu-ess of a distinguished and 
wealthy commoner :'^ only now and 
then, m enumerating the circle of 
brilliant guests at the house of 
some par^ chief, I gulped back the 
heart that rushed to my lips, when 
I saw the names of Lady Euinor and 
Miss Trevanion. 

But amongst all that ppollfic 

VOL. LXV. — NO. CCCC. 



progeny of the periodical press — 
remote ofi&pring of my great name- 
sake and ancestor, (for I hold the 
faith of my father,) — where was 
the Literary Times f — what had 
so long retarded its promised blos- 
soms? Not a leaf in the shape of 
advertisements had yet emerged from 
its mother earth. I hoped from my 
heart that the whole thing was aban- 
doned, and would not mention it in 
my letters home, lest I should revive 
the mere idea of it. But, in default 
of the Literary Times^ there did ap- 
pear a new journal, a daily journal 
too ; a tall, slender, and meagre strip- 
ling, with a vast head, bj way of pro- 
spectus, which protruded itself for three 
weeks successively at the top of the 
leading article ; — ^with a fine and subtle 
body of paragraphs ; — and the smallest 
legs, in the way of advertisements, 
that any poor newspaper ever stood 
upon ! And yet this attenuated jour- 
nal had a plump and plethoric title, 
a title that smacked of turtle and 
venison ; an aldermanlc, portly, gran- 
diose, Falstaffian title — it was called 
The Capftalist. And all those 
fine subtle paragraphs were larded 
out with receipts how to make money. 
There was an El Dorado in every sen- 
tence. To believe that paper, you 
would think no man had ever yet found 
a proper return for his pounds, shil- 
lings, and pence. Yon would have 
turned up your nose at twenty per 
cent. There was a great deal about 
Ireland — not her wrongs, thank Hea- 
ven ! but her fisheries : a long inquiry 
what had become of the pearls for 
which Britain was once so famous : a 
learned disquisition upon certain lost 
gold mines now happily rediscovered : 
a very ingenious proposition to turn 
London smoke into manure, by a new 
chemical process: recommendations 
to the poor to hatch chickens in ovens 
like the ancient Egyptians: agricul- 
tural schemes for sowing the waste 
lands in England with onions, upon 
the system adopted near Bedford, net 

Sroduce one hundred pounds an acre, 
a short, according to that paper, 
every rood of ground might well 
maintain its man, and every shilling 
be like Hobson^s money-bag, *^the 
fruitful parent of a hundred more." 
Por three days, at the newspaper 
room of the Union Club, men talked 



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Statistical AccounU €f Soc4hmd. 



16i 

of this jonmal: somepisked, some 
sneered, some wondered ; till an ill- 
natoped mathematJdan, who had just 
ifdcen his degree, and had spare time 
on his hands, sent a long letter to the 
Morning Ckrtmick^ i^owmg np more 
Uuiders, in some article to which the 
editor of The Capitalist had ^>edallj 
invited attention, (anlndcj dog !) thui 
wonld have paved the whole island of 
Lapnta. After that time, not a sonl 
read The Capitaljst, How long it 
dragged <>n its existence I know not ; 
but it certainly did not die of a mala" 
die de longueur. 

Little thought I, when I joined in 
the laugh against The CapitaUet^ 
that I ought rather to have followed it 
to its grave, in Idack crape and weep- 
era,— unfeeling wretch tiiat I was! 



[Feb. 



But, like a poet, O CamtaMst\ thou 
wert not discovered, and appreciated, 
and prised, and mourned, tiU thorn 
wert dead and buried, and the Inll 
came in for thy monument I 

The first tern of my collc^ life 
was just expiring, when I received a 
letter from my motiier^ so agitated, 
BO alarming, at first reading so unin- 
telligible, that I could only see that 
some great misfortune had befallen 
us; and I stepped short and dropped 
on my kneo, to pray for the 1^ and 
heallii of those whom that misfortune 
more specially seemed to menace ; and 
then — and then, towards the end of 
t^e last blurred sentence— read twice, 
thrice, ovei^— I could ay, " Thank 
Heaven, thank Heaven! it is only, 
then, money after all I " 



STATISTICAL ACCOUNTS OF 60(>TIAKI>. 



It is a term of very wide applica- 
tion, this of statistics — extending to 
ev^ything in the state of a country 
subject to variation either from the 
energ^and fancies of men,or from the 
operations of nature, in so far as these, 
or the knowledge of them, has any 
tendeni^ to occasion change in the 
condition of the country. Its ele- 
ments must be either changeable in 
themselves, or the cause of change ; 
because the use of the whole matter 
is to direct men what to do for their 
advantage, moral or physical— by 
legislation, when the case is of suffi- 
cient magnitude— or otherwise by the 
wisdom and enterprise of individuals. 

Governments, it is |dain, must 
have the greatest faiterest in possess- 
ing knowledge of this sort ; but they 
have not been the first to engage 
very earnestly in obtaining it. It 
would seem that, in all countries, the 
first veiy notioeable efforts in this 
way have been made by indivi- 
duals. 

In this oountiy we have now from 
government more and better statis- 
tics than frtnn any other source ; for 
besides the deoennial census, there is 
the yeariy produce in this way of 
Cnrnn Commissions and of Parlia- 
mentary C<»nmiltee6 ; and, moreover, 



there is the late institution of a sta- 
tistical department in connexion with 
the Board of Trade, for arranging, 
digesting, and rendering more acces- 
siUe all matter of this land collected, 
from time to time, by the different 
branches of the administration. But 
before statistical knowledge became 
the object of much care to the gov- 
ernment of this country, it had been 
well cultivated by individuals. So in 
Germany statistics first took a scienti- 
fic form in the works of an individual 
about the middle of the last oentoir : 
and in France, the unfinished Mi^ 
moires des Jnt^ukmts^ prepared on the 
order of the king, were scarcely an 
exception, dnce meant for theimvate 
instruction of the young prince. But 
without attaching undue importance 
to the fact of mere precedence, it may 
be said that, considering the chief uses 
of this kind of knoided^, it has 
reoeived more contributions from 
individuals than could have been ex- 
pected. 

This admits of bdng easilv ex« 
plamed. It has been well said that, 
while histoiy is a sort <^ current sta- 
tistics, statistics are a sort of stationaiy 
liistory. Tlieone has liierefore much 
the same invitations to mere literary 
tast» as Mother; md If ^e si^ject 



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1849.] 



fitaJiBtkal Acommts ^'JScatkmd, 



besot so genenlly enga^ng, the faaicy 
BUjr be mi Btroog, and prodooe as 
pve a de^otkm to BtatiBtioB aa diere 
erv ifl to faistoiy. More liiaathis, 
tiie staitiit majr care fin* less for his 
aubfeetttuu its 11668,— that is, hemaj 
choose to oDdergo the toil of researches 
only xeeommended by tiie diance of 
thenrainliteriDg tothebettergnidaaoe 
of ■Qoia part of public poMi^, and 
therofbretothepablicgood. Ijieim- 
pabe is then not litenuy ; nor Is it 
l^pblatiye, for the power is wanting ; 
it is ^mply patriotic, for so it most 
be ooandered, even when,in the words 
of Mr M'GnUoch, the oMect is onlj 
^ to bring nnder the public view the 
deAdencies in statistical information, 
aad so to oontribate to the adrance- 
ment of the sdenoe J^ 

This public natore of the ahn of 
statistical works, and ^e nnlikdihood 
of their anthon choosing that medinm 
to set forth anything supposed wortiiy 
of notice in the figure of their own 
genias, seem to have been recognised, 
exeept in rare instences, as giving to 
wortm of this kind a title to be weH 
reodred, md to have theurfoults veiy 
gentilj remarlced. 

Agian, it might be expected that 
the statistics of individuals should 
have a more limited range than tiiose 
of governments; that ihey should 
refor to districts of less extent ; and 
to the state of the eountry in fewer of 
its aspects. But the ease is somewhat 
differmt. The statistics of individuals 
are often more national than local, 
aad gownmlly consist of many branches 
presented hi some connexion ; while 
those of governments are commonly 
confined to tiie sing^ department on 
which some question of policy may 
chance for the time to nave fixed 
attention. 

On the occasion mentioned, the in- 
quiries histltuted in France were not 
so confined, but embraced all the 
pototsofduef interest in the statet^ 
the oomtiy. In Ihigland, noUung 
sindlar lias been attempted; although, 
some jrears ago, it is known that a 
proposal to institute a general survey 
of Irelaod— K>n the plan, we believe, 
of the Ordnance Sumy of the parish 
of Tomplemore— was fbr some thne 
imder consideration of the gefvn- 



On the otiier hand, the instanoes of 



individuid enterprise in tliis way to a 
national extent are numerous, both 
at home and abroad* Among the 
latter, Aucherwall cives the first ex- 
ample, and Peudaet probably the 
best ; both treating of the country 
not in parts but as a whole, — not in 
one reelect but m many. Of the 
same wort are the excellent statistical 
woiks of Colquhonn, M^Culloch, 
P<»*ter, and others, relatoig to the 
British emphre, and directed to many 
aspects of its condition. To these 
we add the StatMcal AccomtU of Scot- 
itmdy — occupied with as many or 
more matters of inquiry, but not so 
property national, since viewing not 
the country collectively, but its paro- 
dual divisions in succession. 

One advanta^ belongs to the col- 
lection of statistics upon many points, 
which is not found in those that are 
limited to one. It is remarked hj 
Schloaer hi his nearie 4et SiatutA^ 
that ^ there are many focts seemingly 
of BO value, but wnich become un- 
portant as soon as you combine them 
with other foots, it mi^ be of quite 
another dass. The affinities subsist- 
ing among these facts are discov- 
ered by the talent and genius of 
the statist ; and the more various the 
knowledge he possesses, with so much 
the more success he will perform this 
last and crowmng part of his task.** 
The observation need not be confined 
to facts ai^^arentiy unimportant : for 
even those, whose importance is at 
once perceived, may acquire a new 
value from a skilful collation. In 
either ease, there seems a necesdty 
for remitting the detadied statistics 
coUeeted by government to some 
such department as that in connexion 
with the Board of Trade ; otherwise, 
the works of indi^ual statists must 
contmue to afibrd the only oppor- 
tunity of tracing the totent rela- 
tions of one branch of statistics to 
another. 

The individual, however, who at- 
tempts so much, is in hazard ai 
attempting more than any individual 
can wen perform. For, besides this, 
he has to make another effort quite 
distinct— ha the investigation of facts. 
All the needed scientific kno wled^ he 
BHiy possess; but the same snffidenc^ 
of local or topographical knowledge la 
not snppoeable. The woik so pro* 



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Statistical Accounts of Scotland. 



164 

daced, therefore^ cannot easily avoid 
the defects, either of error in the 
details of some branch, of unequal 
development of the parts, or of a 
superficial treatment of the whole. 
Against these dangers some writers 
have had recourse to assistance, in- 
viting contributions from others fa- 
voureid with better means of informa- 
tion than themselves; and to them 
attributing, in so far as they assisted, 
the entire merit and responsibility of 
the work. 

This transference of responsibility is 
warranted by the necessity of the 
case — ^but it is unusual ; and as it 
scarcely occurs except in works of the 
kind in question, it may happen that 
even a professing jud^e of such works, 
if the habit of attention be not good, 
may entirely overlook the circum- 
stance. 

In the Statistical Account of Scot- 
land, the obligation to individual con- 
tributions has been carried to the 
greatest extent ; indeed, it is simply a 
collection of such contributions, and 
nothing more. This part of the plan 
was necessitated by another, in which 
the work is equally peculiar — ^namely, 
the distinct treatment of smaller divi- 
sions of the country, than have been 
taken up in any oUier work of the 
Jcind, having an entire country for 
its object. To obtain a body of pa- 
rochial statistics, it was necessary to 
have recourse to persons well ac- 
quainted with the bounds, and intel- 
ligent, at the same time, upon the va- 
rious subjects of inquiry. But to find 
such in nine hundred parishes would, 
of itself, have required much of that 
local knowledge, the want of which 
was the occasion of the search— had 
there not been a class or order of men 
among whom the desu^ qualification, 
In many points, might be supposed to 
be pret^ generally difi*used ; and from 
whose favour to a project of public 
usefulness much aid might be expect- 
ed. It was in this manner that the 
co-operation of the parochial clergy 
came to be suggested. 

The Statistical Account of Scotland 
was originated, promoted, and super- 
intended by the late Sir John Sinclair. 
The authors of such works, as one of 
the best of them remarks, should be 
carefol to explain their motives in 
undertaking it— we presume, because 



[Feb. 



undertakings of the kind are ftelt to 
be scarcely an affair of individuals. 
In this instance, a desure to promote 
the public good was at once professed 
and accredited by many oUier acts 
apparently inspired by the same sen- 
timent. The devotion of Sir John 
Sindur^s life in that direction was 
complete, and the example uncom- 
mon. In this a late reviewer perceives 
nothing more than a restless pursuit of 
plans of no further interest to himself 
than as they bore the inscription of 
his own name. But whenever public 
spuit is professed, and by anything 
like useful acts attested, our faith, we 
think, should be more generous. On 
such occasions, if on any, it is right 
to waive all speculation upon private 
motives, and to presume the best— 
for reasons so well understood in 
general that they do not need to be 
explained. But if genius, with a 
bent to that sort of penetration, must 
have its freedom, we do demand that 
some token should appear of a belief 
in the possibility of the virtue which 
is denied. 

It does not improve the grace of 
any such judgments that they are 
passed fifty years after the occasion ; 
for, in the meantime, the work may 
have acquired merits which could not 
belong to it at first : — and so it has 
happened with the Statistical Account 
of Sir John Smclair. Results may 
be fairly ascribed to that perform- 
ance which were not intended nor 
foreseen, and which seem to have come 
from its very defects, as well as fi^m 
the defects which it revealed in the 
condition of the country, and in the 
means of ascertaining what the con- 
dition of the country was. Its popu- 
lation-statistics were extremely mi- 
perfect ; the census followed in a very 
few years. Its scanty and unequal 
notices of agriculture suggested the 
project of the County Reports ; and 
to these succeeded the General Report 
of Scotland— Sk work still usefal, and 
of the first authority in much that 
relates to the agriculture and other 
industry of the country. To take ad- 
vantage of those capabilities which 
the statistical accounts had shown his 
country to possess, Sir John Sinclair 
originated the Agricultural Society. 
All of those things, and more, appear 
to have resulted from the StattUical 



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1849.] 



Statistical Accounts of Scotland, 



Account, They are honours that have 
arisen to it in the course of time, and 
may be fairlj permitted to mitigate 
the notice and recollection of its 
foults. 

After the lapse of fifty years, Scot- 
land had ceased to be the countir repre- 
sented in the old Statistical Account; 
for the greater part of what is proper 
to such a work is, as we have said, 
changeable and changing. It con- 
tain^ not a little, however, which 
remained as true and as interesting as 
at first : the topography, the physical 
characters, the civil divisions of the 
country were the same ; all that had 
been said of its history, whether local 
or general, might be said again as sea- 
sonably as before. It occurred, then, 
to those to whom the author had pre- 
sented the right of this work, to at- 
tempt to restore it in those parts which 
time had rendered useless, preserving 
those which were under no disadvan- 
tage from that cause. This, as we 
learn, was the plain, unambitious in- 
tention of the New Statistical Account 
of Scotland. It was projected and 
carried on during ten years by a So- 
ciety, whose object it is to afibrd aid, 
where aid is needed, in the education 
of the children of the clergy of the 
Church of Scotland. Nothing could 
be more foreign to that object than to 
engage in a work of national statistics; 
nothmg more natural than that, in 
their relation to the clergy, and with 
their interest in the first work, they 
should propose to renew it in the manner 
meAtioned. A society expressly formed 
for statistical purposes, and not re- 
strained like the Society for the Sons 
and Daughters of the Clergy, wouldpro- 
bably have proposed something diner- 
ent — something more new ; it might 
have been expected to produce some- 
thing more excellent — ^though, even in 
that case, the demand of excellence 
would have been limited by the con- 
sideration, that the means of com- 
pletely investigating the statistics of 
a conntnr are not at the command of 
any statlBtical society that exists. A 
modernisation, so to speak, of the first 
work appears to have been the idea of 
the second. 

It has been executed, however, in 
the freest style, and scarcely admitted, 
indeed, of being accomplished at 
all in any other manner. In such 



165 

cases, it is seldom that the adapta- 
tion is effected by mere numerical 
changes ; the whole statement, in form, 
manner, and substance, behoves to be 
remodelled. Then, certain parts of 
the original may have been deficient, 
and become more evidently so by the 
changes that have since ensued in the 
state of the object : here the task is 
less one of correction than of supple- 
ment. For example, the ver^ inte- 
resting and full accounts of mining and 
manufacturing industry which abound 
in the new work are nearly peculiar 
to it, and have scarcely an example in 
the old. One entire section of the 
latter, that of natural history, has been 
developed to an extent not attempted 
in the former, nor indeed in any other ' 
statistical work. These are rather 
noticeable licenses, on the supposition 
of the aim being as moderate as pro- 
fessed, and they go far to form a new 
andindependentwork— havingnothing 
in common with the first, except the 
parochial divisions and the obligation 
to the clergy, as respects the plan ; and 
as respects the matter, only the small 
part of it which is historical, and 
therefore not obsolete. 

We observe, accordingly, that the 
society who promoted the new work 
have put it forward as taking some 
things from the old, for which they 
are not responsible, but as containing 
far more which must form a new and 
separate character for itself. In both 
respects, we think they have viewed 
the work with a proper reference to 
the conditions under which it was pro* 
duced. 

In other points, the new Account has 
improved upon the old, and might be 
expected to do so. It has more mat- 
ter, by a third part, neither less suited 
to the place, nor more difiuse in the 
statement; and, as befits a work of 
reference, the arrangement is more 
orderly and more unSbrm. It is, on 
the whole, more careMly and better 
written, and shows, on the part of the 
reverend contributors, a remarkable 
advance m the many sorts of know- 
ledge requisite to the task. If the 
comparison were pursued further, it 
might be said that some contributions 
to the first are not surpassed in the 
value of what they contain; while,* 
from the greater novelty of the task 
at that time, as well as from the 



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StaiuiualAteowiU t^SeoOtmeL 



[Feb. 



greater fireedom of the method, thej 
are somewhat fresher and more genisd 
in manner. The later woric, if raller, 
more exact, more statistical throogh- 
OQt, possesses Uiat advantage at the 
cost of appearing sometimes more 
like a collection of returns in answer 
to snbmltted points (^inqnlry, — a cha- 
racter, however, by. no means unsuit- 
able to a compilation of the kind. In 
all other points a decided superiority 
must be attributed to the new Ac- 
count. 

Our remarks at thia time shall be 
confined to the i4an of the new Ac- 
count, and to th^ general description 
of its contents.* 

The chief feature of the plan is the 
distinct treatment of each pansh— pro- 
ducmg a body neither of county nor 
of national, but merely of parochial 
statistics. This was the design^ and 
there is much to recommend it. It 
is the last thing that can take the 
aspect of a fault in statistics, to view 
the matter in very minute portions ; 
ibr thus, and thus only, it is possible to 
arrive at an accurate knowledge of 
the whole. There can be no good 
coun^ statistics which do not sup- 
pose inquiries limited, at first, to lesser 
divisions of the country, and which do 
not express the sum of particulars 
taken from subdivisions that can 
hardly proceed too far. If such minor 
surveys do not come before the public, 
they are presumptively carried on in 
private. But, in the latter case, they 
are the more apt to be superficial, as 
they can be so with the less chance 
of being noticed; they are apt to 
take aid from mere computation of 
averages ; they are apt, also, to result 
in that vague description which is the 
master-vice of statistics. '' In this 
town, there are manu£Eu;tures which 
employ many hands ; in this district, 
vast quantities of silk are produced. 
These, " says Schlozer, ** are pet 
phrases of tourists, who would say 
something, when they know nothing ; 
but they are not the language of 
statistics." The parochial method 
stuids, then, on two good grounds : it 
is inevitable dther in an open or a 
latentform ; and it favours the coHection 
of suffid^t data Ibr those specific 
enumerations which are the true 



worth and the dianictenstic grace of 
this branch of knowledge. 

This plan, however, has some dis- 
advantages ; in Tefening to which we 
shall find occasion to bring to vieir 
some of the proper merits of tiie work. 

In the fiist place, a work on this 
plan is inevitably voluminous. The 
territorial divisions submitted to dis- 
tinct treatment are abont nine han- 
dred in number, and the matter is 
still further augmented by the occa- 
sional as»gnm«it to diflferent hands 
of different parts of the survey of % 
single parish. In proportion to the 
descent of the details, is the bulk ai 
the production ; which we suppose to be 
an evil in the same measure inwhrnfait 
exceeds thenecessity of the case. Nofw 
the New Statistical Account is at once 
seen to contain not a little matter of 
merely local interest, and of the 
smallest value considered as pertain- 
ing to a body of national statistics ; 
and here, if anywhere, it is apt to ba 
regarded as at fiiult. It is right, how- 
ever, to recollect the privilege of every 
work to be judged according to the 
conditions of the spedes to whidi it 
belongs. The present is not set 
fbrth as a statistical account of Scot- 
land, but as a collection ci tiie statis- 
tical accounts of all the parishes in 
Scotland; for this, we perceive, is 
not merely implied in the plan of th& 
work, but is declared in the prospectos^ 
where the hope is expressed that, by 
exhibiting the actual state of the 
parishes, with whatever is thereiik 
amiss, it may lead to parochial im- 
provements. It does not appear, there- 
fore, to have been firom any miscalcu- 
lation of their worth, that matters of 
merdy local interest have been so 
liberally admitted ; and, all things- 
considered, more of that nature might 
have been expected. Let us quote 
again firom tiie best theoir of statistics 
that has ever been produced. "An 
object may be deserving of remsric in 
the description of some particnlar 
portion of a country, and at the same 
time have no claim to notice in any 
general account of that ocmntry at 
large. In the former case, the rivulet 
is not to be omitted ; in the latter,, 
any allusion to it wodd be a defiBct, 
for it would be matter of 



TU New SuuiUieal Aeocmnt of Scotland. In 1 5 vols. Edinburgh, 1 845. 



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1840.3 



Statistical AceowOA qf Scodamd. 



167 



saiy and trifling detail*** It ia re- 
corded, in the New Statistical AccowU^ 
that " Will-o'-wisp had nev&c ap- 
peared in the pariah of Sooth Uist 
previoiiB to the jear 1812.*' Nothing, 
in a national point of view, can be 
GODceiyed more insignificant than Uiis 
&ct ; bat, taken in connexion with a 
notable Biq»er8tidoa in that district, 
its local importance appeurs.f To 
the credit of this method, it may be 
noticed, that the acooonts which are 
most parochial are, at the same time, 
among those which have been drawn 
np with the most general intelligence ; 
and, this being the case, it is not a 
strange wish that the accounts, in 
general, had been somewhat more 
parochial than they are. 

On this plan, it is certain there is 
a risk of much repetition, many 
parishes having some c(»nmon cha- 
zaeteristfl which, in place of bein^ 
reconnted for each, might be stated 
once for all. How far does the 
Statistical AceowU offend in this man- 
ner ? It is tme that, where the same 
iMsts oc^B* in many parishes, a sm^ 
Btiteinent might snmce ; thon^ this 
might be at the cost of Ti<^^ig the 
plui which for the whole it might be 
fittest ta adopt, upon oonsiderati(m 
that the like resemblance is not found 
among the greater number of the 
parishes* But it is remariuible, how 
seldom different parishes have a^ Uie 
Bimilarity requisite for such a common 
description ; to, in statistics, a diffe- 
rence in mere number or quantity is 
a ^tal difference, and expresses 
essentially different facts. Many 
parishes have the same articles of pro- 
duce ; while no two produce exactly the 
aame quantities. A very short dis- 
tance often brings to yiew considerable 
varieties in dimate, soil, and other 
physical quaHtiee of a coui^iy. Now, 
considering that the object of this 
w<^ is to present the parishes in thehr 



distinguishing, as weU as in their 
common featores, we do not see mudi 
sameness in the sdbstance of ^ de- 
tails which could hare been avoided. 
A sameness there is ; but more in 
form than in substance— eadi account 
delivering its matter under the same 
general heads,, recurring in all cases 
in exactly the same order. This is 
convenient when the book is used for 
reference; it may be wearisome to 
one who reads only for amusement : it is 
monotimoas ; hvt who looks for any 
*' soul of harmony ** in such a quarter? 
We rq)eat, it is not attended, on the 
whole, with much importunate re- 
appearance of the same facts, and 
cannot seem to be so, except to a veiy 
careless or distemp^ed eye. But if, 
perchance, there may be some facts 
mudi alike in several parishes, this 
itself is an unusual fact, and we should 
not object to its coming out in the 
usual way of each parish speaking for 
itself ; in which case, there is always 
a chance of some variety in the de- 
scription, from the same thing pre- 
senting itself to different persons 
under different aspects. But, on the 
whole, we think there is less repeti- 
tion in these accounts, and indeed less 
occasion for it, than might at first 
sight be supposed. 

There is another obvious tendency 
to imperfection in the plan of paro- 
chial accounts. Their first, but not 
their sole object, is to describe the 
parishes ; it is certainly meant that 
they should furnish, at the same 
time, the grounds of statistical com- 
putation fofr the whole country. 
This is the natural complement and 
the proper condusion to a work of 
parish statistics. It is, however, a 
part of the plan which, not being quite 
necessary, and requiring afresh effbrt 
at the last, is apt to be omitted. It 
was not till twenty-five years after 
the publication of the old Account that 



* Schloier. 

f " It is Baid that a woman in Benbectda went at night to the Sandbanks, to dig 
for some roe used for dyeing a red colour, against her husband's will ; that^ ii^ien 
she left her house, she said with an oath she would bring some of it home, though 
she knew there was a regulation by the factor and magistrates, prohibiting people 
to use it or dig for it, by reason that the sandbanks, upon being excavated, would be 
blown awmy with the wind. The woman never returned home, nor was her body 
ever fovnd. It was shortly thereafter that the meteor was first seen ; and it is said 
that it » the ghost of the imfortunate and pro&ne woman that appears in this shf^.** 
—New Statiiticml Aceount, ** Inverness,'* p 184. 



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168 



Siatisticai Accounts of Scotland. 



[Feb. 



Sir John Siaclalr at length produced 
his Analysis of the Statistical Account 
of Scotland considered as one District, 
It came too late. A similar analysis 
or summary appears to have been at 
first intended for the new Account : 
and we regret that this part of the 
design was, by force of circum- 
stances, not carried into effect. 
One use of it would have been to 
evince that parochial statistics do not 
assume the character of national ; 
while yet, for even national statistics, 
they furnish the most proper founda- 
tion. To pass at once, however, from 
parochial to national statistics would 
have been too great a step ; there is 
an intermediatestage, at which the new 
Account would certainly have paused, 
though it had designed to proceed 
farther; and at which, without that 
design, it has here rested ; presenting 
the statistics of each county in a sum- 
mary of the more important particu- 
lars concerning the included parishes ; 
but making no nearer approach to any 
general computations for the country 
at large. 

The method of proceeding from 
parishes to counties suggests that 
other plan for the entire work, which 
would have followed the opposite 
course — the plan that would have 
begun with counties, and given County, 
not Parochial reports. Somewhat in 
this fashion has been formed the Geo- 
graphic D^artementale of France, now 
in Course of publication, in which the 
whole matter is rigorously subjected 
to as skilful an arrangement as has 
ever been devised for matters of the 
kind. It is plain, however, that greater 
difficulty and more expense wouldhave 
attended the construction of the Scotch 
work on that scheme, than private 
parties could have undertaken ; and 
even the example of the French work 
does not show that, for the compacter 
method thus obtained, there might not 
have been a sacrifice of much that is 
valuable in detail. 

It may be added, that when parishes 
are well described, and a county or 
more general summary succeeds, we 
ask no more; a work like this has 
then accomplished its object, and what 
remains must be sought for elsewhere. 
What remains is this — to interpret 
the statistics thus laid down, for they 
Arc often very far from interpreting 



themselves ; to ascertain, by analysis 
or combination of their different parts, 
what they signify in regard to the con- 
dition of the country. Thus, betwixt 
the rate of wages and the habits of a 
people — the prevailing occupations 
and the rate of mortality — the descrip- 
tion of industry and the amount of 
pauperism—there are relations which 
it is exceedingly important to remark. 
But if a statistical account simply 
notes the kind, number, or quantity of 
each of these particulars, it performs 
its part, — ^no matter how blindly, how 
unconsciously of the relation that sub- 
sists betwixt them, this may be done. 
The rest is so different a work, that it 
must be left to other hands. It is not 
to be forgotten, that, for bringing out 
the more latent truths of statistics in 
the manner mentioned, a work like 
this is merely pour servir ; and, keep- 
ing that in view, our prepossessions 
are all in favour of abundance and 
minuteness of detail. 

Lastly, a work made up of contri- 
butions from nine hundred individuals 
must be of unequal merit, according 
to the different measures of intelligence 
or care, and according to the feeling 
with whidi a task of that nature may 
happen to have been undertaken. A 
slight inspection, accordingly, dis- 
covers that it is the character of the 
writer, more than of the parish, that 
determines the length and interest of 
any one of these reports. This is an 
imperfection, and something more — for 
it makes one part of the book, by impli- 
cation, reveal the defects of another. A 
few years ago, when a Crown commis- 
sion considered a project for a general 
survey and statistical report of Ireland, 
their attention was much attracted to 
the New Statistical Account of Scot- 
land; and, in their report, theynoticOt 
in the course of a very fair estimate, 
this inequality as the main disadvan- 
tage of the plan. It is, however, in- 
evitable, except upon a scheme which, 
from the expense attending it, would 
have hindered the existence of the 
Scottish work, and which appears 
to have prevented or postponed the 
Irish. From a single author, some- 
thinglike proportion might be expected 
in the parts of such a compilation ; 
but to that perfection a work like the 
Statistical Account of Scotland^ with 
its hundreds of avowed responsible. 



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1849.] 



Statistical Accounts of Scotland, 



169 



and therefore uncontrolled authors, 
could not pretend. For this reason, 
it is the more proper to follow a rule 
of judgment which, in anj case, is a 
good one:— to estimate the general 
character of the work with a lively 
recollection of its merits ; and to be 
mudi upon our guard against the 
mean instinct of looking only to the 
weaker and more peccant parts of it. 

Paflsing from the plan to the matter 
of the work, we now ask, whether all 
that it contains is properly statistical, 
and whether it contains all of any 
consequence that falls under that de- 
scription. 

Nothing, we suppose, is alien to 
this branch of knowledge that tends, 
in however little, to show the state of 
a country — social, political, moral — 
or even physical. 

But this last, comprising somewhat 
of geography and natural history, 
some writers would remove entirely 
from the sphere of statistics. Among 
these 18 Peuchet, in his work before 
mentioned— who gives as the reason 
of the exclusion, that, in any analysis 
of the wealth or power of a state, 
neither its geography nor natural his- 
tory ever come into ^ew : a fact rather 
hastily assumed. The parallel work 
for tMB country, by ^ M^Culloch, 
while it follows Feuchet^s method in 
much, leaves it in this instance, ad- 
mitting various branches of natural 
history to ample consideration. It is 
true that trespass on the proper 
ground of statistics has been so com- 
mon an oflfence, that writers have been 
carefol to mark those cases in which 
no title exists. Thus Schlozer, look- 
ing to the intrusions that come from 
the quarter we refer to, is averse to 
all imaghiative descriptions of the 
physical aspect of a country, but does 
not prohibit natural history. Hogel, 
who also writes well upon the theory 
of statistics,* is more explicit — ad- 
mitting that natural history may en- 
croach too far, but asserting that its 
several branches maybe received to 
ft certain extent. "Whatever, in 
the physical nature of a country, has 
any influence upon the life, occupa- 
tions, or manners of the people, per- 
tains to statistics; by all means, 
therefore, in any body of statistics, let 



us have as much of mineralogy, hydro- 
logy, botany, ^ology, meteorology, 
as has any beanng upon the condition 
of the people." All of these subjects 
have been allowed to enter largely 
into the New Statistical Account, 

They form a feature of that work 
which scarcely belonged to the old 
Account, and which is new, indeed, to 
parochial statistics. Investigations 
of natural history have usually been 
carried on with reference to other 
bounds than those of parishes ; but, 
when confined to parishes, it is re- 
markable how much this has been at 
once for the advantage of the science, 
and for the enhancement of any inte- 
rest in these territorial divisions by 
the picturesque mixture of natural 
objects with the works and pursuits of 
men. More of this parochial treatment 
of natural history we may possibly 
have hereafter, upon the suggestion of 
the Statistical Account, 

For the abundant favour which the 
work has shown to the whole subject 
of natural history, i-easons are not 
wanting. One portion of that matter 
has obviously the quality that desig- 
nates for statistical treatment,— com- 
prising, for example, mines, whether 
wrought or unwrought ; animals, pro- 
fitable or destructive; plants, in all 
their variety of uses : the connexion 
of which with the wealth and industry 
of the country is at once apparent. 
The same connexion exists for another 
class of objects ; but not so obviously. 
For example, there is a detailed 
account of the flowering periods of a 
variety of plants in one parish ; the 
pertinence of which is not perceived, 
until it is mentioned that, in the same 
neighbourhood, there are two populous 
and well-frequented watering-places, 
which owe their prosperity to the qua- 
lities of the climate : there the trade 
of the locality connects Itself with the 
early honours of the hepaticas. A 
third class of facts, and not the least 
in amount, is not qualified by any re- 
lation they are known to possess to 
the social condition of the country; 
but then thev belong to a body of 
facts, some of which have that rela- 
tion; and the same may be esta- 
blished for them hereafter. Still, it 
may be said that the matter, if appro - 



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Si&iiatiealAeeo9mi§qfSeoamul. 



[FdO. 



priate, behoves to be presented in a 
BtatistkMkl, not in a scientific form. 
But this, perhaps^ is to interpret too 
strictly the laws of statistical writings 
whidi do not seem to forbid ihe pre- 
dominance of a sciaitific interest in 
tiie descr^>tion, when the mattw fairly 
belongs to the {Mrovince of statistics. 
And if any license at aU may be 
allowed in works of so sevare a charac- 
ter,itispreciselyhere where that is lea^ 
nnbefitting. It is not among the faults 
of the New Statistical Account^ bat 
rather among its most interesting fea- 
toreSy tiiat the mineral resources of the 
countiy are so often desoribed with all 
the skUl and passicm of the mineralo- 
gist, forgetting for the moment every- 
thing Imt the phraomena of nature. 

Under the head of Natural History, 
we have many instances of the land- 
scape painting proscribed by Schlozer. 
But It is remarked, that the same 
authority, when adverting to another 
matter, lays down a principle of ad- 
mission which is equally i^lieaUe 
here. '^ Antiquities," he observes, 
*^ become a proper subject of statis- 
tics in such a case as that of Rome, 
where a large amount of money was 
at one time annually expended by the 
strangers who came to form their 
tastcv or to indulge their curioeity, 
npon the remains of ancient art." In 
like manner, if tiiere are places in 
Scotland that profit economically by 
the attracticms of their natural beauty, 
we do not see that there is afty obli- 
gati(m to be silent upon the cause, by 
reascm merely of the seeming disson- 
ance betwixt an unaginative descrip- 
tion and the austere account of sta- 
tistics. Other and better apologies 
might be offered; and,onthewh<^e,we 
are not satisfied that, in this respect, 
any less indulgence of the gratler 
vdn would have been attended with 
advantage te the work. 

On these grounds it appears te have 
been, that so much scope is allowed te 
the whole suliject of natural history. 
But if too mudit the fault has been 
redeemed by the firequent excellence 
of what is put forth on that head. 
Here the NemStatiitieai AecowU passes 
expectation ; and to it we may attri- 
bute much of the increased interest 
that has lately attadied to that branch 
of knowledge in Scotland. 

r thing of questionable con- 



nexioii with statistioais histoiy, winch 
imports a reference to tiie past; 
whereas, as the name dedares, sta- 
tistics contemplates but the praent, 
and can look neither badcward nor fiur- 
ward, without trenching upon other 
provincesb Many excellent statistical 
works, accordingly, have allowed no 
place to history at all ; and the writers 
before cited, on the theory of the sub- 
ject, concur in excluding it. Hogd is 
most explicit. '^ Statistics never go 
beyond the drele of the jHresent in 
their represei^ations of the cmiditioii 
of a country : they are like pamtiiig — 
they fix upon a single point of time ; 
and the racts ^duch they sde^ are 
those which come la^ in the series, 
though the series they belong to may 
extend backwards for ages. All that 
went before rests on testimony, and 
is therefore beyond the sphere of sta- 
tistics, whose grounds are in actual 
observation. There is no limit to the 
number of facts with which statistics 
have to do, provided they are oo- 
existing facts, and do not i«eae&t 
themselves in succession: fiicis, and 
not their causes, are the proper matt^ 
of statistics ; and they must be £usts 
ofthe present time." This doctrine, in 
whidi there seems nothing in the main 
amiss, if strictiy i^liedtothework un- 
der consideration, cancds a large part 
of it. But against that conseqnenoe we 
cansu];^>08eittobepleaded— First, that 
for relief firom a continuily of details 
somewhat arid to many readers, the 
woriE borrows something from a nei^- 
bonring branch of knowledge, and so 
far, of purpose, drops ite statistical 
character — the more allowably, as in 
this way no harm ensues to the sta- 
tistical character of the rest. And 
next — ^that aU the hlstCMry of a place 
has not equally littie to do with its pre- 
sent state ; for past ev^ts are often, 
casually or otherwise, related to the 
present, and so become a fair snl^ect 
of retroispect, unless restraints are to 
be imposed oa this branch of know- 
ledge which are unknown to any other. 
The fault, in this instance, is at least 
not so great, as where no discoverable 
relation exists. It may be worth 
while, then, to observe how far the 
historical matter of the Statistieal Ac- 
camU does show any connexion of tto 
sort in question. 
Ul includes^ under the head of his- 



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1649.] 



3taiMeaiAammi»ofScdAmd. 



toffT, ynaksaa dassea of partknlan. 
1. The pjoidL has been the scene «f 
aomeeveat remarkable in the hktoiy 
of tfaeconntry. Of this, perhapa, dia- 
tinct traces remaiB, not in memory 
alone, but in some local custom car 
histitotion. Bat the most common 
case la, that, as the cange extends to 
the remotest penods, all inflnence or 
effect of the event has ceased, and the 
intarest of its recital is purely histo- 
xfcaL Here the StatisHeal Account 
traaa g raa oe a one mle (x£ snch a work 
by the adaaission oi saxh BMtter, and 
asks, aa wepeicecfe it does ask in the 
pr oqwc t oa, liberty to do so on one <d 
the gronnds above saggested. 

2. The same apology is reqaired 
Ibr the antiqmtiea, that fbrm a large 
section under this head^ These have 
sometimea perceptibly the connexion 
that gifes A& tide we desire ; a con- 
nexion, periiapa, no more* than per- 
ceptible. Thiu, in r^srence to the 
lonnd hill in the parish of Tarbolton^ 
on which tiie god Thor was anciently 
wocahipped, we are told that, ^^ on the 
evening before the June &ir, a piece 
of f 0^ is stSd demanded at eadi hoase, 
and invariably given, even by the poor- 
est inhabitant," in order to celebrate 
the form of the same snperstitioas rite 
which has been annually performed on 
that hH for many coituriea. The 
fiunons Pietlsh tower at Abemethy is 
said to be used ^^ for civil purposes 
connected with the burgh." Ll these 
cases it is seen how very slight is the 
qualifying drcamatance ; but it is still 
more so for much the greater number 
of par^uhsB ctf this kind which the 
book contains — such as ancient coins, 
ancient armour, banowa, standing- 
atones, camps, or moat hills: all of 
which particularly belong to archs- 
elogy, aadobtain aplace here aimplj by 
fiivour. Indeed, no part of the work 
adheres to it so loosely as this of an- 
tiquities. The^obje^ live as curio- 
aitiea; but, to all intents that can 
xecommend them to the notice of sta- 
tistica, they are dead, ^' and to be so 
extant is but a fallacy in durati<»." 

If thia portion of the matter be the 
least appropriate, it is, at the same 
time, not the least dtftoilt to handle ; 
for uncertainty besets a very great 
part of it, and nothing more tries the 
reach of knowledge than conjecture. 
Beaides, the knowladge here leqmaite 



171 

implies both taste and (^portaiitiea 
for its cultivation^— whidi may be- 
long'to individuals, but which cannot 
be attributed to an oitire profession^ 
spread over all parts of the coun- 
try, and designated to very different 
studies. If antiijuities could be con- 
sidered aa a main part of statistics, 
it is, assuredly, not to the dergy 
we should look for a statistical 
account; wa indeed to any other 
body, however learned, if it be not 
the Sode^ of Antiqnaries. The 
dtfgyman who honours his furt^esskm 
with tiie greatest amount of qipro- 
priate learning, may in this particular 
know but littie ; and if we do not, on 
that account, the less value him, it is 
assuredly not fhma undervaluing in 
the subtest degree a very interesting 
branch of knowledge. 

In these drcumstances, the reasons 
for aUowmg to antiquities so much of 
this compilation iq[>p€arto have been, — 
the compiling example of the old Ac- 
count, tiie occasional aptness of the 
matter, and the effBCt of such a melange 
upon the mass of details that form the 
body of the work. But a better apo- 
logy remains ; audit may be extended 
to what is said of the r^narkable 
events of histoiy. We are warranted 
in aaying, that iheNew Statutical Ac- 
count has contriboted mncb to the 
histoiy and antiquities of Scotland, — 
evincing on these subjects a frequent 
novelty and Mness of knowledge for 
surpassing what either the design or 
the apparatus of the undertaking gave 
any title to expect. 

Of one foalt, in particular, there 
is no iq[>pearance in 1^ archsQology of 
this work. Nowhere is there any 
sign of an idiosjncracy which is not 
without example — that of professing 
to speak of statistics, and yet speaking 
of nothing but antiquities ; as if these, 
which are saved with so m«ch diffi- 
culty from the charge of beingwhotty 
out of place, were the pi<^ and mar- 
row, the most vital part of any body 
of statistics. This u a small merit, 
but it is allied to a greater. Through- 
out these volumes, there is no ten- 
dency to discuss such fotile questions 
as have sometimes lowered the credit 
of antiquarian pursuits. We have 
seen it solemnly inquired, whetiier 
^neas, upon landing in Italy, touched 
the soil with the right or with the left 



Digitized by VjOOQIC 



Statistical ActomHs ofSaMhmd, 



fiuii (ortimctni; whether Karl Haco 
wjw In pfyfiKm prcftiDt at the sacrifice 
of UU mm ; whether a faded inacription 
upcu i)m walla of an old church be of 
iU\n Imnort or that— In cither case the 
Uiit^rt^ni having so little to support it 
In ttin MiKnlOcance of the record that 
It can ncarro bo imnglncd to exist at 
nWt t^xront as It may centre in the 
tn»'r*^ trntli of the deciphering. No- 
IhlKi; of this doting, degenerate cha- 
i««'l»'r» ropuiliftlrd b^ all antiquaries, 
oMiHrt In iho StuttHttral Account : if it 
did, llin «um of fill the errors in names, 
(1n(rf<, nnd oiltor things, inevitably In- 
I'ldMiit Id so vnut A variety of details, 
^(Mild not Imvo boon an cmial blemish. 

ti Is tMolmhln that neither history 
tior atttttiulilos will tind a place In any 
hiMMnBhuUtlcsol'Srolland. Not that 
(liov huvohoon enough oxaminod cither 
Im ihtti (miuuohIou, orrlsowhero; but It 
td tton (*(ttiMuou to nmko thomthosub- 
)iiri ot sopttrttt0, Indopondont essays— 
(littnutMl JM'opor fonn for the delivery of 
nuyditiig (hntportalns to such matters. 
*riio gtMul service dune In this depart- 
ment, by bt»th of these Accounts, now 
IiiIIh to he performed by such works as 
(he ** Ilaroulal and Kccleslastical An- 
tli|ultlesof8<olland,"* which have this 
for llieir Mingle object ; and the pre- 
hunuition is onlv fair, that some t\ir- 
tlier light on such matters may be con- 
tributed by the ** Pai'ochiale Scoti- 
cannm," lately annonnced as in the 
course of preparation t— though our 
expectations would not have been at 
nil lessened by a somewhat less mag- 
nlilrent promise than that ^^ every man 
in Scotland may be enabled to ascer- 
tain, with some precision, the first 
footing and graduat progress of Chris* 
tmm'hj in his own district and nelgh- 
liourhood." 

Jt Is not to be supposed, however, 
that some other topics which regularly 
nppear In this New Account, under the 
heail of history, will ever drop fVom 
any work of parochial statbtlcs. We 
rvfvr to what may bo termed Parish 
i listm y. OS distinct horn what belongs 
to tlio history of the country,— notices 
of distinguished Individuals and of 
ancient fanillles, changes of property, 
territorial Improvements, variations In 



(Td). 



the BodaL state of the people. Xo 
part of a hock is more norel, or, to a 
proper cnrioeitj, more interesdng ; 
and no indlcatioii is needed of the ^ur 
indd^ice of such matters to a work of 
this description. 

If the New Statistkal Account 
contains, then, some partkulars not 
quite proper to the professed object, 
the excess appears to be on die whole 
venial. But it may still be asked, 
whether any important and pp(q>er 
matters appear to have been omitted. 

Now, considering how many things 
of nature, art, instttntion, and in- 
dustry pertain to statistics, we do 
not expect any compilation to embrace 
all, or to treat completely of all such 
things as it does embrace, — ^we expect 
imperfection in the details. 

Accordingly, it is seen that some 
subjects well described in some ac- 
counts, are either not at all, or not so 
fully, taken up in others; while yet 
the occasion may be much the same. 
Tho climate of some districts, for 
instance, is well iUustrated by carefol 
observations firom the rain-gage and 
thermometer; in some panshes we 
are informed of the size of the agri- 
cultural possessions, the number of 
ploughs, the rent of land ; in some, 
manufactories, mines, and other kinds 
of industry, are viewed in all their 
aspects. But, for other districts or 
parishes, reports on these subjects are 
wanting; and the disadvantage is, not 
merely that such desirable information 
is not given for such places, but that 
the means are not fhrmshed of making 
any general computations for the 
whole countiy. It is plain there have 
been special reasons for the less satis- 
factory representation of particular 
parishes in these respects: but for 
all such faults, both of omission and 
imperfection, we understand the New 
Statistiad Account to have one general 
apology ; which is this. 

Two distmct efibrts are requisite to 
the preparation of a comprehensive 
work of statistics. There is first, the 
investigation of facts ; and next, the 
task of arranging and presenting them 
in the report. One of the theorists 
before-mentioned, views it as a neces- 



• fh JhtH)nhl and ICccifiiaitkal AntigMities of Scotland, lllastrated by R. W. 
Ihi.uhiM, sod WiLMAM BeaK. 

H«|>t)iiua PanychiaU Hcoticamm, now editmg by Cosmo Iitkbs, Esq., Advocate. 



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1819.] 



SiatittkaiAeeotmisofSeoikmd. 



sary divifikm of labour, that both 
things should not be attenqited by (me 
and the same par^,— especially as the 
first, when the sol^ects are nomerons, 
is not to be accomplished but by the 
assistance of many hands — all of 
which, as he obeer^es, most be at 
once skilftil and smtaldy rewafded. 
Now, here, the task of inqniring and 
reporting was not divided ; the whole 
of it was placed, by the necessities of 
the case, in the hands of the reyerend 
contributors. But, as no prirate 
society had the means or authority to 
investigate the £M:ts completely, it is 
nrged that the defects to wfaidi we 
have allnded, were for the most part 
inevitable. 

We believe it; and, recognising 
how much the clergy had thus to do, 
whidi could only be done completely 
bj' the government, we only advert to 
the sonrces of information to which 
they conld have reooorse. 

Pubitc documetUsBeem to have been 
consulted, when information of a later 
date could not be had,— and chiefly 
the parliamentary reports on popula- 
tion, crime, education, and mmucipal 
affairs, from whidi the parish accounts 
appear to have been supplemented 
with whatever was necessary to the 
completion of the county summaries. 
Mucn has also been derived from the 
reports of Societies, Boards, and mer- 
cantile companies; of this there is 
evidence in the account of eveiy con- 
siderable town. 

Public records appear also to have 
been examined, and chiefly the parish 
registers. Every parish has a record 
of the transactions of its kirk-session, 
—sometimes extending to distant 
periods. Extracts from these occa- 
sionally show, in a clear light, the 
state and manners of the country in 
former times ; more of which authen- 
tic illustration we could have wished, 
and more the same sources might 
possibly have supplied. Most pa- 
rishes have also records of births or 
baptisms, marriages and deaths. 
From these, and these only, this 
work could derive the elements of its 
important section of ^tal statistics ; 
but how far were they fitted to serve 
that purpose? It is certain that 
they nowhere form a complete re- 
gister of these occurrences, and 
that for the most part they are 



173 

very defective. Baptisms Mppe^r to 
have been entered, in the parish re- 
gister, regularly till the year 1783, 
when the imposition of a smril tax 
first broke the custom of registration ; 
and, when that tax was removed, 
dissenting bodies were nnwUling to 
resume the practice. The proportion 
of registered baptisms to births, for 
instance, is at the present time not 
more than one fourUi in Edinburgh, 
and one third in Glasgow. Tin 
marriage register is also unavailable 
to statistical purposes, by reason of 
the practice of double enrolment— in 
the parish of each party. In many 
parishes no record of burials exists : 
in others, those of paupers are omitted. 
In short, there is scarcely a country 
in Europe that does not, by proper 
arrangements, furnish better informa- 
tion on these important points ; and 
no industry of individuals can remedy 
that defect. It is therefore among 
the postulates of a work like this, 
for Scotland, that its vital statistics 
should be imperfect. 

Books relating to the history, civil 
or natural, the institutions or manners 
of the country, have in many instances 
been well consulted ; in some, not at 
all ; but probably as much from want 
of opportunity as from any other 
cause. 

Still much occasion for inquiry re- 
mained after all the use that could be 
made of reports, registers, and books. 
Much of what related to the institu- 
tions of Religion, education, and the 
poor, might be supposed to come 
readily to hand, the clergy themselves 
being most conversant with such 
matters. But they appear to have 
charged themselves with the toil of 
very different investigations. Some 
have been at the pains to ascertain 
the amount and occupations of the 
population, betwixt the decennial 
terms of the parliamentary census. 
Few have omitted to state, in con- 
nexion with the a^cnlture of the 
parish, the quantities of land under 
tillage or under wood, in pasture or 
in moor, and the amount respectively 
of the different kmds of produce— fact^ 
that imply not a little correspondence 
with land-owners and land-occupiers, 
and much industry in the collation of 
returns. They have had recourse, fre- 
quently, to mineralogists, botanists, 



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174 

overaeerB of miiiiiig and mamiSKtnrmg 
woiios, whose ooniribiitioiiB are of as 
iirach value as the fdllest and ripest 
knowledge can gi^e. Pictore-galleries 
are sometimes de8crU)ed by^ tiieir 
ownen; fondly papers occasionally 
disclose ftcts of some interest & 
the tufitoiy of the oonntiy. Throvgfa- 
ont tiie work there are signs not to be 
mistaken, of mnch private and nn^ 
wonted inqoiry on the part of the 
reverend onthors, to ^, in a credi- 
table way, a work that, from the 
satnre of it, ongfat to have been 
af^rtioned to at least two d^Sorent 



SkOiBtic&i AotmmU of Soofkmd. 



[Feb. 



Hie defects which remain only 
suggest to ns the bope which was 
thns expressed m similar chxmm- 
stanoes, that ^ tiie clnmlation of this 
work, by bringing the deficiencies 
in the means of statistical informa- 
tion under the public view, and 
drawing aittention to them, may, 
in this reject, also contribute to the 
advancfflnent of the science." It is 
implied, of course, "diat the work, to 
be useM in this indirect way, must 
have merits of another kind. On 
these the New StatistUxd Account may 
Stand. No oHier book affords the 
same insight into the various natural 
resources of the countiy; none de- 
scribes so well, and so skilfully, the 
most considerable brandies of indus- 
try, and the methods of conducting 
them ; none has brought together the 
same variety of statistics, with the 
same ample means of speculating upon 



their Hntual relatioBS. It is stll 
more remaifcaMe, timt ^ach a w>ork, 
embracing, as it does, m modi lie3^ondi 
tiie ubmI flfAi0!<e of iinir obtNUvai^m, 
should proceed finnn Hw oiergy; but 
the ex^anatlon is, that the poi^tioft 
and character of that body open to 
theni the best means of informatioii 
on numy subjects with which they are 
thonselves not at all conversant. 
They have produced here a work, 
whidi, as a collection of parochial 
statistics, stands alone, without 
either rival or resemblance in any 
other country, representinK "tite state 
^ Scotland, at -&» period to which 
it refers, in dl its aspects, and so 
affording the means of a definite 
comparison between the past and the 
present, sudi as, in all cases, it Is 
at once natural and profitable to 
make. A peculiar interest arises from 
the unusual diversity of the matter, 
and the familiar^ cf the writers with 
the bounds wMcih lii^ describe. It 
is a useful work, and will continue 
long to be so, in as many ways as it 
tiffows Ught upon the condition of the 
comrtiy— and, not least, in the local 
improvements to which its suggestions 
may give rise. But, if its uses were less 
than they are^ it would still leave an 
impression of respect for the general 
intdligcmce and the readiness to em- 
I^oy their opportunities fm the publie 
good, which its aatiiors have known 
to udte with ^Kemplary devotion to 
the duties of their calling. 



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1«90 



The PiMtry ^ Sma^ md Ispmdmy Art, 



175 



THE POETRY OF SACBED AND LEOENDABT ART. 



We are of the belief thii mit with - 
out poetry k worthlees — desd, md 
deadening; or, tf it have Titalily, 
there is no music in itsjroeedi — no 
txnnmand in its beantj. We treat it 
with a khid of oontempt, and make 
apo]<^ Sm the lileaanre it has af- 
fordedL Smcfed and Legemdary Art! 
How diffBrent — how precious— liow 
life-bestowing I The material and im- 
material wodd linked, as it were, to- 
getiier by a new sympathy, working 
out a tissoe of beantiM ideas from the 
goldm threads of a Divine reydation I 
By Sacred tmd Legendary Aii is 
meant the treatment of religions snb- 
jedB, oommendng with the Old Tes- 
tament, and termmating in tradition- 
ary tales and legends. It is from the 
latter that the old pfunters have, for 
the most part, taken that rich poetry, 
which, glowing on the canvass, shows, 
even amidst the wild enrors of fisble, a 
tnith of senthnent belonging to a 
purer £uth. 

By the Protestant mind, nm«ed, 
perhaps, in an nndne contempt of his- 
tories fk samts and martyrs of the 
Bomi^ Chnrch, the treasures c^ art 
<tf the best period are rarely under- 
stood, and {^ more rarely Mt, in the 
8|Hrit in which they were conceived. 
Those for whom they were painted 
needed no cold inqmiy into l£e sub- 
jects. They accepted them as things 
uniyenally known and relip:iousb^ to 
be received, widi a veneration wnich 
we botlittle comprehend. With them 
lectures and statoes were among their 
sacred thhigs, and, together with 
architecture, spoke and taught with 
an autharity lluit Inxdu, wludi then 
were rare in the pecmle^s hands, have 
shice scaroelv ever obtained. Men of 
genius ftlt mm req[>ect paid to their 
works, if denied too onen to them- 
sdves ; and thus to tiiehr own devo- 
tion was added a kind of mhiisterial 
importance, l^eir work became a 
du^, aad was veiy freqimntly prose- 
cuted as snch by the inmates of mo- 
Besides their works on a 



lar|;e scale, upon the walls and m their 
deleters, the ornamenting and iUos- 
trating missals embodied a regions 
feeling, if in some degree peculiar to 
the condition of the wGrioirs, of a vi- 
tal £nrm and beauty. IVeasures of this 
kind there are b^ond numlier; but 
they have been hidden treasures for 
agM. A Protestant contempt fbrtheur 
legends has parsecmted, with long ha- 
tred, and subsequent long indiflfbrencOy 
the art which glorified them. And now 
that we awake from this dull state, and 
begin to estimate the poetry of reli- 
gious art, we stand befm tlie noblest 
productions amazed and ignorant, and 
looking for interpreters, and lose the 
qpportanity of enjq3rment in the in- 
quiry. Art is too valuable for all it 
gives, to allow this entire ignorance 
of the subjects <^ its favourite treat- 
ment If, for the better understanding 
of heathen art, an acquaintance with 
classical literature is thought to be a 
worthy attainment, the excellence of 
what we maytorm Christian art surely 
renders it of importance that we should 
know sometiiing about the subjects of 
which it treats. The inquiry will re- 
pay us also in other respects, as well as 
with regard to taste. If we would 
know ourselves, it is well to see the 
workincB of the human mind, under its 
every imase, its every condition. And 
in such a study we shall be gratified, 
perhros unexpectedly, to find the good 
and the beautiful stiU tuning through 
the obscurity of many errors, predo- 
minant and influential upon our own 
hearts, and scarcely wish the fabulous 
altogether removed from the mhids of 
those who receive it in devotion, lest 
great truth in feeling be removed also. 
Indeed, the legends tiiemselves are 
mostiy harmless, and, even as they 
become discredited, may be intapret- 
ed as not unprofitable allegoiies. Had 
we not, in a Puritanic seid, discarded 
art with an iconoclast persecution, 
The PUgrwCs Proareu Imd long ere 
this be^ a ^^ golden legend " for the 
people, and spoken to tton in worthy 



The Poetry o/Jhorei w^ Leyendtiry Art. By Mrs JAHSK^if. 



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The Poetry of Sacred and Legendary Art, 



176 

illustration; nor would they have 
been religiously or morally the worse 
had they been imbued with a thorough 
taste for the graceful, the beautiful, 
and the sublime, which it is in the 
power of well cultivated art to convey 
to every willing recipient It is a great 
mistake of a portion of the religious 
world to look upon ornament as a sin 
or a superstition. Religion is not a 
bare and unadorned thing, nor can it 
be so received without debasing, with- 
out making too low and mean the wor- 
shipper for the worship. The " wed- 
ding garment " was not the every-day 
wear. The poorest must not, of a 
choice, appear in rags before the throne 
of EQm who is clothed in glory, nor 
with less respect of their own person 
than they would use in the presence of 
their betters. It was originally of 
God's doing, command, and dictation, 
to sanctify the beautiful in art, by 
making his worship a subject for all 
embelUishment. For such a purport 
were the minute directions for the 
building of His temple. And yet how 
many " religious " of our day contra- 
dict this feeling, which seems to come 
to us, not only by a natural instinct, 
but with the authority of a command! 
It is a deteriorated worship that pre- 
fers four bare, unadorned, whitened 
walls of a mean conventicle to the 
loft^ and arched majesty and profuse 
ennchment of a Gothic minster. We 
want every aid to lift every sense 
above our daily grovelling cares, and 
ought to feel that we are acceptable 
and invited guests in a house far too 
groat, spacious, and magnificent for 
ourselves alone. Even our humility 
should be sublime, as all true worship 
is, for we would fain lift it up as an 
offering to the Heaven of heavens. It 
has its aspect towards Him who deigns 
to receive, together with conscious- 
ness of the lowliness of him that offers. 
It is good that the eye and the ear 
should see and hear other sounds and 
sights than concern things, not only of 
time, but of that poor portion of it 
which hems in our dailv wants and 
businesses. Beauty and music are of 
and for eternity, and will never die ; 
and in our perception of them wo 
make ourselves a part of all that is 
undying. These are senses that the 
spiritualised body will not lose. Their 
cnUivation is a tiling for ever; we 



[Feb- 



are now even here the greater for 
their possession in their human per- 
fection. The wondrous pile so ela- 
borately finished; the choral ser- 
vice, the pealing organ, and the low 
voice of prayer, and, it may be, angel 
forms and beatified saints in richly- 
painted windows: — ^we do not believe 
all this to be solely of man's invention, 
but of inspiration; how given wo 
ask not, seeing what is, and acknow- 
ledging a greatness around us far 
greater than ourselves, and lifting up 
the full mind to a magnitude emulous 
of angelic stature. Yes — ^poetic ge- 
nius is a high gift, by which the gifted 
make discoveries, and show high and 
great truths, and present them, pal- 
pable and visible, before the world — 
by architecture, by painting, by sculp- 
ture, by music— rendering religion it- 
self more holy by the inspuration 
of its service. Take a man out of 
his common, so to speak, irreverent 
habit, and place him hero to live for 
a few moments in this religious atmo- 
sphere — ^how unlike is he to himself, 
and how conscious of this self-unlike- 
ness ! Would that our cathedrals were 
open at all times ! Even when there 
is no service, though that might be 
more frequent, there would be much 
good communing with a man's own 
heart, when, turning away for a while 
from worldly troubles and speculations, 
in midst of that great solemn monu- 
ment, erected to his Maker's praise, 
and with the dead under his feet — ^the 
dead who as busily walked the streets 
and ways he has just left; — ^he would 
weigh the character of his doings, 
and in a sanctified place breathe a 
prayer for direction. Nor would it 
be amiss that he should be led to con- 
template the ^^ storied pane " and reli- 
gious emblems which abound ; he will 
not fail, in the end, to sympathise with 
the sentiment even where he bows not 
to the legend. He may know the fact 
that there have been saints and mar- 
tyrs—that faith, hope, and charity 
are realities — that patience and love 
may be here best learnt to be prac- 
tised in the world without 

It is curious that the saints, those 
Dii minoresy to whom so man v of our 
churches are dedicated, still retain 
their holding. Beyond the evangel- 
ists and the apostles, little do tho 
people know of the other many saints 



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1849.] 



The Poetry of Sobered and Legendary Art, 



while they enter the churches that 
bear their names. Few of a congre- 
^tion, we suspect, could give much 
account of St Pancras, St Margaret, 
St Werbnrgh, St Dunstan, St Cle- 
ment, nor even of St George, but that 
he is pictured slaying a dragon, and is 
the patron saint of England. Tet 
were they once " household gods" in 
the land. It is a curious speculation 
this of patron saints, and how eveiy 
family and person had his own. There 
is a great fondness in this old personal 
attadiment of his own angel to every 
man. That notion preceded Chris- 
tianity, and was easily engrafted upon 
it : and the angel that attended from 
the birth was but supplanted by some 
holy dead whom the Church canonised. 
And a corrupt church humoured the 
superstition, and attached miracles to 
relics ; and thus, as of old, these came, 
in latter times, to be " gods many." 
And what were these but over a£^ 
the thirty thousand deities who, He- 
siod said, inhabited the earth, and 
were guardians of men? Tet, it must 
be confessed, there has been a popular 
purification of them. They are not 
the panders to vice that infested the 
morals of the heathen world. 

But how came the heathen world 
by them ? Did they invent, or where 
find them ? And how came their cha- 
racteristics to be so universal, in all 
countries differing rather in name than 
personality? The most intellectually- 
gifted people under the sun, the ancient 
Greelcs, give nowhere any rational 
account how they came by the sods 
they worshipped. They take uiem 
as personifications from their poets. 
There is the theogony of Hesioa, and 
the gods as Homer paints them. They 
have called forth the glory of art ; and 
wonderful were the periods that 
stamped on earth then: statues, as 
if aU men's intellect had been 
taslced to the work, that they should 
leave a mark and memorial of beauty 
than which no age hereafter should 
show a greater. We acknowledge the 
perfection in the remains that are 
left to us. Greek art still sways the 
mind of every country— all the world 
mistmsts every attempt in a contnur 
direction. The excellence of Gre^ 
Bcolptnre is reflected back again upon 
Greek fable, the heathen mythology 
from which it was taken ; and perhaps 

VOL. LXV. — ^NO. CCCC. 



177 

a greater partiality is bestowed upon 
that than it deserves, — ^at least, we may 
say so in comparison with any other. 
We must be cautious how we take the 
excellence of art for the excellence of 
its subject. The Greeks were formed 
for art beyond every other people; had 
their creed been hideous — and indeed 
it was obscene— they would have 
adorned it with eveiy beauty of ideal 
form. And this is worthy of note 
here, that their poetry in art was in- 
finitely more beautiful than their 
written poetiy. Their sculptors, and 
perhaps their painters, of whom we 
are not entitled to speak but by con- 
jecture, and from the opinions formed 
by no bad judges of their day, did aim 
at the portraying a kind of divine 
humani^. If their sculptured deities 
have not a holy repose, they are sin- 
gularly fireed firom display of human 
passions; whereas, in their poetiy, it is 
rarely that even decent repose is 
allowed them; they are generally too 
active, without dignity, and without 
respect to the moral code of a not 
very scrupulous ago. Yet have these 
very heathen gods, even as their his- 
torians the poets paint them — for it 
would disgrace them to speak of their 
biographers — a trace of a better origin 
than we can gather out of the whim- 
sical theogony. There are some par- 
ticulars in the heathen mythology that 
point to a visible track in the strange 
road of history. Much we know was 
had from Egypt ; more, probably, came 
with the Cadmean letters from 
Phoenicia— aname including Palestine 
itself. Inventions went only to cor- 
ruptions — the original of all creeds of 
divinity is from revelation. We may 
not be requhred to point out the direct 
road nor the resting-places of this 
*' santa casa^^^ holding all the gods of 
Greece, so beautif^il in their personal 
portraiture, that we love to gaze with 
the feeling of Schiller, though their 
histories will not bear the scmtiny : 
but it will suffice to note some simili- 
tudes that cannot be accidental. 
Somehow or other, both the historic 
and prophetic writings of the Bible, 
or narratives from them, had reached 
Greece as well as other distant lands. 
The Greeks had, at a very early period, 
embodied in their myths even the per- 
sonal characters as shown in those 
writings. Let us, for example, with- 

M 



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178 

OMtTeferriogto their Ztm nft«pa]> 
ticokr nuumer, find in tiie HimeB or 
MevooiT of the Greeks the identic 
witii Moees. What ave 4he dianie- 
teristicsofbot^? If Moees deseeaded 
from the Moait with tiie ooouiuumIs 
of Go4i and was eamhatioiXty Godls 
messenm*, so was BMines the see- 
senger from Olyu^ns: his«hlefoffioe 
was that of laesseager. If Moees as 
known as the slay er of the Egyptian^ 
80 te Hemes, (and so is be more fre- 
quently oalled hi HomerO Apym^opnfi, 
tiie slayer of Aigns, the overseer of a 
hundred eyes. Moses condncled 
through the wildemeas to the Jordan 
those who died and readied not the 
promised land ; nor did be pass the 
Jordan. So was Hermes the con- 
ductor of the dead, delivering tiieni 
over to Charon, (and here note the 
resemblance of name with Aaron, the 
assodato of Moses) ; nor was he to 
pass to the Elysian fields. 

Then the rod, the serpents,— 4he 
Caduoeus of Hermes, wUh the ser- 
pents twining round the rod. The 
appearance of Moses, and the shining 
from his head, as it is commonly 
figured, is again represented in the 
winged cf^ of Hermes. There are 
other minute circumstances, effpeciaUy 
wme noted in the hymn of Hennes, 
ascribed to Homer, which we ^^rbear 
to enumerate, thinking the cohi- 
cidences already motioned are suffi- 
dently striking. 

Then, again, the idea of the ser- 
pent of the Greek mythology, whence 
did it come, and the slaying of it by 
the son of Zeus — and its very name, 
the Python, the serpent of corraptton? 
And in that sense It has been carried 
down to this dsiy as an emblem in 
Christian art. But, to go bade a 
moment, this departure of the lenrael- 
ites from Egypt, is there no notioe of 
it in Homer? We thhik there is a 
hint which indicates a knowledge of 
at least a part of that histoiy-^the 
previous slaveiy, the being put to 
work, and the after-readiaMS of the 
Egyptians to be ^^ ^xHled.'' Ulysses, 
giving a false account of himself, if 
we remember rightly, to Eunmns, 
says he came fi:xMn Egypt, where he 
had been a merchant, that the king 
of that country sdzed him and all his 
men, whom he put to work, but that 
at length he found favour, and was 
allowed to depart with his people ; 



The Poetry ofSmered tmd Legend^ Art. 



[Feb. 



adding that he oollectedmnchprqMii^ 
fimn the people of i^iypi, ''liN-aUof 
them gave.^^ 

Kpi^iAar' aii* AlyvtrrimK 4M|Ntf , dtto§nu 

Wedonotmeantolayany great stress 
itpon this quotation, and but tinnk at 
least that it shows a diaracteristic of 
the Egyptians as narrated by Moses; 
and never havingmetwitfauny allnsion 
to it, nor indeed to our parallel between 
Moses and Hermes, which it may seem 
to support, we have thought it worthy 
this brief notice. 

We fkn<5y we trace the h&tory of 
the cause of the fall of man, in the 
eating of the pomegranate seed which 
doomed Proserpine to half an exist- 
ence in the infbmal regions. Can 
there be anythmg more striking than 
the Prometheus Bound of -SSschylus? 
Whence could such a notion come, 
that a man-god would, for his love to 
mankind, (for bringing down fire from 
heaven,) sirifer agonies, nailed not 
upon a cross indeed, but on a rock, 
and, in the description, crucified? "It 
is. after a manner," says Mr Swayne, 
wno has with great power translated 
this strange play of iGschylus, " a 
Christian poem by a pa^ author, 
foreshadoimg the opposition and re- 
conciliation of DivinejusticeandBivfaie 
love. Whence the sublime concep- 
tion of the subject of this drama could 
have been obtained, it is useless to 
speculate. Some even suppose that 
its auth(n* must have been acquainted 
with the old Hebrew prophets." 

Even the introduction of lo in the 
tale is suggestive— the virgin-mother 
who was so strangely to conceive 
(and this too given in a prophecy) 
miraculously. 

« Jove at length dudl give thee back ihy mind, 
With one liimt touch of his nnouailing hand. 
And, fromtnat fertilising toucii, a son 
Steal caU Oiee mother.'' 

Her whom Prometheus thus ad- 
dresses,— 

« In that the i<m shall o vMuateh the sire.'' 
— *< Of thine own elem the strong one idiall 
be horn.'' 

Then again Sampson passes into the 
Egyptian or l^naa Hercules, to lose 
his lub by another Delilah faiDi^eura. 
Whence the prrohetic Sybils, whence 
and what the BJenatnian mysteries? 
and that strange glimpse of them in 



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7%eP$&irif4ff Sacred mdLeffmdofy Art. 



liie sigidfioant ptnage of the AloMlis, 
wlwre the restored from the dead most 
•bstainfinomi^eechtiMthetliipd day 
—the tentieeofher coDiecimtioa to 
HadesI 

^ Ovtrw d^trntm TifcHW npoot ^ am nja rmm , 
KXufiy, irpy Up Scocin roun v€prnp(m 
Aipayi/UrqTtUi koL rpirw ftSKjj ^ioos,^ 

* We mi^t enter luigdy into tiie 
mTSterieB of heathen mythology, and 
dieoover strange c(^BcideDoeB andre- 
■emblanoeg, but it ^ronld take as too 
wide from oor present sol^eot. Oor 
present pmpose is to show that we 
are apt to attribute too mneh to the 
Grecian fidde, when we ascribe to it 
all the beanty which Gcredan art has 
elaborated from it. For, in £i^ the 
migin of that £ibBlo«s poetry is be- 
yond them in fdix-aS time ; and liy 
them how oormpted, idioai of its real 
grandeur, aod at onoe nmgnifloent 
andk>Telybean^I How mnch mora, 
tiien, is it ovs tlum theirs, as it is de- 
dndble from that hi^ roreiatlon 
which is part of the ChristiaB re- 
ligion. We overlook, in the excel- 
lence of Grecian art, the fax better 
materials for all art, which we in oor 
religion possess, and have ever pos- 
seesed. With the Greeks it was an 
instinct to love the beantifiil, sensual 
and intellectiial: it was a part of their 
nature to discover it or to create it. 
They would have fabricated it out of 
any materials; and deteriorated, in- 
deed, were those which came to their 
hands. And even this excess of their 
love, at least in their poets, made the 
sensnons tooveroome the intellectual ; 
Imt the far higher than inteUectnal— 
the oeleetial, tiie spiritual— tlM^ had 
BOt : tiieir highest reach in the moral 
sense was a sublime pride: they had 
no conoepti(m of a sablime humility. 
!Chetr hi^iest divinity was how much 
lower than the lowest (Hxler of angels 
that wait around the heavenly throne 
and adore, — low as is their Olympus, 
where they placed their Zeus and an 
his band, to the Christiaa " heavM 
of heavois," which yet cannot contain 
tiie universal Maker. It is bad taste, 
indeed, in us, as some do, to give them 
the palm of the possession of a better 
fiela--{M)etic field for the exercise of 
art. ^^ Christian and Legendary art** 
has a principle which no other art 
could have, and whidi theirs certainly 
had not; they were sensuous from a 



179 

neoeadty of their natnm, keUng this 
iprinci^. We oadit to ascribe all 
which they have left IS to their skiU, 
their genius : wandedhl it wis, and 
woodedhl things did it pertem ; hut, 
after aU, we admire mwt than wo 
lo^. Their divine was bat a grand 
and stem r^ose ; tin^toveUnesa, hat 
the perfeetlan of the human ISorm. 
And so great were they in this their 
gentas, uat the monumentsof heathen 
art are beyond the heathen creed ; 
for in those the unseasoons prevailed. 
Lotus suppose thegift of theuraeainB 
to hafe been delayed to the Chris- 
tian era— as poetkal sntsiects, their 
whole mythology wonld have been aot 
aside for a far better adoption ; and 
we should be now univenally acknow- 
ledging how lovdy andhow greaA,how 
foil and bountifoi, for poetiy and im 
art, are the ever-fiowmg UHUitains, 
gushing in life, giving «(xidwranee 
from that high aMunt, to the sight of 
which Pindas cannot lift its head, nor 
show its poor Castaiian rills. The 
''gods of Qreeoe," the for4amed 
''.gods of Greeoe," uriiat are they to 
the Inerarchy <A heaven— «ngels and 
archangeis, and aU the host— powers, 
dominions, hailing the admission to 
the blissfol regions of saints sfaritn- 
alised, and after death to die no more 
—Verified? What loveliness is like 
that of throned chastity? Graces and 
Muses in their perfeetaess of mari>]ed 
beauty— what are they to fotth, liope, 
and charity, and the veiled virtnes 
that like our angels shroud themselves? 
When these becaaae snl:jectsfor om* 
Christian art, thai was tme expression 
first invented in drapery. "Christian 
andieg^uhvy act" is not denied the 
nude ; but no other has so made 
dn^^eiy a living, i^Making poetry. 
Tliere is a dignity, a grace, a sweet- 
ness, in the dn^>ery of medieval 
sralpture, liiat equally commands ov 
adndration, and more our reverenoe 
and our love, than ancient statues, 
dnq[»ed or nude. And this is the ex- 
pressioa of Scripture poetry— 4lie re- 
presented language, the "dothing 
with power," the "garment of 
righteousness." We often loiter about 
ouridd cathedrals, and kx^ up with 
wonder at the mutilated remains as a 
new ^ype of beauty, beaming through 
the obscurity of the so-caUed dark 
ages. Lovers of art, as we profess to 
be, in all its forms, we profess with- 



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180 

out hesitation that we would not ex- 
change these — that is, lose them as 
never to have existed—for all that 
Grecian art has leftns. Even now, 
what power have we to restore these 
specimens of expressive workmanship, 
broken and mntuated as they ha ve been 
by a low and misbegotten zeal? We 
maintain farther, eenerallv, that the 
works of ** Christian and legendary 
art,'* in painting, scnlptnre, and archi- 
tecture, are as infinitely superior to 
the works of all Crrecian antiquity, as is 
the source of their inspiration higher 
and purer : we are, too, astonish^ at 
the perfect agreement of the one with 
the other, showing one mind, one 
spirit— devotion. We strongly insist 
upon this, that there has been a far 
higher character and equal power in 
Christian art compared with heathen. 
It ought to be so, and it is so. It has 
been too long set aside in the world's 
opinion (often temporary and Ul- 
fonned) to establish the inferior. 
This country, in particular, has yielded 
a cold neglect of these beautiful things, 
in shamenil and indolent compliance 
with the mean, tasteless, degrading 
Puritanism, that mutilated and would 
have destroyed them utterly if it 
could, as it would have treated every 
and all the beautiful. 

Even at the first rise of this Chris- 
tian art, the superiority of the prin- 
ciple which moved the artists was vis- 
ible through their defect of knowledge 
of art, as art. The devotional spirit 
is evident; a sense of purity, that 
spiritn/dised humanity with its hea- 
venly brightness, dims the imperfec- 
tions of style, casting out of observa- 
tion minor and uncouth parts. Often, 
in the incongruous presence of things 
vulgar in detail of habit and manners, 
an angelic sentiment stands embodied, 
pure and untouched, as if the artist, 
when he came to that, felt holy ground, 
and took his shoes from off his feet. 
It was not long before the art was 
equal to the whole work. There are 
productions of even an Mriy time 
that are yet unequalled, and, for 
power over the heart and the judgment, 
are much above comparison with any 
preceding works of boasted uitiqui^. 

Take only the ftall embodying of an 
angelic nature : what is there like to 
it out of Christian art? How unlike 
the cold personifications of "Vic- 
tories" winged,— though even these 



[Feb. 



were borrowed, — are the ministering 
and adoring angels of our art — now 
bringing cdestial paradise down to 
saints on earth, and now accompany- 
ing them, and worshipping with them, 
in their upward way, amid the reced- 
ing and glorious clouds of heaven! 
L^k at the sepulchral monuments of 
Grecian art — tue frigid mysteries, the 
abhorrent ghost, yet too corporeal, 
shrinking from Leth^ ; and the dismal 
boat — the unpromising, nnpitying 
aspect of Charon : then turn to some 
of the sublime Christian monuments 
of art, that speak so differently of 
that death — ^the Coronation of the 
Yirgui, the Ascension of Saints. The 
dismal and the dolefhl earth has 
vanished— choirs of angels rush to 
welcome and to support the beatified, 
the released : death is no more, but 
life breathing no atmosphere of earth, 
but all freshness, and all joy, and all 
music ; the now changed body glow- 
ing, Uke an increasing light, into its 
spirituality of form and beauty, and 
thrilling with 

" That undifltarbed song of pure coiuent. 
Aye Bong before the aapphiro-coloar^d throne 
To Him that sits thereon ; 
With saintly ahont and solemn jubilee, 
Where the bright seraphim, in Doming row, 
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow ; 
And the cherubic host, in thousand choirs, 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
With those just spirits tnat wear yictorious 

palms, 
Hymns devout and holy psalms 
Singing everlastingly.** 

Then shall we doubt, and not dare to 
pronounce the superior capabilities of 
Christian art, arising out of its subject 
— ^poetiy? We prefer, as a great poetic 
conception, Raffaelle's Archangel, 
Michael, with his victorious foot upon 
his prostrate adversary, to the far- 
famed Apollo Belvidere, who has 
slain his I^thon ; and his St Margaret, 
in her sweet, her innocent, and clothed 
grace, to that perfect model of wo- 
man's form, the Venus de Medici. 
Not that we venture a careless or 
misgiving thought of the perfectness 
of Aose great antique woriu : their 
perfbctness was accordmg to thehr 
purpose. Higher purposes make a 
higher perfectness. iMor would we 
have them viewed irreverently; for 
even in them, and the genius that 
produced them, the Creator, as in 
^* times past, left not Himself with- 
out witness." In showing forth 



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the ^017 of the human fonn, they 
show forth the gloiy of Hun who 
made it — who ia thus glorified in the 
witnesses ; and so we accept and love 
them. Bnt to a certain degree they 
must stand dethroned— their influ- 
ence faded. Lowly unassuming vir- 
tues — ^virtues of the soul, far greater 
in their humility, in the sacred poetry 
of our Christian faith, shine like 
stars, even in their smallness, on the 
dark night of our humanity ; and they 
are to take their places in the celestial 
of art ; and we feel that it is His will, 
who, as the hymn of the blessed 
Virgin— that type of all these united 
yirtues— declares, "hath put down 
the mighty from their seat, and hath 
exalted the humble and meek." 

We trust yet to see sacred art 
resumed; for the more we consider 
its poetry, the more inexhaustible 
appears the mine. Nor do we require 
to search and gather in the field of 
fabulous legends ; though in a poetic 
view, and for their intention, and re- 
sumed merely as a fabulous allegory, 
they are not to be set aside. But 
sure we are that, whatever can move 
the heart, can excite to the greatest 
degree our pity, our love, or convey 
the greatest delight through scenes 
for which the term beautiful is but a 
poor describer, and personages for 
whose magnificence languages have 
no name — all is within the volume 
and the history of our suflfering and 
triumphant religion. 

Would that we could stir but one 
of our painters to this, which should 
be his great business I Genius is 
bestowed for no selfish gratificati<m, 
but for service, and for a ** witness," 
to bear which let the gifted offer only 
a willing heart, and his lamp will not 
be suffered to go out for lack of oil. 
Why is the tenderness of Mr East- 
lake's pencil in abeyance? That 
portion of the sacred history which 
commences with his " Christ weeping 
over Jerusalem," might well be con- 
tinued in a series. Even still more 
power has he shown in the creative 
and symbolic, as exempUfied in his 
poetic conception of Virtue from 
Milton— 

" She can teach you how to climb 
Hin^MT than the tpbeiy diime ; 
Or if Virtue feeble wen, 
Heaven iteelf would stoop to her.^* 

If we believe genius to be an in- 



spiring spirit, we may contemplate it 
hereafter as an accusing angel. With 
such a paradise of subjects before 
them, why do so many of our painters 
run to the kennel and the stable, or 
plunge their pendls into the gaudy 
hues of meretricious enticement ? Wa 
do verily believe that the world is 
waiting for better things. It ia tak- 
ingasreater interest in hij^hersubjects, 
and those of a pure sentmient. It is 
that our artists are behind the feeling, 
and not, as they should be, in the ad- 
vance. It is a great fact that there 
is such a growing feeling. The re- 
sumption of sacred art in Germany ia 
not without its effect, and is making 
its way here in prints. Most of these 
are from the Aller Heiligen Eapelle 
at Munich, the result of the taste of 
at least one crowned head in Europe, 
who, with more limited means and 
power, has set an example of a better 
patronage, which would have well 
become Courts of greater splendour, 
and more imperial influence. Must 
it be asked what our own artists — 
the Academy, with all its ataff— are 
doing ? 

We must stay our hand ; for we 
took up the pen to notice the twa 
volumes just published of Mrs Jame- 
son's Sacred and Legendary Art,. 
They have excited, in the reading, an. 
enthusiastic pleasure, and led the 
fancy wandering in the delightful 
fields sanctified by heavenly sunshine, 
and trod by sainted feet ; and, like a 
traveller in a desert, having found an 
oasis, we feel loath to leave it, and 
would fain linger and drink again of 
its refineshing springs. These volumes 
have reached us most seasonably, at a 
period of the year when the mind \& 
more especially durected to contem- 
plate the main subjects of which they 
treat, and to anticipate only by days 
the viaion of joy and glory which will 
be scripturally put before us— to see 
the Virgin Mother and the Holy 
Babe— 

*< And all about the conrtly stable, 
Bright harness^ angels sit in order ser- 
viceable." 

Mrs Jameson disclaims in this 
work any other object than the poetry 
of Sacred and Legendary Art ; and to 
enable those who are, or wish to be, 
conversant with the innumerable 
productions of Italian and other 
schools, to an artistic view, likewise 



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182 

at oaee to know the subjects 
i^on which tbej treat. £veii as a 
Inndbeok, ttoefore, these y^iuHes 
are Talaabie. Mvdi of the earij 
pafaitbig was sjnbolieal. Ignorance 
of the symbols rejects the soitnient, 
or at least the intention, and at the 
same time makes what is only qoaint 
appear absurd. 

** The ftrst rohmie contains the le- 
gends of the Scriptnre personages, and 
the primitive fathers. The second 
vohime ccmtains those sainted person- 
ages who llTcd, or are supposed to 
have lived, hi the first ages of Chris- 
tianity, and wbose real YaeUsrj, 
foonded on fact or tradition, has been 
so disgnised by poetical embroidery, 
that they have in some s(»t the air of 
ideal beings." Possibly this poetical 
disgoise is favomtible npon the whole 
to art, bnt it renders a key necessary, 
and that Mrs Jameson has snpidied-- 
not pretending^ however, to more than 
a selection (7 the most interesting; 
and, what is extremely valoable, there 
are marginal references to pictures, 
and in what places they are to be met 
with, and by whom painted, of the 
subjects given in the text, and of the 
view the artists had in so painting 
them. The emblems are amply noted 
with their meanings; and even the 
significance of colours, which has been 
so commonlv overiooked, and is yet so 
important for the comprehension of 
the full subject of a picture, is dearfy 
laid down. It is well said : 

'^ AH the productions of art, from the 
time it has been directed and dereloped 
by the Christian influences, may be re- 
garded under three diffareat aspects : — 
Ist, The purely religioas aspect, which 
beloiigs to one mode of faith ; 2d, The 
poetteal aspect, whieh beloags to all; 
Sd, The artistic, which is the iadhridnal 
point of Tiew, and has refereoee only to 
the action of the intellect on the means 
and material employed* There is a plea- 
sure, an intense pleasure, merely in the 
consideration of art, as art ; in the facbl- 
ties of comparison and nice discrimina- 
tion brooght to bear on objects of beanty ; 
in the exercise of a cnltirated and refined 
taste on the prodnctions of mind in any 
form whaterer. Bat a thre^ld, or ra- 
ther a thonaaadfold, ideasore k theirs, 
who to a senM of the poetteal naite a 
sympathy wUh the spiritual in art, and 
who combine with a deheacy of peioep- 
<Mhnical knowledge, more ele- 
'(s of pleasure, more yariety of 
habits of more ezcursire 



[Feb. 



thought. Let none imagme, h o wit w iy 
that in phusing before the uniaittatod 
these napvetsading vohuaes, I assome any 
OMh saperiority as is here implied. Lika 
a child that has sprang on a little way 
before its playmates, and caoght a glimpse 
through an opening portal of some yaried 
Eden witiiin, all gay with flowery and 
musical with birds, and haunted by <fi- 
vine shapes which beckon forward, and, 
after one rapturous surrey, runs bask and 
eatches its eenpanions by the hand, and 
hmries them forwards to sham the new- 
fonnd pleasnre, the yet unezploied regies 
of d^ight: even so it iawith me : I am o& 
tiie outside, not the inside, of the door I 
open." 

This is a lu4>py introduction to that 
which immediately follows of angels 
and archangels. 

Mrs Jameson has so managed to 
open the door as to frame in her sub- 
ject to the best advantage; and the 
reader is willing to stand for a moment 
with her to gaze upon the inward 
brightness <^ £he garden, ere he ven- 
tures in to see what is around and 
what is above. It is on the first 
downward step that we stand breath- 
less with Aladdin, and feel the in- 
fluence of the first— the partial and 
fiumed-in picture — gjowin^ in the un- 
earthly illnmination of us magical 
creation. 

There is nothing more interesting 
than these few pages upon angels. 
The information we receive is very 
curious. It is beautiful poetry to sea 
orders, and degrees, and ministrations 
various, types of an embodied, a mi- 
nistering church here, and ordained, 
together with the saints of earth, 
to make one glorified triumphant 
church hereafter. Without entering 
upon the theoloffical question, as to 
the extension and mystification of the 
ideas of angels after the Captivity, 
(yet we thii^L it might be shown that 
there was originally no Chaldaic belief 
on the subject not taken, first or last, 
firom the Jews themselves,) it may 
not be unworthy of remark, that the 
word '' angel,"" signifying messenger, 
could scarcely with propriety have 
been at the first applied to Satan, the 
deceiving serpent, until, in the after- 
develi^ment of the history of the 
human race, the ministering offices 
gave the ge^ieral title, which, when 
established, included all who had not 
" kept their first estate." Nor do we 
think, withMrs Jameson, that Chaldea 



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had aajtiilBg to do with the intro- 
duction of tibe worship <^ angels into 
^e Chrisftitti chvch. The '^ godi 
manj'* of the heathen oountries in 
which ChristMBitj established its^ 
witt saffidestlj aoeoont for the readi« 
ness of the people to traasfiBr the null* 
tifiirioQB worship to which thej had 
been aecnstomed to names more snit- 
ahle to the new religion. It is with 
the po^tod derek^ment we hare 
here to do; and what ground is there 
fbr that ftdi defelopment in the New 
TestaiBiwit, wherein they are repre- 
sealedae ^^ooQBtlesa— as saperiortoall 
h mnan wants and weaknesses — as de- 
noted meeseogers of God ? Iheyre- 
joke over the repentant sinner ; the j 
take deep interest in the mission of 
Christ ; they are present with those 
whopray; they bear thesonlsof the jost 
to heaven ; th^ minister to Christ 
on earth, and will be present at his 
second coming.*' Fr(Hn snch antho* 
lity, fhmi sodi a sacred theatre of 
seenes and celestial personages^ arose 
the beaotiftd, the magnificent visions, 
of the woricers of sacred art. Heresy, 
however^ reached it, as might have 
been expected; and the agency of 
angels, in the creation of the world and 
of mtt, has been represented, to the 
deterioration ef its great poetry. 
From the beginning of the fourteeaih 
OQDtnry, a giia* change seems to have 
takes place in the lepresoitation of 
the aacel with reference to tiieVirgitt : 
the feemie is changed ; ^^ tiie venera* 
tion paid to tiie Virghi demanded 
aaothor treatment. She becomes not 
merely Ite principal person, bat the 
soperior being ; she is tiie ^ regina 
angekMnm,' and the aagd hows to 
her, or kneels before her, as to a 
qneea. Thna, in the Ikmons altar- 
piece at Cologne, the angel kneels : 
he bears the sceptre, and also asealed 
foU, as if he were a odestial ambassa- 
dor deliverinf^ his credentials. Aboot 
the same penod we sometimes see the 
angel merely with his hands iUded 
over his breayst, and his head inclined, 
deltvering his message as if to a snpe- 
xior being." 

It is a great merit in Ais woHi of 
Mrs Jameson's, that we are not only 
relerred to the most eurions and to 
the best specimens of art, bnt have 
likewise beantilbl woodcnts, and 
some etdnngs admirably exeeufced by 
Mrs Jameson's own hand in Hlostra* 



tioBL There is a greatness hi tto 
simplicity of BJake's angels: ^' The 
morning stars sang together, and all 
the sons of God shouted for joy.*** 
Poor Blake t Yet why say poor? ho 
was happy m his visions — a little be- 
fore his time, and one of whom the 
w(Mrld (of art) in his day were not 
worthy : thongh, wM a wild extra* 
vagance of tmsj^ his creations were 
his faith, often great, and alwavs 
gentie. Exqnisitefy beantlM are tm 
^* angels of the planets" l^mBaflkelle, 
and copied by Mrs Jameson from 
Gnmer's engravings of the frescoes 
of the Capella Chi^dana. That great 
painter (^mystery, Rembrandt, whom 
the mere lovers of form would have 
mistakenly thought it a profanation to 
commission with an angelic subject^ is 
justly appreciated. A perfoct master 
oi light, and of darkness, and ^ co- 
lour, it mattered not what were the 
forms, so that they were unearthly, 
that plunged into or broke through 
his luminous or opaque. Of the pic« 
tore in the Loime it is thns re- 
■ifc^ed: " Miraculous for true and 
mnrited expression, and for the actios 
of the soaring angel, who parts the 
clouds and stnkes through the airliko 
a steong swimmer through the waves 
of the sea." Strange — ^but so it is— 
we cannot conceive an alteration of 
his pictures, all parts so agree. At- 
tention to the more beautifal in form 
would have appeared to him a mistrust 
in his great sift of coloiv and 
dnarescuro ; ana, strangper still, that 
without, uid seemingly in a mariied 
defiance of mere beauty, he is, we 
w«ttld almost say never, vulgar, never 
misses the intended sentiment, nor 
Mb where it is of tenderness, even of 
fomlnine tenderness, for which, if he 
ctoes not give beauty, he gives its 
equivalent in the fulness of the feelings 
We instance his Salutation— £lisa- 
both and the Virgin Mary. There is 
something terrifically grand in the 
cronddng angel in ^eCampo Santo,— 
not in the form, nor in the face, which 
is mostly hid, \mM in the conception of 
the attitnde of honror with whidi he 
bdiolds the awfU scene. It is from 
the Last Judgment of Orcagna in 
the Campo Santo. We must not 
speak of Rubens as a painter of an- 
gels; and, ilnr real ang^exprseskm, 
Mhaps the earlier painters are the 
iMst. It is surprising that Mrs Jame- 



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184 

son, firom whose refined taste, and 
from whose sense of the beautiful 
and the graceM in their highest qua- 
lities, we shouldhave expected another 
judgment, could have ventured to 
name together Raffaelle and MuriUo 
as angel painters. It is true, in speak- 
ing of the Visit to Abraham, she 
admits that the painter has set aside 
the angelic and mystic character, and 
merely represented three young men 
travellers ; but she generally, through- 
out these volumes, speaks of that 
favourite Spaniard in terms of the 
highest admiration, — terms, as we 
think, little merited. The angels in the 
Sutherland Collection are as vulgar 
figures as can well be, and quite anta- 
gonistic in feeling to a heavenly mis- 
sion. We confess that we dislike 
almost all th^e pictures by this so much 
esteemed master : their artistic man- 
ner is to us uncertain and unpleasing, 
—disagreeable in colour, deficient in 
grace. We often wonder at the excess 
of present admiration. We look upon 
his vulgarity in scriptural subjects as 
quite profkne. His highest power was 
in a peasant gentleness ; he could not 
embody a sacred feeling : yet thus is 
he praised for a performance beyond 
his power : — ** St Andrew is suspended 
on the high cross, formed not of 
planks, but of the trunks of trees laid 
transversely. He is bound with cords, 
nndraped, except bv a linen cloth, 
his silver hair and beard loosely 
streaming on the air, his aged coun- 
tenance illuminated by a heavenly 
transport, as he looks up to the open- 
ing skies, whence two angels, of really 
celestial beauty, like almost all Mu- 
rillo^s angels, descend with the crown 
and palro.^^ The angels of Correggio 
are certainly peculiar : they are not 
quite celestial, but perhaps are sym- 
patheticallv more lovely from their 
touch of humanity ; they are ever 
pure. Those in the Ascension of the 
the Virgin, in the Cupola at Parma, 
seem to be rather adopted angels 
than of the '' first estate ;'' for they 
are of several ages, and, if we mistake 
not, many of them are feminine, and, 
we suspect, are meant really to repre- 
sent the loveliest of earth beatified, 
adopted into the heavenly choir. 
Those who have seen Signor Toschi's 
fine drawings of the Parma frescoes, 
(now in progress of curving), will 
readily give assent to this impression. 



[Feb. 



We remember this feeling crossing our 
mind, and as it were lightly touching 
the heart with angelic wings — ^if we 
have lost a daughter of that sweet 
age, let us fondly see her there. We 
cannot forbear quoting the passage 
upon the angels of Titian : — " And 
Titian's ange^ impress me in a simi- 
lar manner: I mean those in the 
glorious Assumption at Venice, with 
their childish forms and features, but 
an expression caught from beholding 
the face of * our Father which is in 
heaven:' it is glorified infancy. I 
remember standing before this picture, 
contemplating those lovely spuits one 
after another, until a thrill came over 
me, like that which I felt when Men- 
delssohn played the organ : I became 
music while I listened. The face of 
one of those angels is to the face of a 
child, just what that of the Virgin, in 
the same picture, is, compared with 
the fairest daughter of earth. It is 
not here superiority of beauty, but 
mind, and music, and love, kneaded 
together, as it were, into form and 
colour." This is very eloquent, but it 
was not the thought which supplied 
that ill word " kneaded." 

It is remarked by Mrs Jameson, as 
a singular fact, that neither Leonaxda 
da Vinci, nor Michael Angelo, nor 
Ra£faelle, have given representations 
of the Four Evangelists. In veiy 
early art they are mostly symbolised, 
and sometimes oddly and uncouthly \ 
and even so by Angelioo da Fiesole. 
In Greek art, the Tetramorph, or 
union of the four attributes in one 
figure, is seen winged. ^' The Tetra- 
morph, in Western art, in some in- 
stances became monstrous, instead of 
mystic and poeticaL" The animal 
symbols of the Evangelists, however 
familiarised in the eyes of the people^ 
and therefore sanctioned to their feel- 
ing, required the greatest judgment to 
brmg within the poetic of art. We 
must look also to the most mysterious 
subjects for the elucidation, such as 
Raffaelle's Vision of Ezekiel. There 
we view in the symbols a great pro- 
phetic, subservient to the creating and 
redeeming power, set forth and coming 
out of that blaze of the clouds of 
heaven that surround the sublime 
Majesty. 

The earlier painters were fond of 
representing everything symbolically : 
hence the twelve apostles are so 



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7^ Poetry of Sacred and Legendary Art. 



treated. In the descending scale, to 
the naturalists, the mystic poetir was 
redaoed to its lowest element. Ine set 
of the apostles by Agostino Caracci, 
though, as Mrs Jameson observes, 
£unoiis as works of art, are condemned 
as absolutely vulgar. ^^St John is 
drinking out of a cup, an idea which 
might strike some people as pictur- 
esque, but it is in vile taste. It Is 
about the eighth century that the keys 
first appear in the hand of St Peter. 
In the old churches at Bavenna, it is 
remarked, St Peter and St Paul do not 
often appear." Bavenna, in the fifth 
century, did not look to Bome for her 
saints. 

After his martvrdom, St Paul was, 
it is said, buried in the spot where 
was erected the magnificent church 
known as St Paolo fuor^-le mura. *^I 
saw the diurch a few months before 
it was consumed by fire in 1823. I 
saw it again in 1847, when the restora- 
tion was fur advanced. Its cold mag- 
nificence, compared with the impres- 
sions left by the former structure, rich 
with inestimable remains of ancient 
art, and venerable firom a thousand 
associations, saddened andchilled me." 
We well remember visiting this noble 
church in 1816. A singular coinci- 
dence of fact and prophecy has im- 
printed this visit on our memory. 
Those who have seen it before it was 
burnt down, must remember the series 
of portraits of popes, and that there 
was room but for one more. We 
looked to the vacant place, as directed 
by our cicerone, whilst he told us 
that there was a prophecy concerning 
it to this eflfect, that when that space 
was filled up there would be no more 
popes. The prophecy was fhlfiUed, 
at least with re^od to that church, 
for it was burnt down after that vacant 
space had been occopied by the papal 
portrait. 

The su^ect of the Last Supper is 
treated of in a separate chapter. 
There has been a fresco latelv dis- 
covered at Florence, in the rerectory 
of Saint Onofrio, said to have been 
painted by Bafihelle in his twenty- 
third year. Some have thought it to 
be the work of Keri de Bicd. Mrs 
Jameson, without hesitation, pro- 
nounces it to be by Baffaelle, ^^fml of 
sentiment and grace, but dcHfident, it 
appears to me, in that depth and 
discrimination of character displayed 



185 

in his later works. It is evident that 
he had studied Glotto^s fresco in the 
neighbouring Santa Croce. The ar- 
rangement is nearly the same." All 
the apostles have glories, but that 
round the head of Judas is smaller 
than the others. Does the prejudice 
against thirteen at table arise fi*om 
this betrayal by Judas, or firom the 
legend of St Gregory, who, when a 
monk in the monastery of St Andrew, 
was 60 charitable, that at length, hav- 
ing nothing else to bestow, he gave 
to an old beggar a silver porringer 
which had belonged to his mother? 
When pope, it was his custom to 
entertain twelve poor men. On one 
occasion he observed thirteen, and 
remonstrated with his steward, who, 
counting the guests, could see no moro 
than twelve. After removal from tho 
table, St Gregory called the unbidden 

Siest, thus ^ble, like the ghost of 
anqno, to the master of the feast 
only. The old man, on being ques- 
tioned, declared himself to be the old 
beg^ to whom the silver porringer 
had been given, adding, ^^But my 
name is Wondeiful, and through me 
thou shalt obtain whatever thou shalt 
ask of God." There is a famous fresco 
on this subject by Paul Veronese, in 
which the stranger is represented to 
be our Saviour. To entertain even 
angels unknowingly, and at convivial 
entertainments, and visible perhaps 
but to one, as a messenger of good or 
of evil, would be little congenial with 
the pmport of such meetings. 

Mrs Jameson objects to the in- 
troduction of dogs in such a subject 
as the Last Supper, but remarks 
that it is supposed to show that 
the supper is over, and the paschal 
lamb eaten. It is so conmion that 
we should rather refer it to a more 
evident and more important signifi- 
cation, to show that this institution 
was not for the Jews only, and allud- 
ing to the passage showing that ^^ do^ 
eat of the crumh« which fell firom theur 
masters' table." The large dogs, 
however, of Paul Veronese, gnawing 
bones, do not with propriety repre-^ 
sent the passage ; for there is reason to 
believe that the word *' crumbs" de- 
scribes the small pet dogs, which it 
was the fashion for the rich to carry 
about with them. The eariy painters 
introduced Satan in person tempting 
Judas. When Barocdo, with littUk 



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The Poetry of Sacred ami Ltffemkary Art. 



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taste, aAiptod the same treatment, 
tibe pope, Clameiit YIIL, ordered the 
fignre to be obliteratad— " Che Hoagli 
piaceva fl demonio sr dim^sticssse 
tanto COB G^u Chriato." We know 
not where Mrs Jamesoa has foand the 
anecdote which relates that Andrea 
del Castagna, called the Infamoiis, 
after he Imd assassinated D<»Dinico 
his Mend, who had intrasted him with 
Van EycJi's secret, painted his own 
portrait in the character of Judas, from 
remorse of conscience. We are not 
anre of the story at all respecting 
Andrea d^ Castagno : there maj be 
other gfoonds for doubting it, bat Uiis 
anecdote, if troe to the fact, woold 
rather Indicate msanit^ than gnilt. 
The farther we adyanee in the history 
and practice cf art, the more we find 
it suffering in sentiment from the in- 
fonon of Sie dassiod. In the Pitti 
Palace is a picture bj Yasari of St 
Jerome as a peutent, in which he has 
introdoced Yoius and cnpids> one of 
whom is taking aim at the saint. It 
b true that, as we proceed, legends 
crowd in upon us, and tiie painters 
find rather scope for fancy than sub- 
jects ion faitii and resting-places for 
d6¥0ti(ML Art, ever fond of female 
forms, readily seiaed upon the l^nds 
of Mary Magdalene. Her penSenee 
has ever been a favourite subject, and 
haa given opportunity for the intro- 
4ucti<m of grand landscape bade- 
grounds in tibe hmely solitudes and 
wildernesses of a rocky desert. The 
individuality of the charaetevs of 
Mary and Martha in Scripture history 
was too striking not to be taken ad« 
vantage of by palnt^s. There is a 
legend id an Egyptian penitent Mary, 
anterior to that of Muy Magdriene, 
which is curious* Whether this waa 
anotiier Mary or not, lAe is xmre- 
sented as a female anchoret ; and we 
are reminded thereby of the double 
story of Helen of Troy, whom a real 
or fobukMis history has deposited in 
Egypt, whilo the great poet of the 
Smd has introduced hw as so visible 
and palpable an agent in the Trepan 
war, and not without a touch of peni- 
tenee, not quite characteristie of that 
age^ Aoeeunts say that it was her 
double, or eidoloB, which 4gured at 
Troy. 
Mrs JaneeoA makes a good eea- 
with regard to the famous 
Leonardo da Yinci, known 



as Modesty and Yanity, and that it is 
Mary Magdalene rebuked by her sister 
Martha for vanity and loxury, whkh 
exactly corresponds with the legend 
recq)ecting her. We cannot £cnrt>ear 
qnotaig Ae following eloquent pas^ 



^On reyiewing generally the ixdhilte 
variety which has been giTen to tiiese 
IkYonrite sabjeots, the lifo and penaao* of 
the Magdalene, I miut end where I be* 
gaa* In how few inetaneoe hae tito reenlt 
been satirfbotory to mind» or heari^ «r 
aool, or sense 1 Many haro well zepto* 
sented the partioular sttoation, tho appro- 
priate sentimenty the sonow, the hope, the 
derotion ; bat who has given na the 
character ? Anoble creature, with strong 
sympathies and a strong will, with power- 
ful faculties of erery kind, working for 
good or eril. Sneh a woman Biary Mag- 
dalene most have been, eren in her hnmili- 
ation; and the fteble, girMsh, common- 
place^ and even vulgar women, wh# 
a|H[Mar to have been maoally seleoted as 
modfik by tho ar^sti^ tuned into Mag- 
dalenes by threwiag np their eyes ami 
letting down their hair, ill represent tho 
enthosiastio convert^ or the augestic pa- 
troness !" 

The seoond vi^nme commences witii 
the patron saints <^ Christendom. 
These were delightful fables in the 
creduloas age m first youth, when 
foeling was a greater truth than foct ; 
and we confess tiiat we read these 
legends now wiA some regret at our 
ahAted foith^ whidi we would not 
even ^^ now have shaken in the chiv- 
alrio characters of tiM seven cham- 
pious of Christendom." 

The Bamish Church (we say not 
the Catholio, as Mrs Jameson so fre- 
quently impro^periy terms >ler) readily 
acted tiuit part, to the people at laigo, 
which nurses assume for the amuse- 
ment of their children ; and in bo^ 
caaes,the moreimprobable t^estory tha 
greater the fascination ; and the people^ 
like chUdren, are more credulous than 
critical. Had we not known in our 
own timM, and aearlv at the preset 
day, rtofies as absurd as any in these 
legBttdSy gravely asserted, circulated, 
and credited, and oMlntained hj men 
of responsible stataon and education — 
to instance only the garmentof Trevea 
— we shonld have pronounced the anTMi 
hgetukk to hnf% been a creation of 
the foney, arising, not without thdr 
akunination, from the fogs and fens of 
the Middle Ages, adi^ted solely for 



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1849.] 



ThfBPoetrf^SacndfmiLBgmimryArL 



miBds of thfti period. BoilhesaBie- 
tioii of them bj the Church of Boiiie 
leads ofl to Tiew them as igmmfatidei 
another character^ meant to amoBa 
aadtobewidor. Wemaateventhmk 
It poMiUe Bi«r lor people to be 
iraoght to belieye sndi a stoiy as 
«hk:— ""It is related that a oertain 
man^ who was afflicted with a caaoer 
in Jhis leg, went to perform his dero- 
tiona in the chorch of St Cosmo aad 
St Dandan at Borne, and he prajed 
most earnestly that these boieficent 
sainta would be pleaeed to aid him. 
When he had prayed, a deep sle^ fell 
vpon him. Then he beheld St Cosmo 
and St Bamian, who stood beside 
him ; and one carried a box of oint- 
ment, the other a sharp knife* And 
one said, 'What shall we do to r^aee 
this diseased leg, when we have cut it 
iMV And the other replied, 'There 
la a Moor who has been bnried jnst 
now in San Pietro in Yincolo ; let na 
take his leg for the purpose !* Then 
they broogfat the leg of the dead man, 
and with it they r^aoed the leg of 
the sick man — anointing it with odes- 
tial (Mntment, so that he remained 
whole. When he awoke, he almost 
donbted whether it oonld be himself; 
bnt Ida neif^bocirs, seeing that he was 
healed, hxied kito the tomb of the 
Moor, andfofond that there had been an 
exchange of legs ; and thus to troth 
of this great mirade was proved to idl 
beholders.'* It is, however, rather a 
kaaaidona demand ipon orednlity to 
aerre xxp again the feast of Thyestes, 
oo<Aed in a addnm of even more 
miracQloaseficacythanMedea's. Sndi 
is the stupendoos power <^ St Nicho- 
laa >— '^ As he was travdling throogh 
his diocese, to visit and comfort hia 
people, he lodged in the hooaa <ji a 
certain host, who was a son of Satan. 
This man, in tiiescaroitT of provisiona, 
was accostoned to steal littie children, 
whom he murdered, and served np 
their fimba as meat to hia gnests. On 
the airival of the Bidiop and his re- 
tinae, hehadtheaadad^toservenp 
the dismembered limbs of these on* 
hi4>py children before the man of God, 
who had no sooner cast hia eyes on 
them than he was aware of the fraud. 
He reproached the host wil^ his 
abominable crime; and, going to the 
tub where their remains were salted 
down, he made over them the sign of 



187 

tiie cross, and they rose 19 whole and 
velL The peofrie who witnessed this 
great wonder were struck with as- 
tonishment ; and the three children, 
who were the sons of a poor widow, 
were restored to their weeping mo- 
ther." 

But what shall we say to an entire 
new saint ci a modem dir^, who has 
already found his way to Yenicet 
Bologna, and Lombardy, — even to 
Tuscany and Paris, not only In pic- 
tures and statoes, but even in chi4>d8 
dedicated to her? The reader maybe 
curions to know something oi a saial; 
of this century. In the year 18Q2 the 
d^eton of a young female was dis- 
covered in some excavations in the 
catacomb of PrisdUa at Bome ; the 
remains of an inscription were, " Lu- 
mena Pax Te Cum TrL" Apriestin 
the train of a Ne^^olitan prelate, 
who was sent to coamtnlate Pius 
yn. on his return from France, begged 
some relics. The newly-discovered 
treasure was given to him, and the 
inscription thus translated — *^ fHo- 
mena, rest in peace." ^' Another 
priest, whose name is suppressed 6<- 
cmue €f hu greed humUity^ was fa- 
voured by a vision in the Inroad noon- 
day, in whi<^ he beheld the i^orioua 
virgin Filomena, who was pleased to 
reveal to him that she had suffered 
death ftx preferring the Christian 
feith, and her tow <» diastity, to the 
addresses Kji the emperor, who wished 
to make her Ua wife. This vision 
leaving much of her history obscure, 
a certidn young artist, whose name is 
also suppressed— i)erhi^ becanse of 
his great humility— was informed in a 
vision that the emperor alluded to was 
Diocletian ; and at the same time tiie 
tonnents and persecutions suffered by 
the Christian vurgin Filomena, as well 
as her wonderful constancy, were also 
reveided to him. There were sone 
cBAcuttaes in the way of the Empenv 
Diocletian, which indines the wifter of 
the Maivrical aooount to adopt the 
opinion that the young artist in his 
vimon «m^ have made a mistake, and 
that the emperor may have beoi hia 
colleague, Maximiau. The fecta, 
howcYer, now adautted of no doubt; 
and the relics were carried by the priest 
Fraaeesoo da Lnda to Nai^ea; they 
were indosed in a case of wood, re- 
sembling in form the hmnan body* 



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188 

This figure was habited in a petticoat 
of white satin, and over it a crimson 
tunic, after the Greek fashion; the 
face was painted to represent nature ; 
a garland of flowers was placed on the 
head, and in the hands a lily and a 
javelin—with the point reversed, to 
express her parity and her martyrdom ; 
then she was laid in a half sitting pos- 
ture in a sarcophagus, of which the 
sides were glass ; and after lying for 
some time in state, in the chapel of the 
Torres family in the Church of Saint 
Angiolo, she was carried in procession 
to Magnano, a little town about twenty 
iniles from Naples, amid the acclama- 
tions of the people, working many and 
surprising murades by the way. Such 
is the legend of St Filomena, and such 
the authority on which she has be- 
come, within the last twenty years, 
one of the most fashionable saints in 
Italy. Jewels to the value of many 
thousand crowns have been offered at 
her shrine, and solemnly placed round 
the neck of her image, or suspended 
to her rirdle." 

We dare not in candour charge the 
Bomanists with being the only fabri- 
cators or receivers of such goods, re- 
membering our own Saint Joanna, 
and Huntingdon's Autobiography. 
There are aurea legenda in a cer- 
tain class of our sectarian literature, 
presenting a large list of claimants of 
very hi^h pretensions to saintship, 
only waiting for power and an esta- 
blished authority to be canonised. 

It is not surprLsing, as the world is — 
working often in tiie dark places of 
ignorance — ^if a few glossy threads of a 
coarser material, and deteriorating 
quality, be taken up by no wilful mis- 
take, and be interwoven into the true 
golden tissue. Nevertheless the 
mantie may be still beautiful, and fit 
a Christian to wear and wedk in not 
unbecomingly. There are worse thinffs 
than religious superstition, whose bad- 
ness is of degrees. In the mfaids of 
all nations and people there is a 
vacuum for the craving appetite of 
credulity to fill. The great interests 
of life lie in politics and religion. 
There are bigots in both : but we look 
upon a little superstition on the one 
point as fiar safer than upon the other, 
espedallv in modem times ; whereas 
political bigotry, however often duped, 
is credulous still, and becomes h«^g 



[Feb. 



and ferocious. We fear even the 
legends are losing their authority in 
the Boman States, whose history may 
yet have to be filled with far worse 
tales. A generous, though we deem 
it a mistaken feeling, has induced Mrs 
Jameson to make what we would 
almost venture to call the only mis- 
take in her volumes : the following 
passage is certainly not in good taste, 
quite out of the intention of her book, 
and very unfortunately timed — "But 
Peter is certainlv the democratical 
apostle par excellence^ and his repre- 
sentative in our time seems to have 
awakened to a consciousness of this 
ttuth, and to have thrown himself—as 
St Peter would most certainly have 
done, were he living— on the side of 
the people and of freedom." A demo- 
cratical successor to St Peter ! He is, 
then, the first of that character. With 
him the " side of freedom " seems to 
have been the inside of his prison, 
and his " side of the people " a preci- 
pitate flight from contact with them 
m their liberty — and for his tiara the 
disguise of a valet. We more than 
paraon Mrs Jameson — ^we love the 
virtue that gives rise to her error ; for 
it is peculiarly the nature of woman 
to be credulous, and to be deceived. 
We admire, and more than admire, 
women equally well, whether they are 
right or wrong in politics : these are the 
business of men, for they have to do with 
the sword, and are out of the tenderer 
impulses of woman. But we are 
amused when we find grave strong 
men in the same predicament of ill 
conjectures. We smile as we remem- 
ber a certain dedication "To Pio 
Nono," which by its simple grandeur 
and magnificent beauty will live 
q>lendide mendax to excuse its 
prophetic inaccuracy. It is not wise 
to roretell events to happen whilst we 
live. Take a "long range," or a 
studied ambiguity that will fit either 
way. The example of Dr Primrose 
may be followed with advantage, who 
in every case of domestic doiu)t and 
difficulty concluded the matter thus — 
" I wish it mav turn out well this day 
six months f by whidi, in his simple 
fiunily, he attained the character of a 
true prophet. 

We fear we are losing sight of the 
" Poetry of Sacred and Legendary 
Art," and gla^ turn from the thought 



Digitized by 



God^ 



1849.] The Poetry of Sacred 

of what ifl to be, to those beantifnl per- 
sonified ideas of the past, whether 
fabulous or historical, in which we are 
ready to take Mrs Jameson as our 
wniiDg and sore guide. The four 
Tirgin patronesses and the female 
martyrs are favourite subjects, which 
she enters into with more than her 
nsnal spirit and feeling. These two 
faaye chiefly engaged and fascinated 
the genins of the painters of the best 
period, and will ever interest the worid 
of taste by their sentiment, as well as 
by their grace of form and beanty, and 
whynot say improved them too? The 
really beantifhl is always tme. It is 
not amiss that we should be continu- 
ally reminded, or, as Mrs Jameson 
better expresses it — **It is not a thing 
to be set aside or forgotten, that gene- 
rous men and meek women, strong in 
the strength, and derated by the sa- 
crifice of a Redeemer, did suffer, did 
endure, did triumph for the truth^s 
sake ; did leave ns an example which 
ought to make our hearts slow within 
ns." The memory of Christian hero- 
ism should never be lost sight of in a 
Christian country, and we earnestly 
recommend this part of Mrs Jameson's 
volnmes to the attention of our paint- 
ers: they will find not unfirequent 
instances of fine subjects yet untouch- 
ed, which may sanctify art, and dignify 
the profession by making it the teacher 
of a purer taste— not that true genius 
will ever lack materials, for materials 
are but suggestive to an innate inven- 
tive power. It is curious that the 
authoress should not yet have satisfied 
our expectation with regard to the 
legends of the Vhfgin. Whatever the 
motive of her forbearance, we hope 
this subject will take the lead fai the 
promised third volume, which is to 
treat of the legends of the monastic 
orders, considered, as she cautiously 
observes, '* merely in their connexion 
with the development of the fine arts 
in the thirteenth and fourteenUi cen- 
turies.** 

The numerous pictures in Italy 
which represent parts of the legends 
of the Virgin render this work incom- 
plete without a full development of the 
subject. If her forbearance arises 
firom a fear that at this particular time, 
when mariolatry is dreaded by a large 
portion of the religious world, we 
would remind her that the Virgin 



and Legendary Art. 



189 



Mother is still *^ the blessed ** of our 
own church. 

It is a question if the list of sainted 
martyrs in repute has not been left to 
the arbitrament of the painters : for 
we find many deposed, and the adopt- 
ed favourites of art not found in the 
early list, as represented in their pro- 
cessions. We find a Saint Beparata, 
after having been the patroness saint 
of Florence for six hundred years, 
deposed, and the city placed under 
the tutelage of the Virgin and St John 
the Baptist. 

Yet these were eariy times for the 
influence of art ; but, at a period when 
pictures were thought to have a kind 
of miraculous power, it is not impro- 
bable that some potent work of art 
representing the Vli^ and St John 
may have caused the new devotional 
demcation — as was the case in mo- 
dem times, when the imaged Ma- 
donna de los Dolores was appoint- 
ed general-in-chief of the Carlist 
army. Painters were what the 
poets had been — Votes sacri. Events 
and the memory of saints may have 
perished, Carentqmavatesaero. We 
wish our own painters were more fhlly 
sensible of the power of art to per- 
petuate, and that it is its province to 
teach. With us it has been too long 
disconnected with our religion. It 
will be a glorious day for art, and for 
the people that shidl witness the re- 
union. 

In taking leave of these two fasci- 
nating volumes, we do so with the 
less regret, knowing that they will 
be often in our hands, as most valu- 
able for instant reference. No one 
who wishes to know the subjects and 
feel the sentiment of the finest works 
in the world, will think of ffoing 
abroad without Mrs Jameson's book. 
We must again thank her for the 
beautiful woodcuts and etchings ; the 
latter, in particular, are lightly and 
gracefully executed, we presume 
mostly (to speak technically) in dry 
point. Mrs Jameson writes as an en- 
thusiast, her feeling flows firom her 
pen. Her style is fascinating to a 
degree, forcible and graceful ; but 
there is no mistaking its character 
— fominine. We km)w no other 
hand that could so happily have set 
forth the Poetry of Sacred and Le- 
gendary Art. 



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190 



Ammcan Tbouffktt om European RemAtHoM, 



(T^ 



AMWBICAy THOUGRIB OK SUBOPSAN BEVOLU1101C8. 



B08VOK, i)Mem6«r 1848. 

The Ykas of Cqetstitutiqfs is 
drawisg to its end, to be sacceeded, I 
doubt BOt, by the Year of Snbstita- 
tioQS. I am sony, my Basil, ttiat 
yoa do &ot quite agree with me as to 
the issue of all this in France ; but I 
am sore you wiU not dilate my opi- 
nion that this year's wm-k is good for 
nothing, so far as it has attempted 
construction, instead of fiilfilling its 
mksion by overthrow. Its great 
folly has been the constitatioB-fever, 
whidi has amounted to a pestilence. 
When mushrooms grow to be oaks, 
then shall such constitutions as this 
year has bred, stand a chance of out- 
nving their authors. WiU men learn 
nothing from the past? How can 
they act over such rotten &roes, — 
make themselves such fools 1 

You admit the difference, which I 
endeavoured to show yon, between 
the American constitution and that of 
any c<»iceivable constitution which 
may be cooked up for an old European 
state. I am glad if I have directed 
your attention, accordingly, to the 
great mistiJce of France. She sup- 
poses that a feeble and debauched old 
gentleman can boil himself in the 
levolutionaiy kettle, and anerge in 
all the tender and enviable freshness 
of the babe just severed from the ma- 
ternal mould. Politicians have com- 
mitted a blunder in not allowing the 
natural, and hence legitimate, origin 
of the American constitution in that 
of its British parent. They have thus 
frivoured the theory that a tolerably 
permanent constitution can be drafted 
o priori^ and imposed upon a state. 
This is the absurdity that makes re- 
volutions. If the silly French, instead 
of reading De Tooqueville, would 
study each for himself the history of 
our constitution, and see how gra- 
dually it grew to be our constitution, 
before pen was put to paper to draft 
it, they might perhaps stop Uieir 
abortive nonsense in tune, to save 
what they can of their national cha- 
racter from the eternal contempt of 
mankind. 

But you cannot think the French 
wiU find so fair a destiny as a Besto- 



ratioal Tell me, m what Frendt 
party, at present existing, there is 
any inherent strength, save in that of 
the legitimists? Other parties are 
mere factions; but the legitimists 
have got a seminal priiM^le among 
thffln, which dies very hard, and (h 
which the nature is to qnt>ut and 
make roots, and then show itsdfl I 
am no admirer of the Bourbons: 
thdr intrigaes with Jesuitiam have 
been their curse, and are t&e worst 
obstacle to their regainiiig a iMld on 
the sympathies of fi^eenaen. The 
reactionary party have in vain en- 
deavoured to overcome it ibr §Sty 
years. Yet there is such tenacity ti 
life in kgitimaey, that it seems to 
me destined to outlive all opposition, 
and to succeed by necessi^. The 
rapid devdopments of this memoraUe 
year str^igthoa the probabili^ of my 
prediction. Revolutionism k spas- 
modR, but not so long in dying 9B it 
usedtobe. I cannot but tUnk tlua 
year has done more for a pennanent 
restoration of the BouriMns than any 
year since Louis XVI. ascended tiw 
scaffold. In this respect tiie Barri- 
cades of 1848 may tdl more inqfiree- 
sively on history than the AUies of 
1814[, (a even the carnage of Water- 
loo. 

Why should I be adiamed ef my 
theory, when everytiiing, 'so fSv, has 
gone as I supposed it would, only a 
hundred times more rapidly than any 
body could have thought possflile? 
What must be the residue of a series 
which thus far has tended but one 
way ?— what say you of the Bartholo- 
mew-btttchery in June ? — ^what of La- 
martine's faU ?— ^hat of tiie diotator- 
ship of Cavaignac? If tilings have 
gone as seems probable, Louis KJqio- 
leon is president of the repubUe. If 
so, what is the instinct which has tiins 
caUed him into power? The heredi- 
taiT principle is abolidied on paper, 
and mstantly recognised by the nrst 
popular act done under tiie new oon- 
stitutionl But, for aU we can tdl in 
America, things may have taken 
another turn. B Cavaignac elected? 
Then a military master is pirt over 
the repuUic, who can CromweUise the 



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184d.] 



jjmm'wtm T^ba^ to im 



Aflsenblj, aad Monk Om rtata, as 
soon as he dkooem. The ropaUic 
has givw Hsalf the form ef a diota- 
tonhip, and denonstrated that it 
does not exist, ezoeftt on paper. 
Has there been aa insorrectiiMi ? 
Thea the npnbUc is dead ahreacfr* 
But I shaU assome that Loais has 
SBOceeded: then it is TirtoaUj aa 
heroditaiy eaopire. To be sore, ia- 
stinot has for once fiuled to know 
*^ the trae prince," — has aocorded, to 
the mere shadow of a usurper, what, 
in A More substantial form, is due to 
the heir of France; bat loog-sas- 
pended animation most make a mis- 
take or two in coming to life again. 
The events of the year ha^e been all 
fitTonrable to a restoration, beoanse 
thejr iMwie crashed a thoosand other 
plans and plottings for the soverogn- 
tj, asd becaose th^ most have 
forced opon at least as man j theorists 
the grand practical conclosion, that 
there is to be no rational liberty in 
IVaace ontil Ae retoms to first pnn- 
dples, and finds the repose which old 
nations can only know onder their 
legitimate kings. 

I am ashamed of you for more 
than hinting that legitima<^ most be 
given np, as far as kings are con- 
cerned. Alas! Diogenes most light 
his lantern, and hvnt throogh Eng- 
land for a Toiy ! Yoaarebewhigged, 
indeed, if yon give it op that Oeoige 
in. was a legitimate kmg, and that 
his grand-daoffhter is to yon what no 
other penon aLiye can possiUy be, — 
▼oar true and hereditary sorereign 
lady ! Mast I, a repnblican, say t&s 
to an En^^ish monanchist, who votes 
himself a conservative, and v^o is 
the son of a sturdy old English Tory ? 
Is there no virtue extant, that even 
yoa allow yonrself to be flippant 
abont '' the divhiity that hedges 
kings," and to trifle with saggesttons 
which your immortal ancestor, who 
fell at Piestonpans, would have 
drammed oot of doors with poker and 
t<mgB? Why, eiven I, who have a 
Ti^ to be whatever I choose, by 
way of amateur aUegianoe, and who 
have always found myself a Jacobite 
whenever the talk has been against 
the White Bos&— even I, hi sober 
earnest, yield the point, that George 
I. was a legitimate sovereign, and 
that Charlie was a bit of a rebel. 



191 

Those stupid Dutchmen! it makes 
me mad to sinr as much for tiiem ; 
but I love Old £n|^d too well to 
own that she here with such sove- 
reigns on anv lower grounds tiiaii 
that of theb right to re^. 

I am sorry von give in to te silly 
cant of revoiBtionists, and ooniess 
ymuself posed with their challenge. 
What if they do insist upon a defla- 
tion? Ave you bound to ke^ your 
heart from beatfaig till yoa can tcU 
why it throbs over a page of Shak- 
speare*s Bidiard n., and bounces, 
in predsdy an oppoatte manner, over 
Carlyle's Cromwcil ? Am I gofaig to 
let a Whig choke me with a dio- 
tionary, beomse It contains no expla- 
nation of my good old-fiMhiened 
word? Let him, with hu '' Usefiil 
Knowledge Sode^*" information, give 
me an explanation of the magnetic 
needle, or tell me why it turns to the 
pole, Kod not to the antipodes? Hie 
fellow will recollect some twopenny 

Stm^ of the compass, and retail me 
f a column of tiie Penny Magaaine 
about the mysteries of nature. And 
whatifIta&assensai>lyfrom nature 
in my own heart, and tell the stereo- 
type philosq>her that I am conscious 
of an ennoblbig affiaction, which honest 
men never la&, and which God Al- 
mighty has made a ^ulty of the 
human soul to dignify subordfaiation ; 
and that lovalty has no lode-star but 
legitimacy? At least, my dear 
Whigo-Tory, you most allow, 1 should 
succeed in answering a fool according 
to his folly. But I daim more: I 
have defined legitinuu^ when I say it 
is the home of lovalty. 

I have amused myself during the 
summer with some study of Ue his- 
tory of reacti<m in France, and flatter 
myself that I have discovered the 
secret of its failure, and the great dis- 
tinction between its spirit and that of 
English ConservatiBm. But this by 
the«way ; for I was going to say that 
I have found, in the writings of one 
of the chief of the reactionary party, 
some very sensible hints upon the 
sulijeot I am discussing with you. 
Though in many respects a daoger- 
oas teacher, and, I fear, a little je- 
snitical in practice as well as in 
theory, I have been surprised to find 
the Coont de Maetre willing '' to be 
as his ma«fer'W>n thb point, and to 



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American Thoughts on European Revolutions. 



192 

rest legitimacy very nearly on the 
sober principles of Burke. He is far 
from the extravagances of Sir Robert 
Filmer, though he often expresses, in 
a startling form, the temperate views 
of English Anti-Jacobhis. Thus he 
says, with evident relish of its smart 
severity, Hie people will always accept 
their masters^ and will never choose 
them. Strongly and nnpalatably put, 
but most coincident with history, and 
not to be disputed by any admirer of 
the glorious Revolution of 1688 ! I 
suspect the Frenchman made his apho- 
rism without stopping to ask whether 
it suited any other case. But Burke 
has virtually said the same thing in 
his reply to the Old Jewry doctrine 
of 1789, in which he so forcibly urges 
the fact, that the settlement of the 
crown upon William and the Georges 
" was not properly a choice^ . . . 
but an act of necessity, in the strict- 
est moral sense in which necessity can 
be taken." Mary and the Hanove- 
rians, then, were acknowledged by the 
nation, in spite of itself, as legitimate 
sovereigns; and even William was 
smuggled into the acknowledgment as 
^ueut-legitimate. It is the clear, rea- 
sonable, and truly English doctrine of 
Burke, that the constitution of a country 
makes its kgitinuUe kings; and that 
the princes of the House of Brunswick, 
coming to the crown according to con- 
stitutional law, at the date of their 
respective accessions, were as legiti- 
mate as King James before he broke 
his coronation oaths, and abdicated, 
ipso facto^ his crown and hereditary 
rights. But De Maistre talks more 
like the schoolmen, though he comes 
to the same practical results. Con- 
stitutions, the native growth of their 
respective countries, he would argue, 
are the ordinance of God ; and kings, 
though not the subj^ts of their 
people, are bound to do homage to 
them, as, in a sense, divine. Legiti- 
macy, therefore, is the resultant of 
hereditary mi^esty and constitutional 
designation; it being always under- 
stood that constitutional laws are 
never written till after they become 
such by national necessities, which are 
divine providence^ Apply this to 
1688. The BiU Tf Righto was an 
nnwritten part of the constitution 
even when James was crowned ; and 
so was the principlef that the king 



[Feb. 



must not be a P^ist, at least in the 
government of his realms. Such, if I 
may so speak, was the Salic law of 
England, by which his public and 
political Popery stripped him of his 
right to the throne. It was the same 
principle that invested the House of 
Brunswick with a legitimacy which 
the heart of the nation did not hesi- 
tate to recognise, in spite of unfeigned 
disgust with the prince in whom the 
succession was established. To throw 
the proposition into the abstract — 
there can be no legitimacy without 
hereditary majesty, but that member 
of a royal line is the legitimate king 
in whom concur all the elemento of 
constitutional designation. If the 
phrase be new, the idea is as old as 
empire. I mean that constitutional 
power which, without reference to 
national choice or personal popularity, 
selecto the true hen: of the throne, 
among the descendanto of ito ancient 
possessors, on fixed principles of na- 
tional law. Thus, m Portugal, the 
constitution seto aside an idiot heir- 
apparent for a cadet of the same 
family, or, if need be, for a collateral 
relative; while, in France, it pro- 
claims the line of a king extinct in his 
female heir, and ascends, perhaps, to 
a remote ancestor for a trace of his 
rightfhl successor. It is a principle 
essentially the same which, in Eng- 
land, pronounces a Popish prince as 
devoid of hereditary right to the crown, 
as a bastard, or the child of a private 
marriage ; and by which the heredi- 
tary blood, shut off from ito natural 
course, immediately opens some auxi- 
liaiy channel, and widens it into the 
main artery of succession, with all the 
precision of similar resources in phy- 
sical nature. With such an argument, 
if I understand him, the Count de 
Maistre would put you to the Mush 
for sneering sub rosd at the legitimacy 
of your Sovereign. I wish his prin- 
ciples were always as arable of being 
put to the proof, without any absur- 
dity in the reduction. Hereditary 
majesty is the only material of which 
constitutions make sovereigns; and 
that, too, deserves a word in the light 
which this sage Piedmontese Mentor 
of France has endeavoured to* throw 
on the snbject. It is interesting in 
the present dilemma of France, which 
stands like the ass between two hay- 



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1849.] 



American Thoughts on European RevoluHons. 



stacks^rejecting one dynasty, bat not 

Set choosing another. I am a repub- 
can, yon know, holding that my 
loyalty is due to the constitntion of 
my own conntry ; and yet I snbscribe 
to the doctrine that this idea of ma- 
jesty is a reality, and that, confess it 
or not, even republicans feel its reality. 
17te king's name is a tower ofstrengm ; 
and inspiration has said to sovereign 
princes, with a pregnant and monitory 
meaning— ye art gods. .This is not 
the fawning of courts, bat the admo- 
nition of Him who inyests them with 
His sword of avenging Justice, and 
gives them, age after age, the natural 
homage of their fellow -men. Not 
that I would flatter monarchs : I see 
that they die like men^ and, what is 
worse, live, yery often, like fools, if not 
like beasts, xet I am sure that they 
have something about them which is 
personally theirs, and cannot be given 
to others, and which is as real a thing 
as any other possession. God has 
endowed them with history, and they 
are the living links which connect 
nations with their origin, and the 
men of the passing age with bygone 
generations. Reason about it as we 
may, it is impossible not to look with 
natural reverence on the breathing mo- 
numents of venerable antiquity. For 
a Guelph, indeed, I cannot get up any 
false or romantic enthusiasm; and 
yet I find it quite as impossible not 
to feel that the house of Guelph en- 
titles its royal members to a degree 
of consideration which is the ordi- 
nance of Heaven. For how many 
ages has that house been a great re- 
wtf, casting its shadow over Europe, 
and stretching it over the worid, and 
as absolutely a£foctinff the destinies of 
men as the fl;eographical barriers and 
highways of nations 1 The Alps and 
the Oceans are morally, as well as 
naturally, majestic ; and a moral 
miyesty like theirs attaches to a line 
of princes which has stood the storms 
of centuries like them, and like them 
has been always a bulwark or a bond 
between races and generations. Like 
the solemnity of mountidns is the 
hereditary mi^esty of a family, of 
which the onghi is veiled in the 
twilight of history, but which is always 
seen above the surface of cotemporary 
events, a crowned and sceptred thing 
that never dies, but perpetuates, from 

VOL. LXV.— NO. CCCC. 



193 

generation to generation, a still in- 
creasing emotion of sublimity and 
awe, which all men feel, and none can 
fully understand. There are many 
women in England who, for personal 
qualities and graces, would as well 
become the throne as she whom you so 
Jl^ally entitle "Our Sovereign Lady." 
Why is it that no election, nor any 
imaginable possession of her place, 
could commend the proudest or the 
best of them to the homage of the 
nation's heart? Such a one might 
wear the robes, and glitter like a star, 
outshining the regalia, and might 
walk like Juno ; but not a voice would 
cry Ood save her! — ^while there is a 
glory, not to be mistaken, which in- 
vests the daughter of ancient sove- 
reigns, even when she is recognised, 
against her will, in the costume of 
travel, or when she shows herself 
among her people, and treads the 
heather in a trim little bonnet and 
a Highland plaid. Why is it that ten 
thousand fed a thrill when her figure 
is seen descending from the wooaen 
walls of her empire, and alighting 
upon some long unvisited portion of 
its soil ? It is not the same emotion 
which would be inspired by the landing 
of Wellington. Then the roaring of 
cannon and the waving of ensigns 
would appear to be a tribute rendered 
to the hero by a gratefal country ; but 
when her M^esty touches the shore, 
she seems herself to wake the thunders 
and to bow the banners which an- 
nounce her eoming. The pomp is all 
her own, and differs from the tributary 
pageant, as the nod of Jove is diff'erent 
from the acclamation of Stentor. 
Even I, who " owe her no subscrip- 
tion," can well conceive what a true 
Briton cannot help but feel, when, 
with an ennobling loyalty, he beholds 
in hertheconcentrated blood of famous 
kings, and the propagated soul of 
mighty monarchs ; and when he calls 
to mind, at the same moment, the 
thousand strange events and glorious 
histories which have their august 
and venerable issue in Victoria, his 
queen. 

But you will brinff me back to my 
main business, by asking— who, then, 
was the legitimate king of France at 
the beginnmg of this year? The King 
of the Barricades was not lacking in 
hereditary majesty, and you will make 



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194 

oviititBiR^oiconttihakmtddetigmxitkn^ 
hj a ptraUei between England in 
1688, and f^ranee in 1830. K you do 
so, yon will greatly wrong yonr coun- 
try. The loyalty of Enffiand settled 
in the honse of Bninswi<^, and wonld 
haye been eren leae tried if there had 
been a continuance of the honse of 
Orange; bnt no French loyalist could 
ever be reconciled to ^e dynasty of 
Orleans. And why? It was not the 
natural constitution of France, bnt the 
mere blunder of a mob, that selected 
Louis Philippe as the king of the 
French. It was an election, as the 
accession of William and Maiy was 
not : it was a choice, and not a neces- 
sity — ^the mere ci^rice of the hour, 
and in no sense the rational designa- 
tion of law. Did erer his Barricade 
Majesty himself, in all his dreams of 
a dynasty, pretend that any unalter- 
able principle, or fundamental law of 
France, had turned the tide of succes- 
sion from the heir-presumptiYe of 
Charles X., and forced heralds upon 
the backward trail of genealogy, 
till they could again descend, and so 
find the hereditary king of the French 
in thesonof Egalit^? Louis Philippe 
was not legitimate, in any reasonable 
sense of the word ; and, could he have 
made such men as Chateaubriand re- 
gard him as other than a usurper, he 
would not be at Claremont now. 
That splendid Frenchman uttered the 
Toice of a smothered, but not extin- 
guished, constitution, wjhen he closed 
his political life in 1830, by saying to 
the Duchess de Berry-— ^^Madtme^votre 
JiU est mom rai.*^ He liyed to see the 
secret heart of thousands of his coun- 
trymen repeating his memorable 
words, and died not till Providence 
itself had overturned the rival throne, 
and directed every eye in hope, or in 
alarm, to the only prince in Europe 
who could claim to be their king. 

I care very little what may be the 
personal qualifications of Henry of 
Bordeaux ; it seems to me that he 
is destined to reign upon the throne 
of his ancestors— and God grant he 
may do it in such wise as shall make 
amends for all that France has suf- 
fered, by reason of his ancestors, since 
France had a Henry ibr her king be- 
fore 1 The prestige of sovereignty is 
his ; and while be lives, no republic 



[Feb. 



can be lasting; no goveniment, save 
his, can insure the peace which the 
state of Europe so imperatively de- 
mands. If '^experience has taught 
En^^d that in no other comrse or 
method than that of an hereditary 
crown her liberties can be regulariy 
perpetuated and preservedsacred,"^ — 
why should not an experience, a 
thousandfold severer, teach France 
the same lesson? It has already been 
taught them by a genius which France 
cannot desirise, and to whose oracular 
voice she is now forced to listen, be- 
cause it issues from his fresh' ^ve I 
*^ Legitimacy is the very life of 
France. Invent, calculate, combine 
all sorts of illegitimate governments, 
you will find nothing else possible as 
the result, nothing which gives any 
promise of duration, of tolerable exis- 
tence during a course of years, or ev^ 
throng severalmonths. Legitima^^ 
is, in Europe, the sanctuary in whida 
alone reposes that sovereignty by 
which states subsist." So I endeavour 
to render the doquent sentence of 
Chateaubriand ;t and though, since he 
wrote it, a score of years have passed, 
it is stronger now than ever— for what 
was then his prophecy is already tiie 
deplorable history of his country. 
Had ever a country such a history, 
without learning more in a year than 
France has gained from a miseraUe 
half-century? 

Just so long as France has been 
busy with experiments, in the insane 
effort to separate her future fr^m her 
past, just so long have all her labours 
to lay a new foundation been mise- 
rable failures, covering her, in the eyes 
of the w(^d, with shame and infrymy. 
What has been wanting all the time? 
I grant that the first want has been 
a national conscience — a sense of re- 
ligion and of duty. But I mean, what 
has been wanting to the successive 
administrations and governments? 
Certainly not ^endour and personal 
dignity, for the Imperial government 
had both ; and the King of the Barri- 
cades made himself to be acknow- 
ledged and foared as one who bore not 
the sword in vain. But the prestige 
of legitimacy was wanting ; and that 
want has been the downfrtU of eveir- 
thing that has been tried. Yon will 
ask, what was tiie downM of Chariea 



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195 



X? The answer is, that it was 
not a down&U farther than cob- 
oemed himsdf ; for everybody feeis 
that the Botirboa claim stmriyes, while 
eveiy other has been forced to yield 
to destuiyand rekibnticMi. How is 
it that legitimacy makes itself Mi 
after years of exile and obscnrity? Is 
it not that instiiiflt of loyalty which 
cannot be dnped or diyerted, and 
which detects and detests all shams ? 
lait not titeinstinct which constitntion- 
makers hare endeayoored to appease 
by pageants and by names^ bat whidi 
has continaally reydted against the 
emptiness of both? The existence of 
that instinct has been perpetoally ex- 
posed by miserable attempts to satisfy 
Its demands with outside show and 
i^lendid impotttions. The French 
cannot even go to work, nnder their 
msent r^nblic, as we do hi America. 
The common-sense of oar people 
teaches them thata repablican goyem- 
ment is a mere matter of bosiness, 
whidimostmakeno pretences to splen- 
dour ; and hence, the constitution once 
settled, the president is elected and 
swora-in with no nonsense or parade; 
and Mr Cindnnatas Pdk sits down 
in the White House, and sends eyory 
maa about his business. A young 
country has as jret but the instincts of 
inEaney; there is as yet nothing to 
satisfy but the crayiiur for nourish- 
ment, and the demand for large room. 
But it is not so where nations are fall- 
grown. Ckm 9 wiiaid forget her ontO' 
maUs^ or a bride her attire f Can 
France fbrget that she had once a 
court and a throne that daasled the 
world? No 1 says eyeiy craftsman of 
the reydution; and therefore our 
repubiio, too, must be splendid and 
imperial! 6o, instead of going to work 
as if their new constitution were a 
reaHty, there must be a f3te of inaugu- 
ration. Inthesameconyiction,Napo- 
Iwa is nominated fbr the presidency, 
beeauae he has a name ; and he im- 
mediately withdraws from yulgar 
eyes, to keep his ^'presence like a 
robe pontifical,*' against the inyesti- 
tnre. Oh, fbr aomt Yankee farmer 
to look on and lau^ I It would not 
take him kmg to calotUate the end of 
sucharqmbfio. Jonathan can under- 
stand a queen, and would stare at a 
eonmatkmin sober earnest, conyinced 
that it had a meaning—at least, in 
£Bgla&d! Birt a r^d^ of kettle- 



drums and trumpets will neyer do with 
him; and if he were fkyoured with an 
inteiyiew with the pompous aspirant 
to the French presidency, it would 
probably end in his telling Louis Na- 
poleon the homely truth— that he has 
nothing to be proud of, and had better 
eat and drink like other folk, and 
^^ define his position " as a candidate, 
if he don't want to find himself iMecf- 
tg^, and sent on a long yoyage up 
Salt Biyer; which, you may not 
know, my Basil, is a Stygian stream, 
and the andents called it Lethe. So 
much, then, Ibr the uUima ratio of 
illegilimate goyemmentfr—the attempt 
to satisfy the demand for national 
dignity by pageants and by names, 
and to drown Ae outcries of natural 
discontent by the sounding of brass 
and the tinkling of cymbals. 

In yain did the sage Piedmontese 
foretell it all, like a Cassandra. '<Mait 
is prohibited," said that admirable 
Mentctf, ^^ from giying great names to 
tilings of which he is tiie author, and 
whicn he thinks great ; but if he has 
proceeded legit$iatdy, the yulgar 
names of things wHl be rendered illus- 
trious, and become grand." How 
specially does England answer to the 
latter half of this maxim I and who 
can read the fixmer without seeinjg 
France, in her foolVcap, before his 
mental eye? De Malstre himself has 
instanced the rey(^ti<mary follies of 
Paris, and lashed them with unsparing 
seyenty. Whateyer is nati<mal in 
England seems to haye grown up, like 
her oaks, fix>m deep and strong roots, 
and to stand, like them, immoyable. 
They make their own associations, 
cmd dignify their ownnamee. Eyery- 
thlng is home-bom, natural, and reaL 
The Garter, the Wool-sack, Hyde 
Park, Bpsom and Aseot--these things 
in FnuMe would be the Legion of 
Honour^ the CuruU-ckair^ the Efysian 
,fidde^ Hie Oiyn^ games I Theyeri- 
table attempt was made toreinstitute, 
in the Champ-de^Mars, the sports of 
antiquity; and they receiyed the 

Cpous name ofLesJetm Ofyn^nques^ 
iiaiBire ridicules thefar nothinmess, 
and adds that, when he saw a bufldlng 
erected and called the Od^ he was 
sure that music was hi its decline, 
and that tiie place would shortly be to 
let. In like manner, he says of the 
motto of Rousseau, with intense not- 
vote, ^^Does any man dare to write 



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19G American ThoughU on 

under his own ^TtrzXtyVitamimpendere 
veto t You may wager, without fur- 
ther information, fearlessly, that it is 
the likeness of a liar." How quick 
the human heart perceives what is 
thus put into words by a philosopher! 
It is m vain for France to think of 
covering her nakedness with a showy 
veil. The Empire was a glittering 
gauze, but how transparent! They 
saw one called Emperor and a second 
Charlemagne; and the Pope himself 
was there to give him a crown« But 
it was a meagre cheat. Poor Josephine 
never looked ridiculous before, but 
then she acted nonsense. The impe- 
rial robes were gorgeous, but they 
meant nothing on the Citizen Buona- 
parte. Everybody saw behind the 
scenes. They detected Talma in the 
stmt of Napoleon; they pointed at 
the wires that moved the hands and 
eyes of the Pope. All stage-effect, 
machineiy, and pasteboard. The im- 
perial court was all what children call 
make-beUece : it vanished like the 
sport of children. 

The great feast of firatemity, hist 
spring, was, on de Maostre's principles, 
the natural harbinger of that frater- 
nal massacre in June ; and the inef- 
fectual attempt to be festive over the 
late inauguration of Uie constitution, 
has but one redeeming feature to pre- 
vent a corresponding augury of dis- 
aster. Its miserable failure makes it 
possible that the constitution will sur- 
vive its anniversaiy. Then there will 
be a demonstration, at any rate, and 
then the thine wHl be superannuated. 
Since 1790, ttiere has been no end to 
such glorifications ; each chased and 
huzzaM, in turn, by a nation of full- 
grown childFen, and all hollow and 
transient as bubbles. Perpetual be- 
ginnings, every one warranted to be 
no foMUTt this time^ and each ffoing 
out in a stench. What contmnu 
Champs-de-Mars and Champs de^ 
Mai! what wavings of new flags, and 
scattering of fresh flowers ! and all 
endinff in confessed Mure, and bedn- 
ning the same thing over again! **r^o- 
thing ffreat has great be^nnhigs "— 
saysMiMitoragahi. "History shows no 
exception to this rule. Cresdt occulto 
vehu arbor <bvo^ — this Is the immortal 
device of every great histitution.'* 

Legitimacy never makes such mis'> 
takes, except when permitted by God, 
to accomplish its own temporary 



European Revokttions. [Feb. 

abasement. It needs not to support 
itself by tricks and shams. It has a 
creative power which dignifies every- 
thing it touches; which often turns 
its own occasions into festivals, but 
makes no festivals on purpose to 
dignify itself. When Henry V. is 
crowned at Rheims, or at Notre- 
Dame, he will not send over the Alps 
for Pio NonOy nor consult Savons to 
learn how CsBsar should be attired 
that day. That youth may safely 
dispense with all superfluous pag- 
eantry, for he is not new Charlemagne, 
but M Charlemagne. The blood of 
the Cariovinsians has come down to 
him frx>m Isabellaof Hainault, through 
St Louis and Henry IV. Cha- 
teaubriand should not have forgotten 
this, when (speaking of this princess 
unfortunate father, the Duke de 
Berry) he enthusiastically sketched a 
thousand years of Capetian glory, 
and cried — ^' He Men / la revohuian a 
livri tout cela au couteau de Louod? ' 
Another revolution has thus fur re- 
legated the same substantial dignity 
to exile and obscurity, as if France 
could afford to lose its past, and b^nn 
again, as an infant of days, fiut 
besides the evident tendency of things 
to reaction, there is something about 
the legitimate king of France which 
looks like destiny. He was announced 
to the kingdom by the dying lips of 
his murdered shre, while yet unborn, 
as if the fate of empire depended on 
hisbirth. ^^Minagex-vous^pourVenfant 
que vous portez dans voire sein^^* said 
the unhappy man to his duchess, and 
the group of bystanders was startled ! 
It was the first that France heard of 
Henry the Fifth, and it seemed to in- 
spire Chateaubriand with the spirit 
of prophecy, and he eloquently re- 
marks upon it as a dermh-e esperance. 
" The dying prince," he says, '^seemed 
to bear wiw him a whole monarchy, 
and at the same moment to announce 
another. Oh God! and is our sal- 
vation to spring out of our ruin ? Has 
the cruel aeath of a son of France 
been ordained in anger, or in mercy? 
is it a final restoration of ^ legitimate 
throne^ or the downfall of dte en^e 
ofdovisV^ This grand question now 
hangs in suspense : but, as I said, 
Chateaubriand nrast have taken cou- 
rage before he died, and inwardly 
aiiswered it fiivourably. That great 
writer seems to have felt beforehand, 



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for his cotmtiymen, the loyalty to 
which they will probably return. To 
the prince he stood as a sort of spon- 
sor n>r the fntore. When the royal 
babe was bapUsed, he presented 
water from the Jordan, in which the 
last hope of legitimacy received the 
name of Dieu-donnd: when Charles 
the Tenth was dethroned, ho stood 
up for the young king, and consented 
to fall with his exdosion ; and the 
last years of Francois greatest senilis 
were a consbtent confessorshlp for 
that legitimacy with which he be- 
liered tne prosperity of his country 
indissolubly bonnd. Now, I shonld 
like to ask a French republican— If I 
could find a sane one, — ^what would 
you wish to do with Henry of Bor- 
deaux? Would you wish this heir 
of your old histories to renounce his 
birth-right, declare legitimacy an im- 
position, and undertake to settle 
down in Paris as one of the p^ple? 
Why not, if yon are all republicans, 
and see no more in a prince than in a 
gamin f Why should not this Henry 
Capet throw up his cap for the con- 
stitution, and stkk up a tradesman's 
sign in the Place de la Revolution, as 
" Henry Capet, par/umeur V Why 
not let him hire a shop in the lower 
stories of the Palais Boyal and teach 
the Parisians better manners than to 
<mt off his head, by devoting himself 
to shaving their beards ? Everybody 
knows the reason why not ; and that 
reason shows the reality of legitimacy. 
Niffht and dav such a shop would be 
mobbed by friends and foes alike. 
€r0 where he might, the parfumeur 
would be pointed at by fingers, and 
aimed at by hrgnettes^ and bored to 
death by a rabble of starers, who 
would insist upon it that he was the 
hereditary lord of France. Mankind 
-cannot free themselves frx)m such im- 
pressions, and, what is more conclu- 
sive, princes cannot free themselves 
from the impressions of mankind, or 
undertake to live like other men, as 
if historv and genealogy were not 
facts. For weal or for woe, they are 
as unchangeable as the leopard with 
his spots. Let Henry Ci^t come to 
America, and try to be a republican 
with us. Our very wild-cats would 
4i8serttheirinalienablerightto*4ook at 
4iking,*' and hewould certainly be torn 
to pieces by good-natured curiosity. 
it is curious to see the natural 



197 

instinct amusing itself, forthe present, 
with such a mere nomtnis umbra as 
Louis Napoleon. In some way or 
other the hereditary prestige must be 
created ; nothing less is satisfactory, 
and the *4mperial fetishism" will 
answer very well till something more 
substantialis found necessary. Hichard 
Cromwell was necessary to Charles 
n., and so is Louis Napoleon to 
Henry V. Napoleon still seems cap- 
able of giving France a dynasty ; this 
possibility wUl be soon extinguished 
by the incapability of his representa- 
tive. Louis will reign long enough 
to exhibit that recompense to Jo- 
sephine, in the person of her grandson, 
which heaven delights to allot to a 
repudiated wife; and then, for his 
own sake, he will be called cogutn 
taidpokron. Napoleon will take his 
historical position as an individual, 
haviuff no remaining hold on France ; 
and the imperial fetishism will be 
ignominiously extinguished. Richard 
Cromwell made a very decent old 
English gentleman, and Louis Napo- 
leon may perhaps end his days as 
respectably, in some out-of-the-way 
comer of Corsica. Let me again 
quote the French Mentor. He says, 
" There never has existed a royal 
family to whom a plebeian origin could 
be assigned. Men may say, if Richard 
CromweU had possessed the genius of 
his father, he would have fixed the 
protectorate in his family ; which is 
precisely the same thing as to say — 
if thb family had not ceased to reign, 
it would reign still." Here is the 
formula that will suit the case of Louis 
Napoleon ; but future historians will 
moralise upon the manner in which 
Napoleon himself worked out his 
own destruction. For the sake of a 
dynasty, he puts away poor Josephine. 
The King of Rome is bom to him, but 
his throne is taken. The royal youth 
perishes in early manhood, and men 
find Napoleon^s only representative 
in the issue of the repudiated wife. 
Her grandson comes to power, and 
holds it long enough to make men 
say— how much better it might have 
b^n with Napoleon had he kept his 
faith to Josephine, and contentedly 
taken as his heir the child in whom 
Providenoe has revealed at last his 
only chance of continuing his family 
on a throne ! It makes one thing of 
Scripture, " Yet ye say wherefore ? 



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[Feb. 



because the Lord hatii been witness 
between thee and the wife of thj 
jonth, against whom them hast dealt 
treacheronsi J ; .... therefore take 
heed to your sfmit, and let none deal 
treacherondy agah^t the wife of his 
jonth, for the Ix>rd, the God of Israel, 
saith that he hateth patting away.' 

A traveller from the sooth of France 
says that he saw eveiywhere the por- 
trait of Henry Y. Besides the myste- 
rious hold whidi legitimacy keeps npon 
tiie ynlgar and the polite alike, there 
are associations with it which operate 
on idl classes of men. Tradesmen and 
manufacturers are for legitimacy, be- 
cause they love peace, and want to 
make money. The raturiers soon^ 
or later learn the misery of mobs, and 
the loTC of change makes them willing 
to welcome home the king, especially 
as they mistake their own hearts, and 
flatter themselves that their sudden 
loyalty is proof of remaining virtue. 
Then the profligate and abandoned, 
they want a monarchy, in hopes of 
another riot in the palace. It may 
be doubted whether the blouses can 
be permanently contented without a 
king to curse. The national anthem 
cannot be sung with any spirit, unless 
there be a monarch who can be 
imagined to hear all its imprecations 
against tyrants: in fact, the king 
must come back, if only to make sense 
of the Marseilles Hymn. 

Que Teat cette horde d^esclares, 
De trftitres, de rois coDJiir6s ? 

Pour qui cet ignobles entravet. 
Get fen, d^ long-tenu pr^guu-^ ? 

What imaginable sense is there in 
singing these red-hot verses at a feast 
of fraternity, and in honour of the ftdl 
possession of absolute liberty ? Then, 
where is the sport of clubs, and the 
exdtement of conspiracies, if there's 
no king to execrate within locked 
doors ? Is Paris to have no more of 
those nice little emeutest What's to 
be done with the genius that delights 
in infernal machines? Who's to be 
fired at in a glass coach ? Everybody 
knows that Cavaignacs and Lamar- 
tines are small game fmr such sport. 
Tour true assassin must have, at least, 
a duke of the blood. These are con- 
siderations which must have their 
weight In deciding upon pn^bilitles; 
though, for one, I am not sure but 
France is doomed, by retributive 
justice, to be thus the Tantalus <xf 



nations, steeped to the neck fai lO^erty^ 
but forbidden to drink, with kings 
hanging over them to pixrroke Uie eye^ 
and yet escaping the hand. 

In 1796 de Maistre publLAed his 
Considerations sur ia France, They 
deserve to be reproduced for the pre- 
sent age. Kothmg can surpass the 
cool ccmtempt of the philosophicid 
reacHonnaire^ or the confidence with 
which, from his knowledge of the past, 
he pronounces oracles for the fritnre. 
Do you ask how Henry V. is to re- 
cover his rights? In ten thousand 
imaginable ways. See what Cavug- 
nac might have done last July, had 
the time been ripe for another Monk t 
There's but one way to keep legiti- 
macy out ; it comes in as water enters 
a leaky ship, oozing through seams, 
and gushing throng cradks, whete 
nobody dreuned of suc^ a thing. As 
long as even a tolerable pretender 
survives, a popular government must 
be kept in perpetual alarm. But you 
shall hear the Count, my Basil ! Let 
me give you a free translation. 

'^ In speculating about counter-re^ 
volutions, we often fall into the mistake 
of taking it for granted that such 
reactions can only be the result of 
popular deliberation. Tke people wonH 
auow it, it is said; they wiU never con- 
sent ;itis against the popular feetmg. 
Ah 1 is it possible ? The people just 
go for nothing in such aflairs ; at most 
tiiey are a passive instrumrat. Four 
or ^YQ persons may give France a 
king. It shall be announced to the 
provinces that the king is restored : 
up go their hats, and vive le roif 
Even in Paris, the inhabitants, save 
a score or so, shall know notMng of 
it till they wake up son^ morning and 
learn that they have a king. ' Est-il 
possible V will be the cry: */«w very 
singular! What street will he pats 
through t l^s engage a umdow m 
good time, there^U be such a horrid 
crowd P I tell you the people will 
have nothing mcnre to do with re- 
establishing the monarchy, than they 
have had in establishing the revolu- 
tionary government! .... At the 
first hlnsAi one would say, undoubtedly, 
that the previous consent of the French 
is necessary to the restoration ; but 
nothing is more absurd. Come, well 
crop the<H7, and imagine certain 
facts. 

" A courier passes through Bor- 



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1M9.] Americati Thtm§kU cm 

deaoz, Nantes, Ljoob, ftndsoenrcwif, 
teUing everybodj that the king is 
proclaimed at Paris ; that a certain 
party has seised the reins, and has 
declared that it holds the goyemment 
0^7 in the king^s name, having des- 
patdied an express for his miyesty, 
idM> is expected eveiy minnte, and 
that er^ry one mounts the white 
eockade. Bmnonr catches np the 
story, and adds a thousand imposing 
details. What next ? To giye the re- 
public the fairest diance, let us sup- 
pose it to have the favour of a majo- 
rity, and to be defended by republican 
troops. At first these troops shall 
blnster very loudly ; but dinner-time 
will come; the fellowB must eat, 
and away goes their fidelity to a 
cause that no bi^^ promises ra- 
tions, to say nothi]^ of pay. Then 
your discontented cfq>tains and lieu- 
tenants, knowing that they have no- 
thing to lose, begin to consider how 
easily they can make somethkig of 
themselves, b^ bemg the first to set 
ip FvM-fe-nn/ Each one begins to 
draw his own portrait, most bewitch- 
inglv coloured; looking down in soom 
on the republican ofllcerB who so lately 
knocked him abont with contempt; 
his breast biasing with decorations, 
and his name diq;>Tayed as that of an 
officer of His Most Christian Majesty ! 
Ideas so single and natural will w<n^ 
in the brams of such a class of persons: 
they all think them over ; every one 
knows what his neighbour thinks, and 
they all eye one another suspidously. 
Fear and distrust follow first, and 
then jealousy and coolness. The com- 
mon soldier, no longer inspired by his 
commander, is still more discouraged; 
and, as if by witchcraft, tibe bonds of 
discipline all at once receive an in- 
comprehensible blow, and are in- 
stantly dissolved. One begins to 
hq>e for the speedy arrival of his 
mi^esty's paymaster; another takes 
the favourable c^portunity to de- 
sort and see his wife. There^s no 
head, no tail, and no more any sucti 
thingas trying to hold together. 

''The afifair takes another turn with 
the populace. They push about 
hither and thither, knocking one an- 
odier outof breath, and asking all sorts 
of questions ; no <me knows what he 
wants ; hours are wasted in hesitation, 
and every minnte does the businesa. 
Daring is everywhere confronted by 



AcnyMon i2eiM>lMlKMW. 



199 



caution ; the old man lacks decision) 
the lad epoils lUl by indiscretion ; and 
the case stands thus, — one msi^ get 
into trouble by resisting, but he that 
keeps quiet may be rowarded, and 
will certainly get ofif without damage. 
As for making a demonstration — 
whero 18 the means? Who are the 
leaders? Whom can ye trust? There's 
no danger in keeping still ; the least 
motion may get one into trouble. 
Next day comes news — wck a town 
has opened its gates. Another induce- 
ment to hold back ! Soon this news 
turns out to be a lie ; but it has been 
believed long enough to determine 
two other towns, who, supposing that 
they only follow such example, present 
themselves at the gates ci the first 
town to (^er their submission. This 
town had never dreamed oi such a 
thing ; but, seeing such an example, 
resolves to fall hot with it. Soon it 
flies about that Monsieur the mayor 
has presented to his majesty the keys 
of his good dty of Quaquechose^ and 
was the first officer who had the ho- 
nour to receive him within a garrison 
of his kingdom. His Majes^ — of 
course — made him a marshal of France 
on the spot. Ohl enviable brevet I 
aninmaoital name, and a scutcheon 
everlastingly blooming Yfithfleurs-de- 
Us! The royalist tide fills up eveiy 
moment, and soon carries all before it. 
Vwe-k-rai! shouts out long-smothered 
loyalty, overwhelmed with transports : 
Vwe-U-roil chokes out hypocritical 
democracy, frantic with terror. No 
matter 1 there's but one cry ; and his 
Miyesty is crowned, and has aU the 
rofjiai makings of a king. This is the 
way counter-revolutions come about. 
€rod having reserved to himself the 
formation of sovereignties, lets us learn 
the foot, from observing that He never 
commits to tlM multitude the choioe 
of its masters. He only employs thern^ 
in those grand movements which de- 
cide the fate of empires, as passive 
instruments. Never do they get what 
they want: they always take; they 
never choose. There is, if one may 
so speak, an artifice of Providence, l^ 
which the means which a people take 
to gain a certain olHect, are precisely 
thcMO which Proviaence employs to 
put it from them. Hius, thinking to 
abase the aristocracy by hurrahing for 
Caesar, the Bomans got themselves 
masters. It is just so with all popu- 



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'200 American Thoughts on 

lar insmrectioDS. In the French 
revolation the people have been per- 
petually handcuffed, outraged, be- 
trayed, and torn to pieces by factions; 
and factions themselves, at the mercy 
of each other, have only risen to take 
their turn in being dashed to atoms. 
To know in what the revolution will 
probably end, find first in what points 
all the revolutionary factions are 
agreed. Do they unite in hating 
Christianity and monarchy? Very 
well ! The end will be, that both will 
be the more firmly established in the 
earth." 

Cool, certainly; is it not, my Basil? 
The legitunists are the only French- 
men who can keep cool, and bide their 
time. Chateaubriand has observed, 
in the same spirit, that there is a 
hidden power which often makes war 
with powers that are visible, and that 
a secret government was always fol- 
lowing dose upon the heels of the 
public governments that succeeded 
•each other between the murder of 
Louis XVI. and the restoration of 
the Bourbons. This hidden power he 
calls the eternal reason of things; the 
justice of God, which interferes in 
human afiairs just in proportion as 
men endeavour to banish and drive it 
from them. It is evident that the 
whole force of de Maistre's pro- 
phecy was owing to his religious con- 
fidence in this divine interference. 
He wrote in 1796. That year the 
career of Napoleon began at Montc- 
notte ; and, for eighteen years sue- 
ceeding, every day seemed to make 
it less and less probable that his pre- 
dictions could be verified. The 
Bourbon star was lost in the sun of 
Austerlitz. The Republic itself was 
forgotten ; the Pope inaugurated the 
Empire ; Austria gave him a princess, 
to be the mould of a dynasty, and the 
source of a new legitimacy. France 
was peopled with a generation that 
never knew the Bourlxins, and which 
was dazzled with the genius of Napo- 
leon, and the splendour of his impe- 
rial government. But the time came 
for this puissance occulte^ cette justice 
du del! When the Allies entered 
Paris in 1814, it was suggested to 
Napoleon that the Bourbons would 
be restored ; and, with all his sagacity, 
he made the very mistake which de 



European RevohUions. [Feb. 

Maistre had foreshown, and said, in 
almost his very words — " Never ! 
nine-tenths of the people are irrecon- 
cilably against it 1" One can almost 
hear what might have been the Count^s 
reply — ^^ Qudle pitUl Is peuple n'est 
pour rien dans les revolutions. Quatre 
ou cinq personnes^ peut'Ctre, donneront 
un roi h la France.^^ What could 
Talleyrand tell about that? The 
facts were, that in four days tho 
Bourbons were all the ragel The 
Place Venddme could hardly hold the 
mob that raved about Napoleon's 
statue ; and, with ropes and pulleys, 
they were straining every sinew to 
drag it to the ground, when it was 
taken under the protection of Alex- 
ander!* What next? In terror for 
his very life, this Napoleon flies to 
Frejus, now sneaking out of a back- 
window, and now riding po^t, as a 
common courier, actually saving him- 
self by wearing the white cockade 
over his raging breast, and all the 
time cursmg his dear French to Tar- 
tarus ! A British vessel gives him hia 
only asylum, and the salute he re- 
ceives from a generous enemy is all 
that reminds him what he once had 
been in France. Meantime these de- 
tested Bourbons are welcomed home 
again, with De Maistre's own varieties 
of Vive-le-roil The Duke d*Angou- 
leme, advancing to the capital, sees 
the silver lilies dandng above the 
spires of Bordeaux: the Count 
d'Artois hails the same tokens at 
Nancy: not captains and lieutenants, 
but generals and marshals, rush to 
receive His Most Christian Majesty : 
and the successor of the butchered 
Louis XVI. comes to his palace, after 
an exile of twenty years, with the 
title of Louis the Desured ! Nor are 
subsequent events anything more 
than the swinging of a i>endnlum, 
which must eventually subside into a 
plummet. If tho first disaster of Na- 
poleon, in the fulness of his strength, 
could make France welcome her lea- 
timacy in 1814, why should not the 
imbecility of the mere shadow of his 
name produce a stronger revulsion 
before this century gains its meridian? 
There is a residuary fulfilment of de 
Maistre's augury, which remains to 
the Bourbons, when all of Napoleon 
that survives has found its ignomi- 



* AuaoN. 



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1849.] 



American Th<mght$ an European Revolutions. 



201 



Dions extinction. Tlien will the ripe 
fimit fall into the lap of one who, if 
he is wise, will make the French for- 
get his kindred with the fourteenth 
and fifteenth Lonises, and remember 
onlj that Henry of Bordeaux has 
before him the example of Henry of 
Nayarre. 

There is, indeed, another conceiv- 
able end. CTest Varrii que le del pro- 
nonce e/^ftn contre lee peuplee sane 
Jugement, ef rebeHes h r experience,* 
If France does not soon come back to 
reason, we shall be forced to think 
her given np of God, to become snch 
a country as (jermany, or perhaps as. 
miserable as Spain. But we must 
not be too hasty in coming to con* 
dnsions so deplorable. Let the re- 
public have its day. It will work its 
own cure; for the chastisement of 
France must be the curse of ancient 
Judah. ''The people shall be op- 
pressed, eveiT one bv another, and 
every one by his neighbour ; the child 
shall behave himself proudly against 
the andent^ and the base agidnst the 
honourable.** For the mob of Paris, 
who got drunk with riot, and must 
grow sober with headache ; for the 
blousemen and the boys who have 
pulled a house upon their head, and 
now maul each other in painfhl efforts 
to get from under the ruins ; and for 
the miserable phUosophes who see, in 
the charmins state of their country, 
the fruit of ^eir own atheistic theo- 
ries ; for all these it is but retribution. 
They needed government ; they re- 
solved on license : God has sent them 
despotism in its worst form. One 
Dities Paris, but feels that it is Just. 
My emotions are very different when 
I think of what were once '' the plea- 
sant viUages of France.*' Miserable 
<xmtpagnards I There are thousands 
of them, besides the poor souls starv- 
ing in provincial towns, who curse 
the republic in their hearts; and, 
from Normandy to Provence and 
Languedoc, there are millions of such 
Frenchmen, who care nothiuff for 
-dynasties, or firatemities, or demo- 
cracy, but only pray the good Lord to 
give peace in their time, that they 
may sit under their own vine, and 
earn and eat their daily bread. For 
them — ^may God pity them I — ^what a 
life Dame Paris leads them I If, with 



the simplidty of rustics, they were 
fbr a moment disposed to be merry 
last February — when they heard that 
thereafter loaves and fishes were to 
fling themsdves upon every table, for 
the mere pleasure of bdng devoured — 
how bitterly the simpletons are un- 
decdved! Their present notions of 
firatemlty and equdity they get from 
hunger and from rags. It is not now 
in France as in the days of Henry 
lY., when every peasant had a pullet 
in the pot for his Sunday dinner. 
That was despotism. It is liberty 
now— liberty to starve. There is no 
more oppresdon^ for the very looms 
refuse to work, and water-wheds 
stand still ; and the vines go eadding 
and unpruned, and the ^pe disdains 
to be trampled in the wme-vat Yes 
— and the ol^paysan and his sprightly 
dame, who used to drive dull care 
away in the sunshine— she, with her 
shaking foot and head, and he with 
his fiddle and his bow, they have 
liberty to the full; for their seven 
sons, who were earning food for them 
in the sweat of their brow, have come 
home to the old cabin, ragged and 
unpdd ; and they lounee iM)Out in 
hungry idleness, longing for war, but 
only because war would provide them 
with a biscuit or a bullet. What care 
they for glory, or for constitutions ? 
They ask for bread, and their teeth 
are ground with gravd-stones. Let 
England look and learn. If she has 
troubles, let her see how easily troubles 
may be invested at compound interest, 
with the certainty of dividends for 
years to come, is hard thrift in a 
khigdom so bad as starvation in a 
democracy ? And whether is it better 
to wear out honestly, in this work- 
day world, as good and quiet subjects: 
or to be thrust out of it, kicking and 
cuidng, behind a barricade of cabs 
and paving-stones, in the name of 
equahty? These are the common- 
sense questions, that every English 
labourer should be made to fed and 
answer. 

It provokes me, Basil, that my let- 
ter may be superannuated while it is 
travellmg in the steamer I The 
changes of democnunr are more fre- 
quent than the revolutions of a paddle- 
wheeL Adieu. Yours, 

Ernbst. 



• Chatbaubbiaio). 



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203 



Bahmatia and MmUmeffro. 



[FbH. 



DALMATIA AKD MOMTSNSQKa 



It is really astonishing that cmr 
want of information inspecting Dal- 
matia, and its neighbourhood, has not 
long ago been supplied. It is by no 
means easy, now-a-days, to hit npon 
a line of conntiy that may afford mb- 
ject-matter for acceptable illnstration. 
Travellers are so nnmerons, and 
anthorship is so generally affected, 
that the best part of Europe has been 
described orer and over again. Yon 
may get from Mr Mnnray a hand- 
book for ahnost any place yon wilL 
Manners and cnstoms, roads, inns, 
things to be suffered, and notabilities 
to l^ visited — in short, all the pro- 
bable oontin^des c^ travel between 
this and the Yistnla, are already noted 
and set down. We take it npon our- 
selves to say, that it is (me of the most 
difficult things in life to realise the 
sense of desolation and unw(mtedness 
that are poetic characteristics of the 
traveller. How can a man feel him- 
self stevige to any i^ace where he is 
so thoroughly up to usages that no 
hcandikre can cheat him to the amount 
of a zwanziger f And, thanks to the 
books written, it is a man's own fault 
if he wend almost anywhither except 
thus ftMmit yfv6fitvog. 

In truth, European travelling is 
pretty nearly reduced to the work 
of verification. Events are accord- 
ing to prescription ; and there re- 
mains very little room for the play of 
an exploring spirit The grand thing 
to be explored is a matter pysycho- 
logical rather than material ; it is to 
prove experimentally what are the 
emotions that a generous mind ex- 
periences, when vividly acted upon by 
association with the world of past 
existences. Beyond doubt, this is the 
highest range of inteUectnal enjoy- 
m^t; and to its province may be 
referred much that at first sight would 
appear to be heterogeneous, as, for in- 
stance, delights purely scientific. But 
at any rate, we must all agree that the 
main privilege of a traveller is, that 
he is enabled to test the force of this 
power of association. It is an enjoy- 
ment to be known only by experi- 
ment. No power of description can 
give a man to understand what is the 



SMisation of gaaing on the Acropolis, 
or of standing within 'Ayia 2o^^ It 
is as another sense, called into exis- 
tence l^ the occasion of exercise. 

To any but the uncommonly wdl 
read, there has hitherto been meagre 
entertainment in travelling amcmg the 
Slavonian borderers on the Adruitic* 
It has been impossible to realise on 
their subject these high pleasures of 
association, because so little has hem 
known oi the facts of their histoiy ; 
ratiier should we perhaps say, that, of 
what has been known, so little has 
been generally accessible. But we 
are happy to find that the ri^t sort 
o' ** duel has been amangthem, takin^ 
notes." The way is now oipea ; and 
henceforth it will be easy to follow 
with profit. The book which Sir 
Gardner Wilkinson has given us 
seems to be exactly the thmg which 
was wanted; and certainly the use 
of it will enable a man to travel in 
Dalmatia as a rati(«alcreature should. 
No mere dotter down of events could 
have passed through the course of 
this country without producing a 
documented considerable value. The 
widespread family of which its inha- 
bitants are a branch have been inti- 
mately mixed up with thehistory of the 
Empire and of Christendom ; and now 
again we behold them playingaconspi- 
cuous part in European politics. Mo- 
dem Pan8lavism[de^>enstiie interest to 
be felt in this fiuidly, and quickens the 
anxiety to know what they are doing 
and thinking now, as well as what 
they have done in days of old. In 
the present volumes we have, besides 
the memoranda of things existing, a 
compendium of Slavonian history and 
antiquities, and an exhibition of the 
degree in which the race have been mix- 
ed up with European history. Besides 
this, an account is given of their more 
domestic traditions, of which monu- 
ments survive ; and it must be a man's 
own fault if, having this book with 
him, he miss e x tra c ting the utmost 
of profit from a visit to the country. 

In one way, we can surely prophesy 
that this book will prove the means 
of bringing to us increase of lore from 
out of that land of which it treats. 



Dalmatia and Monttnegro, By Sir J. Qakdvtb, Wilkuisok. London : Momy. 



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1849.] 



JkAmOm and MtmieMejpro, 



208 



It wfll naturally Im taken on board 
ereiy yacht that, when next summer 
shall <^>en skies and seas, may find its 
way into the Mediterranean. Among 
thesebirds of passage, it can scarcely be 
bat that some one will shape its course 
for this land ci adrentore, thus, as it 
were, newly laid open. It is a little, a 
Tcry little ont of the direct track, in 
iHikh these snmmer craft are ^>t to be 
fonnd, pfentifiil as butterflies. They 
may rest assured that in no pla^ 
from the Pillars of Hercnles to the 
Pharos of Alexandria, can they hope 
to find SQch provision of entertain- 
ment The stories they may tiience 
bring will really be worth sometiung— 
a valne mnch higher tiian we can TOte 
ascribable to much that we hear of 
the wdl-freqnented shores of the 
French lake. 

We prophesy, also, that an inspirit- 
ing enect will be prodnced on men 
better qnaiified eren than the yachts- 
men for the work of trayel — we 
mean on the gallant officers who gar- 
riscm the isUind of C!orfii. '&ej 
occupy a 8tatk>n so exactly calculated 
to fiKcilitate excorsionB in iht desir- 
able direction, >hat it wiQ be too bad 
if some of them do not start this 
yery next spring. We do not recom- 
mend the Adriatic in winter time, and 
so give them a few months* grace, 
jnst to keep dear of the Bora. Let 
them, as soon as possible after the 
eqainox, avail themselves of one of 
those gaps which will be oocnrring in 
the beat-regifiated garrison life. 
Times will come round whoi dnty 
makes no exaction, and when the 
indigenons resonrces of the island 
affbrd;no amusement. Should such 
occasion have place o«t of the shoot- 
ing months — or when, haply, some 
row with the Albanians has placed 
Bntrinto under hiterdict— wond are 
the straits to which our ardent young 
feOow-couatrymen are reduced. A 
ride to the Graroona pass, or a lounge 
into Carabots ; er, to come to th^ 
worst, an hour or t^*8 Jitm^ round 
old Sdiulenberg*B statue, are well in 
their way, but cannot please for ever. 
All these thfaigs considered, it is, we 
aay, but likely that we shall reap 
some substantial benefit from the 
leisure of our military friends, so 
soon as their literary researches shati 
have carried them into the ea joy nient 



of this book. Dalmatia is almost 
before their yery eyes. If hitherto 
they have not drifted thithor, under 
the combined influences of a long 
leave and an uncertain purpose, it is 
because they have not been in a con- 
dition to prosecute researches. We 
must not Name them for their past 
neglect, any more than we Uame the 
idleness of him who lacks the imple- 
ments of work. Give a man tools, and 
then, if he wcnk not, mamstrart digiUK 
Henceforth they must be regarded as 
thoroughly equipped, and without ex- 
cuse. Let us hope that some two or 
three may be roused to action on the 
yay next opportunity — ^that is to say, 
on the very next occasion of leave. 
Let us hope tfiat, instead of sloping 
away to Paxo, or Santa Maura, they 
may shape their course through the 
K<Hrth Channel, and begin, n they 
I^ease, by exploring the Bocca di 
Cattaro. 

Sir Gardner speaks of difficulties 
and vexatious ddays interposed be- 
tween the traveller and his purpose 
by the Austrian authorities. These 
scrutineers of passports seem to grow 
worse ; and with them bad has long 
been the best. We used to think 
that the palm of pettifogging was 
fah-ly due to the officials of bis Hel- 
lenic majesty. It was bad enough, 
we always thought, to be kept wait- 
iug and watching for a license to move 
from the PirsDus to Lutraki, by steam ; 
but we confess that Sir Gardner 
makes out a case, or rather several 
cases, that beat our experience hol- 
low. We should like to commit the 
passport system to the yerdict to be 
pronounced by common-sense after 
perusal of the two or three pages he 
has written on this subject. But com- 
mon-sense must be far from us, or the 
mob would not be raving for liberty 
while still tolerant oi passports. 

There is another pcnnt in respect of 
whidi a change for the worse appears 
to have taken place, and that is in 
the important point of bienveUkmct 
towards English trayellers. We learn 
that, at present, Austrian officers 9jn 
shy of English companionship ; and 
that it is even eajoined on them au- 
thoritatively that they avoid intimacy 
wiUi stragglers from Corfu. The 
reason ass^^oable is found in the Ute 
sad and absnrd conspiracy hatcbeaia 



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Dalmatia and Montenegro. 



204 

that island— a conspiracy which would 
have been utterly ridiculous, had it 
not in the event proved so melan- 
choly. It will freely be admitted that 
the English would deserve to be sent, 
as they are, to Coventry, were it fact 
that the insane project of the young 
Bandieras had found English parti- 
sans, and that such partisanship had 
been winked at by the authorities. 
But the real state of the case is ex- 
actly contrary to this supposition. 
Humanity must needs have mourned 
over the cutting off of the young men, 
and the sorrow of their father, the 
gallant old admiral. But common- 
sense must have condemned the un- 
dertaking as utterly absurd and mis- 
chievous. It is a pity that any 
misunderstanding should be permitted 
to qualify the good feeling towards us, 
for which the Austrians have been 
remarkable. This good feeling has 
been observable eminently among 
their naval oflBcers, who have got up 
a strong fellowship with us, oyer 
since they were associated with our 
fleet iu the operations on the coast of 
Syria. That particular servicehas done 
much towards the exalting of them in 
their own estimation ; and, of course, 
the increase of friendship for us has 
been in the direct proportion of the 
lift given to them. The Austrian 
militairesy also, used to be a very good 
set of fellows, and only too happy to 
be civil to an Englishman. At uieir 
dull stations an arrival is an event, 
and any considerable accession of 
visitora occasions quite a jubilee. 
These gentlemen, however, cannot 
have among them much of the spirit * 
of enterprise, or they would take 
more trouble than they do to learn 
something of the condition of their 
neighbours. They will complain 
freely of the dulness of the place of 
their location, but at the same time 
will evince little interest in the con- 
dition of the world beyond their im- 
mediate ken. Many of them who 
live almost within hail of the Monte- 
negrini, have never been at the 
trouble of ascending the mountains. 
Nothing seems to astonish them more 
than the eitatic disposition which 
leads men in quest of adventure ; 
they cannot conceive such an idea as 
thatofvolunteeringforacruise. Yachts 
puzzle them : the owners must be 



[Feb. 



ssdlors. Of any military officers who 
may chance to visit them in jrachts, 
they cannot conceive otherwise than 
that they belong to the marine. 
Nevertheless they are, or used to be, 
kind and hospitable ; and would treat 
you well, although they could not 
quite make you out. 

That this countij is a ne^ected 
portion of the Austrian empire is v^y 
evident. The officials sigh under the 
very endearments of office. The 
sanith man, who comes off to greet 
your arrival, will tell you how insuf- 
ferably dull it is living in the Bocca, 
—and how he longs to be remored 
anywhither. Place, people, climate, 
all will be condemned. Yet, to a 
stranger, many of the localities seem 
exquisitely beautiful. The same cause 
seems to mar enjoyment here that 
spoils the beauty of our own Norfolk 
Island. The Austrian residents re- 
gard themselves as being in a state of 
banishment, and take up their abode 
only by constraipt : the constraint, that 
is to say, of mammon. By the govern- 
ment, its possessions in this quarter 
have been neglected in a manner most 
impolitic. The value of this strip of 
coast to an empire almost entirely 
inland, yet wishing to foster trade, 
and to possess a navy, is obvious. 
Yet even the plainest use of it they 
seem, till lately, to have missed. 
Promiscuous conscriptions were the 
order of the day, and men bom sidl- 
ors were enrolled in the levies for the 
army. Of course they wefe miserable 
and discontented, and the public ser- 
vice suffered by the use of these unfit 
instruments. Recently it seems that 
a change has been made in this 
respect, and we doubt not that the 
navy has consequently been greatly 
improved. But many glaring instan- 
ces of neglect in the administration of 
the afiBEurs of the country continue to 
astonish beholders, and to prove that 
the paternal government is not awake 
to its own interests. 

But of all objections to be made 
to the wisdom of the government, 
the strongest may be grounded on 
the condition of the agricultural popu- 
lation in various parts of Dalmatia. 
Nothingis done to improve their know- 
ledge of the primary art of civilisa- 
tion. Their implements of husbancbry 
are described as being on a par with 



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1849.] 

those ufied by the unenlightened in- 
habitants of Asia Minor. The wag- 
gons to be encountered in the neigh- 
bonrhood of Knin are referable to 
the same date in the progress of in- 
vention, as are the conyeniences in 
TOgne in the plains about Mount Ida. 
The mode of tillage is like that fol- 
lowed in the remote provinces of 
Turkey ; the ploughs of the rustic 
population are often inferior to those 
to be seen in the neighbouring Turkish 
provinces. Lastly— most incredible 
of all!— we learn that there is not to 
be found in the whole district of the 
Narenta such a thing as a mill, 
wherein to grind their com. Will it 
be believed that the rustics have to 
send all the com they grow into 
the neighbouring province of Her- 
zegovina to be ground? The in- 
convenience of such an arrangement 
may easily be conceived. Their best 
of the bargain— t.e. the being obliged 
to seek firom across the frontier all 
the flour they want— is bad enough, 
and must be sufficiently expensive ; 
but their predicament is apt to be 
much worse than this. In that 
part of the world, people are subject 
to stoppages of intercommunication. 
The league may break out in the 
Turkish province, and thus a strict 
quarantine be established, to the in- 
terdiction even of provisions that 
generally pass unsuspected; or the 
oountiy maybe flooded, and the ways 
impassable. What are the poor peo- 
ple to do then for flour? whv, the 
only thing they can do is, to send their 
com to their nearest neighbours pos- 
sessed of mills — that is to say, to 
Salona,ortoImoschi. As these places 
are distant, the one about thirty-five 
miles, and the other about seventy 
miles, we may fancy how serious must 
be the pressure of this necessity. 
The ordinary expense of grinding 
their com Is stated to be about 13 
per cent. What it must be when the 
seventy miles* carriage of their pro- 
duce is an item in the calculation, we 
are left to conjecture. Now these 
poor fblks are not to be blamed— they 
nave no fhnds to enable them to build 
mills ; but that they are left to them- 
selves in this inability is a reproach 
to the government under which they 



Ddimaiia and Montenegro. 



205 

live. This inconvenience so inti- 
mately affects their social wellbeing, 
that we cannot put faith in the bene- 
volence of the rulers who allow them 
to remain so destitute. 

Despite, however, of the disadvan- 
tages under which the people of Dal- 
matia labour, it will be seen that 
pictures chiefly pleasurable are to be 
met by him who shall travel amongst 
them. Their honest nature seems to 
comprise within itself some compen- 
sating principle, which makes amends 
for the damage of circumstances? The 
Morhicd, espedally, seem to be a 
simple, hardy set, of whom one cannot 
read without pleasure. These are the 
rustic inhabitants of the agricultural 
districts, who eschew the great towns. 
They made thehr entry into the roll 
of the peasantry of Dalmatia at a 
comparatively late date. The first 
notice of them, we are told, is about 
the middle of the fourteenth century. 
After that time they began to retire 
with their families from Bosnia, as 
the Turks made advances into the 
countiT. They are of the same Sla- 
vonic family as the Croatians ; though 
their hardy manner of life, and the 
purity of the air in which they have 
dwelt, on the mountains, have co-oper- 
ated to confer on them superiority of 
personal appearance, and of physical 
condition. On a general estmiate of 
the people of the land, and of their 
mode of receiving strangers, we 
are disposed to rank highly their 
claims to the titie of hospitable and 
honest. 

Sir Gardner Wilkinson certainly 
travdled amongst them most effectu- 
ally. North, south, east, and west, 
he intersected the country. One part 
of his travels possesses especial inte- 
rest» because, so far as we know, no 
denizen of civilised Christendom has 
ever before been so completely over 
the ground. We refer to his expedition 
into, and through the territory of the 
Montenegrini. Others — some few 
only, but still some others— have been 
far enough to get a peep at these 
wild children of the mountains ; and 
more than once of late years, Maga 
has given notices concerning them : * 
but only scanty knowledge of their 
domestic condition has been attainable. 



^ See Bla^noood'i Magazine, for January 1845, and for October 1846. 



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206 



Daimatiti amd M9nie»e^ro. 



[Feb. 



Sir Gardner went right through their 
coontiT to the Tuiish border, iwd 
tarried amongst them long enongh to 
fiorm prettjT accsrate notions of their 
state. 

In the account of onr author's first 
jonmey, no serioos stc^ is made till we 
come alongside of the island of Veglia : 
apropos to the passage by which, we 
have ^Ten to ns, at some length, an 
interesting extract from the report of 
a Venetian commissioner sent to the 
island^ in 1481, to inqture into its 
state. Of this document we will say 
BO more than that it is exceedingly 
cnrions, and will well reward the pams 
of reading. A passing notice is given 
to Segna, situated on the mainland, 
near Veglia, for the memory's sake ci 
those desperate yillains the Uscocs, to 
whom it belonged of old. A good 
deal of their history is given m the 
last chapter of the second volume, 
^diich serves as a documentary appen- 
dix to the work. Everything neces- 
sary to beget interest in the islands 
scattered hereaway is told; but we 
pass them by, and are brought to Zara. 
What of antiquities is here discover- 
able is rooted out for our benefit, but 
not much remains. The most inter- 
esting relic in the place, to our mind, 
is the inscription recording the victory 
of Lepanto. As Zara is the capital 
of Dalmatia, occasion is taken, while 
speaking of the dty, to give some 
account of the government of the 
province, and of tine general condition 
of the people. 

An incident mentioned by Sir Gard- 
ner displays, in a painful light, the kind 
of feeling entertamed by ue Austrian 
government towards these its subjects, 
and permitted by its officials to find 
expression before the natives. We 
cannot take it as a case of isolated 
insolence : because men in responsible 
situations, especially where the social 
system comprises an indefinite supplv 
of spies, do not ostentatiously commit 
themselves, unless they have a fore- 
pone conviction, that what they say 
IS according to the authorised tone. 
Men under inspection of the higher 
powers do not put themselves out of 
their wav to make a dlsp]Aj of bitter- 
mess, unless they think thereby to con- 
ciliate the good-win of their superiors. 
This is the incident in question : On 
a certahi oocasioii, the conversatioii 



happoied to turn on the subject of a 
then reoeiit disturbance in a Dalma- 
tian town. The sddiery and the 
people had quarrelled, and in ^ 
^meuU two of the severs had been 
killed. On these data forth spake a 
Jack in office. He knew not, nor did 
he care to know, how many of the 
peasants had fidlen, nor does he ap- 
pear to have entered at all curiously 
into the question of t^oMUf Mb'. He 
simply recommended, as the disturb- 
ance had taken place, and as tiie actual 
perpetrators of the violence were not 
forthcoming, that t^e whole popula- 
tion of ^e town should be ^' decima- 
ted and shot." "The butchery of any 
number of Datmatians," says our au- 
thor, " was thought a fit way of re- 
medying the incapacity of the police." 
One wcmld hardly imagine that this 
counsel could have been met by the 
applauses of persons hiding official 
situations ; but so, we are assured, it 
wte in fiftct received. This manifes- 
tation of feeling is a sort of thing 
which, when emanate ttom a group 
of merely private individuals, maybe 
disregarded. Idle people will talk, and 
their hard words will break no bones. 
But the hard words of the ministers of 
government do break bones; and 
such words must be aceepted as 
serious indications of subeistent evil. 
Such receipts for keq^ing pe(^le in 
peace and quietness are consistent 
enough wiA the genius of their neigh- 
bours the Turios. Betrendmient of 
heads, and of causes of complaint, are 
to their apprehension one and the same 
thing — ir(^Xc»ir opofidrmf, fMp^ fiUu 
We know this, and expect it It is 
not so very loiig ago suioe ^ Cw^U 
tan Pasha gave £e word to heave 
the officer of the watch overboard^ 
because his ship missed stays in going 
about in the Black Sea. But the 
Austrians are civilised and Christian; 
we expect better things of thmn, and 
can but mourn over their misappre- 
hension of the true principles of 
elity. The EngUshman ym> stood 
' rebuked the prwnoters of these 
atrocious sentiments; and for this act 
of championship he was subsequently 
thanked by the Dafanatians who 
were present Th^ could not have 
ventured to unchnrtake their own de- 
fence, but must have listened in 
sUenoe to tUa outrageous language. 



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DoftMrfia (Bk/ ifofttaM^. 



307 



Oiff aathor doabts not that thia exhi- 
bition of simple homanitj on his part, 
had the effect of caosing him to be 
Ibrthwith placed under the smreii- 
lance <^ the police ; and that snch a 
consequence should be so Tory likely 
to follow the honest expression of a 
eommon-sense opinion in society is a 
&ct that shows clearly enough how 
wuoundihAt state of things must be. 
Assuredly one of the best eflloots of 
intercourse witii dvilised nations is, 
that we thereby become enabled to 
institute a comparison between their 
social condition and our own. Even 
those unhappy Chartists, who lately 
hare acquii^sd the habit of addressing 
one another as *^ brother slayes," 
would learn to ralue British freedom, 
if they knew something of the social 
condition of their European brethren : 
they would see some ^ffermce be- 
tween the security of their own hours 
of relaxation, and the degree in which 
a man's freedom in Austria is invaded 
by the espionage of the police. 

From ^ara uie course of the narra- 
tire takes us to Sebenico, a town 
situated on the inner side of the lake 
or bay into which the waters of the 
Kerka debouch. It is one of the 
coaling stations of the steamer; and, 
when the time of arriyal will aUow 
such concession, the passengers are 
permitted to take a trip in a four- 
oared boat, to visit the Ms of the 
Kerica. Here the costume of the 
women is noticed as being singularly 
graceful. In coasting along from 
Sebenico to Spalato, the headumd of 
la Planca is remarkable. Near it is 
a little church which is fomous in 
local chronicle for having once upon 
a time served as a trap, wherein an 
ass caught a wolf. How this marvel- 
lous feat was accomplished, we will 
not just now stop to tell, but must 
refer tiie curious to the book itself. 
This point is also remarkable, because 
here begins abruptly a change in the 
dimate. Some plants unlmown to 
the northward be^ to appear; and 
henceforward, to one proceeduiff 
southward, the dreaded Sdrocco wiU 
be a more frequent infliction. To 
the southward of la Planca, this 
objectionable wind is constantly blow- 
ing ; and at Spalato, we are tdd, it 
assumes for its aUowanoe 100 days 
out of the 365. Apropos to^e S^- 



occo, we have an episode on OMenui- 
logify and' are taugnt how the did 
Greeks and Romans used to box the 
compasft— at least how they would 
have done so, had they had com- 
passes to box. In the distance, to 
the soutii oi the promontory of la 
Planca, is the island of Lissa, funous 
in modem history for Sir William 
Hoste*s action in 1811. «^Sueh an 
action," says James, *^ st«id»^ un- 
rivalled in the annals of the naval 
hist(»7 of Great Britain, or that of 
any other country, from the great 
disproportion in numerical force, as 
well as the beauty and address of its 
manoeuvres; it stands surpassed by 
none in the spirit and enteq>rise with 
?riiich it was encountered, and car- 
ried through to a successful issue." 
There is not much risk in making this 
asserdon, when we consider that on 
tiiat occasion the French squadron 
consisted of four forty-gun frigates, 
two oi a smaller class, a sixteen-gun 
corvette, a ten-gun schooner, one six- 
gun xebec, and two gunboats ; and 
that the Engli^ squadron was of 
three frigates, and one twenty-two 
gnnship. Lissa was also famous in 
the time of the Romans, being then 
called Issa. We have a notice <^ its 
history, and then pass on to Bua, 
and so to Spalato. 

Concerning Spalato dettuls aro given, 
as mig^t be expected, at some length. 
Much is told us of its past and present 
condition ; in fact, there is presented 
to us a very sufficient assemblage of 
indicia concerning it. We recom- 
mend ainr one who wishes to ev^j a 
visit to l^alato to take with him this 
book, and chapter IStii of Gibbon. 
The extract from Poiphyrogenitus, 
g^ven by Gibbon, tells us what the 
palace of Diocletian was ; and Sir 
Gardner Wilkinson tells us ^at it is 
now, and what has been its history. 
Besides verbal description, his p^icil 
affords some i^ illustrations of the 
actual condition of the buildings. We 
see by these, and by his account, that 
the treasures of Spalathie architec- 
turo have been obscured by the build- 
ingup of modem edifices on their sites. 
^* The stnmger," he says, ^* is shocked 
to see windows of houses through the 
arches of the court, interoolumnia- 
tions filled up with petty shops, and the 
peristyle of the great temple masked 



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208 



Dabnatiaand 



by modem honses.^^ Doubtless, many 
a predoos relic has been appropriated 
by modem barbarians to common 
nses, and so perished out of sight. But 
with joy we learn that the government 
has taken measures to prevent the 
continnance of such destraction, and 
that the remaining monuments are 
safe, however they may be mixed up 
with the houses and shops of the pre- 
sent generation. We are told that, 
under the care of the present director 
of antiquarian researches, there is good 
reason to hope that the collection at 
SpaJato may become tralv valuable. 
The high character of Professor 
Carrara is a sure warrant that all will 
be done which is withhi scope of the 
means afforded. But as the govem- 
ment allowance for excavations at 
Salona is only £80 yearljr, we can- 
not think that the work is likely to 
proceed rapidly. While we condemn 
as barbarous this carelessness on the 
part of the Austrians, we must bear in 
mind that we are open to a retort of 
the censure. We neglect altogether 
the remains of Samoa in Cephalonia, 
and nothing at all is allowed for the 
expense of operations there ; yet 
these remains are very extensive, and 
there is every reason to believe that 
their actual condition would amply re- 
pay a diligent search. 

We must stop here a moment to 
congratulate Sir Gardner, on ,his ren- 
contre with the sphinx. 

*' A captive when he gazet on the light, 
A sailor when the prize has stmck infigiit,^* 

and so forth, are the only people who 
may venture to talk of Sh* Gardner's 
delight at the sight of a sphinx, or a 
mummy. With great gusto he gives 
the description of the black granite 
sphinx, in Uie court of the pala(^ near 
the vestibule ; and in the drawing 
which he has made of the same court, 
the sphinx is conspicuous. 

From Spalato to Salona, is a dis- 
tance of some three miles and a half, 
by a good carriage-road. This road 
crosses the Jader, or n Ghidro^a 
stream so famous for its trout, that it 
has been thought necessary seriously 
to prove that it was not for the sake 
of these— not in order that of them he 
mi^ht eat his sod in peace and 
quietness— that Diocletianretired from 
the command of the world. 



Montenegro. [Feb. 

Salona is rich in antiquarian re- 
mains, though nothing is extant to 
redeem from improbability the testi- 
monv of Porphyrogenitus, that Salona 
was halfthe size of Constantinople. Of 
its origin no record exists, nor is 
much known of its history till the time 
of Julius Cssar. Subsequently to that 
era it was subject to various fortunes, 
and bore various titles. At last, in 
Christian times it became a Bishop's 
see, and was occupied bv 61 bishops 
in succession. Diocletian was its 
great embellisher and almost rebuilder. 
Later in tiie day, we find that it was 
from Salona that Belisarius set out in 
544, when recaUed to the command of 
the army of Justinian, and intrusted 
with the conduct of the war against 
Totila. The town remained populous 
and fortified, till destroyed by the 
Avars in 689. These ferocious bar- 
barians having established tliemselves 
in Clissa, the terror of their propin- 

n scared away tiie Salonitans. The 
ed inhabitants, after a short and 
ineffectual resistance, fled to the 
islands. The town was pillaged and 
burnt, and from that time Salona has 
been deserted and in ruins. 

'^iih these historical fSM^ before us, 
it is interesting to observe the present 
state of the place, which affords many 
illustrations of past events. The positions 
of its defences^ repaired at various times, 
may be traced : an inscription lately dis- 
covered by Profeeaor Carrara, shows that 
its walls and towers were repaired by 
Valentinian IL, and Theodoeius ; and the 
ditch of Constantianus is distinctly seen 
on the north side. Here and there, it has 
been filled up with earth and cultivated ; 
but its position cannot be mistaken, and 
in places its original breadth iha.j be 
ascertained. A very small portion of the 
wall remains on the east side, and nearly 
all traces of it are lost towards the river: 
but the northern portion is well preser- 
ved, and the triangular front, or salient 
angle of many of its towers, may bo 
traced." 

" In the western part of the town are 
the theatre, and what is called the amphi- 
theatre. Of the former, some portion of 
the. proscenium remains, as well as the 
solid tiers of arches, built of square 
stone, with bevelled edges, about 6i feet 
diameter, and 10 feet afort 

We have a good description of the 
annual fair of Salona. The descrip- 
tion will be suggestive of picturesque 



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1849.] Dabnatia and 

recollections to those who have seen 
the open air festivities celebrated bj 
the orthodox— t. e, by the children of 
the Greek Church, about Easter time. 
We can take it upon ourselves to re- 
commend highly the lambs, wont to be 
roasted whole on these occasions. 
The culinary apparatus is rude— con- 
sisting merdy of a few sticks for a fire, 
and another stick to be used as a spit 
— but the result of their operations is 
most satis&ctory. 

" All Spalaio is of coarse at the fidr ; 
and die road to Salona is thronged with 
carriages of every description, horsemen, 
and pedestrians. The mixture of the 
men's hats, red caps, and turbans, and 
Uie bonnets and Fnmk dresses of the 
Spalatine ladies, contrasted with the 
costume of the country women, presents 
one of ^e most mngiilar sights to be seen 
in Europe, and to a stranger, the language 
adds in no small degree to the novel^. 
Some bunnees is done as well as pleasure ; 
and a great number of cattle, sheep, and 
pigs are bou^t and sold — as well as 
various stu£&, trinkets, and the usual 
goods exhibited at fidrs. Long before 
mid-day, the groups of peasants have 
thronged the road, not to say street, of 
Salona ; some attend the small church, 
ploiareequely placed upon a green, sur- 
rounded by the small streams <^ the 
Oiadro, and shaded with trees; while 
others rove about, seeking their friends, 
looking at, and looked at by strangers, as 
they paai; and all are mtent op the 
amusements of the day, and the prospect 
of a feast , 

" Eatinff and drinkmg soon begin. On 
an sides sheep are seen roasting whole on 
wooden spits, in the open air; and an 
entire flock is speedily converted into 
mutton. Small Imots of hungry friends 
are formed in every direction: some 
seated on a bank beneath the trees, 
others in as many houses as will hold 
them; some on grass by the road-side, 
regardless of sun and dust — and a few 
quiet fiunilies have boats prepared for 
their reception. 

** In the mean time, the hat-wearing 
townspeople from Spalato and other places, 
as they pace up and down, bowing to an 
oeeasional acquaintance, yiew with com- 
placent pity the primitive recreations of 
the simple peasantry ; and arm-in-arm, 
civHiaation, with its propriety and affeo- 
tatioB, is here strangely contrasted with 
the hearty laush of the unrefined Mor- 
Ucohi.*' 

We do not know the countiy where 
men will meet together and eat with- 

TOL, LXy.--KO. CCCC. 



Montenegro^ 



209 



out drinking also: at the al-fr«sco 
entertainments of this kind which we 
have seen, the kegs of wine have ever 
beeningoodly proportion to the spitted 
lambs. And wherever a mob of men 
set to drinking together, they will most 
assuredly take to fighting. The rows 
at this fair used to be considerable ; 
and, considering that more wine is 
said to be consumed here on this one 
day than during the whole of the rest 
of the year, we cannot be surprised 
that fights should come off worthy of 
Donnybrook. At present, better order 
is preserved than of old, because these 
rows have been so excessive that they 
have enforced the attendance of the 
police. 

At this fair is to be seen the pic- 
turesque coUo dance of the Morlacchi, 
of which our author affords a capital 

Sendl-sketch, as well as the following 
escription : — 

^ It sometimes begins before dinner, 
but is kept up with greater spirit after- 
wards. They call it eoUOf from being, 
like most of their national dances, in a 
circle. A man generally has one partner, 
sometimes two, but always at his right 
side. In dancing, he takes her right 
hand with his, wUle she supports herself 
by holding his girdle with her left ; and 
when he hiu two partners, the one nearest 
him holds in her right hand that of her 
companion, who, with her left, takes the 
right hand of the man ; and each set 
dances forward in a line round the circle. 
The step is nide, as in most of the Sla- 
vonic dances, including the polka and the 
TodowUtckka ; and the music, which is 
primitive, is confined to a three-stringed 
violin." 

Dancing for dancing^s sake, is what 
enters into no Englishman's category 
of the enjoyable, nor into many an 
Englishwoman's either, we should 
thi^ after the passage out of her 
teens; but that it is, in sober earnest, 
an enjoyment to many people under 
the sun, there is no doubt. Surely 
there is something wonderM in the 
faculty of finding pleasure in the ele- 
phantine manoeuvres of the romatka^ 
or in the still more clumsy gyrations 
of a paAjcorftf performance. The colh 
we readily believe to be a picturesque 
dance : but such qualification is not 
the general condition on which the 
people of a nation accept dances as 
national. Most of these exhibitia»tt 
in Greece and Eastern Europe m^^ 
o 



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filO 



DabmOia cmd ^animegro. 



[Feb. 



oondemned as gracelesfi and niimeaii- 
ing : as an exhibition of earnest torn- 
foolery, tliey may be accepted as w(m- 
derM ; and, at all events, may safely 
be pronounced co-excdlent wiUi the 
music that incnpires them. 

In passmg from Salona to Tratt, a 
distance of about thirteen miles and a 
half to the westward, the traveller 
passes by several of the villages called 
Castdli. The name ha» been given 
them from the drenipstance of their 
having been built near to, and under 
the protection of, the castles which, 
in thefifteentfa and sixteenth centuries, 
were constructed here by some of the 
nobles. 

^ *' The land was granted to them by the 
Venetianfly on condition of their erecting 
places of reftige for the peasante during 
the wars with the Torks. A body of 
armed men li?ed within them, uid, on 
the approach of danger, the flocks and 
herds were protected beneath the walls ; 
and, at harvest time, the peasantry had a 
place of eecnrity for their crops witiiin 
range of the castle gnns." 

The rights of lordship over the vil- 
lages, wbich used to be exercised by 
the nobles in virtue of the protection 
afiforded, have nearly all fallen into 
disuse. The only relic of feudalism 
that seems to survive is found at Castel 
Camblo, over which two nobles still 
possess certain rights. One of these 
was the hospitable host of Sir Gardner, 
and his friend Professor Carrara, on 
their passage to and from Trait 

A fact connected with the pecu- 
liarity of the pontion of this town 
is, we think, well worthy of notice, 
and deservedly recorded by our au- 
thor. The town stands partly on a 
peninsula, and partly on the island 
of Bua. A fosse, cut across the 
narrow neck of the peninsula, has 
completed its isolation. Hils ditch 
has proved, on occasion, the most 
effectual of fortifications to the Trali- 
rines. They were, in 1241, besieced 
by the Tartars in pursuit of Kmg 
Bela IV., who had fled hither before 
them. These impetuous assailants 
were unable to pass the ditch ; and, 
having waited on the other side till 
food and forage were exhausted, th^ 
were obliged to retire. One cannot 
read this story without thinking of the 
account that Bit Francis Head gives 
of the La Plata Indians, whose habits 



of wurfare are in many respects so ex- 
actly akin to those of the Tartars. 
These terrific horsemen would be 
scarcely resistible b^ their less robust 
enemies, save for their inability to cross 
anything in the shi^pe of a ditch. Oot 
of the saddle they can do nothing, 
and their horses wiU not leap ; so that, 
if you wish to be safe from their in- 
roads, you have but to sunround your 
dwellings with a moderate trench. 
And very striking is the story that 
Sir Francis Head tells of the handfal 
of men who, tmder such protection, 
held out successfhlly against a host of 
Indians. Trati, however, has been 
elaborately fortified in European fa- 
shion, though now the works are ne- 
glected, as being a useless precaution 
against dangers no longer existent. 
It has also a fine old ci^edral, and 
some pictures of pretension. 

After a brief notice of the islands of 
Brazza and Solta — a notice, however, 
suffident for all usefiil purposes— we 
pass on to the picturesque neighbour- 
hood of the falls of the Eerka. Sir 
Gardner speaks of the delav to which 
the passage by boat frt)m Sebenico to 
Scardona Is subject, but does not ex- 
actly complain of it. In fact, we can 
easily understand that, for the sake of 
the passenger, it is expedient thai 
some authoritative note should be 
taken of his departure under charge 
of the particular boatmen who under- 
take his convoy. We never did as- 
cend to Eerka, but from what we have 
seen of the dass of men under whose 
guidance the expedition has to be per- 
formed, we are disposed to vote the 
caution of the p<^ice to be anything but 
superfluous. Every now and then one 
hears dreadfhl stories of the atrocities 
of boatmen in convenient parts of the 
Mediterranean; and there is good 
reason to be thankful that the Aus- 
trians think it worth while to be so 
careful of strangers. 

The people about Sebenico, through 
whose lands the course of the lake 
leads, are spoken of as not paying 
mudi attention to agriculture or to 
their fisheries ; but it seems that they 
are sedulously bent on raising grapes, 
and neglect no patch of ground at all 
likely to be avjtilable for this purpose. 
The lake of Scardona is considerably 
larger than that of Sebenico. On the 
shore here the Boraana had a settle- 



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1^9.] 



Dalmaiia and M<mUnegro. 



meat, of which Boarcely any remaias 
jure peroeptible. They are, however, 
remaii^able as affording a manifest 
I»tK)f of Ihe rise of the level of the 
Uke, for some of them are under 
water. 

Scardona, we are told, does noi oc- 
cnpy the site of the old Scardon, 
which was a place of considerable im- 
portance nnder the empire. Some have 
even imagined that the old city stood 
on the opposite bank of the river. 
The town at present is small, bnt well 
Ihmished for the convenience of stran- 
gers. It boasts an inn, at which Sir 
Gardner put np for one night He 
then proceeded to the falls, which are 
distant from the Inn a three-qnarters- 
of-an-hour jonmey. As he intended 
to ascend the river above the falls, ho 
had to send to the monks of Vissovaz 
to ask for a boat, and they readily 
complied with his request The falls 
do not not seem to have been fall on 
the occasion of this visit — ^bat, when 
fan, the effect must be striking. They 
are divided into two parts, and their 
pictoresqoe effect is greatly enhanced 
by the sorronnding scenery. 

At a distance of a few minutes* walk 
np the river, above the faUs, the boat 
was waiting to transport Sir Gardner 
to the convent of Vissovaz. It is to 
this fraternity that we have before 
alluded, as being the sole mill-owners 
on the Kerka. Their convent must 
indeed be beautifully situated, and 
we can quite enter into the eulogium 
bestowed on it. The fathers are of 
the Franciscan order. The name of 
Vlseovaz is of curious allusion; and 
as probably few of our courteous 
readers will be the worse for a little 
help in the matter of Slavonian ety- 
mology, we may as well tell them 
that its import is ^* the place of hang- 
ing." Not a very complimentary or 
well-omenedname, certamly, we would 
think at first sight ; but we see that 
it Is so when we learn that the allu« 
Bion is to the martyrdom of two 
priests, who were hanged here by the 
Turkish governor of Scardona. By 
the record left of the event, we cannot 
see that the death of these unfortu- 
nate victims was in any sense mar- 
tyidwn: ibey were cruellv and un- 
justly.put to death, but for a cause 
entirehr worldly. However, they 
were ChristianBy and their murderers 



211 

were Turks ; and this has been enough 
to constitute a claim to canonisation 
in more places than at Vissovaz. 

Sir Grardner arrived at the pictur- 
esque, red-tiled convent in time for 
dinner ; but as the day happened to 
be a fast, the fare providea was not 
suffidentiy tempting to induce a 
wish to stay. He therefore was 
preparing, with many thanks, to 
take his leave of the good fathers, 
and proceed on his journey, when 
he found himself brought up by 
an unexpected difficulty. He was 
informed that he could not proceed 
except by favour of the monks of the 
Grreek convent of St Archangelo, an- 
other religious house still farther up 
the stream. His hospitable enter- 
tainers readily volunteered to send 
in quest of tne requisite assistance. 
These are the conditions of travelling, 
because there are no carriages for hire 
hereaway, nor any boats to let. The 
Franciscans had volunteered to do 
what, when it came to the point, was 
found to be rather an awkward thing. 
No great cordiality subsists generally 
between the Latins and the orthodox. 
Each charges the other with destruc- 
tive heresy; and doubtless both of 
these great branches of the church 
esteem a Protestant safe, by compari- 
son with the arch-heretics that they 
each see the other to be. Thus, though 
dwelling on the confines of Christen- 
dom, and in a solitude that might 
have rendered them neighbourly, we 
find that veiy little intercourse takes 

Elace between the two religious estab- 
shments. Accordingly, the writing 
of the letter was found to be no easy 
affair : and their guest saw them lay 
their heads together in consiUtation, 
after a fashion that boded ill for the 
prospects of his journey. They con- 
fessed themselves to be in a fix ; and 
were afridd of exposing themselves to 
some afiront if, contrary to their wont, 
thev should open a communication 
with the Greeks, asking of them a 
favour. 

" * Did you ever go as fkr as the con- 
vent f said an old father to a more 
restless and looomotiTe Franciscan, and 
a negative answer seemed to put an end 
to the incipient letter ; when one of the 
party enggeited that those Greekf had 
shown themselves verj dvil on some oc- 
casion, and the writer of the epistle onee 



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212 



DaimaUa and Montenegro. 



[Feb. 



more resumed his spectacles and his pen. 
< They are/ he obserred, 'after all, like onr- 
seWeSyand must be glsrd to see a stranger 
who comes from afar; and besides, oar 
letter may hare the effect of commencing a 
friendly intercourse with them, which we 
may have no reason to regret.' " 

This very sensible hint of the Fran- 
ciscan philosopher was happily acted 
ont. The letter was sent, and in dae 
coarse of time — i. e. In time for a start 
next morning— an answer arrived from 
the Archimandrite. It was to welcome 
the stranger to their hospitality, and 
to inform him that a boat awaited 
him at the falls. As the issne on 
the first intention was so favourable, 
let as hope that the other good re- 
solts anticipated from the sending of 
the letter will have been by this time 
realised. At all events, Sir Gardner 
may congratalate himself on having 
afforded occasion for the opening of 
personal as well as epistolary comma- 
nication between the convents, as one 
x)f the Franciscans accompanied him 
in the expedition to St Archangelo. 

Mach praise is bestowed on the 
beaa^ of the Eerka, and the view of 
the Falls of Boncislap is especially 
distingoished. Sir Gardner praises it 
in artistic language ; and we may be 
allowed to regret that he has not 
added a sketch of this scene to the 
views with which lus book is embel- 
lished. The waters of the Eerka 
possess a petrifying quality that is 
common inDalmatia. Muchoftherock 
has been formed under the water, and 
must present a singular appearance. 

Near the Falls of Boncislap a depdt 
for coal has been established, that, by 
all accounts, would seem to be any- 
thing but a good speculation. We 
mention it merely for the sake of a 
good story that hangs by it. It 
seems that the Austrian Lloyds* Com- 
pany patronise this coal beci&use it is 
cheap. It is one reason, certainly, 
for buying it ; but, as the coal will not 
bum, we may doubt their wisdom. 
We do not wish to spoil the market 
of the Company of i)emis, but we 
agree with Sir Gardner, that there are 
reasonable objections to the using of 
food for the furnaces that will get up 
no steam, and must be taken on board 
in such quantities, as to lumber up 
the decks. Besides this, hear how it 
goes on when it does bum : — . 



" It has also the effect of cansbg much 
smoke, and the large flakes of soot that 
faXL from the chimney npon the awning 
actually bum holes in it, till it looks like 
a sail riddled with grape-shot ; and I re- 
member one day seeing the awning on 
fire from one of these showers of soot ; 
when the captain calmly ordered it to be 
put out, as if it had been a common oc- 
currence." 

"A Bussian consul," — this is the 
story : — 

^'A Bussian consul, who happened to 
be on board, and who was not much ac- 
customed to the smoky doings of steamers, 
seemed to be deeply impr^sed with the 
inconyenienoe of the falling flakes of soot. 
His voice had rarely been heard during 
the voyage, and he appeared to shun 
communication with his fellow-passen- 
gers ; when one afternoon, the awning 
not being up, he burst forth with these 
startling remarks, uttered with a broad 
I^Yonian accent^' Qti« cea baaieaux d 
vajieur sent sales / Par suite de TiuuUadief 
ilya dix ans quejene me zuis paas lavr€, 
mats maintenanl fat zenH le beeain dt me 
lawer, etjeme zuis law6ir " 

This must have been a Bussian of 
the old school. 

Arrived at the convent of St Arch- 
angelo, they had every reason to be 
content with their hospitable recep- 
tion. The Archimandrite is praised 
as being gentlemanlike, and of mien 
as though educated in a European 
capital. This is a very unusual cha- 
racteristic of any Greek ecclesiastic, 
and what we could predicate of but 
one or two out of the numbers that 
we have seen. Greek priests of any 
kind are bad enough, but those living 
in convents seem generally to go on 
the principle of the Bussian consul 
just mentioned, and might fitly be 
invited to associate with him. All 
honour, then, to Stefano Ejiezovich, 
and may his example be abundantly 
followed among his brethren ! 

There was not much in the Greek 
convent to induce a long visit ; so the 
next morning Sir Gardner pushed on 
to Eistagne, in his progress through 
the countnr. Here he was a^ain the 
victim of letter- writing, but m a dif- 
ferent way. The sirdar of Eistagne 
took offence at the tone of the letter 
sent to him by the Archimandrite, or- 
dering horses for the next morning ; 
and the luckless traveller was conse- 
quently left in the lurch. However, 



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1849.] 



Dahnatia and Montenegro. 



the monk did his best to make up for 
the deficiency. He lent him his own 
horse, and had his baggage conveyed 
by some peasants — an excellent ar- 
rangement, saTing that the porters 
iren female peasants. This is a sort 
of thmg that sadly shocks our sense 
of deoorom, bnt which many folks 
besides the Dalmatians take as a 
matter of course. Sir Gardner says 
that the custom of assigning the hjBayy 
burden to the women is prevalent 
among the Montenegrini ; it is so also 
among the Albanians ; and to a most 
atrocious extent in the Peloponnesus. 
In this particular case, they were well 
off to get the job ; it was to exchange 
their task of carrying heavy loads of 
water u^ the hill for that of shoulder- 
ing his liffbt impedimenta. 

Arrived at Kistagne, he found the 
sirdar, who had been so disobliging 
at a diistance, much improved on ac- 
quaintance, and from lum he received 
all requisite assistance for the prosecu- 
tion of his journey to Knin; and by 
him was guided in his visit to the 
B(Hnan anches, which point out the 
site of the ancient city of Bumum. 

Knin is still a place of considerable 
strength, and has been once upon a 
time still stronger. It is identified 
with the andent Arduba. The marshy 
character of the ground in its imme- 
diate neighbourhood renders it an un- 
healthy place of abode ; but this evil 
is easily removable by a moderate at- 
tention to drainage. Not very far 
from Knin, .but over the Turkish bor- 
der, on the other side of Mount 
Gniath, is supposed to be situated the 
gold mine that of old conferred on 
Palmatia the title of auriferous. The 
mine is said to exist here ; but so 
much mystery is observed on its sub- 
ject by the Turks that nothing certain 
can be affirmed of it. From v erlicca 
to Sign we pass as quickly as may be, 
merdy noticing that there is another 
convent to be visited en route^ and 
that we have the opportunity of put- 
ting up at the Han, as Sir Gardner 
did. These people certainlv have ad- 
mitted a great many Turkish words 
into their vocabulary : we have Sirdar^ 
and Han^ and Jrambasha — to say 
nothing of others. At last we come 
to Sign ; and, touching this place, we 
must give an extract from toe book. 
An annual tilting festival has been 



2ia 

established here, in commemoration of 
the brave defence maintained in 1715, 
against the Pasha of Bosnia with 
forty thousand men. 

** The privilege of tilting is eonflned to 
natives of Sign, and its territory. Every 
one is required to appear dressed in the 
ancient costome, with the Tartar eap, 
called kalpak, surmounted by a white 
heron's plume, or with* flowers interlaid 
in it. He is to wear a sword, to carry a 
lance, and to be mounted on a good horse 
richly caparisoned." 

** The opening of the giottra is in this 
manner': The footmen, richly dressed and 
armed, advance two by two before the ca- 
valiers. In the usual annual exhibitions 
each cavalier has one footmam; and on ex- 
traordinary occasions, besides Uie footman, 
he has tkpadrino well mounted and equip- 
ped. Afferthe/oofmefi come three persons 
inline— one carrving a shield^ and the other 
two by his side bearing a sort of ancient 
club ; then a fair manage horse, led by 
the hand, with large housiugs and com- 
plete trappings, richly ornamented, fol- 
lowed by two cavaliers— one the adjutant, 
the other the ensign-bearer. Next eomes 
the Mantro-di-CiimpOy accompanied by 
the imo j&uMen, and followed by all the 
others, marching two and two. The rear^of 
the procession is brought up by the Ckiauu^ 
who rides alone, and whose duty it is to 
maintain order during the ceremony." 

We have a description of a fair at 
Sign that is almost as suggestive of 
the picturesque as was the account of 
similar doings at Salona. Sir Gardner 
shall give his own account of his de- 
parture from the town. 

** In the midst of the bustle and busi- 
ness going on at Sign, I found some dif- 
ficulty in getting horses to take me on to 
Spalato; but a letter to the Sirdar re- 
moved every impediment, and, after a 
few hours* delay, the animals being 
brought out, I prepared to start fh>m the 
not very splendid inn.' ' Can you ride 
in that !' asked the ostler, pointing to a 
huge Turkish saddle that nearly concealed 
tiie whole animal, vrith stirrups that 
might pass for a pair of coal scuttles ; 
and finding that I was accustomed to the 
use as well as sight of that un-£uropean 
horse-fhmiture, he seemed well satisfied 
— observing, at the same time, that it was 
fortunate, as there was no other to be 

had I was glad to take what 

I could get, and my only question in re- 
turn was, whether the horse could trot ; 
which being settled, I posted off, leaving 
my guide and baggage to come after me — 
fbr, thanks to the Austrian police, there 
is no fear of robbers appropriatin- ^ 



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214 



Daimatia and Montenegro. 



[Feb. 



portmanteaa in IHlmatia : the interest- 
ing days of adTentnre mnd the Haidok 
banditti hare passed, and the Morlaoohi 
hare ceased to corety or at least to take 
other men's goods." 

And now we make a resolnte halt, 
and detennine to pass sub siientio all 
that intervenes between this part of 
the book and the coming into the 
country of the Montenegrini. Unless 
we act thus discreetly, we shall never 
contrive to compress all we have to 
say into due limits ; and even now we 
hardly know how this desirable result 
is to be effected. What we thus 
leave as fallow-ground for the reader 
will yidd to his research a history of 
the coast and islands between Spalato 
and Cattaro. The notice of Ragnsa 
is especially and deservedly full, and 
presents an admirable condensation of 
Ragusan history. 

But it is high time for us to get 
amongst the children of the Black 
Mountain. Among things excellent 
it is permitted to institute compari- 
son without disparagement to any of 
them : and, in virtue of this license, 
we are free to say that this part of 
Sir Gardner's book shines forth as 
inter minora sidera. The subject itself 
is of deep intrinsic Interest ; and he 
has treated it as we well knew that 
he would. A picture is given of the 
actual condition of a scion of the 
Christian stock that must astonish 
those who, by this book, first learn to 
think of the Montenegrini ; and must 
delight those who, having heard some- 
what of them, or h^)ly even paid them 
a flying visit, have looked in vain for 
some accurate statement of detail to 
help out their personal observations. 
The Montenegrini are descended from 
the old Servian stock, and still look to 
modem Servia with affection, as to 
their mother oointrv. Hiither also we 
find them, by Sir Gardner's account, 
retiring, when forced by poverty to 
emigrate from their own territory. 
Among them the Slavonian hmgnage 
is preserved in unusual purity. The 
present population is about 100,000 ; 
and the number of fighting men 
amounts to 20,000— a number which, 
OB occasion of need, would be greatly 
augmented by the calling out of the 
veterans. Li fact every individual 
nan of the natkn, whose arm has 
power to wield a weapon, is a warrior; 



and the very women are ready to as- 
sist in defence. On the Turiush bor- 
der, as is well known, a constant 
system of bloody reprisals is going 
on ; and the endeavours of the Yla- 
dika to reduce their hostilities to 
civilised fashion have hitherto flailed 
of success. They are sustained at 
the highest pitch of confident daring 
by the successful war which they 
have so lon^ been able to carry on 
against their powerful neighbours. 
One is glad of the opportunity of 
giving, on the authority of Sir Gard- 
ner, some of the stories of their prow- 
ess ; for to retail, without the autho- 
rity of some such padrino, the tales 
current in Cattaro, would be to win the 
reputation of talkinglike MendezPinto. 
In Judging the Montenegrini, we 
should give charitable consideration 
to their circumstances. War is a 
sjrstem of violence ; and with them, 
unhappily, war is a permanent con- 
dition of existence. The treachery 
and cruelty of the Turks — are these 
such recent developments that we need 
make any doubt of them? — ^have 
worked out cruel consequences in the 
character of the Montenegrini. They 
believe a Turk to be utterly without 
honesty and good fiuth — one witli 
whom it is impossible to hold terms — 
and such, probably, is about the right 
estimate of someof their Tuikish neigbr 
hours. Who, for instance, that knows 
anything about them, has any other 
opinion of the Albanians? Are 
Kaffirs much more hopeless subjects ? 
The Montenegrini are far from tiie 
commission of the horrid cruelties 
that areof everyday occurrence among 
the j^banians. Theur imperfect ap- 
I»reciation of Christianity allows theoa 
to behold in revenge a virtue ; and 
lienoe the acts of vK)lenoe which are 
quoted to their dispraise. Their ma- 
rauding expeditions are but according 
to the usages of war; and if th<By 
sometimes break through the restric- 
tions of a truce, it would seem to be 
because they really do not under- 
stand what a truce is. We think 
^at a v^ apt f^logy for the 
Montenegrini is found in the speech of 
a German traveller quoted by Sir 
Gardner. He had been mentioning 
several occurrences of Eng^ and 
Scotch hustory, and spokB in allnsioa 
to them. 



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1849.] 



Dabmstktimd MonUMgro. 



215 



<" * What tidnk yoa,' he obMrred, * of 
«he state of flodety in thoee times I Were 
the border foraye of the EagUsh and 
Sooteh more exenaable than thoee of the 
Monteaegnns t And how much more 
nateral ie the onforgiTinif hatred of the 
Montenegrins against the Turks, the 
enemies of their country, and their foith, 
than the relentless stnfe of Highland 
clans, with those of their own race and 
Teligion ! Has not many an old castle in 
other parts of Europe, witnessed scenes 
as bad as any enacted by this people t 
I do not wish to exculpate the Monte- 
negrins; but theirs is still a dark age, 
«od some allowance must be made for 
iheir uneiTilised condition*' " 

The character of the present VUdika 
affords good hope that an improTe- 
ment ^fnll take place among the 
people ; for he eviaently has devoted 
mX\ his energies to their amelioration. 
Sir Gardner entered their territory, 
by what we belieTC to be the only 
route — that is to say from Cattaro— 
whence he took letters of Introdnc- 
tion from the Anstrian goyenKn* to 
the Vladika. 

We shall best illnstrate the condi- 
tion of the Montenegrini by quoting 
«ome of Sir Gardner's aoconnts. 

*' Four Montenegrins, and their sister, 
aged twenty-one, going on a pilgrimage 
to the shrine of St Basilio, were waylaid 
by seren Turks, in a rocky defile, so 
narrow that they could only thread it 
one by one; and hardly had they entered 
between the precipices Uiat bordered it 
on either side, when an unexpeeted dis- 
charge of fire-anns killed one brother, 
and deepeiately wounded another. To 
retrace their steps waa impossible with- 
out meeting certain and shameful death, 
aiaee to turn their backs would give their 
enemy the. opportunity of destroying 
them at pleasure. 

•* The two who were unhurt, therefore, 
adraneed and returned the fire, killing 
two Turks — ^while the wounded one, 
supporting himself against a rock, fired 
also, and mortally injured two others, 
but was killed himself in the act. His 
eister, taking his gun. loaded and fired 
simultaneously with her two brothers, 
but, at the same instant, one of them 
dropped down dead. The two surriring 
Turks then rushed fhilously at the only 
remaining Montenegrin — who, however, 
laid open the skull of one of them with 
his yatagan, before receiring his own 
death-blow. The hapless sister, who had 
all this time kept up a constant fire, 
«tood for an instant irresolute; when 



suddenly assnndag an air of terror and 
supplication, she entre ated for mercy ; 
but the Turk, enraged at the death of 
his companions, was brutal enough to 
take adyantage of the unhappy girl'a 
agony, and only promised her life at the 
price of her honour. Hesitating at first, 
she pretended to listen to the villain's 
proposal ; but no sooner did she see him 
thrown off his guard, than she buried in 
his body the knife she carried at her 
girdle. Although mortally wounded, Uie 
Turk endeavoured to make the most of 
his failing stren^^th, and plucking the 
dagger from his side, staggered towards 
the oonrageous girL — who, driven to 
despair, threw herself on the relentless 
foe, and with superhuman energy hurled 
him down the neighbouring precipice, at 
the very moment when some ^p- 
herds, attracted by the continued firing, 
arrived just too late for the rescue." 

Fancy the tone that mnst be given 
to their lives by the constant neces- 
sity of being ready for encounters 
such as this. They never lay aside 
their arms ; but in the field, or by the 
wayside, are armed and alert. One 
hand ma^ be allowed to the imple- 
ment of tillage, but the other must be 
reserved for the weapon of defence. 

On many occasions, Montenegrin 
courage has prevailed against Mlds 
far greater than in the above case — 
indcKsd such odds as, but for authenti- 
cation of facts, would be incredible. 
In the year 1840, ^ seventy Montene- 
grins, in the open field, withstood the 
attack of several thousand Turks; 
and having made breastworks with the 
bodies of their fallen foes, maintabied 
the unequal conflict till night ; when 
forty who survived forced their way 
through the hostile army, and escaped 
with their lives." Another astonishing 
achievement was thesnccessfhl d^enoe 
of a house held bjr seven-aad-twenty 
Montenegrins, against a body of aboii 
six thousand Albanians. Of this lagt 
action, trophies are preserved by the 
Vladika in his palace at Tzetiiu^ end 
there Sir Gardner saw them. 

We cannot wonder that the effect 
OB their minds of these astonishinff 
successes, should be an nnboonded 
confidence in their superiority over 
the Turks. Sir Gardner Wilkinsoa 
found them imoressed with the idM, 
that bread ana arms were the only 
needfiil requisites to enable them to 
drive the Turks out of Albania and 



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216 



Dabnatia and Montenegro. 



[Feb- 



ovina. It seems certain that, 
in their rencontres with these ene- 
mies, they dismiss all ordinary con- 
siderations of prudence. The spirit 
of their feeling with regard to the 
Turks is thus portrayed : — 

'^ It is not the courage^but the onxelty 
of the Turks which inspires him (the 
Montenegrin) with hatred ; and the suf- 
ferings inflicted upon his country by their 
inroads makes him look upon them with 
feelings of ferocious yengeanoe. 

''These savage sentiments are kept 
alive by the barbarous custom, adopted 
by both parties, of cutting off the heads 
of the wounded and the dead ; the con- 
sequences of which are destructive of all 
the conditions of fair warfare, and pre- 
clude the possibility of peace. The bitter 
remembrance of the past is constantly 
revived by the horrors of the present ; 
and the love of revenge, which strongly 
marks the character of the Montenegrin, 
makes him insensible to reason or justice, 
and places the Turks, in his opinion, out 
of the pale of human beings. He dreams 
only of vengeance ; he cares little for the 
means employed ; and the man who 
should make any excuse for not perse- 
cuting those enemies of his country and 
his faith, would be treated with ignominy 
and coatempt. Even the sanctity of a 
truce is not always sufficient to restrain 
him ; and the hatred of the Turk is para- 
mount to all ordinary considerations of 
honour or humanity.'* 

This cutting off of heads is not 
p^nliar to the Montenegrins. The 
Turks are, in this respect, just as bad, 
and Sir Gardner found, on the occa- 
sion of his visit to Mostar, that, in 
point of this barbarism, there is not a 
pin to choose between them. The 
Turks, however, exceed in cruelty. 
It appears, on the evidence of the 
letter of the Vladika, given in the 
second volume, that they (the Turks) 
impale men alive ; whereas the Mon- 
tenegrins are chargeable with no 
wanton cruelty. Indeed, they do not 
restrict the performance of this ope- 
ration to the case of enemies ; but, as 
an act of Mendship, decapitate any 
comrade who may so be wounded in 
action as to have no other means of 
avoiding capture by the enemy. "You 
are very brave," said a well-meaning 
Montenegiin to a portly Russian offi- 
cer, who was unable to keep up with 
his detachment in its retreat, — '' you 
are very brave, and must wish that I 



should cut off your head: say a prayer, 
and make the sign of the cross." 

Life, passed amidst every hardship, 
and threatened by constant and deadly 
peril, ought, we suppose, according to 
all rule, to be short m duration. But 
we find that these people are remark- 
able for longevity. A family is men- 
tioned, in one of the villages, which 
reckoned six generations, there and 
then extant. The head of the family 
was a great-great-great-grandfather. 

The Vladika received his visitor 
most courteously, as he always does 
those who have the privilege of being 
presented to him. He afforded to Sir 
Gardner every facilitv for seeing the 
country, and engaged his secretuy to 
draw up for him a prdcis of Monte- 
negrin history. We will condense 
some of its more important facts. 
The supremacy in things spiritual and 
temporal has not been very long' 
vested, as it at present is, in the per- 
son of the Vladika. The two chieftain- 
ships were of old distinct, and the 
figment of a separate temporal autho- 
rity was continued till comparatively 
lately : the year 1832 is mention^ 
as the epoch at which the office of 
civil chief was definitely suppressed. 
The present family (Petrovicn) have 
possessed the dignity of the Vladikate 
since the dose of the seventeenth 
century. The reigning Vladika-;- 
this man of magnificent presentment 
— this brave, intellectual, and athletic 
ruler of an indomitable race — is 
nephew of the late Vladika, who has 
been canonised, although but few 
years have passed since his death. 
The prince-bishop is not theoretically 
absolute in power, as the form of a 
republic is kept up : the general 
assembly has the right of deliberation, 
nnder the presidency of the Vladika. 
But this restriction of power is 
pretty nearly nominal only : we give 
Sir Gardner*s account of the native 
Diet. 

** In a semicircular recess, formed by 
the rocks on one side of the plain of 
Tzetini^, and about half a mile to the 
southward of the town, is a level piece of 
grass land, with a thicket of low poplar 
trees. Here the diet is held, from which 
the spot has roceired the name of mali 
^r (the small assembly.) When any 
matter is to be discussed, the people meet 
in this their Runimede, or '* meadow of 
council," and partly on the level space, 



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1849.] 



Dahnatia and Montenegro. 



217 



partly on the rookB^ xeoeiye from the 
Vladik* notice of the question proposed. 
The doiation of the discossion is limited 
to a certain time, at the expiration 
of which the assemhly is expected to 
oome to a decision ; and when the 
monastery bell orders silence, notwith- 
standing the most animated discussion, it 
is instantly restored. The Metropolitan 
asks again what is their decision, and 
whether they agree to his proposal or not. 
The answer is always the same : *' Budi 
po to oyema, Vladika,''-^** Let it be as 
then wishest, V^adika." 

Montenegro first secured its Inde- 
pendence about a generation or two 
before the time of the famous Scan- 
derbeg, on the breaking np of the 
kingdom of Servia. Since that time 
they haye constantly been subject to 
the inroads of the Turks, who> claiming 
them as tributaries, have continued 
to invade their countiy every now 
and then with savage crueltv. More 
than once they have carried fire and 
sword to Tzetini^ but have never 
been able to hold their ground. The 
Montenegrins sought the protection of 
Bussia in the time of Peter the Great, 
and still continue to be sub^dised by 
Russia. At the desire of Peter, they 
invaded the Turkish territory, and 
were subjected to reprisals on a grand 
scale. At one time 60,000 Turks, at 
another 120,000, broke into Monte- 
negro. The first invasion was 
gloriously repulsed ; but the second, 
combining treachery with violence, 
was successful. Great damage was 
done to the country ; but the invaders 
were at last obliged to quit, on the 
breaking out of war between Turkey 
and Venice. The Montenegrins then 
returned to their desolate homes, and 
have since been unintermitting in 
their diligence to pay off old scores. 
They co-operated with the Austrians 
and Russians, when they had the 
opportunity of such assistance ; and 
when thev stood alone, they did so 
nobly and bravely. The last great 
expedition of the Turks was in the 
time of the late Yladika. The Pasha 
of Scutari, with an enormous force, 
invaded the countiy ; and the result 
of the expedition was that 30,000 
Turks were killed, and among them 
the Pasha of Albania, whose head 
now serves as a trophy of victory to 
decorate Tzetini^ 

The capital of the Yladika has 



been described before— for instance, in 
the pages of this Magazine ; so, with 
one brief extract concerning it, we 
will follow Sir Gardner in his progress 
through the country. 

^On a rock immediately above the 
convent is a ronnd tower pierced with 
embrasures, but without cannon, on which 
I counted the heads of twenty Turks 
fixed upon stakes round the parapet — the 
trophies of Montenegrin victory; and be- 
low, scattered upon the rock, were the 
fhigments of other skulls, which had fallen 
to pieces by time, — a strange spectacle in 
a Christian country, in Europe, and in the 
immediate vicinity of a conyent and a 
bishop's palace ! '* 

And, as we said before, when he 
got to Mostar, in Herzegovina, he 
found a spectacle of the same shock- 
ing kind. He did allow his horror at 
this sight to evaporate ineffectually ; 
but in earnest tried to interpose his 
good ofilces to prevent a continuance 
of these doings. He talked to the two 
people mainly concerned — ^i. e, to the 
Vizur of Herzegovina and to the Yla- 
dika. He also, at Constantinople, 
endeavoured to effect the making of 
an appeal to the highest Turkish au- 
thority. His correspondence with the 
Yladika on the subject is evidence of 
his zeal ; but no positive good seems 
to have been the result of his inter- 
cession. 

The road leading from the capital 
to Ostrok is described as being very 
bad at first, and bad beyond descrip- 
tion as it recedes from the capital. 
The Yladika kindly sent with Sir 
Gardner one of his guards and an in- 
terpi^eter. The par^ passed by seve- 
ral villages, and arrived at Mishke, 
the prindpal village of the Cevo dis- 
trict, where they put up for the night 
at the house of the principal senator 
of the province. Here some amuse- 
ment was afforded by Sir Gardner^s 
proceeding to sketch tiie domestic 
party. 

In the course of the evening a scene 
occurred, which sets forth their social 
condition as graphically as the artist's 
pencil has their personal appearance. 
A party of friends came in to have a 

3 met pipe, and to plan a foray over 
ie border. 

"On inquiry, I found the expedition 
was to take place immediately. ** Is there 
not," I asked, ** a truce at this moment 



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218 



DcJmatia and M<mieneffro. 



[Feb. 



between too mnd the Turks of Hene- 
goyinftf' They laughed, and seemed 
much amnsed at my sornples. ''We 
don't mind that/' said a stern swarthy 
man, taking his pipe firom his month^and 
sha^ng his head to and fro; ''they are 
Tnrks "—and all agreed that the Turks 
were fkir game. " Besides," they said, 
^' it is only to be a phmdering ezcnrsion;" 
and they eridently eonsidered that any 
one reftising to join in a marauding expe- 
dition into Torkey, at any time, or in an 
open attack during a wur, would be un- 
worthy the name of a brare man. They 
seemed to treat the matter like boy sin "the 
good old times," who robbed orchards ; 
the courage it showed being in proportion 
to the risk, and scruples of consdenee 
were laughed at as a want of spirit." 

In a freshly-decapitated, head, af- 
^ed to a stake at Mostar, he shortly 
afterwards recognised the features of 
one of these very men. 

On the next day he proceeded to 
Ostrok, and foond occasion to admire 
the scenery by the way, especially the 
vale of Oranido, distant from Mlshke 
abontfonr hours. From the vale of 
Oranido to Ostrok is a jonmey of 
about the same time. At Ostrok he 
underwent a grand reception, and 
fully won the hearts of his new friends 
by proposing a ride to the Turkish 
frontier, and affording them by the 
way an exhibition of Memlook riding. 
On the frontier is constantly maintain- 
ed a guard of Montenegrins, to g^ve 
timely warning of any suspicious 
movement among the Turks ; and so 
well do they execute this office that 
no Turk can approach the border 
without being shot at. Near this 
border it was that, some little time 
ago, in 1843, an affair took place 
which does not tell well for the Mon- 
tenegrin!; and which seems for^the pre- 
sent to preclude hope of amicable ar- 
rangement with the Turks. A depu- 
tation of twenty-two Turks, returning 
fixMn Ostrok, were attacked by the 
people, and nine of them killed. This 
breach of £uth is, to their minds, 
excused by the suspicion of meditated 
treachery on the part of the Tnrks. 
But it Is a sad affiur ; and the only 
eircnmstance which goes in mitiga- 
tion of its guilt IS, that the Yladika 
took precautions against its occur- 
rence. He sent an armed guard to 



protect the deputation, bat fiieir de- 
fence proved insufficient. 

The Archimandrite of Ostrok is the 
person who holds the place of second 
dignity in the government. He ranks 
next to the Yladika ; and we are glad 
to find, bv Sir Gardner's account, that 
he cordially co-operates with the Yla- 
dika in his plans of amelioration. Here 
also was met the celebrated priest and 
warrior, Ivan Knezovich, or Pope Yo- 
van — a man who, in this nation of 
brave men, is renowned as the bravest. 
There are two convents at Ostrok, of 
which one fulfils also the function of 
powder magazine and store depot. Its 
position is very remarkable ; and cer- 
tainly it does bear a strong family 
likeness to Megaspelion. The same 
quality of not being within reach of 
any missile from above belongs to both 
of them, and has proved the saving of 
both. 

The return to Tzetini^ was by a 
different route, which took Sir Gaixl- 
ner within near vi^w of the northern 
end of the lake of Scutari. The island 
of Yranina, situated at this extremity 
of the lake, is likely to afford the next 
ostensible ground for an outbreak. It 
belonged to Montenegro, but, a few 
years ago, was treacherously seized 
by the Albanians, who effected a sur- 
prise in time of peace. Remon- 
strances and hard blows have equally 
failed to promote a restoration, et ad- 
hue subjtuUce lis est. Throughout the 
course of his journey, Sir Gardner ex- 
perienced much and genoine kindness 
from the rude people of the coantry ; 
they brought him presents of such 
' things as they had to offer, and would 
accept no compensation. When at last 
he bade them farewell, and returned 
to the haunts of civilisation, it was 
evidently with kindly recollections of 
them, and with the best of good-will 
towards them. He was able to give 
a satisfactory account of his impres- 
sions to the Yladika, who inquired 
thus,—" What do you think of the 
peojAe? Do they appear to jon the 
assassins and barbarians some people 
pretend to consider them ? I hope you 
fapnd them all well-behaved and civil 
— they are poor, but that does not 
prevent their beiuig hospitable and 
generous.** 



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1S49.] Modem Biogirqihif.^BeaUie'i Life of Can^beli. 



219 



MODERN BIOORAPBT. 



BBATHIS LIFB OF CAMPBELL. 



Thx ancients, who liyed beyond 
the reach of the fiuigs and feelers of 
the printiDg press, had, in one respect, 
a decided advantage orer ns nnlncky 
modems. They were not beset by 
the terrors of biomphy. No hideous 
suspicion that, uter he was dead and 
gone-^after the wine had been poured 
upon the hissing embers of the pyre, 
and the ashes consigned, by the hands 
of weeping friends^ to the oblivion of 
the funereal urui^-some industrious 
gossip of his acquaintance would in- 
continently sit down to the task of 
laborious compilation and collection 
of his literary scrap8,reTer crossed, 
like a sullen shadow, the imagination 
of the Greek or the Latm poet. Ho- 
mer, though Arctinus was his near re« 
lative« comd unbosom himself without 
the fear of having his frailties post* 
hnmouslv exposed, or his amours 
blazoned to the world. Lucius Yarius 
mnd Plotius Tucca, the literary exe- 
cutors of Virgil, never dreamed of 
applying to PoUio for the I O Us 
wbidi he doubtless held in the hand- 
writing of the Mantuan bard, or to 
Horace fbr the confidential notes 
suggestive of Falemian inspbration. 
Socrates, indeed, has found a liberal 
reporter in Plato ; but this is a par- 
donable exception. The son of So- 
phroniscns did not write ; and there- 
fore it was incumbent on his pupil to 
preserve fbr posterity the fragments of 
nis oral wisdom. The ancient authors 
rested their reputation upon theur pub- 
lished works alone. They knew, what 
we seem to forget, that the poet, 
apart from his genius, is but an ordi- 
nary man» and, in many cases, has 
received, along with that gift, a larger 
share of propensities and weaknesses 
than his fellow-mortals. Therefore 
it was that they insisted upon that 
right of domestic privacy which is 
ooromon to us all. The poet, in his 
public capacity as an author, held 
himself responsible for what he wrote ; 
but he had no idea of allowing the 
whole worid to walk into his house. 



open his desk, read his love-letters, 
and criticise the state of his finances. 
Had Yarius and Tucca acted on the 
modem system, the ghost of Yirgil 
would have haunted them on their 
death-beds. Only think what a le- 
gacy might have been ours if these 
respectable gentlemen had written to 
Cremona for anecdotes of the poet 
while at school I No doubt, in some 
private nook of the old farm-house at 
Andes, there were treasured up, 
through the infinite love of the mo- 
ther, tablets scratched over with 
verses, composed by young Master 
Maro at the precocious age of ten. 
We may, to a certainty, calculate — 
for matemal fondness always has been 
the same, and Yirgil was an oply 
child — that, in that emporium, themes 
upon such topics as ^^ Virtus est sola 
nobUitas " were religiously treasured, 
along with other memorials of the 
dear, dear boy who had gone to col- 
lege at Naples. Modem Yarius would 
remorselessly have printed these: 
ancient Tucca was more discreet. 
Then what say yon to the college 
career? Would it not be a nice thing 
to have all the squibs and feuds, the 
rows and rackettings of the jovial 
student preserved to us precisely as 
they were penned, projected, and 
perpetrated ? Have we not lost a great 
deal in bemg defrauded of an account 
of the manner in which he singed the 
wig of his drunken old tutor, Par« 
thenius Nicenus, or the scandalously 
late hours which he kept In company 
with his especial chums? Then somes 
the period, darkly hinted at by Do- 
natus, during which he was, somehow 
or other, connected with the imperial 
stable ; that is, we presume, upon the 
turf. What would we not give for 
a sight of Yirgil^s betting-book 1 Did 
he back the field, or did he take 
tiie odds on the Emperor's bay 
mare. Alma Yenus Genetrix? How 
stood he with the legs? What sort 
of reputation did be maintain in 
the rmg of the Roman Tattersall? 



L^andLetteretfThonuuCamphM. Edited by William Bbaiii^ M.D^ one of 
bis Ezeentors. 3 vols. London : Jf ooum, IMS, 



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Modem Biography.^BeattU'B Life qf CampbeU. [Feb. 



220 

Was he ever posted as a defaulter ? 
Tocca ! you should have told us 
this. Then, when sobered down, and 
in high favour with the court, where 
is the private correspondence between 
him and MsBcenas, the President of 
the Roman Agricultural Society, 
touching the compilation of the 
Greorgics? The excellent Equestrian, 
we know, wanted Virgil to construct 
a poem, such as Thomas Tnsser after- 
wards wrote, under the title of a ^^Hon- 
dreth Good Points of Husbandfie,^^ 
and, doubtless, waxed warm in his 
letters about draining, manure, and 
mangel-wurzel. What sacrifice would 
we not make to place that correspon- 
dence in the hands of Henry Stephens! 
How the author of the Book of the 
Farm would revel in his exposure of 
the crude theories of the Minister of 
the Interior I What a formidable 
phalanx of facts would he oppose to 
Mqpcenas* misconceptions of guano! 
Through the sensitive delicacy of his 
executors, we have lost the record of 
Virgil^s repeated larks with Horace : 
the pleasant little supper-parties cele- 
brated at the villa of that dissipated 
rogue Tibullus, have passed firom the 
memory of mankind. We know 
nothing of the state of his finances, 
for they have not thought fit to pub- 
lish his banking-account with the 
firm of Lollius, SpursBna, and Com- 

Cany. Their duty, as they fondly 
elieved, was fulfilled, when they gave 
to the world ^the glorious but un- 
finished iBneid. 

Under the modem system, we con- 
stantly ask ourselves whether it is 
wise to wish for greatness, and 
whether total oblivion is not prefer- 
able to fame, with the penalty of 
exposure annexed. We shudder at 
the thoughts of putting out a book, 
not from fear of anything that the 
critics can do, but lest it should take 
with the public, and expose us to the 
danger of a posthumous biography. 
Were we to awake some fine morn- 
ing, and find ourselves famous, our 
peace of mind would be gone for ever. 
Mefcy on us! what a quantity of 
foolish letters have we not written 
during the days of oujr youth, under the 
confident impression that, whcfn read, 
they would be immediately committed 
to the flames. ' Madrigals innumerable 
recur to our memory; and, if these 



were published, there would be no rest 
for us in the grave ! If any misguided 
critic should say of us, " The works 
of this author are destined to descend 
to posterity," our response would be 
a hollow groan. If convinced that 
our biography would be attempted, 
from that hour the friend of our bosom 
would appear in. the light of a base 
and ignominious spy. How durst we 
ever unbosom ourselves to him, when, 
for aught we know, the wretch may 
be treasuring up our casual remariu 
over the fifth tumbler, for immediate 
registration at home? Constitution- 
ally we are not hard-hearted ; but, 
were we so situated, we own that the 
intimation of the decease of each eariy 
acquaintance would be rather a relief 
than otherwise. Tom, our intimate 
fellow- student at college, dies. We 
may be sorry for the family of Thomas, 
but we soon wipe away the natural 
drops, discovering that there is balm 
in Gilead. We used to write him 
letters, detailing minutely our inward 
emotions at the time we were dis- 
tractedly in love with Jemima Higgin- 
botham ; and Tom, who was sdways 
a methodical dog, has no doubt doc- 
queted them as received. Tom*s heirs 
will doubtless be too keen upon the 
scent of valuables, to care one farthing 
for rhapsodising: therefore, unless 
they are sent to the snuff-merchant, 
or disseminated as autographs, our 
epistles run a fair chance of perishing 
by the flames, and one evidence of 
our weakness is removed. A member 
of the club meets us in George Street, 
and, with a rueful longitude of coun- 
tenance, asks us if we have heard of 
the death of poor Harry? To the 
eternal disgrace of human nature, be 
it recorded, that our heart leaps up 
within us like a foot-ball, as we hypo- 
critically have recourse to our cam- 
bric Harry knew a great deal too 
much about our private history just 
before we joined the Yeomanry, and 
could have told some stories, little 
flattering to our posthumous renown. 
Are we not right, then, in holding 
that, under the present system, cele- 
brity is a thing to be eschewed? 
Why is it that we are so chary of 
receiving certidn Down-Easters, so 
different firom the real American 
gentlemen whom it is our good for- 
tune to know f Simply because Silas 



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1849.] 



Modem Biogrc^hy.-^BeatHe'a Life of Campbell. 



S21 



Fixings will take down your whole 
conversation in black and white, de- 
liberately alter it to snit his private 
purposes, and Transatlantlcally retail 
It as a specimen of your Ufe and 
opinions. And is it not a still more 
horrible idea that a Silas may be per- 
petually watching you in the shape 
of a pretended friend ? If the man 
woula at once declare his intention, 
yon mi£^t be comparatively at ease. 
Even in that case yon never could 
love him more, for the confession im- 
plies a disgusting determination of 
outliving you, or rather a hint that 
your health is not remarkably robust, 
which would irritate the meekest of 
mankind. But you might be enabled, 
through a strong effort, to repress 
the outward exhibition of your wrath ; 
and, if high religious principle should 
deter you from mixing stiychnia or 
prussic acid with the wine of your 
volunteering executor, you may at 
least contrive to blind him by cau- 
tiously maintaining your guard. 
Were we placed in such a trying 
position, we should utter, before our 
intending Boswell, nothing save senti- 
ments which might have flowed from 
the lips of the TiBnerable Bede. What 
letters, full of morality and high feeling, 
would we not indite I Not an invita- 
tion to dinner—not an acceptance of 
a tea and turn-out, but should be 
flavoured with some wholesome apo- 
thegm. Thus we should strive, 
through our later correspondence, to 
efface the memory of the earlier, 
which it is impossible to recall, — not 
without a hope that we might throw 
upon it, if posthumouslv produced, a 
tolerable imputation of forgery. 

In these times, we repeat, no man 
of the least mark or likehhood is safe. 
The waiter with the bandy-legs, who 
hands round the negus-tray at a 
blue-stocking coterie, Is in all proba- 
bility a leadinff contributor to a fifth- 
rate periodica ; and, in a few days 
after you have been rash enough 
to accept the insidious beverage, 
M^Tavish will be correcting the proof 
of an article in whidi your appear- 
ance and conversation are described. 
Distrust the gentleman in the plush 
terminations ; he, too, is a penny-a- 
liner, and keeps a commonplace-book 
in the pantry. Better pve up writ- 
ing at once than live in such a per- 



petual state of bondage. What 
amount of present fame can recom- 
pense you for being shown up as a 
noodle, or worse, to your children's 
children? Nay, recollect this, that 
you are implicating your personal, 
and, perhaps, most innocent friends. 
Bob accompanies you home from an 
insurance society dinner, where the 
champagne has been rather super- 
abundant, and, next morning, you, as 
a bit of fun, write to the Fresident 
that the watchman had picked up 
Bob in a state of helpless inebriety 
fh>m the kennel. The President, after 
the manner of the Fogies, duly docquets 
your note with name and date, and 
puts it up with a parcel of others, 
secured by red tape. You die. Your 
literary executor writes to the Presi- 
dent, stating his biographical inten- 
tions, and requesting all documents 
that may tend to l£row light upon 
your personal history. Preses, in 
deep ecstasj at the idea of seeing his 
name in pnnt as the recipient of your 
epistolary favours, immediately trans- 
mits the packet ; and the consequence 
is, that Robert is most unjustly 
handed down to posterity in the 
character of a habitual drunkard, 
although it is a fact that a more 
abstinent creature never went home 
to his wife at ten. If you are an 
aqthor, and your spouse is aUing, 
don't ^ve the details to your intimate 
friend, if you would not wish to pub- 
lish them to the world. Drop all 
correspondence, if you are wise, and 
have any ambition to stand well in 
the eyes of the coming generation. 
Let your conversation be as curt as 
a Quaker's, and select no one for a 
friend, unless you have the meanest 
possible opinion of his capacity. 
Even in that case you are nardly 
secure. Perhaps the best mode of 
combining philanthropy, society, and 
safety, is to have nobody in the 
house, save an old woman who is so 
utterly deaf that you must order 
your dinner by pantomime. 

One mode of escape suggests itself, 
and we do not hesitate to recommend it. 
Let every man who underiies the terror 
of the peine forte et dure, compile his 
own autobiography at the ripe age of 
forty-flve. Few people, in this coun- 
try, begin to establish a permanent 
reputation before thirty; and we 



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Modem Biography. — BeatUe^s Life of CampMEL 



L 



222 

allow them fifteen years to complete 
it. Now, sapposing yonr existence 
should be [nrotractea to seventy, here 
are clear fiye-and-twenty years re- 
maining, which may be profitably em- 
ployed in antobiography, by which 
means yon secure three vast advan- 
tages. In the first place, yon can 
deal with yonr own earlier history 
as yon please, and provide against 
the subsequent production of inconve- 
nient documents. In the second place, 
you defeat the intentions of your ex- 
cellent friend and gossip, who will 
hardly venture to start his vdumes in 
competition withyour own. In the third 
place, yon leave an additional copy- 
right as a legacy to your children, and 
are not haunted in your last moments 
\sf the agonising thought that a stran- 
ger in name and blood is preparing to 
make money by your decease. It is, 
of course, unnecessary to say one word 
regarding the general tone of your 
memoirs. If yon cannot contrive to 
block out such a fancy portrait <^ 
your intellectual self as shall throw all 
others into the shade, you may walk 
on fearlessly through life, for your bio- 
mphy never wUl be attempted. 
Goethe, the most accomplished literary 
fox of our age, perfectly understood 
the value of these maxims, and fore- 
stalled his friends, by telling his own 
story in time. The consequence is, 
that his memory has escaped unharm- 
ed. Little Eckermann, his amanuen- 
sis in extreme old age, did indeed 
contrive to deliver himself of a small 
Boswellian volume ; but this publica- 
tion, bearing reference merely to the 
dicta of Goethe at a safe period of 
life, could not injure the departed poet 
The repetition of the early history, 
and the publication of the early docu- 
ments, are the points to be especially 
guarded. 

We beg that these remarks may be 
considered, not as strictures upon any 
individual example, but as bearing 
npon the general style of modem bio- 
graphy. This is a gossiping world, 
m which great men are the excep- 
tions; and when one of these ceases 
to exist, the public becomes damorons 
to learn the whole minntiar of his pri- 
vatelifo. That is a depraved taste^ and 
one which ought not to be ^ratified. 
The author is to be judged by we works 
whi(^ he voluntarily surrenders to the 



[Feb, 



public, not by the tenor of his private 
history, which ought not to be irrever- 
ently exposed. Thus, in compiluig 
the life of a poet, we maintain that a 
litwary executor has purely a literary 
function to pedlnrm. Out of the mass- 
of materials which he'may fortnit(Mialy 
collect, his duty is to sdect sndi por- 
tions as may illustrate the public 
doings of the man: he may, without 
transgressing the boundaries of pro- 
priety, inform us of the drcumstanoes 
which suggested the idea of any par- 
ticular work, the difficulties which 
were overcome by the author in the 
course of its composition, and even 
exhibit the correspondence relative 
thereto. These are matters of liter- 
ary history which we may ask for, 
and obtain, without any breach of the 
conventionsd rules of society. What- 
ever refers to public life is pnblic, and 
maybeprintea: whatever refers solely 
to domestic existence is iMriviUe, and 
ought to be held sacrea. K very 
little reflection, we tlunk, will demon- 
strate the propriety of this distinction. 
If we have a dear and valued friend, 
to whom, in the hours of adversity or 
of joy, we are wont to communicate 
the thoughts which lie at the bottom 
of our soul, we write to him in the 
full conviction that he will regard these 
letters as addressed to himself alone. 
We do not insult him, nor wrong the 
holy attributes of friendship so much, 
as to warn him against commnnicat- 
ing our thou^ts to any one ehie in 
the world. We never dream that he 
will do so, else assuredly those letters 
never would have been written. If 
we were to discover that we had so 
grievously erred as to repose confi- 
dence in a person who, the moment 
he received a letter penned in a pajr- 
oxysm of emotion and revealing a 
secret of our existence, was capid)le 
of exhibiting it to the cirde of his 
acquaintance, of a surety he should 
never more be troubled with any of 
our correspondence. Would any man 
dare to print such documents auring 
the life of the writer? We need not 
pause fi>r a reply : there can be but 
one. And wky is this? Because 
these communicattons bear (m their 
fiice the stamp of the strictest privacy 
-—because they were addressed to, 
and meant for the eye of but one 
hunan bdng in the universe— because 



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1849.] 



Modem Biogrtg>hy.'^Beattie^8 Lffe of Campbdi. 



ther betray the emotkms of a sonl 
which asks qrmpathy from a friend, 
with only less reyerence than it im- 
plores comfort from its God I Does 
death, then, free the friend and the 
confidant from all restraint? If the 
knowledge that his secret had been 
divulged, his agonies exposed, his 
weaknesses surrendered to the vulgar 
gaze, conld have pained the lii^ig 
man — \a nothing dne to his memory, 
now that he is laid beneath the tmf, 
now that his voice can nevermore be 
raised to npbraid a violated confi- 
dence? Many modem biographers, 
we regret to say, do not appear to be 
inflneneed by any such oonsideration. 
They never seem to have asked them- 
selves the question—- Would my friend, 
if he had been compilmg his own me- 
mdrs, have inserted such a letter for 
publication— does it not refer to a 
mattereminently private and personal, 
and never to be communicated to the 
world? Instead of applyhig this test, 
they print everything, and rather 
plume themselves on their impartiality 
in suppresdng nothing. They thus 
exhibit the life not on^ of the author 
but of the man. Literary and per- 
sonal history are blended tOfi;ether. 
The senator is not only exhibited in 
the House of Commons, but we are 
courteously invited to attend at the 
aootmcAemenl of his wiib. 

What title has any of ns, in the 
Skbetraet, to write the private history 
of his next-door neighbour ? Be he 
poet, lawyer, physician, or divine, his 
private sayings and doings are his pro- 
perty, not that of a gaping and cunous 
public. No man dares to say to another, 
** Come, my good fellow I it is full 
time that the world should know a 
little about your domestic concerns. 
I have been keepoig a sort of note- 
book ot your proceedings ever since 
we were at sdiool together, and I in- 
tend to make a few pounds by ex- 
hibithig you hi your true colours. 
You recollect when you were in love 
with old Tomnoddy^s daughter? I 
have written a capital account of your 
interview with her that fine forenoon 
in the Botanical Qardensl True, 
she jilted yon, and went off with 
young Heavystem of the Dragoons, 
but the pablic wont relish the scene a 
bit the less on that account Hienl 
have got some letters of yours from 



223 

our mutual friend Fitzjaw. How very 
hard-up you must have been at the 
time when you supplicated him for 
twenty pounds to keep you out of jail! 
You were rather severe, the other day 
when I met you at dinner, upon your 
professional brother Jenkinson ; but I 
daresay that what you said was all 
very true, so I shall publish that like- 
wise. By the way — how is your 
wife ? She had a lot oi money, had 
she not ? At all events people say 
so, and it is shrewdly surmised thiut 
you did not marry her for her beauty. 
1 don't mean to say that / think so, 
but such is the on dit^ and I have set 
it down accordingly in my journal. 
Do, pray, tell me about that quarrel 
between you and your mother-in- 
law! Is it true that she threw a 
joint-stool at your head ? How our 
friends will roar when they see 
the details in print!" Is the case 
less flagrant if the manuscript is 
not sent to press, until our neighbour 
is deposited in his coffin? We can- 
not percdve the difference. If the 
feelings of living people are to be 
taken as the criterion, only one of the 
domestic actors is removed from the 
stage of existence. Old Tomnoddy 
still lives, and may not be abundantly 
jpratified at the fact of his daughter's 
infidelity and elopement being pro- 
claimed. The intimation of the 
garden scene, hitherto unknown to 
Heavystem, may fill his warlike 
bosom with jealousy, and ultimately 
occasion a separation. Fitzjaw can 
hardly compladn, but he will be very 
furious at finding his refusal to accom- 
modate a friend appended to the sup- 
plicating letter. Jenkinson is only 
sorry that the libeller is dead, other- 
wise he would have treated him to an 
action in the Jury Court The widow 
believes that she was made a bride 
solely for the sake of her Califomian 
attractions, and reviles the memory 
of her spouse. As for the mother-in- 
law, now ^radui^y dwindling into 
dotage, her feelings are 
great consequence to 
being. Nevertheless, i 
noxious paragraph in t 
rcMid to her by a shrill 
panion, nature makes 
rally, her withered fran 
aj^tation, and she fina 
ward in a fit of hopeless 



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Modem Biogrij^.^BeaUi^B Life of Can^phdl, 



224 

Such is a feeble pictnre of tbe re- 
sults that might ensne from private 
biography, were we all permitted, 
without reservation, to parade the 
lives and domestic drcamstances of 
our neighbours to a greedy and gloat- 
in^ world. Not but that, u our 
neighbour has been a man of sufficient 
distinction to deserve commemoration, 
we may gracefully and skilfully nar- 
rate 2dl of him that is worth the know- 
ing. We may point to his public ac- 
tions, expatiate on his achievements, 
and recount the manner in which he 
guned his intellectual renown; but fur- 
ther we ought not to go. The confi- 
dences of the dead should be as sacred 
as those of the living. And here we 
may observe, that there are other 

Earties quite as much to blame as the 
iographers in question. We allude 
to the friends of the deceased, who 
have unscrupulously furnished them 
with materials. Is it not the fact 
that in very many cases they have 
divulged letters which, . during the 
writer's lifetime, they would have 
withheld from the nearest and dearest 
of their kindred? In many such 
letters there occur observations and 
reflections upon living characters, not 
written in malice, but still sudi as 
were never intended to meet the eyes 
of the parties criticised; and these 
are forthwith published, as racy pas- 
sages, likely to gratifv the appetite of 
a coarse, vulgar, and mordinate curio- 
sity. Even this is not the worst. 
Survivors may grieve to learn that 
the friend whom they loved was cap- 
able of ridiculing or misrepresenting 
them in secret, and his memory may 
suffer in their estimation ; but, put 
the case of detailed private conversa- 
tions, which are constantly foisted 
into modem biographies, and we shall 
immediately discover that the inevit- 
able tendency is to engender dislikes 
among living parties. Let us sup- 
pose that three men, all of them pro- 
fessional authors, meet at a dinner 
party. The conversation is very lively, 
takes a literaiT turn, and the three 
gentlemen, with that sportive freedom 
which is very common in a societj 
where no treachery Is apprehended, 
pass some rather poignant strictures 
upon the writings or habits of their 
contemporaries. One of them either 
keeps a journal, or is in the habit of 



[Feb. 



writing, for the amusement of a con- 
fidentiid friend at a distance, any 
literary gossip which may be current, 
and he commits to paper the heads of 
the recent dialogue. He dies, and his 
literary executor immediately pounces 

rn the document, and, to tiie confti- 
i of the two living critics, prints it. 
Every literary brother whom Uiev have 
noticed is of course their enemy for U/Ib. 
If, in private society, a snob is dis- 
covered retailing conversations, he is 
forthwith cut without compunction. 
He reads his detection in the calm, 
cold scorn of your eye; and,refening 
to the mirror of his own dim and dirty 
conscience, beholds the reflection of a 
hound. The biographer seems to con- 
sider himself exempt from such social 
secresy. He shelters himself under 
the plea that the public are so deeply 
interested, that they must not be de- 
prived of any memorandum, anecdote, 
or jotting, told, written, or detailed 
by the gifted subject of their memoirs. 
Therefore it is not a prudent thing to 
be familiar with a man of genius. He 
may not betray your confidence, but 
you can hardly trust to the tender 
mercies of his chronicler. 

Such are our deliberate views upon 
the subject of biography, and we 
state them altogether independent of 
the three bulky volumes which are 
now lying before us for review. 

We cordiallv admit that it was right 
and proper that a life of Campbell 
should be written. Although he did 
not occupy the same commanding 
position as others of his renowned 
contemporaries — although his wri- 
tings have not, like those of Scott« 
Byron, and Southey, contributed 
powerfully to give a tone and idio- 
svncrasy to the general literature of 
the age — Campbell was nevertheless 
a man of rich genius, and a poet of 
remarkable accomplishment. It would 
not be easy to select, from the works 
of any other writer of our time, so 
many brilliant and polished gems, 
without fiaw or imperfection, as are 
to be found amongst his minor poems. 
Criticism, in dealing with these ex- 
quisite lyrics, is at fault. If some- 
times the suspicion of a certain effemi- 
nacy haunts us, we have but to turn 
the page, and we arrive at some mag- 
nificent, bold, and trumpet-toned ditty, 



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Modem Biography. ^BeaUU^ 8 Life of Can^^beSL 



appealing directl^r from the heart of 
the poet to the imagination of his 
andiencef and proving, beyond all 
cont^st^ that power was his glorious 
attribute. Trae, he was nneqnal ; 
and towards the Latter part of his ca- 
reer, exhibited a mark^ failing in the 
qualities which originallY sectved his 
renown. It is almost impossible to 
belieye that the Pilgrim of Gkncoe, 
or even Theoibrict was composed by 
the author of the Pleatures of Hope 
or Gertrude; and if you place tiie 
RUter Bonn beside Hohenlinden or the 
Battle ofiheBalticy you cannot fail to 
be struoL with the singular diminu- 
tion of power. Campbell started 
from a high point— walked for some 
time along level or undulating ground 
— and then began rapidly to descend. 
This is not, as some idle critics have 
maintained, the common course of 
genius. Chaucer, Spenser, Shak- 
q)eare, Milton, Dryden, Scott, Byron, 
and Wordsworth, are remarkable in- 
stances to the contrary. Whatever 
may have been the promise of their 
youth, their matured performances, 
eclipsing their earlier efforts, show 
us that genius is c^>able of almost 
boundless cultivation, and that the 
fire of the poet does not cease to 
bum less brightly within him, be- 
cause the sable of his haur is streaked 
with gray, or the furrows deepening 
on his brow. Sir Walter Scott was 
upwards of thirty before he began to 
compose in earnest: after tiiurty, 
Campbell wrote scarcely anything 
which has added permanently to his 
reputation. Extreme sensitiveness, 
an over-strained and fastidious de- 
sire of polishing, and sometimes 
the pressure of outward circum- 
staoces, may have combined to damp 
his early udour. He evidently was 
defident in that resolute peotina- 
city of labour, through whidi alone 
great results can be achieved. He 
aUowed the b^t years of his life to be 
frittered away, in pursuits which 
could not secure to him either addi* 
tional flune, or tJie more substantial 
rewards of fortune : and, though far 
from being actually idle, he was only 
indolently active. Campbell wanted 
an object in life. Thus, though gifted 
with powers which, diiected towards 
one ix>int, were capable of the highest 
concentration, we find him scattering 
VOL. ixv.— HO. cocc. 



225 

these in the most desultory and care- 
less manner ; and surrendering scheme 
after scheme, without malung the 
vigorous effort which was necessary 
to secure their completion. This is a 
fault by no means uncommon in liter- 
ature, but one which is highly dan- 
gerous. No work requiring great 
mental exertion should be undertaken 
rashly, for the enthusiasm which has 

grompted it rapidly subsides, the 
ibour becomes distasteful to the wri- 
ter, and unless he can bend himself 
to his task with tiie most dogged 
perseverance, and a determination to 
vanquish all obstacles, the result will 
be a fragment or a failure. Of this we 
find two notable instances recorded 
in the book before us. Twice in his 
life had CampbeJl meditated the con- 
struction of a great poem, and twice 
did he relinquish the task. Of the 
Queen of the North but a few lines 
remain: of his favourite projected 
epic on the subject of Wsdlace, 
nothing. Elegant trifles, sportive 
verses, and playful epigrams were, 
for many years, the last fruits of that 
genius wmch had dictated the Pka- 
sures ofHope^ and rejoiced the mari- 
ners of England with a ballad worthy 
of the theme. And yet, so powerful 
is early assodation^so universal was 
the recoffuition of the transcendanfc 
genius of the boy, that when Camp- 
bell sank Luto the grave, there was 
lamentation as though a great poet 
had been stricken down in his prime, 
and all men felt that a brilliant light 
had gone out among the luminaries 
of the age. Therefore it was seemly 
that his memory should receive that 
homage which has been rendered to 
others less deserving of it, and that 
his public career, at least, should be 
traced and given to the world. 

It was Campbell's own wish that 
Dr Seattle should undertake his bio- 
graphy. Few perhaps knew the mo- 
tives which led to this selection ; for 
the assiduity, care, and filial attach- 
ment, bestowed for years by the 
warm-hearted physidan upon the 
poet, was as unostentatious as it was 
honourable and devoted. Not from 
the pages of this biograi>hy can the 
reader form an adequate idea of the 
extent and value of such disinterested 
friendship : indeed it is not too much 
to say, that the rare and exemplary 
p 



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226 

kindA688 of Dr BefttUe was the diief 
eonBoUtioa of Campbell dimag the 
later peitod of hia exiateiice. It 
was theref<»e natural that the dying 
poet should have confided this trust 
to one of whose affection he was 
assured by so many rare and signal 
proo&; andttis wi&akindlyfeeliaff 
to the anthor that we now approach 
the consideration of the l^ierary merits 
of the book. 

The admira^n of Dr Beattte for 
the genins of Campbell has in some 
respMts led him astray. It is easy to 
see at a glance that his measure of 
admiration is not of an ordinary kind, 
bat so excessive as to lead lum be* 
yond all limit He seems to hare 
regarded Campbell lurt merely as a 
great poet, bat as the great poet of the 
age ; and he as unwilling, sBsthetically, 
to admit any material diminution of 
his powers. He still clings with a 
certain fkith to Tkeodric ; and declines 
to perceive any palpable fiulure even 
in the Pilgrim of Olencoe, Yerees 
and fragments which, to the casual 
reader, convey anything but ^k» im- 
pression of excellence, toe liberally 
distributed throuffhontthe paces of the 
third volume, and oomttiettted on with 
evident rapture. He seems to think 
that, in the case of his author, it may 
be said, ^*^ NikU tetigit quod non 
omaoitf^ and accordingly he is slow 
to suppress, even where suppression 
would have been of positive advan- 
tage. In sh(Mrt, he is too fhll of his 
subject to do it justice. In tiie hands 
of a skUfhl and less biassed artisan, 
the materials which occi^y these 
three volumes, extending to neariy 
fourteen hundred pa^es of print, might 
have been condensed into one highly 
interesting and popular vdume. We 
should not then, it is true, have been 
£ftvoured with specimens of Camp- 
bell's college exeit^ises, with the 
voluminous chronides of his iamOy, 
with verses written at the age of ele- 
ven, or with oorrespondenoe pmiy 
domestic; but we firmly believe 
that the reading public would have 
been gratefhl to Dr Beattie, had he 
omitted a great deal of matter con- 
nected with the poet's earlier career, 
which is of no interest whatever. The 
CampbellB of Kiman wete, we doubt 
not, a highly respectable sept, and per- 
formed their dnty as kirk-^lders for 



[Feb. 



many generations blamelesfl^ la the 
parish of (Hassary. But it was not 
necessary on that account to trace 
their descent firom ^ Black Kni|^ of 
Lochawe, or to ^ve the parlacular 
histoiy of the fiumly for more than a 
century and a halt Gtllespio-le- 
Camile may have been a fine €bUow in 
his day ; but we utterly deny, in the 
teeth of aU the Campbells and Eem- 
btes in the wcnrld, that he had a drop 
^ Norman blood in his veins. It is 
curious to find the poet, at a snbse- 
quent period, engaged in a ccnresponr 
dence, as to the common ancestor of 
these names, with one of the Eembles, 
who, as Mrs Botler somewhere tri- 
uni^iantly avers, were descended fixmi 
the kyrds of Can^o-bello. Where 
that favoured region mi^ be, we know 
not ; bat this we know, that in Gaelic 
Cktmbetd signifies lofy-mmd^ and 
hence, as is tiie custom with primittve 
nations, the origin of the name. And 
let not the sons of Diannid be of- 
fended at this, or esteem their Tories 
less, since the gallant Camerons owe 
tilieir name to a similar confi>rmation 
of the nose, and the Douglases to 
l^eir dark complexion. Having put 
this little matter of family etymology 
right, let us return to Dr Mattie. 

The first volume, we maintain, is 
terribly overioaded by trivial details, 
and spedmens of the kind to which 
we have alluded. We need not enter 
into these, except in so fkr as to state 
that Thomas Campbell was the young- 
est child of most respectable par^ts : 
that his &ther, havmg been unfortu- 
nate in business, was so reduced in 
circumstances, that, whilst attending 
Glasgow College, tiie young student 
was compelled to have recourse to 
teaching; that he acquitted himself 
adnuraUy, and to the satisfiicdon of 
all his professors in the literaiy 
classes ; and that, for one vacation at 
least, he resided as private tutor to a 
fiunily in the island of Mull. He 
was then about eighteen, and had 
already exhibited symptoms of a rare 
poetical talent, particulariy hi transla* 
tions firom the Greek. Dr Seattle's 
leal as a biographer may be gathered 
fimn the folk^dng statement ^^ 

'* I M^^lied last year to the Bev. 
Dr M'AHhmr, of Oafaiian in Mnll, 
raqnestingfaim 4oihvoir»e with s«eh 
tradltioiial partieolan wi^anitng tiio 



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M$derm Biognphf.-'BwaU't lift of CampbeB. 



poei M might still be cmteni am<mg 
tbe old inliabitaiitsj b«t I regret to 

Sr thftt noihiiig of ioterest has re- 
ted. 'In the ooime of my in- 
qmries,' he sajs, 'I have met nith 
only two iadiyidiials who had sees 
IfrCampbeU while he was im Midi, 
and the araonnt of tiieir infoniiatioa 
is merely that he was a very preUy 
yMmg mem. Those who must have 
been personally aoyiainted with him 
in this country, haye, like himself^ 
descended into the tomb ; so that no 
aothentie anecdotes of hmi can now 
be jfoeored in this quarter.* " 

Tlure is a mmplicity in this which 
has amnsed ns greatly. Campbell, in 
tiioee di^rst was censpioooos for no- 
thing— «t least, for no aooompllsh- 
meat which oonld be iq^preciated in 
tiiat distant island. In aU probability 
two-Uiirds of the hihabitants of the 
parish were Campbells, who expired 
m ntter ignoranoeof the art of writing 
their names ; so that to ask for literary 
anecdotes, at the distance of half a 
caitmy, was ratiier a wori^ of ssper- 



-For two 3reaiB more, Campbdl led 
« life of great nneertainty. He was 
natnraUy aTsrse to the drudgery of 
teaching— an empl oy me at whi^ nerer 
can be congenial to a poeticai and 
creadTe nature. He had no decided 
pedflection for any of the learned pro- 
lenioiis; for thongh he alternately 
betook himsdf to the ttndy of law, 
physic, aad dirhu^, it was hardly 
widi a serious porpose. He visited 
Edinbmrgh in seardi of literary em- 

eoyment, was for some time a derk 
a writer^i office, and, throns^ the 
kindness of ttie late Dr Andenon, 
editor of a eoHedtai of the British 
poets,— A man who was ever eager to 
admowledffe and enconraffe gemns,— 
he reoeiFed his first introdnction to a 
boctoeHiag finn. From tikem he re- 
ceived some Httle employment, bnt 
not of a natore suited to Mb taste; 
and we soon aAerwards find him hn 
(»asgow, meditating tiie estahliA- 
ment of a magaEke— « scheme wfaidi 
proved ntteriy abortive. 

In the mean time, however, he had 
not been idle. At the age of twen^ 
the peelfcal instinct is active, and, 
even tiioai^ no audience can be iMmd, 
the rnnse will fovee its way. Camp- 
bell had aUeady fennshited two plays 



227 

of JBscfayltis and Euripides— an exer- 
cise which no doubt developed largely 
his powers of versification— and, fur- 
ther, had begun to compose orighial 
l^c verses. In the foreign edition of 
his works, there is inserted a poem 
called the Dirse of Wallace, written 
about this period, which, with a very 
little concentration, mi^ have been 
rendered as perfect as any of his later 
compositions. Li spirit and energy it 
is assuredly inf(nior to none of them. 
" But," says Dr Beattie, "the fasti- 
dious author, who tiionght it too 
rhapsodical, never bestowM a careftil 
revision upon it, and perdsted in ex- 
duding it firom ail t&e London edi- 
tions." We hope to see it restored 
to its proper place in the next : in 
the mean time we select the following 
noble stanaas :— 

** Th«y li|^kt«d the tapers at dead of night, 

And chaonted their holiest hymn : 
But her brow and her hoeom irere damp with 
aftignt, 
Her eje was all sleepleas and dim! 
And the Lady of BUerslie wept for her lord. 
When a death-watch heat in h^r lonely 
room, 
When her cnrtain had shook of its own 



And tiM ivren had flapped at her window 
baard| 
To tell of her warrior^s doom. 

*** Now sing je the death-song, and londl j pray 
Forthe soul of my knight so dear I 

And call me a widow this wretched day, 
Since the warning of Goo is here. 

For a nightmare re& on my straocled sleep; 
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die I 

His Tdorous heart ^ey have wounded dera, 

And the blood-ied tears shaU Uf conntiy 

For^^SseeofEUenlieP 
« Yet knew not his coontry, that omfnoos 



Ere die kmd matin-bell was 1 ^ 
That the tnunpet of death, from an English 
tower. 

Had the diige of her champion song. 
When his dnngeon-light looked dim and red 

On the highborn blood of a martyr sliiB| 
No anthem waa sw« al Us lowly deatlikM— 
No weeping waa tlMce when iUt bosom Ued, 

And hit neart was rent in twain. 

*<0h! it was not thns when his ashen spear 
Was tnw to tiiat knif^ Ibrlom, 

And hosts of a thouand wen aeatteved Ilk* 
deer 
At tha blast of a hanter*s horn t 

Whm le 9tr9i0 o'er Oe wnok </eaok totUr 

WitkSSp^^kairtd ckftfi efhk miiH 



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Modem Biograf^.^Beaitie^s Life of Campbell. 



[Feb. 



For his hnoe woi not tkivered om helmet or 

And the stoord that ttasfit for archangel to 
wield 
Wat light in his terrible hand f 

<' Yet, bleedingand bound, though the Wallace 
-wight 
For his long-loved eountrj die, 
The hngle ne*er sungjto a braver knight 

Than WUliam of Ellertlie ! 
But the day of his triumphs shall never depart; 
His head, unentombed, shall with glory be 
palmed — 
From its blood-streaming altar his spirit shall 

start; 
Though the raven has fed on his mouldering 
heart, 
A nobler was never embalmed ! ^ 

Nothing can be finer than the lines 
we have quoted in Italics, nor per- 
haps did Campbell himself ever match 
them. Local reputations are dearlj 
cherished in the west of Scotland, and 
even at this early period our poet was 
denominated " the Pope of Glasgow." 

Again Campbell migrated to Edin- 
burgh, but still with no fixed deter- 
mination as to the choice of a profes- 
sion : his intention was to attend tiie 
public lectures at the University, and 
also to push his connexion with the 
booksellers, so as to obtain the means 
of livelihood. Failing this last resource, 
he contemplated removing to America, 
in which country his eldest brother 
was permanently settled. Fortu- 
nately for himself, he now made the 
acquaintance of several young men 
who were destined afterwards to 
attract the public observation, and to 
>7in great names in different brandies 
of literature. Among these were 
Scott, Brougham, Leyden, Jeffi^y, 
Dr Thomas Brown, and Grahame, the 
author of The Sabbath, Mr John 
Richardson, who had the good fortune 
to remain through life the intimate 
friend both of Scott and Campbell, 
was also, at this early period, tiie 
chosen companion of the latter, and 
contributed much, by his judicious 
counsels and criticisms, to nerve the 
poet for that successfhl effort which, 
shortly afterwards, took the world of 
letters bv storm. Dr Anderson also 
continued his literair superintendence, 
and anxiously watched over the pro- 
gress of the new poem upon which 
Campbell was now engaged. At 
lengtii, in 1799, the Pleaeures of 
J7<>pe appeared. 

Rarely has any volume of poetry 



met with such rapid success. Campbell 
had few living rivals of established 
reputation to contend with ; and the 
freshness of his thought, the extreme 
sweetness of his numbers, and the 
fine taste which pervaded the whole 
composition, fell like magic on the ear 
of the public, and won their immediate 
approbation. It is true that, as a 
speculation, this volume did not prove 
remarkably lucrative to the author: 
he had disposed of the copyright 
before publication for a sum of sixty 
pounds, but, through the liberality of 
the publishers, he received for some 
years a further sum on the issue of 
each edition. The book was certainly 
worth a great deal more ; but many 
an author would be gUd to suirender 
all daim for profit on his first adven- 
ture, could he be assured of such 
valuable popularity as Campbell now 
acquired. He presently became a 
lion in Edmburgh society ; and, what 
was far better, he secured the coun- 
tenance and friendship of such men as 
Dugald Stewart, Henir Mackenzie, 
Dr Gregory, the Rev. Archibald Ali- 
son, and Telford, the cdebrated en- 
gineer. It is pleasant to know that 
the friendships so formed were inter- 
rupted only by death. 

Campbell had now, to use a com- 
mon but familiar phrase, the ball at 
his foot, but never did there live a 
man less capable of appreciating op- 
portunity. At an age when most 
young men are students, he had won 
fame — ^fame, too, in such measure and 
of such a kind as secured him 
against reaction, or the possibility of 
a speedy neglect following upon so 
rapid a success. Had he deliberately 
followed up his advantage with any- 
thing like ordinary diligence, fortune 
as well as fame would have been his 
immediate reward. Like Aladdin, he 
was in possession of a talisman which 
cotdd open to him the cavern in which 
a still greater treasure was contained ; 
but he shrunk from the labour which 
was indispensable for the effort. He 
either could not or would not summon 
up suffident resolution to betake him- 
self to a new task ; but, under the 
pretext of improving his mhid by 
travel, gave way to his erratic pro- 
pensities, and departed for the Conti- 
nent with a slender purse, and, as 
usual, no fixity of purpose. 



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Modem Biography. -^Beattie^s Life of Campbell, 



We confess that the portion of his 
correspondence which relates to this 
expedition does not appear to us re- 
markablj interesting. He resided 
chiefly at Batisbon, where his time 
appears to have been tolerably equally 
divided between writing lyrics for the 
Morning Chronicle, then under the 
superintendence of Mr Perry, and 
squabbling with the monks of the 
Scottish CouTent of Saint James. 
Some of his best minor poems were 
composed at this period ; but it will 
be easily comprehended that, from the 
style of theur publication in a fugitive 
form, they could add but little at the 
time to his reputation, and certainly 
they did not materially improve his 
finances. With a contemplated poem 
of some magnitude — the Queen of the 
North — he made little progress ; and, 
upon the whole, this year was spent 
uncomfortably. After his return to 
Britain, he resided for some time in 
Edinburgh and London, mixing in the 
best and most cultivated society, but 
sorely straitened in circumstances, 
which, nevertheless, he had not the 
courage or the patience to improve. 

A quarto edition of the Pleamres, 

grinted by subscription for his own 
enefit, at length put him in funds, 
and probably tempted him to marry. 
Then came the real cares of life, — an 
increased establishment, an increasing 
family: new mouths to provide for, 
and no settled mode of livelihood. 
Of all literary men, Campbell was 
least calculated, both by habit and 
incUnation, to pursue a profession 
which, with many temptations, was 
then, and is still, precarious. He was 
not, like Scott, a man of business habits 
and unflagging industnr. His im- 
pulses to write were short, and his 
fastidiousness interfered with his im- 
pulse. Booksellers were slow in oiTer- 
mg him employment, for they could 
not depend on his punctuality. Those 
who have frequent dealings with the 
trade know how much depends upon 
the observance of this excellent virtue ; 
but Campbell never could be brought 
to appreciate its full value. The 
printing-press had difficulty in keep- 
ing pace with the pen of Scott: to 
wait for that of Campbell was equiva- 
lent to a cessation of labour. There- 
fore it is not surprising that, about 
this period, most of his negotiations 



failed. Proposals for an edition of 
the British Poets, a large and expen- 
sive work, to be executed jointly by 
Scott and Campbell, fell to the ground : 
and the bard of Hope gave vent to his 
feelings by execrating the phalanx of 
the Bow. 

At the very moment when his pros- 
pects appeared to be shrouded in the 
deep^t gloom, Campbell received in- 
timation that he had been placed on 
the pension-list as an annuitant of 
£200. Never was the royal boun^ 
more seasonably extended ; and this 
high recognition of his genius seems 
for a time to have inspired him with 
new energy. He commenced the com- 
pilation of the Specimens of Bri- 
tish Poets; but his indolent habits 
overcame him, and the work was not 
given to the public until Airteen years 
after it was undertaken. No wonder 
that the booksellers were chary of 
staking their capital on the faith of 
his promised performances I 

Ten years after the publication of 
the Pleasures of Hope, Gertrude of 
Wyoming appeared. That exquisite 
little poem demonstrated, in the most 
conclusive manner, that the author's 
poetical powers were not exhaustedby 
his earlier effort, and the same volume 
contained the noblest of his immortal 
lyrics. Campbdl was now at the 
highest point of his renown. Critics 
may compare together the longer 
poems, and, according as their taste 
leans towards the didactic or the 
descriptive form of composition, may 
differ m awarding the palm of excel- 
lence, but there can be but one opinion 
as to the lyrical poetry. In this re- 
spect Campbell stands alone among 
his contemporaries, and since then he 
has never been surpassed. LochieTs 
Warning and the Batde of the Baltic 
were among the pieces then published ; 
and it woiSd be difficult, out of the 
whole mass of British poetry, to select 
two specimens, by the same author, 
which may fairly rank with these. 

A new literary field was shortly 
after this opened to Campbell. He was 
engaged to deliver a course of lectures 
on poetry at the Boyal Institution of 
London, and the scheme proved not 
onlysuccessful but lucrative. In after 
years he lectured repeatedly on the 
belleslettresatLiverpoolyBirminghamy 
and other places, and the celebrity ^^ 



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Modem Biogrophy.'^Beaitk'i Ltfe of CampML 



[Feb. 



Ids name alm^scommiiddd acrowdof 
Hsteners. \¥e learn from Dr Beattie, 
that at tiro periods of his life it was pro- 
posed to biinff him forward as a candi- 
date, dther for the chair of Rhetoric 
or that of History in the Univeraity of 
Edinburgh; bnt he seems to have 
reooUed from the Idea of the labour 
necessaiy fbr the preparation of a 
thorough academical comrse, a task 
which his extreme natural fastidions- 
ness would doubtless have rendered 
doubly irksome. Several more years, 
a portion of which time was spent on 
the Continent, passed over without any 
remarkable result, until, at the age of 
forty-three, Campbell entered upon 
the duties of the editorship of the New 
MofnAfy Maaaxine, 

He held this situation fbr ten years, 
aod resigned it, according to his own 
account, '^ because it was utterly im- 
possible to continue the editor without 
interminable scrapes, together with a 
law-suit now and then." In the in- 
terim, however, certain important 
events had taken place. In the first 
place, he had published Theodnc—v^ 
poem which, in spite of a most lauda- 
tory critique in the Edinburgh Remew^ 
left a painfU impression on the pub- 
lic mind, and was generally considered 
as a symptom either that the rich 
mine of poesy was worked out, or 
that the genius of the author had 
been employed in a wrong direction. 
In the second place, he took an active 
share in the foundation of the London 
University. He appears, indeed, to 
have been the originator of the scheme, 
and to have managed the preliminary 
details with more than common skiU 
and prudencOw It was mainly through 
his exertions that it did not assume 
the aspect of a mere sectarian insti- 
tution, bigoted In its prindplee and 
chrcurascribed in its sphere of utility. 
Shortly after this academical experi- 
ment, he was elected Lord Bect<Mr of 
the Glasgow University. Whatever 
abstract vahie may be attached to 
such an honour— and we are aware 
that very coniUcthig oi^ions have 
been expressed upon the point— this 
distfaiction was one of the most grati- 
fying of all the tributes which were 
ever rendered to Campbell. Hefom^ 
himself preferred, by the students of 
that university where his first aspira- 
tions after fnne had been roused, to 



(me of the first orators and statesmen 
of the age ; and his warm heart over- 
flowed with delight at the kindly com- 
pliment. He resolved not to accept 
the office as a mere sinecure, but 
strictly to perform those duties which 
were prescribed by ancient statute, but 
which had fallen into ab^anoe by the 
carelessness of nominal Bectors. He 
entered as warmly into the feeHngs, 
and as cordiaUy supported the interests 
of the students, as if the academical 
red gown of Glasgow had been stOl 
firesh upon his shoulders; and such 
being tiit case, it is not surprising 
that he was sdmost adored by h& 
youthfhl constituents. This portion 
of the memoirs is very interesting : it 
displays the character of Campbell in 
a most amiable light; and the coldest 
reader cannot fail to peruse with plea- 
sure the records of an ovation so 
truly gratifying to the sensibilities of 
the kSid and affectionate poet. For 
three years, during which unusual 
period he held the office, his corre- 

rndence with the students never 
jged; and it may be doubted whether 
the university ever possessed a better 
Rector. 

In 1881 he took xsp the Polish cause^ 
and founded an association in London, 
which for many years was the main 
support of the unfortunate exiles who 
sought refbge in Britain. The public 
svmpathy was at that time largely ex- 
cited in their favour, not only by the gal- 
lant struggle which they had made for 
regaining their ancient independence, 
but firom the subsequent severities per- 
petrated by the Russian government. 
Campbell, from his earliest years, had 
denounced the unprincipled partition 
of Poland ; he watched the progress 
of the revolution with ni anxiety 
almost amounting to fiinaticism ; and 
when the outbreak was at last put 
down by the strong hand of power, 
his passion exeeedea aU bounds. Day 
and night his thoughts were of Poland 
only : in his correspondence he hardly 
touched upon any other theme ; ana, 
carried away by his zeal to serve the 
exiles, he neglected his usual avoca* 
tions. The mind of Campbell was 
naturally of an impulsive cast : but 
the fits were rather violent than en- 
durhig. This psychological tendency 
was, perhaps, his most serious misfbr- 
tune, since it invariably prevented 



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Modern Bwffrtq^.-SmxiHe'i L^ 0/ CaugMl. 



]um tcom matmnrng the most impor- 
tftnt projects he eooceired. Unless 
the sdieme was such as could be exe- 
cuted withn4>idit7, he was i^t to halt 
in theprogreas. 

He next became engaged in a new 
magazine ^ecnlaticm — The Metros 
pobkm — which, instead of torning 
ont, as he anticipated, a mine of 
wealth, veryneariy involyed him in 
serious pecnniary responsibility After 
this, his public careergradoally be- 
came less marked. Tke last poem 
which he pnUished, The Pilgrim of 
Glemcoey exhibited few ^mptoms of 
tiie fire and energy oonspicaoiis in his 
ea^ efforts. " Hiis work," sajs Dr 
Beaitie, '^in one or two instances was 
▼eiy favoorably reviewed— in others, 
the tone of criticism was cold and 
aostere ; bnt neith^ praise nor cen- 
sue conld induce the pnblic to judge 
for themselyes; and silence, more fatal 
in such cases than censure, took the 
poem for a time under her wing. The 
poet himself expressed little surprise 
at th^ ^>athj with which his new 
-Folume had been reoeiyed ; but what- 
ever indifference he felt for the influ- 
ence it might have upon his reputa- 
tion, he could not' feel indifferent to 
the more immediate effect which a 
tardj or greatly diminished sale must 
have upon his prospects as a house- 
holder. ' A new poem fix>m the pen 
of Campbell,' he was told, ^ was as good 
as a bill at sight;' but, from some 
error in the drawing, as it turned out, 
H was not negotiable; and the ex- 
penses into wMch he had been led, by 
tmsi^g too much to popular favour, 
were now to be defrayed from other 
sources." It ought, however, to be 
remarked, that he had now arrived at 
his great climacteric. He was sixty- 
four years of age, and his constitution, 
never very robust, began to exhibit 
iqnnptoms of decay. Dr Beattie, who 
had long watched him with affection- 
ate solicitude, in the double character 
of physician and friend, thus notes his 
obmrvadoQ of the change. ^^ At the 
breakfast or dinn^ table — ^particulariy 
when surrounded by old friends — he 
was generally animated, friU of anec- 
dote, and always projecting new 
schemes of benevolence. But still 
there was a visible change in his con- 
versation : it seemed to flow less freely: 
it required an effort to support it; ana 



2dl 

on tofucs in which he once felt a keen 
intereiBt, he now said but little, or re- 
mained dlent and thou^tftO. The 
change in his outward appearance was 
still more observable ] he walked with 
a feeble st^, complained of constant 
chilliness ; whHe his countenance, un- 
less when he entered into conversation, 
was strongly marked with an expres- 
sion of languor and anxiety. The 
sparkling iutelligenee that once ani- 
mated his features was greatly ob- 
scured; hequoted his favourite authors 
with hesitation-— because, he told me^ 
he often could not recollect their 



The remainder of his life was spent 
in comparative seclusion. Long be- 
fore thlsperiod he was left a sc^itary 
man. His wife, whom he loved with 
deep and ^during affection, was taken 
away— one of his sons died in child- 
hood, and the other was stricken with 
a malady which proved incurable. 
But the kind offices of a nephew and 
niece, and the attentions of many 
friends, amongst whom Dr Beattie 
will always be remembered as the 
chief, soothed the last days oi the 
poet, and supplied those duties which 
could not be rendered by dearer hands. 
He expured at Boulogne, on 15th 
June 1844, his age being sixty-seven, 
and his body was worthUy interred in 
Westminster Abbey, with the honours 
of a public ftmeral. 

*Neyer,** eayi Beattie, •since the 
death of Addison, it was remaTked, had 
the obseqaies of any literary man been at- 
tended by cironmstanoei more hononiable 
to the national feeling, and more exprei- 
siye of oordial respect and hoaagei than 
those of Thomas CanpbelL 

** Soon after noon, the procession began 
to moye from the Jerosalem Chamber ta 
Poet's Comer, and in a few minutes 
passed slowly down the long lofty aisle— 

* Throogh breaUting staines, them miheeded 

things ; 
Throufh rows of 'warriors, and through wallcs 

of kings.* 

On each side the pillared ayennes were 
lined with spectators, all watching the 
solemn pageant in reyerential silence, and 
mostly in deep mourning. The Rev. 
Henry Milman, himself an eminent poet, 
headed the procession ; while the serrice 
for the dead, answered by the deep-toned 
organ, in sounds like distant thnnder, 
produced an effeot of indescribable so- 
lemnity. One only fSseling seemed to per- 



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Modem Biography. ^Beattie^ 8 Life of CampbelL 



232 

vade the assembled spectators, and was 
visible on eyeiy face — a desire to express 
their sympathy in a manner snitable to 
the occasion. He who had celebrated 
the glory and enjoyed the foyonr of his 
country for more than forty years, had 
come at last to take his appointed cham- 
ber in the Hall of Death — to mingle ashes 
with those illustrious predecessors, who, 
by steep and difficult paths, had attained 
a lofty eminence in her literature, and 
made a lasting impression on the national 
heart." 

We observe that DrBeattie haa, 
very properly, passed over with little 
notice certain statements, emanating 
from persons who styled themselves 
the friends of Campbell, regarding his 
habits of life daring the latter portion 
of his years. It is a misfortane inci- 
dental to almost all men of genins, 
that they are snrronnded by a fry of 
small literary adnlators, who, in order 
to magnify themselves, make a prac- 
tice of reporting every circnmstance, 
however trivial, which falls under 
their observation, and who are not 
always very scmpnlons in adhering to 
the truth. Campbell, who had the 
full poetical share of vanity in his 
composition, was peculiarly liable to 
the attacks of such insidious worship- 
pers, and was not sufficiently careful 
m the^ selection of his associates. 
Hence imputations, not involving any 
question of honour or morality, but 
implying frailty to a considerable de- 
gree, have been openly hazarded by 
some who, in their own persons, are 
no patterns of the cardinal virtues. 
Such statements do no honour either 
to the heart or the judgment of those 
who devised them : nor would we have 
even touched upon the subject, save 
to reprobate, in the strongest manner, 
these breaches of domestic privacy, 
and of ill-judged and unmerited con- 
fidence. 

A good deal of the correspondence 
printed in these volumes is of a trifling 
nature, and interferes materially with 
the conciseness of the biography. We 
do not mean to say that anything 
objectionable has been included, but 
there are too many notes and epistles 
upon familiar topics, which neither 
illustrate the peculiar tone of Camp- 
bell's mind, nor throw any Ught what- 
ever upon his poetical history. But 
the correspondence with his own fa- 
mily is highly interesting. Nowhere 



[Feb. 



does Campbell appear in a higher and 
more estimable point of view, than in 
the character of son and brother. 
Even in the hours of his darkest ad- 
versity, we find him sharing his small 
and precarious gains with his mother 
and sisters ; and they were in an equal 
degree the participators of his better 
fortunes. His fondness and consi- 
deratio